#the edge of love fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

netegf · 8 months

Text

Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot.

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath.

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were.

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another.

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding.

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway.

Some things don't change.

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses.

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs.

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too.

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister.

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend.

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you.

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere.

Much to Topper's devastation.

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise.

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply.

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you.

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow.

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again.

"You know he would do anything for you, right?"

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you.

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point."

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat.

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink.

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face.

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well.

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him.

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights.

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly.

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud.

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly.

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically.

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray.

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow.

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming.

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted.

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display.

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath.

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it.

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there.

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him.

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking.

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint.

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night.

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates.

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs.

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway.

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?"

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again.

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently.

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you.

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after.

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else.

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?"

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house.

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt.

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway.

"I love these."

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world.

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much.

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check.

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat.

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you.

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes.

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day.

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing.

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators.

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night.

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included.

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all.

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine.

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger.

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head.

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date.

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything."

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall.

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl.

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together.

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about.

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am."

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company.

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers.

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you.

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself.

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off.

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!".

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin.

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date.

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing.

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote.

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them.

"Maybe later." You reply quietly.

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else.

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees.

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized.

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like."

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that."

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?"

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point.

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off.

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement.

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy.

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs.

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask."

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that."

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?"

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity.

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart.

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long."

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder.

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party."

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue."

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground.

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness.

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks x reader #rafe x reader #i love writing completely ridiculous and unhinged side characters #topper too i always make him so weird LMAO #this is a lil rough around the edges but !! whatevrrr

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pinguwrites · 6 months

Note

Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo.

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering.

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied.

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up.

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it.

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome.

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion.

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love.

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t.

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before.

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream.

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours.

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?”

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over.

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked.

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . .

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you.

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter.

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling.

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help.

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured.

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair.

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously.

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.”

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

“You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head.

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society.

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red.

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip.

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that.

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946.

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice.

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating.

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth.

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you.

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk.

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips.

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick.

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.”

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music.

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered.

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t.

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you.

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment.

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head.

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say.

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.”

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy.

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . .

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

#william killick #william killick x reader #william killick x you #william killick x y/n #cillian murphy #fanfiction #the edge of love #pinguwrites

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 13 days

Text

What I Want... | William Killick x fem!reader

summary: Elise is the daughter of an army surgeon who must learn to live with her father's new boarder, Officer William Killick. What begins as a childish crush quickly becomes deep-rooted resentment for the haughty young officer, but one night at dinner when Elise forces the men to listen to what she has to say, that resentment becomes something more once again.

warnings: Smut, misogyny, age-gap (19 & 26), unprotected sex, degrading talk, angst, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi-public.

word count: 5,061k

*edited 5/25/24- switched to 2nd person pronouns.

Say Yes To Heaven- Lana Del Ray 🎶

Mystery- Jesse Jo Stark 🎵

I'm back! Did you miss me? 💋

To start the story, you must imagine a country courtyard, a quaint country home outside of London. The house is small and built on the edge of the city, before the suburbs became a fairy tale destination for starter families. That house is home to a widower and his daughter, recovering from the shock of the Blitz. Even in the English countryside, the war could still be felt like vibrations through the ground. You could feel them too. The daughter of an army doctor, you grew up in a strict household reeking of repressed emotion. Your father was a widower and an emotionally unavailable army doctor, so you followed the typical protocol. You acted out in your teenage years, trying to make up for the hole your mother’s absence left in your home. By eighteen you were your own person, stronger and more independent. You tried to be completely normal, just like everyone else, because you didn’t want to be different. You rode your bike, borrowed books from the library, and painted your nails with red lacquer. You were just a girl, preparing to study away at university, when William Killick joined your household in the summer of ‘46.

He was a boarder and a prestigious one at that. He was a decorated officer, brave, mature…handsome. 26 never looked so good on a man. At the beginning of the summer, William ignored your stares, your darting eyes, and nervous smiles. She was the last thing on his mind and who can blame him? Surviving the war took a toll on the man and manifested physically in his nightmares and tight jaw. William arrived with a few belongings and a typewriter, set on writing about the war. Your father had invited him to stay for the summer, offering whatever assistance he needed to get back onto his feet. William took it cautiously, embarrassed to receive such enormous help from a man who had already saved his life once before. You, the doctor’s daughter, had been mentioned only once before, subtext in a telegram, barely important. After arriving two weeks before, it had become clear that you were to be William’s housemate and awkward neighbor.

William was not good with girls but he was great with women. Anyone below the age of twenty became alien. He didn’t know how to talk to them, so he didn’t. William would watch you from his bedroom window as you lounged in the backyard, dipping your feet into the deep fountain by the garden wall. You tossed and turned on the fountain’s surface, sunning yourself like a lizard. William licked his lips and looked away, turning his attention to the keys of his typewriter.

When you would come inside, your feet still wet from the fountain, you could hear the irritatingly familiar sound of typewriter keys. His fingers struck each tab fiercely, with a precision that sounded like vengeance. You’d hated it at first, fumming in your bedroom with a pillow pressed around your ears, but you found the sound comforting now. At night it reminded you that he was awake, watching, aware. You felt safe and found yourself falling asleep faster. You never told him this, however, you rarely talked to him at all. His stern-looking face and quiet demeanor was off putting and cautionary to a young woman. William had been there for only three weeks and you’d barely said one word to him at all. You watched him more and more, feeling a kernel of desire hardening in your chest. It was a girlish crush, something that entertained you when the long hours of summer bored you.

You couldn’t help, however, to wonder if William ever looked out his window as you swung your shapely legs back and forth on the swing in your backyard. You hoped it would draw him out of his room one day. But your lax attitude and childish behavior still irked the older Officer. Even if his eyes lingered on your freckled shoulders during dinner, you were little more than an annoying child to him. You spoke very little and he suspected it was because of him. Your breakfasts were awkward and spent in silence while the doctor was making house calls. William took his coffee in silence, no longer able to stay awake after just one cup of tea. His nightly nightmares made it impossible to do much sleeping.

One month into William’s stay, you ventured to finally speak to the man. Creeping quietly into the breakfast room and wearing a pretty girl’s play uniform and ribbons in your hair, you pulled his attention away from his newspaper.

“Are you going to the victory parade, Captain?”

Your voice broke the silence in William’s mind. He glanced up and noticed you standing beside your chair, your blush colored hand gripping the back of your chair. Your quiet voice shocked the thoughts from his head.

“Pardon?” He asked as he cleared his throat. The newspaper collapsed over his fists. You blinked nervously and licked your lips.

“Are you going to the victory parade? It’s on the front page,” you pointed to the front page of the newspaper he held between his hands. William tore his eyes from your face and checked the paper, annoyance rising in his throat. He took a moment to read the headline and groaned internally.

“No, I won’t.” He answered evenly and flicked the paper back into place. You disappeared behind the wall of words and bit your lip in embarrassment. He kept his eyes focused on the page, though not reading, while you slipped out of the room. Your sandals clicked obnoxiously as you rushed up the stairs into your room.

Your face burned from embarrassment and anger, so you cupped your hands against your cheeks. You cursed beneath your breath and resisted the urge to scream and kick your feet in the air. Their conversation had lasted for less than a minute and you learned exactly how rude the Officer could be. Were all men of higher rank like that? What gave Officer Killick the right to treat you in that way, so disinterested and unbothered? He was technically your guest! You fummed in the privacy of your bedroom as William chewed his toast calmly and swallowed.

…

William remained frustratingly unbothered as he dressed for dinner, fixing his hair and straightening his dinner jacket. He cleared the dark hair from his forehead and sighed through his nose, his jaw set painfully as if he were suppressing a yawn. His door remained ajar and the movement of you passing in the hallway caught his eyes in the mirror. Your small waist was wrapped in a red romper and your brown mary janes squeaked quietly against the floorboards’ grain. You’d left your hair ribbons behind and your hair fell messily behind your shoulders.

You tried to breathe evenly as you descended the stairs. The sounds of your father emerging from his study for dinner comforted your nervous attitude. You dreaded the arrival of the man upstairs, dreading having to listen politely as the men discussed their days, opinions, thoughts. It made you dislike the man more but it also made your crush that much more unbearable. You picked at the skin on your palms when they met at the dining room table in silence. You listened as the men discussed politics as they usually did, the boredom boring into your temples like screws. You studied the smug profile of the young officer and pinched the skin on your thigh. Call you immature but you wanted to cause trouble, raise a little hell for the man, just enough to make him finally acknowledge your existence.

“Officer Killick told me that he isn’t participating in the victory parade,” you casually announced, cutting your meat and licking the juice from your fork. Her father raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

“Oh?” He asked as he chewed. William looked at the girl, his brows furrowed. What were you doing?

“Ah no,” William cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin.

“It’s a pity,” you interjected, your eyes trained on your plate.

“Why’s that?” William retorted, cautious of your tainted tone.

“The parade is celebrating your victory, our victory. Surly Churchill would want you to be there.”

William swallowed sharply, his blue eyes now trained on you at the table, sitting adjacent to him.

“I owe Mr. Churchill nothing.” His voice was cold, his shoulders stiff, and his eyes narrowed, “and as long as you aren’t in cahoots with the man, I doubt he would ever know I wasn’t there to celebrate such a phony victory.”

“Are you not pleased with the outcome, Officer Killick?” You asked calmly. Your father looked between the two of you with nervous glances.

“That’s an unfair question.”

“How so?”

“We may have won but the loss of human lives in the process barely justifies the minimal victory we claim to have earned.”

“Are you such a pessimist?” You leaned closer and watched as the man lost more of his patience.

“I’m a realist. I know what the war did and I know the effect it will continue to have because of what we did. No victory is worth what I’ve seen.” His eyes betrayed his erratic state. Images of war flashed in his eyes.

He was breathing heavily as your eyes locked over the dinner table. You watched him, your eyes softening at the sight of the man cracking beneath the pressure of your conversation. His hair had been displaced and strands stuck to his perspiring forehead. His adam’s apple bobbled in his throat as he swallowed.

“You still don’t want to celebrate what you’ve accomplished, what we have now because of what you and other men had to do? War is about sacrifices and even sacrifices should be celebrated.” You offered evenly and looked down at your plate shyly. William took a deep breath and sighed, picking up his fork to resume eating.

“I shouldn’t be celebrated. Nothing I did was worth praise.” He said quietly and looked at the doctor. “In fact, doctor, you should know that the man you’ve allowed to stay in your home is just as bad as the men he was forced to slaughter. I’ve done things…” he faltered and sniffed loudly. William stood and dropped his napkin on the table beside his plate. He looked once again at you, his eyes soft once more.

“I’ve done things no young woman should ever have to know about.” His eyes lingered on your face as he spoke and when he was finished he turned and left the room. His footsteps echoed emptily in the dark house as he left out through the back door. The doctor paused before looking at you.

“Y/N,” he sighed, “we’ve all made sacrifices that we’d prefer not to remember. Parades tend to make us remember.” He sipped slowly from his wine glass and cleared his throat.

…

You finished your dinner quickly and excused yourself. When your father was safely removed to his bedroom, you snuck down the stairs in your bare feet, hoping to avoid making any noise that would wake your father. In the cover of warm darkness, William stood beside the fountain, his hands shoved into his pockets. He stared wordlessly into the glimmering water until he heard your approach and whipped his head around. His wide eyes relaxed once he recognized your silhouette and soft voice.

“Sorry, sir,” you whispered into the summer air. William looked back at the fountain and bit his tongue slightly.

“You’re something else, aren’t you?” He muttered.

“Sir?”

“How did your father allow you to grow up into such a brat?” He spun around, his voice harsh with a snarl. The ridge of his nose was crinkled as he spoke. You quivered beneath his tone and bit the inside of your cheek.

“You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“Then what was that at dinner? How dare you talk to me like that!” He turned around, his voice dark and angry. You sucked in a breath, watching as his hands rose in the air and froze.

“I was angry and I overreacted,” you whispered weakly. William’s shoulders relaxed slightly in the dark.

“Why?” He asked with a tired sigh and fished around in his pocket for a cigarette.

“We’ve barely had even one conversation since you got here. This morning I was trying to make polite conversation and you were quite rude about it.” You spoke with your hands waving about your body and your breath tight as you searched for words.

“Maybe I don’t like polite conversation,” William grumbled as he struck a match and tried to light his cigarette, “damn it.” He cursed when his hands shook, making it impossible to light his cigarette.

“Maybe you have no manners,” you countered and took the small matchbook from the man. William watched you cautiously as you struck a new match and offered him the flame. William bent over and puffed out smoke until the cigarette’s end was properly lit. He pulled it from his lips and exhaled.

“I stopped caring about manners during the war. In a world where there are so many problems, manners just seem ridiculous to waste my energy on. So, as to my point, I don’t like making polite conversation. If I wanted to talk to you about something, I would.”

“Well why haven’t you?” You crossed your arms across your chest and dug your toe into the soft bed of the lawn, avoiding his eyes like a shy schoolgirl.

“Sometimes I don’t have anything to say,” William shrugged.

“To women you mean,” you finished for him and his eyes shot back to your’s. He looked you up and down before he shook his head with a smirk you’d never seen before.

“I don’t know if I would call you that. You’re a little young.”

“And what? Does that make you an old man?” You smiled and glanced back at the house behind you, most of the windows devoid of light.

“In some sense, yes,” William looked down at his cigarette and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Well, I’m not a little girl, Officer Killick.” You smiled, “and I’m certainly not a brat.”

“We’ll see about that,” William smiled back and twirled his cigarette between his fingers. As he looked down at the cigarette in his hand, a pair of soft lips kissed him quickly. You held his top lip carefully in your mouth before stepping back, watching his eyes for a reaction. William swallowed and opened his mouth to speak but no words came. You stared at each other in the darkness until William kissed you again, bending his shoulders down to meet your lips. It had been forever since he had kissed a woman and the rush of your breath fanning against his lips made him shiver. You wrapped your arms briefly around his shoulders and rose to your tiptoes. You held their lips still against one another for a moment and William felt himself sigh into you. Your smaller body radiated warmth into his, making him aware of the sweat collecting at the small of his back. With his free hand, William snaked his hand up your neck to your hair and clasped it in his hand. You smelled so nice and strands of your silky hair slipped from his fingers.

“Y/N…” he whispered as he broke their kiss. Your bright eyes fluttered open and looked up at him. Suddenly, the scene became all too real to him. William took a step back, dropping his hand from your hair. He dragged a hand through his own hair and furrowed his brow. The dim light from the dining room leaked into the yard, casting a jaundice light on the young woman before him. From your perspective, the officer’s form was backlit, illuminating the width of his shoulders and the curve of his neck as he tilted his head to the side. He sighed heavily and took a long drag of his cigarette. Smoke filtered from his nose as he dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with his heel.

“Do you always get what you want?” He said calmly. You caught your breath, the sound of the fountain behind you becoming deafening. His blue eyes glimmered like dying stars in the dark. Your chest rose and fell as time felt as if it was standing still. That moment before a bomb exploded, before the ground gave out and the windows shattered around you. His hand waited at his side, flexing and relaxing as he watched you.

“Yes,” you whispered finally. William drew in a shaky breath and nodded softly, risking a step towards you.

“Then…” he started “who am I to resist you now?” He asked seriously, getting closer. Your eyes followed his hand as it found your hip in the dark.

“But Y/N…” he started again and looked you up and down, “someone ought to tell you no.” He smirked haughtily and tilted your head back by your chin. He leaned his mouth in beside your ear and growled, “no one likes a fucking brat.”

His words tickled the peach fuzz down your neck and you shivered, frightened by the tone of his deep voice. William dropped his hand from your waist and turned away. You watched his back as he walked away from you in the dark, towards the light of the house. Not ready to give up yet, you rushed to him and grabbed his forearm, urging him to stop.

“Killick,” you whispered in a small voice. He looked over his shoulder at you, your red romper creased from dinner. He could just make out the light colored hair on your upper thighs in the offcast-light. Something in your facial expression changed him, the doe-like look in your eyes or your cupid bow lips, puckered in desire. He turned back around and kissed you, your hand still wrapped tightly around his arm. His hands reached for your waist and grabbed tightly at the flesh there. You dropped his hand when he picked you up by your waist, holding you up painfully on your tip-toes. Now you looked down slightly at him, his eyes dark and mature, scary and different in the nighttime.

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” He grunted up at you, his voice heavy. You swallowed nervously and whined quietly from the painful way his fingers bore into your waist, the fabric of your romper giving your an uncomfortable wedgie

“I-,” you took a breath, “want you.”

“Oh, do you now?” William smirked, rubbing his thumbs across the fabric around your sides. “And you always get what you want, so what makes me special to you? Why should I let you have me?”

You tried to catch your breath in your uncomfortable position.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this before,” you whispered, breathless. It was an honest response that embarrassed you and your face flushed a deep unflattering pink. William laughed briefly and lowered your back to the ground.

“You’re just a naive little girl,” William stated, “you don’t know what you want.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t.” You answered, frustration showing in your tone, “It’s not enough that I’m making a fool of myself saying these things to you, you have to make me feel stupid as well. My father does enough of that.”

“You’re not stupid,” William observed quietly, but you were already mad, your voice gaining a harsher edge as you spoke.

“No, I’m not. I know I’m not. But to you and every other man that has ever been inside this house, I’m just a foolish little girl who knows nothing about the real world. And you may be right, Officer Killick, I may know nothing of war but it's only because you men have made it so that I can’t. I know nothing about how it feels for men and women to be together but I know something of how I feel, I know what want is. I know what desire is. I desire so many things, sir. I want an education, I want to be taken seriously, I want to get out of this house, and right now, I want you.

Your voice was no louder than a whisper but you felt as though you had been shouting. William watched you as you spoke, his jaw loosening as he listened. When you finished, he raised his eyebrow. Saying nothing, he stepped closer and swept the hair off your shoulders to your back.

“You speak of desire,” William said softly as his hands cradled your neck, “I didn’t think I could desire anything after I came back.”

You looked up at William and breathed out shakily when he began stroking your throat.

“Why do I desire such an aggravating young woman? How could I want you so desperately when you make me so fucking angry?”

“I could say the same sir,” you whispered, your hands hesitantly finding his chest beneath his jacket. William looked down at your sweet face and kissed you softly. You gripped the slack in his shirt, pulling him closer. William began to kiss you harder, shifting his head to the other side, and breathing deeply against your skin. You moaned softly as his hands slid down the front of your romper, lingering over your breasts. Your nipples hardened beneath his light touch as his thumbs passed over them. His hands traveled down to your bare thighs and then back up, slipping up your shorts.

His right hand shifted over to your crotch, pulling and prodding at the material there. You moaned and rose up on the balls of your feet. You pushed the dinner jacket from his shoulders, watching as it fell to the grass behind him in a pile. Stumbling backwards, William held your waist against his stomach, bending your back away from him as he kissed you. You pulled at his hair, taking handfuls in your palms and tugging lightly. The Officer felt blood rush to his cock as he lowered you onto the grass beside the fountain. Your kisses became more erratic, sloppy with nerves and fear. Your heart seemed to beat so fast and hard that the ground quivered beneath you. William reached around your back, finding the small zipper at the nape of your neck and unzipped the romper slowly.

“Wait,” you whispered and drew away from the man, “I don’t know how to do this.”

William nodded, his breath shallow from lust, “It's alright sweetheart.” His voice was deep and contrasted strangely with the lightness of his blue eyes. The tree adjacent to your bodies covered you with a blanket of additional darkness, but even still, you could trace the outline of the officer’s face with your eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he whispered against your ear as he moved the straps from your shoulders, exposing the flesh below your collarbones and above your breasts. “But because you’re such a spoiled brat who gets whatever you wants…” his eyes flicked up to hers as he pulled the romper down your chest. “It's my turn to do what I want.”

William tugged the romper down your waist and maneuvered it off your legs, setting it neatly to the side. Below your romper, you wore only underwear. William’s hands shook as he traced the hemming of the pretty panties, trailing a finger from the point of your pelvis to the inside of your thigh. You panted nervously, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. You resisted the urge to cover your breasts with your arms, embarrassed that you were so exposed when he was still almost fully dressed. With one last quick glance up at the house, William kissed your navel and then again on the soft pouch of flesh above the top of your underwear.

When he pulled your underwear down to your knees, you gasped and covered your mouth quickly, shocked by the reality of your situation. At any moment, your father could awake and find the two other rooms empty. At any moment, your father could come outside to see the young officer lower his mouth to your thighs and kiss them gently. The house, however, stayed quiet and dark as William spread your legs as far as you could with the underwear still around your knees, and rubbed his pointer finger between the folds of your cunt.

“I want to feel you around my fingers,” William said hoarsely, holding himself over you, still kneeling between your crooked legs. “I want to see how much you can take.” He added with a soft smirk before slowly inserting one finger inside you. You arched your back slightly, scared by the intrusion that wasn’t necessarily pleasurable.

“It’s in,” he encouraged you quietly and moved his finger back and forth, coating it with your natural lubricant. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” William watched your face. Your eyes widened as his finger went deeper, making you feel full with just one finger inside. It didn’t really feel like anything, though you enjoyed the closeness it awarded you as William’s face got closer and closer to your own. His breath mingled with your’s, your eyes locked.

“Just one more finger and you’ll start to feel it. It’ll feel good.” William told you as he slowly inserted a second finger. You quickly muffled your moan as William worked the two fingers inside. The Officer was right, that’s when you started to feel it. William curled his fingers up and worked them in and out, prodding at the small button-like organ inside your cunt. You squirmed beneath him, your hips thrusting up as you tried to work through the sensations.

“Good…” William praised you, licking his lips quickly, and looked down at your wet cunt. Then he slowly lowered his face between your thighs and watched up close as his fingers worked inside you, eliciting dampened whimpers and sighs. Watching your changing facial expressions, William applied his mouth to your clit and began to suck gently. Immediately, your hips jutted forward, Your free hand pulled up handfuls of grass and you bit down on your palm. You whimpered loudly through your teeth and William smiled against your cunt, licking your folds in quick, cat-like laps.

“Sir,” you moaned, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, “s-something's happening. Mmmmmm oh god!” You cried as William sucked harder on your clit, his fingers fucking you with more violence.

“You’re cuming. Good, good girl.” William smirked and helped your ride through your violent first orgasm. Your hips fell back against the grass as cloudy juice coated his tired fingers. Licking them clean, William sat back on his knees and admired your beautiful body. You looked up at him with your wide, doe-like eyes. Your hair was wild and sweat glistened across your collarbones. William had not been able to get an erection since he left the airforce, but now, he felt the old-familiar feeling of his cock being crushed against his pants. His crotch tented out toward you. You were panting as you tried to catch your breath.

“We’re not quite done yet,” William ran a hand up your thigh to your cheek. The muscles in your stomach contracted as his hand passed over them. With his free hand, William undid the front of his trousers and pulled his erection from his underwear. His pants fell slightly below his pale butt as he supported himself over you again. “Put your hand on it,” William ordered kindly and waited patiently as you reached for his cock in the dark. He sighed loudly as you held his cock and began to rub your hand up and down.

“Good, keep doing that and go a little faster…. Just like that, yes.”

“It’s so big…” You whispered, biting your lip.

“Well what’d you expect, sweetheart?” William tried to smile before breaking into a moan. “Ok, I’ll take over again from here. I’m going to fuck you now, ok?” He waited for you to nod before he raised one of your legs and lined himself up with your entrance. “This will hurt a little. Try to be quiet, ok?” He pushed inside and felt the immediate contraction of your cunt around him as he did.

“So fucking wet, bloody hell.” William watched as his cock slid inside, your cum glistening around his length. You covered your mouth once again and gasped each time he pulled back and reentered you. “Oh I’m going to fuck your sweet little cunt,” William groaned, holding himself back from fucking you as hard as he wanted to.

“It feels so good,” You gasped behind your hand and William nodded.

He started to move deeper, slightly shifting the girl’s body across the grass as his hips met hers. His butt flexed as he went as far as he could inside her, whimpering when you squeezed around him. As he started to gain more momentum, William grunted each time he thrusted into you and you bit down on your thumb to stop yourself from yelling out in pleasure. He held one of your thighs up to your chest, helping his cock find the button of pleasure inside your cunt. When he did, you moaned around your thumb. You grabbed at the Officer’s shirt, pulling him closer to your chest. William supported himself just above your face and kissed your splotchy pink neck as he went slower.

“I’m going to cum again,” you whimpered beside his ear.

William smirked and bit down gently on your shoulder, his hips rutting deeply into you.

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” William urged you as he worked up to his own climax. Your whimpers peaked as you came around him for a second time, your hands grabbing onto the back of his shirt. Fucking you a little faster as you whinned beneath him, William came to a blinding climax. Pulling out just in time, he spilled his hot seed onto the ground beside you. You stared at each other as you panted, both of your grotesquely pale skin glowing in the dark. Finally, William kissed you again, sucking on your bottom lip as you sighed softly.

And just as you pulled apart, a soft yellow light came on upstairs.

....

Should there be a part 2?

#cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #fanfiction #cillian fanfic #cillian x y/n #smut #william killick #the edge of love #1940s #wartime love #killick x reader #fem!reader #cillian x reader #cillian murphy x reader

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fuckingyrs · 26 days

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The sound of a body throwing itself onto one of the infirmary cots echoed through the mostly empty room, followed closely behind with a dramatic, but melodic sigh. “Can I say something mean?”

“Probably not in front of the baby.”

Will groaned, looking up from his pile of patient reports he had been sorting for the past… year. “I hardly think eleven still counts as being a baby.”

Lee, who had been refilling first aid kits for the past two hours, contemplated this for a moment. “Maybe, but that’s besides the point. I’m six years older than you. You’ll always be a baby.”

“I’m going to say something mean. Will, cover your ears.”

“I’m not covering my ears, Taylor. Unlike you, I’m working right now and I need my hands.”

“Oh,” Taylor dragged, a taunt evident in her voice, "someone's grumpy.”

“He’s mad I put him on infirmary duty during arts and crafts.”

“Will, you aren’t good at arts and crafts.” Lee slapped her arm. “And you like working in the infirmary, you are constantly taking my shifts. It’s why I love you.”

Lee slapped her arm again. “Taylor, what the heck.”

Taylor groaned, “Fuck. Just say fuck. I’m begging you.”

“That’s besides the point. I had it with Cecil. We were going to finish our board game.” Will turned to Lee, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You knew this.”

Lee let out a long-suffering sigh and Will almost felt bad for causing a fuss, but really, Lee brought this upon himself. “Taylor, stop pawning off your shifts to Will. Will, stop letting Taylor’s pawn off her shifts to you. Also: I’m sorry about arts and crafts. The last few days have been hectic and I needed your help. I’ll make sure to not schedule you over arts and crafts next week.”

“I’m going to be home next week! Mama is picking me up, remember?”

Lee had the decency to look ashamed when he said, “Heck. I forgot. I’m sorry, Will.”

Taylor got up from her self-designated cot and walked over to Will, ruffling his hair once she was close enough. “I’ll take over the rest of your shift, buddy. You go have fun.”

Will shook his head, “No, it’s okay. I’m already here. Arts and crafts is half-way done anyway. We wouldn’t be able to finish.”

“If you’re sure,” Taylor sighed as she pressed a kiss to his forehead and Will let out a cry of protest because he could feel the lipstick stain there. He tried rubbing it away with his fingers but by the look on Lee’s face and the snickers Taylor was making behind him, he only made it worse.

Lee graciously handed Will a wipe before glaring at their sister. “Taylor, what are you even doing here?”

“I think I made that pretty obvious when I threw myself onto a bed and stated I was gonna say something mean. I came to gossip.”

“You should be at archery right now.”

“Mike was being a piss-baby. He wouldn’t let Josh and I try to hit one another. What’s the point of being in advanced archery if you can’t shoot at your brother? Moving targets!”

“So you left?”

“Yep. I found Silena and she offered to do my nails before I came by.”

Lee pinched the bridge of his nose in a way that resembled an old man at the end of his rope. Will suppressed a giggle at his brother’s anguish as Lee said, “You can’t do that.”

“Do what? My nails?”

“Leave Michael like that.”

“Why? He’s not in charge of me.”

“But I am. And he’s my second in command, so yes he is.”

Taylor groaned, flopping back onto her cot. “One, he’s like three weeks older than me, unfair. And two, none of that is important right now. What is important is that our father was here and didn’t say hi to any of us. Who does that?”

“Our father, apparently.”

Taylor flipped Lee off, showing off her new manicure. It was baby pink, like her lipstick, with a little sun in the center. “He gives those kids a ride, none of them his, and has the audacity to leave before saying hi? Hell, Will over here has never met him. He has time to bring a group of kids to camp, but can’t spare a lousy minute to check in on us? And I can’t say this to Michael or he’ll claim I’m “on the other side”.” Taylor sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. Will had only seen this look on her face a few times before: every time Luke was mentioned. “I’m just tired of feeling abandoned and I’m sick of feeling like it’s bad to think that.”

Lee stepped towards her, a soft, “Tay–” passing through his lips, before she sat up and shook herself out of her stupor.

“Instead of saying hi, he just causes chaos and disappears! He brings Percy back, which is never a good sign. Thalia is driving the sun chariot, and crashes it! Oh, and he brought that new weird kid that keeps bombarding everyone with questions.”

Will saw through the change of topic, and Lee clearly had to as well, but he allowed it to happen. He slapped her on the arm for the third time, “He’s not weird. He’s, like, eight. The kid is just excited. You were excited about camp once upon a time.”

Taylor turned to Will, jerking her head at Lee, “I think he’s finally lost it. When have I ever been excited by anything ever?”

Will grinned, “Yesterday, you beat Madi at Josh’s song quiz and you danced around the cabin for ten minutes.”

Taylor gasped loud and dramatic, clutching at her chest as she fell back onto her cot, chestnut hair falling all over her face in her fall. “William! How dare you accuse me of such things!”

#will solace #lee fletcher #solangelo #wip wednesday #solangelo fic #solangelo fanfiction #pjo #pjo fandom #mine.doc #i swear nico is in this just... later #for now its just cabin seven sibling antics #this is a wip wednesday so please ignore any mistakes #i want to have this fic posted saturday but i'm historically not great at self-inflected deadlines #my “birthday” fic was posted five days after my birthday soooo #my goal is to post this at the airport before i get on a plane but we shall see #this fic is an interpretation of nico and will meeting. like. the meeting mentioned in tsats but its also a will coming out to his mom fic #but like. not all that serious. in fact its very silly #if you read my fic 'a little house on the edge of town' it mentions will coming out and this is the story that alludes to #look at me just yapping in tumblr tags #rip taylor you would have loved kayla #thats a joke taylor knew kayla before she 💀

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vinelark · 11 months

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hello good morning i read the fic The Long Way Home by itsnatalie this week and finished it at 1am and had to stare through the ceiling processing for another full hour having emotions over tim and jason and a sentient labyrinth and the concept of choosing kindness when it would be so much easier to choose cruelty at every turn and NOW i am stumbling back here to recommend it to everyone who might want a tim & jason (& batfam) psychological horror longfic that will knock your socks off

testimonials once i was semi-coherent (mild spoilers):

#not entirely sure what content warnings i’d add but i do not have the best stomach for horror and i had fun reading!!#like it Got Me but not in a bad way. in a Oh i’m holding my breath on the edge of my seat kind of way #heads up for past parental abuse (jack drake) and unreality by nature of the premise (sentient labyrinth that manifests your worst fears)#also some creepy crawlies/bug monsters #ANYWAY. wow that was so well plotted #man i love fanfiction. people are out here writing some of the best shit i’ve ever read. and for free!!#fic rec #batfam

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sugarpasteltmnt · 4 months

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Hi Hello!

The recent chapter for The Neon Void had me dying again (as every chapter does /pos) and since I had to photograph some sketchbook pages for a school assignment, I decided to show you some sketches I did of your boy! Your son! The danger himself:

Excuse the random deer and some canon Donnies on the side (too lazy to crop lol) but YEAH! hope you enjoy crude little Void sketches :)

Have a wonderful rest of your day!!!

YO???? THE INK STYLE IS SO NEAT??? i also love the mask that is so fun kajsdlakdja THANK U SO MUCH 🩵‼️

#eating this up #i love the cool edge the hard ink gives #he is 👏SERVING👏#also the little doodle in the corner #my bby boy. i wuv him #also can confirm; Donnie Long Boi #also sick deer btw #the colors and lineart makes me brain go brrrrrrr #The Neon Void #The Neon Void TMNT #TNV TMNT #The Neon Void fanart #TNV fanart #fanfic fanart #rottmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfiction #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #ROTTMNT

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tiredkitten · 9 months

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Just look at him 🥹. Perfect description of Lana Del Rey songs up until now. Found it on Pinterest btw.

#cillian murphy #young cillian murphy #pinterest #gif #lana del ray coded #why is he like this #cmurphyedit #cillian x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #addicted #william killick #the edge of love

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echoarts03 · 9 months

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OKAY RANT TIME!

Y'all, I have NEVER recommended such sus stuff, let alone FANFICS, but this one deserves it, okay?

I've been staying up until 4am the past 3 nights in a row to read an ongoing Hazbin Hotel fanfiction with 32 chapters and 145,000 words that I have now finished catching up on. To put it plainly, it is an absolute MASTERPIECE. Somehow, the author has perfectly captured how it would feel to form relationships (both platonic and romantic) with the characters and not make it feel like their personalities were manipulated.

I don't usually like stories that use such sensitive trigger tags, but it was recommended to me by a fellow Vox simp and OH MY GOD, IT'S NOT EVEN JUST THE VOX CONTENT THAT I CARE ABOUT ANYMORE, IT'S LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT IT! THE PLOT IS GENUINELY GOOD, AND I WANT TO SEE HOW IT ENDS!

PLEASE, if you're into sus Vox/Readers, SUPER slow-burn Alastor/Readers, or stories with mild Baxter/Reader content on the side, GO READ The Medusa Complex over on Ao3!

⚠️ WARNING! IT HAS EXTREMELY SENSITIVE TOPICS WITHIN IT, SO READ THE DAMN AO3 TAGS! ⚠️

#I can never find fanfictions that truly keep me on the edge of my seat so this is incredible #The author hasn't updated since March...but they have said the story isn't being canceled so that's good!#Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfic rec #archive of our own #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #tw: abuse #tw: invasion of the no-no square without permission #Vox is a terrifying and manipulative asshole but I fucking love him #alastor hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #baxter hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin hotel #vaggie hazbin hotel #niffty hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel

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thegreatwicked · 6 days

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Shadows of Deception - Chapter Seventen

Shadows of Deception

The Great Wicked

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

River by BRKN LOVE

2:47 AM.

What in the hell?

It was too early to be this pissed off, and it wasn't just because he had been ripped from sleep for seemingly no reason. He was pretty sure he’d been having a fantastic dream, the kind so real, he could still feel it on his skin. It was nice, gentle, almost tickling in a way that left his nerves highly alert and his cock beginning to stir. Maybe if he was lucky he could fall back into the dream and see where it led him.

As he shifted beneath the covers trying to get comfortable again he became aware of an unsettling pressure draped across his lower half; odd that he hadn’t noticed it before. Blinking several times saw his vision adjust to the murky darkness of the room, and the shape looming over him sharpened into focus.

Belladonna.

He knew that silhouette anywhere. That hair cascading over her shoulders framing her face as she gazed down at him with a seductive and alluring expression, her fingers lazily drawing up and down his thighs that sent little waves of warm arousal through him. The shadows caressed her curves more intimately than any luxurious lingerie ever could, teasing and tantalizing her skin with their all-consuming darkness. It was mesmerizing the way she watched him with a mix of suspense and yearning, it quickly began stirring something within him and sleep was now the last thing on his mind.

Although captivated by what he saw, confusion accompanied the thoughts swirling around in Roman's mind. Why was she awake at this ungodly hour? He looked back at the dock where his phone sat charging, with a tap of his finger the time lightly illuminated the small part of the room softly; 2:48 am. She had work in the morning and she couldn’t have had more than four hours of sleep.

They had both collapsed into bed sometime after eleven? Maybe? The shoot had wrapped at three but to his surprise Belladonna’s work day had been far from over. She’d arrived back at the penthouse somewhere around nine-thirty, wearing exhaustion like a designer dress that had seen a few seasons too many.

She looked like crap.

Though he wasn’t honestly stupid enough to say that, he had some sense of self-preservation, after all. And he obviously knew it was the byproduct of a long day with many demands and he could certainly understand the sentiment; he’d had more than his share of days where he felt and probably looked about as appealing as the floor of a taxi. More often than not the source of Roman’s bad days were swiftly dealt with a brutal show of violence as opposed to tactful negotiations or compromise and in that regard, Belladonna was a better person than him.

He didn’t have too many problems that couldn’t be solved by a small caliber of bullet and a clean-up crew.

When she’d nearly fallen asleep on the couch, any hopes he’d had of picking up where they left off from their little ten-second tryst together before the shoot, evaporated on the spot. He’d all but carried her to bed. Which in a way was fine with him, he got to cop a feel on the way without getting slapped, all she did was call him a pervert and Roman had definitely been called far worse. It was actually kind of cute how she said it with her voice colored by the softness of sleepiness. She was out before her head hit the pillow.

But she seemed plenty awake now though.

Her fingers traced his stomach and chest, feeling the defined hard lines of his muscular physique as if she were blind and his body was a canvas of braille. Each crevice and ridge, like pages in an illicit novel she couldn't resist. The grin on his face grew with her exploration, he didn't seem to mind at all; in fact, he found it fascinating how she touched him as if he were a work of art. It may have been a bit ego centric on his part, but there was no mistaking the intensity of her gaze for anything other than what it was: pure, unadulterated desire.

The question was forming on his lips, a slight furrow appearing between his brows as he opened his mouth to speak it. But she shook her head and her finger moved lazily up to press gently against his lips, silencing any potential inquiries. The soft pad of her fingertip trailed over the luscious curve of his lower lip, leaving a faint tingling sensation in its wake. He watched with rapt attention as the sensation grew and spread until it was almost unbearable.

And once it was, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and jerking her forward. Her hair fell like a curtain around them, and that sweet, invigorating scent he hadn’t quite figured out yet enveloped him. It was crisp, with a tangy sharpness that teased his senses, a fragrance that was both refreshing and tantalizingly elusive. It was all around him, drowning him.

Fuck it, there were worse ways to die.

Their faces were mere inches apart, their breath mingling in the small space between them, and his skin prickled with anticipation as he waited to see what she would do. Everything about their current position suggested he was in control, that he held the power. Hell, he could crush the delicate bones in her wrist with one twist of his hand but she just smiled at him like a cat about to get the cream, and tilted her head in amusement as though this had been her plan all along.

She lowered her lips those last few inches to his, their softness pressed against his, finally silencing that tingling sensation that had been coursing through him.

He should have reminded her of the early morning awaiting her, that Daisy would need her sharp and ready, but the thoughts scattered like smoke as she licked her way into his mouth deepening the kiss, and any semblance of spoken word melted into a pleasurable moan.

He had let go of her wrist without a second thought, his grip immediatly slackening. He didn’t care about it anymore. Starting at his biceps, her fingers traced the length of his arms until they intertwined with his, and then, with a firm motion, she pressed his arms above his head, effectively pinning him to the bed.

"Angel, what's gotten into you?"

But he didn’t give a shit, he was more turned on by her than he’d ever been at this dominating yet seductive side of her, he always knew she had it in her. Let his kitten play a bit, let her think she had the illusion of control, it would make taking it back that much more enjoyable.

He didn’t really care what brought this on, but he most definitely wanted to know what she might say to him. Truth was, he was going fucking insane, he hadn’t jacked off this much since he was a goddamned teenager.

The tension had been mounting between them for weeks, and with each interruption and missed opportunity it only grew worse. The events of the last week being particularly excruciating, with her lying next to him each night with that sweet smell lingering on the pillows and sheets. Close enough to taste and touch.

The concerns of the waking world—the meetings, the daylight responsibilities—receded into nothingness as the heat between them stoked higher.

She gave no indication of hearing his words or being concerned with their meaning, they may as well have been white noise; soothing but ultimately something she could ignore.

"Shh,"

Her breath was hot against his ear accompanied by a flick of her tongue and her nails raking lightly down his chest. He clenched the pillow to keep himself from spoiling her little power trip, he’d take over soon enough.

"I don't care." Such beautiful words were never spoken.

Her lips grazed his jawline, her teeth gently grazing his skin as she continued down his neck.

“I’m not going to work,” She nipped his collarbone. “And neither are you.”

He liked the sound of that. Her honeyed words wrapped around him in the darkness, binding him to the moment. Saliva-slicked kisses continued, igniting a slow smoldering fire across his chest. He lay back unable to tear his eyes away from her both thrilled and hypnotized.

"Is that right?"

His eyes fluttered shut, heat pooling in his groin, and any traces of annoyance faded, replaced by need—for her lips, her body, the oblivion only she could give him.

"We’ve been teasing each other for weeks,"

Her fingers curled firmly around his cock, the warmth of her grip causing a subtle thrust of his hips upward into her hand. He leaned back against the pillows, his head tilting slightly as he let out a contented sigh and his body relaxed.

“You could have killed me when we met,” Her voice was a gentle murmur against his skin, punctuated by the soft exploration of her fingers.

A growl rumbled in his chest. "I couldn't kill you if I tried, angel. You're too damn interesting."

"Interesting enough to keep around?"

"And gorgeous enough to drive me mad." He choked as she squeezed gently, hips rising off the bed again. "I’d have bent you over that conference table—"

"I wish you had."

The images flashed unbidden in his mind just as they had a thousand times before: Belladonna splayed out on the conference table, gasping and writhing beneath him. He could almost smell her arousal, almost feel the tight heat of her body enveloping him, she’d strangle his cock, he was sure of it.

“I couldn't stop thinking about that night in your car, after the party. I wanted you so badly." She complained sounding like a spoiled little princess who didn’t get her way, "But Cobblepot's men had to fuck it up..." Belladonna squeezed tighter, and Roman let out a low moan in agreement.

Seriously, he let those fuckers off lightly, maybe next time he wouldn’t stop at slicing just an ear off, maybe something more valuable so the message of ‘Don’t fuck with Roman Sionis’ had more… meaning.

"I would have let you do anything you wanted to me."

Fuck. Yeah, next time they’d be losing something far more valuable than a goddamned ear.

“Anything?”

She caught his nipple between her teeth and gave a gentle tug eliciting a sharp hiss from him, followed by an ‘Mmhmm.’

“He was going to kill me, baby, but then there you were,”

Bullshit. He’d have never let anything happen to her, but he did like the hero worship he was getting.

“You took care of me when I crashed.” She added, her strokes growing more deliberate and it was great but he was notabout to come from a fucking handjob.

"You could have let him kill me," She whispered against his skin, her mouth moving down his body. “But you saved me, my dark knight on a dark horse.”

"Couldn't let something so beautiful die,"

He didn’t mean to come off so needy just then and if anyone ever asked or Belladonna ever brought it up: No he didn’t.

"I owe you, Roman. And I think I need to start showing you how grateful I am. You told me yourself, you can’t allow debts to go unchecked, not even for me..."

He grinned at her recollection, smug satisfaction flooding his body with each stroke of his cock, oh, that little gem. He liked her logic, liked how his words were coming back to visit him in a way that was sure to benefit him. It wasn’t what he’d meant, not really, but he loved how she was touching him and the way she was positively lavishing attention on him, he fucking ate it up. This was the kind of shit he lived for, having someone adore him.

When he told her she owed him and decided to collect in the form of orgasms, he’d meant hers, not his. But this was fun and it felt fucking phenomenal after so many weeks of wanting to throw her down and rail her.

He’d said that control was what got him off, and the idea of telling her at any moment he was going to collect by making her come for him was better than any fucking drug. Still, only a moron would turn down what he was getting, and he was content to lay back and see how exactly she might express her gratitude.

“My angel has a bit of a devil inside her…” He chuckled.

“Not yet, she doesn’t.”

Fucking finally, he was going to get some goddamned relief from someplace aside from his own hand. Oh, he’d sure as shit earned it.

Her stroking paused briefly and the light reflected off her eyes, for a moment giving the illusion that they were pitch black. It felt like he was about to be on the receiving end of a Pandora’s Box of lust, as her lips brushed tantalizingly close to his throbbing cock.

"God, Belladonna," He gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily under her touch.

This wasn’t quite out of character, the few times things had turned physical between them had given him the distinct impression that she was an intense and passionate lover. He still found it a bit odd that tonight, or rather, this morning of all days she would suddenly decide to do something about it was a bit odd. She’d told him before that her work came before him due to the unstable nature of their relationship, and yet, here she was, awake after only a few hours of sleep about to blow off work to blow him.

But the frustration of their interrupted intimacies had built to an unbearable crescendo. His cock didn't care about the sudden shift in her demeanor; which meant he didn’t care. He could get her another job somehow or somewhere else. Hell, he’d write a blank check so long as she didn’t stop what she was doing.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, you're going to cry."

A shiver ran through him; it wasn't a threat, it was a promise—delivered with a seductive certainty that made him believe every word.

He smirked. Goddammit, it was good to be him.

"Well, I don't cry, kitten. But good luck, I hope your jaw can handle me." His gaze fell to her soft, full lips, imagining the pleasure they could bring him. "You know, I've always loved how beautiful your lips are. And I bet they would look even better wrapped around my cock."

She smiled wickedly and leaned in closer, her breath ghosting over him, making him ache for contact.

"Is that what you want, Roman?"

"Fuck, yes," He groaned, growing more desperate by the second.

But instead of giving him what he craved, she continued to tease him – her tongue, her breath, her fingertips – all coming painfully close, but never quite touching where he needed her most. He wasn’t the type to force a woman to do anything she didn’t want but he sure as shit wasn’t a man to whine and beg, his irritation mounted with each near-touch.

"Ask me nicely, Roman," Belladonna purred, clearly enjoying her newfound control.

"Come on, kitten, I don’t beg," Roman growled, though the desperation in his voice betrayed him.

“Angel, don’t make me tell you again,” His threat saw no reaction beyond another nip of the skin on his hip.

He tried again, maybe a gentle warning in his voice would stir compliance. "Belladonna… Don’t tease me."

She shook her head mutely, stray tendrils of her long black hair falling loosely over her face, as Roman continued drowning in sensation, barely treading water. She leaned in again, blowing a soft, hot breath over the head of his cock, and the last of his restraint shattered.

“One little word baby, that’s all it takes,”

In the depths of his conflicted thoughts, the battle between pride and desire waged within him, each heartbeat echoing the unspoken truth—he wanted her, more than anything else in that moment. Oh, fuck it.

"Please," He breathed, the word escaping as a desperate, needy whimper.

Belladonna's lips curved into a triumphant smile. "That's my good boy."

As the word left her lips, an abrupt stillness enveloped him. The profound silence felt alien after the whispers of Belladonna's breath, the absence of her weight atop him jarring.

Suddenly, he was jolted awake, the erotic sensation giving way to the cold reality of his empty bed.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains as the clock on his nightstand read 9:00 a.m. It had all been just a dream – Belladonna was gone, off to work before he had even woken up.

It had all been a torturous, vivid illusion that left him with nothing but a painful erection and frustration. He lay there for a moment, taking in the quiet space where Belladonna should have been. A growl of discontent rumbled from deep within his chest, and turned his face into the pillow, his fingers clenching the fabric as he released a vehement:

"FUUUUCK!"

The word tore through the quiet of the penthouse.

Outside, in the main kitchen, stood Zsasz who paused, a hint of amusement curving his lips, then he added another scoop of coffee beans to the grinder. He recognized the tone—a blend of aggravation and hunger that had become all too familiar recently. He wasn’t about to touch that though, knowing better than to intrude on his boss's privacy, especially not when the echoes of Roman's rage were reverberating so clearly through the penthouse.

"Morning,"

"Shut up, Zsasz," Roman growled in response, pouring himself a cup of steaming black coffee.

Zsasz didn't let the hostility bother him; instead, he looked like he was holding back a chuckle. The two men sat in silence, sipping their coffee like it was the only lifeline tethering them to sanity, though maybe for Roman a little more so than Zsasz. His thoughts consumed with Belladonna, her dark eyes haunting him even in the daylight hours, now reaching into his dreams. He used to not dream at all, or if he did he could never remember it. Now he was dreaming about her lips so close to his cock that he— Fuck. Rubbing one out in the shower hadn’t helped at all.

He shifted in his seat, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream.

"Any stops before the fashion house?" Zsasz asked casually, breaking the silence.

The weak attempt at conversation was bullshit. Zsasz didn’t give a crap how Roman was that morning, and he knew damn well the only stop they would make was for coffee because Zsasz had a dick too and his barely concealed smirk told Roman everything he needed to know. He was being a shithead.

"The fuck are you smiling at?" Roman shot back, his irritation clear in his voice, as he looked up across the table over his mug.

Zsasz just shrugged, taking another wordless sip.

Roman clenched his jaw. He knew Zsasz was prodding at the very thing that had kept him awake all night – his growing obsession with Belladonna. There wasn’t much point in denying it anymore, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit it before he fucked her. Instead, he steeled himself for the day ahead, preparing to face the woman who had taken over his thoughts and permeated his every waking moment.

"So," Zsasz ventured, his voice low and dangerous, "you ever going to sleep with her?"

Roman's knuckles turned white as he gripped his mug, trying to maintain control over his emotions. A sneer twisted his tired features as if the mere suggestion was beneath him.

"You ever going to fuck that little assistant of hers, Daisy?" He spat back thinking that would shut him up.

Zsasz's lips slowly stretched into a dark smile, no longer bothering to hide his amusement anymore. His laughter echoed in Roman's head like the scrape of nails on a chalkboard. The realization struck him like a bullet – Oh, no. Fuck no.

He slammed his mug on the table his voice cracking with frustration.

"When?!"

When the hell had Zsasz had time to sneak away to fuck Daisy when at every turn any moment between him and Belladonna had been interrupted?

But Zsasz just grinned wider, taking another leisurely sip of his coffee, his eyes gleaming with sinister satisfaction. Roman gritted his teeth, feeling a tantrum bubbling beneath the surface.

"Relax, Roman," Zsasz drawled, clearly enjoying himself. "I'm sure Belladonna will pop your cherry soon enough."

Roman glared at Zsasz with an intensity that might have suggested he was trying to get Zsasz spontaniously combust. As much as he wanted to wipe that grin off Zsasz’s face with his coffee mug, or whatever else was handy, he knew better than to go up against someone like Zsasz.

Zsasz was fucking nuts.

Then again, anyone who voluntarily got his dick pierced was a special kind of batshit crazy. Zsasz was something else entirely and he wasn’t stupid enough to fuck with whatever demon had inhabited Zsasz’s body. Instead, he downed the last of his scalding hot coffee, the bitterness mirroring his mood.

"Finish your damn coffee."

Like a silent Pavlovian response, Belladonna's eyes darted up from the photo proofs spread across the desk to the ornate clock hanging above the studio door. Something about the seconds just before eleven called her attention to it every day. Its hands aligned with military precision, striking eleven am, and not a second later there was a soft rush of air as the doors to the studio opened, and in strode Roman and Zsasz.

His dark gaze found hers almost instantly, but it usually did, he always seemed to know exactly where she was, and sometimes it led her to wonder if he’d embedded a tracker in her arm or something when she was asleep. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Watching him navigate through the maze of mannequins and racks draped in silks and satins, a smile graced his lips, but something about it seemed off—forced, even. His smile usually stirred an intoxicating cocktail of danger and desire within her, today, though, it faltered at the edges.

Something about his appearance was ever so slightly out of place, she stared hard, studying him trying to figure out what this particular glitch in the matrix was. His attire was immaculate as always, and physically nothing was out of place, but there was a wrinkle in time around him. A dissonance between the Roman she knew and the man before her now. Was it his hair, not quite as ruthlessly styled? Or maybe the set of his jaw, the tension lurking in the corners of his eyes, and the tiredness that clung to his posture didn't go unnoticed either.

Right behind him was Zsasz, Roman's shadow incarnate, with a smirk that seemed unusually pronounced on his usually stoic face. In his hands, the mundane cargo of coffee and pastries seemed almost comical, a domestic contrast to his usual aura of menace.

It was an odd switch but she pushed away the tangle of questions threading through her mind. From the looks of it, Zsasz started the day off with a blow job and Roman looked like the kid who didn’t get his lollipop. Many things regarding Roman were still largely a mystery to her but she was pretty sure she knew how to make him smile.

She saw the flicker of surprise in his dark eyes as she pressed her lips to his with more enthusiasm than their morning ritual dictated. The kiss lingered, with each brush of her lips against his, and for a fleeting moment, Roman's mask slipped. His eyes closed, lashes casting long, crescent shadows on his cheeks, and Belladonna felt the subtle release of tension in his shoulders.

“Hey baby,” She whispered against his mouth, tasting the briefest note of vulnerability on his tongue.

Despite his temporary surprise and lull in his overcast aura of moodiness, his greeting was detached as his features returned to their neutral state.

"Angel,"

Taking the mocha he offered to her with all the warmth and familiarity of a stranger, she felt a twinge in her chest and something about how he wasn’t his usual self didn’t sit right with her. An odd little jealous streak came out in her, wanting to find the source of his discontentment and push it out the nearest window.

Wait. What?

Where’d that come from? Roman was having a bad day so her first response wasn’t to tell him to get over it but rather to find who’d made her fake boyfriend all pouty and shove them out a window?

He was rubbing off on her.

She couldn’t decide if that was good or not, though she was pretty sure he’d get a kick out of it if he were in a better mood.

Behind her, Daisy emerged like a burst of sunlight through clouds, her voice chiming with an unusual lilt as she relieved Zsasz of her own steaming cup.

"Thank you, Zsasz," Her eyes lingered on Zsasz a moment longer, the emphasis on his name not lost on anyone. He returned her greeting with a conspiratorial wink from the usually terse man. Daisy's fingers danced into the paper bag and emerged with a triumphant flourish, cradling a raspberry scone. "Look, Belladonna, your favorite."

Belladonna offered a smile, though it failed to reach her eyes, still locked on Roman's troubled gaze. Daisy went on about upcoming meetings after lunch, plans of fresh air, and escape, but Belladonna heard her through a distant fog, her focus narrowed on the enigma before her.

"Zsasz, care to join me?" Daisy's voice broke through, sweet and inviting.

Roman's jaw tightened as he exchanged a glance with Zsasz, a static crackle of irritation before acquiescence won out. With a nod, Zsasz agreed, and together they exited, leaving the space emptier, and quieter—the perfect breeding ground for more annoying, moody angst.

"Let's go to my office,"

She led the way, their steps syncing as they threaded through the corridors to a door seldom used, down the hall to an office Roman had never seen before. The door clicked shut behind Roman, sealing them inside the office and she immediately dropped all pretenses. Leaning against her desk, her dark eyes following him as she sipped her coffee, trying to figure out what stick was jammed up his ass and why nobody used any lube.

“This is your office?"

She couldn’t tell if he was impressed or disappointed, it made her wonder what his office at the club looked like. She considered the possibility that his office might be lined with mirrors; he walked that fine line between vain and confident.

"Obviously," She replied with a hint of sarcasm. She pushed herself off the desk and walked over to where he stood, to see what he was looking at.

"You've never brought me here before,"

"Didn't trust you," Belladonna answered matter-of-factly.

"Trust me now?" Roman asked, glancing over at her.

"Enough to know you won't kill me, at least," She said, her tone suggesting she was joking. When Roman didn't react, she felt… bad? What the hell was going on? She added more seriously, "Yes, I trust you."

He still didn't respond, instead turning his attention to other photos on the wall. They showed Belladonna in happier times throughout her life, laughing with friends or posing with Daisy at work events.

One, in particular, caught his attention. It was a selfie-style photo of a teenage Belladonna, scrawny but still very pretty in a school uniform, with one arm wrapped around a woman in a maid uniform her eyes crinkled in happiness, both of them smiling warmly.

As Roman's eyes lingered on the fragments of a past life, Belladonna watched him, a flicker of concern softening her otherwise steeled exterior.

He couldn't help but feel a pang of bitterness as he realized he hadn't experienced that same warmth with Belladonna. The photo only served to highlight the falsehood of their relationship, making the ache in his chest grow.

Roman's hand reached out, his fingers inches from the glass that protected the past—a past that wasn't his to touch.

"Roman." Her call snapped him back to the present, and he noticed the crease of worry between her brows.

"You have your mother's smile,"

The words threw her off so far, that she swayed slightly, unsure of exactly how to respond. It was a simple thing to say but the way he said it was just so…

"Thank you," She acknowledged, a softness in her voice that belied her usual guarded nature. She took it as a compliment and opened her mouth to speak again, presumably to probe further into his uncharacteristic silence, but he cut her off.

"We should have some pictures together. You know, to sell this farce a bit more convincingly."

Belladonna paused, the warmth she’d just felt evaporated, his use of the word ‘farce’ seemed a bit cold and unnecessary, her lips parting slightly as she processed his abrupt change of subject. Sure, what they had was fake but, he didn’t have to say it like that. Like he had better things he could be doing.

"We don't have any photos, Roman."

“I’ll handle it,"

His voice was so hollow as if reciting a well-rehearsed line rather than engaging in their usual dance of wits. His detachment seemed to settle over them like a persistent fog, and in the quiet that followed, Belladonna thought she understood what was going on. There was no hidden turmoil lurking beneath his surface, nothing bad had happened; that this was simply Roman being Roman—moody, unpredictable, and a bit angsty.

His moods usually left her with whiplash but she almost preferred that to what she was seeing now. Usually, the catalyst behind Roman’s sour disposition wasn’t hard to find. The smoking gun often being something small and innocuous but this left her feeling exasperated as she folded her arms across her chest, leaning back against her desk taking another grounding sip of her coffee.

"Roman, what's going on?" She asked once more, her voice taking on a terse edge.

"The papers and rags have gone quiet on us," He finally said, his words tumbling out hastily.

"Fashion week is over, and the club shoot was successful. We need to make some news again, make sure people haven’t forgotten about us, especially after our visit to the precinct. Won’t be long before our names are mad epublic in connection with the case, we need more public favor."

She wasn’t prepared for his calculated response, and the way he delivered it with such indifference was a bit off-putting. But she didn’t disagree, at least he was talking to her. It could have been the reason for his sour moon but her bullshit detector wasn’t quite silenced.

“What did you have in mind?”

An idea had already formed in his mind on the ride over, a way to use Fashion Week to their advantage, he saw an opportunity to merge their personal and professional lives.

"Hosting another event at my club to celebrate the end of Fashion Week, invite your coworkers; they’ll give the gossip rags plenty to talk about. It’ll be a chance for us to let loose together."

Fat chance at this rate.

"That's it?" She asked incredulously.

"You don’t like it?" Roman replied defensively, seemingly surprised.

Her expression softened with her irritation temporarily fading away. "No, it's a great idea," She admitted, nodding."Trust me, everyone's crawling the walls looking for a reason to party. Everyone loved being at the club yesterday, those who didn't go were jealous as hell, it’s all anyone’s talking about. With the end of big projects, people are itching to blow off steam.”

Roman allowed himself a small smile, but it faded when he saw the hesitation lingering on Belladonna's face.

“So, then, what’s the problem?"

Oh sure, now he wanted to talk about problems. She stared hard at him for a minute before shrugging her shoulders and taking a step toward him.

"What's really going on, Roman?"

He tried to roll his eyes and brush off her concerns, but her unwavering stare made him falter for once.

"Do you think Zsasz and Daisy are off fucking somewhere?"

"Of course they are,"

“Why do you think that?” He asked folding his arms across his chest.

She scoffed and mimicked his stance which seemed to put him back a step. “Because I have eyes.”

She was unfazed by the question but the sharpness and accusatory tone in his voice had given her pause, it also gave her flashbacks of his little tantrum back in the penthouse earlier that week.

“There’s plenty of unused studio space and offices, models, and staff use them all the time, I wouldn’t be surprised if the only lunch Daisy is having is Zsasz’s dick.”

His upper lip curled and twitched, unintentionally betraying the source of his frustration and the brief silence between them was all Belladonna needed to figure out the source. In a cartoon-esque lightbulb moment, her contemplative expression transformed into one of realization, followed by relief and amusement. Roman's intense gaze returned to Belladonna as he prepared to deflect any further questions; he didn't know why she was grinning, but it made him uneasy.

Oh, so that was it…

He didn’t like not knowing what was going on, and the sight took him by surprise, momentarily erasing the annoyance from his face. She let her arms fall from their defensive position across her chest, and her whole posture seemed to soften and relax as if they were back at the penthouse instead of this odd little spot of wherever the fuck they currently were. He swiftly turned away, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the situation.

"Roman, you seem frustrated.”

He didn’t miss the sudden sweetness in her voice and he looked back, intrigued but still guarded. Experience taught him that when irritated and angry women suddenly turned sweet that was usually the moment when you got stabbed in the back at best, or kicked in the balls at worst. Stab wounds left scars, being kicked in the balls just sucked.

“Very astute.”

She let out a deep, weary breath and cautiously moved closer to him. He didn't move away, but his shoulders tightened and he stood up straighter with an air of tension around him.

“Baby, I know this week has been stressful, but,” Her voice lingered on that word, that one little term of endearment that only seemed to hold sway over him when Belladonna said it, “are you trying to tell me that you're feeling... neglected?"

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, acknowledging the cleverness hidden within her gentle teasing.

"Congratulations," He drawled, smirking at her. "You’re as smart as you are beautiful."

With a cool and unaffected stride, Belladonna brushed past him without a second glance, making her way toward the large windows that lined one wall of the room. She pulled the blinds closed with a sharp tug, making the room a little dimmer but also ensuring that no prying eyes could see in. Then she turned towards the door and firmly pressed the lock into place, relishing in the resounding click that filled the room.

He’d known he was well on his way to pissing her off, so the sudden 180 surprised him and left him curious. He slipped his hands into his pockets and tilted his head like a curious puppy as he watched her with newfound interest and his sour mood began slipping away.

With the plastic hairclip removed her hair fell down around her shoulders with a little bounce, something he’d grown particularly fond of when she let her hair down, he liked it that way. She ran her fingers through it, occasionally getting caught on a few stubborn tangles, but she brushed them out nonchalantly. As if the two of them hadn’t just spent the last five to ten minutes in a angsty teenage stalemate trying to figure out what the hell his problem was. And when she looked up at him, it amused her to no end, how his gaze would shift away from hers at least once with each step she took towards him. Was he also feeling a bit guilty? Maybe embarassed? God, she could only hope, it would make what she was about to do that much more satisfying.

Her smile wasn’t quite a real smile, it was the sort of smile someone gives when they’re about to call someone else an idiot. A sympathetic one. A pitying one. The type of smile that screams ‘Oh, bless your sweet little heart.’

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a pouty little bitch when you’re sexually frustrated?”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him a bitch. He wasn’t even sure it had ever happened. For one of the few times in his life, he was rendered completely speechless, but that never lasted long. Now, he liked Belladonna, sure, she was as entertaining as they came, but it seemed his little angel needed a lesson in proper behavior. He wasn’t about to let her walk away without consequence. However, before he could speak up, to deliver his warning words they were cut short when she grabbed his pristine white shirt and jerked him forward into a forceful kiss.

It sent him back immediately to that first night in her kitchen to when they’d first discussed how they’d outfox the police by faking a relationship. When he’d nearly thrown her onto her table and fucked her right there.

“I’m Belladonna-fucking-Black and I give as good as I get.”

He’d been so sure he could easily manipulate her there and then, that she’d be like just another other toy for him to play with. Until that moment when she kissed him, she’d been so full of fear and uncertainty, but now, like then, she surprised him. Which had been something he’d liked about her from the moment he met her.

She was in charge. He wasn’t kissing her, she was kissing him, laying siege on his mouth, taking what she wanted and leaving Roman breathless and caught up in the moment. And despite his initial shock, he found himself enjoying the ride under her command.

His lips were tingling when she let him go, a little redder, undeniable proof he’d been kissed by someone who knew how.

“Roman, if you needed some attention, all you had to do was ask.”

She couldn’t know that her use of the word ‘ask’ would have any sort of effect on Roman but it did. He pulled back sharply and his lips curled in a sneer.

“I. Don’t. Beg.”

His words were pointed and sharp but it didn’t seem to register with Belladonna, with another yank of his shirt she tugged him back into another kiss, one that was a little more ferocious. His anger dissipated in an instant with the warmth of her tongue slipping back into his mouth.

He’d snapped out of her spell and was now determined to take over this little game of theirs, her first move was a good one but one of her faults in strategy was Belladonna’s inability to look past her opponent’s initial shock and form a second move accordingly.

He quickly seized her hands that had latched onto his shirt, folding them into a tight grip within his own. Removing her leverage over him, his face split into a wolfish grin.

“Nicely played angel, but we’re going to have to work on your followthrough.”

However, to his surprise, she didn't resist or look displeased; instead, she smiled at him and ran her tongue along the length of his neck

That was unexpected.

“Roman,” With a nudge of her lips on his chin he tipped his head back, giving her unfettered access to his throat, his eyes closing involuntarily a pleasant haze washing over him. He still had control over her, right? Of course. He swallowed hard when she sucked softly on his Adam’s apple.

Maybe.

“Does your club have cameras?”

A smile stretched across his face as he gazed down at her. “Dozens.”

"In the storage room?"

He confirmed with a playful, singular nod.

"Were they on the night you told me to wear the dress?" She continued, nuzzling into his neck.

Her warm breath tickled his skin. Again, he nodded with a devilish grin. Judging by the way her lips lightly grazed his neck, he could only assume she was pleased by his confirmation.

“Show me.”

Her unexpected request jolted him. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his grip on her hands loosened just enough for her to slip free. With a sly, feline grin, she hooked her fingers into his belt and using it like a leash to pull him toward her desk, then hopping up on the surface, her provocative silhouette radiating a sense of command and control over the situation that Roman thought that had been his.

"Play the video," she whispered against his lips, her breath mingling with his.

Her hands roamed up from his chest tracing the outline of his pecs beneath the crisp shirt before settling on his solid shoulders.

"Now?" Roman asked, incredulity lacing his voice.

This was an unexpected move from the usually guarded Belladonna, but the surprise did little to quell the desire radiating from him. The dream he had that morning about her haunted him, making him desperate for her touch, and the now throbbing of his balls firmly told him this was no dream.

She hummed, sliding her hands up his chest. "Mmhmm."

His lips twitched. "Minx."

His own hands weren't idle, exploring the expanse of her legs before encircling her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the desk. He leaned in for a kiss, but Belladonna stopped him just short, her breath hot against his lips.

"Let me see it," she insisted again, kissing him lightly on the lips before pulling away. Her teeth and tongue teased him.

He didn’t want the video, didn’t give a fuck about it. No, he had something else in mind. Something that involved the contents of her desk scattering to the ground and more than likely HR being called and the two of them being escorted off the property by security, but he conceded.

"Alright, you win,"

After a brief pause, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, thumbing the code into the device with a familiarity that spoke of many locked secrets. He found the folder, a virtual Pandora's box, and tapped the screen. The video sprang to life, casting its glow across their entwined forms.

Her hands slid from his shoulders, coaxing him to turn around, the unexpected shift sent a jolt of irritation through him, yet it evaporated as swiftly as it came when she began to massage the tension from his back.

Her fingers worked with practiced ease, kneading knots along his spine before gliding upwards to cradle his neck. They threaded through his hair, pulling a shiver from deep within him. Roman let out a sigh, a sound that hovered somewhere between relief and surrender.

When the video started playing, her hand moved over his shoulders and down his arms. He leaned back into her touch. The room was hushed, and she could hear herself perfectly. But it wasn't enough. She shook her head and nuzzled her nose against his ear.

"Turn up the volume, I want to hear everything."

With a tap of his finger, the noises of their breathing and Roman's low voice grew louder. The camera above them captured every moment as she watched over his shoulder, her hands caressing him through his suit in teasing little touches.

"Roman," She purred, her lips brushing over the shell of his ear, hands working the buttons of Romans dress shirt, and exploring the hard planes of his stomach and chest.

"Did you enjoy teasing me like that? Pushing my dress up and slipping your hand into my panties..." She paused, savoring the feeling of his body tensing under her touch. "Because I did."

His breathing quickened and his chest rumbled low with the sound of satisfaction.

"Mmm, is that so?"

With a delicate, almost sensual touch, her hands glided down his body and slipped effortlessly into the depths of his pockets. Her fingers spread wide, eagerly exploring the soft fabric that covered his firm thighs.

“I did.”

“Tell me more, kitten.”

“You were so sweet with me, making sure I came, you know exactly how women like to be touched, don’t you?”

That he did. He let out a relaxed chuckle as she playfully searched through his pockets, her fingers brushing against something long and hard that responded to her touch with a twitch.

“You like being rough too though, don’t you? You like teasing, making a woman want you so much that she begs for it.” She added as her nails scraped against the fabric, the sensation slightly dulled. “I like that.”

“Naughty girl, you like being teased?”

“Makes it so much better when you want it that badly.” The room grew warmer, his cock stirred from the gentle anticipation. “Roman, how many times have you made yourself cum to this?”

He looked over his shoulder, looking cocky and self-assured. “A few.”

“Just a few?”

She withdrew from his pockets and he briefly mourned the loss of her hands until he felt her reaching to unbuckle his belt, opening the clasp of his slacks and lowering the zipper slowly. His head fell back against her shoulder, eyes drifting shut once more.

“Keep watching.” She murmured to him, and he looked back to the video “Remember that day you came to the studio, you were mad at me for ignoring you?”

He gave a deep ‘Mmhmm’ smiling at the memory, she’d told him no and he’d respected it but he could read her body language and everything about it told him she wanted more that day.

“You asked me if I was thinking of you at two am?” She paused, gently biting his earlobe. “Do you want to know what I was doing at two am?”

He released a heavy breath and focused, forcing himself to keep his concentration on the video; her moans continued playing over the phone becoming more desperate and light-sounding.

“What were you doing, kitten?”

“I was thinking about you,” She responded, her hands slipping under the waistband of his boxer briefs. His cock was hot and throbbed against her touch “I was thinking about how good your fingers felt on my pussy.” She continued, her fingers teasingly trailing down his length.

Fuck. Roman groaned.

“Kitten… What did you do?” he pressed, needing to know every detail.

“I thought about this,” She confessed squeezing his cock, drawing a deep groan from him, “I was stressed about Fashion Week and I wanted to cum; I even thought about calling you.”

Fuck, he could have had some fun with that. His mind raced with all the things he would have done to her if she had only picked up the phone. Shame she didn’t call, he was about to tell her as much.

“It’s ok though, I started by playing my nipples teased, pinching and pulling, thinking about your mouth was on me. I thought how much I wanted you between my legs.”

She had no idea what kind of effect she had on him. Scratch that, she probably knew damn well.

“I held that little purple vibrator against my clit till I almost came, then I stopped, I forgot how good the joys of masturbation were,” Romans’s shoulders rose and fell in a labored breath. “Bet you’d have loved it if I called you right then. You’d have all kinds of things to tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Roman’s cock throbbed as she continued to describe exactly what she had done while thinking about him. He could feel her warm breath on his neck and her hand moving up and down his length in soft almost touches.

“Put your hands on it.”

“Put my hands on what, Roman? Where do you want me to touch you?”

He growled and leaned his head back against her shoulder. “Kitten… put your hands on my cock.”

He bit back a groan as her fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him firmly. He watched in silent fascination as she rubbed the tip of his cock against her thumb, spreading the pre-cum that had leaked out. She was teasing him, and he loved every second of it.

“Fuck…”

“Do you like that?”

Roman nodded, his eyes glued to the sight of her hand working his cock. He couldn’t help but imagine how good it would feel to be inside her right now.

“Tell me,” She pressed, stroking him a little faster now, feeling the hesitation in how his body stiffened up briefly, an admission of desire on his part seemed on par with him begging and that wasn’t what she wanted. “Tell me you love what I’m doing to you.”

He relaxed into her and growled out, “I love it.” May as well let the lady know she was doing alright.

She chuckled softly and squeezed him tighter, rewarding what she knew to be a difficult thing to say. But just when he thought he couldn’t take any more of her teasing, she suddenly stopped. He let out a frustrated growl and looked back at her over his shoulder.

She felt him jerk with the loss but a gentle ‘shh’ from her settled him back down. She pulled her head away from his and he could hear the wet sound of her sucking on her fingers and an accompanying soft moan. Her saliva-slicked hand against his lips pulled his attention

"Lick,"

Without hesitation, Roman took her hand and ran his flattened tongue across her palm, flicking at her fingertips as if trying to communicate all of the other things his mouth was capable of.

When she was satisfied with the wetness on her hand, her fingers danced down his chest inch by inch. She swirled her thumb around the tip of his cock, rubbing against his slit. Then, finally, her fingers wrapped around his shaft and began to slide along easily with their combined saliva acting as a lubricant. Every movement sent waves of pleasure through Roman's body, making him crave more of her touch and he groaned.

She chuckled and leaned in to press a kiss against his neck. Her fingers slid down his length before circling back up to the head and repeating the motion. Each time she reached the tip, she would pause for a moment and give it a gentle squeeze before starting again.

The video continued to play, his hips lulled forward with each gentle stroke she gave his cock, the video was not as interesting as it had been in the past, hell, he wasn’t even watching it anymore.

He was far too preoccupied with the present; standing in Belladonna's office in the middle of the day, his pants undone, his hard cock in her hands, the sounds of her moans and heavy breathing on the video provided a perfect soundtrack to their act. One hand held his phone the other clutched the desk, he went back and forth from watching the video to his head rolling back against her shoulder, eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

“You’re not watching, I want you to watch me come while I rub your cock.”

Fuck. He didn’t give a shit about the video anymore, he was ready to throw the phone across the room but each time he looked away or closed his eyes she directed his attention back to it. Which, he had to admit was pretty fucking sexy.

“You know how long it had been since I had my pussy touched?”

Fuck. He didn’t think his dick could get any harder. Seemed his Angel liked dirty talk. His ability to answer her questions with in-depth answers was waning as her grip tightened and she stroked him faster.

“How long?”

He wasn't sure if she was honestly expecting an answer because Roman's mind couldn't focus enough to do the math. Any measure of time would be criminal to have a woman like Belladonna in your bed or life and not take full advantage of that. Months? He had no idea, at worst, he expected her to say something mildly offensive like; six months. He wasn’t prepared for the reality.

“A year.”

His eyes snapped open and the wheels turning in his head screeched to a halt. She’d had a boyfriend for at least six of those twelve months. What kind of idiot didn’t touch this fucking goddess of a woman for six months? Roman had many questions as to precisely how such a thing was even a possibility, but wording them was a bit more difficult.

The revelation of Belladonna having had a boyfriend who hadn’t touched her in a full fucking calendar year was practically a war crime. “What kind of fucking idiot…”

“He didn’t know how to touch me anymore, couldn’t give me what I needed,”

Roman closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of her touch before opening them again to watch the video.

“You knew exactly what I needed, didn’t you?”

His hand wasn't quite shaking, but it trembled slightly as he looked back at the video.

The combined footage of the two of them against that wall, the way her head lulled back as he kissed her neck and brought her closer to that first orgasm, coupled with the sight of her hands wrapped around his cock, stroking him faster-sent sparks of pleasure through him every time she added a new twist of turn to her movements.

Her other hand delved into his pants, expertly massaging his balls with a teasing touch. The video continued to play, filling the room with sounds of their passionate encounter. Her breath was hot on his neck as she whispered seductive words in his ear. The combination of visual and physical stimulation was almost overwhelming overwhelming. Fuck, she’d be the first woman since he was a teenager to get him to cum so quickly from a fucking hand job.

“Roman… I wanted you to fuck me there. I was so wet, it would have been so easy to slip this,” She all but growled that response, her teeth seizing his ear, she gave his cock an exceptionally hard squeeze, “Into my pussy.”

The video was reaching its climax, marked by Belladonna's breathy moans. He remembered the last time she had come for him, her breaths were light and airy while her moans reached a feverish pitch. His eyes fluttered shut and he could feel himself getting closer, despite not being a fan of handjobs, Belladonna's touch was as skilled as his own. His primal instincts kicked in, urging him to ravage her right there on the desk, but he knew she wouldn't allow it, besides it would spoil the fun. As he struggled to control his rising desire, sweat beaded across his forehead and his chest heaved with each ragged breath.

Belladonna looked down at the video recognizing the sounds of her own impending orgasm, remembering the feeling of it crashing over her.

“Roman, watch the video, you’re about to make me come. Watch it.”

Roman huffed out a breath and he looked down at the phone enjoying the additional view of her hand squeezing his cock, precum leaking from his slit, her thumb swirling it around his sensitive head. He breathed shallow breaths as he watched Belladonna in that short, tight red dress throw her head back against the wall. He remembered how her hips rolled against his hand and how she soaked his hand, each time she twitched as his thumb slid over her silky clit. Fuck. He should have dragged her out into that filthy alley and fucked her against the wall.

“Kitten… Not that I’m not enjoying this, but these pants are Armani…” His breath was heavy and his voice thick with lust.

“Armani’s a classic. Can’t have you making a mess, can we?”

She pulled her hands out of his pants, slipped off the desk and sank to her knees before he had time to sulk, eagerly pulling the fabric of his slacks down further. She subconsciously rubbed her thighs together as a shudder ran through her just thinking of how good the stretch would be from Romans cock. Gothams criminal underworld and legitimate world probably hated him but God must have loved him at one point to bless him with the piece she was looking at. Long, thick and weeping.

Her tongue swirled around his head, savoring the salty taste of precum like she were enjoying hte first lick of an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. He held his breath and bit down hard on his fist as Belladonna licked his cock slowly from base to tip.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

He slammed his fist onto her desk, sending several papers and pens to roll and scatter to the ground. He threw his head back, growling. “Kitten… Suck it. Suck. My. Cock.”

The perfect wet heat of her mouth and her velvety smooth tongue licking up and down his shaft had

the phone tumbling from his grasp as he clutched at the edge of the desk for support. His hips involuntarily rolled forward and he bumped the back of her throat unable to control himself, and the moan that spilled out belonged to a seasoned porn star.

"Kitten," he gasped, "Fuck. Fuck!"

Two fucking months surviving off jerking off had him ready to cum like some shithead teenager getting his first blow job. Jesus Christ, Roman had stamina for days, he’d built it up over the years and it was all gone out the window in the two months he’d comitted to this charade with Belladonna.

He looked down to take in the sight, her lips wrapped around his cock and her tongue expertly swirling around the tip, he couldn't deny that she knew exactly what she was doing. Each lick, suck, and swirl of her tongue sent electric shocks through his body, making his muscles tense and relax in chaotic harmony.

There was probably some special level of hell created by the feminists for men like him; but some women were just born to suck dick.

She was relentless, her hands working in tandem with her mouth as she stroked and squeezed him, her nails digging into his thighs. Every upstroke hollowed out her cheeks, drawing out a guttural groan from him, while every downstroke saw her relax her throat to take him even deeper.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this turned on before, and it was all because of her.

She increased the pressure of her sucking, using her tongue to tease and flick at the sensitive underside of his shaft. She loved the way he tasted, salty and masculine, and couldn't resist taking him deeper into her throat.

"Shit," Roman groaned again, his grip on her desk tightening they could both hear the metal and glass creaking.

She smirked at his constant string of curses. His cock twitched in her mouth, no wonder he’d been in a shitty mood. If he was this close to coming then he must have been suffering for longer than he let on. She’d had him on the ropes in minutes, and she wasn't about to let him stop now. Oh, no. She was going to suck that bitchy attitude right out of him.

He knew he was close to losing it completely but he didn't want it to end just yet. Not that he had much say in the matter.

"Suck it hard, kitten," he managed to say through gritted teeth. "I want to feel your lips tight around me."

She didn’t need him to tell her how to get him to cum, she’d already decided that he would, right here in her office. She sucked harder and faster, he twitched and throbbed in her mouth, his hands dug into her hair pushing her down. His breathing growing shallower and more erratic, holy fucking shit. Roman's body was humming, his breath coming in ragged gasps, it was good. So fucking good, the woman didn’t have a gag reflex, she just might swallow him whole.

He had been trying to hold back, to maintain control, and his restraint was impressive, she had to give him that, but it was time to make this man moan and cum for her.

With one hand still working his shaft, twisting and stroking in perfect rhythm, she brought her other hand up to massage the heavy weight of his sac. She caressed it in her palm, feeling the firmness and heat of it against her skin. And then, with a daring move, she brushed a finger just barely beyond it in a featherlight touch. And then she did something that nearly sent him over the edge. She moaned around his cock and drew lazy circles on that little sensitive spot behind his sac with her finger. Game over.

The coil snapped.

He couldn’t take it anymore. With a guttural cry he came hard and fast down her throat, no longer caring who heard him, they could fuck all the way off.

His hips jerked as he emptied himself down Belladonna's throat. He heard her choke slightly, electricity shot throughout his body, his eyes rolled back into his head as he dissolved into pleasure and his body shattered with the power of his orgasm.

“Swallow it, fucking hell, swallow it!”

He groaned and buried a hand in her hair, pulling on the black strands, pushing them out of her face, watching as she swallowed every drop of his cum. Milking him through his orgasm, only releasing him when he had nothing left to give.

His body went slack against the desk, his muscles finally relaxing after the intense pleasure. He panted heavily, trying to catch his breath as the aftershocks of his orgasm still pulsed through his body. He looked down at her with half-lidded eyes, watching as she licked him clean, and her lips softly grazed his pulsing cock as a teasing farewell.

The near-painful sting of overstimulation began creeping up on him yet he didn't want her to stop, craving the satisfaction of pushing himself to the limit. Even when the sensations became almost unbearable; reveling in the rush of pain and pleasure. The groans that escaped his lips were now tinged with a hint of discomfort.

He could take it.

That wasn’t her goal, not this time anyway, though she wondered just how far he’d let her go. Seemed Roman liked a little overstimulation. A man of excess, in every sense of the word.

She gently tucked him back into his boxer briefs and zipped his pants up, fastening them and his belt. His cock was still semi-hard, throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Casually grabbing his discarded phone from the desk, she slipped it back into his pocket before tucking his shirt in for him. All the while wearing a look of pure fucking sex on her face.

Belladonna crawled up his body, her slender frame fitting perfectly between his legs as she claimed his lips in a searing kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue, musky and bitter, but it only made him groan even louder.

She pulled back with a wicked grin. “You taste good,” She purred, trailing her fingers lightly over his chest, soothing out the wrinkles she’d put there.

This woman had just blown his mind…and everything else for that matter. He looked up at her with dazed eyes as she stood up and straightened herself out.

His eyes went black, she thought she was walking out of this room as put together as she was?

How cute.

She wasn’t prepared for the ferocity with which Roman pulled her against him and forced his tongue into her mouth, but she wasn’t surprised by it either. After constantly feeling dominated and submissive under his control with the orgasms he’d given her, seeing him lose control was addicting. The power of giving him that orgasm was enough to keep her in good spirits no matter how bad the day got.

“On the desk, right now.”

Roman's voice was laced with a mix of hunger and aggression as he snarled at her, his blazing gaze fixed on her like a predator about to deliver the killing blow. He threw his shoulders back almost angrily, hastily removing his suit jacket in an attempt to rid himself of any barriers between them.

With a bruising grip, he grabbed her hips and spun her around, all but throwing her onto the desk.

“Why? What are you going to do, Roman?” Her heart raced with both fear and excitement as she braced herself against the smooth surface of the desk.

“Kitten,” He growled, leaning down to nip at her earlobe. “I’m going to suck that sweet little cunt of yours until you’re thrashing and begging me to fuck you.”

Her eyes hungrily traced the path of his tongue as it flicked out to moisten his lips. She couldn't help but think of him as the big bad wolf that her mother warned her about and for a moment, she considered giving in to him.

It would have been all too easy to let him throw her down on the desk, strip off her jeans and panties, his rough hands exploring every inch of her body. Her desk suddenly seemed like the perfect place for their passionate encounter.

Damn, did she want him. And she had no doubt that he knew how to use that filthy tongue of his to make her scream with pleasure.

But.

Roman was sppiled enough and as good as she knew it would feel, not letting him have what he wanted was way more fun.

She understood what he meant when he said control was his ultimate thrill. He had made her cum for his pleasure multiple times, yet he remained cool and unaffected. Yeah, she got it now. That was fun.

She smiled a devious smile and looked at the clock on her wall, then with a sad little sympathetic look, she shook her head. Shoving herself off her desk and fixing her slightly tangled hair she straightened her appearance.

“Lunchtime is over Roman, time to get back to work.”

“What?” Denial.

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he didn't like being told no. He wanted her naked on the desk with her legs spread but for one of the few times Roman wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Anger.

It wasn’t real anger in his voice but the outrage was certainly genuine. He began shaking his head, seeing him so frazzled was funny as hell, and the sense of power she felt, despite being pretty desperate to cum herself, well, the two were competing for first place.

“You got your treat.” Belladonna told him smugly.

“Then let me treat you,” Bargaining. “Kitten, let me taste you.” Roman was all but begging but She shook her head, “Kitten… Give me what I want.”

“I did give you what you wanted. Didn’t you enjoy it?” She asked coyly. Roman groaned of course he had, “Didn’t you like how I sucked your cock on my knees?”

Roman groaned, his frustration boiling over into despair, this little temper tantrum of his was fun. “Yes, but I-” Depression.

“No, you got what you wanted. I need to go back to work and you have a party to plan, don't you?”

She smirked, Roman looked down at her and licked his lips, he looked the most pitiful she’d ever seen him.

He didn’t want her so he could fuck her, he wanted to make her come to have that power over her, the power she’d just enjoyed over him. Oh, this was as good as any drug.

Despite the fact that she’d just sucked his dick and swallowed his rather impressive load in her office during her lunch, it still felt like she was denying him somehow. It was precarious the teasing nature of the moment but emboldened by what she’d just done to him she decided to push her luck just a little bit further. What was the worst that could happen? He’d rip her jeans, make her cum and she’d have to live down the fact that her coworkers all would probably hear her orgasmic screams?

How awful.

She cautiously turned to leave, surprised that he was actually going to let her. But as she stopped and turned around, her thoughts shifted. It was always good to reward good behavior, right?

“Maybe just a taste…”

Romans's intense gaze burned and he grabbed her hips, drawing her closer, maybe thinking she was about to give in, but not quite.

With a swift, forceful push, she sent him tumbling back into the chair behind him. His wide eyes and gaping mouth betrayed his shock at her sudden action. Ignoring his stunned expression, she slowly began to unbutton her black fitted jeans, revealing a tantalizing hint of smooth skin and a flash of vibrant red fabric underneath.

Slipping her hand inside, she closed her eyes and let out a deep, shaky breath in anticipation.

The intensity in his gaze sent electric currents coursing through her body. Slowly, she teased herself, tracing circles around her aching clit before plunging two fingers deep inside, and she shuddered visibly. Thinking of how good it would feel if it were Roman doing this to her. And it was exciting knowing he was watching her and he wanted it to be him touching her, to feel the wetness of her folds against his fingertips. She moaned, imagining his fingers joining hers, working together to bring her to the brink of ecstasy.

Roman's muscles tensed as he fought the urge to pounce on her, his body held back only by the iron will of the most stubborn man alive. He gripped the arms of her chair tightly, his hands feeling like stone against the smooth surface.

He had seen and done far dirtier things, but the fact that Belladonna was his, even if only temporarily, kept him where he sat.

She was toying with him. Despite his dislike for other people’s rules, he made it a point of pride to only break them when he couldn't come out on top. And in this game with her, he knew he could win; all he needed was patience beause the payoff would be so worth it.

Her moans were soft and sensual, such sweet little sounds, the sound of a woman in control. His grip on the arms of the chair tightened into a white knuckle hold as he eagerly watched her pleasure herself for him, her hips rolling just enough to make him question his sanity. But just as quickly as it began, she stopped and withdrew her hand, fingers glistening with arousal.

"Don't stop," he growled through gritted teeth, his voice low and gritty with need. His own pleasure was now intertwined with hers, dependent on her release as much as his own.

With trembling hands, she reached for him, beckoning him with her wet fingers. In a flash, Roman was out of the chair and pressing her against the desk, his hands gripping her hips in a primal claim. His need and hunger radiating from every pore. And it only turned her on more.

She licked one of her fingers but was stopped by a nearly feral Roman, seizing her hand.

“That's for me.”

With each of her fingers, he delicately slipped them between his lips, savoring the sweetness of her arousal. His tongue swirled over each digit, drawing out a moan from her lips. Slowly, her fingers slid from his mouth and he planted hungry wet kisses along the way until he reached her neck.

He nipped at her skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in his wake before moving up to her ear.

“Belladonna, let me have you. I’ll make you cry with how good I’ll make you feel. I promise it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever felt before.”

Fuck.

A man like Roman Sionis didn’t make idle threats or promises. If he said he’d make her cry, she believed him.

She was so close to agreeing, caught up in the intense moment and overwhelmed by the incredible desire they shared. This was by far the sexiest thing she had ever done, and having this kind of power over someone as powerful as Roman was both exhilarating and terrifying. But for now, she couldn't give into it completely. Maybe next time. Let Roman sulk, truth be told the man needed a little humbling, and besides, he would come around, as he always did.

Acceptance.

The afternoon light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio cast a warm glow on Belladonna's face as she strolled in, head held high and a subtle smug grin playing at the corners of her lips. She had won this round with Roman, and she knew it. He was right behind her every step of the way back into the studio only whispering a mildly suggestive promise of:

“Enjoy this while you can, Angel.”

As soon as eyes were on them, he put his boyfriend mask back on and as usual, it was so convincing that almost none could tell that it was still, just a mask.

Daisy looked up from where she stood with Zsasz, raising an eyebrow at Belladonna's expression, then finishing up her conversation.

"Alright, I'll pass the news along to Belladonna. Thanks," Daisy hung up the phone with a decisive tap of her thumb. "That was Laura. I’ve got some news that’s gonna make you happy."

Belladonna perked up at the mention of her name, curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell."

"First, our point of contact for your one o’clock isn't returning calls, they’ve been super pissy each time we’ve tried reaching out and Laura is fed up so she wants to handle it on Monday.” Belladonna nodded in approval, she didn’t know about good news because that was just more work later instead of today, but it was far from bad news.

“Second, Adrain Blackwood, just called and rescheduled the meeting to look over the proofs. Apparently, he's off to LA to start his weekend early." Daisy paused, her expression turning thoughtful. “Word is, he was in quite the hurry to get to the airport and I’m guessing it might have had something to do with two of the models from yesterday’s shoot being no-call no-shows…."

"Scandalous news indeed," Belladonna replied sarcastically, her grin widening.

The fashion world was rife with drama at every turn. Belladonna leaned against the nearby table, crossing her arms and watching Daisy as she relayed more news.

"Since those meetings have been canceled and rescheduled, you're actually getting off about four hours early today," Daisy informed her.

"Really?" Belladonna raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. She couldn't help but feel that fortune was truly smiling upon her today.

"Yep! Oh, and Laura splurged on catering from that little restaurant down the street," Daisy added, gesturing towards the food spread across another table. "You should grab something before it's all gone."

Belladonna glanced at the array of dishes but shook her head with a mischievous smile.

"I'm not hungry, actually. Roman got me this really amazing vanilla protein shake, it was so good I might just go for another one later."

Her tone was laced with innuendo, and Roman tensed subtly beside her. Daisy, however, seemed oblivious to the underlying message. Roman's gaze intensified for a fleeting moment, a flare of something primal before he reigned it back in. He slid his arm around Belladonna's waist, pulling her close with proprietary ease. His whisper brushed hot against her ear,

"Be a good girl now."

"I thought I had already been a very good girl." She replied back playfully, batting her dark lashes innocently, lips curving in mischief before she pressed a quick kiss against his.

"Speaking of lunch," Belladonna turned to Daisy, shifting the subject with seamless ease, "what did you and Zsasz end up having?"

It was Zsasz who answered, his voice low and casual, though there was a hint of something mischievous lurking beneath. "Tacos."

The word seemed to linger between them, laced with a hint of private amusement. Daisy's cheeks pinked, and she darted a glance to the side, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, clearly flustered yet striving for nonchalance.

Amidst the soft clatter of keyboards and the murmur of designers debating fabric choices, Daisy looked up again, curiosity alight in her eyes as she changed the subject.

"Are you two going to do anything fun tonight, since it's Friday and Belladonna's getting off early?"

"Actually," Roman interjected, suddenly sounding more like his usual self. Belladonna could practically see him slipping on the charming boyfriend mask once more, and it put her at ease. "I'm glad you asked, Daisy."

Before Belladonna could muster a reply, Roman stepped in, the timbre of his voice smooth as silk, the charming persona snapping into place like a well-oiled mask. "Glad you asked, Daisy."

Belladonna could almost hear the click of the lock as Roman transformed before their eyes. His dark charm was a blanket, soothing yet smothering, and in some twisted way, it comforted her—this familiar dance of shadows they played.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have everyone’s attention for a moment!"

Roman stepped forward with the commanding presence that had silenced more raucous crowds than this. His voice carried across the studio, smooth and assured, pulling heads from their work.

"Thanks to the tireless efforts during fashion week to keep the rest of this city looking as good as we do— trust me, I've seen the chaos and I don’t know how you people do it—" A ripple of laughter broke through the room, quickly hushed as they hung on his every word.

"I'm opening Masquerade Noir tonight, exclusively for you beautiful, hardworking souls. From the top dogs to the ones keeping this place spotless, bring your partners and significant others, you're all invited. Come celebrate, you’ve all certainly earned it.”

A wave of excitement surged through the room, applause breaking out like sudden rain, cheers punctuating the air. Conversations sparked to life, buzzing with anticipation as energy levels soared, the studio now a hive of animated chatter.

“No cover charge, first round's on me."

The announcement crashed over them like a wave, pulling a surge of excited whispers and spontaneous applause from the crowd. People clapped each other on the back, their relief palpable in the charged atmosphere.

Belladonna's heart drummed a fierce rhythm against her ribcage as she watched Roman bask in the adoration, the master of ceremonies reveling in his own generosity. His eyes moved, catching the fluorescent lights with a charming glint as he focused on Daisy.

"And, as for you, Daisy, my dear, it is about time you receive the VIP treatment for all your hard work in keeping my angel on track at work. Consider it done," He purred, his voice smooth like a fine-aged whiskey. "Just show up tonight."

Daisy's eyes sparkled with uncontainable excitement, her hands clasping together as if in silent prayer. "Does this mean I get to pick out Belladonna's outfit?" she asked, her voice riding the crest of anticipation.

Belladonna opened her mouth to assert that she could choose her own outfit, but Roman was quicker. "Absolutely," he cut across her, authoritative and final. "I’m counting on you to make my angel breathtaking," he commanded an edge of challenge lacing his words. “Seriously, I expect my jaw to drop.”

"Got’ya covered, Roman," Daisy beamed, already lost in a reverie of sequins and silk, "but to be fair, making Belladonna look stunning is the easiest task in the world."

Belladonna couldn't help but smile at Daisy's enthusiasm and Roman's playful encouragement. Daisy's eyes gleamed with excitement as she flicked through her mental catalog of fashion ideas. Belladonna couldn't help but be drawn in by her infectious enthusiasm, even as Roman prepared to leave them to their work.

"Alright, I'll leave you two to scheme, Zsasz and I have a party to plan," Roman announced. He approached Belladonna, capturing her hand and pressing a deliberate kiss to her palm.

Then, without missing a beat, he pulled her in for a more public display, a kiss to the lips that seared with possessiveness and drew a chorus of hushed murmurs from their audience.

"Lloyd will pick you up," he promised against her mouth, the echo of danger lingering like smoke. “Don’t keep me waiting angel,”

"Don’t let me down, Daisy.” He added, his farewell almost an afterthought as he turned on his heel, his figure radiating authority and allure in equal measure, Daisy gave an adorable little salute and nodded.

With a final nod, Roman strode away, Zsasz followed suit, the tall, lean man cast a lingering, devious glance back at Daisy, patting his pants pocket suggestively before disappearing through the door, a subtle signal that carried an undercurrent of mischief. They exited the studio, leaving behind a trail of whispered speculations and the electric charge of anticipation.

As the quiet settled over them as things went back to normal albeit with a hint of excitement in the air now. Once the men had exited, Belladonna turned her attention to Daisy, catching her mid-fidget, fingers smoothing down the fabric of her skirt.

“So, tacos huh? Didn’t know there were taco stands around here.” She added teasingly, her brows arching in mock curiosity.

"Vanilla protein shake, huh?" Daisy shot back playfully, expertly deflecting the question.

Both women had a chuckle at the other’s expense.

"Okay, let's talk shop for the rest of the day," Daisy pivoted quickly back to business, her earlier enthusiasm undiminished. But before Belladonna could respond, Daisy launched into a whirlwind of outfit possibilities, each idea more daring than the last. As Daisy's words tumbled forth, Belladonna's mind drifted, tangled in the web of what the night might bring.

Daisy wasted no time in diving headfirst into her plans for the outfits she had in mind for tonight.

"Okay, so hear me out," Daisy began, her words tumbling over one another in her eagerness. "I'm thinking something sleek, maybe a little daring? You look incredible in a deep red or black, but I’ve got an idea, remember that little black open-back number from New Year’s?"

Belladonna listened to Daisy's suggestions, her thoughts a whirlwind of images and colors. She wondered what Roman would think of Daisy's choices, and if they would truly make his jaw drop, as he had requested. A part of her was curious about exploring this new side of herself that Roman seemed so intent on bringing out.

The throb of bass reverberated through Masquerade Noir, a pulsing heartbeat that matched the electric current of excitement crackling in the air. Lights danced across the sea of faces like fireflies at dusk, igniting an atmosphere charged with the heady buzz of fashion week's finale. It was a sensory overload of conversations, with guests revealing in the conclusion of the post-Fashion week chaos their excitement as tangible as the glasses they all toasted with. True to Roman's word, the club had been closed to the general public, accommodating Belladonna's coworkers for an exclusive party, turning away anyone not on the guest list at the door.

People dressed up for a VIP event stomped off, whined, begged and tried to bribe their way in but security had seen to it that the event stayed exclusive.

"Roman knows how to throw one hell of a party" Daisy leaned close to Belladonna, her voice barely audible over the music and chattering crowd.

"Trust me, Daisy, I’m sure we haven’t seen anything yet," Belladonna replied, her gaze scanning the throngs until she found him at the epicenter of it all — Roman Sionis.

As Belladonna and Daisy made their way through the throng, she spotted familiar faces from the fashion industry, her coworkers, designers, assistants, fellow photographers and even the nice receptionist lady, all drawn to the event by Roman's generous invitation. They gushed about what a great time they were having as she passed by, complimenting Roman's club and urging her to 'hang onto him.'

Roman held court at the center of the room, commanding attention without even trying to; effortlessly working the crowd with his charm. And dammit he looked good; his suit was a dark, tailored masterpiece that hugged his frame with calculated precision, his hair a study in deliberate tousle. He lifted his glass in a toast, smile genuine, eyes sparkling with the thrill of conquest as he conversed with a cluster of enraptured guests.

Roman hadn't spotted her yet, so she watched him in his natural habitat, entranced for a moment by the way his charm seemed to weave an invisible net, drawing everyone into his orbit. Then, as if sensing her stare, he turned, and their eyes locked, lighting up with unmistakable desire. The glass paused midway to his lips, his expression shifting from convivial host to something far more intense.

He excused himself with effortless grace, leaving a trail of reluctant farewells in his wake, and made his way towards Belladonna. His approach was smooth, a predator's prowl disguised in the guise of a gentleman. Without a word, he took her hand and spun her into an elegant twirl, his gaze sweeping over her outfit appreciatively. His lips curved into a satisfied smile. The movement sent her black dress swishing around her thighs, its fabric catching the light and casting prismatic reflections.

"Well, how'd I do?" Daisy's voice broke through the momentary spell, eager for acknowledgment.

“Does she look amazing or what?”

Roman's focus remained tethered to Belladonna, his appraisal lingering on every detail of her dress, from the figure-hugging shimmery fabric to the long fitted sleeves, down to the open back secured by a thin delicate chain around the back of her neck. A soft whistle escaped his lips, the sound both appreciative and possessive, but he ultimately grimaced and shook his head, looking disappointed.

“No.” Both women froze unsure of what to say or if they’d even heard him right.

He let them twist for a minute then grinned and pulled Belladonna into his arms.

“Amazing isn’t a strong enough word, nor does it do this creature justice. Stunning. Gorgeous. Sensational. Bewitching. Utterly ravishing.”

Both women smiled from ear to ear, though Daisy rolled her eyes a bit, it was all in good fun and she agreed, amazing wasn’t a good enough descriptor.

"Well done, Daisy. My compliments indeed. Going to have to have you style a look or two for me." he murmured, before turning to Zsasz and clapping him on the shoulder. "Zsasz, why don’t you take Daisy for a drink? Poor thing looks thirsty."

Daisy beamed, a touch of color adorning her cheeks as she followed Zsasz toward the bar, content with the small victory of being noticed.

Left alone with Roman, the world narrow to just the two of them. The club's vibrant hues blurred into insignificance, the din faded, and even the music seemed to hush in deference to the moment. Roman leaned closer, his breath a whisper against her skin as he traced the line of her palm and wrist with his lips, each touch sending tendrils of heat spiraling through her veins.

"Angel, you look positively breathtaking," he breathed, voice threaded with velvet darkness that promised things unsaid.

"Are you ready to give my coworkers something to talk about?" she challenged lightly, eyes gleaming with mischief.

A spark of remembrance flashed in Roman's eyes, reminding him of the performance they were there to stage. His lips curled into a confident smirk, his aura swelling with the assurance of a man who never played a game he didn't win.

"Always,"

The music throbbed through the soles of Belladonna's heels, each beat a pulse that echoed in her chest as she swayed among the sea of gyrating bodies. Laughter bubbled up within her as she talked and danced with her coworkers, the energy of the club was infectious. The clinking of glasses wove an intoxicating tapestry around her, and despite the shadows that often clung to her thoughts, tonight they were banished by the sheer vibrancy of life within Roman's club.

Everything that had brought about this entire night was based on a triple homicide with plenty of menacing, fear, and frustration thrown in but despite that she smiled and laughed more freely than she had in ages, the sound mingling with the music, bright and untethered.

More than once, she caught Roman watching her from across the sidelines following her every move. His smirk was a silent conversation, filled with admiration and something darker, possessive. This was the kind of night she had wanted those months ago when she had first crossed paths with the human personification of the black cat that was Roman Sionis.

She twirled on the dance floor, her dress shimmering under the vibrant lights, arching her back slightly, letting the silver chain at her neck catch the light.

It was thrilling to know that even if she couldn’t see him that he was watching her, feeling his magnetic pull even from across the room.

As the hours slipped by, the weight of her world—the looming investigation, the shadow of her family's legacy, the ever-present threat of Cobblepot—all of it faded into the mosaic of lights and champagne. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe and free.

It was Zsasz who eventually found her, his presence slicing through the revelry, and she felt him before she saw him. She also saw that dark bruise on his neck, and she distinctly remembered his shirt had been buttoned up all the way, funny how it wasn’t now.

"Roman would like to see you in the VIP room,"

Zsasz directed her attention up to the balcony where Roman stood becoming the focal point of the glittering room, he extended a gloved finger, beckoning her to join him.

Belladonna nodded, about to follow when a disturbance at the entrance snagged her attention. Through the thrumming crowd, she spotted the disgruntled figures she knew well, those of Craven and Ramirez, arguing with the coat check attendant. They were like crows at a peacock parade, their sour moods clashing horribly with the festivities. The coat check attendant, flustered and apologetic, seemed to be collapsing under the weight of what had to be subtle threats.

"What're they doing here?" She muttered to Zsasz.

His expression darkened, a frown creasing his brow.

"Get Roman,"

Zsasz disappeared as if obeying an order from Roman himself. With a newfound confidence that could only come from the slight buzz of champagne bubbles coursing through her veins, and knowing that Roman would be right behind her Belladonna marched toward the detectives.

"Detectives, fancy seeing you here," Belladonna greeted coolly, stepping up beside the attendant. "But I don’t think your names are on the guest list."

They turned to face her, their expressions hardening, seemingly holding particular malice toward hers.

"The club’s closed tonight, ‘fraid you’ll have to drink elsewhere."

The two men looked around and their gaze settled back on the woman who was quickly becoming as cocky and arrogant as her scumbag boyfriend, and a greater thorn in their side than first expected.

“Is it? Looks pretty open to me, maybe we’ll just have a drink at the bar.” Craven's lips curled into a sneer, his reply tinged with bitterness. “Looks like quite the party?"

"A private party," Belladonna corrected sharply, feeling Roman's earlier confidence fuel her own.

For a moment, tension coiled tight, the detectives' frustration a tangible thing. But Belladonna held their gazes, her spine straight, daring them to escalate. In the safety of Roman’s club with all these witnesses, she felt untouchable.

High above the revelry, Roman Sionis surveyed his underworld from the VIP balcony, his nightclub pulsed like a living heart, each beat a note in the symphony of night's temptations. And there, slicing through the crowd with purposeful strides, was Belladonna—his Belladonna—but she wasn’t coming to see him. Hell, she wasn’t even going in the right direction, she was headed toward the entrance.

"Boss,"

Zsasz's voice sliced through the cacophony, a blade of urgency that rarely touched the man's composed tone. He leaned into Roman's space, his words a hushed whisper against the backdrop of electronic beats and human merriment.

"We have an issue at the entrance."

His gaze fell on the cloud trying to roll in on their fun and he scowled. His features twisted in a mix of fury and frustration. The muscles in his jaw visibly flexed as he gazed out towards the balcony where Belladonna was holding her ground against the detective.

The glass in his hand, a delicate vessel for his aged scotch, responded to the tightening of his grip. A hairline fracture snaked along its side, proof of the dark energy coursing through him. No one trespassed into his club, least of all two detectives who thought they could barge into his carefully curated world uninvited.

Roman barely acknowledged Zsasz with a nod, his attention still locked on Belladonna as she stood between the unwelcome guests and his club. The intensity of his stare never wavered, not even as he registered the information. In his mind's eye, he envisioned the scenario playing out—a chessboard where every piece moved precisely as he dictated.

"Keep an eye on the floor," Roman instructed, his voice low and dangerous, the growl of a beast disturbed. His command was absolute, brooking no argument or delay.

Without another word, he descended from his vantage point, the cracked glass forgotten in his wake. Each step he took towards the confrontation was measured, his presence undulating with silent fury and anticipation. Power emanated from him, an aura visible only to those attuned to the ruthlessness it represented.

The night belonged to Roman Sionis, and he would tolerate no disruptions.

Well, now, that is certainly not the spiciest thing I have written yet but I'll be goddamned if it hasn't been a long time coming. See what I did there? I realized the other day that it's almost been a year since I started writing this story and I cannot believe how far it's come, and I especially can't believe the wonderful support I've gotten from you wonderful people. You guys keep me motivated to keep telling this story so a big thanks to all of you who have liked, commented, reblogged, followed, or ever said a kind word to me. I truly love y'all. As promised, the next chapter or two will be pretty much straight smut. Let me know what y'all think!

@keffirinne @tarrensbookmarks @supernatural-lover @daenerys-skywalker @gilverrwrites @tarrenterror25 @hereticpriest

Stay toxic my friends.

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