#Blue Label Whiskey

[delhidutyfree]

Unrivaled Luxury: Exploring the Allure of Johnnie Walker Blue Label

In the realm of premium spirits, few names command as much reverence as Johnnie Walker, with its iconic Blue Label standing as a beacon of luxury and sophistication.

The Distinctive Range

Johnnie Walker's portfolio boasts a diverse range of offerings, from the accessible Red Label to the esteemed Black Label. However, it is the illustrious Blue Label that truly captures the imagination of discerning aficionados.

A Symbol of Prestige

Crafted with meticulous attention to detail and featuring a blend of whiskies aged 28 years or older, Johnnie Walker Blue Label epitomizes exclusivity and refinement. Despite its lofty status, the blue label price in Delhi remains within reach, ensuring accessibility without compromising on quality.

A Legacy of Excellence

Since its introduction in 1992, Johnnie Walker Blue Label has consistently garnered acclaim, earning accolades and awards from esteemed institutions worldwide. Its enduring popularity speaks volumes about its unmatched quality and enduring appeal.

Accessible Luxury

While the allure of Johnnie Walker Blue Label may seem out of reach for some, the reality is quite the opposite. With its affordable blue label price in Delhi for a 750ml bottle, this pinnacle of luxury is accessible to all who seek to indulge in its unparalleled splendor.

Conclusion

In a world where excellence is paramount, Johnnie Walker Blue Label reigns supreme, embodying the essence of luxury and sophistication. With its accessible price point and unrivaled quality, it's no wonder that blue label price in Delhi continues to attract enthusiasts and connoisseurs alike to experience the epitome of fine whisky craftsmanship.

visit us  — https://dutyfreedelhi.blogspot.com/2024/02/why-johnnie-walker-blue-label-is-first.html

[whiskeycollec22]

[princesssmars]

desert eagle

another rodeo!abby x reader | p.i

seeing the star of the rodeo secretly in the night has been fun, but things start to get tense from miscommunication. but it’s amateur bull night down at the cow belle, and you’ve still got a few tricks up your sleeve.

wc : 2.619

contains : fluff. reader is hard headed. jealousy? fxf smut. strap on sorry to the people sick of it </3

a/n : you thought it was over ahaaaaa. wdym part one was in APRIL i suck at this. why are all of the desert eagle position pictures slightly different its pissing me off.

truly, everything currently going wrong was all abby anderson's fault.

it's a humid saturday night at the cow belle, and you're pouting while nursing a beer as your friends chatter around you. they'd taken you out to your favorite spot to try to brighten your spirits after noticing your sour mood, hoping some alcohol, dancing, and flirting would fix you right up.

but it was hopeless, for a dark cloud seemed to be hanging over your head the whole night. an annoying, sweet-talking, six-foot, blonde braided cloud.

it was established after your first extremely hot and extremely long night together with abby a few weeks ago that you both had an understanding. no strings, no attachments, no labels. you weren't gonna let a big beautiful woman butter you up only to leave you in a ditch, not after the last time. you'd go to the other's house, have rough messy sex, and maybe have some nice conversation, before heading your own way and repeating it the next week. no more and no less.

but god, you should've known it wouldn't last. ever since that first night when her silky smooth drawl convinced you to stay just a bit longer, to sleep in her bed with her shirt on! you might as well have woken up and cooked her breakfast in bed with a 'good morning, honey.'

who could blame you really? ever since you'd set eyes on abby anderson you knew she was something else, a beautiful force of nature that wouldn't budge until she wrecked you so thoroughly. at the time you were as horny as a coyote in may and saw that as just what you needed, a prized golden notch on your belt. a completely different way from what you do now.

right now you were trying to telepathically burn holes into the back of her beautiful head as she flirted with that hussy donna mayfair, an admittedly gorgeous girl with a big personality, big hair, and big...well, y'know. you look down at your chest and slightly straighten your back before roughly shaking your head after realizing this damn woman has you comparing yourself to a mayfair! of all people! the thought only upsets you more and you down the nearest drink to you, ignoring your friend's whine at the loss of her whiskey.

the small and reasonable part of your brain knows you have no right to be upset. after all, it was you who just a week ago insisted to a blushing abby that you truly did want to just keep things casual. you felt bad a little bit, she'd shown up to your hookup flushed and high off of another rodeo win with a tiny bouquet of your favorite flowers, explaining when you asked how she knew that she noticed them on the motif of your favorite pair of figure-hugging jeans. the bastard.

the relaxed but downcast look she wore after your rejection is a stark contrast to how she looks now, pearly whites showing when she throws her head back at some joke donna told, a large hand coming to rest on the redhead's waist. you can see her preening, foot nearly popping up as she swoons over the female goliath giving her all of her attention. it's enough to make you throw up. or maybe it was drinking all that busch light. whatever.

you must not have been very discreet with your glances because suddenly blue eyes are lifting up and focusing on yours, the shock of being caught forcing you still as your finger circles the rim of your next glass. you try to keep normal 'we're two normal people and definitely not recently gone sour fuck buddies' eye contact, but your body betrays you when your eyes flick down to her hand still on donna's waist. when you look at her again the corner of her lip is quirked up, never looking away as she pulls the redhead in closer and whispers something in her ear, the girl visibly going weak in the knees while abby licks her lips-

"well slap my ass and call me sally, come over here hon!" your darling charlize breaks you out of your..whatever that was and picks you up from your stool to drag you over to the event area, a few people drinking while gathered around the brand new bucking machine as one of the bar hands tinkers with the controls.

"what about it char, 'm really not in the mood..."

"oh don't be such a sourpuss, jus look at this!" she gently grips your chin and tilts your head to a nearby wall, a small white poster detailing a month-long mechanical bull contest as soon as the thing was completed, and each winner would get free drinks and $500 cash prize.

"jeez, since when did the belle bring in bucks like that?"

"doesn't matter. in one weeks time you're gonna put on a hot little outfit and win us those free drinks. and hopefully the cash takes your mind off of your situationship."

"oh yeah? and what makes you think I'm gonna be the one to win?"

"honey, ive seen the most hardass women look at you like well-trained pups. you've gotta be the best ride i know.”

so a week later you’re back in the same spot, hair pulled up and donned in your cropped and tied plaid shirt and your cutest pair of daisy dukes as you wrote your name down on the sheet of others trying to win the prize.

your friends are gathered around you, ever the voices of support as they fuss over you and give you words of encouragement. and while you do smile and laugh with them you can’t help from occasionally looking at abby, back with donna as her group hangs around the edge of the bull area.

“y’know i’ve never heard of someone bagging a hot ass woman, rejecting a relationship with said woman, and then pining over and trying to make that same woman jealous.” savannah fixes your hair while judging you, making sure it won’t get in your face so you can see what you’re doing while up there.

“stop questioning me, i’ve already been doing that myself.” your mumble makes the girls laugh before one of the workers comes to tell you that you’re up after the next person. you give them a nod before walking over to the small gate that leads to the bill, right next to-

“hey, looks like our little buckle bunny is gonna ride an actual bull! make sure to give us a nice show, huh bonita?”

you can’t help but smile when manny comes up beside you to throw an arm over your shoulder, nudging your body with his. the rest of his friends are here of course, including she who shall not be named with her new beau at her side.

“you’re gonna ride the new bull? well i hope you know what you’re doing, don’t want you to end up getting hurt now.” donna asks, grasping your hand in hers with a genuinely worried look on her face. damn it, now you were starting to feel bad.

“now don’t you worry, hon. i’ve got quite a bit of experience in riding.” you throw a wink her way before looking at abby next to her, not noticing the flustered look on donna when all you can do is revel in how you caught abby staring at your exposed stomach. before you can try to tease her about it your name is being called up and you're heading into the pit.

you graciously accept one of the workers' help to get you up on the bull, ignoring some of the catcalls that ring out when your shorts ride up an inch or two. you make sure to do everything you've seen others do (and maybe you watched a certain someone's videos to prepare yourself), steadying your dominant hand on the saddle while your free hand is raised above your head.

the experience is fast and hard just like you like it, the bull spinning and bucking so fast its almost enough to make you dizzy. as much as the cheers of fellow patrons make you want to look up and revel in it, you know you need to watch the bulls head to prepare for each time it turns, thighs tightly squeezing its sides. it's only when you hear the timer start to count down from ten that you look at everyone again, blowing a quick kiss to the blonde that's staring you down.

once the machine stops moving you are helped off and guided back to your incredibly loud friends, all happy to hype you up and start planning how much of the expensive high shelf drinks they wanna get. when you're announced as the winner only a few minutes later the night quickly becomes one filled with dancing and laughter.

you wave goodbye to your friends as their truck speeds away from your street, blowing you kisses as they yell for you to have a good night's sleep. you can't help but smile as you place your bag down in your kitchen, ready to wash the sweat from dancing off your body before sleeping through the night. unfortunately, some absolute boar decided now would be a good time to come knocking at your door."

"alright alright, im comin'!" your shouts do nothing to dissuade the steady banging against your door, nearly slipping on your hardwood floors as you rush to undo the locks and see who it is. "i really hope i owe you some money or else i'll"

"or else you'll what?" the sound of abbys voice makes you freeze, the woman resting against the doorway with one hand in her pocket and the other above your head. you need to blink away your surprise at not only her being here but the fact she is now only a few inches from you, close enough that you can smell her signature scent of pine-

"can i come in? or are you gonna keep teasing me like you did at the bar?"

"i did no such thing, you must have me confused with one of your many other flings." you flippantly address her as you turn around back into your home, hearing her quickly trail behind you and lock your door.

"ohh you'd like that, wouldn't you? gives you a reason to be so difficult for no damn reason."

you ignore her words as you head into your kitchen and retrieve yourself a glass from the cabinet, pouring yourself some water and downing it in a few gulps. jesus it's hot, is she hot? she doesn't seem so, minus the fact the sleeves of her shirt are rolled up and straining against her arms.

"no, i was in fact celebrating my win if you didn't notice. although I'm pretty sure you did, it'd be hard to miss my brilliant technique. maybe i can give you a few tips, i watched some of your shows and honestly hon, you're a bit sloppy."

you try to keep your tone cool while she moves closer and closer to you, eventually taking your empty glass and setting it down before placing both of her arms on either side of you, caging you into the counter, and blue eyes darting between yours and your lips while you speak.

"so you've been watchin my videos, huh? i'd invite you to actually come watch me, like I've already done before, but that would require you to stop ignoring me."

"you had donna mayfair to keep you company, i really doubt you noticed i was gone-"

she kisses you to shut you up, and you really wish you could've said you resisted her for long, that you didn't throw your arms around her neck and wrapped your legs around her waist as soon as she set her palms on your ass. you don't have the time to be embarrassed when shes carries you to your bedroom, removes your clothes before she does the same to her own, and reveals the strap she'd been wearing for who knows how long.

"yeah, not so mouthy now, are you?" abby smiles from above you, admiring how fast she's got you fucked out beneath her while you erratically lift your hips up to meet her short and shallow thrusts. the crooks of her elbows are helping to hold your legs in the air, your hands gripping your thighs to help give her easier access as she pounds into you.

"ab's, fuck, please."

"please what? use your words, beautiful."

"please, 'm sorry i won't ignore you again just- just do something, anything."

she puts on a sickly sweet lovestruck smile, and whispers a small 'god, you're lucky you're cute," before starting to fuck you exactly how she knows you like it. it's fast and hard, yes, but there's a hint of something more in the way she stares at you, how you lift your head for a kiss and she gives it to you without a second thought.

your hands start to claw at her waist, gripping the muscle to try to bring her impossibly closer every time her hips meet yours and her strap presses into that spot that makes your eyes damn near cross.

before you know it your orgasm is creeping up fast, unable to say it but of course, abby can tell regardless, how the resistance between your legs steadily increases and how your moans turn into desperate little whimpers.

"c'mon, you can do it. cum for me sweet girl."

all you can do is shake in her arms like a petal on a leaf, moaning and mewling up to the high heavens as abby pushes you through your orgasm, not stopping her thrusts until you weakly push at her arms to signal her to stop.

you fade in and out of consciousness while she takes care of you, the feeling of a rag cleaning your skin and more water being guided to your mouth all seeming to happen in a few seconds. when she finishes you blink your eyes open at her, admiring just how pretty she always seems to look after taking away your ability to walk.

you stare at each other for a moment, her palm coming to fix a few stray hairs on your face before you reach up to grab it and pull her into bed beside you. you pull the covers above the both of you, ignoring her raised eyebrows and know it all smirk.

"well, im not rude enough to send you home after all of that. might as well make yourself comfortable."

she chuckles, reaching over to turn off your bedside lamp before cuddling you from behind, her soft skin like its own blanket against yours.

"whatever you say, bunny."

when you wake up in the morning it's from the gentle rays of the sun peeking through your curtain and into your eyes, the smell of coffee and bacon quickly filling your nostrils when you notice your...partner, isn't in bed with you.

quickly throwing on a robe and padding your way into the kitchen, you can't help the warm feeling that grows inside of you at a shirtless abby pouring two cups of coffee while two plates of a small breakfast are already plated on your table.

you come up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder when she slightly jumps at the surprise.

"mmm let me guess, you remember how i like my coffee too?"

"i'll remember whatever you want me to, sweet thing."

and right about now that didnt sound too bad.

[bweeeb]

STORM

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Theo didn't like the rain but the reader learned to appreciate it when she was younger. On a night when Theo is feeling alone in the middle of a storm, the reader takes Theo out of his thoughts with just words and smiles.

English is not my first language, so forgive me for mistakes~

Rainy days at Hogwarts weren't always the worst; in fact, they were far from it. The rain pattering against the castle's gravel, the windows of the common rooms, the library, and the Great Hall. Y/n had always been in love with the rain, the way mornings would be chilly after a storm, and how Herbology class would be canceled.

Theodore Nott, however, felt quite the opposite. He had never liked the rain, not since the day his mother died, when it felt like the world was falling apart along with his childhood tears at her funeral. Theo hated how the rain made him want to disappear from the castle, how it distracted him and failed to bring the calm it brought to the other students who enjoyed extra sleep or sat by the fireplace in their common rooms, their nerves soothed. It was almost midnight when Theo got out of bed, restless. The storm had started around nine o'clock, and as predicted by the Slytherin students, everyone had decided to have some fun and drink since the next morning's first class, Herbology, would be canceled. Theo hadn't thought about the aftermath before drinking the whiskey Mattheo had procured, and now he was drunk, scared, anguished, and alone with the voices in his head. Trying to clear his thoughts, Nott left the room he shared with Mattheo and went down to the common room. But once he got there, he realized it was a terrible idea: it was dark, cold, and though the sounds of the rain were muffled, they were still there. Sitting on a leather-upholstered sofa, Theodore sighed and buried his head in his hands, which rested on his knees.

— Fuck. He murmured, feeling ridiculous, and the feeling intensified when he realized he wasn't alone. — Are you okay? Y/n, the quietest Slytherin in the seventh year, and Theo knew her only because she was one of the prefects, along with Draco.

— Mm-hmm. Theo just murmured, straightening up on the sofa and avoiding Y/n's gaze as she stood behind it.

Theo had never been very open with people. He talked a lot with his friends, but outside of that, all you got were those dead blue eyes. — I didn't mean to bother you. I heard footsteps and sometimes, when it rains, some second-years cry here in the common room and... Draco isn’t very attentive to that, so... — Theodore thought she didn’t talk much until now, and so his surprised gaze lifted to her as she bit her lower lip, as if she knew she was talking too much and was trying to stay quiet not to bother.

— Sorry, I’m already bothering you, I’ll… I’ll go… since you’re fine.

She stammered, intimidated by Nott's stare, and afraid of being labeled weird by Theodore Nott, she started stepping back, intending to distance herself from one of the elite Slytherins.

— Draco can be pretty heartless sometimes. But you get used to it. Theo's voice responding to her surprised the girl, who turned to look at him again.

— Yeah, he sometimes says he wonders if I'm really a Slytherin. But what can I do if I don’t want to hear crying during the only time the common room is quiet. She shrugged and let out a nasal laugh.

— You hear them even when you’re sleeping?

— What? — The crying, the footsteps… — Oh, I’m usually not sleeping, so it’s easy to notice.

Y/n said, approaching the sofa and waiting for Theo's confirmation to sit down, from which it came quickly for an honest look. — Why? His voice came out softly, and Y/n was once again surprised that he was genuinely interested, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. All she could think was: how could Theodore Nott be interested in what she was saying instead of going to sleep? Wasn’t he supposed to be as insensitive as everyone at Hogwarts said? — When it’s raining, I like to listen to it. — The rain? He asked curiously, and Y/n nodded, vocalizing her agreement.

— I mean, close your eyes and listen to it. Y/n closed her eyes, and Theo felt stupid for never noticing her at the castle. She was probably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire life.

— Don’t think about anything, just feel it.

— I don’t think I can. Theo admitted, and she opened her brown eyes, which contrasted with his blue ones. — I can’t find any peace in it, Y/n. Theo rolled his eyes and laughed without humor. — Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me. He murmured, and Y/n frowned at the sight of vulnerable Nott in front of her.

— I bet there isn’t, Theo. I think it’s normal not to feel comfortable with something that everyone else does. We’re not all the same. She said, and her voice felt like a soft, warm fabric to Theo. Her closeness made him feel comfortable, and he almost forgot the discomfort in his head. — I even understand how it’s bad to hear the rain when you’re alone. I think it just takes time to appreciate it. — Y/n gave a sympathetic, sly smile to Theo. — I actually hated it. It made me feel lonely. My parents always traveled a lot, so I was left alone. — She laughs a little — Merlin, i cried so much, afraid of being that way forever, and that one day I started to like the noise.

— How did you start to like it?

— My friends would sleep over occasionally, and when it rained, I began to notice that if I looked at it positively, it could be relaxing...

— She smiled softly once more and saw Theo's lips curve into a smile. She swore she was either seeing things or going crazy. — Your friends are passed out after drinking dragon whiskey, and you’re still a bit drunk. It’s okay not to like what you hear outside. Y/n nodded as she finished speaking. She got up from the sofa, grabbed Theodore’s cold hands, and he looked at her as if he’d never seen anyone like that before. Y/n pulled him up from the sofa, and their height difference made her laugh foolishly. —You’re taller than I remembered.

— And you’re shorter than I imagined. Theo looked at her, and Y/n swore she saw puppy eyes in those dead, very, very sexy eyes

— You should get some sleep, Theodore. It’s late… think about the bright side, or don’t think at all, it helps a lot. She murmured, heading towards the stairs with him following her. As she approached the girls' dormitory, Theo’s voice stopped Y/n in her tracks.

— Why did I never notice you?

— Because you’re Theodore Nott. — She smiled at the boy who was no longer thinking about the rain outside, only about her.

— Just, Theo, you can just call me Theo. Theo said, looking at every detail of her body, face, hair and especially her voice that would echo in his head all night.

— Your friends call you that? — Only those I want call me that, Bella. — Okay than, sleep well, Theo.

---

I hope you enjoyed this

Requests are open, message me if you have any ideas💞

[maxillness]

╰┈➤Need You Now || JB22 x ex!reader

Warnings: Angst, alcohol consumption, second chance

Wordcount: 0.8k

She sat on the floor of her living room. Pictures of her and Jenson scattered all around the floor

She tried so hard to fight it, but she ended up reaching for her phone on the coffee table, scrolling down to the contact labelled with his name

It went to voicemail, just like she had expected

“Hey, it’s me… I’m sorry for calling so late, I just-… Sometimes I wonder if I ever cross your mind… For me it happens all the time. I know it’s a quarter after one, but I’m all alone and I need you now” A tear rolled down her cheek

“I know I said I wouldn’t call, but I’ve lost all control and I need you now” Her voice cracked slightly “And I don’t know how I can do without, I just need you now”

She hung up the phone and threw it back onto the coffee table

Jenson sat in his leather chair, another shot of whiskey in his glass

He couldn’t stop looking at the door, wishing she’d come sweeping in the way she did before

Sometime he wonders if he ever crossed her mind. For him it happened all the time

He heard his phone ringing. He looked over at it, her name lighting up on the phone

He didn’t pick it up. He should’ve. He was just thinking about her

He should’ve picked up

He waited until he got the notification she had left a voicemail to pick it up

He heard all of it, his heart aching as he heard her voice crack

After a minute of just sitting there, thinking, he picked up the phone again, calling her back

”Jense?” It was like his whole world had healed itself again as he heard her voice

“Hey” He took a deep breath “I know it’s a quarter after one, and I might be a little bit drunk…” He chuckled slightly, looking up into the ceiling “But, um… Can I come over?” He asked softly

”Not when you’re drunk. I’ll come to you” She sighed, an obvious smile on her lips as she spoke ”I’ll be there in 10 minutes, okay?”

“Yeah. That’s- that’s fine” He said, nodding along his words, trying to hide the excitement in his body

She kept true to her word. 10 minutes later, he opened his door after she had knocked on it

She stepped inside, standing close seeing as the entryway was shallow

He stepped closer to her once the door was closed, her body pressed up against the wall, his lips hovering over hers

“Jense… You’re affected” She Said, pushing softly at his chest to get him to back up

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry” He said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face

She put her hand on his jaw, his slight stubble scratching against her palm “We can cuddle like we used to, if you want?” She suggested instead

He nodded slightly “Yeah. I’d like that”

They both laid in his bed, Jenson in her arms, his head on her chest, his arms around her waist, her nails dragging along his scalp, soothing him

“You’re here when I wake up, right?” Jenson asked softly, almost a whisper

“Of course I am” She answered in the same volume of tone

“Good. I don’t want you to leave” He sighed, his grip around her tightening

When she woke up, Jenson was still laying in her arms, but his head was now in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin

She smiled softly, almost forgetting that they weren’t together anymore, and this was just because they were both lonely the night prior

She shifted slightly, but it woke him up. He groaned softly, pulling her tighter against his body

Before she could say anything, he had his lips on hers. She kissed back immediately without thinking about it

The kiss was tiredly done and slightly messy, but it really didn’t matter in this moment

“Jense-“ “Let me love you again” His blue eyes were begging, glazed with guilt from how they ended things

“Just give me a chance” He tried again, his hand on the dip of her hip “Let me prove to you that I’m capable of love” His eyes had started swelling with tears

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Jenson” It pained him to hear his name like that. She never called him by his name

“A month. That’s all I’m asking. You can leave again after that. I promise, just a month” He was now sitting up on his knees, looking down at her

She sighed softly “Okay” She gave in

“Thank you so much” He barely got his words out before his lips were back on hers, kissing her tenderly “Breakfast?” He asked softly as he pulled back

“That’s be nice, yes” She nodded

“Eggs and bacon like you like it?” He asked, getting out of the bed

“Like I like it” She chuckled

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea as she thought

[martyrsex]

Jason Todd x female reader

Summary: You pissed him off more than anyone else in the world. With your killing, with the dirty job you do. The truth is, you asked for what was coming for you. And he was more than happy to deliver.

Warnings: SHORT SMUT (it's not super long.) dirty talk, degradation, very mean Jason

Disclaimer: english is NOT my first language, so probably there are mistakes. Feel free to correct me.

Your heels collide against the floor of your apartment. It was a nice place — expensive, full of luxuries that you were able to provide yourself with. You were proud of yourself, really. Accomplishing so much in such a little age. You know how people see you. How your friends perceive you. A rich heir, a daddy’s girl. Little do they know you are your own daddy, or whatever the phrase is. It doesn’t matter.

Little do they know that you kill people for a living. You’re such a sweet girl. So polite and happy. You snicker, thinking about the idiots the surround you. None of them realize your little disfarce. They think you truly are the innocent, charming little girl that makes everyone love her. It’s almost irritating, how nobody ever sees the real you. They don’t seem to realize the person behind the smile, the killer behind the delicate body.

You grab a cigarette, lightning while sipping a Blue Label from an elegant glass of whiskey. Observing Gotham lights from your giant window, that extends from your feet towards the roof. Your office, inside your penthouse apartment. Today, today was a good day. Today you deserved a Blue Label. Nothing more; it wasn’t good enough for a Macallan Valerio 1926, even if you do have the bottle. But it was good enough for a Blue Label.

So you drink, and appreciate the view of Gotham. Gotham, that provides you with so much opportunities. It’s not a city for everyone. Hell, it isn’t the best city for almost anyone. But for you? Gotham was perfect just as it is. Dirty, rough and wicked.

Today is going to be a good night, you think. You couldn’t know how right you were.

Finally. He was finally able to track where that bitch lives. Jason is not one that usually delivers those kind of offensive words towards women. In reality, that’s his line. He is okay with murder, hell, he is one, but misogyny is the line for him. But you. You deserve every single bad word he can thinks of. He despises you.

Six months ago, a bunch of killings started to happen in the higher classes of Gotham. Entrepreneurs being killed at cold blood, for no clear reason. Then, his own targets started to come down too. The crime lords, the drug lords, the sex traffickers, all coming down, one by one. He thought it was a good thing. Someone else is also doing the job. He didn’t felt jealous his targets were being taken down by other hands. Hell, he was happy.

But those who remained, the criminals that remained, those weren’t being taken down. They were growing, expanding their business. And then he thought they would be over too, if not by his hands, by the hands of whoever that was ending everyone with such ability. But it wasn’t the case. He realized, maybe too late, that there were specific man who had protection.

With a quick research of his own, asking the right questions at the right contacts, he found out. It wasn’t a vigilante who was ending the criminals or the business man. It was a hired assassin.

And he knew he had to take you down when you started killing innocent people for money. When it wasn’t just the douchebags anymore. It was just rich people, being killed because your clients wanted to take over the money or the business. Does he have a huge amount of sympathy for rich snobs? No. But an innocent is an innocent. And he wasn’t letting that slide.

But you had a pattern, he realized. No women or children. Those were not killed. Mostly, your victims were rich, white man. It doesn’t make it any less worst for Jason. Well, maybe a little, but even so, he needs to take you down. But what really pissed him off is not the work you do. What pisses him off the most is how your always, always one step ahead of him.

But not anymore. He was finally able to track your home, after three months of search. Gotham is a huge city, and you hid your tracks so well he didn’t even know your name till now. He never saw your face. He just knows you’re a woman. And now, where you live. Well, he expects he is right about it, because if he isn’t, he’s going to invade an extremely wealthy apartment and that might cause problems.

So he just hopes his informants were right.

You were inside your bathtub, big enough for ten people, reading a deliciously smutty book and drinking red wine. You didn’t have much time for romance in your life, unfortunately. So you read books, that deliver you a tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your hair was up in a bun, showing your elegant features.

Jason enters the apartment through the window of one of the living rooms. The sight of the luxurious apartment, bought with the blood of innocent people, disgusted him. He stepped carefully, observing the surroundings. The light was off. Maybe you were out working or attending to a ball. He knew you did that a lot. He gets into one of the corridors, and realizes there is no one in this floor. But there is stairs in the end of the corridor, and he goes up to the second floor.

The second floor is just as big as the first, and every light is off. He enters inside another living room. No — a library. Then at a second kitchen, a cinema room, and a lot of another stupid luxuries that he didn’t give a shit about. But there is a room he didn’t check already, and he opens the door. Big bed. A piano inside the room. More walls filled with books and paintings. Very elegant, cozy.

He notices then, a small light coming from under a door. He grabs his gun, and with no second thought, opens the door forcefully, making it slam on the wall. He points the gun at you, that is still inside the ridiculously big bathtub, full of bubbles. You close your book and stares at him, and then he stares at you, and for one second Jason truly believes he is in the wrong place, because there is no way a woman with that face could be a hired killer.

But then you smile. “Jason Todd. Came here to join me?”

A chill runs down his spine. How the fuck did you know about his identity? He tries not to demonstrate how shaken he is by your revelation.

“Get out of the tub. Hands up in the air where I can see.” He says, his voice cold. It sends a chill down your spine.

“That’s not a proper way to treat a lady, you know. I’d like some privacy.” You say, voice sweet like venom.

“Pity. Hands up.” He insists on the matter, gripping his gun tighter, his finger on the trigger. This woman is dangerous and he knows it. A single moment of inattention, she can end him like a snake.

You chuckle, and stands up, the bubbles and foam running down your exposed body. You step cautiously out of the tub, not really mind the fact that he could see your whole body in full display. Your mind is worried with a different thing: just how the hell you will get out of this situation.

You could kill him, yes. It would be harder than your usual target, but you both are inside of your home. He’s in your territory. Even if he’s the one holding the gun, you still have the upper hand; you just need to distract him enough to catch one of your daggers.

But the truth is, you don’t really wanna kill him. Yes, he’s been a pain in the ass the last six months. But he was a good man. You respected that, eve if you’re not good yourself.

"At least be a gentleman and handle me that towel." You say, pointing at the towel hanging close to where Jason stands. He thinks for a moment. Maybe it's a trick. But you are indeed naked, and he feels a little bad exposing a woman at an arrest while being completely naked.

So he turns around slightly to grab the towel, and that's all the time you need to burst running through the bathroom door. As soon as he realizes he curses loudly and goes after you, but you already caught a dagger that was in a counter.

He thinks about shooting you, that would make it all easier. But something inside his guts doesn't allow him to. So he keeps pointing at you, a dagger in your hand, and you're ready to strike.

The chill of the cold air makes shivers run down your naked body. you're still dripping wet, the bun now undone, your hair falling down till it's complete length.

Jason catches his breath. You were beautiful. He was working though, no time to get distracted by skin. Even if it is the most perfect thing he ever seen.

"Drop the weapon and get into your knees. Or I'll shoot." He says, coldly.

"I wouldn't shoot me if I were you. You'll create enemies I don't think you're interested in." You reply, and you're not bluffing.

You're crazy, he realizes. To burst towards him while he is holding a gun. He missed, yes, but he could have shot you accidentally is some vital place, and he doesn't want that either. You're nuts.

"On your knees. Now." He says, almost barking. Before he can say anything else, you strike forward. He shoots, but misses. In the meantime, you are able to draw a deep cut in his arm.

He hisses at the cut in his forearm, and you're about to deliver another one to his chest, but he grabs your wrist , shoving you against the wall. He is physically stronger than you, so you'll need to get out of the situation in another way.

"Be fucking quiet." He says, when you open your mouth to say something. You smirk, staring at him.

He can't help but feel attracted towards you, completely bare against that wall, his hand holding your wrists upon your hand. He looks at you and an urge to fuck you right there gets him.

Because he hate you, he really does. Even more now that you managed to play him for a fool. He hates you, and he hates that you're so hot, so tempting. He hates that he can't help but stare at your tits, or notice how small you look compared to him, and how tight you would be.

And he hates it even more because he knows he can't.

"You want me, don't you?" You say, noticing his silence. It's just a whisper. But you have a smile on your face. And then he knows, you want it too.

But you're still a damn assassin who needs a lesson. And he's glad to give it to you.

He grabs your hair, and with force shoves you into the ground, on your knees in front of him. You frown, looking up at his face. You try to stand up again, but he point the gun at you.

"Stay quiet." He says, his voice breathy. God, is he really going to do this? Yeah. Fuck it. He can see it in your eyes. You desire him too.

So with his other hand he starts to undo his belt, letting in fall on the floor. He opens his zipper, and without shame or regret he pulls his cock out, pumping slowly.

Your eyes widened. Okay. This wasn't what you were expecting, but it's way better than be arrested. So you go for it.

You open your lips, inviting him. He doesn't lose time, shoving his whole length down your throat, making you gag. He still points a gun to your head with one hand, the other moving your head, his balls hitting your chin every single time.

"Fuck- you should quit your job as an assassin, ya know? You're way better like this." He says, mockingly. You get irritated, and tries to push him away to do some snarky comment, but he pulls you into his hips again, making you close your eyes.

You relax your jaw and your throat, and lets him facefuck you. He grunts, you gag, and you don't know for how long the whole ordeal went, but suddenly he grabbed your hair again and pulled you up, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a pop.

"Turn around." He says, harshly.

"Fuck off-" you try to say, even when you feel your legs trembling at his hot, dominant tone.

He scoffs, the sound lightly different because of his mask, and with a pull on your arm makes you turn around. He grabs your ass and open it, kneeling behind you, observing your pussy.

"You're wet. Pathetic slut." He says, and stands up again. He doesn't waste time and shoves himself inside of you, making you moan softly. He was so big, and the stretch was so painfully delicious.

He starts to fuck you like you're a toy, not slowing down and not really giving a damn about your pleas. He grabs your throat, forcing your back against his chest, your breasts tightly pressed against the wall.

"Shut your mouth and take it like the good whore you are." He says in your ear, making irritation grow inside of you. You try to think about something clever to say back to him, anything really, but you can't.

All you can think about is how he hits all the sweet spots inside of you, making you squirm. He slaps your ass, grip tight in your throat.

"God- slow down-" You manage to say.

"Shh. I said for you to be quiet and take it." He says, slapping you again, harder this time.

He gets out of you, and throws you on the bed. You try to create some distance between you two, but he grabs your ankle and pulls you back into him. Not giving you time to think before he slaps your abused cunt.

You let out a little scream, trying to close your legs. No point in it. He forces them open, observing the wet mess that you are.

"Maybe I won't arrest you, after all. Maybe I should keep you to myself. As my personal slut. What do you think?" He whispers, and puts his dick back into you. You moan, unable to respond, too focused in getting fucked.

His hips slam against you, reaching a point so deep no one ever reached before.

"Jason- oh God-" You say, hands going to his shoulders, bringing him closer.

He chuckles, one hand going between your bodies to pinch your clit. You arch your back at the soft pain, moaning.

"You like that? You like being fucked like a whore?" He asks, giving you a little slap on the face. It's not hurtful, just a reminder of who is in charge.

And you find yourself nodding, too lost in the pleasure.

The pleasure is like a wave, with each thrust of his hips you find yourself moaning louder, almost shouting his name. He takes his mask off, and kisses you, his tongue invading your mouth and tasting your lips.

He moves positions again, putting you on all fours. It keeps going for a long time, your eyes rolling up your skull, one of his hands on your ass and the other one grabbing your hair, pulling your head backwards.

"Fuck- you're tight for a whore-" He says, chuckling.

"That's because I'm- oh- I'm not one!" You say, irritated.

"Oh, you don't like me calling you a whore? What about my little whore? Sounds better?"

You clench around him, because yes, it does sounds better. He notices and chuckles again, a little breathy, but still able to talk.

"That's what I thought."

After everything, he did actually arrest you. He gave you time to put your clothes on, the gun always pointed. But it doesn't matter. You'll be free in two days, and you both know that.

And Jason finds himself... excited about the thought of your freedom.

__________________________________________________

the smut was a little shorter than what I planned, but I intend on doing more of this type of fics. with more smut. hehe.

[bldngiris]

꒰OKLAHOMA SMOKESHOW ꒱ . . . d winston !

pairing(s) : book! dallas winston x fem!soc! reader

in which y/n dreams of escaping tulsa but her dad is holding her back. however dallas winston listens and yearns.

requested : yes or no.

!! content warnings : yelling, swearing, r's father is an ass, r is a soc but she doesn't like being one, discrimination. movie dallas used only for visuals even though i used blonde book dallas in mind!! mentions of religion, angst

robin chirps : happy easter!! this fic is inspired by oklahoma smokeshow by zach bryan :) bold is the song lyrics!

go on and put on that dress that all the bad boys like.

y/n stood in front of her full-length mirror and took a look at herself one last time before heading out the door. if her father had caught her wearing anything other than appropriate soc attire, she would be done for. the amount of times she had been hit on by cocky high class boys who just wanted to get into her pants was numerous, alas her father didn't care. "you don't want to look like one of those greasy balls of garbage do you?" he would ask her. truth was y/n didn't want to be a soc. sh didn't want to be a greaser either. she wanted to escape tulsa and live in a city without labels and get away from all the hostility stored away in the streets of tulsa.

i know your daddy ain't home so ride with me tonight. you always wind up here in a puddle of tears

y/n had made her way to the diner with her friends. however, her "friends" had left her midway through the walk home to go hang out with a group of other socs. it had started to rain and the closest place y/n could go to was bucks. y/ns feet subconsciously made their way to the building lit by neon beer signs, ignoring the voice in the back of her head saying, "if i catch you 'round one of them greaser places.."

she slowly opened the door to the place, as a mixture of tears, mascara and raindrops ran down her face, her hair sticking to her face, her dress drenched. many eyes were on her as barely, if any, socs came to bucks. whispers, some louder than others presumably by drunk men were heard as y/n sat on one of the bar stools.

them boys are out and they're angry and they're lookin' for blood In the back of a blue old pick up truck. you've got nowhere to go although you're all gussied up

y/n sat at the barstool, a shaggy, pale, blonde boy sat beside her, a malboro cigarette hanging out of his mouth loosely.

"hey man, what're you doin' out here?" he asked the soc, curiously, in a sluggish tone of voice. y/n sniffled.

"my friends left me when we were at the diner, n' i didn't wanna get jumped, it's dangerous walkin' home by myself, y'know." she sniffled again. "plus, it's cold and wet." she paused again. dallas listened, as he hummed and nodded, understanding what she was talking about.

there's so much whiskey in his coke it'll make her nose bend

"that really sucks man," he muttered taking a sip of his whiskey and coke, y/n could smell the drink from her seat. dallas did't turn away or ignore her after that. they spent the next hour talking.

but she swears that his love is a damn god send

don't get me wrong, dallas hated socs. but y/n was different, under the high class, hair done, pretty dress facade, she was a normal girl yearning for more than just a privilege title. the two could relate on another level which dallas had appreciated. dallas and y/n both wanted more or less the same thing, both wanted to escape tulsa, but more or less everything was holding them back from doing so.

she's known god since she was a child, she used to play in the yard and she would dream of one day

y/n played in the front yard of her house with a white picket fence. she saw two kids around her age, playing over by a park around the 'border' between the west and east side.

"hi! im y/n can i play with you?" she asked the three children. they were greaser children, as seen by the difference in their appearance.

'til the world came around and took her dreaming away. told her how to dress and act and smile.

"sure! im soda, thats johnny and that one over there is steve" one said. soon enough, y/n's father had come out of the house, soon following a burst of yelling came about. "y/n get over here and away from that white trash." he exclaimed. y/n wondered, how could a grown adult be so hostile toward children? y/ns father grabbed the little girls hand and took her back over to the freshly painted house on the block.

'y/n, sweetie, you know better than to talk to those type of people." he told her. "now, im sure mrs. sheldon and mrs. valances children would love to play with you hm?" he said. the little girl with pigtails and turned around to watch the greaser kids looking at her sadly, eventually cheering themselves up and laughing softly as they played on the monkey bars.

she's an oklahoma smokeshow. he's an asshole from back home. she'll never make it out alive.

that night, at bucks dallas and y/n talked for hours. y/n told dallas about her image and how she was forced by her father to keep up the good girl act, how every soc guy just wanted to get in her pants and how she's never going to make it out alive.

dallas told her about how he grew up in the streets of brooklyn, new york because his asshole father didn't give a shit about him. his mother and grandmother didn't have enough to provide, because his dad kept taking the profit to the bottle. he ended up in juvi by the time he was ten for theft, trying to provide for his family until he just left and ended up here in tulsa.

that small town bar scene, where small vices kill your big dreams. he'd take you home but he's too drunk to drive.

"but my dad will never let me leave, not until i'm 21 at least, and if i do, he'll list me as a runaway to the police and they'll come and find me." she muttered, solemnly. it was nearly midnight now. dallas way to intoxicated to drive. y/n had used bucks landline to call a cab as she made her way home, thinking of the boy who had changed her life in a mere few hours.

well, I've been here, I've been up all night. thinkin' 'bout a life with you and i. one you'll never know 'cause you're a small town smokeshow.

dallas layed there, head empty except for the thought of y/n. it was nearly 3 in the morning at this point, but all he could think about was the girl who he had just met but felt like they had known each other for years and there he continued dreaming, because unfortunately for him only one of the two got their 'escape' from the prejudice of tulsa, oklahoma. unfortunately, it wasn't y/n. unfortunately, it wasn't the way either of them planned.

[sdvbraindump]

SDV headcanon Harvey would drink whiskey imported from Ireland or Scotland and cost $20-50 a glass at a bar. He's also partial to Blue Label when he can get it.

[unholyhelbig]

How about a bartender!Kate in which Kate is a new employee of the bar that reader frequents on bad days and Kate is one of the first people not to sympathize with her and just full of banter. I just think a cocky bartender Kate would be … neat

[This is 18+, if you are a minor DO NOT INTERACT]

Title: Two Fingers of Whiskey

Ship: Female!Reader x Bartender!Kate Bishop

Warnings: Top!Kate, Bottom!reader, Dom!Kate, Sub!reader, light dom/sub, finger sucking, Fingering (r receiving), Hate fuck (?) yeah, this is a hate fuck.

[A/n: Go easy on me, I haven't written smut since my Pitch Perfect days & I've been under quarantine for the last five days, I've got brain rot & did not proofread.]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Kate began to expect your visits. Her eyes would drift to the novelty Miller High Life clock that was hanging on the wall. Six pm. Twice a week you’d wander into the bar and let out the haze of smoke and Dior Fahrenheit. Your eyes would search for hers with the same amount of ferocity, and Kate would try to swallow back the pride that was resulted by your hatred.

It started out as hatred, anyway.

Kate Bishop had made it a point to listen to people and their problems. Being a bartender at a seedy basement establishment was more than mixing drinks and cracking open frothy beers. She’d been told her first week that she was a half-bit therapist, and had laughed it off until she was listening to stories of corporate drabble, sudden deaths, and quiet loveless frustrations.

It had been two years since she started the nightshift at Copper’s, and she could spot the sadness from miles away. She could spot that frustration too. Kate became admittedly bored with the way her life had fallen into routine, so when a certain energy presented itself, she pushed.

Kate loved to push with you.

You’d looked tentative when you’d first entered Copper’s, your gaze moving across the dark green paint, the booths that were sticky. Your nice shoes had crunched over broken peanut shells and a certain film covered the walls, the stained-glass lamps over each table. Your hand tightened on your bag, and that gave Kate a sick sort of satisfaction. You took note of her nametag, not customed, a small label being printed and taped over an existing name.  

She admired the way you carried yourself with such assuredness after allowing for one moment of doubt. Instead of turning around and going back out onto the busy city streets, you took the two steps down and carefully sat yourself at the far end of the bar.

“We don’t have anything fancier than a house white.”

“Boston Lager?”

You’d lifted a perfect eyebrow and Kate nodded stuffing the rag she’d been using into her back pocket before reaching into the cooler and pulling out the dark amber bottle. She used the edge of the counter to pop the cap off, not caring where it landed. Foam dripped across her fingertips, and she forbade a coaster when she set it down in front of you.

Two sips before you spoke. The first was tentative, and the second was assured. Kate watched carefully as your throat worked at the drink. She frowned in the dark light, trying to rush away any inappropriate thoughts of her lips against an expanse of skin.

“I’m not pretentious.” You said, setting the bottle down.

Kate hummed. It was a non-committal noise. She picked up one of the glasses, still warm from going through the dishwasher, and went on wiping the detergent spots from the clear surface. Though, she saw you frown out of the corner of her eye and bit back her reaction.

“Seriously. You offered me wine.”

“You don’t like wine?”

“No. I like wine; I just don’t like when strangers presume that I like wine.”

Kate couldn’t help but smile at this. She replaced a glass and grabbed another one. The frustration on your face was admirable, and you seemed to balk at Kate’s direct attention. You fidgeted and began to peel the edges of the dark blue label on your drink, only where the condensation had allowed easy removal.

“We have house white, darling.”

“White Horse, then. Straight.”

Kate scoffed and set her second glass down. If she had been worried, truly worried, that you were going to do something stupid she would give you a few more watered down beers and send you on your way. But she liked the way you wanted to spite her. It made her fingers twitch. She pulled the bottle from the second shelf and counted two fingers of whiskey.

You took it back in one gulp, breathing through your nose before taking a tiny sip of your beer to quell the burn. Kate was infatuated with the way you sat straighter, the way you flashed her a small cocky smile. I can take the hard stuff.

“Rough day, then?” Kate sighed and filled your glass again, calling your bluff.

She leaned against the counter and watched you watching her. It gave her a sick pleasure, nudging you like this. She wouldn’t’ go far, really, she just needed to have some break in her normal routine, and you seemed like you needed a few things to forget yourself.

“The roughest.” You leveled her with an apprehensive stare. “You care?”

“Not particularly. But I’ll listen.”

“You’re an ass.”

“I’m an ear.” Kate made a sweeping motion with her hand “be my guest, sweetheart. You can vent to anyone in here.”

It was just the two of them. Sure, in about an hour, her usual crowd would rear its head. There were only three others that frequented, and they lingered by the one pool table and ordered two pitchers of the cheapest beer. They left Kate alone and she left them alone.

You contemplated her offer for a brief moment, letting out a labored breath as if Kate was burdening you instead of offering relief. “I have a shitty client. Very demanding.”

“What do you do?” Kate tried.

“I’m an archivist for the city of New York. Cold Cases mainly. There are hundreds of thousands of physical case boxes that reside in basements and closets just waiting to be digitally entered.” You threw back your drink and tapped the side of the glass. Kate took the hint and poured until the buttery liquid coated the bottom.

Kate had to admit; that was quite the job. It sounded like a lot of sadness, however, that wasn’t what you carried on your shoulders tonight. Annoyance was the overarching emotion that was expressed on your delicate features.

So, the bartender did what she did best, she didn’t’ ask about what was in the boxes. She wasn’t privy to know. She wanted to know what about the boxes bothered you to the point of drinking close to a handle of liquor in a seedy bar.

You answered before she could ask “corporate bullshit. They want us to enter all of these cases for the pure purpose of shelving them electronically. I mean, we don’t even have a cold case unit anymore. But some of these… you can tell the leg work wasn’t done. The boyfriend did it. The jealous co-worker, it’s all written so plainly that I stupid archivist that should be working at a museum can see it!”

“Wow.” Kate said.

“Wow?”

She hummed again, this time after you swallowed your drink, she took the glass and threw it into the plastic tub. It made an empty hollow sound. Kate grinned at you in this infuriating type of way that made you want to kiss her or slap her. Either way, you shifted uncomfortably.

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart? That’s a shit situation, yeah. But there are shittier ones.”

“You are such an ass.” You repeated your earlier sentiment. She smiled brighter.

“That’ll be $15.00 even.”

Despite her difficulty, you dug through your bag until you threw a twenty on the counter and mumbled that she keep the change. Kate watched as you left that day and the smile never left her face. She liked you, she thought. And more than anything, she knew that you would be back. There was something about Kate’s lack of caring that got to people. There was no sympathy, only agreement.

 Two days later you were back inside the grimy interior of Copper’s. It took Kate a second to recognize you. Instead of nicely pressed clothing, you were in a pair of gray sweatpants and a t-shirt that had the band ‘Rush’ scrawled across your chest. Kate didn’t’ let her stare linger. You sat in the same stool, and Kate felt your eyes rake her up and down.

“Have you lodged a formal complaint against me?” Kate asked.

“No.”

“Good. Then what can I get for you, darling?”

You ordered the same Boston Loger as before and Kate complied, not even offering the cheap box-wine they served in a chilled glass just to make it taste a little more worth-it. Strands of hair fell into your eyes and Kate clenched the dishtowel in her hands a little harder to keep herself from reaching forward and brushing them from your stare.

Kate couldn’t hold her tongue, and that annoyed her. The first time she saw you, it was so easy to grate on your nerves. This time, you looked slightly broken, and even Kate had her limits when it came to bothering the patrons.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked.

“Do you care what’s wrong?”

“If I’m honest, not in the slightest. But you seem bothered, and I’m the only one around the listen.”

“How long?”

Kate raised both of her eyebrows and lilted her head to the side like a confused animal. She had both of her palms pushed up against the bar, a tank-top with the logo of the establishment stretched across her chest. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t take a sip of your drink. Kate watched as your fingers delicately circled the opening of the amber bottle. You blinked at her, eyelids heavy.

“Excuse me?”

“How long are you going to be alone here?”

She blinked to make sure she heard you right. She had someone coming in to relive her in about an hour but was more than happy to sit here and talk with you until that time. It seemed like you had other ideas, and part of her was curious about that. It shot straight to her core and warmed her cheeks.

“You’re not going to murder me, are you?” Kate teased.

“And add to all those boxes I have to archive? Please.”

Kate cleared her throat and started to work at the back of the apron at her waist. It seemed frantic and you finally lifted your drink, downing it in a few gulps. You needed to let off some steam, it seemed, and Kate was more than happy to provide. After-all, she was a bartender and her job was to listen- to provide. Kate rationalized all of this before she had her apron off.

“Would you look at the time?” you stood, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a ten. “I’m running late. Keep the change, darling.”

Kate paced back and forth along the length of the bar, muttering things to herself. She deserved that, really- she did, but it had been three whole days and she was still sufficiently pissed off that you had thrown her attitude right back at her. That wasn’t allowed.

No one had ever done that to her before and you’d made her stomach roll with attraction and even anticipation with just a few simple words and insinuations. Sure, you tipped well, and you drank and then left, but she didn’t actually want to admit that she was having fun talking to you.

And more than anything, she didn’t want to admit that she was flicking her eyes to the clock on the wall, getting only a slight bit of relief when it passed your usual time. Today, however, you did show up.

Kate could feel the tension in her jaw as she watched you walk through the doors. The scent had become familiar to you, something she could tell by the way you breathed in deeply, grounding yourself.

You wore tighter clothes, and Kate struggled not to rake her eyes up and down your figure, the way the fabric hugged every inch of you. The sweatpants and t-shirt were gone, instead you had on a dress with a long slit running up the side, exposing tanned skin.  She focused on the way you walked, the way you leaned forward on the bar, pressing your cleavage forward.

“This isn’t going to work twice.” Kate said, crossing her arms over her chest.

She was admittedly sore over your teasing, despite how well-earned it was. And that tight dress did look stunning on you. Even the low smoggy haze of Coppers she shivered at the thought of tearing it off of you, of moving the zipper down the small of your back and kissing up your spine.

You cleared your throat. “I actually came here to apologize.”

“Did you, now?”

“Yes,” You said through gritted teeth as if it physically pained you to say the words. “You were right… the first time we met. My problems seem big, but compared to other things, they’re not detrimental. Even though I was mad, teasing you like that was below me.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure much is below you.”

Kate raked her eyes up and down your body. Your cheeks heated and you let out a groan. Because damn-it, she was so infuriating, and though you’d come back to the bar a second time to drive her crazy, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“I have the keys to the boss’s office.” Kate offered deviously “No windows and a desk.”

Kate watched you swallow hard, contemplating her offer. She twirled the keys around her ring finger expertly and when you finally nodded she felt herself lean against the counter, close enough to where her lips brushed yours, the warmth was all encompassing, electrifying.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. What exactly do you want?”

With hesitation you forced the words through your lips. This was wildly out of character for you, usually prim and proper and not demanding things from a strange bartender with ghostly blue eyes and expert fingers. “I want you to take me into that office and fuck me until I can’t walk.”

Kate smiled, closing the gap between the both of you with a breathless kiss, her tongue invading your mouth. You moaned into the simple gesture before she pulled away. “All you had to do was ask.”

With a chivalrous gesture, Kate took your hand and guided you easily down a large step behind the bar. You’d never seen this side of things, and though you hadn’t expected anything breathtaking, it gave you a better view of the empty establishment.

You didn’t have much time to contemplate as you were guided through a narrow hallway that had an employee schedule posted on the wall, and a few boxes of unopened liquor. There was a citrus scent that invaded your senses and soon you were out of the cold and in a small office that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in months.

The hum of the cooling units was drowned out and a warmth caused bumps to rise against your skin. Kate had you pushed against the door in a matter of seconds, her mouth back on yours, a knee between your legs, shoving them open. Desperately, you tried to grind down, alleviating some of the heat in your core.

Kate’s hand came up to grip your chin, disconnecting her lips from yours “We’re impatient, aren’t we?”

You could only whimper in response, the corner of Kate’s mouth lilted up into a semi smile, too much like a smirk for your liking. The expression did things to you. Here was this cocky bartender that was too content for her own good- yet, in this moment, you would let her have you in any way she wanted.

“I’ll fuck you senseless on the desk, but only if you can be patient. Can you do that for me? Can you be a good girl?”

“I… yes.”

“What was that? I thought we talked about you using your words, sweetheart.”

“Can you please fuck me on the desk? I’ll be a good girl.”

That seemed to be enough. Kate slid her hands around to the back of your thighs and lifted you with an unnatural bout of strength, a noise of surprise escaping your lips. You had seen her arms a few days earlier when she was in that tank-top, but she had settled you on the desk effortlessly, standing between your legs.

Kate’s mouth nipped at your jawline, sucking perfect bruised circles against your skin that she soon soothed with her tongue. You didn’t mind her marking you, though you mentally made a note to pick up some concealer on the way home. She made quick work with the zipper at your spine, pulling it down to the warm air. She slid your sleeves down your shoulders, exposing your breasts to her prying eyes.

She took a moment to admire you, giving your hip a small squeeze. You took the hint and lifted off the desk just enough for her to pull the rest of the fabric away. It dropped to the floor. Kate smiled at you, drinking you in. “Wow”

“Wow?”

Kate hummed and returned to working at your chest. This time she went lower, nipping at the sensitive skin around your nipple. You dug your fingers into the fabric of her shirt, letting out a groan of pleasure. Her fingers were testing at the waistline of your underwear, not quite dipping past the elastic.

Kate’s tongue was so warm, so encompassing. You arched your back, not denying her access to any part of you. Her expert hands finally pushed past the barrier of fabric, running up your entrance.

“Oh, shit, darling. You’re so worked up.”  Her words vibrated against you, and you struggled not to buck forward, to press into her lingering touch. Kate seemed to sense your frustration. “uh-uh, we’re being patient, remember? If you want release, you’ll have to beg for it.”

Beg? You weren’t the begging type. Unfortunately, you weren’t in the position to do anything but what she demanded. The thought of Kate inside of you, even in the smallest capacity, was driving you insane.

“Kate,” You hummed her name.

A sound got stuck in her throat at the sound of her name pushing through your kiss-bruised lips. She edged the end of the noise, almost phrasing it like a question. She didn’t want to give herself away, how much seeing you like this got her wet.

“Please, I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”

Before you could get out another word, she pushed a single, teasing finger inside. You fell forward, pressing your nose against the small of her neck with an exasperated breath. Kate painstakingly added another finger, pumping in and out of you with a method to her madness. You bit into her shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to muffle your noises of satisfaction as she swiped her thumb against your clit.

Kate’s other hand returned to your breast, squeezing and toying. It sent pleasure straight to your core, and Kate could feel you begin to tighten around her. She slowed her movements. “Beg,” She commanded.

“I’m going to cum,” you whispered into her shoulder, grasping fruitlessly at the fabric of her shirt, trying to pull her as close to you as possible.

“Are you?” She asked, slowing her pace.

“I… Kate please let me cum, I can’t hold on much longer I-“ another moan escaped you, and it took you a few breathes to compose yourself to some sort of semblance. “please”.

“That’s a good girl,” Kate praised, returning the circular motions to your clit. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

That’s all you needed to hear to unwind for her. You clenched around her fingers, chills running from your core to every inch of your exposed body. A guttural noise of pleasure was silenced by Kate’s lips against yours, her throat silencing you as much as she could. Satisfaction rushed through you, aftershocks of her movements twitching through you. Kate withdrew herself from you, a self-assured smile on her lips as she moved them up to her lips and sucked them clean, never breaking eye contact with you.

“I need a drink,” You breathed out, words trembling. Your forehead pressed against hers, still panting, still recovering from her expert touch.

Kate scoffed, shaking her head “We don’t have anything fancier than a house white.”

[sinfulscorchings]

(𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕜𝕪) 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕪 𝕛𝕠𝕙𝕟𝕟𝕪 . *. ⋆ 𝕛𝕠𝕙𝕟𝕟𝕪 '𝕤𝕠𝕒𝕡' 𝕞𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕤𝕙

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ⋆ ꜱᴏᴀᴘ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ⋆ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʙ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀꜱᴋ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴀ ꜱʜᴀɴᴛɪᴇꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴀʏ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇɴʏ ʜɪᴍ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ⋆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ʜᴜᴍᴏʀ, ᴅᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ, ꜱᴇᴀ ꜱʜᴀɴᴛɪᴇꜱ (ꜱᴏᴀᴘ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴇᴍ), ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴡᴀᴄᴋ ᴘʀᴇᴍɪꜱᴇ ᴏɴ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ʙᴜᴛ ʙᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ, ɢᴀᴢ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ ʜᴏᴍɪᴇ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ꜱᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ꜱᴏᴀᴘ ɪᴛꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜱɪᴄᴋᴇɴɪɴɢ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⋆ 2ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ⋆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ⋆ ʀᴀɴᴅʏ-ᴅᴀɴᴅʏ ᴏʜ, ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ʟᴀᴅɪᴇꜱ, ᴡʜɪꜱᴋʏ ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴏ'

⋆ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʙᴇ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪᴍ ᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏ ᴄᴏᴅ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 . *. ⋆

The unmistakable sound of stentorian banter echoing through the pub walls leaves no room for your eyes to linger anywhere else. Price reluctantly allowed his men to have a lax night off base before they were off on another long op in the Afghan valleys, and you’d been hooked by the arm and asked so cordially to join by the dashing scot sergeant. 

Soon enough, you’re being led by the hand out of the base and piled into the back of a cabbie squished between him and Gaz and headed straight to the nearest pub. You stood no chance against that handsome smile and bright blue eyes, anyway.

His laughter now demands all your attention and brings your heart to a halt every time you catch his gaze.

Soap is drunk. Very, very drunk. You’re unsure if you’ve seen him so loose with his body, sturdy shoulders swaying to an invisible tide, firm hands twitching and curling around his glass. He leans against the booth the rest of the task force is sitting, smile bearing low, lazy yet purposeful, lashes so perfectly framing those little pockets of sky.

No matter how long you look at him, you don’t think you’ll ever get over how pretty he is. Whether or not he’s aware of how smitten you are doesn't stop you.

You wouldn’t say you had a crush on Johnny. That word was so… juvenile. And putting on labels on feelings like this are too difficult, anyway. Rather than trap it in a box, you’ll just let your feelings roam and flourish how it pleases. 

Your feelings have previously decided to make your heart leap every time you see his handsome smile, then even more when it’s directed in your direction. They also decided his words are gospel worth wrapping your mind around for hours late at night, hoping your over-analysis will lead to a hefty payoff instead of delusion. 

His loud groan takes you out of your slow descent into dissociation.

“Bunch o’ baws, ye are,” he complains. Ghost leans back further into the booth cushion, getting more comfortable as he observes Johnny’s state. He doesn’t have to worry about getting up any time soon; he knows you would lunge immediately to pick him up when he inevitably flounders his way to the ground.

“Baws?” Price asks, bringing his glass of half-drunk whiskey to his lips.

“Aye,” Soap responds, “Baws. th’lads that hang under ye knob.”

The party stares in absent confusion. Soap groans.

“J’st forget it.”

His hand waves through the air dismissively before landing on Gaz’s shoulder. 

“At least ye can join me for a song, aye?”

Gaz tilts his chin down, lips pursed.

“A song?” His tongue slips over the sound he tries to make. Though still drunk, Soap makes him look merely the slightest bit tipsy beside each other.

Johnny mutters something along the lines of ‘yes’ before he leans down, hollering in the quietest, yet boisterous voice, barely in tandem with the staff notes,

“Now we are ready to sail for the horn!”

Gaz immediately jolts up from his seat as though summoned, hand landing on his opposite shoulder and gripping it. They sing in unison, louder than before,

“Weigh hey, roll and go!” 

Soap cheers as he successfully recruits another to his cause. 

“Our boots and our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn—“

The two wrap an arm around each other. Johnny still has his fingers curled around a half-nursed glass but pays no mind to how it sloshes and spills while he belts proudly.

“To be rollicking randy dandy-oh!”

“ Christ ,” Simon rumbles, rubbing his forehead over his balaclava, elbows braced on the table. “Didn’t come to the pub to hear Johnny’s damn singing.”

Your attention shifts from the singing muppets to the two remaining men sitting in the booth with you. Price nods in agreement.

“Didn’t expect anything more or less,” he remarks. Simon shrugs and leans back into the cushions.

“S’pose so.”

You tilt your head, lips downturned in an almost pout, and beckon,

“Well, I find it entertaining.”

Price huffs, rapping his fingers against the table.

“‘No surprise to us, love.”

The squeak you barely manage to keep in your throat constricts any chance you had of coming up with a quick, witty reply. Instead, you cough and push your eyebrows together.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Price opens his mouth, but then a large, warm hand is placed on your shoulder and coaxes you to turn. You turn just your head to face Johnny. He flashes a toothy grin. Your heart melts for him even more.

“Won’t ye join me, bonnie?”

You frown, hesitantly placing your hand over his, and whine gently,

“I dunno, I’d rather not strain my voice or—“

“Ah, c’moan!” He leans in further, and you can practically taste the liquor on his lips from the proximity. “Ye ken th’words, dinnae ye?”

His insistence has you rolling your eyes yet still equally pliant. Of course, you know the words. You know them to every single one of his shanties, only due to his constant singing. Practically every time you pass by the men’s showers or the barracks or the rec center or the damn shooting range you hear his cheerful croons; in vans and trucks and plans on ways to ops, he entertains himself with the music and gets Kyle to sing along with him in grand, rather silly voices. It doesn’t help that you're so infatuated with the sound of his voice and the glow of his presence that it’s hard not to pay attention.

You sigh.

“I do, but–”

“Then ye should join me!”

Barely managing to resist, you curtly shake your head. Soap leans his head back, gaze piercing the ceiling, and boos.

“Fine,” He concedes, or at least you think; his lips curl into a mischievous grin. “If ah’ament convincing ye, listen to one more song.”

He releases you from his grasp and winks cheekily before he wraps an arm around Gaz and begins the next song. But the mere moment you hear the first lines, you know he deliberately chooses it for the reaction it would elicit out of you.

“We are outward bound for Kingston town, with a heave-o, haul!”

It does exactly what he intends. Your mouth falls ajar and you giggle, crossing your legs and adjusting to face him better. The two sergeants sing loud and in an expanse that reaches the whole bar, but not once, does Johnny sever the connection between the two of you with your eyes. He keeps his stare right on you.

“And we’ll heave the old wheel round and round, good morning ladies all!”

At this point, they’ve easily caught the attention of other patrons, cheers ringing from different corners and agreement with the sentiment. They’ll gladly say hello to any ladies that might find a liking to rowdy drunkard men. Gaz turns to rile the crowd further, but Soap doesn’t.

As he reaches the end of the final verse, the words begin to slur.

“So a long goodbye to all you dears, with a heave-o, haul!”

His swaying comes to a gradual halt, but Gaz puffs his chest out and belts out proudly instead to compensate. Johnny’s eyes are on you, steady while he sings.

“Don’t cry for us, don’t waste your tears, good morning bonnies all!”

The subtle lyric change comes so naturally you barely register it. They finish their song and the bar cheers, delighted and inebriated, while Johnny stumbles back to the booth and leans a hand on the cushion, caging your body with his.

“Did that convince ye, hen?” He speaks in a brash, cheeky manner. You chuckle softly, cheeks swelled with unbridled delight, before belting out strong and proud,

“Whisky is the life of man—“

As if they couldn’t get any brighter, Johnny’s eyes light up. He finishes the phrase for you.

“—Whisky, Johnny!”

Without warning, his warm hands grasp your waist and lift you to your feet; you yelp quietly and he smiles. 

His grasp leaves quickly thereafter; you solemnly droop your shoulders with the loss of sensation. But then his hand clumsily interlocks with yours and he pulls you to the center where Kyle bends at the knees in eager anticipation. 

It must have been those pesky delusions of yours again, but everyone’s eyes were on you. You and Johnny with your hands interlocked with yours and his little smile that’s so intimate that you could be certain it was only meant for you.

It was so much. Maybe a little too much.

Flushed, your lips seal shut and you cover your mouth, face red and warm. Johnny’s hand comes to grasp that wrist, his hold surprisingly firm.

“None o’ that, bonnie,” his voice is hushed, as if it’s a secret between you. “Dinnae hide that pretty face. Sing wi’ me.”

Your lashes flutter when you finally look Johnny in the eye. Instantly, the moment his stare seeps into your skin and travels down your body, through your spine, lands in the pit of your stomach and makes the hair on your legs stand up, you look down again. Fuck, bad decision. Even when he’s this plastered his stare is intense enough for you to hitch your breath and anticipate a flush rushing to your cheeks. He’s a goddamn warlock; there’s no chance you’ll break free from his spell.

He starts for you.

“O, I drink whiskey when I can–”

You continue the song, lips gently parted.

“--Whiskey, Johnny!”

The smile he graces you ( and just you ) with makes your stance weaken even more. His hand is still interlocked with yours though, and something in you thinks he wouldn’t let you sink to the floor.

Gaz appears between the two of you, a hand on one shoulder each.

“I drink it out of an old tin can–” He belts.

“--Whiskey for my Johnny O!” You finish for him. Johnny cheers and raises your conjoined arms in a lazy air fist. 

“That’s whit a’m talking about!” He exclaims. Before you realize it, his hand is slipping from yours and reaching to ruffle your hair with a kind of joyfulness only he could wear so casually and still make your chest swell. It's that damn look again, isn't it? That's the one that makes you so defenseless to anything he might throw your way. 

If one day you could see him look at you like that without the aid of alcohol, you’ll have earned the smile you adorn.

Price flashes an unimpressed look in your direction through the rim of your glass. You frown and move your stare to Simon. He's wearing a similar look. 

Buzzkills.

"Let me have this," You mouth. Their reaction remains unknown to you as Johnny spins you around and grins wickedly.

"`Another dram?" He offers.

"Oh, no," You respond, pressing your hands against his pecs. You disguise it as a means to push him away to give yourself space to breathe, but truly it might be another excuse to feel his body. "You've had enough. And I think the boys are about ready to leave."

Before there's time to process it, Johnny is leaning down, pressing his forehead to yours, noses squished together. Every move is lazy yet so deliberate at the same time (though that might be your delusion speaking). You can smell the lingering taste of alcohol on his lips and every time he exhales, too close to see, hear, breathe anything else but him.

"If ye say so, bonnie," he sighs, lashes fluttering. "But before we leave, how about one last song?"

Johnny leans back and licks his lips before taking your hand in his. You sigh, equally disappointed in yourself and lovingly admiring the sergeant.

Really, could you ever say no to him?

[delhidutyfree]

What Is Special About Blue Label Whiskey?

Hopefully, you know the blue label price. Here, we will explore the details of Blue label whisky and why it is special. the rare casks used to make Johnnie Walker blue label whisky are hand-picked from all over Scotland by professional tasters who sift through thousands of whiskies annually in search of the perfect combination of flavours. The johnnie walker blue label stands out from the crowd of whiskies thanks to its distinctive flavour profile

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: I don't think Rust is a big fan of getting head cause I think that it's much more aligned to Marty's character. However, I think it fits all too well with Crash era Rust so this is me trying to reconcile the two. I also don't think my Philosophy teacher would be too overjoyed knowing I'm using what she taught me to write foreplay but at least it stuck.

Warnings: 18+, violence, drugs, alcohol, reference to sex work, implied past abuse, rough sex both past and present

There are a lot of ways that you can get fucked up by a liquor bottle. Rust knows this. But mainly, there are two ways. The first is the classic act of getting drunk out of your mind: the type of drunk that can only end in violence. Rust doesn't always need to gulp down a bottle of Jameson, straight and hard, to feel the acrid burn of repulsion and vomit in his stomach. Sometimes, the slow sipping of a 12 pack of Bud or Lone Star is preferred on days where he's more lucid, has more of that sickening desire to punish himself with Sofia's face and blood and gurgling cough. Tearing that beer can and slicing at his skin might be a more effective, visceral act of punishment, but it's too quick. No, he brought her into this meat grinder of a world, he should feel that same machinery gnashing away at his being before he is allowed to slide into the stagnation that the piss warm beer allows him. Then, you have the far more crude way to fuck someone up; the jagged edge of smashed glass will do that just fine. Quick, cuts easy into the supple flesh of the cheek and makes a hell of a show. As he glances over the bottles of whiskey, Cassandra lets out a low whistle,

'Johnnie Walker Blue Label. This was the shit my dad used to blow rent on. You'd think for such a piece of shit loser, the man would've had cheaper taste,' and Rust can see a faint lacquer in her eyes, the impenetrable kind making her relive those scenes of her slurring daddy with a heavy set jaw and even heavier hands, the musk of her own fetid sweat mixed with talcum powder on her t-shirt in a pathetic, 8 year old's attempt to get the smell out, the hum of a refrigerator while a little girl cries at the kitchen table cause she doesn't get to feel safe around daddy. Hard to reconcile that image with the 20 year old in a white cotton sundress that ends too soon and is cut too low; the blueish lighting giving her skin a cool sheen. Cassandra puts the bottle back and walks over to where Rust is slotting his usual Jameson under his arm as he picks up a second bottle. From his crouching position, he can see the delicate purple hue on her thighs, arranged in the pattern of his fingerprints. A sickening sense of pride settles itself next to the self-disgust in Rust's gut at the marks and the satisfaction with which Cassandra is looking at them.

'Roughed you up pretty good, huh?' Rust says, gruffly. Cassandra glances over a delicate shoulder from where she's inspecting the Bourbon shelf,

'They hurt.'

'Bullshit, baby. You think I didn't see you were tracin' 'em in the truck, on the way here.'

'Doesn't mean they don't hurt.'

'True,' Rust stands to his full height, 'but d'you know what it does mean?'

'What?' she turns to face him.

He walks over to her, giving her cheek a couple, little pats his fingers, 'That you liked it.' Cassandra gives a derisive scoff but not one that can hide that glint in her eye: relief. Not just that Rust has indulged her infatuation, fucking her into the mattress until she forgot how to say 'Crash', but the protection that those bruises afford; the bruises of a young girl turned woman, bruises who's shade of blue show that the man who gave them is a tough son of a bitch.

'I hate it when you do that,' Cassandra states, somewhat petulantly.

'Do what? Point out that you can't do one over me?'

'No,' she says, narrowing her eyes, 'When you slap me around like that. I feel dumb.'

'That ain't slappin' around, trust me. And you ain't dumb, that's for sure, Cass,' Rust huffs, looping the plastic casing of a Lone Star six-pack through his fingers, 'But you shouldn't look to me to affirm that for you.'

'I don't need you to affirm shit for me.'

'Good, cause I ain't got the fuckin' time or will for that, too. Pick up your head, Cassandra. Stop fuckin' poutin',' Rust's tone is sharp. Cassandra rolls her eyes but she struts behind him, following him to the cashier. As Rust waits in line behind some trucker, Cassandra scuffs her boots against the floor, pulling her gum taught over her tongue until to snaps.

'You snap your gum,' Rust states. Cassandra looks up at him from where she was analysing the snake skin on the point of her boot,

'Huh?'

'You don't blow bubbles, you snap your gum.'

'I ain't gonna give the men 'round here the whole school girl routine. Fuck that,' she scowls. The corner of Rust's mouth twitches slightly at her sharpness; that guile about her never fails to dump buckets of ice cold water over his perception. His smart, smart girl, knowing that a quick, hard fix of money isn't shit next to the promise of survival that grit can give. Leave the milk boxes and cotton socks to the little girls, you're a woman now. It takes a certain intelligence to be sexy, to bear the soft, supple skin of ass, tits and thigh in a delicate veil of lace, and to still keep the wolves at an arm's length. Give them the scent of your blood, hot and throbbing, let them believe that the practiced gasps and rolling neck are just for them, but don't let them tear your skin. The wolves are ravenous in this wasteland, they get a taste for blood and they will gut you from the inside out.

Rust pays, ignoring the cashier's mild look of disapproval or envy at how Cassandra comes to stand next to him. She watches as the bottles get bagged up and Rust turns to leave. She gestures to him as they walk out, her boots clacking on the baked asphalt like one of those old, clunking clocks,

'Let me carry one.'

Rust barely spares her a glance, 'You're underaged. Shouldn't be drinking.' That almost makes her laugh,

'You're fucking kidding, right? I'm a stripper. You remember that, Crash?'

'You're also in college. Need to stay sharp, baby.'

'It's a Friday,' her tone dry, 'Plus, you're always offering me beers.'

'No,' Rust corrects, 'You take my beers and I let you get away with it.'

Cassandra rolls her eyes as they climb into their respective sides of his truck and Rust would be lying if he didn't feel the twist in his stomach at the practiced ease of the act, the facility of their place in the other's space. Rust starts the ignition,

'Stop rollin' those eyes at me.'

'Fuck off, Crash,' she retorts, only slightly annoyed and Rust just hums,

'You're real fuckin' cocky for someone who's in my hands about how many times they get to come, tonight.'

Cassandra almost opens her mouth before clamping it shut, making a big show out of rolling down the window. Smart move, baby, Rust thinks. A sentiment that holds up, after he bends her over the sink, bunching her dress over her hips; gripping her hair, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror as she takes him deep and hard. What Cassandra doesn't know is that the mirror is almost more for Rust's reflection than it is for hers. Forcing himself to look into his own glacial blue eyes, this way he can't indulge in the complete bliss of Cassandra's wet, tightness. No, if he's going to allow himself this then he's going to be fucking straight about it: he's a coked up, undercover narco currently using some vulnerable 20 year old girl who has no clue who he actually is. Rust wishes that the reason he's fucking her so hard, scraping his nails on her scalp, is that he hates her, sees her like one of the hookers that the Iron Crusaders systematically violate; it would make this shit a lot easier. But he doesn't and it's not. Rust is past indulging delusions for the sake of comfort. It was Nietzsche's idea, if he can remember correctly: embrace the pure fucking horror of eternal return, this ontological prison we're all stuck in, and you might finally find some enlightenment amongst the squalor.

'Put your leg up. Let me see those bruises,' he grits out, hand clamping onto her thigh in an attempt to lift to up.

'No-fuck-I won't be able to hold it up,' Cassandra stammers out, knuckles white as a scar on the ceramic rim of the sink out of exertion of holding herself in place when Rust shoves her forward with a particularly brutal thrust of his hips.

'Tsk, wrong answer, baby,' Rust says, shoving her leg up and bending it at the knee so that it rests in the sink bowl. The new position opens her up, not only showing the patterns of bruising on her inner thighs but the glistening wetness of her seam as he pushes into her again. The mixture of the two is a lurid depiction of what sex is around here; its inextricable connection to violence. Like meat and salt. The drop of thin, clear arousal now running down Cassandra's leg, the cracked scabs on his knuckles from a bar fight, the clunking rumble of the AC boxes outside the trailer: blood, sex and heat. Rust reaches a hand down and gathers the drop of wetness on his fingers, he brings it to his mouth and tastes it. Cassandra looks like she wants to cry as he catches her eye in the mirror.

'What's that face for, baby? Ain't never had a man taste you before?' Rust's voice thick from exertion and desire, her tartness covering his tongue.

'That's a really fucking intimate thing to do,' she says and poor baby sounds like she might either sob or come.

'No, it ain't, Rust lands a heavy slap on the bruises, as if to reprimand her for the implication, 'It's how a man fucks a woman.'

'So, I'm a woman to you now?'

'I don't fuck little girls, so yeah,' Rust says, his hand in her hair coming down to grip her throat. That's the one small mercy of innocence, Rust thinks, it can only be corrupted once. He yanks her head up by the chin,

'Look at yourself real good, Cass. This what you want? Some doped up biker with a load on, fucking you, leaving you all roughed up-Look at me, Cassandra,' he snarls, his tone harsh to conceal the begging behind it,

'Yes! Fuck, yes I do!,' she cries out, her adamance mixed with the first tremors of her impending orgasm. Rust lets out a growl, something deep and atavistic, as he yanks up her knee to bend her leg around his hips, now obscenely deep. Cassandra is now halfway slumped against the skin, the cold metal of the tap pressing into her sternum. This shit is good, too good, like the cool bliss of the moment the heroin hits your bloodstream and everything feels fucking pure. He pulls out as her feels her begin to pulsate around him and she cries out. Good, Rust thinks, wanting to punish her for being so goddamn complacent, Get used to crying if you want to fuck around with this shit, baby. He manhandles her to her knees as the muscle in his jaw twitches at what he's about to say to her,

'You want it that bad? Show me,' Rust deadpans, hand twisting into the dark mass of Cassandra's hair. She looks up at him and has the fucking audacity to arch her eyebrow at him before she takes him into her mouth, gagging slightly. Rust has never really seen the appeal of getting head, once he moved past the initial adolescent fascination. It makes him feel out of control, undisciplined, subject to his body's pure evolutionary need to procreate. It's one of the most self-serving, vapid states you can be in, mouth wide open, dumbstruck by ecstasy, unable to form of coherent thought except to mindlessly shove yourself further into the other person who probably isn't enjoying it anywhere near as much as you. Yeah, that's what Rust hates about the whole act, the mindlessness of it. But, fuck, his body isn't even his anymore, belonging to some fucking DEA's office to dope up and regurgitate whatever information they need to peddle their case further, without ever getting their hands dirty or doing some real fucking work. So, he may as well abandon himself to the weakness of his innate biological need.

Cassandra tries to give herself some respite by licking a long stripe up his length but Rust is having none of it: he presses her down so that her nose flattens against his pubic bone making her gag again and harder, shoulders convulsing too.

'Come on, baby,' Rust croons cruelly, using his spare hand to light a cigarette, 'Thought you said you could take it.' Cassandra briefly takes her hand off of the back of his thigh to give him the middle finger, quickly reinstating it as Rust presses as hand to the back of her skull and thrusts harder,

'Keep that shit up and I'll make you gag on your own finger, next.'

A few more chokes and constrictions of Cassandra's throat, and Rust is coming hot and heavy down it. He doesn't let her catch her breath,

'Get up,' he says, fastening his belt with his cigarette still hanging from his mouth. Cassandra just slumps against the bathroom floor, held up half by a trembling arm and half by leaning against Rust's leg. She glances up, hearing the clink of his belt,

'You're getting dressed?' a slight desperation to her voice.

'No points for deduction, Cass.'

'No, no, wait-,' she says, clambering up, or at least trying to, on shaky legs, 'Crash, Crash, I didn't come. Please-'

'What did I tell you about you bein' grown? Grown women fix their own messes,' Rust says, face and tone stoic as he casts to the slick that has dripped down from the apex of Cassandra's thighs onto the floor just under her, her smeared lip gloss, her nipples hard and visible through the thin cotton of her dress. He gives her hair a harsh ruffle before walking out the bathroom. As he grabs the Jameson bottles and beer, he stops in front of the trailer's door calling out behind him,

'Get to work, Cassandra.'

[the-fiction-witch]

Marry Me?

Media Godless

Character Whitey Winn

Couple Whitey X Reader

Rating Adorable + Flirty

“What’d he do?” Whitey asked with his usual cowboy tone, “He dangerous?”

As Y/n watched Whitey take Roy to the cell and lock him inside, she couldn't help but roll her eyes in frustration. Bill said Roy had been causing trouble again, and Y/n was tired of dealing with this. She had brought a pistol with her just in case things got out of hand, but she was relieved that she didn't have to use it. She carefully returned the pistol to the gun cabinet, making sure it was secure and out of reach. Y/n then took a moment to dust off her little blue dress, which had gotten a bit dirty during the ride back to town. She was glad to be back in the safety of the town and hoped that Roy would learn his lesson this time.

Whitey, comes over to her and brushes dirt off her shoulder. "Ma'am," He smiles, "ya ‘ave a rough ride today?"

"I'm not in the mood whitey," she glared already catching the innuendo he was no doubt going to make if she answered him the way he wanted her to,

Whitey smirked, He set his hands on his hips, "Alright, alright, don't get ya panties all in a twist," He said with a grin.

"My panties are not your concern Mr Winn," she glared as she headed out of the office stepping down the porch and into the New Mexico dirt, 

Whitey chuckled. "Hey, hey-" He went after her with a grin. "I'm only jokin' with ya." He chuckled as he followed her as she walked through Labelle, "You know," He said as he caught up to her. "If ya just lighten up, ya might get a boyfriend."

"a boyfriend? Really? Whitey there are like four men in this town. One is my father. One is the undertaker who's so close to death he's built his own coffin. The barkeep who can't even pour whiskey straight. And the dry goods man who hates everyone he's ever met. Not exactly the making of beat boyfriend material,"

Whitey chuckled, "What ‘bout me?"

"You. Are not a man Whitey."

Whitey smirked. "What’d ya think I am, then?"

"A boy," she said, "a very spoilt, cocky, idiot of a boy, who doesn't bathe, refuses to articulate his sentences and only got the job as deputy because he's the man in town under 50. Who's only decent quality is that he happens to be an above-average shot."

"Ya outta catch yourself Ma’am,"

"or what?" She glared,

Whitey gritted his teeth. "Don't play with me, Y/n. Ya won't like it much." He said as he took another step forward.

"just go away whitey. Go see one of your girlies or something and leave me alone." She stomped before she continued her way through Labelle towards her little house,

Whitey took in her words for a moment, her insults stung him and certainly bruised his ego. But he still felt there was a chance that with the right words, he could win her over. "Hey, wait-" He said as he ran after her. "I was just kiddin’ before." He said lying.

Y/n ignored him and continued through the dusty dirt,

"Hey! Hold up!” Whitey yelled, as he ran after her and caught up. "I-I..." He was at a loss for words. He was determined to get on her good side, "Look, I just-" He paused, "I'm sorry ‘bout earlier." He said honestly.

"are you?" She glared as she crossed her arms over her chest,

"I am. Ya know how I can be. Sometimes I don't do the thinkin’ before the talkin’." He said, 

"You never think before talking," she glared as she flicked his nose before she turned and headed up onto her house’s white-painted porch, 

Whitey winced as she flicked his nose, but quickly brushed it aside. "Well, why don't ya come to the saloon with me tonight? I'll buy ya a drink and make up for it."

"No thank you, Mr Winn," she said as she cleaned her dirty boots on her step,

"C'mon, it'd be fun. I'll even try and act polite." Whitey joked.

"try." She sighed, "No thank you. I'm busy"

Whitey raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and just what's so important that it has to take up your night rather than hangin’ out with me? Got yourself a lover boy?"

"no." She glared, "Not that it is any of your business whitey but I have laundry to do,"

"Oh." He said sounding disappointed. "Just laundry. Damn." He paused for a moment. He really wanted to take her for a drink and impress her with his charm. "Well, can ya maybe do it ‘nother night? I haven't had a drinkin’ buddy in a while now..."

"I'm sure you'll be fine whitey," she sighed as she headed inside her house but she accidentally left the door open which whitey smirked at.

Whitey's eyes lit up. Maybe there was still hope after all. He took in a deep breath, then made his decision and went inside her house to find her.

He bolts up her porch and steps inside Y/n's house and it's much like he imagined the house prim and proper everything in its place, well decorated and kept even a nice smell in the air she takes off her boots setting them by the door on a shelf of her shoes before she goes to the kitchen filling a pot and sitting it on the stove before then prepping a teapot as she does she noticed him so she added another teabag and rolled her eyes, "oh come on in whitey," she said sarcastically, "at least shut the door behind you. And take your boots off I don't want to track your damn mud around my house!”

Whitey rolls his eyes a little as he takes off his boots and sets them next to the other shoes. 

"Wow. Ya house is..." He said, finding it to be quite impressive in the neatness.

“What? Clean.”

“Kinda…” Whitey looks at the tea on the stove. He takes note of how she added two. "Ya plannin’ on ‘avin’ more than one tea? He says with a smirk.

"no, I'm making one for you, genius,"

"Tea?" He raised an eyebrow. "Ya don't seem like the tea kinda gal."

"you don't seem like a bath kinda boy," she snapped back,

Whitey's lip twitched and he narrowed his eyes when she said that. "I do take baths!" He yelled a little louder than he expected as he tried to defend himself.

"do you? When did you have one last?"

"Just because I don't bathe every day doesn't mean that I hardly bathe! I- I bathe twice a week!" Whitey crossed his arms as he tried to defend himself.

Y/n saw through his lies and grabbed some water in a glass before she threw it in his face and grabbed her washcloth and soap bar giving Whitey's face a scrub no matter how much he protested,

Whitey was taken by surprise when she threw the water and he didn't move fast enough to dodge it. Then, when she began to scrub his face, he began to struggle as best as he could. He tried to pull away, but his efforts were in vain. He wanted her to stop, but this wasn't completely all bad either. "STOP IT!" He yelled, struggling as he tried to pull away. As she scrubbed the layers and dirt off of his face it hurt just a little bit, but after you scrubbed his face, it felt... refreshing. He suddenly stopped trying to push her away as he looked into her eyes.

Y/n slowly moved back and dried off his face, smiling at him with gentle eyes, she held his chin and looked at him honestly the first time she had ever seen whitey clean, "humm" she chuckled, "So there is! a handsome boy hiding under there!"

Whitey stared into her eyes as she smiled and held his chin, looking at him as she had never looked at him before. He smiled as he felt her warmth and he couldn’t even believe how beautiful she looked at that moment.

"Ya think I'm ‘andsome?" He said a little giddy as he felt his face now glowing a red hue.

"I'm sure you could be. After a hot bath, some good soap and some clean clothes," she chuckled kissing his cheek before she took the pot off the stove and filled the teapot taking it to the table with the tea cups saucers, sugar pot and milk jug sitting down and after giving the tea a moment to steap she poured herself a cup and began to make it to her liking,

"Well, what if I don't want to take a bath or change my clothes?" He smiled at her He really liked when she kissed him. She sat down, pouring the tea, and Whitey followed her to the table sitting down across from her as he watched her pour the tea. When she finished, he reached forward and took the milk jug, pouring it into his own cup.

"then you're just you. And not particularly handsome,"

"Hmpf- I can be ‘andsome when I want to." He said, then looked back over at her. "Did ya really mean it? That I could be ‘andsome?"

"every man has the potential I suppose," she says picking up her cup and saucer briefly blowing on the tea before she takes a sip, “Even you whitey,”

Whitey smiled a little bit as he took a sip of his tea also. "Well, thanks that’s mighty kind of ya ma’am," he said, his face still a bit red from her compliment. He sipped his tea for a moment before he finally spoke again. "Ya know, ya kinda cute yourself."

"am I now?" She sighed already seeing through his attempts at flirtations,

"Yeah, ya are." He said with a smirk. As if he was sure she was into him. Even though he was really just fishing for validation at this point.

"if you say so. Don't you have other ladies to pester?"

Whitey smiled. "Not right now. All the other gals in town are annoying. Why can't they be like you." He complimented, hoping he could get a little bit further with her with just one more compliment.

"Why indeed," she sighed she offered wondered why the women in town weren't more like her, able to see through Whitey's flirtations and complimentary words and see the truth. But she supposed it was likely the lack of men in their ex-mining town. Whitey was the only man under 50 in town so it made sense why every widow swooned for his sweet words however Y/n being the sheriff's daughter could see through him like he was made of glass,

Whitey saw Y/n's expression and thought she was playing hard to get,Whitey grinned, he couldn't wait to try some of his moves to win her heart. "How can I convince ya that I'm the right guy for ya?"

"you can't." She said adding a sugar cube to her tea,

Whitey was disappointed but not deterred. He had been rejected plenty of times. It was going to take more than that to make him give up on her so soon, she was too pretty for him to lose out on. "So, what if I make ya a deal?"

"What sort of deal?" She sighed as much as she didn't want to engage with his nonsense she is a gambling girl,

Whitey grinned, he loved flirting with her. He leaned forward a bit, his hands leaning on the table. "What I'm thinkin’ is, ya give me a chance to prove that I'm the right dude for ya. One date. If ya don't like me after that date, I'll leave ya alone."

"no, you won't. I know what your like whitey I say I don't like you, you merely see it as a challenge"

Whitey paused for a moment, he wasn't about to lie. He smiled, he wouldn't leave her alone if she didn't like him. But, he was sure he could win her over.

"Can ya really blame me?" He said, his smile spreading across his face, she was just fun to tease with. "You're so pretty, anyone would see ya as a challenge to win over."

"umm you say that to all the ladies?"

"To all the pretty ones." He said, with his usual cocky grin. Whitey could have stopped trying a long time ago, but he really did like Y/n,

"whitey. No. Just no. I am not letting you check me off your list just so you can say you've slept with every lady in town. As soon as I let you spend the night you'd move on to the next one. It's not happening give up"

At this point Whitey couldn't help but smirk, even if all his talk of ladies was just meer talk to make Y/n jealous, "I’m hurt Ma’am I really am, that ya think so little of me? So ya think ya know everythin’ about me? What if I were to prove ya wrong?"

"umm?"

"What if I don't move onto another lady after I've..." He leaned back in his chair, his expression still a bit cocky, even if he knew he never ever would, this was Y/n the only girl he ever wanted, "after we... you know."

"but you will. So why are we even discussing it?"

Whitey shrugged as he took a sip of his cup. "Oh, come on- just ‘ear me out ok."

"I'm listening." She glared sipping her tea

"What if- just for the sake of argument- I was a changed guy? And after we..." His voice trailed off teasing her with a smirk across his face, waiting for her to answer.

"nope."

Whitey narrowed his eyes, he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He was sure he could wear her down. He wasn't used to being told no. "Just give me a chance, pleaaase."

"Whitey. There are only two ways you are ever going to sleep in my bed either you buy my home and steal my own bed from me" she warms before getting up from the table "or you marry me." She says fetching a small tin which she sat on the table as she returned to her seat opening it to a bunch of cookies and biscuits one of which she took and dunked in her tea

"Wait one second there," Whitey said, his face scrunched up in confusion as she got up. "Marry ya?" He paused for a moment looking at her. A small smirk crept across his face as he thought about the idea. "Marry ya, Y/n?" He tried to sound sarcastic, but there was definitely interest in his tone.

"it's the only way it's happening whitey,"

"Ya would marry me?" He couldn't hide his surprise with how serious she sounded.

"if you promised to be monogamous, move in with me and actually have regular baths," she shrugged sipping her tea

His eyes widened a little bit, she's actually serious she seemed genuine. But, that meant he'd actually have to give up his bachelor lifestyle. But for Y/n, he’d do it in a heartbeat, "I could do all those things." He took a sip of his tea, mulling the idea over.

"could you?"

He thought for a moment, make her his girl. But... what about the other girls? Would he be tempted? Maybe But if he had Y/n waiting for him at home? And honestly, most of his talk about the other labelle ladies was just that, talk. They might bring him a pie and give him compliments but that was as much as the Labelle widows fainted interest to whitey, he had always had a thing for Y/n so He shook off the thought of cheating and smiled at Y/n. "I would do anything for ya, even be monogamous for ya."

"I don't believe it for a second whitey,"

Whitey leaned back in his chair again, he was a little upset at her lack of faith in him but she did have a point. But he had never really felt a genuine connection with them like he felt with Y/n. "Ok, but I can be faithful to ya. Trust me. Come on Y/n ya know I was just talkin’ just talk is all it was, ya know I ain’t really like that, and Ya know how I feel ‘bout ya,"

"no you wouldn't be faithful we live in a town of ladies you literally have anyone you want," she glared

But, she was wrong. he knew he would come home to her. He was sure if they were together he'd only have eyes for her. "You're givin’ me a lot more credit than I'm due, but even so. I'd be comin’ ‘ome to only you if ya let me." He smiled as he took another sip of tea.

"you're actually considering this?" She raised an eyebrow seeming surprised he was thinking about it

Whitey leaned forward, looking into her eyes with a smirk across his face. "Yeah! Course I am! but it'd have to be under one condition."

"go on?"

Whitey shrugged, he wanted to make this a bit more of a game. "You'd get to be my wife, and I'd be ya ‘usband too. And, I'd make sure to be a good man for ya. But I'm not sayin’ I won't try and flirt with ya a lot even when you're my wife. Ya just can't resist me." He smirked, he knew he could probably win her back with a little bit of sweet talk still after everything she said.

"you understand what this would mean for you? No more girls. No more sleeping around. No more riding off to the next town over and tearing up the place. No more junk-filled houses. No more bathing once a month. You'd live here, with me, we'd be married, we won't see anyone romanticly but each other, you'll have chores, and a bath every other day, you'll go to work and come on home again to me, I'll make you dinner for your night shifts and do your laundry. And yes we will sleep together both just in bed and sexually. Maybe even have some kids if you're up for it. But it's all or nothing whitey you marry me and we do all this or you don't and we don't do anything. Ever."

He let every word sink in for a moment, he thought about it honestly. And he had to admit, the life Y/n had described for him sounded like it was definitely better than his single life right now. "I can do all that." He said with complete sincerity.

"you think so?" She asked

He knew she thought he was kidding or being sarcastic, he could tell by her face. He smiled, this was probably one of the most serious things he'd ever done. "I can definitely do all that, I swear."

"Alright." She shrugged before she got up and gathered up everything from the tea taking it to the sink to begin in dishes, "Balls in your court then Mr Winn"

The sound of her washing the dishes and being so nonchalant about the potential of what he was asking made Whitey almost laugh in amusement. He thought he would at least get a little bit more of a fight from her, but it was all over just like that. Not that he was complaining.

He got up from his chair and walked over to her. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and slid them down her arms. "So, I'm gonna be ya ‘usband?"

"Yes, whitey?"

Whitey smiled, it felt so good to have won her over. He leaned down to kiss her on the top of her head, his hands on her wrists. "So, when's the wedding? The sooner we get married, the sooner we get to the good part."

"who said were getting married? I haven't been asked out anything yet" she laughed

His face dropped when she laughed, this wasn't going the way he envisioned. Did she think he would actually kneel down and ask her to wed right now? He was losing her. He couldn't lose her not now he was so close to what he had always wanted!  "Fine." He scoffed "Will you... Marry me?" He said sounding a bit sarcastic as he leaned down and kissed her head again.

"All alright" she shrugged

"Alright"?! He was expecting a bit more excitement over the news, she really just - "Really? That's it? 'Alright'?"

"right" She smiled again and gently held his chin with her soft fingers before she turned enough to give his lips a soft and gentle kiss their lips slowly moving against one another till she pulled back and continued with the dishes

Whitey was stunned by the soft kiss, it had almost sent shivers down his spine. She was actually kissing him back gently. He had won. He had Y/n as his wife! And, he couldn't help but feel the butterflies in his stomach when her lips were pressing against his. This moment was almost unreal. He smiled as he watched her continue doing the dishes. But he had one more question for her now that he had won her over. "Is this gonna be a big weddin’ or a little thing?"

"I don't mind, up to you" she shrugged "Ohh and the jeweller has some nice rings on sale at the moment best go for silver rings though the gold will tarnish the ivory on your guns," she smiled

That made him happy, he liked to know she could really see themselves together in the future. "Oh, I'll make sure we get rings soon then." He said with a smile, he would make sure to get them as soon as possible, he couldn't wait to put a ring on this woman's beautiful finger. And, he had all the time in the world to plan their wedding anyway. He smiled as he watched her continue washing dishes, his mind already racing with ideas for the future. After a few moments, he finally decided he had a question that really needed to be asked at that point. "Y/n?" He said, his voice quieter than before. He was still stunned by that kiss, and in a way, he didn't want to ruin the moment. "May I ask one question?"

"yes, whitey?"

He smiled softly as he took a breath. He was surprised he was feeling so nervous with her after she had already agreed to be his wife, but for some reason, he felt his heart beating at a million miles an hour. Was this really gonna happen? Was he really going to marry this woman? "Could I ask ya to maybe... cuddle with me for a while?”

"When I've finished the dishes," she says "you can dry up too if you wanna help"

He watched her turn back around, a smile still on his face at the sight of her. He was almost blushing as he watched her do the dishes, her soft lips and smooth skin were enough to make it difficult not to stare at her. Even her hands doing the dishes were attractive. He chuckled as she said he could help. She was truly a good woman, he didn't care if she told him to clean the dishes before permitting him to hold her. But she wouldn't have to deal with him sitting around doing nothing after she was done. Whitey decided to be a good husband and started helping her wash the dishes when she was done with them. He was genuinely enjoying just spending time with her at this point and couldn't wait until they were officially married. He would make sure he took good care of her. And, maybe she could help take good care of him too, but he wouldn't mind if she didn't, he'd take good care of her regardless. Once the dishes were done, Whitey watched her move over to the couch and knew he had won. She was all his and he had nothing to worry about. He felt that she genuinely wanted him and was attracted to him, and he would make sure he was the best husband he could for her.

He sat down beside her on the couch and looked at her for a moment, he couldn't help but admire her beauty. He leaned down and gently kissed her as he pulled her tightly against him and rested his head against her chest.

she kissed back and smiled cuddling him and running her fingers through his hair in a soothing way

His soft lips fit with hers like two pieces of puzzle, their bodies fit together perfectly and the moment felt truly perfect. The fire from the fireplace provided a bit of warmth for them as they remained close to each other. The way she ran her fingers through his hair felt amazing, and he couldn't help but wish that this moment could last forever.

Whitey looked into her beautiful eyes as he held her close. He wanted to tell her so many things, words could never describe his love for her at this point. Her perfect, soft, beautiful body was making him almost feel like a schoolboy with a crush. And, it felt so warm and comforting to hold her like this.

she smiled and moved sitting on his lap as he had asked her to, she petted his hair and gave his head kisses letting him squeeze her "This nice?"

Whitey felt butterflies all over again as she sat down on his lap, this was his dream come true. He had really won her over and not only that, she was really opening up physically with him now, and it felt better than he could have imagined. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and his hands began to wander. His fingers lightly brushed over her body, feeling every curve it had. He was completely in heaven.

He started lightly kissing the top of her neck and leaned his head against her neck, he couldn't help but smile as he felt her hands on his back. Her body fit against him so nicely. She was perfect just like he had imagined her to be. He didn't want these moments to end, he wanted them to be married right now so he could make her his wife and never let go.

Whitey felt her soft, feminine hand caress his back and neck as her long fingers lightly rubbed him. Her touch was sending shivers of bliss through his body. Her arms were wrapped around him as she snuggled up tightly against him and she nuzzled her head against his chest. Whitey's heart was pounding so hard, he was afraid he would just pass out like this from the amount of happiness he was feeling right now. He had truly won her over, finally.

she hummed softly her head on his chest her hand in his hair, the other on his chest stroking his jumpers fabric, her body on his lap as she gently fell asleep on him

He felt her soft, gentle humming, her head resting against his chest as she began to fall asleep. He held her close as he continued gently playing with her hair, her hands continuing to lightly trace patterns on the fabric of his jumper. She fit perfectly on his lap, He couldn't help but smile as he watched her slowly drift off.

Whitey felt his own eyelids get heavy, she seemed so comfortable on his lap her warm body curled against him. There was nothing else he wanted than to just lay there and snuggle up against her like this. He felt her breathing get slower and slower, her breathing became more shallow and her hums turned into mumbles until she was fully asleep in his arms.

He took a deep breath and watched her for a moment more. She looked so peaceful lying on his lap just like that. He wanted to just be with her forever. He didn't even want to move, he just wanted to stay exactly where he was at that moment. 

[romana-after-dark]

Blessed be the Fruit: Chapter 4

Commander!Joel Miller x Handmaid!Reader

Series masterlist Join dark!Romana's tag list Dark!Romana's Masterlist

Summary: Joel fills you up. That's it. Thats the fic.

AN: It's pretty much smut

Content and Warnings: DARK JOEL! DUB CON!

Although no violent rape happens like in TWW, reader is under systemic misogyny and a society of ritualized sex abuse. Everything other than the violent rape scenes, everything that happen in either The Handmaids Tale book or show are liable to happen here including but not limited to discussion of rape, child abuse, child marriage, ritualized sexual abuse, sexual abuse in general, acts of violence, major character deaths, mentions of miscarriage but never shown and never pregnancies we know of. Big ole homophobia warning, specifically in regards to lesbophobia. As for Joel, PIV sex, breeding kink, degrading (slut, whore etc but thing like Raider!joel) forced breeding and breeding kink, power dynamics, Joel is not the good guy but he’s also not the worst, slightly rough sex but not violent. Warnings are liable to be added as the story goes but I’ll always update. As always if I miss something please tell me, but i extensively label my warnings and in the end media consumption is your own choice. If you would like to know if this is a happy ending or not you can message me and I’ll tell you that way I don’t spoil for everyone but you can decide if this is for you.

Immersability: Reader has long hair, can conceive children theoretically.

Additional warnings: SMUT CHAPTER spanking, spitting. BREEDING KINK, Joel insulting his wife tee hee. Gina slander.

Support writers, reblog and leave comments!

*****************

In Gilead, women were segregated by color. Pink was for child girls, white was for unmarried but marriage age women. This phase never lasted long. As soon as they were married, the wives of commanders got blue and wives of working women got green. Martha’s had tan, Aunts had brown, Handmaids red.

These colors were never supposed to mix, with the exception of the ceremony and when a mother or martha parented a child.

But you watched as Ellie’s white and Riley’s blue entangled together, but separating to their rightful distance.

“It’s not what you think!”

“We were just-”

Thinking fast, you shut the door to the panty, giving privacy in case Gina or Thomas come looking for you. “What the hell were you thinking!”

Ellie blinks up at you, surprised by the reaction, but Riley was still in panic mode, trying to protect Ellie. “She didn’t do anything, I swear, I just got caught up and tried to kiss her but she didn’t kiss me back!”

That was a lie, Ellie had been quite involved in the kiss.

“I don’t care that you were kissing!” You hiss.

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “You seem like you care.”

“I care because  if it had been Gina or the other Mrs. Miller, or commander Bedford or Lisa! You could be on the wall!”

She paused, watching your reaction before talking slowly, Riley slightly hyperventilating to her right. “Does that mean your… not going too…”

“Of course I’m not, jesus, you guys are just kids…” Truthfully, you didn’t know much about being gay outside of Gilead propaganda but you thought execution was awfully strong a punishment… and even still, Riley was only 16, and Ellie 14. There wasn’t much of a crime that could justify harming them. Ellie was trouble, that much was obvious, and it would take every resource Commander Miller had to keep her alive. You would be joining him and his brother in this attempt.

“I won't tell tell anyone.” you confirm to their great relief. “But you two have got to be more careful!”

“We will! I promise!” With that, Ellie took Riley’s hand and began to head out the door.

“Ellie!”

She dropped Riley’s hand, and the two scampered out the pantry. You grab the needed wine.

*

“Ellie give’n you any trouble? I notice she’s hanging around you a lot.” 

Joel asked, sipping his whiskey as you played chess. Conversation had come more and more easily, but seeing that tomorrow was the ceremony, you knew what tonight was going to entitle. Still, you appreciated the time spent playing the board game and chatting. It was a nice change. You had begun to really value these nights. It was a few times a week, on the nights Commander Miller wasn’t teaching Ellie or when he needed to get a good nights sleep. He made you feel like a person, and you began to feel more and more comfortable. The younger Commander Miller still attempted to talk to you, but you could not fully trust him, even if Angela did. Angela was really the only person you trusted inexplicably. A beautiful, smart, and powerful woman, Angela seemed to tow the line, knowing exactly how much she could get away with it. Of course, it helped that her commander was very lenient.

Gina had been getting worse. Her and Deborah liked to make little jabs at you when she was over or when you went with Mrs. Miller over to Thomas’ house. It seemed as if she had picked up on something. Did she know Joel and you spent time alone? Had she noticed you and Ellie spending more time? Was your friendship with Angela suspicious? Angela was not liked amongst the wives, and wives have nothing better to do than talk. 

Gina loved to make comments on your weight, but the ones that irked you the most were calling you quiet, saying you didn’t talk much, you weren’t interesting or didn’t have much going on in your head… whose fault was that? Ellie filled you in on Gina’s life before the Gilead. Gina was a part of the problem, a woman who ad championed anti-choice rallies and campaigning to shut down planned parenthood, to take away Obergefell v. Hodges, and using her blog and later vlogs to promote a traditional lifestyle. Gina stated proudly that she would not be allowing Sarah to attend college, and that her “homeschooling” focused on womanly tasks. Sarah would never have a chance to reach college, nor high school. It was Gina’s beliefs that you should be demure, quiet, and only speak when spoken to. You didn’t need a brain to have children. Why did she suddenly have a problems with you being quiet when her issue with Ellie was she talked too much.

“No, she’s nice company.” You had been teaching Ellie to read, Joel didn’t know that. 

A small smile peaked on Joel's face. “I think she’s lonely. Riley has wives duties now and she’s in kinda a limbo… more or less.”

You nod, besting him in the game with a final move. You consider whether your next words were your place or not, but said them anyway. “Has Commander Miller spoken to you about Commander Bedford?”

Joel’s eyes darkened at the mention. “He has, made me promise not to say anything to her… Doesn’t want her getting to secretive, but I damn near lost it when he told me.” He notices the board.

“Checkmate.”

“Well I’ll be damned…”

Standing, Joel shuffled over and resituated himself on the couch you were up. Up close, the fine lines of age were clear on his face but he was no less handsome, no less broad, the soft and sharp contrast of features melding together so perfectly striking. “You’re quite clever, you know?” Joel mused, placing a hand on your thigh.

Your voice is quiet, a juxtaposition to your bold words as you attempt to sound brave. You wanted so badly to be like Angela, to be like Ellie, to be brave in the face of the horrors. “I think a lot more of us are than you think.”

“And yet, you can’t even read.” His eyebrow raises in a challenge. For a moment you are so shocked by his words you cant even be offended. Then the statement settles. How dare he! How dare, as one of the founding members of The Sons of Jacob, he’s responsible for taking away your right to- Joel’s face melts into a smirk, and then into a chuckle. He was fucking with you.

“Oh, you’re joking.”

“Of course I am.” His soft laugh ends, his eyes stealing into something darker, and although his smile remains, the motive behind it changes. “But isn’t this better?”

That gets your attention. “... better?” 

“Yeah, better…” His hand creeps up a little more on your clothed thigh, leaning in just a bit more. “You don’t have to worry about anything but spreading your legs…” He pried your legs open and you allowed him access easily. “Get fucked…”

“You think that’s all we have to worry about?” Your attempt to sound strong was, frankly, pathetic. 

Joel’s hand went up quickly, cupping your sex over your thick dress and frumpy underwear not making you gasp nonetheless. “If you’re a good girl, yes.” His face was suddenly next to you, his breath hot on your skin as he spoke lowly. “Are you a good girl?”

You try to not cave, you try to at least put up a little bit of show to prove you aren’t that easy… but your mouth chases his lips, whimpering as he pulls away before you can take a bite. Between your legs is fire, melting to his touch that was just not enough, teasing, edging…

“I said,” He reiterated, voice dark and harsh now, lightening his touch on your mound. “Are… you… a… good girl?”

Your resolve broke quickly. “Yes, yes I’m a good girl!” Instinct forced you to buck up into his hand, desperate for more pleasure.

“Yes, you are.” Joel slips slotted against yours and you opened your mouth for him without thought. “Mmmm hungry girl…” he begins to rub your clit with the heel of his palm as his other hand laid you down. “Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you fulfill your biological destiny, beautiful girl.” His hips settle between her legs, replacing his hand with the shadow of his hardening cock as he devoured you.

Joel’s hands moved to your thighs, squeezing and rubbing down your calves and to your ankles before pulling the skirt up to your waist. Your underwear were practically bloomers, not flattering by any means, but just still looked at you hungrily before taking his pocket knife out and-

“Joel?” You squeak, forgetting your formalities as a peak of fright flows through you.

“Hush now.” Joel covers your mouth and you freeze, but all he does is cut off your underwear. “Don’t wear any next time, we won’t have this problem.”

As soon as your mouth is released, Joel is flipping you over to your stomach and then pulling you up by your waist so that you are on your knees; your hands braced against the armrest of the red velvet couch. Suddenly, your ass and legs were cold as Joel flips up the cotton skirt. His left hand opened by his point and thumb wide, sliding between your cheeks as he began fingering you, dominant hand undoing his pants. Despite the blood pounding through your ears, you hear a *spit* and then a *fap fa fap* before he’s notched at your entrance. You don’t have a moment to breath before he’s pushing in halfway, pulling back, and then ramming directly into you, full length, full speed, full power.

“JOEL!” You scream, before a hand is slapped over your mouth again. “Goddamn, can’t keep quiet for one fucking minute.” Joel smacks your ass, not hard enough to leave a mark but to get your attention and god does it, forcing your cunt to inadvertently clench around him. “Fuck, you like that don’t you?” When you nod, he smacks you again, harder, making you cry out into his hand again, and then his face is nipping at your neck. “Or maybe you want to be heard, is that it? You like the thrill, the risk? Bet that’s why you fucked that guard, can’t get off without a little danger.” He removes his hand with another warning to “shut the fuck up, unless you wand Gina to hear.”

“No” you try to deny with a whine. “You feel so, oh commander, just feel so good!”

With a hand now free, he went back to his minstrations on your bundle of nerve, fucking you full of every inch of girth. “I bet you like being the other woman, you like lying between my wife's legs as she’s stuck helpless, watching you get stuff, watching you struggle to take it inside.”

“C-commander…” It was building quickly inside you, the wet squelch of your cunt telling him just how much his words affected you.

“Ready to be bred, to be filled, to carry my child as your belly swells… ugh, fuck…” The thought of you pregnant with his baby turned him on even more. The baby was Gina’s idea, something she wore down on his with constant nagging… so it really wasn’t his fault he was fucking the handmaid, right? That was the point wasn’t it?

“Wanna have your baby, Commander, wanna fullfill my, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! My biological destiny!”

“You will, beautiful, you will, no matter how many times I have to fuck you, no matter how many times Gina has to watch you stretch around my cock.”

Your arms can’t hold you anymore, the heat between your legs spreading to you whole body and melting you until you collapse on the couch, gripping on to the arm rest for dear life as Joel repeatedly rammed himself into your tightening channel. “Want her to watch.”

“Yeah, I bet you do, dirty girl.” Joel gripped your hair, yanking your face toward him and spitting on your face before shoving it back into the couch. 

“Want that bitch to suffer.” You mutter into the couch, muffled by half your face stuffed with the velvet coving. “Watch someone more worthy take your seed.”

“God DAMN!” His thrusts grew sloppy, but no less filling. “Need you to cum, need you to cum so I can fill you up.”

You’re panting, sweating, feeling his slide through your walls as you edge closer to your release. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what, beautiful?”

“Tell me I’m better than her.”

Joel groaned loudly in your ear before straightening up, gripping your hips for leverage. “You’re so much better than her, sweet girl. You’re pretty than her, more obedient, fuuuuuck, so much fuck tighter.”

“Jooooooel”

“I don’t even cum inside her anymore, because she’s not worthy to take my seed.” He was teetering on the edge, desperately trying to find stability in your body. “But you, pretty girl? I’m gonna give you every last drop, and make her watch you grow and feed my baby, all because you’re better than her.”

Getting ahead of it, Joel shoved your face into the armrest and you out scream your orgasm into it. Joel’s pounding never stopped as he spilled into your eagerly, clenching cunt. “Good girl, good fucking girl, take it all…” Joel collapsed above you and you had wished you had both gotten naked so you could feel his sweaty, stick skin on yours as he kept you plugged up…

Though you were fucked out, eyes closed and only have concious, Joel kisses your neck, fae, lips and eyes whisping sweet nothings about how beautiful you were, how perfect you took him, how you were a good girl.

His hand slithered under you, splaying it under your belly. “My good girl, gonna knock you up, I just know it.”

Still breathing heavily, you lazily attempt to kiss back whenever Joel’s lips reached yours, but it was more akin to mouthing at him. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” Joel nuzzled at your neck, kissing lightly. Couldn’t leave any marks.

“I’m better than her?”

A loud, wet, sloppy spit-and-tongue-filled kiss as Joel latched onto you with his mouth before unplugged your cum-soaked cunt. “By a million miles.”

*

Your next ceremony came and went, and you came on Joel’s cock once again, just as you did in his office again, and again, and again. Although he got you undressed, Joel  never undressed himself, only enough to free himself from the confined of his pants. You wondered why… but wondered what was underneath him clothes… you wonder as you touched yourself on nights he wasn’t with you.

Walking back from Fishes and Loaves with Angela, she wasn’t super talkative as she had a cough. The spring was making her allergies act up. As she parted, however, she caught you before you entered the hearshot of the Miller’s driver. “Listen, I can’t say much… but…” She looked around before continuing to your confused face. “Whatever happens tonight… just go with it, okay?”

Fear struck you, uncertain on what is interrupting your routine. “What?”

“Joel is going to ask you to dress up and get into a car… and just trust me, you’ll be okay.” She began to walk towards her home next door, but you grabbed at her sleep, panicking. “Wait, what do you mean? Why can’t you tell me?”

She looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, I love you but I don’t know how much I can trust you just yet.” She pulled away.

Enough distance was put between you that you could no longer speak freely and had to watch her red walk away as you wondered what could possibly be happening tonight…

**************

This was mostly smut lmfao but thats okay. Got a lil into cucking Gina and that may come up earlier. Fuck Gina.

Next chapter, if you have watched or read the handmaids tale AU, you probably have an idea what's going to happen... but lets just say we'll have a special guest hahaha

Joel and his breeding kink... ANYWAYYYYYYY

LMK IF YOU WANT TO ME TAGGED!!

Please remember to reblog if you enjoy this fic, its the only real way to spread it!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @dins-riduur-anthe @morallyinept @fan-fiction-floozy @med494 @taliarose12 @flvrdoll @k-ra @sam-2me @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @moriartyyouwhore @hereforthepedrofanfic @alwaysmicado @noisynightmarepoetry @kyloispunk @jenna-ortega @lunitareads @labyrinthofheartagrams @swimmjacket @magpiepillsjunior @stevngrant

[statusquoergo]

i've been rewatching suits and this is such a small detail, but it blew me away now that i've noticed it. in 3x08, after the whoel stephen huntley revelation and ava's trial beginning, jessica shows up at harvey's door with a very expensive bottle of scotch that he gifted her. they drink it, formulate a plan, and harvey then goes to mike's place to pull him.into the plan. and the first thing he does when he gets there is walk to the fridge to grab some of mike's cheap (i'm assuming) beer. something about that those two drinks being back to back just hit me

That is indeed an astute observation, thank you for pointing it out! I never realized Harvey's taste in alcohol isn't quite as discerning as he likes to pretend; "any port in a storm," as the saying goes.

Right, okay, done with that obvious absolute lie. Of course, it's not at all about the quality of the liquor in either situation; I mean, sure, the quality of the scotch in connection to Jessica and the quality of the beer in connection to Mike are their own minor symbolic gestures, but both scenarios are more about the overall symbolism than the product itself. Harvey is just as comfortable in that shitty apartment with the Pabst Blue Ribbon as he is in his penthouse with Johnnie Walker Blue Label because it's not really about the drink at all, it's about who he's drinking it with. Not that I think he'd mind if Mike refined his tastes a bit, but there's certainly something to be said for not needing to put on any pretenses, and letting down his guard for a while.

I sure hope he doesn't still have the taste of whiskey in his mouth by the time he gets to Mike's, though, I cannot imagine those two would blend well...

[mothgodofchaos]

Spirits

In my defense, it was a fantastic pun. And sometimes you just gotta pour one out for the homies. On a different note, I hurt my own feelings writing this.

Ghost!Chase x GN!Reader, TW: alcohol, grief, death, funeral mention, human experimentation mention Words: 870

You get out of your car in the graveyard parking lot, the anniversary of Chase’s death. It’s gotten a little easier over the years, but it’s still hard to believe he’s gone. You take the grocery bag out of the back seat, heading through the gates to find his grave. You know where it is, your feet almost take you there by themselves, you’ve walked the path so many times. That laboratory deemed his death a “non-preventable casualty” and refused to give any details, and something inside you has told you it wasn’t an accident.

You pull your hood over your ears, the chill autumn air sending shivers down your spine. Just like you do every year, you stare at his gravestone, almost like you’re processing all over again that he’s truly gone. Like you never fully believed it. And you don’t even know if you ever will. You set the bag down, getting down on one knee as you rustle through it. From the bag you pull out a bottle of whiskey, an energy drink, and a small bouquet of flowers. Old flowers are discarded, long dried out and abandoned. You hold the beverages in your hands, staring at the labels. They’re his favorites, ironic how the drinks you tried to get him to stop drinking end up being the things you bring to his grave.

You pop the cork of the whiskey and open the can of energy drink, watching as the two pour out onto the ground, sinking deep into the ground. Something about it feels, good almost. Making a danger cocktail for him, exactly like the ones he used to try and get you to drink. When there’s nothing more than a few sips in each left, you down them yourself, making a face but, you do it for him.

You get comfortable, talking to him about how life has been this year. The ups, the downs, how you still check on his brothers for him. Trying to do best by him while also living your life. It’s a difficult balance, but you have support keeping you upright. When you run out of things to say, you set the whiskey bottle on the lip of the headstone, placing the flowers inside. It’s what he would’ve wanted. As you walk away, something inside you pulls you back, looking at his name on the stone. Through tears, you give him one last fistbump, for old time’s sake.

You step away, wiping your eyes on your sleeve as you take your trash back to your car.

“WAIT-“

You stop in your tracks, not believing what you heard. Maybe you shouldn’t have drank the whiskey and energy drink…

“Dude! I know you can hear me!”

You spin around to be faced with an apparition of Chase, ghostly blue but he almost looks solid in the evening light.

“Chase-“

You cautiously reach out to him, hand colliding with his chest. He’s cold, but he’s there. Your hands move to his shoulders, looking at him through tears before pulling him into a hug. All you can manage out are sobs, apologies, scoldings for leaving you without him, anything you can think to say to him now that you know he’s listening.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. Well, I’m not, I’m a ghost. But I thought you could help me with that…”

The idea of getting your friend back makes your heart leap, maybe, maybe you could fix things between the two of you. Confess the things you always wanted to.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need, dude.”

“My body… isn’t here. It’s still at the facility. I didn’t even know I had a grave, although I guess I should’ve expected that.”

“It- it’s not here!?”

You fish through your memories of the funeral, realizing you never saw Chase in that casket. The top was always closed.

“They said the lid was closed because you were disfigured…”

“Yeah that’s a load of bullshit. They were the ones that killed me. They’re trying to use my body as a vessel for… something.”

Your face is a mixture of horror and disgust, which makes Chase chuckle a little bit.

“So… we’re breaking your body out of prison?”

“I mean, that’s one way of putting it.”

“And your brothers? They’ll want to see you. Want to help.”

“I know! I know! But, I wanted to see you first. I didn’t realize you still cared.”

“I always cared, Chase. No matter what your thoughts said. I thought I was waiting for you to come back to me emotionally, not spiritually…”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to. But, they grabbed me. The facility-“

“You need to talk to Henrik about that, later. Right now, I have my boy back. And we’ll get your body back, I promise.”

“Your boy… I forgot you called me that.”

“As long as you’ll let me.”

“Always. Please.”

You look at each other for a moment, before you pull him to your chest, kissing the top of his head.

“Let's get you home. See your brothers. Marv will be able to help in the short term.”

“You’re staying, right?”

“Wouldn’t leave you even if they decided it was my turn to go to that facility.”