odiesdayoff

[odiesdayoff]

Kinktober: Tommy Shelby

Pair: Thomas Shelby x fem!reader

Summary: Your parents can no longer afford the protection of the Peaky Blinders. Tommy can't just let that slide.

Warnings: Boot worship?

this may be unfinished, but the whole point of my kinktober is to finish the wips I've had for so long. Enjoy and lmk if you want more.

Shelves of assorted pill bottles and prescriptions sat behind you. Across the counter, an older woman counted her coins for an extra canister of film and finally slid the sum over to you. Only a few other patrons wandered around the pharmacy. While it was your parent’s business, you found yourself running it more often than they did.

“Enjoy your day, ma’am.�� You watched the old woman walk out of the store. A tall man held open the door for her to leave. He wore the all-too familiar cap of the Peaky Blinders, along with the winter coat style that many of them shared.

You tried to hide your indifference, and slight fear. You stayed out of the way of those men as much as you could, but anyone in Birmingham had at least one encounter a week with them. The man casually walked up to the counter and his eyes met yours. Arthur Shelby, not the worst person to see, but certainly not the best. 

“Mornin’ Darling. Are your parents here?” He wanted to be somewhat charming and intimidating, which definitely worked in his favor. Maybe if you weren’t aware of who he was and his reputation, you wouldn’t feel a familiar chill down your spine. 

You shook your head. “M’sorry, Sir. They went out to the next town over. Is everything okay?” A part of you knew that something was wrong. The Peaky Blinders only came around when it was time to collect their monthly protection fees from every local business. For all that you knew, your parents had never missed a payment. 

He leaned over the counter to get closer to you. “We haven’t received your payment. You do realize if you don’t pay, we can’t promise what’ll happen to this quaint little pharmacy.”

“My dad handles the payments. I didn’t know we were behind.” Business had been extremely slow lately. You could only assume that your parents were out of town to try and get the money they owed to the gang. “Could you give us until the end of the week? At least until they get back? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, you know we’re good on our word.”

Arthur thought for a moment, hopefully considering your words. “Two days. That’s all I can give you.”

You smiled. “Thank you. You’ll get the money and with interest.”

He nodded towards you and put his hat back on his head. “I know you will. You’re a good girl, yeah?” He walked out of the store, leaving an invisible cloud of something menacing in his wake. 

You watched him leave. You’d never really had a direct encounter with one of them before. There was a sense of fear mixed with something you couldn’t really put your finger on. 

~~

You shouldn’t have made promises that you weren’t confident that you could keep. Your parents returned and you thoroughly explained the situation and deal you made with Arthur. They told you that they would take care of it. That you shouldn’t be speaking with any of those men. They made whores out of innocent girls like you. 

By the next Wednesday, you assumed that this whole issue was dealt with and over. You were unboxing new shipments behind the counter and organizing the shelves when your theory was proven extremely wrong. Your parents were fixing the display at the front of the door. They noticed the group of Peaky Blinders before you did.

The front door opened, the bell signaling a new customer. If their angry stances didn’t give who they were away, their hats did. Two of them grabbed your parents and made them face the one with the undercut and a cigarette hanging from his lips. You knew that this was Tommy Shelby, leader of the gang. 

“Y’know we can’t let one person off the hook for a missed payment. Then we won’t be taken seriously, will we?” It was a rhetorical question, everyone knew the answer to that. Your parents keep struggling under the grasp of the men who held them with no success or escape. 

 The customers in the shop quickly fled through the front doors, making sure that they were out of harm's way from the gang and whatever they had planned for your parents. You stayed low to the ground, clutching the box of behind-the-counter medications in front of you.

“Your rates went up. Business isn’t like it used to be. We can’t afford it anymore.” Your father pleaded.

“We’re decent men. We understand the financial burden. We can always take some collateral until business starts booming again.” A new voice, one you remembered to be Arthur's, spoke up. “What about that daughter of yours?”

You perked up at the mention of your existence. “No. She’s out of the question.”

None of the men replied. Suddenly, your father’s grunts of pain followed the sounds of someone hitting him. It kept going. You shut your eyes. Your mother screamed for them to stop.

Ignoring the protests from your own body and brain, you stood up. “Leave him alone!”

Their heads turned to you. It was then that you realized it might’ve been a mistake. “And who might you be, girl? Some kind of hero?” Tommy’s blue eyes pierced into you.

Arthur grinned at the sight of you. “That’s sweet, little Y/n. Their daughter.”

“Y/n, run!” Your father struggled against the men, screaming as loud as he possibly could.

Like a deer in headlights, you stood still. Your brain screamed for you to run, but your body locked into the position you were in. “Y/n, stay.” Tommy commanded you in a mocking way. He almost sauntered over to the counter and let himself through the small gate so that he was right next to you. “Look at that, she knows who she belongs to already.”

“Mr. Shelby, I have money saved up. I can cover the cost. Just please, don’t hurt my parents.” Your voice was slightly over the volume of a whisper. Begging and pleading in front of a man like him was something people near death only got to experience. You hoped it wasn’t at that point.

He clicked his tongue. “I don’t want your money anymore, darling. I need your parents to remember what happens when they cross the Peaky Blinders.” He leaned close to you, enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. It gave you goosebumps. “If you’re good, you might enjoy this a little too much for a punishment.”

His hand trailed to your lower back as he guided you into the storage room. Once he closed the door behind the both of you, the courage to talk returned. “What are you going to do with me?”

He laughed and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in your direction. “Nothing at all.”

You raised a brow. “Nothing?”

“Don’t sound disappointed, love. I may be a criminal, but I’m no monster.” Another puff of smoke. The stinging scent of tobacco invades your senses. He quirks a brow. “Unless that’s what you want.”

You shook your head, a little hesitant. “Of course not. But…why?”

He stifles a laugh at your apparent eagerness. "Fucking me is a privilege, not a punishment." He blows the smoke away yet again.

Taking a step closer to him, you cock your head to the side in curiosity. "And...I haven't earned that privilege?" You couldn't sound more desperate to jump his bones if you tried. If only your parents heard you. How ashamed they must be.

Maybe it was true about the Shelby men. They didn't even try and had women fawning at their feet for a chance to touch them. Or vice versa. You were no exception to this phenomenon. "No, not yet. If you want me so badly, you must prove yourself."

He dropped the cigarette, put it out with his boot, and it singed the floor. It was as if the idea popped in his head right then. "Grind on my boot. Make yourself come."

You looked down to see his boot, the reflection from a somewhat recent shining making you see your pathetic expression looking back at you.

This was necessary if there was any chance of him touching you at all. You fell to your knees and crawled to sit on his boot. "Eyes up here." He called, making you keep eye contact as you started to slowly grind against his shoe, the friction barely stimulating your clit at this point. You weren't sure if coming was even possible this way.

"That's it, wet by boot. Filthy slut." He carefully lifted the tip of his boot against you, pulling a quiet moan from your lips.

You must've looked silly, grinding your core over his boot while your parents were probably getting beaten just in another room. How could he have such an influence on you?

Still, you ground against him, chasing your high on his boot.

[odiesdayoff]

Kinktober: Matthew Joy

Pair: Matthew Joy x fem!reader

Summary: The Essex has taken your ship and its crew. The captain finds out your secret.

Warnings: Dub-con (Virginity loss/Rough/Creampie)

im a little high and horny so happy third post of kinktober <3

The wind was unforgiving, as always. If it weren’t for the leather gloves covering your hands, your skin would’ve been broken by the sheer pull of the ropes that held the sails taut. Your hat nearly flew away. The rest of the crew scrambled around the ship to assess the damage.

From what you could see, the bow had caught fire from the blast and what was a small hole now threatened to sink the entire ship. The attackers, another whaling ship that flew the flag of Great Britain in the front and a black flag in the rear, already had their hooks in the hull of your ship.

Water was already seeping into the lower regions of the ship and it was only a matter of time before you all were submerged underwater. Your captain blew the whistle. The instrument was a precaution just in case of a situation like this one. It only meant one thing: All crew were to meet on the deck and prepare for the inevitable.

Cautiously, you let go of the rope and watched as the sail blew away into the sea. They had warned you of an event like this and dying at sea was only a crazy, yet rational fear until now. You climbed down the pole and stood on the deck with the rest of your crew. 

You couldn’t thank these men enough. They treated you like you were no different than them. Dying next to them would be an honor.

The attacking ship’s crew began to climb onto your ship with large guns in their hands. More advanced than you had ever seen in your lifetime. The man held up his gun, pointed at your captain, and shot. Bits of blood and gore splattered along the deck and on your uniforms. Your crew stayed still.

The other man pointed the gun at the rest of you and pointed to their own ship. Carefully, you followed the man’s instructions and gathered on the deck of the other ship, watching your ship sink along with the remains of your poor captain. 

You knelt in a line, the other ship’s captain standing in front of you all with his arms folded behind his back. “Welcome aboard the Essex. My name is Captain Matthew Joy and you will address me as such. Now, our ship cannot accommodate all of you, prisoner or not.”

He stands in front of the man at the end of the lineup. “Stand.” This was the cook. Even if you never particularly anticipated his meals, he was still a good man and a fine addition to the crew. He saved the end pieces of the loaves of bread for you on the occasion that you had fresh bread.

Captain Joy eyed the cook down. “Strip.” The guns were still aimed at him as he began to unbutton his uniform and drop the clothing until he stood bare in front of the Captain. “What are your skills?”

“Kitchen, sir.”

One by one, you watch your crewmates get undressed and assessed, then thrown off of the ship. You notice his shoes stop in front of you and you slowly rise to your feet. He raised a brow, noticing your features. “Skills?”

“I work the sails.” You interlock your hands together behind your back, trying to be as proper as possible. 

He narrowed his eyes. “Tell the truth.”

You shed your jacket, maintaining eye contact with him. “That is the truth.”

His eyes surveyed you. There was no way something your size would be able to handle the brutal job of maintaining the sails of a ship that size. That position was reserved for men twice your size...not a young boy, in his opinion. "Off with your clothes, then."

The act could only last a few seconds more as you stripped yourself of your outerwear, then shirt and pants, leaving you exposed. Under the outfit, there was reasonable doubt that you were a man. Without it, your breasts perked from the touch of the frigid sea air, and your womanhood couldn't be mistaken for anything else. You kept a cold stare on the captain, waiting to see how fast he would order you off the ship.

"Colour me surprised, love. Quite the beauty was hiding under all of those rags." He smirks, shamelessly checking out your body and reaching out to touch your collarbone. "A sweet thing like you really worked the sails? Or were you keen on more...indoor activities?"

He laughed, along with the crewmates of his ship. Your crew felt less fear for themselves and more for your safety. You knew all too well the dangers of being a woman all alone with men on a ship in the middle of the ocean. They did their best to protect you and treat you just the same.

"Get rid of the rest however you'd like." He took your arm and pulled you down the stairs to the quarters. His was the largest, as he was the captain. Secluded from all of the other men.

He shut the door behind the both of you and led you to sit on the edge of the bed. "They're good men. Good sailors. It would be a waste to kill them."

He pushed some of your hair behind your ear and cooed teasingly. "Don't worry about them, sweet thing. All that matters is that you're alive and you're job won't be with the sails any longer."

"What's my job, then?" A part of you knew already, but it needed to come from his mouth, in his words.

His soft smile had a sinister edge to it. "Serve the crew meals in the galley...and service them when they desire."

There it was. Exactly what you feared when you signed up to join the ship in the first place. Your luck had run out exponentially.

You kept your gaze on the floorboards, seemingly rotting within the ship as he stood on it. "I won't be able to do that as well as you hope."

"Why's that? Any whore can do the job just fine." He reached for the trousers of his uniform. You could already see the way his erection strained against the fabric. Men at sea typically only had their hands to work with unless they fancied other men.

You shook your head. "I'm not a whore. I'm a sailor. And I've...never done anything like that."

He quirked a brow, grinning now. It didn't stop him from freeing his cock. How was that going to fit? "Not only do I get to fuck a pretty girl, but I get to claim her as my own. I can't promise I'll be gentle when I deflower you."

You could barely react to his words before he pushed you back to lay on the bed, already straddling your hips and positioning his leaking tip in front of your entrance. He was far from unattractive and in any other circumstance, you might consider marrying a man that had his looks and confidence.

Now, you braced yourself as your walls stretched to accommodate his length. His hot breath burned against your neck as he pushed further inside and groaned in pure bliss. "Been months since I had pussy. Never had it this tight."

It wasn't supposed to hurt like this, right? If it felt so good for the man, then why did it feel like he was splitting you open just by being inside of you? Maybe the pleasure would come later, though it didn't feel like that later was anywhere close. You could feel every vein and ridge of his cock dragging against your walls, antagonizingly slow to make sure your pain was prolonged. Or, that's how it seemed.

"Fuck. Consider your cherry popped. Now, it's my turn." He pushed his entire weight on top of you and started to thrust faster as if he had a time limit. His tip repeatedly tapped so deeply into you, that what you think might've been an orgasm was coiling within your stomach.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you weren't sure if they were of pain or pleasure. He didn't bother to check if you were enjoying it, only focusing on getting as deep as he possibly could.

When the thrusts became more...quick, that's when you felt it. A warm sensation deep inside of you. He sucked on your neck and moaned, softly thrusting again to push his seed back into you. "Forget what I said about being the ship's whore. You're only mine now."

[odiesdayoff]

Kinktober: Jonathan Crane

Pair: Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary: Gotham's more of a nightmare than it used to be and Crane has his sights on you.

Warnings: On the tin. NON-CON (Kidnapping/Restraints/Leashes/Collars/Breeding)

You poured a fresh whiskey into a short glass over ice cubes, then pushed it to another faceless man sitting at the bar. Lights were flashing and the music was a bit too loud for your liking, but money was money and the protection that the job gave you was probably the only reason you were still a free woman.

The knock on the counter brought you from your serving-induced stupor. Oswald Cobblepot. “Hey, sweetheart. Need you to work a double tonight.” He pushed aside the man drinking the whiskey.

“Tonight? Isn’t Stacey scheduled after me?” You washed the shaker cup and placed it upside down to dry. As much as you needed the money, you’d much rather get home before it got too dark and monumentally more dangerous for you.

He sighed, reaching over the counter and pouring some of the whiskey into a free glass. “Got collared. Don’t know when or if she’ll come back.” Of course, the number one reason for the girls leaving the job. Two weeks ago, the bar staff and performers totaled 50. It was now 27.

You instinctively pursed your lips and took a deep breath. The thought of what she might’ve been going through was bad enough, but the reality was the truly horrifying part. Your freedom was slightly stealth, but mostly luck. “By who?”

“Firefly. I should have you all escorted home before these schlemiels steal all my girls.” He finished his drink and slammed it against the counter. “Eh, too much money.”

A few more men sat around the bar while he walked away. Of course he was not one to waste his money on something that actually protects his staff. Too busy spending it on drops and whatever other drugs that he can sell to his customers.  Asshole. 

Acts as if he doesn’t have a girl collared in his house. You’ve seen her once or twice. She’s pretty, but it was clear that he did a number on her before parading her around the club. “What the hell is wrong with this city?” One of the men finally asked as you handed him a dry martini.

“What isn’t wrong with it?” You grumbled under your breath, starting on the Manhattan for another one of the men. 

They laugh, a bit too loud. Clearly, this wasn’t the first bar they’d been to tonight. “No, seriously. Got mugged twice and we’ve only been here two days. All the women are on fucking leashes. Or people fucking out in the open.” He took a long sip of his drink, looking around at the debauchery still happening around the bar.

“You know how most cities have a hero? Ours was killed. Chaos ensued.” You mixed the drink, shaking the bottle. “Basically, they made a whole set of rules that give absolute control to those who fought Batman. Territory, people…you get it.”

The day that the Batman died was something you’d never forget, as if it was your life stopped at that moment the news broadcast was shown on every screen in the city. Nobody thought the Joker would be able to do it. Both Batman and the Joker were natural enemies, bound never to end their feud. 

Some say it was a mistake. But the second it happened, he had his plan to create chaos and eventually, everyone else followed suit. Just as his (somewhat) partner in crime, Harley Quinn, was planning on leaving him, he locked her onto him. With the same collar she used for her pets.

He let all of the inmates of Arkham escape, taught them the new rules, and everybody else had to play catch up or try to get out of the city as fast as possible. Especially after the mayor fell. Bella Re��l was ambushed in her office by the newly escaped Riddler. Nobody has seen her since.

It felt like the shift lasted forever, but you appreciated the extra tips from the more drunken customers wishing they could fuck you and knowing they couldn’t. It was raining when you stepped outside, through the back where nobody could see. You threw your hood over your head and ran in the direction of your apartment.

It was well known that it was more dangerous than normal for a woman to be out at night. More likely to get caught by a man with a little bit of power under his belt. You were cutting through the alley right outside of your apartment when someone grabbed your arm.

The man yanked you back and pushed you against the wall. “Well, well, well. It’s been a while since I saw a free woman that was this gorgeous.”

His face was familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Your panicked state overrides facial recognition. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I have nothing to give you.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if you told a joke. “Let me tell you a bit about me. I fought the Bat more than you can imagine, which gives me more than enough of a right to pin you down and take what I want." His hand cupped your cheek and a finger glided across your quivering lips. "I pride myself as a man with class, so I'm going to take you home, give you a nice meal, then I'm going to shove my dick in you."

You fought against him, though he barely showed his struggle to keep you still. "You're really going to make me do this?" He rolled his eyes and reached into the briefcase-like bag around his shoulder. He pulled out a small leather collar, swiftly bringing it over your head and slipping it onto your neck.

The tightness of the collar restricted your breathing enough to stop you from struggling to save air and he wrapped the connecting leather strap around his hand. "There you go. Now you're on a leash. Happy?"

You spat at him. "No! I'm not fucking happy!"

He tugged at the leash, effectively pulling you to the black car that waited on the curb right outside of the alleyway's opening. You wondered how long he'd been preparing for this moment. How long he knew who you were.

~~

In the defense of Jonathan Crane, he did try to give you a nice dinner. The man cuffed you to a chair and made small talk as he cooked, then fed the meal to you. Of course, you refused it. Nothing could get you to accept this life, no matter how legal it was now.

His rough hands dragged you from the chair to the neatly made bed and he pushed you on your stomach, climbing on top of you.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, slut." He whispered hoarsely into your ear as he pulled the clothes from your body. The fabric of his pants dragged against your skin and the outline of his erection was unavoidable. "Get on your fucking hands and knees."

You had no choice but to obey, afraid of whatever he could do. Other than the obvious. He teased your opening with his leaking tip, then pushed into you without warning. His groans of pleasure drowned out the whimpers and cries coming from you.

He wasted no time in fucking you, taking what he wanted as he called it. His thrusts were hard and full of need. When was the last time he'd done something like this with someone else? Had he ever?

He wrapped the leash around his hand and pulled so that your head was up and facing the headboard. You choked, not that he showed any concern. "Bet you're used to this, huh? Leaving that club every day?"

He slapped your ass with his free hand. "Those days are over. You'll be my little housewife. Cook my meals. Wet my cock. Have my children."

He sped up, desperately chasing his high. He whimpered and laid his chest against your back, pushing himself as far as he possibly could. That's when you felt it. That overwhelming warmth inside of you that you knew could only be one thing.

"Don't think it's over now. Still have to make sure it sticks."

[odiesdayoff]

kinktober!

for reference to anyone following my kinktober postings: ty for the love for the first fic! it means a lot to me!!

And I'll only be doing ten fics for kinktober, posting them on Tuesdays and Thursdays!

Some Cillian, some Paul Dano

Happy kinktober!

[odiesdayoff]

Kinktober: Tommy Shelby

Pair: Modern!Thomas Shelby x fem!reader

Summary: Your roommate's father doesn't approve of your vape.

Warning: Age Gap/Best friend's father/Dubious Consent/Tom makes reader get high

“I found it!” You yelled from across the dorm, your head poking out from behind the bed. Still partially stuck between the bed and the wall, you held up your strawberry-flavored weed pen to show Charlie. The amount of anxiety that losing it gave you was enough to realize that you and your roommate may have gotten a bit too reliant on the drug. 

You brought the pen to your mouth, but Charlie slapped it from your hand. “Dude, my family will be here in minutes! It can’t smell like Ganja Gooch in here.”

“What? You don’t have weed up in Birmingham?” You laughed. From what you knew about his family, they weren’t the most…clean cut people in the world. Why would they be upset over something so trivial as a weed pen? In your two years of being best friends with Charlie, you’d never met his parents. Only his Aunt Ada, who was sweet.

He placed the pen on your dresser. “Shut up. When are you parents coming?”

Most of the already small dorm room was covered in boxes, trash bags, and miscellaneous crap. “At 5. You’ll probably be moved out by then.” You pocketed the pen and began folding your bedding to shove it into the box it originally came in.

His phone started to ring. “That’s my mum. Are you sure you can’t go to Mary’s dorm?” You still weren’t sure of the reason that he was so cagey about his family. He had been to your house over Spring break this year and you were still in the dark.

“I have to finish packing.” It wasn’t a lie, you had put off packing until the final day. Studying for exams and final papers took up all of your free time. That and Mario Kart.

You knew that Charlie came from a rich family, but this was a new level that you haven't seen before. His father dressed like he was from the 1920’s or something, with a full suit and peaky cap. You could smell the cigarette smoke infused into his clothes before you could see him. 

His mother (or maybe step-mother, you weren’t sure) wore an elegant dress that was both fashionable and functional. Her deep brown hair was curled and pinned back. Her eyes lit up at the sight of you. “You must be the infamous Y/n!” She pulled you into a hug and you could smell her perfume mixed with a bit of her husband’s smoke. “You’re even prettier in person than in those silly Instagram photos Charlie posts.”

“It’s really lovely to meet you, Mrs. Shelby. I can’t believe we’ve been friends for so long and have never met before.” Charlie was still holding the door open for his little sister, Ruby, and didn’t hear your diss. 

She waved you off. “Call me Lizzie, dear. This is Thomas.” She pulled the sleeve of her husband and made him face you. He barely looked at you, though you did notice the way his eyes lowered down your body.

“I still don’t see why we had to be the ones to move Charles out, Lizzie. We can pay people for that.” Lizzie rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he understand sentimentality and actually being present in the pivotal moments of his only son’s life? He only had one more year of university left. It was strange to hear him be called Charles. It felt all too fancy for someone so…normal. I suppose his father wouldn’t say the same. 

Lizzie scoffed. “Just start moving boxes, Tom.” She turned back to you. “So, where are you from?”

You decided to ignore Thomas. “Norwich.”

Charlie handed a smaller bag to Ruby while Thomas took a storage container. He pulled out his ID and opened the front door for the three of them. “The elevator’s already broken, so it’s lucky we’re on the first floor.”

~~

Having Charlie’s side of the room empty was a surreal sight. So many memories that were made in the room were basically erased at this point.

You took the pen and opened a window, taking it in and blowing it out the window. “And here I thought you were little miss sunshine.” You began to cough and gasp for fresh air at the sudden voice. Turning around, you locked eyes not with Charlie, but with his father.

Smoke billowed from your mouth. “Mr. Shelby- I…thought you all had left.” You rasped out the words, reaching for a water bottle to try and soothe your throat. He smirked at your attempt to hide your distress.

“My wife left her purse. I see you didn’t waste a second with your…” He snatched the pen from your hand. “What is this? Can’t you get real weed here?”

“It’s easier to manage. And rechargeable.” He examined the pen, shaking his head. He brought the pen to his lips and took a hit. The smoke left his mouth in a way you’d never seen before. It was skilled, he didn’t even cough. It formed into rings that blew in your direction. 

“Can barely taste it. How much weed is actually in this?” He examines the pen, and then his glance shifts towards you. "I bet you can barely take it, yeah?"

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not that intolerant. I've been high before."

He tosses it to you. "Suck in until it blinks."

It was a bit of a surprise that he knew what a blinker even was. He seemed like the type to exclusively use one brand of cigarettes since he was a teenager. As if he'd step foot in one of the fancy dispensaries you and Charlie were used to.

You maintained eye contact as you put the tip of the pen in your mouth and began to suck the flavored smoke from it. It took only a few seconds for it to blink and you could finally exhale. It was as if your lungs had never touched oxygen before. They screamed at you to cough, but you didn't want to prove him right.

"Another." He ordered, taking a small step closer. You weren't sure if he was getting taller or if it was just a mix of weed and perspective.

The vape was already hot as you rested it on your bottom lip. You breathed in again, holding it until it blinked. The taste was much worse and the sting against your throat felt like fresh salt in an open wound.

You coughed, only once. Typically, it took you much longer to feel the instant effects of the drug, but you could feel your hands already trembling under the eye of Thomas.

He nodded, finally close enough to put his calloused hands on the soft skin of your waist. "Again."

Something about his gaze and the absolution in his voice made it impossible for you to deny what he wanted. Your shaky hand held the vape up and you sucked.

His slightly chapped lips pressed against yours once you took the pen from your mouth. All of the smoke leaving your system funneled into his. You couldn't deny the way his contact made your knees weak and thighs squeeze together.

The weed was taking effect rapidly. Your head was spinning as you tried to focus on him. His lips traveled from your lips to your cheek to your ear. "Tell me, have you and Charles ever had sex?"

The words briefly brought you out of the weed and lust-driven stupor. You shook your head. "No...we're just friends."

He laughed. "Are you gay?" You denied. "Is he gay?" Again, you denied. "How has he not ever taken the chance to bed you?"

You could barely answer. His hand trailed up your leg and under your thin dress. Nothing could hide the heat that emanated from between your legs.

His free hand took the vape from yours and pressed it against your lips. Instinctively, you took a deep breath in, letting the smoke fill your aching lungs once again. "Is it because you're a virgin? Or maybe...you have an affinity for older men?"

You nearly stopped feeling the warmth of his hand on your leg until he pressed his fingers against the now-damp fabric of your panties. It was humiliating how much he turned you on...and how much the feeling of being humiliated by him turned you on even more.

"Mr. Shelby.." You coughed out, your throat sore and stinging with each syllable. As much as you wanted to scream at him to actually touch you, it would be too much to say at once.

Thomas Shelby wasn't a mind-reader, but he could read when a woman wanted him. He slipped his fingers underneath your panties and pushed into you. Your slick cunt welcomed him in without resistance at all. "Want me to stop? Leaving you high and horny while I go back to my wife and children?"

You shook your head no, silently pleading for him to do something over then idly have his fingers knuckle-deep within you. He curled his fingers, hitting the spots that your own hand couldn't reach if you tried, and moaned into his shoulder.

"Take another and I'll keep giving you what you want." Dazed, you sucked more from the pen. It was far more than you were used to, especially in such a short amount of time. Your legs threatened to give out, for multiple reasons.

"Please..." Your fingers lightly caressed his pants. It had been a while since you had anyone touch you, let alone someone like him.

He got the idea, pulled his hand away, and quickly freed himself from the confines of his trousers. There were condoms somewhere in this room, hidden in one of the boxes so your family wouldn't see that you even thought about something as evil as sex.

There wasn't time to look. You needed him now and it was only a matter of time before Charlie and the rest of them got suspicious. You pulled your panties down to your ankles and allowed his knee to settle between your trembling legs.

His lips trailed against your ear. "I'm going to show you a real high."

[odiesdayoff]

there's this one wicked whims animation...i don't know who made it but i have it in the game and I need a fic of it with Tommy Shelby 🙏

it's on the standing punching bag thingy and it's oral (m. receiving). reader kneels facing away from the bag and basically tommy pushes their head further on his cock using the bag against their head instead of actually touching them

i need it

[odiesdayoff]

Fly Boy

Pair: Neil Lewis x Fem!Reader

Summary: Frustrated with Neil's rule about the employees being required to cosplay, you decide to mess with him.

Warnings: SMUT; 18+; Neil is a bit pathetic and mean at points; he can't find the clit but has a big dick lol

“Surely, you’ve seen something by Milos Foreman.” Neil held a stack of VHS that needed to be reset. It was mostly older stuff, you saw the worn copy of Persona in the middle. He and Jonathan had a heated argument (or discussion, as they referred to it) about why the customer would stop watching in the middle, but you understood. Only the men deeply involved in film could possibly enjoy something so bad. Too trained to think black and white meant that it was a good movie automatically. 

You shrugged, continuing to put the tapes on the shelf. “Never heard of him.” Paisa slid in right next to the edge of the shelf and The Red and The White. Only this place would have a section dedicated to foreign language war films. Like it would kill him to buy a copy of Shrek 2.

He nearly dropped the tapes on the counter and looked at you as if you just admitted to a horrible crime. “How have you never heard of him? One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? The Fireman’s Ball? ” Just because you heard of the movie didn’t mean you knew every production assistant’s name. You watched movies for fun. They just weren’t your taste.

“More like The Fireman’s Balls.” You stifled a laugh at your own joke, though Neil was far from impressed or amused at all.

He put a tape into the rewinder and shook his head. “We’re gonna fix that. This Saturday.”

“Can’t do this Saturday.” He continued his quite bewildered stare at you. Of course, he forgot. “It’s your little Star Wars marathon night.”

He nodded with realization. “Right.”

His slight frown made you feel guilty, as it always did. Somehow, the grown man always managed to use puppy eyes on you successfully. “We’ll watch them. Soon.” He continued to rewind the tapes with a smile.

Star Wars wasn’t exactly your cup of tea. Boring was the descriptive term that rested on the tip of your tongue whenever the topic was brought up in the store. Not that you would ever admit that out loud. All three of them gave you a college-level lecture when you suggested that the Chanel boots-wearing Luke might have been into men. God forbid you had fun.

The costumes for women were slim, at least they were on Amazon. Your options were Padme, Leia, Rey, or some random obscure character from a show or cartoon you’d never heard of. A part of you wanted to make felt ears and be Jar Jar Binks just to piss them off.

There was still a way to mess with them, Neil especially. Hopefully, the extra you paid for overnight shipping was worth it and actually pulled through. 

By Saturday, you walked into Gumshoe with a large coat covering your costume. You braided your hair to the best of your abilities, trying to get as accurate as possible. The fabric of the costume was uncomfortable, digging into your skin and surely leaving marks you’d feel for days after.

Nerds crowded the small store, much more than usual. It was events like this one that made you reconsider your employment and how much you were a fan of movies in general. A Darth Vader brushed by you with a red solo cup of beer. Not many women were there, other than a few of the regulars dressed as Padme and Ahsoka. 

Neil, in Han Solo’s iconic white shirt with the navy blue vest (the version from Return of the Jedi ), waved you over to join the couch with him, Jonathan, and Lucian. A New Hope was in the VHS player and ready to start, the original cut before George Lucas made revisions of course. He was so proud of winning the Etsy bid for the original set of VHS tapes. 

You dropped the coat as you walked over and draped it on the front counter, locking eyes with the group as the costume was finally revealed: The bikini Leia wears at the beginning of Return of the Jedi. A part of you was anxious about the amount of skin you were showing and the people who were staring daggers into you. All you cared about was Neil’s reaction.

None of them said a word as you sat down on the couch next to them. “So, when’s this movie going to start?” Three pairs of eyes just looked back at you, more specifically, how your breasts bounced when you sat down and the thin straps that held the cloth that covered your panties. All you wore to work were t-shirts and jeans, along with the occasional tank top that left much to the imagination. You leaned over to the table and took the can of beer that Neil had been drinking, bringing it to your lips.

Neil cleared his throat. “Um, right now, actually.” He called everyone to the couches and rug, made a quick introduction to the night and thanked everyone for coming, then started the movie. You couldn’t help but notice the way his hands were clasped in front of his crotch and the bulge he was trying to hide.

Another person, dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi in the third film, sat next to you. Only fifteen minutes in, he did the classic “fake yawn” in order to wrap his arm around your shoulders. He wasn’t slick, but as much as you noticed the attempt at flirting, Neil did as well. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning his attention back to the movie and trying not to make his glances towards you too obvious.

The can of beer didn’t last you too long, only until they were in the trash compactor. There was no way that you would get through the rest of these movies sober and a half-can of beer wasn’t going to get you there.

You got up and walked to the storage closet, where you knew that a full case of beer was hidden. Finally alone, you pulled out a can and opened it, allowing the lukewarm liquid to coat your throat. The beer was still a bit disgusting, but it got the job done. “What the fuck are you wearing, Princess?”

Neil stood in the doorway, closing the door behind him. You shrugged, even though you knew that he knew you were getting to him on purpose. “I’m participating. You never let me live down the Lord of the Rings night when I wore my regular clothes.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t mean to whore yourself out and wear practically nothing.”

“It’s accurate, not whoring out. Are you mad that I’m wearing it or that people are looking at me in it? What is it, Fly-boy?” You crossed your arms, unknowingly pushing your breasts together and creating more cleavage than there already was.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Y/n.” His hands cupped your cheeks and he pulled you in, crashing his lips against yours. It was a side of him you’d never seen before, his eyes were dark and only focused on you. Your back hit the wall and Neil’s hands traveled lower, pulling the string that held the bra together and ripping fabric until it fell to the floor.

“Now, beg me to fuck you like the whore that you’ve been parading yourself as all night. I know that’s what you want.” His hot breath burned your neck as he trailed his lips from your mouth to your collarbone. His words cut deeply, like nothing you’d expect to come from his mouth. Who knew sweet Neil could turn into this?

You nodded. “Please, Neil. I need you to fuck me. I’ve wanted you for so long.” He moaned against your skin as you spoke and hastily unbuckled his belt, freeing his aching cock. You untied the bottom of your costume and dropped your panties with it.

His chest pressed against yours and you winced as the cold wall came in contact with your bare skin. He wasted no time in lining his tip with your entrance and pushing in, softly moaning into your neck. “You’re so warm. You’re not a whore, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Fuck.”

So, he really was all talk. Once he felt the touch of a woman, he became a needy mess. “It’s okay, Neil. Just, ah!” It was now that you finally understood the saying about nerdy boys and the size of their cocks, feeling him hit spots you didn’t know existed. You only hoped that the ongoing battle within whatever galaxy or solar system was louder than both of your unholy gasps and moans.

You would never hear the end of it if Jonathan or Lucian heard. They gave you enough shit for Neil’s unbelievably obvious crush on you that you chose to avoid on behalf of keeping peace in the store. Clearly, you had failed miserably in that aspect. Look at Neil’s cute face.

Not to mention his cock. The same cock currently driving into you and knocking the wind from your lungs. Neil fucked into you like he was on a time limit, chasing his climax and nearly sinking his teeth into your bare shoulder. “Your tits are mesmerizing.” You held back a laugh at his comment, reaching down to your clit before he slapped your hand away. “No, let me do it.”

A part of you wanted to deny it, but you let him. He blindly reached down and rubbed your labia, thinking he was on the money. You squeezed your eyes shut and gently guided his fingers to your clit, jolting when he found the right spot. “Oh, Neil…so good.”

His pace slowed and became less controlled. “I’m so close, sweetheart.”

“You’ll pull out, right?” He bit his lip and nodded. By the way he held tightly onto your hips and breathed in your scent, you knew that he barely heard your request.

The suspicion turned into fact when he stilled, pushing himself further into you as he came. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll pay for the pill. You’re just…so warm.”

You nodded along with him, not caring as you crossed the finish line as well. As you both came down from the high, the realization kicked in. He tucked himself in his boxers and buttoned his pants. You picked up your shirt, well, bra. The straps were broken. “Shit, Neil. I can’t wear this.”

He furrowed his brows, then rummaged through one of the boxes in the corner of the room. A large, baby blue t-shirt with the Gumshoe logo on it was in his hands. “Put this on. Say you got too cold.”

You caught the shirt and put it on, watching the fabric fall to your knees. “Great.”

“You still look sexy.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked you up and down.

You rolled your eyes. “What does Leia say to Han Solo? Nerf-Herder? You’re that."

[odiesdayoff]

I really love your Jackson rippner fic!!!

As someone who is still battling depression, I really want to see Jackson deal with readers depression, like reader not eating or showering, become numb, being devoid of emotions, stuff like that

i appreciate it!! i'll definitely try to work that into a second part! because real af

[odiesdayoff]

your jackson fic was so so good!! would you ever write a part 2 with that pairing

teehee 🤭 perhaps i may

[odiesdayoff]

Boss's Orders

pair: Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

summary: Jackson Rippner was hired to keep you alive, no matter the cost.

warnings/tags: suicide attempt; insensitive conversations about mental health/suicide; implied age gap; smut; choking; showering together; Jackson and reader dislike each other; Jackson loves Lisa

also on AO3 <3

If you're struggling and happen to see this note: you're not alone and it will get better <3

The hotline that I found in the U.S. is 988.

It was undeniably cliche, you were well aware of that. Standing on a ledge on a Saturday night in the so-called prime of your life. It wasn’t your fault that the classic techniques worked so well. All you needed was an easy out and as you peered down at the concrete only a few stories below, it was the right choice.

The wind was unforgiving, nearly pushing you off before you had fully decided. The people down below looked like ants. You almost felt sorry for them for having to witness your body hitting the pavement. It had to be done.

So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the creaking of the door to the stairwell and footsteps made by well-polished shoes. The man made his presence known by clearing his throat. You turned to face him, though the tips of your sneakers remained off of the ledge. “If you’re waiting for some speech about how your life is worth it, don’t bother. Get off the fucking ledge.”

His lack of sensitivity or empathy whatsoever caught you off guard. He curled his index finger for you to come closer as if you were a child…or a dog. “And if I don’t?”

He sighed. Was this too much of an inconvenience for him? “I don’t get paid, which will piss me off. Now, get down.” He pointed to the ground in front of him. Did he really think he could just command you like that?

Ignoring him, you looked at the sidewalk again. Once you stepped off, there was nothing he could do. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and took a step forward. You expected to fall, but the feeling never came. The man grabbed hold of your arm and roughly yanked you back on the rooftop. He allowed you to gently fall to the ground before letting you go.

He looked down at you, rolling up his sleeves. “You really can’t listen, can you? What happened? You didn’t get the concert tickets you wanted? Your crush doesn't like you back?” He feigned pity. The condescending questions felt rhetorical until he kicked your side and raised his brows, waiting for an answer.

“I’m depressed.” You coughed out. It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was the primary reason. The lack of control in your life just fed into your depression in a vicious cycle.

He laughed. “Depressed? Oh, please. What do you have to be depressed about?”

You knit your brows, looking up at him and deciding to ignore the question. “Why do they even care? And who are you?” The wind against your skin was almost taunting you. If things went right, you’d be in whatever afterlife existed. Yet, you were stuck here. With this guy.

He sighed. “Name’s Jackson. You’re the only heir to the throne and your family wants to protect their legacy. I thought I’d be hunting down terrorists, but I’m just babysitting a stupid girl who doesn’t know how good she’s got it.” He didn’t know you, or anything for that matter. The last thing you wanted was to live the life that your parents planned out for you. “And don’t think anything is off the table in regards to keeping you in line.”

The two of you walked through the roof door and down the stairs to your apartment. None of your protests were even acknowledged as he went straight into your kitchen and took out the knives, from steak to butter. Next were forks, scissors, box cutters, even your can opener. “That’s a bit much. Do you really think I’d kill myself with a potato peeler?” You watched as anything that could be labeled as sharp got swept into a box.

He continued to raid the cabinets. “People get creative.” You weren’t that determined to end your life, not yet, at least. The utensils clanked inside of the trashcan, it was surprising the bag was intact.

You knew that stopping him wasn’t an option, as if you had a fraction of his strength. It was time to go back to your usual coping mechanism: distracting yourself with meaningless games. Fortnite, to be more specific. The game launched and you slumped on your couch with the controller resting in your hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” He abandoned his excavation to glance at the screen. You eliminated a player, choosing to ignore the judgemental question. “That’s not even how a sniper works.”

“Like you’d know.” It was a game where eating fish gave you shield powers and anthropomorphic bananas used guns, who cared if the mechanics weren’t accurate to whatever terrorist weaponry that he was used to? You eliminated another player.

“You couldn’t even begin to imagine the things I’ve done.” Too busy listening to his constant comments, your focus wasn’t directed towards the game. Another player shot you down, losing at 38th place. They began to emote.

You sighed and set the controller down. “I’m taking a shower.” The one thing he couldn’t follow you into was the bathroom, at least, you hoped. He didn’t seem to care that much about your feelings, but seeing you naked might just cross a line.

“Fine.” He crossed his arms and watched as you made your way down the hallway and into the bathroom. You looked in the mirror, seeing your broken reflection. This was the closest you had ever truly gotten to committing the act to end your life and here you were, still here, still breathing. A shower could help. 

You turned on the water and the white noise of it hitting the tub was oddly calming. It drowned out all of the noise in your head. That’s when it hit you. The window was right there. If you left the shower running, Jackson would be none the wiser about your escape. Maybe you wouldn’t go and try to die again, at this point, anything was better than being stuck with him. Who knows what he was capable of?

The window popped open easily and you fiddled with the screen. How is it possible that it barely kept bugs out, but was so difficult for you to remove? It was baffling. 

The screen relented and you gently placed it on the ground. You only wished you had your phone with you or something other than the clothes on your back. The toilet paper holder wasn’t exactly the best method to hoist yourself through the window, though. Your shoe slipped on the roll and you had to hold onto the windowsill for dear life.

Steadying your breathing, you tried again and landed on the fire escape right below the window. You caught your breath and turned toward the stairs, only to make eye contact with Jackson with his arms crossed. “Think I’m an idiot? Turn around.” He took your shoulders and ushered you back through the bathroom window. 

He closed the window and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. One clasped around your wrist and the other on his. “Clearly, I can’t trust you enough to take a shower on your own, so I guess this will have to suffice until I escape-proof this place.”

You scowled at him, almost like a little kid who got put in time-out. “I still need to shower.”

“I’ll stand on the other side of the curtain. For modesty, I’m not a total creep.” It seemed that he had this all planned out, unfortunately for you. You reached into the shower, still running (wasted so much water and didn’t even get an escape out of it), to check the temperature. It was hot enough.

You unzipped your jeans, then looked at Jackson again. “Can you at least turn around?” He turned as much as he could, keeping his connected wrist behind his back. Your shirt and bra now hung on the handcuffed wrist, unable to get it fully off without taking the cuff off. “Um, my shirt is stuck.”

He turned around and you shot your arm up to cover your breasts. Without a word, he pulled a pocket knife out and cut through the fabric. Those were expensive, but he wouldn’t care. Now fully undressed, you took a step in the shower and slightly pulled Jackson closer to the curtain. He had pulled the sleeve of his jacket up, but the edges were still catching the stream of the faucet.

The hot water felt cathartic against your skin. You reached for your shampoo with your free hand and began to lather it into your hair. It had been a long while since you had showered, even if the idea to take one was technically a lie. Any time you tried to use the other hand, you were met with a tug of resistance from Jackson.

You tried to go on, washing the shampoo out of your hair and reaching for the conditioner bottle. You unusually used your left hand, but that one was still chained to the hitman and you nearly slipped and fell. “This isn’t working!”

“Water feels fine to me.” He was smug. Of course, he knew what you were talking about but had to make it difficult for you. You pulled the curtain back to look at him, holding it in front of your body.

“Either you unhook me or you get in here so I can actually do what I need to do.” You dramatically shut the curtain. Both options sounded bad in reality. You let the water hit you while you tried to calm yourself down.

About a minute later, Jackson pulled the curtain back and stepped in beside you. He was fully naked. A part of you wondered if he would get in with the full suit, but he seemed to be full of surprises. “Finish your damn shower.”

It was a little bit easier to reach for things and actually wash your hair, but the anxiety that he was staring directly at you was enough to make you extremely uneasy. You reached around him to grab the bar of soap and a washcloth, trying your best not to make any contact with any part of him other than his wrist.

Through it all, he just stood there. He wasn’t even in the actual shower, just getting slightly damp from being so close to it. You had never encountered such a strange man in your life.

“I’m done.” The shower almost immediately turned off. You opened the curtain and wrapped a towel around yourself. He still stood there, water dripping from the tips of his hair. “I’ll get you a towel, I guess.” You stepped out of the shower and knelt to get a towel from the lower cabinet.”

You should’ve stood up before you turned around. You were at eye-level with his dick. It looked pretty big, but it was completely soft. How could he have been naked in a shower with a woman and feel nothing? He must’ve been gay. Or asexual. Not like you could actually ask him that.

He took the towel out of your hands and wrapped it around his waist. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

“What’s your type?” You tugged your wrist and he reluctantly followed you into your bedroom to find clothes to change into.

Once again, as if he hadn’t just watched you shower, he faced away from you. “If I wanted to feel like I’m fucking a Make-A-Wish kid whose only wish was to get dicked down, then you’d be right up my alley. I go for real women.”

Asshole.

Over the course of the next two weeks, that became your life. You couldn’t do anything without him breathing down your neck, no matter how many times you tried to show him that you could behave without the restraints. The only times that you were allowed to be alone were when you were using the bathroom (he’d attach the cuff to the cabinet door handle) and when you were in bed (cuffed to the headboard).

You stirred awake in the middle of the night, feeling the bed shake. For a second, you thought that there was some kind of earthquake. That is, until you heard soft moaning and heavy breathing.

As quietly as possible, you turned to see if the sounds matched what you were imagining. Jackson was sitting on the other side of the bed, feet on the ground, tugging at his cock with one hand and holding a photo in the other. He had no shirt on, allowing you to see the various scars and healed gunshot wounds that littered his skin. “What are you doing?”

“Take a wild guess.” His voice was a bit strained, not even breaking his concentration. He held the photo tighter.

Your eyes narrowed, and then you reached out and snatched the photo from his hand. It was a woman. She had curled auburn hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. “Who’s this? Your girlfriend?”

He grimaced. “No.”

“She’s clearly someone important if you keep a photo of her in your wallet and you jerk off to it.” Jackson tried to take the photo from you, but you pulled away. This wasn’t something you were going to back off of.

“She’s why I got stuck babysitting you instead of doing actual meaningful jobs.” He tucked his dick into his sweatpants, though there was still a noticeable tent, and faced you. “Last year, I had to convince her to change the hotel room of a politician my client wanted dead. I had to do it during a red-eye flight from Dallas to Miami. Obviously, I failed.” Taking advantage of your shock, he took the photo back.

“What if you…pretended that I was her?” You finally sat up and leaned against the headboard. He looked you up and down, his mind a bit clouded from the sheer amount of arousal still coursing through his veins. 

He gripped the photo harder, sighing. “Don’t expect me to be gentle.” 

At this point, you had to take what you could get. You shifted out of your sleep shorts and panties. Jackson wasted no time in straddling your legs and lining himself with your entrance.

It’s not that you were not aroused , but you wouldn’t say that you were. Only not entirely ready to take him just yet. You felt the stretch of his cock inside of you, straining your muscles before you could mentally prepare yourself. 

His lack of empathy showed further, taking no time to slam himself inside of you and almost jackhammer himself into completion. You whined and reached out to push against his chest. He gripped your wrist. “Shut the fuck up. You’re ruining this for me.”

His eyes were squeezed shut, face scrunching up with his own imagination taking over the situation. “Lisa…” You felt his hand press on your neck, but you knew not to protest. “You can’t escape me, Lis. You knew I’d come back for you. The only way you’re getting rid of me is with a bullet in my forehead.”

The more he spoke, the harder he fucked into you. “Wanted to take you back to your hotel, book the nicest suite, and stuff every hole of yours with my cum all night long.”

His thrusts became sloppier and you could have sworn that your face was turning purple with the amount of pressure on your windpipe. “Lisa.” He repeated her name as he came and pushed his cum deeper into you.

Once he released your neck, the first breath was almost as good as if you had actually come. He scowled down at you when he opened his eyes again. “Oh, right. You’re still here.”

[odiesdayoff]

I loved your Robert Fischer fic!!!!

tytytytyty!!!!

I love u sm

[odiesdayoff]

The Winner Is...

pair: Robert Fischer x fem!reader

summary: Robert Fischer's stuck judging this year's Miss America Pageant. That doesn't mean he can't use his position to his advantage.

warnings: extremely dubious consent!! (heed the warnings!); mean/condescending Robert Fischer; anal; blowjobs; deepthroating; unprotected sex; a bit of misogyny; power imbalance

made reader from Georgia because I've been watching a lot of Kim of Queens. I've never written a lot of this before so I hope you can enjoy <3 this is also on Ao3 so yea... feedback always appreciated!

but also your consumption is your fault so if you don't like the content well then you should not have skipped/ignored the warnings

ALSO happy valentine's day from me :)

“In your opinion, what is a way that young women can lead successful lives in traditionally male-dominated professions?” Miss America from 2003 spoke clearly into the microphone. She wore her winning sash across her chest and a sparkling dress. 

On her left, a former professional basketball player crossed her arms and sat back. She won the finals for her team two years in a row and now she was stuck judging brainless, but beautiful women being asked sexist questions in the veil of feminism and the uplifting of women. It didn’t matter, though. She was getting paid.

On the right of Miss America 2003, Robert Fischer leaned on the judge’s table with his hands folded. Ever since he fumbled the business deal with Eclipse Solutions, Maurice thought that the best form of punishment was to take his spot as a judge in this competition. Initially, Robert thought that it wasn’t much of a punishment, but after a long week of nonstop noise and hearing these women yap about how they were going to change the world, he understood why his father made him. 

The hard-on he was sporting towards the beginning of the competition was long gone. He couldn’t bear to look at any of them anymore. Even during the swimsuit portion, for God’s sake.

Your smile never fell. The swimsuit you chose emphasized your breasts and slimmed your waist. Saying that you chose it was an exaggeration, your coach said that if you could catch the eyes of Fischer and Johnson, who your coach was convinced was a lesbian, you would have it in the bag. You still weren’t too sure about it. Knowing that your body was getting exposed to millions of people over the television was enough to raise your anxiety.

Attempting to not look like a total fool, you took a deep breath and nodded in response to her question. “Well, as someone who is in the career path of accounting, I have faced a lot of adversarial coworkers and peers. I believe that the best way that young women can gain success is to keep their self-confidence and never stop allowing themselves to learn and grow both professionally and personally. The best way to prove your doubters wrong is to excel in the path that you choose.” You weren’t exactly sure what you were saying, but you had hoped that it came across as something really intelligent to the judges. This was a question you had practiced for so long with your coach, but your mind drew a blank. 

Robert held back a laugh or at least a scoff. There’s no way he would hire you. With a face like that and the way you spoke, there’s no way that you knew how to do anything within the range of taxes or money. Probably a case of affirmative action, he was sure. Either that or you sucked the right man’s dick to get to where you were now. 

Miss America 2003 grinned. “Thank you, Miss Georgia. What a lovely way of thinking. I wish you the best of luck! Mr. Fischer, do you have a question?”

Robert’s bright blue eyes pierced into yours, despite the fair amount of distance from each other. He leaned into his mic. “Do you believe that you get respected more or less because of your appearance?”

The question felt like a double-edged sword. The last thing the general public wanted to hear was that you thought you were beautiful. It weirded people out to acknowledge your beauty, according to your coach.

“While I do think that appearance does affect the way that strangers treat others, it’s in your personality and how you treat others that matters. For me, it doesn’t matter what someone looks like for me to respect them. People that base how they treat others based on looks aren’t worth your time.” You had only hoped that the foundation you had on was holding back the sweat threatening to fall down your forehead. Robert Fischer had been asking the most condescending and borderline rude questions to everyone. It was bound to happen to you, too.

“Mm. Thank you.” He didn’t look amused.

Music began to play and the audience cheered. You smiled again at the judges' table before leaving the stage in the T walk. Once you were off stage and out of sight of both the judges and the audience, you let out a sigh and released the way that you were sucking in your stomach. You had been doing pageants like this ever since you were a little girl and now, your dream of being in this competition was real. Why did it feel so humiliating?

There was only one final day. It was the evening gown portion and the announcement of Miss America for the year. After that, you could finally relax. That is, unless you won and would immediately have to start your training for Miss Universe. Maybe you didn’t want to relax, after all. 

By the time the sun fell, most of the contestants were either spending their last night together in their hotel rooms and doing spa nights while the rest decided to go out to the clubs. You were advised not to befriend any of them by your coach to avoid feeling guilty when you eventually won and they lost. Now, you were alone at a nearby bar nursing a beer and listening to the band playing. It was a cover band of The Killers. Mr. Brightside was the current song getting butchered by the young singer.

It was freeing to be out of dresses and swimsuits and finally not showing off your body. You wore loose jeans and a top with a jacket over it. If they didn’t know you, nobody would even know that you were who you were.

You felt someone sit next to you. In a bar of several open seats, of course, they chose the one basically on top of you. They waved the bartender down and ordered a whiskey. The voice was familiar, one that was ringing in your head all day. You faced him to confirm your suspicions. Robert fucking Fischer.

The drink in your hand was what you tried to focus on. “Not very talkative off stage, huh?” It would be rude to ignore him, you knew that. 

You shrugged. “My social battery is drained.” While it was partially the truth, he was the last person you wanted to be speaking to. 

“You know,” he swirled the whiskey in his glass, “it’s between you and Miss California.” He took a generous sip of his drink as he let the information sink in. 

Excitement and guilt mixed in your stomach. “You shouldn’t say that. We shouldn’t even be speaking, Mr. Fischer.” You finished your drink and stood from the barstool. His hand wrapped around your wrist and stopped you from taking a step away.

“You wanna win, don’t you?” You sat back down, mostly involuntarily, and met his eyes with your own again. They were almost hypnotizing. “I can make that happen.”

“What do you mean?” Questions ran through your head. Was he asking for a bribe? Maybe he had some sort of bet running on you winning.

He smirked at the sight of your intrigue. “This whole competition’s about who’s the best woman, right? They’re still forgetting about the most important thing that makes a woman.” He leaned in closer to you, his hot breath against your skin. “How well they can fuck.”

You waited a moment to make sure that he was being serious, hoping that he wasn’t. The lustful look in his eyes didn’t tell you that he was joking at all. “You’re disgusting.”

“Even if I am, I’m the deciding factor on whether you go down in history as a winner or as nobody at all.” He finished his drink and stood up, fixing his tie. “Johnson likes you. Miss 2003 wants California. It’s all up to me.”

If he was lying, rejecting him wouldn’t mean much in the long run. If he wasn’t, you probably would’ve spent the rest of your life regretting taking him to bed. “Someone will see us going to the hotel together.”

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you one of his room keys. “Room 704. Wait ten minutes and then come up.” Without saying another word, he dropped some cash on the bar for his drink and left.

The room key felt heavy in your hand. Was winning worth anything if it wasn’t honest? He better have a decent-sized dick if you were really going to do this. 

You felt a hand tap your shoulder. “Y/n L/n? Oh my god, I’m such a big fan! I’ve been watching the whole pageant with my daughter, she loves you!” A woman shook your hand, feeling a bit too formal. The guilt grew in your stomach. How could you be a role model for little girls like this? “Can I have a picture?”

Despite your appearance, you nodded. The room key burned a hole in your pocket as you fixed your hair and took a picture with the woman. Hopefully, the dim light of the bar made you look better than you felt. 

It had already been fifteen minutes since Robert had left. You finally paid for your drink and headed for the hotel. With each step, your anxiety grew. The elevator rose to the seventh floor and you stopped in front of 704. Instead of knocking, you pulled the room key out and inserted it into the door. The light flashed green and you pushed it open. 

Robert was sitting at the edge of the bed without his clothes, stroking himself and staring at the door until you finally walked in. “You’re late.” You kept your eyes around his, trying to prevent yourself from looking any lower.

“I got caught up with something.” You took your jacket off and laid it on the office chair. Given his state of undress, you weren’t entirely sure whether or not you should strip now or wait for his instruction. He seemed like the type who was obsessed with control, especially in the bedroom. The last thing you needed was for him to get angry with you over something so trivial and ruin your chances.

He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you don’t really want this, don’t you? To win?”

Frantically, you shook your head. “I want it.”

He pointed to the floor right in front of him and spread his knees further apart. You didn’t respond, knowing it was most likely for nothing, and knelt in front of him. For the way that he acted, you would assume it was because he was overcompensating. God, you were wrong.

His free hand grabbed hold of your hair and pushed your head closer to his aching cock. He leaned back. “You’re not gonna win just by looking at it.” You held back from commenting on his attitude and kissed the blushing red tip, the same color as his lips. 

You flattened your tongue against the underside of his head, allowing his precum and your saliva to mix. After hearing the slightest moan of pleasure from him, which was an exhale at best, you took a few inches of him into your mouth. His hand in your hair guided you back and forth along his length.

“That’s all you’re gonna take? I think you could do much better than that.” He taunted, not pushing you down and wanting you to do it voluntarily. “Or, I could just call down Miss California. She’d love to deepthroat me.”

You tried to relax your throat and took him deeper. He was big, much bigger than what you were used to, but you could take him. You inched deeper until your nose pressed against his lower stomach and your breathing was constricted. “Atta girl.” He smelled like the generic body soap the hotel offered with a mix of his cologne. If you could focus on breathing through your nose and sucking him off the best you could, this would be over quickly.

Hearing his heavy breathing and attempts to hide his whimpers sent shockwaves down your spine. You felt the warmth growing in between your legs the more you pleasured him. “I’m about to cum. You’ll swallow, right?”

While you couldn’t answer, you made a sound of agreement that vibrated down your throat. You’d need to do some vocal treatment and tea tonight so you still could speak tomorrow. “Fuck.” He gripped your hair tighter as he came, ropes of cum shooting down your throat.

He finally pulled out once he had fully finished. You wiped a trail of cum and spit from your lips and looked up to him. “Not bad. Though, I’ve had much better. I guess I overestimated you. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

“What does that mean?” You cocked a brow. It felt even more humiliating considering your position in front of him and the way that you could still taste the remnants of his semen coating your throat. 

“Oh, come on. You get a high-paying job straight out of college at a Big 4? You’re either a genius, which I doubt considering half of the answers you’ve given so far, or you’ve slept your way into the job. Now, strip for me.” He spoke matter-of-factly. It was like he’d already convinced himself of his theories, even though they were far from the truth. Couldn’t imagine that a woman like you could make her way up the corporate ladder without the help of rich and successful parents. 

There was no use in arguing, you told yourself and took your clothes off until you were standing naked in front of him. “How exactly is the winner chosen? Aren’t there scoresheets? You’re making it sound like it’s entirely based on personal preference.”

He laughed, this time, a genuine one. “Scoresheets are arbitrary. We make those up to align with who we like the best.” He gestured to the bed behind him with his head as he stood. You followed his order and sat on the edge where he had previously been. His tongue flicked around his lips as he got a good look at you, sitting there so obediently for him. “Didn’t even touch you yet and you’re already dripping.” 

You gave him your best version of doe eyes that you could, following the instruction of your coach. She always said that facial expressions were the most important aspect of impressing someone. If you could read the person and make yourself into their ideal partner, they’d be putty in your hands. Robert seems to like to be in charge and superior, but there was an underlying hint of something you couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the desire to be nurtured? 

“Can’t imagine you’ll feel that good. Not as tight as you used to be, hm?” He took hold of your knees and separated them enough for his hips to fit. He was slowly getting harder again and you felt his tip nudge your clit before gathering your arousal on himself. “How do you think we can remedy that?”

He jerked himself off using your slick, then moved the tip to settle against your ass. You immediately stiffened against him and put your hands against his chest. “No. I don’t do that.”

He groaned and took a step away from you. “Little Miss Georgia Peach is too good to take it up the ass? I’m trying to help you win, but I guess you don’t care.” He picked up your discarded clothes and tossed them to you. 

Your eyes followed him as he walked to the hotel phone and began to dial a number. He checked his watch. The person he was dialing answered. “Yeah, hi. Annie? I need you to do something for me. If you could-” You almost leaped towards the phone and pressed the button, ending the call. Annie was Miss California, he didn’t even need to continue the call for you to understand what he was doing.

“I’ll let you!” You were nearly out of breath, your voice hoarse.

He had to hide his smile from his plan working. “No, sweetheart. You have to ask me for it. Specifically.”

“I want you to fuck my ass, Robert.” You gulped. If this wasn’t your dream, you wouldn’t be begging him like this.

“Turn around.” Once you turned, his hands were on your waist and his tip rested against your ass. He slipped two fingers into your pussy, gathering arousal, and then re-lubed his cock. You’d done this before, but it wasn’t something you necessarily enjoyed. The pain outweighed the pleasure. You just needed to breathe through it.

Your hands gripped the sheets below once his head was inside your tight hole. He slowly pushed further inside until he bottomed out. The white, hot pain was rippling through your body. You focused on inhaling and exhaling and continuing to hold tightly to the bedsheets.

He offered you some mercy, moving only after about ten seconds of being inside. After that, he fucked you as he pleased, entirely ignoring how you might’ve been feeling. You were gonna be sore tomorrow. “Fuck, this is how Miss America should feel.”

He pushed your face into the bed so that he could get a better angle and began to fuck into you roughly, rutting into you like he’d die if he didn’t cum within the next few minutes. 

Confusion surrounded you when he pulled out and you felt a sudden emptiness. Not that you were complaining. He flipped you to your back and you could barely process what he was doing before his hot cum was spurting onto your breasts and stomach.

He pushed his hair back and caught his breath, taking a step away from you. “Get dressed and leave. I’ve got some calls to make.”

You couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at his confirmation of your win. Maybe it was the orgasm that had never reached climax. Either way, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow. 

~~

Pins pricked against your soft skin as they held parts of your evening gown together. Lights glare on you and your competitors on the stage. It took a lot of your might to not show the extreme soreness that you felt between your legs. You knew that if you were to touch your breasts or tighten the dress a bit more, you’d only be pushing further against the bruises Robert had given you.

The man in question sat in his chair with the other two judges, arms crossed as usual. He barely gave you a passing glance, instead, he focused on discussing things with the judges or looking at the other contestants. Maybe it was just a ploy to not make it seem like he already knew who was going to win. Certainly, that was it. 

The announcer walked on the stage from the judge’s panel with an envelope in his hand. That envelope had your name on it, you knew. He was an irrelevant game show host that you remembered watching when you were home sick from school as a child. Whatever paid the bills.

You kept your award-winning smile on while the announcer took his microphone and began to speak about how the competition was the opposite of what most people thought when it came to beauty pageants. Mostly pandering and filibustering so that the program would be able to run another round of advertisements when they played it on cable. 

“Well, I have in my hand the name of Miss America of this year. Without further ado, why don’t I open it and save these women some anxiety?” He laughed at his own joke while the audience cheered. 

Miss California stood next to you on your left and Miss Connecticut on your right. As per tradition, you held hands with them while the announcer opened the envelope of the winner. You almost felt bad for them, knowing that they were going to lose.

The envelope was open. The announcer leaned into the microphone. “And the new Miss America is…Miss California!”

It was as if you were seeing things in black and white. Confetti fell from the ceiling and Miss California dropped your hand to receive her flowers and sash. You knew that crying would make you look bad, like a sore loser, but that’s the only thing that you felt like doing. You forced a smile and clapped for her.

Robert clapped for the winner, though his cold stare was on you. What you’d never forget was the smile plastered on his face. 

He had won.

[odiesdayoff]

So Undercover (3)

pair: Dark!Edward Nashton x fem!reader

summary: You get a little too caught up in an undercover job to unravel the Riddler.

warnings: intimidation; threats; murder; gaslighting; stalking; mentions of past noncon/smut

Part 2

“He called me a whore. Said I needed to be taught a lesson.” You wrapped your arms around Edward’s neck and buried your face into his shoulders. He got to the library as fast as he possibly could, in just about twenty minutes from the time you called. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He gently stroked your back and let you cry into his shirt. “They made you talk to a serial killer and didn’t think that he would target you?”

You shook your head. “It’s not even a successful thing. I barely know anything about him and he knows everything about me. I think he’s going to kill me.”

With how hard you were crying, Edward’s smirk was unseen by you. He couldn’t help it. You’d fallen right into his little trap. “It’ll be okay.” You pulled away from him and allowed him to wipe the tears from your cheeks. 

~~

It was all too…surreal. To say the least. Going back to the precinct, back to work after everything that happened. You tried to hide the heat that remained on your cheeks, surely leaving at least a small tint of color different from the hue of your skin. How could embarrassment feel so much worse after the fact? All you had to do was go into the commissioner’s office and tell him that the mission was pointless. It was like telling a parent that they were wrong. 

You pushed open the thick oak doors and immediately locked eyes with the man. Pete Savage. You didn’t exactly know what his deal was, but he was never one of the “good” or “not corrupt” cops in the bunch. The doors squeaked unceremoniously shut behind you. It was then that you no longer felt like an adult, but rather a kid who was called to the principal’s office. “I wanted to talk about the Riddler Case, sir. I, well, I don’t think it’s working.” The words articulated themselves much better when you practiced them in the bathroom mirror. 

He gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk and you hesitantly took a seat. You couldn’t control the way your leg began to bounce, even with your hand resting on it. “What’s the problem?” His voice was attempting to sound kind, though the hint of annoyance still seeped through. It was still up in the air whether he was only being kind because he felt bad for you or it was just because you were a woman. 

“I no longer feel safe in my home or at work. I don’t know if you’ve seen the report from the other night, but my apartment was broken into. That, and the… sample I provided.” The embarrassment crept up once again, blood rushing to your cheeks. Admitting that a crime so personal had occurred seemed to be worse than the crime itself.

He gave you a lone nod and sighed. Was…he stopping himself from rolling his eyes? “I’m aware. I couldn’t help but notice that there were no signs of a break-in and as for the sample, are you sure it wasn’t some residue of a night you don’t want to admit to your boss?” The smirk grew as he began to think of the situation. 

“He made a key. That also means he’s been there before.” The idea had only just come to your mind. What if he’s been in your apartment while you were sleeping? You wouldn’t put it past him. You had already asked your landlord to change the locks of your front door. “And at the library. He cornered me and threatened me.”

He folded his hands and leaned forward. “You’re aware that our insurance policy covers psychiatric care, right? We have no evidence to confirm that you’re in danger. I’ll relieve you from this case for your own sake.”

You wanted to scream, cry, protest, and tell him exactly how he was wrong. Instead, you weakly nodded. You should’ve known he wouldn’t take you seriously. “Thank you, sir.” Tears threatened to spill, but you held yourself together.

In the back room again, you sorted files while angrily whispering your complaints about the commissioner. Pete Savage was nothing but a ridiculous misogynist. Corrupt, too. How can you be presented with all this information and still claim that you weren’t in danger? Who knows what might’ve happened had you not been able to use the fire escape? Not like he would care all that much.

Annette leaned against the doorframe, watching you as she usually did when she didn’t want to do her job. “Thompson told me about some secret mission you were doing while I was away. Also, I heard you just got thrown off of it.” You didn’t know what to call her slightly mocking tone. Was it holier-than-thou? I told you so?

“I left.” Anything more than a curt response was more than she deserved.

“Mhm. Well, I wouldn’t do anything like that. Not in the job description.” Like she ever did what was in her job description. That would be far too much to ask of her. How you were getting paid less than her and remain her subordinate only cemented the existence of extreme corruption in this precinct.

You angrily set the files on the floor. Well, more passive-aggressively than angry. “I was just trying to help.”

You had to keep pushing the thought of the videos and photos existing as a form of blackmail to the back of your mind. So what if you lost your job? It’s not that you necessarily enjoyed it. Life would be so much better if you could leave it and this whole godforsaken city behind you. 

~~

The older man at the desk worked relatively slowly to take in your phone and laptop. He only raised a brow when you asked for the same makes and models to trade in. “Most people choose the upgrade plan for an extra hundred.” He would repeat this until you could no longer count them on two hands. 

The sun had set by the time you reached your apartment. Your landlord handed you the new keys to the locks right as you stepped into the building. For the first time in a while, you felt safe. Nobody was watching anymore. You could breathe. 

As soon as your laptop connected to the wifi, you started to look through the online job forums. The sooner you get away from the precinct, the better. With each link you pressed, the screen would flash entirely black, only for a fraction of a second. Must’ve been a buggy site.

You sipped your tea and continued to look through the job openings. It had been quite a while since you had to do this. You were lucky enough to get your job straight out of school. Maybe you’d actually get paid what you deserved this time. 

The screen flashed again, this time a deep shade of green. You lost control of your cursor. It inched towards the top of the screen, your eyes following it while running your finger across the touchpad. It opened a new tab and then started typing. 

<?> DID YOU THINK YOU COULD GET RID OF ME <?>

You nearly choked on your tea. The laptop redirected to the same website you used to chat before. You stood from your chair. How could he possibly get in so fast? After you had been so careful? 

<?> You forgot about the windows.

He was right. You hated that he was right. In the rush of trying to cover all of your bases, you’d forgotten one of the most crucial entrances to your apartment. For all you knew, he was already through and waiting for you to try and close them. 

The front door. You could leave through there, call the GCPD, and he’d have nowhere to go. A one-way ticket to prison, or more realistically, Arkham. And you’d finally have the sense of freedom and relief you’ve been desperately wanting. 

First, the deadbolt. Then, the lock on the doorknob. You expected to see your escape when you frantically swung open the door, but there he stood. A boot collided with the door when you tried to close it on him. One gloved hand wrapped around your neck, the other on your hip.

This wasn’t like the library. That was public and he had to somewhat keep his plan contained. One curious bystander trying to be a hero could ruin everything. You were entirely in private, especially after he pushed himself in and kicked the door shut. 

“You’re so predictable. Naive. How did I know you’d try to outsmart me? I’ll give it to you, you’ve got a lot more going on in that head of yours than any of those cops you work with or politicians you work for. You’re still nothing compared to me.” He pushed you further back into your living room as he spoke. Maybe he was right all along and he knew you more than you knew yourself. He saw right through you. 

You clawed at his hand, scratching the leather in an attempt to loosen his grip. “I’m done. I’m not working with them anymore!”

The hand on your neck moved to gently stroke your hair. It would’ve been comforting if not for the leather catching and pulling the hair by accident. His other hand pulled you closer, against his chest. “I know, I know. That doesn’t matter anymore.” He cooed, voice still distorted by the mask. “Do you still have my gift?” 

There’s no way in hell you would admit that you kept it. The biggest reason wasn’t sentimental, you just had no idea where you could possibly throw it away. It’s been gathering dust in your closet ever since that night.

You couldn’t tell if he was smiling at your hesitancy and subsequent lack of an answer. “Don’t worry, why use it when you have the real thing right here? After all, I deserve a thank you.”

“For what?” You stumbled back farther until you hit your kitchen counter. It was then that you knew you were cooked. He pressed his body against yours, feeling the heat of his jacket seep through your shirt. 

“Your promotion.” His hands roamed around your body. He slightly chucked at the sight of your confused expression. “I take it they haven’t found her body yet.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Body?”

He stroked your hair. “Can’t say I don’t do anything for you. There’s a phone in my back pocket for you to call her doorman to make sure. Maybe she’ll still be kicking.” 

Shaking like a leaf, you reached into his back pocket. The device you felt was a burner, blocky, and lacking a touch screen. The number, saved as DOORMAN , was preset and ready for you to dial. You held the phone to your ear and listened to the dial tone. 

The man answered with little to no emotion. Probably nearing the end of his shift. “Hi. I need you to check on the woman that lives in C11.” You couldn’t tell if the fear in your voice was evident through the microphone. 

“Who’s this? Why are you calling?” He didn’t seem to care. None of the urgency that you desperately needed was there.

You shook your head. “No, no. That’ll waste time! I think she’s going to hurt herself and I need you to go up there right now.” The Riddler’s hands trailed lower on your body, caressing your thighs. 

The doorman shuffled from his seat and you could faintly hear him walking up the stairs to Annette’s apartment unit. He knocked, but the door was opened slightly already. The squeak of the hinges was caught by the phone’s mic. 

He screamed and you didn’t need to know what he was seeing for your heart to fall to your stomach. The first tear broke the seal and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying. Hands pressed against your panties, trying to increase the friction of the fabric against your clit. “Who are you? Why did you do this?” The questions were directed towards you.

“I, I didn’t…” None of the words could form in your mouth. They could barely appear in your brain in the first place. The phone was snatched from your hand and the call ended. He threw the phone on the floor. Your hands were now free to try and keep his at bay. “What do you want from me?”

“At first, I wanted to see how much you GCPD pigs knew about me. I’ll have to admit, you intrigued me.” He caught a grip on your wrists and pushed your hands against the counter. “You don’t even know what you do to me, baby. I just want you.” If it wasn’t him, it would’ve made you swoon. It could have even been sultry. Maybe if Edward had said it.

“No. No, I’m nothing special.” You weren’t sure what your tactic was anymore. All you needed him to do was leave you alone. Preferably forever, but just tonight would work as well.

Through the mask, his eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “Don’t think like that. You can help me fix this city. Fix me .”

[odiesdayoff]

So Undercover (2)

pair: Dark!Edward Nashton x fem!reader

summary: You get a little too caught up in an undercover job to unravel the Riddler.

warnings: stalking; intimidation; fear; name-calling; riddler is mean; double life of Edward Nashton/Patrick Parker

Part 1

Patrick’s visits to request records had become much more frequent to the point where seeing him was a weekly ordeal. Not that you minded. You had begun to warm up to the shy man, even moving forward to actually having conversations with him. It was something you started to look forward to.

He leaned against your desk as you scanned the record he wanted. “Are you busy Friday night?” You wanted to cringe at yourself. By his surprised look, you couldn’t tell whether or not that was overstepping in your relationship.

“I don’t think so, why?” He adjusted his glasses, his gaze fixated on you.

You sighed. “I have two tickets to the Gotham Philharmonic. I was supposed to go with this dude I was seeing, but that didn’t work out. Wondered if you wanted to go. With me.”

He stopped you before you could ramble on anymore. “I’d love to.”

~

You were fixing your lipstick in the mirror when you heard the chime of a new message. Checking who it was from was unnecessary. You already knew.

<?> Pretty girl.

<?> Got a date tonight?

<me> Not really.

<me> Going somewhere with a friend.

<?> I bet he just wants to get in your pants.

<me> That’s not true.

<me> He’s nice.

<?> Maybe I’ll go, too.

<?> You won’t even know it’s me.

<?> Just to make sure Patrick is behaving.

<me> Stay away from him.

<me> He’s innocent.

<?> Row E.

<?> Seats 17 and 18.

<?> Maybe I’ll take seat 19.

<me> I’ll have the police on you immediately.

<?> We’ll see.

He disconnected. Frustrated, you shut your laptop. The only thing you wanted to do was enjoy a night out with a friend and now the looming anxiety of where the serial killer who is seemingly obsessed with you is sitting in your stomach.

You weren’t going to let him ruin your fun. It was bad enough that you didn’t have a real date to go with. Might as well enjoy yourself.

Patrick was waiting outside the doors when you arrived. He wore a black dress shirt and pants, just a little bit more formal than what you were used to. He looked nice. It matched the little black dress you chose to wear. “You look beautiful.” He blushed as he complimented you.

While you took your seats, one eye kept looking around for any man that came close. Any one of them could be the Riddler. Anxiety spiked in your stomach when you saw someone look at you, but they quickly looked away to join their families. “I should probably tell you something.” His words caught your attention. “Most people use my middle name. Edward.”

“Edward? I like that.” The other guests found their seats and the lights began to dim. The Riddler, as far as you knew, hadn’t come. The seats directly next to you and Edward were still empty. The conductor walked on stage and the orchestra began to play.

This was a good idea. Edward’s arm was on the armrest in between the two of your seats. After several minutes of contemplating, you placed your hand on his. He flipped his hand around and intertwined his fingers with yours. You didn’t look at his reaction, but you were smiling.

At the intermission, Edward had left to use the bathroom. You stayed in your seat, allowing yourself to feel the warmth in your stomach that just holding hands brought. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you nearly dropped it once you saw the message.

<?> The trombone solo was beautiful, wasn’t it?

<?> Not as much as you, though.

<?> Sitting all alone.

<?> Did your boy leave?

<me> Where are you?

The Riddler didn’t respond. You looked up from the screen and scanned the room. Any man on a cell phone rang alarm bells in your mind. He was here. In the same room. He knew exactly what you looked like and you were completely in the dark. You didn’t even notice that your hands were shaking.

<me> Please.

<me> Tell me where you are.

<?> Right next to you.

You jumped out of your seat when someone sat in Edward’s seat. You took a deep breath and faced the figure, who turned out just to be Edward. “Woah, are you okay? It looks like you’re on the verge of tears.” He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Riddler was just fucking with you. Of course, he was. You shook your head. “Yeah, yeah. Just a little anxious, I guess.”

He took your hand in his. “I’ve got you. Do you want to leave? There’s a diner close by.”

You bit your lip, then nodded. “Yeah.”

In a corner booth at the nearby diner, you and Edward laughed over a basket of fries and milkshakes. “A book?” You tried not to laugh into your straw.

He nodded. “Yeah. Gotham has such an intricate history and I’m piecing together the most important events and incidents. You’d be surprised what you uncover.”

You shrugged. “I believe you. It’s just interesting to see someone so passionate about this city.” You ate a fry, teasing him. Most people that lived in Gotham hated the city. They either loved to complain or were actively saving up to get out. “I just want to thank you for coming tonight. And being so understanding.”

He waved you off. “It’s no problem. I like spending time with you.”

You played with the straw in your milkshake for a moment. “My apartment isn’t that far from here. If you want to, I don’t know, go there?”

“Oh, Y/n. You don’t know how much I want to say yes, but I think you’re too special to move so fast yet. You deserve more than that.” Even though he was rejecting you as gently as possible, it was still a rejection. You tried not to react. “I don’t want this night to be a one-time thing.”

You pursed your lips. “Right. You know, that’s a good idea. We should go on a real date.”

“This doesn’t count?” He raised a brow.

“Well, I mean, kind of. But I haven’t got the chance to learn more about you. I don’t even know what you do as a job.” He knew much more about you than you did him. That was a bit hard considering that he met you at your job. Sure, he was writing a book, but that was a side hustle. 

He laughed. “I’m an accountant.”

~

Back in your bed, you took your makeup off and tossed the wipe in the trash. Now that it was after the fact, maybe it was a good idea that Edward had rejected you. Pure horniness took over, you presumed. He was someone you wanted to have a special night with and not a one-night stand.

You rested your head on your pillow, still wearing your dress. If you hadn’t already laid down, maybe changing into pajamas might’ve been a more feasible option. Sleep was your biggest priority. That was until your laptop chimed.

<?> Surprised you came home alone.

<me> We’re just friends.

<?> Whores like you don’t make friends with men.

<?> He rejected you, didn’t he?

<?> Knew that you were just a slut.

<me> That’s not true.

<?> Don’t get too defensive.

<?> I should show him who you really are.

<me> Stay the fuck away from him.

<me> He’s a good guy.

<me> You wouldn’t know what that’s like.

<?> I wouldn’t?

<me> No.

<?> That’s funny.

<?> He may be a good guy.

<?> But I’m the one you’re dropping your panties for.

You shut your laptop. He had some nerve. Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to ruin Edward for you. He was your chance to actually have a semblance of a normal relationship. Whatever blackmail situationship you had with the Riddler didn’t count. 

Your laptop chimed with a new message, one that you ignored. Another. A third. The sound that caught your attention was your apartment door unlocking and creaking open. It was something you knew all too well. Someone was in your apartment.

You shot up. This was Gotham, you really should’ve kept some type of weapon in your bedroom. All you had was yourself. The self-defense classes you took a while back needed to come back to your head. You locked your bedroom door.

Best case scenario: you just get robbed.

Worst case scenario: you get killed.

The person walked slowly, with loud footsteps. Do you try calling the GCPD? No, you worked with them. You, of all people, knew how useless they were. Nervous, you opened your laptop again.

<?> I think you’re getting a little too comfortable.

<?> Maybe I need to come over and teach you a real lesson.

<?> Don’t worry, I have a key.

Your heart sank. He was in your home. He was probably armed. Maybe not with a gun, but he was known to use knives or anything that would do the job, really. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d been there before. His footsteps continued straight towards your bedroom.

His fists slammed against your bedroom door. You weren’t sure how long it might hold him back and you had to do something. He couldn’t win. 

You pushed open your window and climbed out onto the fire escape. The harsh mid-April air blew your dress up and littered goosebumps all over your skin. The fire escape didn’t reach all the way to the ground, so you had to jump a couple of feet once you got to the bottom. 

It was a bit humbling. You wore slippers with a fancy dress in the middle of an alleyway. Maybe that wasn’t so strange in Gotham considering people terrorized the city in crazy costumes once a week. It was better than being stuck in a room with him.

You dialed the GCPD.

Officer Thompson escorted you back into your apartment about twenty minutes later. It was trashed. Books were thrown from their shelves and clothes from your drawers scattered along the floor. Whether or not it truly was the Riddler that was here, he was mad. What was most important was that he was gone, for now.

It took about an hour to fix the mess he left. All you wanted to do was sleep. You pulled your sheets back on your bed and gasped. Drying cum pooled in the spot where you normally slept.

Sleeping on the couch, it is.

~~

On Monday, your head was everywhere but your job. After the lab came back with no matches to anyone in their database, your evidence was labeled as useless. Riddler probably knew that. Maybe it wasn’t even his and it was another trick he was playing on you. It wasn’t something you particularly wanted to think about. 

Thankfully, Annette, your boss, was finally back from her vacation, which brought you to your normal job of sorting and filing the records. It left you in the back office, covered in dust and the occasional paper cut. 

“Anything interesting happen while I was away?” She rolled slightly back in her chair, just enough to have a view of you from the open doorway. You did start to miss that nice chair as the back pain from sitting on the floor crept back up your spine. 

You shrugged. “Not really. Actually had someone come in and request a record, though.” No way you would mention that you went on a date with that person. 

She wasn’t your friend, or close enough to share information with. She’d only complain about her ex-husband and the horrors of dating apps within Gotham City. Even though she was in her early thirties, she loved to act like she was so much superior and older than you were. “Sounds like I missed a party, then.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. 

You might as well bite and waste some time listening to her yapping. Silence would only bring your mind back to Him. “How was Disney?”

Annette’s grating voice stopped you in your tracks before you could leave for the day. She had the same pitiful smile that meant she wanted you to do something for her. “The Gotham Public Library called. They said they had some records they wanted to move to the archive.”

“Okay, and?” You didn’t even care if it came off as rude.

She crossed her arms. “I have a doctor’s appointment and you need to pick it up right away. I don’t even have time for you to talk back right now. I’m the archivist, you’re the assistant. Am I getting that wrong?”

You simply nodded. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I’ll head over now.”

~~

The Gotham Public Library was probably the most salvageable building in the whole city. People worked hard to make sure it looked nice and was well-stocked with books. It’s really too bad the Gothamites stopped caring about enhancing their knowledge. Well, they probably were distracted by trying to stay alive.

You went straight to the backroom of the library, just as Annette told you to do. Hopefully, the box of records would be there and it would be an easy job. It was almost getting dark out and walking home in a place like Gotham at night was far too dangerous. 

The door creaked open and cobwebs fell from the ceiling. You made sure to position a small book to hold the door open. It locked from the inside and if you didn’t have a key, you were stuck in there until a librarian cared enough to answer their phone. The box labeled “GCPD” sat on the opposite wall of the door. 

You nearly bumped into the stray mop and cleaning supplies that sat in the middle of the room. Of course, important documents were kept in the janitor’s closet. A glance confirmed that water from the last clean sat stagnant in the bucket. 

The box was light as you lifted it, almost as if it were empty. Well, paper couldn’t be that heavy. You backed up to get away from the shelf and your shoe landed on someone else’s. The box fell onto the floor as a gloved hand clasped over your mouth. Your back was pressed against the chest of your assailant. 

“Fool me once, shame on me.” The voice was familiar, one that you could never get out of your head. If it weren’t for the mask over his face, you would’ve felt his breath against your neck. “I’ve got to admit, I didn’t think of the fire escape. I guess I underestimated you.”

He kicked the book that held the door open and it slammed shut. Flipping you around, he pushed you against the wall. You tripped over the box of files and fell into it, your ass firmly stuck in the box. “We’re both locked in here now, dumbass.” Your confidence surprised the both of you. 

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a key, one he made a replica of, you were sure. If he had so many replicas of keys, then he must’ve either gone to a store or had his own way of doing it. “You are. I came prepared.” You wondered if he planned for you to fall by the way he leaned over and looked down at you. “You still have yet to learn your lesson.”

You tried moving, barely busting the structural integrity of the cardboard box somehow. He pressed his boot against your chest, continuously adding pressure. “You’re no better than the dirt I walk on.” He dragged his boot against your chest, a trail of mud and dirt rubbing off on your blouse. Using his heel, he pulled the box closer. “How do you think I should deal with a pretty little thing like you?”

He knelt down to face you at eye level and pulled a switchblade from his jacket. The blade tickled your skin but didn’t go far enough to cut. “Why don’t I start by dressing you like the whore you and I both know you are?” 

The fabric of your shirt was so match for the blade, getting torn to reveal your bra. “I’m not a whore. Just because you think I am doesn’t mean it’s true.” He ignored you, cutting through your pants as well. 

“I won’t waste my time with you. I have much better things to do.” He stepped back, now standing. He almost left the room, but not before the bucket caught his eyes. He picked it up, struggling a bit to carry it over to where you sat, then poured it over you. It was barely water at this point, it was brown. 

You shut your eyes and mouth, only opening them when you heard the door slam. The cardboard of the box was much easier to move while wet and after a minute or two, it began to disintegrate enough for you to stand. The so-called file that you needed to get was somewhat dry. The most notable thing you saw was a large green question mark.

Tears fell from your eyes as you pulled your phone from your pocket. It was lucky enough that he hadn’t stolen it. The library went to voicemail, as per usual. A little desperate, you pressed Edward’s contact and it began to dial. This wasn’t the most ideal circumstance for a second date, but he was the only one you trusted enough to see you like this. He would never treat you like this.

Part 3

[odiesdayoff]

College AU! Edward Nashton x roommate's girlfriend! reader (Hatefucking/Infidelity (on reader's end)/Popular x nerd trope)

Riddler! Edward Nashton x Mitchell!Reader (Handyman x married woman trope/affair/sex tape/sort of blackmail for information but not dark!)

[odiesdayoff]

please second part of So Undercover 🙏😽💘

haha it's coming

[odiesdayoff]

So Undercover

pair: dark!Edward Nashton x fem!reader

summary: You get a little too caught up in an undercover job to unravel the Riddler.

warnings: NON-CON / DUB-CON SMUT (MINORS LEAVE); no really this is dark if it makes u uncomfy then do not pass go!! voyeurism, mentions of revenge porn, forced creampie, dildos, fucking machines, sexting? coercion, manipulation, name-calling (slut, whore, good girl), stalking, blackmail

i'm so fr if u dont like this then go because your consumption is literally not my business at all actually. but enjoy :)

possible part 2

<me> Hi. 

<?> Hello.

<?> What gets wet while drying?

<me> Oh. Um.

<me> A towel.

<?> Correct.

You sighed from relief. As far as you knew, the man you were dealing with was calling himself The Riddler. Having to actually answer riddles surprisingly wasn’t something you thought you’d have to do.

<me> What is your name?

<?> I think you know that already.

<me> Riddler, yes. But I want to know your actual name.

<?> I’m not stupid.

<?> What is your name?

<me> I’m not stupid, either.

<?> I know.

<?> You’re a good girl.

The pointer on the screen blinked. Your hands were still on your keyboard, but something stopped you from typing anything in response. No part of your conversation or your screen name implied you were a girl. Unless, it was a lucky guess and he was just messing with your head.

<?> Don’t get cold feet now, Y/n. We’re just getting started.

<?> That’s your name, right?

<?> I want to know who I’m looking at talking to.

<me> What?

<?> Answer the question.

<me> That is my name.

<?> Good girl.

You bit the inside of your cheek and slowly closed your laptop. Detective Henry and two officers looked at you for an answer. “He knew my name.”

The detective nodded. “We expected that. You didn’t get kicked off, though, right?”

“No. I don’t know, actually. I got scared.” Sheepishly, you looked down at the closed laptop. In your defense, this wasn’t in your job description at all. You spun your chair around. The first thing that caught your eye was the chair behind you. 

A towel. Draped over the back of the chair.

None of this could’ve been a lucky guess. You knew for certain that he was looking at you through your webcam. “I want you to talk to him at home. That way it’s more believable.”

“Can’t you do it yourself? Or get Estella to do it?” That was the office secretary that rarely did anything other than watch Netflix on her computer and occasionally go on a coffee run.

The detective crossed his arms. “He recognized us as cops. IP banned us. We’ll pay you overtime for this.”

You didn’t open your laptop again and look at the chat log until you were at your apartment and on your bed. With the knowledge that The Riddler could see through your webcam, you made sure not to change out of your work clothes just yet.

<?> I was wondering when you’d come back.

<me> I was curious.

<?> About me?

<me> Yes. 

<?> What about me?

<me> Everything.

<me> All I hear at work is you and the things you’re up to.

<?> At the station?

<me> Yes.

<?> You don’t look like a cop.

<me> I’m not.

<me> I’m an archival assistant.

<?> Interesting.

<me> It’s really not.

<me> What do you do?

<?> I work with numbers.

<me> Can’t imagine you with a 9-5 

<me> haha.

<?> I have to make money somehow.

<me> It’s funny.

<me> You’re just like the rest of us, then.

<?> Yes.

<?> People like you don’t usually follow me.

<me> What do you mean? People like me.

<?> Beautiful young women.

<?> With their whole lives ahead of them.

<me> I doubt that. 

<me> Do you know all of your followers?

<?> Yes.

<?> They are mostly older males.

<?> So…

<?> How can I be sure I can trust you?

You stared at the question on your screen. This was either a test because he knew that you were technically working for the GCPD’s investigation or a genuine concern. You started to type.

<me> You can trust me.

After sending, you realized how dumb the answer truly was. If you were him, it was obvious.

<?> Take off your blouse.

<me> No.

<?> Yes.

<?> Or I cut this communication.

Thoughts raced through your head. He was a creep, of course. You weren’t entirely sure what you should’ve expected of someone like him. This was for the sake of the investigation. It could save lives. Just show the man your boobs.

One-by-one, you unbutton your blouse until it slid down your arms. The webcam was pointed directly at you and your chest.

<?> Keep going.

Your bra fell to your lap after you unclipped it. He wasn’t typing. Your nipples seemed to keep eye contact with the webcam. A chill coming from the poorly fixed holes in your windows gave you goosebumps and made your nipples harder.

<?> Gorgeous.

<me> Do you trust me now?

<?> Yes.

His little available dot next to his name disappeared, leaving you confused, a bit violated, and half-naked in your bedroom. You didn’t know what he looked like or his name, but you just put on a little show for him. He probably was too busy jerking off to type. 

Not moving, you kept the chat open. The dot returned. He started typing. 

<?> Knew you’d be waiting for me.

<?> Greedy little slut.

<me> Excuse me?

<?> Don’t act modest now.

<?> Take off those pants.

<me> I gave you what you wanted.

<me> I’m not doing that.

<?> Yes, you are.

<?> I changed my mind.

You rolled your eyes and made sure it was caught by the camera. The laptop stayed on your bed as you stood up and shimmied out of your work pants. 

<?> Panties, too.

<me> No way.

<?> I want to see that pussy of yours.

<me> Fuck off.

You closed the chat and quickly threw some clothes on. There’s no way you were going to do all of that for some stranger just because it might help with an investigation. No way.

At work the next day, you did your best to throw yourself into the busy work you had to do and forget about last night. He was nothing but a disgusting pervert and you weren’t doing it anymore. You could just tell the detective that he found out what you were doing and blocked you as well. 

Your mouse hovered over the bookmarked website. No. He wasn’t going to take up any more space in your mind than he already has. You slammed the laptop shut. 

A knock on the doorframe caught your attention. A tall man with slightly shaggy hair and glasses stood, still wearing a dark blue windbreaker. He was mousy, his posture nowhere near upright. “Can I help you, sir?”

A small smile appeared. “Yeah, hi. I wanted to ask about the records and how I could possibly access one.”

You pushed your chair back further to get a better look at him. The whole point of this job was to stay cooped up in the shelves of your records, collecting dust just as fast as they were. “Well, did you fill out a request form?”

He looked at you, confused.

“I’ll take that as a no.” You chuckled and stood. Rows of cabinets faced you. “They should be somewhere around here. I mean, they are online, but you’re already here. So…” You searched a few of the cabinets before finding the stack of empty request forms. “Here.” You took one of the forms and handed it to the man.

“Thank you. Do you have a pen?” He made the gesture of writing with his hand like you would ask a waiter for a check. 

You pulled the pen from your hair and it fell onto your shoulders. It was keeping a somewhat bun shape just to get it out of your face. He took the pen and leaned on the closest desk to start filling out the form.

You stood there, watching him write. In reality, you had no idea what you were supposed to be doing with him still there. After a minute, he returned the form and the pen to you. “So, how does this work?”

“I just have to enter some of your information into the system, I’ll scan the record digitally and you’ll be able to access it online in about a half-hour, I think.” He followed you to your computer and stood a bit too close as you started to enter his information into the system.

“You think?” He raised a brow.

You shrugged. “I mean, I know. It’s just pretty rare that someone actually comes in. And it’s my boss that does it. She’s on vacation right now. Of course, who goes on vacation in the middle of February?”

“It’s cheaper.” He answered.

“I guess so.” You continued to fill out the information into the system. “You know, you don’t have to stay anymore. I’ll have the record sent to your email.”

He pursed his lips and adjusted his windbreaker. “It was nice meeting you, um…”

“Y/n. You too, um.” You looked at the form. Patrick Parker. “Patrick.”

Once you looked from your screen to his direction, he was long gone. Strange man. You took a closer look at the records he was requesting. The murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Strange men indeed.

No matter how strange the interaction you had was, it still took your mind off of The Riddler. You hadn’t thought about opening up the chat log again until you finally reached your apartment. The laptop almost beckoned you to open it while it was on the counter and you were eating dinner.

“Jesus. Okay.” You put your food on the table and brought your laptop. The chat was pulled up after a moment.

<me> Are you there?

You continued to eat, glancing at the chat log. The small availability dot appeared next to his screen name. He didn’t respond. 

<me> Riddler.

<me> I know you’re there.

You finished your dinner, still with no response. The dishes were done and drying when you returned to your laptop. He was still there, but not speaking. 

<me> Please.

<?> Such a desperate slut.

<?> I love it when you beg.

<me> I have a question for you.

<?> Yes?

<me> Why do you do what you do?

<?> For justice.

<me> I mean, the violence part. 

<?> Change doesn’t happen peacefully.

<?> You can’t just ask the corrupt to treat people like us with respect.

<?> Or give us the things that are rightfully ours.

<me> What about fixing the system from the inside?

<?> It’s naive to believe things like that.

<?> We can’t fix the system.

<?> It has to be destroyed and rebuilt.

<me> And that’s what you plan on doing?

<?> Precisely.

<me> I want to help you.

<?> How could you possibly help?

<me> I have access to the entirety of the GCPD police record system.

<me> No questions asked.

<?> They are public records.

<?> Anyone has access.

<me> Well.

<me> What can I do?

<?> You can be an informant.

<me> Like, tell you what the police are saying?

<?> Yes.

<me> I can do that.

<?> Good girl.

The surge of adrenaline that shot through you was hard to ignore. You were successfully doing undercover work and seemingly gaining trust in the Riddler. Even harder to ignore was that heat that pooled in between your legs when he praised you. For all that you knew, he was some ugly, basement dweller.

What were you even thinking? He’s a serial killer. A literal killer that plans on killing many more people.

<?> I’m sending you a gift.

<me> A gift?

<?> Yes. 

<me> Why?

<me> What is it?

<?> It’s a surprise.

The Riddler’s surprise gift that was supposedly getting to you could’ve been so many things. What if it was a bomb? You knew that he had your workplace and if he knew your name, he could’ve found your address. Easily. 

It took a week for the package to arrive at your front door. It was larger than you thought. After a long day of work, you had to drag the box into your apartment before anyone asked any questions. You took your pocket knife and cut open the box. What was inside made your jaw drop. You went straight to your laptop.

<me> What the fuck?

<me> Why would you give this to me?

<?> You don’t like it?

<me> No.

<?> I want to see you use it.

<me> I’m not touching that thing.

<?> But you are.

<?> It’s custom made.

<?> And remote controlled.

<me> You’re disgusting.

<?> And you’re still going to do what I tell you to do.

<me> And why is that?

<?> Because I have so many pictures of you that I’m sure your employers won’t want to see. 

<me> What pictures?

<?> Attached 3 Images.

Pictures of you from that first night appeared on your screen. Topless photos with your face clearly in the frame along with one without your pants. You gasped.

<?> Take it out of the box.

You resisted the urge to say no. The box stared at you from across the room. You got up and pulled it out of the box. It was a dildo connected to a metal base. It was not an unnatural skin color. It was pale, not entirely large, but not small. In the living room you placed it upright on the rug and brought your laptop to face it.

<?> Strip.

<?> Don’t make me wait, slut.

You grabbed the edges of your shirt and pulled it off, your pants following shortly. After a deep breath and the reminder that your life would probably be ruined if you stopped here, you unhooked your bra and rolled your panties down your legs.

<?> Touch yourself.

Your hand trembled as you reached your clit and gently started to rub circles over it. This was necessary no matter how uncomfortable you were knowing that he was watching. You had to be at least a little wet before he commanded you to start using the dildo.

<?> I want you to put your mouth on it.

The machine and the synthetic cock attached to it taunted you as you got closer to it. Glancing at the laptop for a moment, you licked the head. You slowly began to take the cock deeper in your mouth, doing your best to pretend that it was something real and connected to someone you liked. What was the name of the guy from the forensics unit? Ben? Yeah, you imagined it to be him.

Your phone began to ring and you looked at the screen for him to tell you what to do now.

<?> Answer.

The caller ID said that it was an unknown number. You picked up. “Hello?”

A modulated male voice came through the other line. “Get back to sucking, slut.” 

Of course, he knew your number. He probably knew your shoe size, favorite drink, and childhood dog’s name. “I won’t be able to talk.”

“That’s the point. I want to hear you gag.” Still with the phone on your ear, you returned to gently sucking the cock. A quiet beep came from it and it began to push slowly further into your mouth. He would be mad if you pulled away, so you tried your best to take as much of it before the tip poked against the back of your throat.

You gagged and pulled away from the machine. Your voice rasped. “No more.”

He sighed from the other line. “Then get on it.”

Not wanting to look at the camera, you kept your stare to the ground and lined your entrance up to the awaiting cock. As you sank low enough so that the tip was inside of you, another beep filled the silence. The machine pushed the cock into you entirely. You moaned out of surprise and the sudden feeling of being full, followed by whimpering as the machine, or The Riddler, didn’t let you get used to the unfamiliar stretch.

“That’s right. Moan for me, slut.” The machine’s pace quickened and you couldn't hold your voice no matter how hard you tried. Your moans and whimpers filled the air. Riddler wasn’t visible, but you could almost feel that he had a smug little smirk on his face. “You’re mine, you hear that? All mine. Say you’re the Riddler’s whore.”

“M’not saying that.”

The machine stopped its assault. The pattern changed to pushing entirely into you as fast as possible, then slowly pulling out. It was excruciating. It just kept going on like that. 

“I’m The Riddler’s whore. Now stop it.” Your body jolted with each thrust. 

“What was that? Say it nice and clear to the camera.”

You turned your head to face the laptop. “I’m The Riddler’s whore.”

The machine sped up back to its original fast pace. “Good girl. Do you know what good girls get?”

All of your brain power was focused on answering. “What?”

The machine stopped, sheathed fully inside of you. “They get cum.” A warm liquid shot out of the synthetic cock and filled your insides. You didn’t even realize what was happening until most of it had already been expelled into you, threatening to enter your womb.

Looking down at yourself, droplets of cum spilled from your opening. “What is that? That’s not real, right?”

“It’s real. I’ve been keeping it nice and warm just for you. Feel honored.” He hung up the phone.

At least you were on the pill.

At work, the next day, you walked in with a small container that held as much of the Riddler’s semen as you possibly could gather after the fact. How were you even going to explain this to the detective? Sexted the serial killer and now I have some evidence! That’s insane.

You handed the container to one of the forensics workers. “I need this DNA tested. It’s connected to the Riddler case.” Be brief with details and get out of there. 

You felt safe again when you were in the archive room and finally away from everyone else. A knock on the door caught your attention. The same man from a few weeks ago stood. Patrick Parker, you think it was. Some alliteration like that. 

“Couldn’t figure out the website. Figured I’d just come here again.” He blushed as he spoke and avoided eye contact with you. Still strange, but at least he seemed a little sweet.

You stood from your chair. “Yeah, the forms are just over here.”