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slaytheusurper · 5 months ago

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⭑ When in Rome ⭑ (Domina Mea, Chapter One)

Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Death (gladiator fight)

Summary: After years you returned to Rome to visit your father, General Marcus Acacius, to celebrate his recent victory. However, when the Emperors Caracalla and Geta get you in their sights, they will not let you go so easily.

Word count: 3.3k

Your fathers victory stretched far and wide, as did the people's love for him. This provided you with an opportunity, a chance to leave one of your fathers estate’s and visit him in Rome after all these years. You were fairly young when your mother died of the horrible antonine plague. It had struck many and even your noble family was not safe.

It took years for your father to overcome his grief, little by little he started to show pieces of his old self again. And it was Lucilla ‘the mother of Rome’ who fully healed him, you hadn’t spent that much time with her but you knew she was a good woman. You were happy for your father even though after your mothers death he had sent you away for your own safety.

The Aurelian Estate was grand and well protected, it was lonely too. Your mothers death left a gaping hole in your heart, and with your father being the general, he was needed elsewhere. The estate had made you grow bored and even though Rome was still unsafe with the twin emperors in power, you longed to see your father.

Knowing well he would refuse your visit, you lied to the household guard. You informed them how you were to visit your father and attend the games with him at the colosseum, all to celebrate his victory in Numidia. They were hesitant as they had not received orders from the general himself, but agreed after your promises.

The road to Rome was long but durable, the stench of the city came closer and it made your face contort in disgust. Beggars were divided on each side of the road you were travelling and it made you uneasy. Your father had told you many times why Rome was grand but fragile as well, it was ridden with disease and plots, as well as two emperors who were as unpredictable as they were mad.

Still, it intrigued you, the last time you were in Rome, you were young and you barely remembered it. The walls of the Aurelian Estate being carved into your mind deeper, while Rome eroded. One of your servants handed you a cloth on which she had poured some lavender oil, she gestured to hold it to your nose.

You thanked her and glanced out of the carriage again to notice the Capitoline wolf upon the gate of Rome. Your fathers voice echoed through your mind upon recalling the legend that was behind the statue. Soon after passing it, Praetorian guards halted the carriage, demanding to know who you were.

When your name left the lips of Edas, your personal guard, the Praetorian muttered an apology and barked around to make way for the carriage. You had almost forgotten how respected your father was and kept in mind how useful it could be, being his daughter.

You had, however, not thought about what your father would say or do upon your sudden arrival. It was safe to say he was not pleased that you lied to the household guard and travelled all the way to the most dangerous city without his knowledge. Lucilla however was a bit more enthusiastic, giving you a warm welcome.

Standing in the inner courtyard of their estate in Rome was like a dream, even though you were born there, it didn’t seem real to you. To be back after all these years. Lucilla guided you to a table where fruit and wine was spread out, while your father continued lecturing you.

“You know how many times I have warned you of this place, it is not safe! Especially not now these mad-” Marcus stopped himself when he noticed one of the servants being a little too interested in what he was about to say next.

“You should not have come.” He said now calmer. “Father, I have not seen you in three years. How could you blame me for seeking you out? I miss you.” His expression softened at your words, Lucilla gave your hand a squeeze on the table and smiled at you. “She will be safe here, with me. Nobody would dare lay a hand on my daughter.”

It was still a bit weird to hear her say that, but you had gotten more used to it a long time ago. You returned her smile and your father seemed to come to terms with your arrival. “I- I’m just afraid of losing my only child, it’s safer for you outside of Rome, protected by thick estate walls and our own men.”

Lucilla offered him a sympathetic smile, understanding all too well after having lost her own son. “She is here now, safe in our estate. If she stays here, nothing will happen to her.” Marcus gave in and let one of the servants show you to a guest bed chamber. After your servants had unpacked your belongings, you finally got to get some rest.

The next morning you woke up feeling happier than you had in a long time. The dangers of Rome did not seem too much of a concern to you. No, being reunited with your father was what you needed to regain your spirit.

Lucilla made you realise how much you missed your mother but she made sure you had a maternal figure in her, as she showed you the whole of the estate the next day. You shared stories, meals and laughs with her as you regained your energy from your travels, when evening fell, that peace was shattered.

A messenger came, announcing during supper how Marcus was commanded to be present at the games in the colosseum on the morrow, alongside his wife… and child. Your father was furious, abandoning his food to isolate himself with his anger. How did the emperors find out you were in Rome?

You had only been ‘home’ for two days, nobody except for the household guard and your fathers own men knew you were here. In truth you were excited to see the colosseum and witness the well loved gladiator battles. “I do not understand how they know, and why they want you there. Oh sweet child, it is not entertainment for a young lady such as yourself.” Lucilla expressed.

You wondered why it was so bad for you to go, of course you knew of the stories surrounding the two ‘mad’ emperors but you were sure that with your fathers station they would not harm you. Your title as step-daughter of a princess and daughter of a loved general made you already liked by the people, you were untouchable, right?

Sleep evaded you that night, you were excited yet afraid. What Lucilla said haunted you, were gladiator battles really that gruesome? And she was right, why did the emperors want you there? Lucilla told you it was probably in retribution of your fathers ‘rude’ request of taking leave to see his family, but how would they know your father didn’t want you there?

You were awake early, only having caught some hours of sleep. And so you had already eaten and bathed before your parents were ready. When Marcus and Lucilla at last emerged to leave, the dreadful ride to the colosseum began. Your father didn’t speak a word the entire way. You knew exactly what he was thinking, that it was your fault, if you hadn’t come, you wouldn't be about to be face to face with the sick men that ruled Rome.

Upon your arrival at the colosseum, your father left the carriage first, helping Lucilla out before he helped you. The ginormous building was riddled with praetorians and onlookers, to your surprise they not only chanted your fathers name but also yours and Lucilla’s. The grand entrance took your breath away, before you were grounded when your father pulled you towards him.

You hadn’t even noticed the man that had walked up to your father and Lucilla. “Daughter, you were asked a question.” Marcus said. The man in front of you looked at you expectantly, he almost looked royal himself, although you did not recognise him at all. “Forgive me, I was distracted by the grandeur of the colosseum, it has been so long since I’ve been in Rome.”

“Do not worry Lady, I do not fault you. I merely wished to know how your travel had been, no complications I hope?” You shook your head. “No, it was fairly smooth. I am sorry, what was your name?” The man smiled at you and took your hand before kissing the back of it. “Macrinus my lady. Again, no need for apologies.”

You felt Lucilla’s hand on your back and you were suddenly grateful for her presence, the man seemed kind but your intuition was telling you otherwise. “Thank you, Macrinus, for your warm welcome.” He gave you yet another smile. “Shall I escort you to your seats? The emperors are already there, I’ve heard they are- eager to meet your daughter General.”

Your fathers lips thinned at Macrinus’ words but before he could snap back the man gestured you to follow him, Lucilla’s hand never left your back, your father keeping a fierce grip around your shoulder. Macrinus led you through the guarded halls and stairs of the colosseum until you noticed the light atop the last staircase.

It was the emperor's box, nerves suddenly overcame you but you felt the reassuring and protecting grip of your father on your shoulder. As you reached the top, Macrinus greeted the emperors before moving out of the way, so you were face to face with them.

Your father greeted them first. “Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla.” He said as he bowed, letting go of you for but a short moment before his protective grip returned. However the emperors barely paid attention to him or Lucilla as their eyes burned into yours.

You were speechless for a moment before Lucilla placed her hand on your lower back, recentering you. “Your Majesties.” You spoke while curtsying. Everyone had always spoken of their madness, their ruthlessness, but no one told you of their beauty. You were taken aback by how handsome they were, though they had a mad look in their eye.

Emperor Geta spoke first. “General, you have quite the beauty at your side. Where have you kept her all these years?” You almost winced as your fathers grip tightened. “After Aurelia’s death, I sent her to a safe estate that was built in honor of her mothers memory. Rome was such a dangerous place to be at the time, your Majesty.” Geta hummed in response and Caracalla simply laughed.

“Mm, of course, what a delight that she has come to visit you then. No doubt wanting to join the celebrations, am I right Lady?” Caracalla spoke, both their voices made your heart thump louder in your chest. “Yes Caesar, that is right.” You answered respectfully, lowering your gaze.

“Tell me, have you ever witnessed a gladiator battle before Lady?” Geta then asked. “No your Majesty, I have not.” He smiled at your answer and you were relieved that you seemed to please them so far. No one could tell what they would do if you failed. It was then that a tiny monkey appeared on Caracalla’s shoulder, holding on to his hair.

You smiled brightly at the sight, never had you seen an excotic creature like that before. The only ‘creatures’ at your estate were horses, hounds and birds. Caracalla noticed your sudden change in demeanor. “Have you also never ��witnessed’ a monkey before Lady?” Your cheeks burned red at his words, they must think you were stupid with how they spoke.

“No, your Majesty.” Caracalla giggled at that and guided the monkey into his arms. Geta’s piercing gaze never left you as Caracalla came closer. It was only then you noticed the weird scratches on his face. “Would you like to meet Dondas?” He giggled. “It would be an honor Caesar.” Your father reluctantly let go of you, as did Lucilla.

You caught Macrinus watching in the corner of your eye. Caracalla then led Dondas into your arms, you couldn’t help the big smile on your lips as the monkey made some adorable noises before holding onto the expensive fabric of your toga. Dondas inspected your necklace for a bit before he climbed around your shoulders and back into the Emperor's arms.

“He likes you!” Caracalla exclaimed excitedly, followed by a fit of giggles you already secretly found adorable. You smiled at him. “Well I like him too your Majesty, you have a very sweet monkey.” He grinned widely and his golden tooth met your eyes, why did it suit him so well?

“Since you have never witnessed a battle such as this before, Lady, why don’t you sit at the front, with us?” Geta spoke, although he rather commanded it then asked. You looked to your side at your father, who tried not to show his fury, Lucilla looked down. It seemed you had no choice, even though that did not bother you as much as it probably should.

“Of course Caesar, how thoughtful of you, thank you.” You answered politely, and relief washed over you once more when he smiled brightly. He commanded servants to move one of the large luxurious chairs to the front, between the thrones of the emperors. Then he gave the signal that the speaker could announce their arrival and that of your father.

“Emperor Caracalla! Emperor Geta! Citizens of Rome!” The speaker's voice echoed through the colosseum as the emperors now stood all the way up front of the box, in clear view of the audience. “These sacred games are in honor of General Acacius’ victory in Numidia!” Loud cheers and applause came from the audience.

“Acacius.” “General.” The twins gestured for your father to join them so the citizens could see him. He raised his hand and loud cheers filled your ears once more. “Speak to them.” You could faintly hear Geta say. Your fathers words faded in your mind as you took in the colosseum.

When he returned to go to his seat, he gave your shoulder a loving squeeze before taking his place. Lucilla was then announced and she too was welcomed with a loud applause and cheers from the crowd. Then both the emperors gestured for you to come forward, as you stood between them, the speaker's loud voice boomed through the colosseum again.

“In attendance today is the beloved daughter of General Acacius himself!” Your brows furrowed as people chanted your name. It confused you, they did not know you. Nor had you conquered lands or won battles like your father. It showed you how much your parentage could mean.

Lucilla had already taken her seat and after you too had raised your hand to the crowd, you took your seat just like the emperors on either side. The speaker then announced the gladiators, the slaves from Numidia, before announcing the gladiator of Geta and Caracalla themselves.

The gladiators had taken their place in the low arena of the colosseum before a giant gate opened. Your mouth parted at the sight, an animal you had never seen before with the gladiator standing on his back entered the arena. You didn’t even notice both the emperors grinning at your reaction. Neither did you notice the sharp gaze of your father.

You leaned forward a bit and watched as the big animal came closer. It then stopped before the gladiator greeted the emperors. “Heil Caesars!” He roared, his low voice sent a shiver down your spine, he looked terrifying and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the ‘slaves’ from Numidia.

Geta and Caracalla raised their hands in response before their gladiator made his first charge, the arena beneath you seemed to shake with the animal's heavy strides. The gladiators jumped out of the way at the last moment, except for one, who was launched into a nearby pillar and died upon impact.

Your eyes widened at the scene, you were slightly frightened but also intrigued. Maybe you understand now why people like the games. Both Geta and Caracalla clapped beside you, feeling victorious through their warrior. You were on the edge of your seat as you watched how the large animal and its rider turned back around.

One of the gladiators caught your attention as he stuck his sword in the ground before clasping his hands together to cup some sand. He then waited for the animal to charge, let it come closer, before releasing the sand into the air, creating a dust cloud. When it seemed he would get hit by the animal's large horn, he jumped out of the way, causing the animal to crash into the wall.

The audience as well as the emperors jumped from their seat, the animal was injured badly and the gladiator had been launched from his seat. You joined the emperors to see how the gladiator got up to fight the slave from Numidia.

It only took a little while before the gladiator had taken the sword from the Numidian and already raised his arms to excite the crowd. You moved back to your seat before Geta spoke. “Brother, it’s that poet is it not?” You had no idea what Geta was talking about. “I can’t remember, that night was a blur.” Caracalla responded before taking his seat as well.

“The gates of hell… are… open night and day- smooth- I forget-” Your brows furrowed, you knew that poem, Lucilla had once read it to you the night after their wedding, as she wanted to bond with her new daughter. “Smooth is the descent, easy is the way.” You answered.

Geta looked at you and seemed pleased, thank the gods. The slave had gotten up again in the meantime and fought back against the gladiator with a shield, they fought back and forth until the gladiator had picked up the Numidian and launched him over his shoulder, causing his back to collide hard with the ground.

The gladiator pointed his sword and looked up expectantly at Geta, the crowd chanted ‘mercy’. It seemed the emperors got to make the decision on who eventually got killed in the arena. Geta looked at Caracalla who almost immediately said ‘blood’. “My Lady, shall we show mercy?” You did not expect Geta to ask your opinion.

You did not want the poor Numidian to die at your hands. “Mercy.” You nodded, Geta smiled before turning to the crowd to raise his hand. While lowering it he balled it into a fist with his thumb out, before pointing it up. “No mercy!” The Numidian yelled. “Your life has been spared by the gods-”

“I would rather face your blade than accept Roman mercy!” You almost cringed at his words, he was clearly stupid to ignore such a presence as Emperor Geta. He then rolled over to grab a blade from the sand before launching it into the gladiator's chest. It was then he looked at the emperors expectantly instead, to which Geta gave the crowd what they wanted by pointing his thumb down.

The Numidian slave then beheaded the gladiator, leaving the emperor's champion defeated. Caracalla stood and clapped his hands loudly while Geta, on the other hand, stormed out. You turned in your seat to look at your father, who gestured that it was time to go. You stood, and curtseyed to Emperor Caracalla, “Your Majesty.” He gave you a nod, and you joined your father and Lucilla towards the exit.

When you had gotten back to the estate, your father retired to his rooms, not saying a word the entire way back either. You were relaxing in the garden with Lucilla, when that man, Macrinus, from the colosseum arrived. To your disappointment Lucilla requested you take a bath after all that happened and you left the two alone. The whole time you were bathing you couldn’t get the emperors out of your mind, neither the man that had won that day.

#gladiator 2 smut #gladiator 2 fanfic #gladiator ll #gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla x reader smut #emperor geta x reader smut #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #geta and caracalla #caracalla x reader smut #caracalla x reader #geta x reader smut #geta x reader #general marcus acacius #lucius verus #lucilla aurelius

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mannequinreligi0n · 3 months ago

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Can I request Dante and the reader having a shooting contest on their off day from hunting demons? (Platonic or romantic, your choice)

Headshot

pairing: dante x reader (gn)

wc: 1300

warnings: drug and alcohol use

author’s note: i’ve literally been meaning to answer this for so long, but could not, for the life of me, figure out a plot. and then this morning, the story randomly manifested in my mind’s eye. i kept it mostly platonic, with just a dash of flirting/angst. ugh, i love writing for dante - especially his dialogue. it’s always so fun. anywayyssss, i hope you like this !!!! let’s go old man lover nation !!!!!!

Smoke hazes the room, swirls of gray muddying your view of Dante as he cocks the chamber of Ebony. He stares down the end of the barrel, trying to pinpoint the head of the swinging cutout you two tied to the shitty ceiling fan. He looks over his shoulder to you on the couch, Ivory sat in your lap and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s warmed in your hand. You quirk an eyebrow up at him, as if to ask ‘well?’.

“Just makin’ sure you’re watchin’, angel,” he chortles, blunt bobbing between his lips as he smiles back at you.

The end of the blunt sparkles as he drags from it, inhaling deeply and refocusing back to the rotating target. With an exhale through his nose, he pulls the trigger, watching the gunpowder mix with the fragrant smoke of the herb. The bullet hits its mark, jolting the cutout to sway off kilter, but as it falls back into its previous rhythm, Dante can see that it’s off by a millimeter. The bullet hole permeates the head of the sacrificed celebrity, but it’s just off to the left - enough to dissatisfy Dante.

“Damn it, I’m gettin’ sloppy,” Dante sighs with a shake of silver hair, pulling the blunt from his mouth and flopping down beside you. You two trade off the substances and he takes a hearty swig from the bottle, leaning back with an arm over the couch.

“Mmm, not sloppy. Just careless,” you laugh lightly, pulling a drag and feeling the smoke coat the back of your throat. You tap the ash off the blunt and set it down in the ashtray on the table, exhaling and standing up with a stretch.

“Oh, you gonna show me how it’s done then, hotshot?” Dante sits back and ogles at your backside as you roll the stiffness out your shoulders, his drawl exaggerated in his inebriated state. He reaches forward and pinches the inch of your hip exposed from your ridden up shirt, making you jump and whip around.

“Watch it, dumbass,” you point Ivory at him with a heartless threat, giving him a scolding glare. Dante only chuckles in return, sitting up and pressing his forehead to the end of the gun he so graciously let you borrow for the game.

“Shootin’ the guy that saved your ass yesterday? Not very nice, sweetheart. And with my own baby, at that,” he teases, flashing you a dreamy, coy smile.

“Hands to yourself, and maybe I won’t have to use it against you,” you say smartly, staring down at him over your nose. Despite the remark, you reciprocated his smile with a fond one of your own, the liquor and drugs in your system making it hard to even pretend to be mad at him. You lower the gun and turn back around, zeroing in on the rotating cutout. Raising Ivory, you squint and take a few centering breaths, aiming for the head. A ‘bang’ echos in the office as you shoot, the bullet going through the chin of its face.

“This game is stupid,” you huff, throwing the gun back at Dante with an indignant pout.

“What happened, buddy? I thought you were a pro!” Dante laughs heartily and catches the gun, standing up from his seat. He strides over to you and pats your back, gun held in his other hand.

“Ain’t gonna kill anyone when you’re all frowny like that,” he remarks, handing the gun back to you. “You gotta loosen up - be one with the gun.”

“I am ‘loosened up’,” you frown even harder and look at him over your shoulder as he moves behind you, strong hands massaging your tense traps almost mockingly. “Your gun just sucks.”

“Hey! She can hear you, ya know?!”

Dante swats the back of your head lightly in punishment, offended that you’d diss one of his beloved firearms, before resting his hands back on your shoulders.

“Give it another go,” he murmurs beside your ear. “Really try this time.”

With a sigh, you cock Ivory and raise your arm again, eyeing the target. Dante can feel the hesitation in your body as you try and pinpoint the shot, doubt creeping into your system. His hand slides down your arm and holds the gun along with you, body caging you from behind.

“It ain’t all that hard. Just point it a little higher, like this-“

He gently moves your hand up an inch or two, his chin lowered to your shoulder to be at your eye level. His fingers are warm and firm around yours, slightly distracting your intoxicated mind and making your heart do a somersault from the gentle contact. You clear your throat to refocus, peering over the gun.

“Pull the trigger half a second sooner than you think you should,” Dante whispers beside you, the smell of whiskey fanning off of him, caressing your sense of smell. “You got it.”

Sucking in another deep breath, you laser-focus on the cardboard cutout, trying to block out the warm body holding you behind. Following his advice, your finger pulls the trigger a little early than you normally would and the bullet sounds off. The cutout jerks and swings as you hit your mark, a hole forming right between its eyes.

“I did it!”

You whip around and beam proudly up at Dante, all traces of your defeated frown gone. He takes Ivory from you with a chuckle and tosses it back to sit beside her sister on the couch.

“I told ya! You just gotta have a little faith,” he muses, cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together. “Probably could’ve done it without my help, if you focused more the first time.”

“No, I don’t think so,” you laugh and shake your head loose of him, though his hand remains, opting to tenderly hold your face instead.

“Yeah, me neither. I was just tryna be nice.”

Dante gives you a lopsided smile and brushes your cheek with his thumb, his eyes giving away his usually airtight thoughts. His smile waivers and he averts his eyes for a breath, returning them to you with a more sincere gaze.

“I, uh…wanted to thank you,” he starts, a wrinkle on his forehead creasing as he tries to formulate a coherent sentiment. “-for coming over. We don’t get a lotta downtime these days, and I know these jobs really take it out of you. Not that I blame you for wanting some space from me outside of hunting, because I know I’m a handful and all that jazz. But y’know, I-“

“Dante.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay,” you smile earnestly and rest your hands on his arms, knowing he has the tendency to ramble when he’s nervous or out of his element. “I wanted to come.”

“Right - yeah, I know…I just-“

“I know.”

You let out a hum of a laugh and slide your hands down to hold his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. Dante visibly relaxes and lets out a weighted breath, his expression softening up. There’s so much more he wanted to say, but he knew you knew without even verbalizing it - and he was thankful for that. Feelings weren’t really his forte, especially with someone so pretty looking up at him like he was the only man in the world.

“…I got a crossbow upstairs, if you’re feeling plucky,” he finally resolves in saying, putting the heavy conversation aside for now.

A big smile spreads on your face and you giggle at his stupid pun, nodding and swaying his hands in yours.

“Can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me this whole time,” you snort, dropping his hands. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Go grab it

#devil may cry #dmc #dante sparda #dmc dante #dante devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc writing #dante #dante dmc #devil may cry 5 #writing #fanfic #oneshot #dante x reader #asks #inbox

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08melancholie · 8 months ago

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Lessen your Stress. — Dutch Van der Linde/Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Post-Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Smut, Shameless Smut, Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Sex, Spoilers, dont read if you havent finished chapter 6, theres spoilers to it that youll regret, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Anal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Mildly Dubious Consent, Abuse of Authority, Authority Figures, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Spit as Lube, Lube, Come as Lube, precum still counts i hope, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell

summary: What's one way to relieve the stress of losing your family, friends and entire gang you spent decades building? Dutch assumes it's getting his best friend to fuck his other still-devoted follower with him. It's another power trip of his you will never refuse.

a/n: initially the idea was reader and micah both trying to fight over dutch but then i was like why do we have to fightttt just let them both ruin users guts..... so here we are now. disclaimer: ive literally never written a threesome, i dont know what im doing honestly.... thank you to that one user on here who inspired this.

this is my longest fic up to date... yeah okay lets go touch grass.

words: 5,043 | AO3 LINK

A heap of shouting, spilling of secrets and killing later, the three of you regroup, all alone. Death is haunting you; you almost feel their blood on your hands, for some reason. You can't pinpoint why, but you feel guilty. Might be the fact you're still following Dutch, after he got them all killed.

Dutch might have officially lost his mind, right? You sometimes really wonder how he's made it this far, with such a good gang. Well, until now anyways. It's not until now that you notice a small flip in his head; a switch turning on for the first time. He's sat across from you, only a small fire between yourselves that lights up a small fraction of the area around you; up on a mountain, a small indent into the rocks it's built of serving as a cave of sorts. You're on the other side of the fire, laying down and watching Dutch really think for the first time, in a while. Your head is supported with the satchel you carry around your torso, visibly more uncomfortable than the plush pillows inside your old tent, now left behind. Sat behind you both is none other than Micah; staying forever loyal to the black-haired man lost in his own thoughts, his own pondering whilst his eyes illuminate the fire between your bodies. Micah is quiet; in fact, everyone is. Nobody dares say a word—not you, not Micah, especially not Dutch. Dutch doesn't feel grief, oh no; that isn't what this can be. You'd think that leaving two of your sons to die even after having the choice to save them both would make a man go crazy, but Dutch is clearly too far gone for that.

The fire crackles again, and you can't stand the silence any longer, opening your mouth to speak up. "We'll be fine, Dutch. Don't stress so much."

His head perks up from the fire, the flame-ridden irises of his catch your own. "Fine?" He repeats after your reassurance—not sounding all that reassured. You swallow and nod, always feeling so small under that dark gaze of his. "I would love to have even an ounce of your optimism." He barks, and you sink even lower. Well, it was a good try, if nothing.

He and Micah share a look, and it all goes quiet again. Fire crackles; animals howl in the distance; shrubbery whistles under the small wind blowing through the area. And all is quiet.

It seems as you'll be spending the rest of the night in here, so you decide to rest your exhausted body for today. You toss over and get as comfortably as one can, making an attempt at sleeping off the sour mood and thick tension in the air.

Your slumber only lasts you a few mere hours, both the very early morning sun picking at your eyes and gloved hands on your bare skin breaking you away from the little sleep you managed yourself. You grumble, turning to lay on your back. "Get'cho ass up," Micah, standing over you, takes a step back and moves his hands off you, the leather material slipping away from your waist. You sit up and rub your knuckles into your eyes, taking your satchel from underneath where your head was and standing up. "hoping you enjoyed Colter, darlin'." Oh, Colter; if hell was an icy, snowy blizzard, you'd assume they were talking about that part of West Grizzlies.

"Don't tell me we're going back." You hold off on groaning—only briefly as Micah nods and you can't help yourself, not at all fond of going back there again. "Why West Grizzlies, anyways?" You ask, watching him kick at the burnt-out campfire from last night.

Micah stomps out the ashy, black logs, turning back over to you with a shrug. "Dutch says so." Of course he does.

You hold back on rolling your eyes. "He at least in a better mood than yesterday?" You ask, very much still remembering his bite back to your simple attempt at making the situation you three were currently in a little more bearable. Micah starts walking off while talking to you, and you follow close behind, leaving the makeshift cave.

"Wouldn't put ma' money on it," He responds, voice getting quieter the closer he leads you towards Dutch—smoking a cigar, per the usual—and your three horses. "don't test yer luck, hm?" He gives a low chuckle, and you just sigh. Snow; low temperatures; blizzards; all things you wanted to leave and forget in Colter. But, here you were.

Dutch gives an acknowledging nod to both of you, which you swiftly return. "We ready to go, then?" Micah gives him another nod, and walks up to Baylock. You follow to your own horse, petting it briefly before getting up onto the saddle, mounting up as the two of them soon do the same.

The three of you start the long journey back up towards the mountains; almost feeling that familiar deja-vu-feeling kicking in.

The ride is long and definitely not friendly; the moment your horses get you to the snow, the wind picks up and so does the snow, plowing down on all six of you. It's almost unbearably annoying, having to ride with one hand on your reins and one covering the top of your eyebrows to block out the snow from your vision. It's only a long while later that the three of you get up on the snow-covered mountain of your liking, finding an abandoned area with a cabin, definitely big enough for the three of you, for now.

The three of you hitch your horses safely into a small stable-like area, making sure they wouldn't be cold in their spots. Afterwards, one after another, you enter the cabin and inspect it; it's a medium-sized hut-type room, a few cots still stable enough to sleep in and a kitchen on the other side, most cabinets left open and empty. Mere minutes of searching left you with a few cans of fruit and vegetables, but between you three, hunting will definitely be a must for nourishment. At least theres a run-down fireplace you can use to warm up your shivering bodies. Dutch sends Micah to get firewood, instructing you to work with him and make the place look a bit less messy. And, three of you get to work.

It isn't exactly homey, but it'll do. Can't be picky now, can you? You had a home, and it was Dutch's own fault everything at 'home' went to shit.

It's been about a week since, and you've gotten used to the spot you three settled into, you could even start calling it home. Well, no—nothing will ever replace the home that the gang provided, but that's something you'll have to simply cope with. You're still following Dutch, so really, do you miss them that much? Your trail of thought is broken up by the sound of the creaky cabin door opening, raising the volume of the small blizzard going on outside briefly.

Dutch and Micah enter after another, closing the door of the small cabin and blocking out the sound of wind outside. Your head perks up from the small book you were examining at the sound, and you nod in greeting. "Hey," Your gaze goes back to the book until Dutch clicks his tongue at you.

"Eyes up here."

You don't take even a second to comply, meeting his eyes but occasionally drifting them to Micah. You're slightly confused, they're acting odd. "You need something, Dutch?"

"Stand up."

Every command sends a small shiver to your spine, that much is sure. You place the book down and rise from your seat on the creaky cot, taking a step towards them to stand before the two men. Your compliance and submissiveness always sends one side of Dutch's mouth up slightly. "Got a.. proposition for you. Well... Not exactly, anyways." Micah matches Dutch's dark chuckle after the leader speaks up again, both looking down at you. "Listen now, it's been pretty cold, hasn't it, my dear?" As Dutch speaks to you, your eyes stay glued on him; but you can see Micah taking slow steps away from the leader, and around you. You focus on Dutch again, nodding. "That's what we thought. You see," He then takes a step closer to you, gloved hands clasping together in front of you. "we can keep ourselves warm without wasting so much firewood." At Dutch's words, you can definitely feel Micah so much closer to you, from behind your back. You're starting to feel something bubble in your abdomen; was it nervousness, anxiety? Lust, arousal? You couldn't exactly tell.

"Tell me, my dear," Another two steps; one in front of you, one behind you. You feel like you're being circled by sharks in an ocean, hunters on prey, making you feel small again. "you're a smart girl; you do know what I mean, don't you?" Oh, you do. You know it all too well as you've imagined it one too many times—late at night in your tent, your hands on yourself underneath the blanket, muffling the moans of their names into your palm—so it's not an unfamiliar feeling. Your words seem to only fail you further the more he speaks, so you just nod again. His moustache follows the curve of his lips when that devilish smirk arises again. "Thought so. Now..."

His gloves glide over your shoulders, leather on leather as he stands right in front of you now. "And surely, you wouldn't mind trying this new warm-up with us, would you?"

Like a cat playing with a mouse it's caught, toying with it until it breaks. Except, it's two big cats and one meek little mouse. A hot breath glides down to you, right over your shoulder when Micah draws himself closer, and you feel stuck in your spot between them—even more so when Micah places his gloved hands down to your sides, almost kneading at your waist. Now, how could you ever say no? It's Dutch Van der Linde and Micah Bell. For one, you've been imagining this scenario in the comfort of your tent, late into the many nights that turned very hot, very quickly. But also, do you really have a choice? Your boss; your leader, asking such a vulgar and intimate thing of you? What would he say if you refused? Would he let you refuse? Is this all another power-trip he'll hold over your head?

No time for questions when Micah squeezes your waist to bring you back to reality. "He asked 'ya a question, doll." He purrs—its low and sultry, right next to your ear, accompanied by another knead to your body. You feel almost lightheaded by your current situation. Your hands have been unconsciously balled-up, digging into your trousers in an attempt to ground yourself. "C'mon, answer the man." And all you can manage is a nod, again. A moan would probably leave your mouth if you opened it, which.. would also be an answer. Your nod was really all it took, a silent consent more than enough for Micah's hands to travel to your hips and for Dutch's to find the sides of your neck.

"Good girl, always listening to me like this. I know you wouldn't disobey."

The feeling is indescribable, really—Micah touches you with urgency and carelessness, almost selfishly and greedily; his hands map out the contour of your body, almost as if trying to mould your curves to his liking. Dutch, however, takes it hellishly slow; thumbs brush over the front of your neck while the tips of his other fingers dig into the sides, almost as if trying to coax you to relax into whatever they have planned for you. "Oh, she's good, boss." Whenever Micah speaks, it ends up right next to your ear, and you feel that familiar shiver down your spine. An agreeing chuckle leaves Dutch's mouth, which is very close to your face; your own lips. You're clueless as to what you have to do—should you stay stiff? Touch one of them? Say anything at all to their comments and wandering touches?

Dutch's slow pace slips up when he can't hold himself back from giving himself a taste of yourself, dipping his head down to latch onto your lips. It's nice and quick, and your hands find themselves creeping up his coat and resting on his shoulders, whereas his move under your jacket and place themselves on your ribs and under your chest. Micah is pressed right up to your back now, one hand leaves your hip to move your hair away from your neck, sliding your jacket collar down as he starts to pepper the side of your neck in kisses, occasionally sucking on the skin while pressing his hips to your backside—you can already feel him through both of your clothes. Dutch takes a moment to lick your lip, coaxing you to open your mouth up for him. You comply and your lips part an opening for Dutch's tongue, hands squeezing at his shoulders.

His tongue explores around your mouth with profound efficiency; with experience. It makes the feeling in your abdomen all the more prominent, and you slowly feel a heat rushing to it. Micah isn't any worse either, the mixture of his gentle kisses, rough sucks and sometimes licks up your neck all make you more worked up than you'd ever want to imagine. He's still pressed up to your rear, hands at the very top of your outer thighs, roughly handling you like previously. Then, Dutch starts unbuttoning your jacket. Slowly, each one gets undone, and your jackets pools between yours and Micah's boots, who carefully kicks it aside, just to continue marking up your neck. His stubble and beard occasionally brushes against your sensitive neck, making you let out little sounds into Dutch's mouth. Oh, how they're enjoying this.

Dutch momentarily breaks away from you, leaving you to finally breathe in. "You know, I always liked how you followed me so blindly," Dutch's hands move up and brush over your chest, then cup both of the muscles. "it was so damn hard to not take you right then and there, in camp." You gasp and sigh when his hands start massaging and fondling you. This much foreplay has never gotten you so worked up in your life, and you can definitely feel the dampness between your legs growing with each moment. Then, Micah's hands move. They're getting impatient, seen so by the man behind you who starts groping your rear, breathing oh-so-sweetly down your neck. "I'mma have my fun with'chu, sweet thin'." His hums have goosebumps running up your body. His hands squeeze your ass a final time before moving, sliding down onto your inner thighs. You almost think that he can tell how wet you are, from the low laugh he lets out into your neck.

Impatience really overtakes both of them when they break away and start stripping. Coats, vests, undershirts, trousers; all the many layers you need to survive the coldness of West Grizzlies. Once they're almost bare, left in their underpants, they walk to one of the cots and coax you to follow, taking a seat next to each other and gesturing for you to stand in front of them. "Your turn, my dear." Dutch commands, leaning back slightly.

"Make sure to give us a good show, darlin'." Micah adds, following Dutch and also leaning back. And a good show, they shall receive. You start with your undershirt, slowly and almost teasingly unbuttoning it, exposing yourself inch by inch, moment by moment. "Oh, she's good." Micah purrs to Dutch, looking at you intently and never breaking his eyes away from your body. Dutch gives an agreeing hum, nodding to the other mans' words as you move to your jeans, shrugging your undershirt off while undoing the restraints of your jeans. You slip them off and toss both clothing articles to your jacket, standing in only your garments, now only covering your chest and mound. Their eyes are still so predatory, it's almost killing you. Then, finally, Dutch gestures with his hand for you to move closer, and you step up right in front of them. They part slightly to the side, and Micah pats the space between them on the bed. You understand instantly and comply just as quickly, sitting between them now. "Attagirl... how'd 'ya train 'er to listen so well, boss?"

Neither of them say more, as Micah leans in to get his lips onto yours himself now, kissing you with speed and want; need. Dutch's hands go to your back, fiddling with your bra to get it off of you. Oh, but the best part is Micah's hands; one reaches down between your legs instantly, swiping across your slit over your undergarments. "Oh shit, 'yer this damn wet already?" Both men laugh in sync, dark and low chuckles filling the cabin. His fingers find your clit under the fabric and start rubbing, coaxing you to moan into his mouth which you do. He loves how your meek little gasps and whimpers echo down his throat, and he rubs faster. The other hand of his tangles itself in your hair, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. Dutch finally undoes your bra clasps, working it off of you without disturbing Micah and his workings on you. Your bra is tossed elsewhere, and one of Dutch's hands instantly finds your chest, fondling one while latching his mouth onto the other. Your hands grip one shoulder of theirs each, nails digging into the skin as your moans vibrate into Micahs mouth, hips already twitching into his two fingers working your bundle of nerves perfectly. Micah only breaks himself off your lips for a brief moment, "Can't wait to see this pretty cunt stretch around me." his mouth is back on yours, and the sentence alone has you grinding into his two fingers. Where's your dignity now?

Dutch's lips kiss around your nipple, teeth graze and pull oh-so-perfectly, and you already feel like you're close. They handle you with very different paces and things in mind; Micah is clearly trying to humiliate, get you to cum for him as quick as he can to give his ego a boost. Dutch however, he's now teasing; torturously slow pace on both of your tits, yet it works you up just as well as Micah's finger and mouth. And both are equally as blissful.

"Think she's ready for us?" Micah slows his fingers down and moves away from your lips to Dutch's question.

"Oh, surely, see how she's try'na fuck herself on my fingers? Poor, little thing. Bet she wants more."

"Well," Dutch leans away from your chest, standing to get his undergarments off. It's not long before Micah follows, and you can barely look at them; nude as the days they were born, with two almost equally as big cocks twitching for you, some precum at both their tips. It's a sight. "reckon she knows what she has to do—" He turns from Micah to yourself. "—doesn't she?" You swallow. Call it practice for what's to come, literally.

You shuffle off of the bed, and your knees meet the wood floors. Their grins down at you leave your panties practically leaking your own arousal. Looking between them, unsure where to start, you choose the leader—obviously. You get on-level with his hips, placing your hands on his thighs. "Oh, now don't leave my partner out, my dear." Dutch takes one of your hands by the wrist, guiding it to Micah's lower abdomen. "Show us both some love, baby." You can barely breathe at this point, and your hands might even be trembling slightly. Now, you've given maybe one blowjob/handjob in your life; but both, at the same time? This is overwhelming. Nonetheless, can't disappoint your boss, now can you? You push your thoughts down and slide your hand around Micah's shaft, running your thumb over his precum-covered tip to slicken it slightly, while simultaneously licking a stripe up the underside of Dutch's cock, collecting the leaky substance for a taste. Their faces are full of arousal and pure bliss, they almost make you feel proud. Dutch raises a hand to run through your hair, tugging on it. "We're old, impatient men, my darlin'. Get to it."

You take half of Dutch in your mouth, and start pumping your hand up and down Micah, earning a few praising groans and another tug to your hair, trying to draw you closer. You take Dutch until he hits the back of your mouth, and you barely suppress gagging on him. Don't need to inflate his ego that much. You move and bob your head, saliva slickening Dutch's dick up and painting your lips, some gathering at the corners of your mouth. Your hand works Micah in a slightly faster pace, seeing as it's easier to pump your hand over his shaft than take one in your mouth—especially one Dutch's size. You're used to average men, so this might as well even be nice. Not so much when he'll be stretching you open, but we'll get to that problem later. You continue your demonstrations, getting both of them to groan and even chuckle sometimes, looking down at you. They always looked down at you, you knew so much—but only ever figuratively. Never literally.

It's not long before Dutch grabs your head and just fucks himself into your mouth at his pace, which makes it easier to focus on your hand that's working Micah. You increase the pace of your hand, occasionally teasing the tip to see it twitch before continuing. "Wouldn't be surprised if you was a whore before 'ya joined us, so good at this." Micah's comment should make you mad, but you're definitely more turned on than anything. "Keep working dem pretty fingers around me, 'm close." And you absolutely will.

Dutch, however, doesn't give you a warning like Micah; he suddenly cums down your throat with a groan, and you have to focus on not gagging all over his dick as it empties itself out into your mouth, and you swallow every drop like if it were holy water. Unfortunately, you're not given a breather when he withdraws his hips from your mouth, as Micah pulls your hand away from his cock and brings your closer to it, grasping your jaw and squeezing so that your lips part. "Open." You don't feel like being painted all over with his cum, so you comply instantly, and he jerks himself a few times before spilling into your mouth like Dutch, your hands finding his thighs to brace yourself.

"Damn, she's good." Dutch seats himself back on the cot with a small creak, palming himself—somehow still semi-hard. Micah lets go of your jaw after he's spent, and you can't stop yourself from coughing as you swallow practically every drop, only a few around your mouth still. Micah chuckles down at you before grabbing you by the sides, his hands grasping your waist as he brings you back to your feet. "Come on then, you ain't done yet, or are 'ya, babydoll?" You're guided over to Dutch, turned to face him as both men help position you over him to straddle the leader. Micah's hands are replaced by Dutch's ones, who immediately moves your panties off and guides your folds around his shaft to slicken himself up again. "Still practically dripping. Oh, you poor thing. We won't be selfish no longer, my dear, you shall get your own, too." His tip slides to your entrance, and you have to grasp his shoulders to keep yourself steady, your lips slightly parted in pleasure. Slowly, Dutch's tip presses into you, and you squeak out a moan as you feel that small stretch you were dreading. "I'll go slow, don't wanna split our new toy in half, do we darling?" Well, that's exactly how you're feeling, oddly enough.

You're gasping and moaning as every inch of his disappears into your slick walls, the lewd noises mixing with Dutch's small praise and breathy exhales as you sink down on his cock, feeling it twitch inside you a few times. "Good girl, taking all of me like that." He gives you a moment to adjust before lifting your hips up and slamming right back down, earning a strained moan out of you, nail indents marking his shoulders up as they dig into the flesh, which just makes him laugh. "Love how tight you are, like it's sucking me right in. Your cunt loves me stretching you out, huh." His hips slowly begin to slap against you, filling the cabin with the suggestive noises of skin-on-skin and moans.

As you finally get used to his size, you feel hands on your waist from behind. You almost forgot Micah was there, seeing how quiet he was being. Then, one hand trails down to your rear, and a thumb circles your anus. "Can't leave me out again, can 'ya?" His thumb slowly draws itself into you, and you have to bite down on Dutch's shoulder. Jesus, you did not expect them to try and fuck you at the exact same time, even less from behind. He briefly extracts his thumb to spit at your entrance, circle it and then stick it right back in, trying to loosen your muscles up for his—much fucking bigger, may you add—member. They find a similar pace, Dutch is rutting you down onto his dick while Micah's thumb stretches your other hole out, readying it for his cock which is already leaking in anticipation. You brace yourself when he moves his thumb out and spits again, this time on his own cock to moisten it up again, mixing the saliva with his precum. Then, his tip slaps against your ass a few times, before it slides to your opening. Dutch has slowed his thrusts down to let Micah get in as well, and you haven't stopped biting at his shoulder since you started, almost drooling around it. Even if it's only the tip, as soon as Micah eases it in, you shudder and gasp into Dutch's flesh, biting down harder as your asshole feels every little stretch it's getting from Micah's thick cock. Thankfully, it's sliding in somewhat-easily after a few moments, Dutch's hands squeezing your hips as he shushes you to relax you, and Micah's caressing your backside as he slowly sinks into you.

The first thrust is the worst, obviously. You almost immediately shiver when Micah slowly slips out of you, to the tip, before drawing his hips right against your ass again. Dutch coos into your ear to keep you collected as Micah gets you used to his size, kissing your slightly sweaty spine briefly. "Come on, 'ya can take me, girlie." He sinks his whole length into you, almost as breathless as you. Then, they slowly find a synced pace and fuck into you from both holes as you gasp against Dutch's shoulder and shudder into him. "We'll let'cha cum too, don't worry doll." Micah slides a hand over to your abdomen, and his thumb circles your clit once more. You're on cloud nine—hell, you've never been high, but it's probably similar to this feeling. Your holes are tight around their cocks, all three now audibly gasping and moaning in sync. It's possibly the lewdest trio you've ever heard. With how they're thrusting into you, you're reduced to a goddamn mess; gasping, moaning their names, your cunt and anus tightening and squeezing, your mouth open and tongue slightly sticking out—you look like a dog, almost. Their bitch, that's for sure. From now on, anyways. You don't see how this could ever be a one-time-thing.

You can feel your orgasm building again, and you've honestly been doing pretty well, all things considered. "Can't cum in that pretty cunt, but I can back here." Micah's comment runs goosebumps over your body, and you already dread the feeling of that. His breath brushes over your skin as he kisses up your back again, reaching the nape of your neck and grazing his teeth over it, all while his hips slam into your ass. Dutch is stroking your sides, his cock twitching even more inside you. He's close—Micah's close—you're close—you might all just come at the same time.

That's exactly how it goes down. You're first to hit your orgasm, one that causes you to squeeze around their cocks once more, which is enough for both of them to hit their peaks with you, Micah staying buried deep in your guts while Dutch pulls out and jerks himself dry over your mound and his stomach, gasping for air in sync with you. Micah draws his spent member out of your asshole slowly, some of his cum leaking out and down your thigh. He takes a breather on your back and hugs around your waist, heaving into your spine. Your body relaxes over Dutch's, who can barely hold all three of you up. It takes all three of you a moment of no movement to calm down from your highs, before Micah is first to move off your back and help you off Dutch, slowly seating you next to him. "Well, goddamn, princess. Dutch was right; 'ya didn't disappoint for even a moment." He hums, getting to the nightstand and tossing a rag over your stomach. He shuts the drawer and sits down next to you, cleaning Dutch's spent off of your stomach while you gather your thoughts, before wiping his shaft and tossing it over to Dutch.

"I'm sure you know we aren't leaving you be after that performance, my dear." Dutch adds as he wipes him self clean, and you just wordlessly nod, laying back slightly. "I guessed so." He chuckles, and Micah chimes in with his own breathy laugh, standing to walk over and grab everyone's clothes, giving them out to you and Dutch before starting to get dressed himself.

And you're damn sure you won't want to stop anytime soon either.

Kudos on AO3 appreciated, as always! This fic killed me omg its my longest one up to date and its got me in a chokehold. fuck i wanna be between them so bad.

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mariespen · 1 year ago

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hihiii can u write a very argumenty angsty story with rafe anything honestly i just need to read some good ass angst and ur angst is sooo good but yeah that’s if you write this or not that’s okay

rafe Cameron x fem!reader a/n: Hi!! Thank you so much for the request, seeing them makes me so happy :(( So sorry that this took me forever to write, I tried to write it a few times but couldn't embody what I was trying to say. This plot line helped me out honestly! I hope this was what you were hoping for. ILY!! content warnings: description of injury, mention of drugs, angst, arguing and yelling, swearing, happy ending bc I can't do angst without one

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Your face was pale with worry as you stood in the kitchen, trying to distract yourself from your growing anxiety. Your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, was known to get himself in trouble very often. Usually you would be there to pull him out of it, but Rafe had stormed out of the house in a rage around 5 hours ago, shouting something about his new dealer and you knew there wasn’t a word you could’ve said to stop him. You knew that for a fact because you’d been thinking about it since he slammed the door.

The music you were listening to was turned up almost all the way as you attempted to drown out any thought that you could have by using the loudest music you could. However, you had to turn it down because the intense feeling just added to your stress.

Sitting on the kitchen counter, you scrolled through the many texts that you had sent Rafe over the hours. There wasn’t any sign that he had even seen them and eventually they just stopped going through, a very blatant sign that his phone had died. Eventually you gave up, giving into your anxious tendencies and pacing around the house, your breathing panicked as you checked your phone constantly.

The front door slammed and you flinched at the sound, running out of the living and praying it was Rafe. When you looked at him for the first time that night, his face was bloody and sweat-ridden. His eyes were wide and each of his fists were red with blood that you could bet wasn’t his. Rafe’s hair was scattered and his clothes were torn in a few places, red staining the fabric.

“Rafe..” You said, watching as his dangerous gaze fell onto you.

“Don’t wanna talk about it..” He said, wiping blood from his nose and pushing past you with a grunt, “out of my way.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“What happened?” You asked, following after him. Your heart was pounding with anxiety and anticipation. Your breathing was still quick and panicked as you looked up at him again, wincing at the sight of his face.

“Told you I didn’t want to talk about it.” Rafe spat, putting out his arm to force distance between the two of you.

“No, you don’t get to do this!” You protested as he stormed away. The worry and concern turned into anger and resentment in your little heart as he gave you another cold shoulder.

“Fuck off, will ya?” He said, not flicking his eyes to you once as he spoke.

“Rafe..” You said softly again, trying to get a better look at his current state. “Jesus! Will you just-“ He said, swatting your hand away, “Just leave me alone!” He stared you down, his voice rising with his anger.

“Please, just tell me you’re okay.” You said breathlessly, starting to pace backwards.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” He said, turning to look at you full on, watching you wince at the sight of his injuries.

You stood back, the feeling of anger burning a hole in your gut.

“God, what is your problem?” You said, muttering your words so that he could barely hear them,

“What was that? What did you say?” He asked, almost like he was challenging you. Instinctively, you look a step back again.

“What is your problem?” You repeated, raising your voice, hesitantly accepting his challenge.

He laughed, a dry and mocking tone as he stared you down.

“What am I doing wrong?” You took a brave step forward, raising your voice, “I just want to help you!” “Stop! I don’t need you or your help.” Rafe shouted, taking an equal step and shoving a finger into your face.

“Fine.” You whispered, throwing your hands up in surrender and turning your back to him, walking out of the kitchen hesitantly.

You didn’t have a plan when you started to open the front door. Maybe you’d go to Kiara’s house and cry in her bed until the sun came up. Or maybe you’d go to JJ’s just to get Rafe back. God, he’d go crazy knowing that you went to JJ for comfort. You didn’t have to think about it for long, though, because you heard Rafe’s steps behind you.

“That’s not what I meant.” He said, closing the front door before you could leave as he started again, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You turned to look at him, his face still stern and threatening. In that moment, he had nearly lost his soft spot for you. “Why did you leave me?” You asked, your voice cracking as you reduced it to a pathetic whisper.

Rafe’s gaze softened as you watched his emotions flip around in his head. His tight knit eyebrows sunk down as he looked at your tearful eyes and his bloody lips pursed together with regret.

“Baby..” He whispered, slumping down to be closer to your shaking body.

“Don’t..” You whispered, your voice trailing off as you tried to back away, but you just couldn’t. Not when Rafe was looking at you like you were the only woman in the world. Instead, you took a step forward.

“I don’t want to do this, you know that, yeah?” He asked breathlessly, waiting for you to nod hesitantly before he continued, “Don’t want to hurt my baby girl.” Your heart broke he stared down at the ground, trying not to rest himself into your arms.

“Tell me what happened.” You said sternly with a gentle undertone, like a mother lecturing her child.

“I got caught up when I was with Barry and-“ You could tell he was lying by the way his ears turned a hot shade of red.

“Don’t lie.” You interrupted him, reaching up to touch his bloody cheek.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, relaxing into your touch.

“C’mon.” You said with a sigh, watching his face ease up as you spoke again, “M’gonna take care of you and you’re going to tell me what happened, yeah?” He rolled his eyes in a silent protest as he towered over you, eventually pulling back and letting you walk to the kitchen, following you closely.

You sat him at the kitchen island, wiping the blood from his cuts as you waited for him to talk.

“My new dealer gave me the wrong shit.” He grunted, trying to stifle a wince at the wound disinfectant that you were cleaning him up with. His voice was shaky when he continued, “Went to give him a talk and.. y’know.” You didn’t want to push him, so you nodded along with his words. After Rafe’s short truth, you sat in silence and finished bandaging what you could, wrapping his knuckles with different band-aids.

“I’m sorry.” Rafe said when you finished, looking up at you from his seat, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You offered, kissing the bandage on his cheek before helping him up, walking upstairs to your shared bedroom.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, m’kay?”

He groaned, eventually giving in and reluctantly agreeing.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

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love-toxin · 4 months ago

Text

Conrad Commission

a/n: another commission from one of my lovely commissioners! <3 cws: afab!plus size!darling, meet cute, pwp, stalking, intox kink, fondling, bruises, panty stealing, fingering, possessive sex, strangers to lovers. word count: 4.1k

If there was nothing else you could do, at least you could read.

Dostoevsky. Solzhenitsyn. Row after row of books awaited your perusal, and yet, this was still only one of the dozen aisles packed into the tiny bookshop you'd stopped inside.

The planes had been grounded for weeks, and after several attempts at getting a ticket to sail home instead, you'd arrived at the docks just to be turned around at the entrance. They wouldn't let you on because you didn't have the fees, but that was just bullshit–they'd tried to extort you and you just simply didn't have the money anymore. Not after spending the last month in a hotel and having to ration out your groceries so you didn't waste the cash for your eventual trip home.

At the very least, the little old couple who ran the shop showed you some kindness. The elderly wife would bring you a cup of tea when you sat down on their sofas to read, and although her husband seemed gruff he would pick through the collection and stack your arms with the true classics. None of that new-modernist trash and those plot hole-ridden novellas people churned out nowadays. Good, solid Russian literature that he insisted would show you the best of their culture, and in his words you sensed a firm if a bit stoic pride in their homeland. They never chastised you for spending the day reading, in fact they seemed to welcome you to bring some life to the shop that sorely missed its customers; the city wasn't nearly as large as others around it and just about on the outskirts of civilization itself. You could hear wolves howling in the night from your hotel room, and although people travelled through for the tiny airport and the port very few ever stayed.

But there was one who kept coming around, and surprisingly it wasn't you, but a local man who had just so happened to catch your eye.

“That one is Conrad,” The older lady had offered you the information when you caught a glimpse of him leaving one day, the bell tinging overhead as his long, black hair swished out of view into the street. “Such a kind boy. Very strong.”

He certainly looked like it. Tall, strength concealed beneath a thick coat, dark eyes and sharp features. The scar over his left eye gave him an intimidating aura; he looked alive but not quite warm, he was odd and said little, but he held your attention and snared it like a rabbit in a trap. Sometimes you noticed him walk in after you'd settled into your corner for the day, browsing through an array of titles with careful consideration. He would never pick up a book and set it right back down–he would read at least a few pages, humming and making a soft noise here and there under his breath, before he decided to re-shelve it or take it to the counter to purchase.

Conrad became a staple of your day before you knew it, despite the fact that you never exchanged words. He never seemed to even acknowledge you save for once; he turned the corner of an aisle and bumped right into you, mumbled an apology in Russian, and sidled past quickly with a hand grazing your shoulder on his way by. You'd felt a shiver of something then, but brushed it off and elected to leave the poor guy alone since he seemed a bit embarrassed. Maybe even shy. Of course, that endeared you more to him, and he started taking up your thoughts more, and more, and more still.

It wasn't until you moved from the bookshop to the bar after a long day that you came face-to-face with him at his most relaxed. Actually, he came to you–the bartender spoke enough broken English to tell you the drink he set down in front of you was bought by the guy across the room, and when you looked you spotted Conrad's quiet smile as he lifted his own drink to his lips. Figures that it would be a kind gesture of reader's solitude, but then he stood up and made his way towards your side of the bar, pulling the stool out next to you to sit his towering body into it.

“Privyet.” The sound of his voice soothed the soft clinking and murmured hubbub of the other patrons, deep, low and rough even as he tried to be gentler. He held up his glass to yours and clinked them both together, before holding his free hand to his chest. “Conrad. And you?”

Your name sounded even sweeter on his tongue as he rolled it around in his mouth, adjusting to the feel of it while he shook your hand with a tight, warm grip. You didn't have to tell him you were a foreigner, he could expect that much from your limited Russian if nothing else. But you went on to spill to him some of the details of your life, what city you lived in, what you did for work, and why you were here in the first place–you came to see a friend you had met online, only to arrive and find that they'd completely ghosted you the second you touched down.

Conrad showed sympathy for your story, nodding and following along with every word you spoke, just to offer small reassurances or ask questions here and there. For someone so intimidating and well-read, he was so effortlessly polite and tender with you, like there wasn't the cultural or speech barrier between you like there was with most other people you'd met. You couldn't even blame them because it wasn't like you were that familiar with their country in the first place, but Conrad just seemed to understand you right away even when you had to reword things or speak slower for him to pick up each syllable of your sentences. He was hardly anything like the men you were used to interacting with, nothing for boasts or pushy nagging to get you to do things, or just simply interrupting and talking over you with no regard for what you were saying. Conrad tried so hard to understand you, and the more drinks you shared, the easier it was for you to talk and talk and talk his ear off until the night was drawing to a close. It wasn't until your third or fourth drink that you even realized you barely knew anything about the man who had listened so patiently to you, and started prodding at him with questions that he seemed satisfied enough to answer.

In quick succession you learned that he was nearing 30, he lived in a rural village a couple hours north, he had a younger sister overseas and he got the scar above his eye from the backfire of a gun. He loved fishing and thrilling novellas and spent most of his time hunting or taking care of his community, and the more he talked, the more you admired his humble dedication and the more attractive he became, as if he wasn't already. He wouldn't let you put down any money for your drinks and gently pried your hand off the bartop when you tried, murmuring that a pretty thing like you should never have to pay when there's a gentleman with you. Those little gestures and subtle expressions of dominance sparked a thrill inside you that made you ache for more, and when the time came to leave and you stumbled off the stool just for him to catch you, there wasn't any resistance on your end when he suggested he take you back to your hotel room.

Despite the darkness creeping into the small town when he swung open the door to the bar, your arms wrapped around his neck and his biceps flexing as he hiked up your legs made for a smooth journey down the road to your temporary home. Conrad hadn't even asked if you wanted to be carried back, he just pulled you up on his back and started walking like you weighed nothing, you were as much as a backpack to his indomitable strength. He found the hotel with no problem, found your room on your key–he stepped inside, and after laying you down on your bed, you barely even noticed him shedding his coat or making sure the door was deadbolted before he came round to see that you were comfortable.

Your giggles, the innocence with which your plushy body squirmed on the bed…it fueled something in him. Something that had lain dormant for a very, very long time, waiting to be reawakened. With a glance around, he knew there was no risk of being intruded on–he didn't want you to cry and blubber over being discovered doing something naughty. You seemed like the type, as gentle and cutesy as you were. He liked that.

Conrad knew what you were about as soon as he climbed into bed with you, hoping to cuddle you a little bit while you were out of it, just to feel you rubbing back on him with a little sigh as soon as he touched you.

“So drunk, eh?” He chuckled under his breath and was pleasantly surprised when you nodded with a lovely little giggle. “Cannot hold your alcohol. Is’ bad for a pretty thing.” Conrad fiddled with the buttons on your jeans, hopeful but cautious, just for his heart to skip a beat when you wiggled back on him again. That slow zzzzzzip that followed rang so loud in your ears you could feel it buzzing, or maybe that was just the liquor brining your brain and making it all so unbearably fuzzy. Conrad's hands slipping beneath your waistband barely registered at first, but you couldn't writhe hard enough to bump him off anyways. You didn’t really want to.

“So easy, baby.” He purred. Just as you gasped at the feel of his fingers brushing right by your underwear, his hands retracted, and his laughter echoed softly off the dingy hotel room as he squeezed your hip over your clothes. “You know I like you, but I am gentleman.”

As he sat up on the bed, you reached out for him in a whiny plea of “Don't go, pleeeease?”. He just ruffled your hair and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Soon.” He answered patiently. But ‘soon’ couldn't be soon enough; you'd spent weeks alone in this strange country, bored, lonely, and depressed about everything that was out of your control. Your online friend had abandoned you and the authorities wouldn't let you leave–it felt more like a prison than a getaway, and Conrad was so handsome, so sweet, and so exciting…your fantasies swirled about your head and muddled it more. You pulled yourself up with your grip on his collar, and just as he was moving to slide off of you, you yanked him back down with your full weight and pressed him into a kiss. A sloppy, half-0pen one, but a kiss nonetheless. You just didn’t know that from that moment on, Conrad was hooked.

He let his hands wander under your top as you prolonged it, taking hold of the hem to tug it up and up until he could break off the tantalizing liplock to slip it over your head and toss it aside. He wasn’t altogether in his right mind either, he’d needed so much liquid courage before he even bought you a drink that it was starting to loosen his inhibitions even more. It was difficult to maintain his gentlemanly image when there was a beautiful, intelligent, and kind person that just so happened to be his first crush ever in front of him, his perfect type with that gorgeous figure, and their fingers were digging into his turtleneck to try and pull it off. He let you fumble with it for a bit before chuckling softly, and gently prying your hands off just like he did with your tab to yank it off himself. When he’d imagined this night in his head it was a bit more romantic with some candles and flowers, but this was just as good when he got to feel your lips latching on to his adam’s apple and nipping a light bruise into his fair skin. Even if it wasn’t intentional, you were marking him, and it drove his hands downwards to loosen his belt before he managed to help you get your own bottoms off. There was no doubt that he’d be taking your underwear for later, so he decided to pocket them now before discretely flinging his jeans down and kicking them under the bed.

In hindsight he really should’ve lit at least one candle, because the dim lighting of the hotel’s dingy lamp didn’t do your figure justice. He could hardly speak in the face of your tender curves, the softness of your legs, and your sweet face once you felt him staring. You squirmed and shut your knees but he shook his head and cooed for you to keep them open, for him to see you in all your glory like he’d always dreamed of. He just conveniently left that last part out for your sake and focused on lifting your legs over his hips, his gaze heated and shadowed with desire in the dark.

Mine. All of this was his, he wanted to own you in every sense and devote himself to you with every breath he took. Conrad shivered with delight at the sight of your folds glistening at his meager touches, just to glide his fingertips through them and barely hold back a moan at the sound of your sweet little gasp. He eased one in just to explore, and god, he’d never felt something so tight in his life before. You might actually break if he wasn’t careful. So he dragged it out and wetted both fingers with his tongue, before slipping them back in and teasing the edges of your sanity itself with the stretching and curling and prodding of his long digits right into your soft spots; places you never even knew existed and wouldn’t ever forget now that he found them.

With time, he just couldn’t wait any longer. He’d mapped you out but he needed to feel you, he needed to press your body against him and show you in no uncertain terms that he was everything you needed. The mattress shifted with the weight of his knees shuffling forward, but he still took caution and guided your arms to sling around his neck. The drink had done more to heighten your senses yet he needed to make sure you were still awake, still conscious, and he could tell just how needy you were with the whine on your lips as you tried to kiss him again. So cute. He swore to give you so many kisses you would never have to ask for them again.

“Ah-!” Your soft shriek as he tried to push in the first time startled him, but you clung harder to him with a whimper and he couldn’t stop now. The second time he slipped in and out, sliding helplessly over your clit, and he grunted in frustration. But it was all soothed on that third try when he angled himself in, and gasped himself at how easily you parted for him like he was a knife sinking into warm butter. Now it was really obvious how much the alcohol had settled in, as he slurred a foul compliment in Russian and gripped you hard at your head lolling back, your eyes beautifully glazed-over with his first rough thrust of many. The babbling of his name out of your mouth sparked something primal within him, and in an instant he snapped into his possessive side, tugging you up in his lap to lay back with your weight holding him down. His sizeable arms cinched around the small of your back, and with no hesitation he let his powerful hips do all the work with a sudden shuck, shuck, shucking echoing throughout the room.

On the other hand, you could barely decipher the slew of harsh words spilling from Conrad’s mouth with every thrust, your mind already muddled enough that you could scarcely believe you were really doing this–going back to your hotel room with a stranger and letting him screw you into oblivion. But no way in hell were you gonna stop him now, not when his mindless bucking was so raw and filthy you could feel the squelch of your walls surrendering to his brute force in your ears. And even so, Conrad’s sweetness still shone through in the protective squeeze of his hand on the nape of your neck, and the way he smothered your lips in desperate kisses that almost seemed to fuel his incessant chasing of your warmth. His arms encircled your body and dwarfed you by comparison; safe, tight, and devoted like no embrace you’d ever received before. He wasn’t concerned with preserving the image of you in his brain to get off to again later, but rather wanted you to remain protected and comfortable in his presence even when he was fucking into you from below like an animal.

Conrad’s fingers snaked lower to get a handful, but aside from copping a feel he gripped your ass in his palm to guide you down lower–not just to fit more of himself inside, but also to watch you writhe so cutely once his wiry hairs ground against your clit. Somehow he knew you would like it, but maybe not how much until you started to tremble under the onslaught. His hand shot up to grab you by the back of the head, and he pressed your forehead to his with his eyes wide open in an intense stare. The murmurs of a word you would soon recognize as “cum” reverberated throughout your whole being, over and over again like a prayer until your squirming ceased and he let slip a gasp at the spasming of your walls around him. Conrad’s head tilted back and he cried out in bliss that couldn’t be held back a moment longer, his plan to pull out and paint your face going straight out the window the instant he felt you cumming around him. A good, hard thrust plummeted his self-control to the ground, and with a groan he twitched and pulsed within you before soaking your unsuspecting cunt with a creampie you wouldn’t soon forget. He didn’t even know the word in English, but he could tell he had accomplished it with one glance down over your exhausted body to see the puddle he’d made between you.

“Ah…there, lyubimaya. Got you.” Careful as he could be with your lovingly battered body, he braced your weight against him while turning you over on the sheets, and reoriented you to let you lay on the drier side on a sea of comfortable pillows. It was the least you deserved, after all, especially after enduring his rather…intense manner of lovemaking.

Before you could babble anything intelligible you'd already slumped back against the bed, well on your way to being half-asleep with the afterglow of your orgasm, the exhaustion, and the liquor to boot. Conrad gently stroked your hair in the meanwhile, and as you drifted off you swore you sensed the softness of his lips on yours as he murmured one last thing you couldn't quite hear.

If not for the ache in your back and the bleariness of your vision, your slumber felt so brief you might've believed it lasted only a few seconds. Light shone in through the curtains to pass over your face and you paused, confused, before rubbing the sleep from your eyes and sitting up slowly. The sound of someone clearing their throat had your head whipping to your side, and a warm-faced man with familiar black hair stared back at you from his seat, a book laid over his lap and a smile tinting his cheeks.

“Good morning.” Conrad greeted you casually, and you were almost tempted to believe that this was all as normal as his even tone made it sound.

“Conrad?” With a shake of your head to clear the dizziness, you squinted, trying to discern whether this was all still a dream. But it was far too vivid to be anything but reality, so…did that mean that last night wasn't a dream, either? “Did you…have you been here all night?”

He nodded. The book thunked softly as he closed it and reached over to set it on the nightstand, his every movement just as poised and calm as you'd come to expect despite the puzzling circumstances. He stood with a soft grunt, slid the chair back against the wall, and when he turned back to face you his eyes glinted with a hint of something ominously thrilling.

“You like me too, yes?” It took you aback, but his blunt questions were somewhat refreshing. As shy as you were you managed to mumble an affirmative ‘yes’, and that was enough for him. “Good. We get to know each other–so lonely here, no? That is why I came to see you.”

To…see you? He chuckled and brought your attention back to him in a moment, with a hand perched on the buckle of his belt.

“Very pretty. You would be good match for me, and the sex is good. Fantastic. We have common interest–I will take good care of you.”

“What?” Your heart skipped at the mention of the word ‘match’. Did things naturally move this quickly on this side of the world, or was he just a strange case? Either way, you couldn't decide whether you were flattered or shocked. The bed dipped and squeaked with his weight as he sunk a knee into it, slowly crawling his way towards you like a panther until he loomed over you on all fours, elbows perched on either side of your head to cage you in like an animal. The way he grinned alone with all those teeth felt on the brink of feral, and caused a few memories from last night to flash into your head. Maybe all that really wasn’t a dream after all…

“I am your saviour. You would have been meat–that internet man was not your friend.” He shook his head to emphasize, though the way he fiddled with the covers to slowly tug them down didn't make him look any safer. “Pretty thing deserves a good man. I am a good man, my sweet.” As he said so, he leaned in, so close as to puff his warm breath over your skin…and finally, the kiss you shared struck a match inside you that melted away all your hesitation and self-restraint. The fact that he even knew about your online friend was daunting, but even so you couldn't help but believe every word he said. Perhaps he really did save you from a predator hoping to lure you into his trap…and maybe you didn't altogether mind repaying him for that unexpected kindness.

“Stay here with me,” He whispered, careful and soft like the lover he had always wanted to be. “And I will care for you until we rot, my baby.”

Things had spun out of your hands so quickly you weren't sure what to make of it. Conrad's breath puffed hotly from your ear down to your neck, he dressed you down with swift fingers that couldn't bear to be apart from your skin a moment longer. You might never know that it was him that had posed as your friend, and that he was the one who had spent time getting to know you until he could finally convince you to come to his country. How he knew exactly what books you liked and never needed to ask, because he'd staked out the village and predicted exactly where you would go, down to the room number you would pick at this very hotel and the bookshop you would while the hours away at. He knew everything about you for the simple reason that he loved you–and he desperately wanted you to be part of his life, even if he had to lie, and bribe, and steal to get it.

Either way, there was no way out now whether you knew it or not. Conrad had all your resources in his back pocket, but more importantly, he offered the safety and comfort of a life you never would’ve dreamed of back home. And with such a tender, yet protective man staring you down who vowed to be everything you wanted…well, could you really say no?

#conrad dmitriev #conrad dmitriev x reader #spicy writing #yandere ocs #ellie writes #yandere x reader #male yandere #4k

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quizzicalwriter · 2 years ago

Note

can u plsss do smut dallas x reader where he ties a vibrator to you? thank uuuu

Torment

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dallas had never been one for toys, but your cute pleading may have swayed him - maybe.

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Porn with very little plot. Kissing, touching, fingering, rough sex, titty attention, toys. A whole lotta stuff.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 3.7k

Curiosity had always been your weak point, pure stupid curiosity. It’d wound you and Dallas up in your fair share of odd and semi-expensive situations; one he’d never let you live down being the impromptu visit to a restaurant in the middle of town, the very place where you’d spit your food into your napkin and pouted at the shitty quality until Dallas relented and drove you to a nearby hole-in-the-wall diner that served way better food for half the price.

Sometimes, to your benefit, your curiosity led you to funny or pleasurable paths - which was the main contender for why Dallas could never turn you down, that and your pout worked on him better than an offer of a cigarette. That said pout was exactly how you wound up in the passenger side of Buck’s T-Bird, humming absentmindedly to whatever song buzzed across the static-ridden radio during your thirty-minute drive into the center of town.

“I suppose I’m buying this thing?” Dallas asked around his cigarette, eyes half-squinted from the blaring overhead sun. You smiled over at him, bright smile and all as you nodded. He shook his head through a laugh, removing his cigarette from between his lips to rid the end of its built-up ash. “It better be worth the money.”

You knew it would be, how could it not? You and Dallas were fairly adventurous in bed, so when you prompted the idea of including a ‘toy’ into your time beneath the sheets he was naturally curious himself - until he heard the price. You’d ended up begging, peppering his still-tired face with small kisses until he relented and pushed your face away with a grunted-out laugh.

That’s how you got him to drive you nearly forty minutes into the town over, the only town that had a sex toy store. It was still new, something that wasn’t relatively talked about, but your friends had been raving about the thing and you couldn’t help but want one of your own. You’d promised Dallas that you two could try it out as soon as you’d gotten back to his apartment, something that noticeably excited him, his excitement made ever so apparent by the subtle bulge against the denim of his jeans.

If there was one thing you were eternally grateful for when it came to Dallas, it was his nonchalant nature. You’d seen the man trip and bust his ass right outside of a grocery store, only to get up and pick up his cigarette and continue walking off as if nothing had happened - that and he’d done his fair share of voicing his foul-mouthed opinions loud enough for the damn neighbor to hear. In all honesty, you didn’t think he could care what others thought of him. You admired him for it.

It certainly came in handy when he pulled into the semi-vacant parking lot, right outside the store that overtly advertised what it sold indoors. Sex toys; vibrators, dildos, lube - everything you could need and more, and by God did everyone and their grandmother watch as you two exited the car. Dallas smiled over his shoulder, flicking his now-dead cigarette to the asphalt below before snubbing it out with his heel. His arm hooked around your waist, escorting you inside and away from prying eyes.

“Hello!” Sounded an employee from behind the counter, a very kind-looking older woman, someone you wouldn’t have expected to work in such a store. “Do you two need any help?”

Dallas waved her off with a small smile, leading you through the aisles as his eyes drifted over the various items. You could feel yourself flush, despite there being nobody else in the store besides you three, you couldn’t help but feel bashful over it - especially when Dallas loudly laughed as you both passed an aisle that had nothing but pornographic movies. Very, very lewdly labeled pornographic movies.

“Should we get one?” He joked, smiling over at you as he picked up a box, waving it like he’d just scored something worth hundreds of dollars. You scoffed out a laugh, pushing his hand down with a giggled, “Put that away, Dal.”

It didn’t take long to find the aisle that seemed to be dedicated to vibrators, they ranged from all sizes, from pinkie length to nearly a foot. You knew exactly which one you’d come for, the infamous body wand. It was a hefty thing, the box as long as your forearm. Dallas looked over to you, raising his eyebrows as you held the box to your chest.

“You want that one?” He asked, hand reaching behind himself to grab his wallet. You smiled, nodding as you rocked forward onto your toes. He sighed out a laugh, free hand moving to the small of your back as he guided you toward the front of the store.

You’d hardly placed the box down on the front counter before the woman gasped, a bright smile on her face as she rang up your purchase with a hushed, “I’ve sold so many of those! Nearly twenty this week alone!”

The words made you laugh, the two of you exchanging pleasantries until you and Dallas left the store, merchandise hidden in a discreet brown paper bag. As you situated yourself in the passenger side seat, you peeked into the bag, reading over the claims that’d been etched into the side of the box. The reviews alone had you giddy to try it out, thighs clenching together in excitement as Dallas started the car, peeling out of the parking lot less than a second later.

“How’s that thing work anyhow?” Dallas asked, eyebrows furrowed together as he looked between you and the road. You shrugged, freeing the box from the paper bag before twisting the package around, face flushing slightly at the look of the thing.

“Says you plug it in,” you mumbled, eyes squinting as you read the finer print near the edge of the box. “Plug in and enjoy, that’s all it says.”

Dallas choked back a snort at the instructions, eyebrows lifting in both amusement and intrigue as he pulled down his street. It was only four in the afternoon, so Buck’s bar would surely have quite a few people in attendance. It’d never stopped you two before and Buck sure as hell never complained, not that he had any right to, you and Dallas had heard your fair share of Buck’s lady friends he kept well into three in the morning.

The air felt charged around you as Dallas pulled into the half-filled parking lot, his eyes flickering over to you with every chance he could grab. You couldn’t ignore the budding arousal and excitement settling heavy in your stomach, each step toward the bar leaving your legs feeling weak beneath you. Your heart thudded in your chest, hard enough to be felt in your throat as Dallas’s hand pressed against the small of your back, gently guiding you through the bar and toward the back steps.

Neither of you stopped to greet anyone, but luckily for you both everyone was either inebriated or caught up in a game of pool or poker. By the time you reached Dallas’s room, your underwear were slick to your cunt, soaked in your arousal. You kicked your shoes off, tossing the paper bag onto his bed as Dallas closed the door behind you.

“Nervous?” He asked, noticing your jittery behavior as he moved behind you. You huffed, trying to hide your feelings but failing miserably. Dallas only hummed, brushing your hair back from your neck, leaning down a fraction to press delicate kisses along the curve of your throat.

You brought your hand up and behind you, threading your fingers through his thick hair as he kissed and nipped at your neck, his hands working on unbuttoning your jeans. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, giving him full access to your throat as he pushed your jeans down your thighs. You did the rest, kicking the denim to the floor along with your soaked underwear.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, pulling away only to pull your shirt up and over your head, leaving you completely nude while he remained dressed.

You obeyed, hurrying over to his bed as fast as your feet would carry you. The bag sat toward the end of the bed, soon lifted and opened by Dallas who tossed the bag over his shoulder, attention focused solely on the semi-heavy box in his hands. You crossed your legs, shifting your hips in anticipation as he took out the body wand.

You’d been right in the car, there were no other needed instructions besides plugging it in. Dallas gave you a brief smile, moving beside the bed to plug the body wand into the wall outlet. The cord connecting the wand to the outlet was relatively long, long enough for you to use it comfortably on the bed - or for Dallas to use it on you.

He situated himself behind you, helping you to lean back against his chest. His warmth radiated through his clothing, calming you immensely as you settled back against him. The coolness of the body wand startled you as Dallas rested it against your thigh. He didn’t seem intent on using it on you just then.

His hands brushed over your body, fingertips trailing over your stomach, down your hips, and onto your thighs. Each touch was followed by a shiver on your part, your arousal thick enough to leave you shaking, desperate for some form of attention to your eager cunt.

Sensing your desperation, his right hand dipped between your thighs, touch featherlight against your soaked folds. Your hips bucked, a mumbled plea for more leaving you as he grazed his index finger over your clit.

Your plea was not met with mercy, instead, Dallas pulled his hand back, his touch drifting upward to your breasts. His lips met the nape of your neck, kisses slow and methodical as he kneaded your breasts, brushing his thumbs over your hardened nipples.

“You can wait,” he whispered.

You weren’t sure you could, your cunt clenched around nothing and dripped cum onto the bedspread beneath you. A heavy pang of need throbbed between your thighs, clit aching with each leisurely touch of his hands, focusing everywhere except where you needed him most.

Just when you thought you’d sob from the torment, his right hand moved back between your thighs, finding your cunt drenched in your juices. You could feel him smile against the nape of your neck, a breathy laugh leaving him as he circled your clit.

The soft pads of his fingers against your clit moved in slow, deliberate circles. His lips were hot, leaving lingering kisses along your throat as your head lulled back against his shoulder, giving yourself over to the ecstasy he gave freely. His free hand continued gently kneading the soft flesh of your breast in tandem with his fingers. His thumb and forefinger gently tweaked your nipple, the other hand busying itself swirling around your clit. Your hips bucked up into his touch, desperate for some form of release as his fingers glistened with your arousal. Instead of relief, he gave you cruelty, removing his fingers from your aching cunt with a click of his tongue against his teeth.

“So desperate,” He cooed, tone ever so condescending. The cruel words went straight to your cunt, leaving you clenching around nothing as he watched on in lust-riddled amazement. Your back arched from his chest, unable to do anything further with the position he’d put you in. Laughter rumbled in his chest, the noise making you pout as your eyes batted open to look at him. He feigned a pout, bringing his hand up to cup your chin with a soft, “Poor thing.”

Only when you felt tears lining your vision did he relent, resuming the same featherlight touches against your throbbing clit. It felt perfect, almost enough to bring you to the brink of an orgasm – but nowhere near enough to push you over the edge. A desperate whine fell from your lips, eyes squeezing shut as you begged yourself not to cry over being fingered – it felt stupid, but in your orgasm-deprived mind you were certain you’d go insane if he didn’t let you cum.

With a kiss against your shoulder, he curled his middle and ring finger into you, fingers meeting no resistance as he pushed them up against a spot within you that had your knees bending, thighs clenching together in a silent plea for him to never remove his fingers from your cunt. You could feel him smile against your skin, his thumb brushing against your clit as he slowly pumped his fingers into you, the lewd sound of your cum coating his fingers echoing throughout the room. He could feel you holding back, the way your eyebrows would scrunch together, how your breath caught in your throat, all for a soft, nearly inaudible whine to fall past your parted lips.

“Let them hear you,” he urged, tone nearly pleading. “Let them hear how good I make you feel.”

Dallas wasn’t one to beg, yet the way he spoke conveyed the desperation he poorly concealed underneath his reserved facade. You could only nod as his tempo increased, fingers slicking in and out of your cunt at a pace that left you delirious. Your head rolled back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as moans fell from you, pleas for him to go faster, harder – neither you were sure you wanted, but you needed him and everything he could give you.

He obliged.

“That’s it,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, placing a chaste kiss on your temple as he pumped his fingers into you. “Can feel you clenching around my fingers, doll.”

His crude words pulled another moan from you, one that caught in your throat as your hips rocked with the thrust of his fingers. His other arm hooked around your waist, keeping you pulled back against him as his hand worked between your legs, expertly bringing you to the cusp of your orgasm. Your thighs began to shake, calves tensing as he pushed his fingers deeper into you, the heel of his palm bumping rhythmically into your clit. Your arm moved up to encircle the back of his neck as you buried your face into his throat, moans and whimpers of his name tumbling past your lips like a broken prayer. Before you could register the feeling, you were coming undone around his fingers, cunt pulsing around the thick digits as your voice broke off into a silent scream. You could feel your cum coating his fingers, gushing out of you and onto the bedsheets below. He whispered words of praise, still fucking his fingers into you throughout the throes of your orgasm, not bothering to slow down an inch until your thighs were twitching against the soaked bedsheets.

Your cunt twitched with oversensitivity as he removed his fingers, bringing the wet digits up to your lips. You took them without objection, breath labored as you sucked them clean. He groaned at the feeling, your tongue laving the underside of his fingers as you stared up at him, expression the picture of fucked out.

He slowly lowered his hand from your face, your lips glistening with saliva and cum. He couldn’t help but lean in, capturing you in a wet kiss as his hips rocked against your ass. The subtle friction pulled a grunt from him, his brows furrowing as his hold around your middle tightened. He could taste you on his tongue as he pulled away.

“Lean forward,” he instructed, words barely audible over his heaving breaths. You obeyed, looking over your shoulder toward him as you bent over a nearby pillow, your hips comfortably resting against the fabric. He moved from behind you, sorting through the bedsheets, cursing under his breath until he found what he’d been looking for. You watched; curiosity peaked as he moved to sit down beside you. He smiled at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead with a hushed, “Can’t let my money go to waste.”

His hand guided your hip up, nestling the head of the vibrator against your cunt, just above your clit. With a kiss on your shoulder, he helped you settle back down against the pillow, pushing the vibrator flush with your skin. The metallic clang of his belt buckle hitting the floor and the subtle sound of his zipper being undone followed. You arched your back, face pushed to the soft bedding beneath you. He hummed at the sight, right hand grasping your hip tight as the other trailed the back of his fingers along your folds, the touch causing your hips to quiver.

His arm looped around your middle, hand fumbling with the base of the wand until it buzzed to life, the sudden vibration pulling a yelp from you as your hips jerked away from the sensation. You’d thought you were no longer sensitive from your previous orgasm, but the vibrator pulled that confidence right out from under you. Dallas only stifled a laugh, his hand moving to the small of your back where he pressed down, forcing you flush with the vibrator. A broken moan fell from your lips as your hands grasped at the tangled bedsheets, knuckles white as the large silicone head of the vibrator shuddered against your clit.

“You’re alright,” Dallas taunted, right hand still steady on your hip as he pumped himself with his left, thumb swiping over his tip. You could hardly focus on the lascivious moans coming from Dallas due to the intense vibration of the body wand. He pushed your legs farther apart with his knee, shifting himself behind you until his thighs were flush with the plush of your ass. He swiped his tip along your folds, gathering your slick cum against himself before stroking it down his shaft.

Your cunt twitched, clenching around nothing in anticipation as he slowly pushed himself into you, easing in each inch. The moan that came from you once he’d bottomed out was near pornographic, with pure relief and ecstasy flooding your veins before he’d even had the chance to rock his hips. You pushed back into him, the movement earning you a groan as he grabbed at your hips, stopping you from moving any further.

“Wait,” he ordered, tone strained. You’d half a mind to disregard his words, but the steady pulse of his cock inside of you rendered you obedient, mindlessly whining into the warm bedsheets as you waited for him to move. Only when your breathing settled did he pull out, slowly pushing himself back in after – repeating those movements until your hips were rutting into the vibrator beneath you.

You could feel your cunt stretching around his cock, desperately trying to accommodate his addictive size as he pushed into you, each thrust being paired with a choked-back grunt from Dallas. His fingers dug into your skin as he quickened his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing throughout his bedroom. His hold on your hips grew tighter with each thrust, effectively keeping you cemented to the bed and the vibrator beneath you.

The tip of his cock pushed against your cervix, leaving you clenching around him whenever he’d pull out, your cum leaving a veneer against his shaft, steadily dripping down his body and onto the bedsheets below. The vibration of the body wand thrummed against your clit, your hands tightening their grasp on the bedsheets as you felt your orgasm building in your lower stomach. Each thrust of his hips left you breathless, the position causing him to hit impossibly deep inside of you.

He could feel you clenching around him, the sound of your moans picking up an octave, your hips involuntarily rutting back to meet his thrusts. His hands moved from your hips to the small of your back, pushing you flush with the pillow and vibrator beneath you as he slammed into you. The pace was brutal, small whines forced from your lungs as he stretched you again and again – hitting that same spot within you that sprung pleasure-fueled tears to your eyes. You were left sobbing into the bedding, hands moving behind you to grasp aimlessly at his body as you came undone around his cock.

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, not slowing his pace in the slightest as you gushed around his cock, soaking the bedsheets along with the pillow beneath you. Your eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you through your orgasm, the pleasure soon giving way to mind-numbing oversensitivity. A low laugh reverberated within his chest at your fucked-out state, his hand moved to cup your jaw as he rutted into you with a groaned, “You take me so good, so fucking good.”

All you could manage was a broken-off moan of his name at the words, cunt squeezing around him. He buried his face into your shoulder, choking back moans of his own as he pumped you full of his cum. You let your head fall forward into the bedding, heavy pants muffled by the sheets, hips lifting yourself away from the persistent vibration of the body wand below you. As if reading your mind, his arm hooked around your stomach, shutting off the body wand a second later before pushing it to the floor. He rested back down against you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulders and along the nape of your neck, only pulling out when his cock had finally stopped twitching inside of your cunt.

“Did so good,” he whispered, hand smoothing up the curve of your back as he rested back on his knees. “So good, doll.”

You hummed, the best response you could manage in your current state. He chuckled, swatting your ass before moving from the bed. You didn’t bother watching where he went, knowing him well enough to know he’d disappeared into the bathroom. Only a moment had passed before you felt the bed dip beside you, followed by the coolness of a wet washcloth against you as he cleaned you up. Once he’d cleaned himself, he hooked an arm around your middle, pulling your back flush to his chest, his free hand moving up to wipe your damp hair from your face.

“You alright?” He asked, words so quiet you’d hardly heard him. You tilted your head back, meeting his gaze with a tired smile and nod. He returned your smile, pressing a kiss to your temple as you resituated yourself against him.

“Definitely worth it.”

A/N: I had to research 70s sex toys for this. Because if Dallas didn’t have the whole gunshot ordeal he would’ve lived to see the 70s and the rise of sexual liberation - and by golly gee were there a LOT of sex toys. Anyways, I hope you guys liked this one! I don’t write rough smut too often so I hope I did this one good. I appreciate all the love and support you guys show my work, more than you know! You can find all my work over on my AO3 under the user, “Unscriptural.” Thank you again!

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babelrevived · 2 months ago

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PROOF THAT VANDER WAS THE DIRTY (not so) LITTLE THING, NOT SILCO

Ok listen. Let's just look back to their e3 conversation for a sec. Vander asks Silco why he's doing this. Silco answers "for resPECT,... everything they've denied us." Emphasis on the word "us". He is NOT talking about gaining respect for himself, he is talking about respect for "us", every Zaunite. Vander then says that Silco had everyone's respect and that was never enough for him. Ok so what does that mean? Even if we take s2's plot hole-ridden timeline that still doesn't make any sense. Vander himself took responsibility for the bridge riot, both in s1 and s2, so at the very least it would have been a joint decision. Also, if we look at the rest of Silco's actions in s1, literally nothing he does suggests that he was trying to gain respect for himself. Personally, I think Vander was projecting when he said that. Silco doesn't even acknowledge what he said, he immediately starts talking about how he wants freedom for all of the undercity because, again, it was never about him.

Now let's look more closely at Vander. Just look at this guy. He clearly hates himself ROFL. Look at his body language, specifically in that scene where Sevika ends his career with three words. Like he was trying so hard to control the crowd, to appear confident/intimidating and he failed miserably lol. Meanwhile, look at Silco's body language, he's so casual about it yet he still appears confident and intimidating. It just comes naturally to him. Also look at how easily he could control the chembarons. That is NOT the body language of someone who sees himself as a dirty little thing imo. (also the only reason the writers came up with Silco being a dirty little thing is because they thought wanting to liberate your country is unrelatable lmao).

Based on what we do know about Vander in his youth, he seemed like an incredibly violent and short tempered guy. Maybe people saw him as just some brute and he didn't want to be seen that way. Idk. Now I'm not saying that Vander didn't care about liberation, I think he did, but I also think that subconsciously his main motivation was gaining respect, and that's why he gave up so easily and felt so ashamed for leading the riot. He doesn't stop to think that the people who went with him did so because they believed in the cause, and that by giving up and forcing everyone down with him he is undermining what they died for. Basically, he had all these people's respect, but it wasn't enough for him, he wanted more, and it ended up getting people killed.

Also while we are on the topic of respect, I think the s2 timeline having Vander drown Silco after he gives up undermines Silco's line "I hated you but you kept my respect," because why would Silco have respect for Vander if he had already given up? Thanks I hate it.

#Vander just seems very insecure to me idk #also just to be clear i dont hate vander lol #i think he's really well written #actually he's probably one of my faves #and i can relate a lot to him #its just fun to bully him lol #arcane #vander #silco #anti vander

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brokentoys · 1 month ago

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Riddler goes to McDonald's (The Epic Fanfic)

I wrote this back in 2022 and I only rediscovered it now when going through my old documents and looking at my older fanfics. I haven't a clue WHY I never posted this??? At least I don't think I ever did?? There was a big chance I wrote this whilst drunk. But I thought I'd share it now. (And sadly no, I never wrote the follow up fanfic.) Also take note that I oddly wrote Riddler very evil in this fic (I'm guessing bc I thought that was Funnier)

It was four P.M. not in the morning. A man cladded in green was currently sitting on a hole and stain ridden couch in his headquarters. An abandoned house. This man was Edward Nigma but most knew him by the Riddler. A name and a face all of Gotham City feared. Right now, he was currently going through blueprints, his newest scheme to defeat Batman once and for all. To prove his superior intellect to Gotham and the world. But a loud roar caught him by surprise and distracted him from his work. It was the growling of his stomach. Edward was a wise man; he knew he couldn't plot murder while on an empty stomach. Grumbling from both his mouth and stomach, he placed the blueprints on a rat chewed coffee table and traded them in for coupons to a restaurant. His eyes quickly scanned through the flimsy papers.

Arby's? Who the fuck knows what an Arby's is?

Taco Bell? No. It wasn't often that Edward would listen to his gut feeling, after all... facts over feelings. But this was a rare exception. Something was telling him to NOT go to Taco Bell and he would listen.

Subway? Have you even SEEN his stomach? Edward was a stick. There was no way he could consume a footlong.

Burger King? Not a chance, it is the inferior McDonald's-

That's it! Edward snapped his fingers. If Burger King is that Batman of restaurants, then McDonald's is the Riddler of restaurants! He'll visit McDonald's! Edward sped off his couch, and jumped into his Hot Rod car (NOT a Riddlermobile, that name is SILLY,) like the Dukes of Hazard and driving furiously to the nearest McDonald's.

Of course, Edward became so enamored by the idea of McDonald’s, he forgot he had recently broken out of Arkham Asylum and is now a wanted man. His car made screamed ‘THE RIDDLER’ to any police officers in Gotham. Immediately once he was on the road, five police cars were hot on his trail. Jesus fucking Christ, can’t a murderer just have McDonald’s in peace.

Edward stuck his head outside the window, not really paying attention to the road. “RIDDLE ME THIS, GORDON! What is the Riddler’s favorite food?” Edward pressed a special, large red button in his controls and then several bombs shoot out from the rear of his vehicle. The police cars that were traveling behind him instantly blow up. Other cars aside from the coppers were affected because of the immense explosion. Many causalities happened on this day all because a man wanted McDonald’s. “A PIG ROAST!!” Edward roared with laughter from his own riddle and the death of tens of people. But Commissioner James Gordon was not among those fatalities, for he wasn’t even present, Edward falsely assumed he was.

Without the police on his dick anymore, Edward pulls into the drive thru of McDonald’s. He had considered going in to eat, but then a king would be eating amongst idiotic peasants and he cannot demean himself so much. And the drive thru should be quicker to order. There was only one man in front of him and

Oh fuck, it’s the Penguin.

Edward cursed himself for making such a STUPID decision. He knew Oswald well (but not as well as Oswald knew Edward, since Oswald was a simp) and he knew that Oswald would take decades to order. Not because Oswald takes a long time to decide, but because Oswalrd literally has to order 420 items at once for he had the humor of an edgy 13-year-old.

Ten minutes later and Oswald was STILL listing off everything he wanted at McDonald’s, Edward could hear the employee’s loud sobs as Oswald continues. Groaning, Edward switched on the radio FM to pass time. “It is reported the Riddler has killed 15 people and injured 7 in a bombing attack,” the reporter on the news channel stated and Edward grinned to himself with pride. “Oh? This just in the Joker had just massacred 51 people. There were no survivors.”

“FUCK,” Edward banged his hands on the steering wheel in a childish fit. “He ALWAYS one ups me! Stupid fucking clown! Fuck!” Edward’s tantrum went on for twenty-five minutes until he realized Oswald was long gone.

“Oh,” he said aloud and then drove forward.

“May I take your order?” Asked the person behind the speaker box, it was clearly a different person than the one speaking to Oswald. She suffered an emotional breakdown from the stress of remembering every item on the order and decided to quit McDonald’s. May she find peace elsewhere.

His sapphire eyes behind his amethyst mask read the menu and it didn’t take him long to figure out what he wanted. The famous Big Mac. The thought of sinking his teeth into it made his mouth feel all warm inside with McDonald’s delight. The special sauce they used on the Big Mac... now, Burger King doesn’t even have that. Edward cannot blame them, though. Although he was the smartest man in the universe, even he couldn’t figure out what the Big Mac Sauce is made of. He may not be a believer, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was formulated by using magic.

“Riddle me this,” Edward began.

“Please, please no...” the employee pleaded, already dreading what was about to come.

“Although its scent reeks, it is a delectable taste I seek. It is very special, and makes my stomach very full. What do I want?”

“What do you want?”

“ANSWER THE RIDDLE.”

The employee started crying, “M..McNuggets... you want McNuggets.”

“INCORRECT, IMBECILE. Try again.”

For the next five minutes, the employee would continue giving the wrong answers and Edward would continue insulting his intelligence. It was even harder for Edward to hear the employee’s answers because his voice was so choked by his tears.

“MCCHICKEN! YOU WANT THE MCCHICKEN!”

“WRONG AGAIN, FUCKING FAILED EVOLUTION.”

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHH.”

But the two riddling buddies were interrupted by a loud honk. Edward glanced over his shoulder and it was... SCARECROW! Jonathan Crane kept slamming his fist on the honk. Edward knew Jonathan was an intelligent man (not as smart as he was, though.) But Jonathan was smarter than he thought by visiting a heavenly restaurant such as McDonald’s. The obvious best choice. However, Jonathan was also just as dumb as Edward thought he was. NO ONE. RUSHES THE RIDDLER.

“Hurry it up, Nigma! It’s been three days since I’ve ate!” Jonathan complained.

The employee was already testing his patience, but Jonathan pushed it even further. With a red face, Edward leaned out of the car window and yelled, “it’s not MY fault the employee is too stupid to answer my riddle!”

Again, the employee’s sobs grew louder and veins were poking out of Jonathan’s temple. “THEN ORDER LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!”

“NEVER.”

Jonathan couldn’t go much longer. He made the same mistake as Edward did, so caught up in his plans, he forgot to eat. But it was worse than Edward’s scenario. Jonathan went three days without eating because he was so fixed on cooking up more fear gas. But what he should’ve cooked up was a sandwich. He then leaned out his own window and hollered, “HE WANTS A BIG MAC!” How did Jonathan know this? Because it’s precisely what he longed for, too. Great minds think alike. Even if he didn’t think the Riddler’s mind was too great.

The employee cheered with rejoice, “you want a Big Mac!” and Edward cannot say no because that WAS what the riddle was alluding to. So, he grumbled a ‘yes.’ Filled with irate, Edward marched out and his car and slammed the door to express how angry he was. He approached Jonathan’s car and stared down at him, trying to fill his skull with bullets by a mere look. Jonathan laughed.

“Now, was that so hard?” Jonathan asked with a smug grin that Edward couldn’t see because he was wearing that Wizard of Oz getup.

Edward swung open the door and dragged Jonathan out of the car. “Hey, what are you--” before Jonathan could even finish his inquiry, he was shoved to the unforgiving asphalt. “Hey, hey, HEY--” But his pleas would go unheard, with signature question mark cane, Edward began flogging Jonathan furiously. Jonathan couldn’t fight back because he was starved and he had yet finished the innovative fear toxins he was creating. Not that Edward could do much damage either, he was already lanky and also hadn’t eaten much as of recent. But still, Jonathan would scream into the air. No one would aid him, though. No one cared about what happened to a scarecrow.

“NEVER.” hit, “ANSWER.” hit, “MY.” hit, “RIDDLES.” hit, “AGAIN.”

“Okay, I get it, I get it!”

“IT WASN’T MEANT FOR YOU!!!”

The beating finished and Edward walked away from Jonathan, who was lying broken on the cold, scratchy ground. Jonathan slowly lifted himself from the ground and watched as Edward went back into his car. Despite having just spoken like a cuck watching his wife get fucked, Jonathan vowed his revenge once he finished his fear toxins. But that’s a story for another fanfiction.

Edward finally drove to the window and how fortunate! By the time he was finished assaulting his friend, his order was finished! The woman at the window handed the warm, soggy paper bag to Edward. She surprisingly didn’t seem to mind that she was serving the Riddler. “Do you want ketchup with that, sir?” She asked. Clearly, she wasn’t very bright and her limited intelligence was a great offense to Edward Nigma.

“Why would I want ketchup? Just to spoil the succulent taste of a Big Mac? Go away, go home and never come back to McDonald’s. You don’t deserve to work anywhere, monkey.”

The woman cried and ran away.

Edward felt joy deep inside, it always made him feel better when he belittled everyone else, especially their intelligence. He failed to see the irony in this. Not feeling a drop of guilt for killing several people, for beating his colleague, and for making a few people cry at McDonald’s. No, this was just a day in the life of the Riddler and it was a damn good life.

He drove home and this time it was a smoother ride. The cops were still struggling with the mass wrecks from the explosion his grenades caused earlier. Therefore, they didn’t want to deal with the Riddler driving by. Not to mention, they didn’t want to make the mess even worse than it already was.

It didn’t take Edward long to make it home. He rushed inside and sat on the couch. His mouth was the Niagara Falls as he pried open the paper and let the smell enter his nostrils. BUT WAIT. Something was wrong... it didn’t smell like a Big Mac. He quickly reached into the bag and retrieved the burger and...

It was a bacon cheese burger, not a Big Mac.

And this was the story of Edward Nigma learning to NEVER order at fast food restaurants.

#( 🧩 ✧ INFERIOR PUPPETEER ✧ | OOC )#// I ... DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO TAG THIS AS 'COS I DON'T HAVE A FIC / DRABBLE TAG HSDSHAHAAHA

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