#Graves likes a man that can throw him around a bit.

[itsnesss]

can you write a jealous robby keene smut?

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 | robby keene × fem!reader

summary | a jealous Robby confronts his feelings for you, leading to a passionate and intense encounter that pushes boundaries and tests control

warnings | smut, explicit content, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, jealousy and possessiveness, power dynamics and emotional manipulation, se-mi public ?

word count | 2.3 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You’re sitting at a café table, enjoying a well-deserved break from work at Larusso Auto. The atmosphere is relaxed, but that changes when a man enters, followed by a guy from your class. Upon seeing you, he heads straight toward you. His smile is warm and filled with familiarity. It’s not the first time he’s greeted you, and you know he probably intends to make some small talk.

“Hey!” he says enthusiastically, greeting you with a friendly glance. “I haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

You smile back, enjoying the moment. The conversation flows effortlessly, and the guy’s warmth makes you feel comfortable.

“Are you still working on that art project?” the guy asks, leaning forward, visibly interested in what you’re doing. “I’m working on some with some classmates, but it seems like we’re always getting behind. Got any new ideas?”

You’re excited to talk about it and answer with enthusiasm. You both continue talking for a few more minutes, laughing occasionally at some anecdotes, as the details of your life intertwine with his. It’s a casual conversation, something that could have happened with anyone, but you realize that Robby hasn’t moved from the scene. You feel him at your back, his brow slightly furrowed. Robby’s eyes are fixed on you, but not in the relaxed way they used to be. There’s something more.

The guy continues talking, enjoying your company. It’s not that you’re ignoring him, but your attention starts to shift between him and Robby’s figure. Finally, you glance sideways at Robby, and that’s enough to change the entire atmosphere. You can see how his eyes gleam with an intensity you can’t ignore. There’s something in his posture that tells you he’s not comfortable with the situation.

The guy, oblivious to the tension that has settled in, keeps chatting.

“We should hang out this weekend. You know, go out and relax for a bit. Want to join?”

It’s an innocent invitation, almost friendly, but when you turn toward Robby and see his clenched jaw, his rigid posture, you know that this is not something innocent for him.

You laugh softly, glancing at the guy as you consider the offer, but the noise in your head makes it hard.

“I’m not sure if I have plans,” you reply with a playful smile, but deep down, you already know what’s going to happen.

Robby can’t take it any longer and walks toward you, interrupting the conversation. His eyes don’t leave the guy for a second, and his voice, though calm, carries an edge that can’t be hidden.

“That’s enough,” he says, speaking directly to you, though his words are clearly aimed at the guy.

The guy, visibly confused by the sudden shift in energy, backs off with a somewhat forced smile.

“Well, if you change your mind...” he says before turning, throwing one last look before disappearing.

The tension is palpable. The guy is gone, but the atmosphere between you and Robby has shifted. The place feels quieter now, as if all the chatter in the café has vanished, leaving only the sound of breathing between the two of you.

“What’s going on?” you ask, not with malice, but with amusement. You know exactly what’s happening, but you enjoy seeing him so vulnerable.

Robby doesn’t respond immediately. The silence hangs between you until he finally speaks, his voice low but grave.

“I don’t like it when other guys look at you like that,” he says, his eyes fixed on you, making it clear that what he just said is only a small part of what he truly feels.

You look at him with a playful smile. You know you’re pushing him to his limit, but you can’t take your eyes off the jealous gleam in his gaze.

“Does it make you jealous?” you ask, enjoying the control you have over the situation.

Robby runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with his emotions. It’s obvious he’s trying to control what he’s feeling, but he can’t help but show what’s really bothering him. The tension between you two grows thicker.

Finally, Robby can’t take it anymore. He grabs you by the wrist, pulling you toward him with unexpected force, and his lips meet yours immediately, in a kiss full of urgency, of repressed desire. Everything that just happened comes crashing down in this moment, and you know this kiss isn’t just a response to the guy’s greeting. It’s much more than that.

The kiss intensifies, and you realize that this moment, so charged with emotion, is exactly what both of you needed.

After the impulsive kiss, Robby doesn’t stop. He grips your hand firmly, pulling you gently. The air is thick with electricity, and you can’t help but feel a little excited by the way he’s guiding you, so determined, so controlled. Robby’s never been this direct, this obvious with what he feels, and that makes you feel a mix of power and anticipation.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and deep, leaving no room for questions. You don’t need him to repeat it. You know something is about to happen.

When you reach an empty warehouse, Robby doesn’t say another word. The metallic door slams shut with a loud sound that echoes in your ears. The warehouse is dark, with only a little light filtering through a window high on the wall. The cold of the room touches your skin, but Robby’s closeness makes you not care. He doesn’t let go of you, and he pulls you further inside, guiding you between boxes and disorganized shelves.

He looks at you intensely, as if he’s about to devour you with his gaze. The tension between the two of you is palpable, and you can feel Robby’s internal struggle. He’s there, in front of you, clearly dominated by something he can’t control.

“Does it amuse you to see me jealous?” he asks, his voice low and filled with challenge. The question throws you off a bit, but the way he looks at you tells you he expects an answer.

You laugh softly, enjoying the way he has you completely trapped. You know this isn’t just a game for him, but you also know that, deep down, something about seeing his vulnerability excites you.

“A little,” you answer, your eyes locked on his, enjoying the way control is slipping away between you two.

You are surprised by his intensity, the roughness of his movements, but somehow it excites you. He takes you by the waist, lifting you slightly to bring you closer to him, and you feel how his body fits with yours, as if you were both made to fit together in that moment.

"I told you I didn't like seeing you with others," he murmurs between kisses, his voice laden with jealousy, with desire. You find it hard to breathe, but that sense of power he is showing makes you feel vulnerable and excited at the same time.

You can't help but smile at the way he holds you, as if it were impossible to resist the need to be with you in such a... possessive way.

"Don't keep me waiting any longer," he says, his gaze still burning, and you know that's all he needs for you to surrender completely to him.

The way his body presses against yours makes you slide a little over your clothes, and the wet trail you leave on Robby's pants is proof that both of you are eager for this opportunity.

"I want you to know that I don't like it," he says, whispering in your ear, and you can feel the heat of his lips on your skin. "I want you to know that I don't like it," he says, whispering in your ear, and you can feel the heat of his lips on your skin. "That others desire you like this doesn't please me."That others wish you well like this doesn't amuse me.

The response is automatic, as if the need to reply is stronger than the ability to resist.

"No one else looks at me like you do" you tell him, your words barely a whisper as you try to catch your breath.

Robby looks down, at his hands still on your breasts, and you can see the desire in his eyes. However, something else emerges in his expression, something you can feel but cannot see. The need, the possessiveness, the fury of having someone so close, and knowing that others also desire them.

"And what if I can't help it?" he asks. You have no idea what he's thinking, but you can feel his struggle to control himself.

"What if I wasn't enough for you?What if you weren't enough for me? And if I need you more than you are capable of giving? And if I don't let you go?"

Those words surprise you. It's as if you were seeing Robby in a way you had never seen before. The tension is strong, as if both of them were on the brink of something they had never seen before.

"You can't want that" you say, trying to show a look of surprise. Deep down, you might feel attracted to the idea that someone desires you so possessively, that they are capable of doing anything to keep your attention on them.

"No" he replies. "But if I need to, I will. I will do it over and over again, until you understand that I don't want to see you with anyone else".

The response is like a blow. You had never heard anything like it before, but something in you is drawn to the possessiveness of his words.

"I understand," you finally say to him, barely a whisper.

Robby looks into your eyes, clearly trying to figure out what you really feel, but you can see the struggle in his eyes, the need to control himself so that something within him doesn't take over.

"I'm willing to do anything," he says. "Because I'm not going to lose your attention so easily".

Robby's gaze is intense, as if he is about to do something he can't stop.

"Do it," you tell him. "Until you know that you have me all to yourself".

Robby's expression changes. His eyes shine with surprise, but quickly turn back into a look of fury, of need. Robby's strong grip keeps you in place, and you can feel his fingers on your ribs, the pressure on your nipples. The desire is palpable between the two of you, and you can feel yourself wet, ready for whatever Robby wants to do.

Robby takes off your shirt, pants, and shoes, leaving you in your underwear in just a minute. The contact of his fingers with your skin makes your skin tingle, and you can feel yourself getting wet, hungry for something more. Robby observes every curve of your body, as if he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and you can feel his desire in his lips, in the way he holds you, in his fingers as he pulls up your panties.

"You are mine" you tell him, barely a whisper. "No one else is allowed to touch you".

"No one else can love you. Understood?" Robby's response is barely a whisper, something you can't decipher with a mind clouded by desire.

Robby squeezes you a little harder, his fingers penetrating your sex eagerly. The sensation of having his finger inside you is intense, but it's not enough to satisfy you.

"Robby" you ask him, barely a whisper. "Robby" you ask, barely a whisper. "I want more.I want more. I want to feel you inside me".

The words have a direct effect on him, and you can see how his control starts to completely fail. Robby's hand searches for the zipper of his pants while the other remains inside you, making the sensation even more intense.

"No one else," you tell him when his hand finally finds its target. Robby pulls the zipper down a bit, and you can feel that he is completely giving up any control he might have tried to maintain. "Only I touch you. Only I touch you".

Robby's eyes blaze with fury, the tension palpable in the air, but you can see something in his eyes that you haven't seen before. Something that makes you feel like you have control over him, and that in that moment, Robby will do anything to make you feel good.

The sensation of Robby's member against your legs makes a moan escape from your mouth, and you can feel the wetness in your sex, ready for him. The tension in your body is strong, and you can feel yourself so aroused that it's hard not to collapse onto the bed, so eager for him.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he asks with a husky whisper. "Do you want to feel me inside you?"

You can feel the warmth of his breath in your ear as he speaks, and the need grows stronger within you. "Yes" you say.

The moan that Robby lets escape upon hearing your words is so strong that it makes your entire body vibrate. The movement of his member between your legs is more intense, and you can feel your sex tight, ready for him.

"I'm going to fuck you," he murmurs in your ear. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't take it anymore".

You can feel how Robby grips you a little tighter as he adjusts himself better between your legs. The head of his member seeks your wet sex, and you can feel the tension reaching a boiling point. A second later, Robby thrusts, and his member enters your sex forcefully. The scream that escapes your mouth is barely audible, but you can feel complete, fulfilled.

Robby's rhythm is rough, unrestrained. His movements are slow but intense, and you can feel him moving deeper and deeper inside you, until you feel like something is going to break. The tension becomes palpable in the air, and you can feel his fingers on you as his rhythm intensifies. Robby's breathing quickens, and you can hear his moan of pleasure as he sinks deeper and deeper into your sex.

"You make me feel so good" he finally says. "I don't want to stop. You never want to stop".

"Don't stop," you reply, barely a whisper, as you try to hold onto him. The pressure of his member inside you is strong, but you can't help feeling that something is still missing.

The rhythm increases even more, and you can hear the sound of their bodies hitting against each other. The sensation is intense, and you can feel that you are on the verge of orgasm. Robby's body tenses even more, his breath catches, and you can tell he's close.

"Do you want to fuck more?" he says, barely audible, his words barely a whisper in your ear. The question makes you scream out loud, and you can feel the orgasm approaching.

"Yes" you reply. "Don't stop. I want more".

Robby pushes harder now, and you can hear how the muscles in his body tense to the maximum. His rhythm is frantic, and you can feel him penetrating you deeper and deeper, until you know there's no turning back. An instant later, Robby plunges into his orgasm, his arms gripping you tightly, his body wavering over you, breathless with pleasure.

"You're going to kill me" Robby finally says, his breath barely audible, as if he had run all over the room. The smile on his lips is evident, and you can feel a bit of his breath on your skin, the contact of his body still inside yours. —But I'm going to fuck you every time you want.

You can hear a soft laugh in his throat, and you can feel the pride of having taken Robby to a place he had never been before. You know that in this moment, Robby would be willing to do anything for you. You are ready for anything that happens. The only thing you know is that you can't let Robby let you go. That's not going to happen.

"Let's do it again" you finally say to him.

Robby smiles, and you can feel a laugh in his throat. Robby's response is not a word. The response is an intense, strong, passionate kiss, as if he had no intention of stopping for a long time.

[shadow0-1]

Kisses - Throat

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, virginity loss, degradation, abuse of power, Christianity, blasphemy, medieval times, corrupt priest, torture devices, abuse, punishment, misogyny, public humiliation, execution of non-named characters

♡ FEM reader

A scold's bridle, sometimes called a witch's bridle, a gossip's bridle, a brank's bridle, or simply branks, is an instrument of mirror punishment utilized by the church to publicly humiliate women who speak out of turn.

And you’ve unfortunately been deemed one of them…

You can only regret it now—wish you’d kept your mouth shut—wish you’d just held your tongue and spared yourself the poetic justice. You’d even been warned—that’s the dumb part, the part that makes the regret even more bitter. You’d been told gossipping would only land you in a world of hurt, and you, brave-faced and foolish, had ignored the advice. And now you’re facing the consequences.

Branks, an awful contraption, act as a muzzle in an iron framework, caging the head—quite like a helmet—a heavy helmet. Tight and trapping, it’s enough to make your head ache after a mere minute of wear. But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is the bridle-bit—a metal wedge about two inches long and one inch wide in size, of which they slide into your mouth, pressing down on top of your tongue—silencing you entirely. 

But being unable to talk is only the first and least of many discomforts—as it also makes your jaw cramp up, and makes a humiliating amount of drool run wild down your chin—making you look like some or other rabid street mutt that’s ben muzzled for its own good.

The chunky metal collar you’re made to wear doesn’t help negate that imagery, nor does the bell attached to it—drawing in the crowds to the town square where you’ve been put on display, fastened to the tron for public judgment and ridicule.

Oh, and they are full of it today.

Standing there, an army of justice—warped faces and pointed fingers. The kids throw rotten fruit, and the elders fouler words—calling you a Jezebel. 

At least you’re not alone up there but sharing the burden with a handful of other miscreants. One’s bent over in the pillory beside you—another three stand next to him up on the gallows, shaking in their piss-soaked boots, noose loosely around their necks—soon-to-be hangmen. 

Thank God the worst things are thrown their way—at least they’ll be set free of it soon. 

The poor sinners hang there still as the sun starts to set and most of the crowd’s gone home for the day, crows picking at the jelly of their dead eyes while the town’s church officer leads you away by leash.

With your hands and arms bound behind your back, you stumble barefoot and gracelessly through the streets—yanked along all the way from the town square up the hill to the church at the top for your final ruling. 

You’re made to kneel on the cobblestone where the clergyman chains your iron collar to the wall.

You’d always pitied those put in the jougs, though you’d also thought them deserving—never knowing you’d be one of them someday. Now you know first-hand what being deserving means. In a town as small as this, where word travels as quickly as you can speak them, only a few ill thoughts will turn everyone against you.

Everything is in a state of discomfort, but at least you’ve finally escaped the town people’s heckling—now secluded in the peaceful quiet of God’s house to reflect in solitude. 

Or… at least, that’s the standard procedure for such offenses.

“Alright then, little magpie,” the church officer announces while unscrewing the cruel headpiece.

It’s surprising. You’d for sure thought he’d leave it on. It was your understanding that it’s common for the scold to wear the bridle until morning and only then be freed. 

But in any case, be it by pity or mercy, you’re ever grateful nevertheless and won’t complain. 

But then, promptly after freeing your mouth from the bit, the man takes hold of your exhausted jaw and gives you a grave warning in its replacement, “Speak out of turn again, and it will go back on for another day in the tron.”

Goosefleshed and ashen from the spoken threat, you do your best to abide by it and remain quiet like the other church mice.

To which the father hums pleasedly, “Nod your head for me if you understand now, magpie.”

You do, looking up at him obediently—hoping he’d see it as enough and deem your punishment fully served, maybe even remove your bonds and collar as well.

“Good.” 

He smiles knowingly, then drops your head. Scoffing loudly, “But of course… a bitch will always prefer being free from the muzzle… Don’t necessarily make ‘em well-behaved.”

You flinch at the words, eyes wide, looking up into his gaze, feeling small under the weight as he leers down his nose at you worse than that of the crowd earlier. 

But what really makes your stomach curl are his ringed hands and how they move to his robes.

“Let’s see if this newfound virtue of yours is true and not just another one of your brazen tricks, shall we?” he suggests, leisurely undoing the knots to his drapes.

“When I’m done, and if you have managed to hold your tongue, I’ll consider you disciplined enough to return home,” he explains, dropping his attire unceremoniously by his feet before taking hold of your chin again. “If not, the bridle will go back on, and we will continue the lesson in the morning and every day onward until your mouth is as honest as if in the confessional.”

Your eyes flicker between his and peaking forward, barely withstanding whimpering when laying your eyes on it—the thing below his belly nearing your face.

“Remember now, magpie, no making a sound—neither word nor moan. I want complete silence.” 

The grip on your chin tightens, and your eyes dart back up to his. 

“Now open that gossiping trap of yours and accept God’s judgment.” 

His other hand holds it in a gentler caress from your face, giving it a few languid rubs before knocking it against your sealed lips, ordering them to open. 

It shocks you—enough to have you swallow a gasp—almost making an illicit sound that would all but seal your fate with the scold’s bridle for another day of suffering.

“Did you not hear me, girl? I said–” Impatient and roughened by his anger, he lets go of your jaw and deals a sharp blow to your cheek next. “Open your no-good sinning mouth!” 

The hand goes to your hair next, tangling within the tousled locks to give your scalp a hard tug.

Again you’re in danger of making a sound but manage to stifle it by screwing your eyes shut—quickly baring your tongue for the priest and pliantly accepting the salty offering placed upon it soon after as if receiving communion on any other Sunday mass.

“That’s it, magpie—” he says then, softer now in praise. “No more tall tales, no more nagging.” His grip eases up but remains to hold you steady as he slowly and rightfully slides his length down to the very back of your throat. Groaning, “Just be a good girl, now. Close your lips around me and suck—and you’ll soon be forgiven.”

You obey, locking your lips around him, tasting the sweat and tang, withstanding gagging as you force yourself into suckling and swallowing the foreign flavors down. 

“Good. You see?” he sighs out in a groan, pleased while fucking your mouth. 

Tangling both hands in your disheveled hair, he sets a rhythm of pulling you away and reeling you back in close—a tempo more than fair for an amateur throat like yours—only just deep and fast enough to make his weighty balls swing and graze your chin on every thrust. 

“If all a woman does is run ‘er mouth—only using it to bitch and moan—they’ll never learn what it’s truly good for,” he gruffs, sinking deeper and settling there, holding your skull in place from pulling back. “But I’ll show yah—don’t worry.”

Your head soon heats up—bleeding red and thick with it—feeling tight and trapped and in dire desperate need to draw air—or at the very least, make some sort of discomforted sound in lack of it—yet under strict order to remain deadly silent. 

“Good god, girl—I’m going all the way down that tight, hot guzzle—” he drawls, bullying deeper—and deeper. Hissing as he bottoms out, “Just the way God intended!”

His hips stutter, wearing your throat like a holster—lips stretched around his fat shaft, kissing his pubes with your nose buried in his well-fed belly.

With eyes rolling back beneath tightly shut lids, seeing spots of light in the enclosing void, you can’t help but flinch when hit with the glob of spit that falls and splatters between your brows. But at least the laughter that echoes throughout the church hall drowns out the sound of your heaving for air once he finally pulls out and frees your throat.

Maintaining a fist in your hair, he keeps you close—your temple to his hip, nose-kissing his strung shaft—struggling to catch your breath while his chuckles die down into humored hums.

“I’ve never had a throat that deep before,” he scoffs with a cruel smile—yanking your hair once again, pulling it back to make you face up. “One might call it witchcraft.” 

Another hard slap is dealt in the same spot as earlier. 

“Are you a witch maybe, magpie?” 

And a third smack. 

“Do I haf’to tie you to the stake next—have ourselves a roast?

Feeling your cheek sting white-hot, you shake your head—fighting to keep your whimpers at bay as silent tears dampen your cheeks—puffing up and rushing with blood post-strike, dulling to a numb yet lingering ache.

He doesn’t show mercy. Instead, it seems the pitiful display only makes him more rowdy—shoving you down to the cold cobblestone with an evil gleam in his eyes.

“Then let’s see you praise the Father,” he barks. “Bow and kiss his holy floor. I’ll judge whether you're a witch or not.”

You’re leash only barely gives you enough leeway to lower yourself. Hands remaining bound up tight behind your back, balled up and shaking in their knots as you bend over until your lips brush the dusty church stone.

“No, not a witch… but—” he hums, though not entirely convinced yet. “A true Christian would savor the taste of God's house.”

Your brows cinch, but you still do as suggested—producing your tongue and dragging it across the filthy tile—collecting dry silt and larger grains of sand—leaving behind a darkened wet trail on the otherwise ashen rock.

“That’s it, magpie,” the clergyman croons with a sneer. “Put that gossipping little tongue of yours to better use.”

You obey, eyes closed, continuing to lick the floor like a dog—fearing worse things would come if you didn’t. Wanting it all to be over and figuring if you just listen, it’ll be done quicker and as pain-free as you could hope.

“But do you deserve it?” he asks then, after a pause of watching you with his cock in hand, tugging it with raspy breaths getting rustier—continuing with a gritty tone, “An unwed woman can only serve the lord if she’s pure.”

His other hand returns to your hair for a third time, pulling you up by the tresses in a stinging grip.

“Are you pure, magpie?”

Goosefleshed by his darkened tone, you cower under his pointed glare. Keenly nodding your head as much as his hand allows.

Still, he doesn’t seem convinced. Huffing, “We’ll see.” 

He drops you again. Now, with a new order, “Turn and bow with your tongue back on the floor.”

You do as he says, though shakily. Gut folding and churning within—throat tight, even under the metal collar, snaring—making your head pound with alarm as you shift on your knees until you’re facing the wall with your back to him, lowering your head down until your swollen cheek neatly squish against the cool stone—tongue splayed out on the earthy rock once again—with your rear raised for the priest’s inspection.

Your nails sink into your palms in the same painful crescents as before while the clergyman lifts your greyed and tattered frock like he’s unveiling a blushing bride—and, similarly to the groom, throws the skirt atop your sloped back, bunched up with the rest of your dirtied dress—leaving your legs and thighs and ass bare to his preying eyes.

He rumbles heavily, pleased by the sight of your pretty little virgin cunt—quivering in the crude and callous open air.

Crouched behind you in perfect level with it, you can all but feel his eager leer rake through you before his finger does—slicing through your pussy-lips and quickly disappearing inside your formerly untouched hole.

You flinch, squirming at the unfamiliar feeling—breaths damp against the ground as you await the verdict.

“It’s tight,” he grumbles, assessing you with a knuckle-deep digit, before scoffing, “But surely… no true virgin is this wet.”

Your eyes widen at the accusation, and he slips his finger out again and stands up with a sigh, “I can’t make sure with a finger alone.”

Then suddenly, he grabs onto of your hanches and lifts your hips higher until your thighs straighten up—and promptly lays his still-hard and hot-blooded member to rest between the cheeks. With his knees bent, a toppling tower over you, he slides through the crevice, rubbing upon your scrunched asshole as he does.

You stir for the first time, but his hold tightens in turn.

��Keep that tongue out, magpie. And don’t you dare make a single sound, y’hear? Or else the branks go back on.”

You fall still—scared in place—eyes screwed shut as his cock falls from the peak of your ass down to your glistened entrance, prodding the small opening with the tip, trying to force it inside, but kept at bay until the narrow ring of muscle finally gave and allowed him to tear through.

“Wheew—undoubtedly a virgin!” he whistles with his head gaining purchase. Groaning at the close fit. “Taut and tight and sensitive—and just perfect for taking seed.”

Meanwhile, you suck in a gasp—tongue still pinned to the floor—only barely managing to suppress the cry that had wanted to follow. 

Choking it down, you nurse yourself through it with a string of deep breaths instead—even as he starts prying further inside—letting your cunt hold the head as he gives it shallow digs, working you open to take his full length.

“That’s it—good magpie,” he moans, pulling you back on his cock by your hips, treading you on like a sleeve. “Take it deep.”

He starts thrusting, and your breath weakens into thin stutters—tongue hanging limply from your mouth all on its own. Eyes glazed, looking toward nothing—rocked steadily as the corrupt priest pounds you like a cheap whore—sore cheek scraping against the stone floor. 

And still, you’re silent—as if having taken a vow.

The only sounds echoing throughout the church are the clergyman’s grunts and the steady fwop fwop fwop of his balls clapping your sopping cunt—almost reminiscent of the church bell’s clangoring.

“Almost there now, magpie,” he chimes from above. “Milk my cock and take my seed in your womb, and you’re forgiven.”

It almost sounds too good to be true. Even as everything aches and you’ve become certain you might just remain mute forever onward, the thought of freedom is enough to bring new hopeful tears to your pitiful eyes. So, as the warmth of his release soils your inside, it’s also joined by overwhelming relief.

A moment or more passes. You don’t take your tongue off the floor, and he remains above you, pumping his load into your deep, dumping it all at depth as if burying some dirty secret. 

At some point, he pulls out—cock now sluggish and spent. You feel its spillage matte on the inside of your thighs—also hidden as he drapes your skirt back in place.

Unbothered with his own clothes, he stands there before your bowed body—now with an accent of full-bellied satisfaction as he pronounces you free of sin in bad Latin—crossing his chest and kissing his knuckle before looking up to the ceiling at the God you’d grown sure he didn’t even believe in.

“Rejoice, magpie,” he mocks while leaning over you to untie your hands. “You’re now free to go.”

But as you lift your head, he still holds out on removing your collar. 

Holding your chin instead, he looks down at you like before, saying, “But it would do you good to remember…” His free hand taps your cheek, softer now but hard enough to make you cringe. “You run that bitch mouth again, and in my church on your knees is where you’ll end up. Understand?”

And just like before, you nod your head for him—still as silent as a church mouse eager to escape the beast’s ugly jaws.

He seems pleased with that and gives you a crooked smile, purring, “Good.” 

He then fishes the keys to your collar from his heaped robes and, at long last, unlocks it from your throat.

And by God, as you wobble out of the church, it feels as if you've been let free from hell.

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[evilminji]

You know how... world leaders can't just? SAY stuff? Because when they DO it's the Offical Stance(tm) of their Country?

That makes their Fuck Ups(tm) all the more serious. It's WHY they have press teams.

But!!!

WHAT IF?

They said something, PUBLICLY, on LIVE TELEVISION, that? Can not be taken back? Full on "masks off, behold the horrors you have payed for" moment?

Sure, they could SAY "that wasn't me" and "I was brainwashed" etc etc. But? If it's BIG enough? UGLY enough? TRUE??? People WILL find it. Dig and dig and dig like termites in the walls. Hunt like bloodhounds.

Riot in the streets.

Because? All it would TAKE? Is ONE half ghost, a few too many long nights trying to balance college classes and his internship, a bigotry filled call from back home, and staring down that empty fridge with just one box of moldering take out, because he's been too busy and stressed to remember to get GROCERIES AND-

Ah.

So this is what "so stressed you feel calm, I have run out of Fucks too give" feels like. Neat. *picks up phone* Hey, Sam? You still at that protest? Outside the presidential speech? Neat. Don't move.

One Phone Line Express later. SAM is telling him to breathe. Maybe... maybe calm down. Think about this. Others around her can see the same "spark of madness" glint in his almost zen like smile.

It Fiiiiine, Sam.

He's just here to Talk.

He disappears. Sam's freaking out. President stumbles but catches himself on the way to the mike. Up in the watch tower, various Magic users choke on their lunches, because a ghost just possessed the United States President.

ON LIVE TELEVISION.

He taps the Mike, smile, leans in real close like he's gonna Tell You Folks A Secret.... Aaaaand~

"The second you Die, you no longer have human rights. Doesn't matter how brief. Heart stops? You're sub-human scum! Non-sentient by American law. We here in the United Stares PROUDLY desecrate the bodies and graves of the dead. Tear apart the immortal souls of the innocent. And condemn you to oblivion crying, begging, and screaming for mercy! Why, obviously, is an act. Because souls don't have the RIGHT to feel fear or pain!

And YES. We do mean EVERYONE'S. Atlantian, Kryptonian, Martian. Canadian, Mexican, Russian, AND Chinese! I could keep going! Once you die? You belong to the United States to experiment on as we see fit! You're PROPERT now! So turn your nonrights having, nonsentient self in to the nearest GIW! For the good of AMERICA. Ectoplasmic Scum!"

*drops mic*

Jaws are on the floor. This was VETERANS DAY. Dead military Heros and smile for the cameras. A cake walk. Do a patriotism, rah rah. There.... there are DIPLOMATS in the crowd. Sure as SHIT, were more then a few foreign nationals WATCHING. Religious leaders looking on in fury, grief, and horror.

Reporters. Oh sweet Jesus the reporters.

The press secretary faints.

PANDEMONIUM. The president, still dazed and confused from being possessed, gets PUNCHED on live television be his VP, a deeply religious if moderately shady man. Take bribes? VP is cool with that. Bootstraps, peasants, and all that. But how DARE you fuck with the Souls of the dead. How DARE you!

Phones are blowing up, questions are being shouted, the JLA Dark FEEL like they should tell somebody about the ghost kid... but also this feels VERY "Call for help-y" so they might throw their weight around instead and pretend they know nothing. World leader are meaningfully staring at their Dear Beloved Dead Grandmother's photos as they send LIVID assistants to hound the American into answering the DAMN PHONE-!

And Danny?

Danny feels calmer now. He has stolen like....700 bucks from secret security's various wallets. He's going to buy himself BOUGIE groceries. Some...some NICE take out. Maybe a little cake. Yeah~ Cake for Danny~

If anyone needs him? No you don't. He needs to go do some shopping, eat, lie on the floor of his shower and just... vibe for a bit under the spray. In the dark maybe. Sleep for a week. Have his food. Yummy little treats.

Or he's gonna fuckin LOSE IT, man.

(Tucker is actively hacking his college schedule as they speak. He KNEW it. Called it! Too many classes! But does Mr "I can handle it" listen? Noooooooo! Now look what happened! Holy SHIT, Danny!)

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Big Guy Big Belly

König is a big man, and with a big man comes a big appetite. We’re talking about a 6’10 man constantly maintaining his peak physique. He needs to be consuming as many calories and as much protein, carbs, fats, fiber and more to keep himself in fit and fighting shape.

At the canteen, he’s a nightmare. I bet that people rush to the cafeteria just to make sure they get something to eat before the big man on base rolls up. He’ll clear out the bins if he gets a chance. There’s a rumour on base that the reason König fought so hard to climb the ranks so quickly was just to be able to eat more and get away with it. Little do they know that they’re absolutely right, but König will never say that out loud. Ever. There’s some secrets you take to your grave. 

Either way, König is a menace in the canteen. He’ll pile his plate as high as he can when he gets a chance. He’s packing away all he can get in the shortest amount of time he can, and everyone has to suffer for it. The worst part is that everyone has to rush to get to the caf before König, and König knows exactly what others are doing, so he’s in a daily race against the entire base to eat his fill. It’s always a photo-finish to see who gets to the cafeteria first.  König currently has been slacking, so he’s not been eating like he normally has. Is he mad? Not really. He’ll clean out the snack cart later. 

He’s a monster late at night. Everyone knows that you need to leave the big man to his snacks, lest you face the wrath of the colossus on base. Well, wrath in a peculiar way. He just gets quiet and angry, but it’s still not a fun experience to try and fight him for a sandwich. If you take the last egg salad sandwich you’ll be at the top of his shit list for the next week. Don’t even think he won’t track you down. He’ll throw around his rank just to get his hands on the poor bastard. Nobody is safe, either.

Stiletto only once took the last pudding cup. Once. She never made that mistake again. For a week he was giving her dirty looks over a cold shoulder as he bumbled down the hall. She eventually had to give in and sacrifice a desert to be able to get back in his good graces. She still thinks he’s a massive bitch because of it. And you know what? She’s right. Everybody knows she’s right, König included, but he’ll keep going after whoever ‘steals’ ‘his’ snacks. They get along a bit better now that they’ve both advanced in rank and worked together, but there was a good period of time where Stiletto had to sleep with one eye open.

It gets a bit better for everyone when König finally finds a partner and doesn’t stay on base so often. Everyone takes a moment to pray for the poor soul who has to cook for König whenever he gets home from deployment.

See, during deployment, König can’t be such a massive bitch about food. He gets his rations, and that’s that. He can’t steal from anybody else, so he gets stuck with these pitiful MREs that barely fill him up. It’s miserable, and he’s losing weight like crazy when on the field. He’s running on fumes and burning calories like crazy as he’s risking his life out there. It’s gotten to a point where König has taken to eating with hostages post-rescue to ‘help them feel safer’ (read: get more food into his gullet). Thankfully, he puts his best foot forward when dealing with victims of trauma and ensures that he has somebody else do all the socializing while he plays with the kids after dinner. Apparently, after the inevitable shower of tears whenever kids have to face König, he becomes pretty popular. They love to use him as a jungle gym (and make fun of him) and he’s just happy to get more to eat. He’ll take being called ‘bigger than even my dad!’, being told ‘you’re weird’ or being asked ‘why are you so big and scary all the time?’ any day for a little extra to eat. He can tolerate a few kids. He won’t ever admit that hanging around them makes him want some kids of his own, or at least not to Horangi, who’s already teasing König about being a surrogate father to the kids. König tells him to keep it to himself, but Horangi is already buying things for the baby shower.

Once König finally comes home, that’s when all Hell breaks loose. This man has been starving and he needs food NOW. He won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t have something prepared, he’ll be ordering a massive order of takeout the likes of which you’ve never seen before in your life. He’ll hit multiple places on his way back to your place if he doesn’t think you’ve been able to get something together for him. If you can’t cook, he won’t even bother telling you to cook for him and just focus on getting a whole banquet of junk food ready for when he arrives home. He brings the pizzas in the door before he even brings in his own bags. You’ll have to go out and grab his bag as he sets up his personal buffet table. The worst part is despite how much he can shove down, he always buys more than he can eat, so you’ve got a couple of days worth of food to shove in the fridge at the end of the night.

If you can cook, this is a multi-day experience. Is it rewarding? Absolutely. Is it painful? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’s got you slaving for hours a day just to get him a nice home cooked meal. You’ll be going all out to get him a big enough meal. We’re thinking a tray of mac and cheese, a whole roast chicken, easily a handful of loaded baked potatoes. If you have something from your traditional cuisine, he’s not picky, he’ll gobble it up in a heartbeat. Knowing you made it for him is more than enough for him. Food is the way to a man’s heart, some say, and König will never let you go if you treat him like the king he is.

The good thing about cooking König such a big meal is that he gives back. He’s not a fan of cooking, but for the next few days he’ll take over cooking and cleaning in the kitchen. It’s just an easy way for him to give back, you know? He can’t thank you enough with words, so why not with actions?

But the best part of König giving back is that he’s an excellent cook. He cooks mostly traditional food from his culture, but he’s down for some french or italian cooking if you’re into it. He can make a mean lasagne. He does not skimp on the cheese, this man. No he’s a cheese fiend. If you’re lactose intolerant, you’ve got another thing coming for you. He will hand feed you lactaid just for the meal. If you have a dietary restriction, he’ll learn how to cook your types of meals in abundance. He’s perfect that way. Vegetarian, vegan, keto, no matter what, he’s got your back. He’s learned how to make an excellent spread for a dinner party, and part of learning to cater to others is to work around other people’s diets; his mother drilled that rule into his little head as a kid. He does it without complaint, too. For at least a week after coming home, he’s just so happy to be around food in abundance again. He’s absolutely thriving in the kitchen before the thrill wears off and he’s back to avoiding cooking like the plague again.

He loves to eat, but usually hates to cook. He’ll mostly eat takeout until he actually has to eat a nutritious meal again for a change. It’s not that cooking is awful, it’s just that he hates doing the dishes. He’d be far more inclined if he didn’t have to do the dishes afterwards. If you take over dishes, he’ll definitely step up his game for the both of you.

All in all, König loves to eat. He’s a big man with a bigger appetite, as hard as that is to believe. Once he retires he has to learn to cut back a fair bit, but he never loses his taste for sweets and snacks. It’s just something you’ll have to learn to live with.

[cherie-doll]

*sweats nervously* How do you think the cod boys would react to s/o wanting to peg them?

#pegmen2024 if i were running for president

⨯ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto (suggestive duh- SEX)

⨯ Price would 10/10 let you pounce from behind. I've read enough fics to know that. Honestly, it'd have to be one of those days where he's feeling a bit more relaxed. You can be a bit of a handful sometimes so why not let you take over for a bit?

⨯ Simon would be asking where the hell are these crazy ideas coming from, no way he's letting that happen, you're insane- and the scene pans to him being pegged.

⨯ Johnny would love to have you on top ( as in submissive not the position) of him tbh. Anyone remember that one video from his va?? He's agreeing to that RIGHT AWAY. Believes women should be in power and dominant, ALWAYS. He'd actually prefer it, that's how y'all have sex most of the time.

⨯ Kyle would be hanging or more like GRIPPING from his last thread. Seriously, how could someone as sweet looking as you make his breath come in fast and have sweat dripping down past his brows.

⨯ Roach is scared but attracted to that. "First time being pegged, kinda nervous". However, as elating as that was, he's making you do him almost every time after that. How can you tell him no because your libido was just high during that? It's called ovulating but he hopes it happens again soon.

⨯ Alejandro will give you that look that makes your tummy do flips and have your skin tingling and second guessing. Calling you 'vaquera' from now on as he's bucking, making it harder for you to stay on.

⨯ Rudy would crumble to his knees thanking you for this wonderful opportunity. Just imagine those big, soft eyes all clouded and hazed as his breath comes out hot as he stares up at you ARGH-

⨯ Phillip was made to be pegged. He would look so pretty throwing his head back and cursing under his breath (someone has said that before). He hates how much he loves it when you're in one of these moods and he never admits it in front of you. Seriously, he's out there thanking the moon secretly.

⨯ Makarov would take that as a threat. No way he's letting you do that, even when you try slipping out from under him. Sorry, just no, it would a critical hit to the ego he's so used to you stroking all the time.

⨯ Keegan would rather think that a challenge. This man has put you in every position possible there is no way you'd be able to match him. Unless he's like really tired like just coming home from a hard day and he needs a stress reliever but you want to go ham on him, he's telling you to calm down.

⨯ König being submissive is my #1 brainrot head thought. Like who hasn't seen that edit on tiktok?! Also, his voice here?!! Getting sucked dry too when he thinks you're done milking him. You cannot tell me his voice isn't perfect for a whimper audio because I've seen it passed around here, don't lie.

⨯ Horangi is a bit tricky to decipher. He'd either be really into that or would shift so that you're not up on him for long. The only time he's letting it slide is when he's worn out and doesn't feel like doing the job himself.

⨯ Nikto would only let that happen AFTER you've let him go first. Truly you didn't think he would just let you peg him for free?? What do you think he is....

[cntloup]

Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You've been working here for ages, in this once rusty old bar which is now adorned by lively colors and music, turned into the best nightclub in the city, serving the best drinks and entertainments with the most beautiful dancers.

All in all, you have witnessed the worst and the best of this place. 

And you have come to know the people who own the place. 

In fact, you know them like the back of your hand, even better than themselves one might say. 

You're bright and perceptive, and working as a bartender in a place like this where it is jam-packed with important people all the time has its own perks. 

With a little bit of booze and honeyed words you bring out everyone’s hidden side and in no time, they’re spilling their deepest darkest secrets to who seems like just a sweet, harmless bartender. 

“Here you go.” you say to Simon, placing his usual Kentucky Bourbon on the counter, “Thanks, dove.” he says and brings the glass to his lips. 

“You know... I say don’t fuck around with the Russians!” you remark while drying the cups and placing them on the shelves. 

They asked your opinion on the matter since you’re their most trusted ally outside the group. As a matter of fact, they consider you part of the group by now. 

He chuckles before saying “That’s what I told Price.” 

“So why is he doing this?” you ask regarding cutting a deal with the Russians and Simon shrugs. 

You’ve had a weird feeling about it since they mentioned it to you. 

“Well, if any of you care about my opinion, don’t do it. It just doesn’t feel right to me.” you say with a shrug and look over to find him deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed and gorgeous brown eyes focused on somewhere far away. 

Gods, he’s so handsome! You've been fond of him for some time now, and by the looks and little touches he gives you, you’d say the feeling is somewhat mutual. 

Out of all of them, he’s always been the closest to you.  

And he’s been your biggest protector all throughout this wild ride you’ve been on together. 

He always keeps an eye on you in case any of the customers gets too close and makes you uncomfortable; God forbid if any of them gets touchy, they’d be digging their own grave by doing that. 

You come back from your daydreams after hearing him clear his throat. 

You notice you’ve been staring far too long, choosing to ignore the faint smirk on his lips. 

“Sorry... just thinking about the deal.” you lie and dip your head, busying yourself with cleaning the cups and hoping he won’t notice your burning cheeks. 

“Well, I'm off to meet John now. I'll make sure to give him your opinion too.” he says while standing from his chair, “Thanks for the drink.” he offers a small smile with a nod. 

“You’re welcome, Si... and I'm sure he won’t listen to me. His mind is set on the idea and that’s that. Not that I would ever question his decisions. I have too much respect for the man to do that. He must know something that we don’t.” you mention while grabbing his glass and placing it in the sink. 

“I can assure you that he values your opinion just as much as you do his. He'll think about it. Don't worry.” he says while gathering his stuff and placing your tip on the counter, a hefty envelope, so generous as always. 

“Simon! I can’t accept this! This is... too much! You do this every time!” you exclaim with a frown, nudging the envelope in his direction. 

“Take it. I insist. You can renovate your apartment. Last time I was there, it was a bloody mess!” he teases with a playful smirk.

“HEY!” you say in mock annoyance while throwing the rag in your hand at him.

“My apartment is fine as it is, thank you very much!” you retort, failing to hide the smile forming on your lips. 

You take the envelope hesitantly after so much persuasion on his part and wave him goodbye, feeling butterflies dance in your belly as thoughts of him linger in your mind.

You dip your head and go on with what you were doing, lost in your own world and not noticing the dark shadow lurking in the distance and standing in a corner, carefully observing the place, and most importantly... you. 

[hotwings0203]

"I swear, if she had just stayed with the group like a normal person would, she would've saved herself at least 30 more minutes of screentime," your friend says on the other side of the couch.

In retaliation, you playfully chuck a few kernels of popcorn at him and gesture wildly at the screen. "It's the classic bimbo trope! She's wearing a miniskirt and high heels in the forest for gods sake, it practically screams 'Murder me!' on her clothes."

You both squabble for a few minutes like this until the sound of violins coming from the t.v. cues you in for the next foreboding jumpscare. Both sets of eyes turn back to the dimly lit screen and lock in on the gore-fest about to unfold.

The main heroine cautiously creaks a door open in front of a tunnel and warbles out, "H-hello? Is anyone there?"

It's so cliche you could roll your eyes, but yet your heart is still pumping...

And your "friend's" body shifting a mere few inches away from you isn't helping the palpitations.

The two of you had been dancing around each other the past few months in some sort of premature courting method, the flirty remarks and jeers from your mutual friends egging you both on to seal the deal and admit your feelings for one another.

But, like every young romance blooms, the fear of wilt is just as strong.

And so you opt to get as close as you can to the real thing by being satisfied with his arm not-so-subtly thrown over the back of the couch , so softly playing with the ends of your hair so as to not disturb you.

You can barely focus though, as the girl on the screen inches closer to the end of tunnel, the boy behind you also creeps his other idle hand towards yours resting on the cushion.

It takes an incredible amount of effort to keep your breathing even and hands still as you watch from the corner of your eye as his veiny hands trail closer...his fingers outstretching towards yours...and...

Rrrriiinnngggg!

It's like a tidal wave comes crashing down as the woman on screen screams in tandem with your phone ringing.

You feign a groan as you shoot the disappointed man on your couch an apologetic wince, and try not to let your heart fall as he nods back with a barely understanding grimace. You round the couch and let the movie continue playing as you hit the green button and pick up the intruding call.

"Hello?" You snipe.

"Get rid of him."

For the second time in the night, your heart falters, but the former experience is something you'd beg for rather than this.

"H-how did you know someone's at my house?" Your voice drops to a shaky whisper and you throw a panicked glance into the living room to ensure that your lover/friend hasn't picked up on your tone. You duck into your bedroom and close the door slightly, your hands trembling as you do so.

The gravely voice on the other end chuckles, but the sound has anything but mirth in it.

"That's a funny way to phrase it sweetheart. Your question makes it seem as though I stopped keeping tabs on you."

A minute-long silence ensues after that, your mouth gaping open and closed like a fish out of water. There's no sound except for the low hum in the background of your living room, and your caller's shallow breaths on the other end of the line.

"You begged so nicely last time for me to leave you alone, even made it to the cops at one point. I granted you a shred of mercy, a bit of pity after the cops failed to take your report seriously- I mean, I don't blame them. Their time is precious, y'know? They've got bigger things to worry about than a dumb little girl whining about some invisible stalker jizzing all over her and her room when she sleeps," he snickers meanly at the sound of your choked gasps.

The taunting of your trauma is a slap to the face, a wound cut open again. You thought you got rid of this anonymous stalker a couple months back, you thought a police report and growing reclusive from your social life would dissuade any unwanted interactions from this psycho. You felt backed into a corner, dirty and ashamed as the threatening calls became more frequent. Love letters with ominous fluids coating the expanse of the papers started showing up at your front door when you changed your number. He'd attach polaroids of you in your undergarments, when you'd shower, when you'd cook, and so many other unassuming intimate domestic scenes in the envelope, and then when you couldn't take the terror anymore...it stopped.

The calls, the letters, the pictures, all of it...poof.

You had slowly started to hope that he had gotten bored of you and the lack of social life, lack of thrill in general at you losing your color.

With that hope, came bravery. Your friends started coming around again, the parties ensued, you switched your college class from virtual to in-person again, you even met the guy nestled comfortably on your couch currently.

"How many bodies did you think you could hide behind?"

The voice on the other end of the phone croons softly, but pulls you just as violently out of your dread.

"What do you want?" comes your shaky whisper, your fingers gripping the phone tighter in sync with your throat closing up.

"Ohhh sweetheart, now that's a loaded question. You and I have all the time in the world to uncover that, but your boy toy on the other hand..." His teasing lilt twists lower into something akin to a growl, and you can't help the whimper that escapes you.

You don't want to find out what his threat alludes to, or how serious he is.

Slow-burn romance be damned.

"J-just give me a few minutes-"

"Now."

Your teeth sink into your lips to hold back a frantic curse as you duck your head out the doorway to check on the living room.

He's still there, unassumingly checking his phone.

"Okay, okay. I-I'll tell him something came up, just dont-"

Your voice catches in your throat and you force yourself to swallow, taking in a deep breath at the sound of your stalker's pleased hum on the other end of the line.

"I'm watching you. Don't try to pull anything smart with me, unless you're eager to taste my blade in addition to my cock."

You blanch as the call ends, and try to quickly blink away tears of frustration. Wiping your sweaty palms on your shorts, you inhale deeply again before turning the knob and opening the door to the living room.

Rounding the couch, you softly pad your way to your lover and force the tense muscles in your back and arms to loosen, not wanting to give any indication that something's very, very wrong.

"Heyyy, you're back!" He drawls with a loose smile on his face. "Thought the movie scared you too bad and you ran off."

You force yourself to let out a faux chuckle and try to prevent your smile from looking too strained. He seems to unfortunately notice it though, because a crinkle appears between his brows and he sits up, tossing the phone in his hands aside.

"Woah, you okay? Did something happen?"

"No, no! It's nothing like that at all. Actually, this is really embarrassing but one of my girls called and I think she's blackout drunk at the bar near downtown, I gotta head out and pick her up. I had no idea I'd be on babysitter duty tonight, I'm so sorry," You frantically wave his concern off and try for another carefree laugh, but your shaking hands are a dead giveaway.

He stands up and grasps your hands tightly in his, the large and smooth planes of his palms enveloping yours before you can react. Your head spins as the realization of him touching you for the first time under these less-than-ideal conditions overwhelms you.

"Hey, y/n, look at me-no, look- you're okay, alright? It's no big deal, we can always finish the movie another time, seriously."

And before you can move back to save him, he leans forwards and pecks your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second the door closes shut, your phone rings.

Your hand, still on the door handle, drifts up to your lips as you nibble on your nails haphazardly.

You're terrified to know the consequences you elicited. You don't wanna pick up.

And yet, you know if you don't, he's capable of so much worse.

Your thumb slides on the green button when his voice breaks through the call with barely-concealed rage, the waver of fury coating his venom as he spits, "He touched you. He kissed you."

"I tried to back away! I tried to-"

"And I tried playing nice, but looks like we both failed each other, huh?"

The excuse dies in your throat as his hiss overpowers yours.

"I should carve his fucking lips out for touching whats mine," he continues after a beat, an incredulous and ragged laugh erupting from the other end of the call, making you wince.

"It would be so easy to get rid of him too. That shitty little apartment he scrimps and saves for at his 9-5 hasn't changed the locks in the complex for years now, he walks solely at night with his earbuds in, his bones would be so easy to break-"

"Please don't hurt him," you finally break his monologue with a sob of your own, unable to fathom being the reason why your lover would suffer such sinister endings. You throw your hand over your mouth to prevent him from hearing you cry and your legs give out from their mindless, panicked pacing around the house. The soft duvet comforters of your bed provide ample cushion for the fall, but not enough to swallow you whole and hide you from his inevitable wrath.

Your stalker pauses as he listens to your muffled cries, your skin prickling as he lets out a ragged moan at no doubt your misery. You can hear the sound of rustling clothes and a belt buckle hitting a floor of some sort.

"Are you scared pretty girl? Are you scared I'm gonna hurt you, or him?"

"Yes," you breathe.

"You should be."

The call drops, but you dont move for what seems like hours.

Your body feels like stone as you eventually burrow under your covers, mountains of stress weighing you down heavier than the blankets and pillows you use as meager protection. All the doors in your apartment are locked, the windows bolted shut, the knives taken out and placed under your bed, and your phone fully charged.

And yet, you might as well have been naked for the lack of protection you feel as the clock strikes past 1am. You jump every time the branches outside your windows smack the glass, and grip the edges of your covers tighter at the slightest creak from your aged abode.

You're curled in fetal position, tense and alert, ready to call 911 at a moments notice. You wont, you can't let him get to you, mentally or physically.

But eventually your body fails you as you drift off to sleep, the adrenaline high wearing off and lulling you into an exhausted state of rest.

You only awaken when you hear his voice.

"Hereeee kitty kitty"

Body locking up before your mind is fully aware, you freeze under the duvet as you see his silhouette from under the opaque material.

He's merely a few feet away from you, leering over your lumpy form.

Your eyes dart to where your door is, and you can make out the shape of it being opened.

How the ever-loving fuck did he get in?

You can't move, you cant blink, you cant even breathe as he inches closer to you, settling to perch by your feet.

He chuckles and snakes his lithe fingers from underneath your comforters, trailing up your feet up to your ankle, letting his offensive touch rest there as a faux show of affection.

"You're like a present underneath those blankets."

You let out a shaky whimper and tense up even more as he leans in, the dark shape of his head right over your face.

"Does the little slut want me to unwrap her? I think i've won my prize fair and square."

The hand on your ankle moves up to your calves, then your knees, all the while you start to squirm and wrestle against his hold.

He laughs lightly with sick glee as his hold on you tightens, allowing himself to indulge momentarily as one of his hands shoves itself between the apex of your covered thighs, the other squeezing and pinching up your torso to any part of you that he deems soft enough.

You both writhe like this for a minute or two while you fight for air underneath the increasingly-stuffy covers, and you know he's reveling at your losing battle.

Eventually he must get tired of playing with you, because you feel the bed dip and shift as he climbs on top and straddles you. As a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, you throw the blankets off, exposing yourself to him. You try to scramble away after dislodging him, but he's too fast. He grabs you by the neck and slams you down against the bed with a snarl, his hair mussed and disheveled as his hands encircle tighter around your throat. Adrenaline courses through you along with the blood pounding your head as you try to scratch at his face. The harder you fight, the tighter he squeezes, and through the black spots in your vision you can see his salacious grin, his hair falling over his face and barely concealing the victorious and manic look in his eyes.

You feel his skin pile up under your fingernails as you rake down a particularly soft side of his cheek, but instead of him drawing back, he fucking moans as blood blooms through the new cut.

He feels you hesitate for a split second in your awed disgust, and uses the momentary reprieve to rock his hips against your clothed mound.

You gasp feels like its ripped out of you all the while he shakes with tension and laughter.

He feels high off the mix of fear and disgust at your body reacting to his ministrations.

You thrash like a fish out of water in his hold, your desperation a sick contrast to the firm and controlled motion of his body eliciting responses out of you that you never wanted to give to him of all people.

"Fuuckkkk, thats it baby, just give in," he croons and shushes the sound of you choking. A shudder passes through him as he feels your throat constrict under his unrelenting hold, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he thrusts again into you.

He must hit a good spot, because he feels your legs twitch. To reward you for reacting to his touch, he lets up ever so slightly on your abused throat, and opts to duck his head down and replace his hands with his mouth.

The whole ordeal can't have been going on for more than a couple minutes, but it feels like your overstimulation has been lasting eons. You feel the adrenaline crashing down, your defenses rendered useless as he uses both his hands to envelope your own and lace his fingertips with yours, bringing both your intertwined hands up next to either side of your head. He locks your legs under his, ensuring that you can't wiggle out of his grasp, and lifts his head up slightly off your neck from the galaxy-covered hickies he left on the empty planes of your neck to look at you properly.

No makeup, bared open and vulnerable for him, hair looking like a rat's nest from the struggle, neck littered in violent splotches of blue, purple, and reds, lips bloated and shiny from tears trespassing down the planes of your face and down your chin. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, he feels your body tremble as you fight off the waves of exhaustion threatening to capsize your efforts. Your eyes, teary and bloodshot, ensnare him most of all. He feels as out of breath as you as he gazes lovingly, sickeningly down at you with unread emotions.

Love, hate, defiance, disgust, fear.

To him, you look ethereal.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he whispers, pulling one hand out of your own to gently move strands of hair out of your face to see you better. He bites back a frustrated growl as you flinch and turn your head to the side, burrowing as much of your face into the pillow as you can. You don't want to see or hear him gloat, you just want him to take what he came here for and to leave you the fuck alone.

"Stop fucking-no, look at me," the hand that ever-so gently caressed your hair hardens as his entire hand grabs the lower half of your face to face him.

You try to mumble something out, but his invading hand covers your mouth. He doesn't seem keen on moving it or hearing what you have to say from the way he merely presses harder against your ajar lips.

"I can fulfill you better than that wimpy fuck could ever dream," he hisses, leering over you. Your muted scowl doesn't phase him as he continues, "And you don't need friends anyways. I'm enough for you. I'll take care of all your needs, financially, emotionally, and physically."

At this, he presses his hips right into your cunt, and holds his body there, groaning at the way you pulse for him even under the layers of clothing.

You squeal and try to squirm, but your displeasure proved moot as he uses a free hand to slither under the waistband of your short and dip lower.

This brings around another round of muffled screaming, your back arching as his fingers dance over your soft mound, finally claiming his prize and swiping his digits through your lips.

He makes sure you watch as he brings his fingers back up to his mouth and licks them clean, moaning and closing his eyes in bliss as he does so. Your horror is practically palpable as you freeze at the bizarre show, the violation leaving you speechless.

"You should have told me you were enjoying this, you fuckin' brat," he scoffs and wipes his spit-covered fingers across your cheek, chuckling as you scream in rage.

"Had I known you wanted to play rough like this from the start I would've fucked you raw in front of all your little friends."

He leans in, savoring your terror.

"After all, all a brat like you needs is a fat, hard cock stuffing her widdle pussy until she breaks."

He uses your frozen state to flip your entire body over with one hand, immediately closing in on you and covering your prone body with his own. One hand braces dangerously close next to your face to balance himself as he uses the other to grab a fistful of your locks and pull back, craning your head to meet his eyes once again.

Your back and stomach shake with the effort of holding yourself up in this painful and awkward position, and his hips slot themselves against your backside as if it was their rightful place.

He's not lying, you realize with dread as you can feel his thick and hard imprint nestle between your asscheeks, your shorts riding up in the process.

"But don't worry," he pants as he pulls aside your shorts and panties and begins thrusting himself up and down your wet slit, all the way up to your ass, making careful sure to tap his tip against your clit a couple times, making you jerk and whimper at the buzzing sensation.

"I'm not letting you go anytime soon. We have the rest of our lives to break you and put your pieces back together," he bites your earlobe as he hisses the promise, moaning loudly in your ear as he lets his tip indulge in your entrance, barely pulling back and pushing in inch by inch.

You wince and try to move your body forwards to escape the inevitable, but he twists your supporting arm behind your back painfully and lets your head fall back on the pillow in defeat with a hoarse sob.

"You're fucking mine."

[lushrue]

i’ve been seeing a lot of business/ceo aus with the 141, but i’ve been bingewatching “suits” lately so…law firm au?

The 141 Law Group is one of the most prestigious in London. they take on clients that nobody else will, lots of high profile people and large businesses. they have a great reputation for discreteness, getting things done quickly and quietly and mostly above board. 141 handpicks their associates from the top law schools in the UK and it’s an honor to be chosen by them.

jonathan price is managing partner. at the end of the day, it’s him who makes the decisions of what clients to take on, what expenses are necessary and which ones aren’t, and how to handle the difficult cases. he runs the show, and what he says goes. usually mills around in the associate spaces, making sure the firm’s making good investments in the rookies. his background is in criminal law, but getting him in the courtroom is tough these days. he can be tempted out of his cushy corner office on occasion, though.

simon riley is a senior partner, price’s right hand. he was one of the founding partners of the firm, but chose to keep his name off the official paperwork. he has more interest in being a lawyer than a manager, though he likes to throw his weight around from time to time. expert in business law, does a really good job at giving government oversight the finger and finding workarounds for his clients. he has his limits though, won’t help his clients take action that will harm consumers. most people think he’s sleazy and dirty, but there’s a heart of gold underneath that prada suit.

john mactavish is the firm’s numbers guy. we already know he’s good with math, he has to be not to blow himself to bits. he keeps the ledgers balanced and the firm consistently in the green. has a few clients of his own that he advises on strictly financial matters. price brings him on every new client lunch because of his charm and wit, swears they’ve gotten a couple of clients because of johnny’s sense of humor alone. likes the water cooler talk, especially with lawyers in different specializations. this man knows so many random bits and pieces of international law, business law, entertainment law all because of the people he strikes up conversation with.

kyle garrick is the freshest face, hired for a permanent position after being chosen as an associate. aspiring senior partner, would love to co-manage the firm with price someday. he works primarily with international clients, loves the late nights reading up on the laws that govern other countries. he’s great at finding loopholes, just like simon. he’s aggressive in the courtroom when he does get to go, oftentimes as co-counsel with simon or johnny. he’s scribbling notes in every meeting he’s in, soaking in all the information. despite the multiple offers he’s gotten from other firms, his loyalty lies with john.

and then there’s you, their new secretary. simon was hesitant when john announced your hiring at the partners’ meeting, didn’t really think they needed someone fielding calls and making copies when that was what the associates were for. john had purely personal motivations for hiring you, though. poached you from the rival firm, Shadow Company, LLC. while you’d been content enough in your position, phillip graves was a bit of a sleazeball, in your opinion. when price came in with his sweet talk and promise of a signing bonus, you were hooked. nevermind that it took a whole week of morning coffees and tickets to the ballet for johnny to agree to the extra expense. they change their mind when you show up to work in your tight skirt and high heels, eyes bright and ready to start. 

the second you bent over your desk and they caught a glimpse of your lacy thong, it was all over.

[bluemerakis]

Imagine . . .

❝ Lover Boy Butcher ❞

This is my yapping ass session about what I think Butcher could be like when he’s smitten over you ~

Warnings: mentions of naughty bedroom stuff is all

All likes & reblogs deeply appreciated! Enjoy it my Butcher Babies ᡣ𐭩

Everybody loves talking about mean Butcher, and yeah, well that man is a grade A dick, let’s take a moment to imagine that once he’s actually quite fond of you: he’ll take the time to do the little things that he knows makes your day a little brighter — making you that extra hot cup of coffee/tea in the mornings when the sun’s still rising and the crisp air around your lips thaw with each breath; randomly throwing in a one-line reference of a book or movie you can’t stop talking about (and that you didn’t think he paid attention to) whenever the two of you banter; turning up the radio when a song he knows you love comes on—hell, sometimes he’d catch himself thinking of a snippet of the song you can’t stop randomly erupting into sing over whenever you’re mindlessly tending to chores. You’re all he wants to get back to when he’s out on a job, and definitely the last thing he wants to leave behind when it’s time to go.

When that man loves you, he LOVES you—against his hard-ass will and everything, and he’s still going to be comfortable enough to call you a wanker whenever you’re being a bit of a prude, but it’s never not followed by some form of Billy affection to soften the blow. . . even when you’ve one-upped him with some ball-bruising insult. If you fight—which can be often due to his impulsive brutish nature—he might storm off, or turn to short-lived alcoholism, but he’s always back in your shared bed come nightfall, taking you into his arms, even when you’re not ready to talk to his dumb face. It’s all right, though because depending on how mad you are, he’ll start caressing you in the places he knows you’re sensitive, and if he’s daring enough, he might go in to plant a kiss or two on whichever part of you is most accessible. He might even throw in a crappy, vulgar joke just to elicit some form of acknowledgement from you.

Let me not even get started on how he’ll act in the bedroom—jokes I’m going to tell you anyways: it’s rough—he’s a rough man, he’s unapologetically mean and abrupt in getting to the point, but he’ll slow things down for you. He’s not so much in the rush when it comes to you—why wouldn’t he want to delay every moment spent inside of you, on top of you, in and out, up and about every inch of your body? Come on, what a fucking zone of euphoria to get lost in! Consider him a goddamn hobbyist explorer when it comes to folding you over below him, or hoisting you onto his hard on, or pressing down on the small of your back until you’re wedged between the pillow he’d laid under your lower stomach and the greedy, propulsive thrusts of his hips. Oh, and he’s always going to simultaneously target that clit with a rough fondling of his fingers. This is a man that KNOWS how to pleasure a woman right, good god!

Initially, Billy was not the most educated on aftercare—he’s usually a hit it and quit it type of guy. But since being with you, he’s learning little by little on what he could be doing differently to make the post-sex experience as comfortable and as healthy as possible for you. After holding you close for a few selfish moments, he’ll get up to pour you both a glass of water and bring it to the bedside table before fetching a towel to dab yourself dry. He’ll take off the sheets while you fetch new ones, and you both work to equip the new, clean bedding. If you’re in the mood for it, he’ll draw you both a bath, or steal you away to the shower. But his favourite part? Settling back into the bed, arm hooked around you and pressing you as close to him as humanly possible—your fingers entangled as you chat about the day, about anything and everything, and of course about that one wanker Billy nearly laid to an early grave. Most of the time, it’s you doing the talking, and he’s more than content to listen on—he’s mostly just watching you exist, anyway because he still can’t believe you’re all his. All his. And god, does he love you. He’d do anything for you, kill anybody for you—lay himself down for you.

Okay I’m done now (for now). Enjoy these procrastination thoughts, this is what my brain juice went towards instead of studying because, you know, priorities!

This is not really proof read so apologies if there are any errors—but let’s be real, you just came here for a good wank (jokes?)

[ebodebo]

Bang Bang Bar

NSFW CONTENT

—ghost and reader are in a no-strings-attached, friends-with-benefits, type of situation, but the reader wants it to be a real relationship. ghost says no and the reader is like okay that's fine byeeee and the reader flirts with a guy at a bar and ghost gets just a little bit jealous.

—simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

—2.3k+

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

Ghost and you were laying in his bed, your leg draped over his, as you drew circles with your pointer finger on his bare chest.

"What're you thinkin' about?" He uttered, his voice sounding deep and grave. "Nothing." You quickly reply. He cocks his brow at your hasty reply and wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you onto him, so you are straddling his torso.

"What's goin' on?" He asks softly. 

You tug your bottom lip with your top teeth. "I was thinking.." You pause before continuing. "I don't want to do this anymore." 

He tilts his head slightly. "Do what?"

"This." You gesture to both of your naked bodies. "Well..wait..not the sex part. I want to do that again." Ghost lets out a gruff laugh. "I mean, I don't want it to be casual." You declare in an earnest tone. "I want us to be a thing."

"We agreed on-" Ghost begins.

"I know what we agreed on." You breathe out. "I was just kind of hoping the sentients have changed?" Your curious eyes stare at him.

He lets out a breath before talking. "I told you. I don't date." Ghost says.

"I know, but don't all guys say that?" You remark.

"I'm serious. I don't."

"Even if-."

"No." He interrupts, his voice sounding rougher than usual. "I don't date." He continues. "This is all I can offer you." 

You stare at him briefly before slowly scooting yourself off his torso and moving to get off the bed, grabbing your clothes that lay on the floor. "I understand that you don't want a relationship." You slide your jeans on. "But, I can't keep pretending that’s what I want too."

You reach for your shoes and begin putting them on. As you look up, Ghost's gaze meets yours. "What?" You question. He shakes his head and diverts his attention from you.

Once you slide your shoes on, you walk over to the door and say goodbye to Ghost and to that mess of a situation. 

It had been about a week since you had essentially ended your "situation-thing" with Ghost. Not seeing him often felt weird, but you knew you couldn't keep pretending you didn't have genuine feelings for him. 

You were in the break room, preparing a fresh cup of coffee.

"Jesus. You're the reason we never have any sugar." Gaz scrutinizes as he strolls over to you. 

"Don't be mean, Gaz." You laugh as his eyes widen at the six empty sugar packets beside your cup.

"I'm being honest." His eyes continue to stare at the packets. "That is an insane amount of sugar."

"I've seen how much creamer you put in yours." You raise your brow. He throws his hands up. "You got me there." You smile and stir your coffee.

"Also, the guys and I are going to that bar downtown tonight. Would you want to come?" He questions as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above your head.

"The one with the stupid name?" You giggle as you take a sip of the hot liquid. 

He rolls his eyes. "Hey, take that back. It is not stupid." He states, his face plastered with seriousness. 

"For Godsake, it's called Bang Bang Bar." You cackle as you continue. "It sounds like a strip club, not a bar."

"Will you please just come? I hate going with Soap and Ghost alone." He grabs the coffee and fills up his mug. "Soap makes fun of me for my drink order, and Ghost makes no effort to stop him." 

You pause your drinking, trying not to sound too intrigued. "Ghost is going?" Gaz walks over to the fridge and grabs the creamer. "Ya." You chew your lip, trying to ease your thoughts. "What about Price?" You try to change subjects. "No. Price said he had paperwork to do. I swear that man is a workaholic." You smile. 

You were going to say no to his offer, but you decided you needed to get out of your head, even if it's just for a bit. "I suppose I can grace you boys with my presence." He chuckles as he pours his creamer. 

"Don't be too flattered. I want to see you in that short black dress you wear." He jokes. You lightly hit his bicep causing him to spill some creamer. "Hey, You made me spill creamer." He dramatically whines. 

"You didn't need it all anyways." You cheekily smile as you grab your mug and head towards the door, leaving Gaz to clean up the spilled creamer. 

You felt the cold air brush your legs, lifting your dress slightly as you stepped outside of your car to head towards the bar. You walked down the paved sidewalk and eventually saw the flashy sign with the bar's name in the middle. You rolled your eyes as you pushed the door open.

The bar was more packed than usual, but after scanning the area for a minute, you spotted Gaz, flailing his arms at you. You stepped through a cluster of people and made your way to the guys, Ghost nowhere to be seen.

"Hey." Gaz and Soap say simultaneously as you sit next to Gaz in the booth. You can't explain why but you feel disappointed that Ghost isn't there. You shouldn't, but you do. 

"What do you want to drink?" Soap questions, breaking your train of thought. "Uh..just a beer is fine. Thanks." You lightly smile. 

After Soap grabs you a beer, you all make light conversation. Although, you mind still wonders where Ghost is. Your question is answered shortly as you see him enter through the front door and wander to your booth. Your eyes lock briefly before he directs his attention to Soap and Gaz.

"Glad you could make it." Gaz proclaims, and Soap pats Ghost on the shoulder. "Hey, Ghost." You mutter to Ghost. He looks over at you and nods to you.

The light conversation continues, mostly between Soap and Gaz. You are trying your best not to look at Ghost, and you sense he is doing the same. You feel awkwardness wash over you for the millionth time that week. "I'll be right back." You say as you stand up from the booth heading towards the bar. 

You order yourself another drink, something to ease the nerves running through your veins. "Nice choice." You hear a male voice approach you. You look up to see an attractive man standing near you. "Mind if I sit?" You nod to him. "So, why is someone as pretty as you sitting by yourself?" You lightly laugh at his corny line. "I'm here with friends." You reach for your drink. 

"Oh. Sad to hear that." He whispers. "Why's that?" You cock your head. "I suppose you can't leave your friends for too long. I would like to continue this." He smiles. "They can keep themselves company for a bit." You smile back, bringing your drink to your lips.

You chat with the mystery man for a little bit, after texting Gaz, telling him you were, in fact, not kidnapped and just chatting with a guy. During the conversation, you realize you both have things in common, and it doesn't hurt he's pretty nice to look at. 

As you were talking, laughing, and shamelessly flirting with the man, he noticed a strand of your hair fall in front of your eyes. He gently raised his hand to brush the strand out of your face. Your face pinkens at his actions. "You are so beautiful." He whispers. 

Although he was spewing such kind words, your attention drifts to your phone. A new message has popped up. It's from Ghost.

Ghost: Come outside.

"I'm sorry. Could you excuse me for a second?" You quickly ask. "Sure. I'll be here." You stand up from the bar and reach the front door, pushing it open.

You are immediately met with the cold air. You don't see him right when you step out, so you go around the corner to the little alleyway and see him leaning against the brick of the building, smoking. "What's going on?" You question as you prop yourself on the same wall. 

He remains silent. His eyes wander down your body, taking in the tight dress that hugs your figure. "Ghost." He snaps his head up to meet your eyes. 

"He's not your usual type." He mutters. You give him a confused expression. "What?" You say as your head tilts to the side. "That guy at the bar." He takes a puff of his cigarette. "He's not what you usually go for."

"Why do you care?" You accuse. "I don't." He insists. "Then why are you so interested in my boyfriend?" Ghost's head instantaneously lifts, his eyes narrowing. "Boyfriend?" You stare back at him. "No. I was just...I don't know why I said that." He releases a deep breath. "Thank Christ." He takes a final drag of the cigarette before throwing it on the ground.

Now, you are the one narrowing your eyes at him. "Why do you say that?" Your eyes widen. "Were you jealous?"

"No." He speedily says.

"I think you were."

"I was not jealous."

"Fine then. Since you have nothing important to talk about, I think I'll just go back-" He instantly grabs your waist and guides you onto the wall so his body is pressing against yours. Your breath hitches at his actions. 

You both stand there in silence, your breathing becoming increasingly faster. "What are you doing?" You finally whisper. 

He remains silent and positions his face closer to you so your lips are only mere inches away. He sees the heat flicker between your eyes and roughly presses his lips into yours as one of his hands comes to grasp your hair, which elicits a moan from you, causing him to groan. 

His other hand slips to cup your ass, pressing your body closer to his so you feel his hardening cock. You pull back slightly, and his mouth instantly connects with your neck. "Tell me." You mumble through breaths. "Tell you what?" He mutters into your neck as he leaves sloppy, wet kisses on you. "Tell me you were jealous." You finally say.

"Of course, I was fucking jealous." He grits, as he drags his tongue across your jaw. "So, you only want me when someone else does?" You whisper. He quickly drops both of his hands and steps away. "Is that what you think?" You shift nervously. "What else am I supposed to think? I mean, you haven't talked to me in a week, and the one time you do is because I was with another guy."

"I thought.." He wipes his hand across his face. "I thought you deserved better than me. That's why I said no." He confesses. "You're fucking perfect. Too perfect for me." He whispers. "It killed me not to talk to you, but I just thought it would.." You step closer to him. "Thought it would what?" He looks up at you. "I thought it would force me to get over you." 

"Did it work?" You murmur. "No." He says. "I could never get over you." Sincerity coated his voice. You step towards him and gently grab his hand. "Sorry, I'm just a fucking idiot." He pauses as he rubs the palm of your hand with his finger. "I understand if you don't want-" You catch him by surprise when you smash your lips onto his, your fingers thread through his light hair, slightly tugging on it. 

"I'll forgive your idiocy.." You pant in between kisses. "If you make me come.."

"I've made you come five times in one night. This is no.."

"Out here."

His eyes slightly widen as he brings one of his hands to tug on your hair, causing a quiet moan to escape. "You minx." He replies.

In hindsight, this was quite a secluded alleyway, but it was still out in the open, meaning if anyone decided to turn the corner, they would see you both.

Ghost brings his hand, which isn't in your hair, to your breast, gently massaging and palming it, causing you to whine into his mouth. He slipped his other hand under your short dress so that he could graze your wet cunt through your underwear.

You rocked yourself on his fingers, seeking more friction. "More." You plead. "Ya?" He questions, his voice dripping with arousal. You nod your head quickly as he slips one finger under your panties. "Better.." He connects his lips with yours as he pushes a single finger into you. "Christ, you're so fuckin' tight.." He whispers into your mouth.

"I can't fit anymore." You moan as he begins sliding his middle finger into you.

"We'll make em' fit." He manages to fit the two fingers in you and begins pumping in and out of you. "Fuck, Ghost." You whimper, as he grazes your clit. "You feel so fuckin' good, baby.." He grunts out as his fingers move in and out, faster and faster.

You can feel yourself tightening, signaling your peak nearing. "Ghost...I...Fuck I'm so close." He drags his other hand up your dress so he can graze your bare nipple. "I can feel you tightening..." He slightly rolls your nipple in between his fingers. "Come." He commands.

That one motion causes you to climax. Your legs are shaking, and your pulse is racing. He holds you up by your waist until your orgasm subsides. 

He cheekily smiles as he brings his fingers covered in your arousal to his mouth and sucks them clean. "Am I forgiven now?"

"I guess.." You continue. "Although I feel like it took you a little long to get me to come.." He chuckles. "Next time, I'll get three in you."

You laugh as you check your phone. "Fuck. The guys called me so many times. They must think something bad happened. We should probably leave." Ghost nods as you both walk down the alleyway.

"You think we should tell em'." Ghost chirps.

"Tell them what?" You question.

"That we're a thing now." He turns his head to face you as his lip curves slightly.

"Are we? Since when?” You cock your head.

"Since now." He grabs your hand and interlocks your fingers as you turn the corner out of the alleyway. 

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

also let's pretend mystery bar guy found a nice lady and they lived happily ever after in alaska or something.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part three)

+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O

+ What type of BF/GF they would be

Including König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Philip Graves (+ some headcanons including the Shadows), Makarov

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

My rules for requests and characters I can write for

A/n: I tried so hard to get this one out in time with the other but my other wips are getting to me 😭. I posted twice today just to feed y'all ahaha.

Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.

Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.

König

ꕥ (PLEASE DON'T COME AFTER ME, I DON'T KNOW ANY GERMAN AND I'M USING GOOGLE TRANSLATE)

ꕥ Speaking of König, I don't think this man is the shy boy that some people is making him out to be (not that he doesn't have that side at all, I just feel like they make it his whole personality). Based on voice lines alone this man is cocky asf.

ꕥ There's a reason for his mask, yes he was bullied as a child because of his looks and that's one of the causes to his social anxiety but that doesn't mean this mf is shy. He just like to avoid people and social interactions yk. (Y'all have no idea how much I can relate to this)

ꕥ Has and will continue to use his height to his advantage, someone bothering you while you're both sat having a wonderful time together? This mf stands the fuck up, shoulders back, chest out and everything. Looming over that person while glaring down, arms crossed while they're engulfed by the shadow of this 6'10 behemoth of a man.

ꕥ Chubby!Reader? He'll throw you over his shoulders, only using one arm below your ass while he carries you off. Seriously it is no problem to this man, he'd beg you to sit on his face and suffocate him. If anything I'd say he has a preference for it yk, very soft and plush reader for real.

ꕥ Our DIY king here wearing a shirt for a hood, his hair sticking out of the hole for the head whenever he's dressing casual. Play with his hair like right now, you'll make him melt right then and there.

ꕥ Enjoys cuddling, hasn't had many partners and by that I mean kinda none. Nobody was insane enough to approach him till you came around so he's very touch starved. He didn't even know he enjoyed touching that much till he was able to feel the amount of warmth your body gives him. He'd swear on his life that he was intoxicated in that moment.

ꕥ Whenever you sit or straddle on his lap, he's still so fucking tall. I swear you will gain neck pains if you wanna keep eye contact while talking to him. (I understand the struggle, I am a 5'1 girly. Every character I know within the CoD universe is taller than me 😭)

ꕥ Doesn't actually wear his mask around you, he's comfortable and trust you enough to know you wouldn't go around telling everyone what he looks like.

ꕥ Nicknames he'd call you in German are Mein Schatz, Fräulein, Liebling, Engel and Kleine Maus

ꕥ He's still definitely bitter about not being a sniper. (AHAHAHA)

Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin

ꕥ (IF I'M BEING HONEST, I DID NOT EXPECT HIS VOICE TO BE THAT DEEP. ALSO HIS VOICE LINES IN KOREAN/HANGUL (IDK WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT)

ꕥ He has doodles on his tactical gear that he did himself (there are also one that are a tribute to squid game because man's had a gambling addiction), has asked you to draw on it too and he proudly wears it when on duty. Will feel stupid while unconsciously smiling if you draw a heart.

ꕥ Writing something down on his vest from your own mother tongue and he's asking the meaning, if it's genuinely something good like a compliment or something like "I love you" then you will catch this man with a shit eating grin.

ꕥ He used to be a gambler before entering the military and it eventually got him to stop, though he still has a thing for risk, he got himself a more deadlier alternative.

ꕥ Expect surprise back hugs, this man isn't called Horangi for nothing. He's stealthy, I like to think that whatever he says to you is well thought out as well. Man knows how to think before he speaks.

ꕥ Horangi likes to pounce on things, just for the fun of it. It leads him to tackle you on your shared bed a lot, lots of play fighting too.

ꕥ HAS THE PRETTIEST EYES EVER. Like seriously, the only people who knows what he looks like is you and König. Had gentle eyes, you know that quote "His eyes softened", yeah that's the definition of his eyes.

ꕥ Loves it when you trace the veins on his arms with your finger nails, will just straight up offer his arm to you.

Keegan P. Russ

ꕥ This man and his panty dropping voice like holy hell I have never heard a voice as deep as his without a vocal fry (from those try hard guys on TikTok who try to hard thinking their thirst traps are good).

ꕥ Calls you "kid" in an affectionate way? It's honestly just what he calls anyone younger than him, you're shorter? He'll emphasize on that shit. Elaborating on the nickname I said earlier, he uses it less when y'all are dating but still does on some occasions.

ꕥ Would say the most dirty and uncalled for things, whispering it in your ears. He's and asshole in the best way possible, loves it when you gasp and playfully slap his chest.

ꕥ He's sweet though, would see you as his wife even if you're not married. You're his now, the moment you entered his life, he basically had a death grip on you.

ꕥ Something tells me that he likes talking about you or to you through radios yk. His voice sounding even deeper through the device, calling you doll even though he's supposed to refer to you with your call sign.

ꕥ Praise kink? I mean you've more likely heard his voice lines, is the type of man to praise you and ruffle your hair, either that or he'll kiss you depending on what stage of your relationship you are both in.

ꕥ Constantly thinks his eyes are weird even though they aren't, he just has sleepy eyes. Speaking of sleeping, I feel like he has such a fucked up sleeping schedule and is used to pulling all nighters more than the normal person.

ꕥ Will drag you in bed though and lay his whole weight on top of you because you ain't going nowhere, you are staying there with him and only him.

Philip Graves

ꕥ (If it isn't "Fix It Felix", please tell me I'm not the only one who sees it AHAHAHA)

ꕥ Philip is touchy, somebody for the love of everything that is holy cuddle this man please. He is just screaming at any type of physical contact at this point. (My sources? Right fucking here)

ꕥ Is the type of boyfriend to come home to you and just hug you, y'all would be there for a solid 10 minutes before he lets you go. Burying his head into your neck and just inhaling your scent while having his arms wrapped tightly around you.

ꕥ His Shadows? More like his fucking children, again going back to the TikTok. He knows how to get their attention, the little pats on the shoulder and small praises are his way of saying they did a good job and they're eating it up.

ꕥ That being said, you are either gonna be their mother figure or someone they enjoy protecting because their dad is so fond of you. Why not be both right?

ꕥ You cannot tell me this man won't be next to the grill, spatula, tongs or whatever kitchen utensil in one hand and a cold bottle of beer in the other.

ꕥ Spends his weekends with you on his lap while he watches football in your guys' couch, you're definitely scrolling on your phone during this.

ꕥ You cannot tell me this man doesn't wear cowboy hats and boots because he certainly does, is it a turn on or a turn off? I genuinely do not know..

ꕥ Is fruity on some aspects but would never fucking admit it..

Makarov

ꕥ Y'ALL ACTUALLY THOUGHT I'D WRITE FOR THIS MAN? NAH THIS ACC IS WHOLESOME (OR ANGSTY) AND ION THINK THIS MAN IS SALVAGEABLE. (This came from a girl who once was obsessed with Tom Riddle for years when she was 13, I recovered from it dw)

ꕥ This man would literally use anyone and anything as leverage for whatever he wants to achieve. (Yes I am one of those "I can fix him" people but damn idk if this man is fixable)

ꕥ Please don't tell me you actually genuinely think this man would be good to you.. I knew what I was writing was unrealistic but damn y'all are delulu on another level (so am I, stay delulu). Jokes aside I love y'all and he's one of the few I won't write for. (AHEM Severus Snape (that greasy mop haired mf)

ꕥ And yes I understand most of my shit are kind of OOC but damn if I wrote him, it would be extremely fucking far from canon and I don't like romanticizing toxic relationships (if I ever do write it, it will be angst and I can't ever promise a happy ending).

ꕥ Happy April fool's! (I know I'm posting this end of September (it's actually October now 😭)

[sillysillygoofygoose]

Salt N' Peppa

Older boyfriend Toji headcanons... MDNI

I can't stop thinking about him y'all, I'm ill. I need him soooo bad. Tojjjiiiiii ☹️😫

First, let's get physical.

Toji's previously dusky locks are outshined by the thin streaks of silver and gray that plague his scalp. His hair falls right atop his eyebrow, still thick and strong.

Lifting weights and resistance training has become too strenuous on his muscles and joints. He's found that going to the gym is no longer one of his top priorities, but when he does occasionally break out his (practically decaying) gym membership, he can only walk on the treadmill. Even running is too much impact on his aging knees.

Because of this, Toji's body has slowly but surely lost muscle definition. His previously defined abs are now sheltered by a thin layer of fat. His shoulders stay broad and proud, however his biceps are becoming softer as the days pass. He's gained a fair amount of weight, his strong frame become more and more huggable.

Toji's facial features are still sharp, stern. He doesn't shave as often as he used to, a black and gray stuble decorating his face every few days. His looks are just as striking as they were when he was young. Maybe even more now, with a strong distinction of a life wildly lived.

His voice has become slightly gravely and deeper as a result of the cigarettes he used to smoke like they were good for him.

Now let's get into it, shall we?

Older Toji... Much, much older than you. He's definitely matured in his later years... after wasting his twenties, thirties, and early forties, with random hook-ups and throw-away relationships, he's finally looking to settle down. And that's where you come in.

A cute, young, pretty little thing like you would never go for Toji, he was sure of it.

The second you walked into the dingy bar Toji frequented every Friday night, his heart began to beat a little faster. You settled in the stool next to him and offered him a brazen smile before turning your attention to the bartender.

What could he possibly have in common with some twenty-something year old living it up on a Friday night?

However, Toji never lost his charm. And if there's one thing he's mastered in his forty-five years on earth, it's talking sweet.

Conversation came natural. Your sarcastic, sour, but sweet demeanor pulled him into you more.

He was honestly a bit taken a back when you began flirting with him, leading him to ask you how old you were.

"Jesus Christ, sweets, I'm old enough to be your dad." Toji barks out a laugh, lifting his glass of whiskey up to meet his scarred lips.

"Perfect." You smirked back

And before you knew it, the evening was fading into the witching hours of the night.

"I had a great time talking to you. How 'bout I take you home... W'dya say, pretty girl?"

"No. But you can take my number."

Toji has DEFINITELY grown into old man habits. At 9:30 at night, he's already rubbing his tired eyes, stretching out his stiff back, and dropping his jaw to let out a silent yawn. Whenever he sneezes, he sneezes with a goddamn purpose. Every joint in his body cracks upon sudden movement.

Toji sleeps like a log too. It's almost impossible to get him up in the morning, and even more challenging when his heavy arm is pining your chest to the orthopedic mattress. He snores like someone is plugging his nose, deep, heavy vibrations singing from his chest.

Toji has served time in his past. The years he spent in prison are rarely spoken about, but they undoubtedly did a heavy number on him, the effect visible in his first and final mugshots. Ever since he's gotten out, deep bags hang from eyes, sometimes darker, sometimes imperceptible, but forever present.

But he's stable now. As stable as ever. He's found peace in his relationship with you and stability in his (legal) job. To his surprise, he enjoys the aspects of a quiet life. He relishes in the comfort of being tied down to the pretty girl that has his heart wrapped around her finger.

Toji loves to make dinner for you. Every evening, without a hitch, he's standing above the stove, stirring a pot or sautéing some unions.

One day, you catch him reading a 'Parents' magazine, cover to cover.

"I just don't remember subscribing for it, s'all. Wanted to see if the mailman made a mistake. Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. 'M too old for that shit."

" I'm not, though."

Really, Toji thinks he wouldn't be a good dad. His perception of himself is stuck on the reckless young man he used to be. But, he would love to have a little nugget to care for, and he knows you'd make the perfect little mommy.

Toji was quick to make you his. After the third date he took you on, he bought an engagement ring. A year later, you had him down on one (very sore) knee. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he wanted you.

Sex with Toji is incredible, too... especially when his calf isn't cramping up and you two have to pause for a breather.

Toji has never really had an emotional connection with any of the women he slept with in his past. But you are so special. He can feel the burning passion every time he bullies his thick cock into your little cunt, pushing through your tight walls until your lower half is flush against his thick happy trail and dark bush of pubic hair.

Toji always holds you close to his less-defined chest after sex, mumbling sweet nothings to you while he rubs the soft skin of your back, a stark contrast to his rough, calloused and aged hands.

"I'm so lucky to have you. My pretty girl... Luckiest bastard in the whole world."

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

[poetryvampire]

Can I request headcanons for poly Zevlor and Rolan reacting to gn human Tav genuinely asking both of them if either one of them regrets being in a relationship with them because they don't understand the struggles of being a tiefling and they know how much both men suffered just because both of them are with them? With a happy ending please?

Hello my dear sweet anon! Once again I apologize for taking like a 100 years on this. I've been a little weird lately but as always I loved this idea and was happy to toy with it. Pls enjoy 💜💖💜(✿◡‿◡)

• It's quite late by the time the three of you are walking home from an evening at Elfsong. Rolan, the most inebriated of the group, leads the way, yapping loudly about his latest experiment. Lightly buzzed, you walk arm and arm with Zevlor the both of you enjoying your partner's enthusiasm. It was a beautiful evening until a group of voices in the distances grew louder. 

• "Hey! You alright?" you hear from a few feet behind. You turn to see a human man about your age and a few more men standing farther away. You've never seen him before but he asks again if you need any help. Thinking he was a sort of adventurer you laugh and thank him saying you'll be fine but still the man insists. Zevlor's grip tightens on your arm, understanding what the man is really saying.

•Awkwardly you try to humor the man a little but he keeps asking you questions like where you're going and why. Confused, you turn to Zevlor whose face is stern with rage. He urges you to keep going when suddenly the man grabs your free arm, yanking you back with an unexpected force that sends you tumbling to the ground.

• For a moment chaos erupts around you. The man bellows insults and horrid actuations at your beloved while throwing punches. It isn't long before Zevlor captures him tightly by the throat. You can’t hear exactly what he's saying to the man but by the fear on his face it can’t be pleasant.  He's practically blue by the time the tiefling throws him towards his gang. Zevlor stands his ground and the group scoop up the man and leave. 

• Rolan's at your side the whole rest of the way home. There's a horrible tension in the air. Feeling stupid for talking to the man at all you try to apologize to Zevlor but he doesn't respond, making you panic inside. Your head is spinning, both shocked at the boldness of him to try and ‘save’ you and disgusted that he would think the men you loved were taking you somewhere against your will. Mostly you were saddened by seeing your wonderful partners treated like that once again. 

• “Well that was buzzkill” Rolan murmured, coming from the kitchen with a fresh bottle of wine. The moment you had gotten home Zevlor made himself scarce and you melancholily slumped on the couch starring absentmindedly into fire. Rolan cozied up beside you putting his arm around you. He tells not to worry about it but you can’t help but pour your heart out to him to which he listens patiently. 

 •  Eventually you work up the courage to ask something that’s crossed your mind more than you wanted to admit. “Sometimes I wonder,” you begin, trying not to sound too harsh. “If things would be better for you two if you were with someone else.” Rolan tried to protest but you stopped him. “Please, it’s just- I try to understand but I don’t-I can’t understand what you go through beings tielfings and I feel like I make things worse sometimes I feel like you might- I mean- I don’t want either of you to regret being with me.”     

 •  “Oh, sweetheart,” Zevlor broke the silence as he perched on the other side of you. You weren’t certain when he had appeared but by the grave look on his face he had heard you clearly. The older man still kept a bit of distance which did nothing to lessen your fears. Rolan, on the other hand, pressed himself close to you, nuzzling right into your neck like some great cat. You loved how openly affectionate he was when he had been drinking. “Don’t say that, don’t even think it.” Rolan said before kissing you several times. 

    •  Rolan boldly affirmed that he didn’t care how many people despised them. He loved you and wanted to be with you and didn’t care that you’re human. He promised he would never hold that against you or regret the relationship. As you clung to each Rolan spouted more words of love, now jovial and over the top in a bid to make you laugh. It helped but your eyes traveled to Zevlor who smiled weakly. 

  •  “I’d be lying to say I don’t wonder such things as well. Certainly things would be easier if you were a tielfing or we human. At times I wish things were different. ” Zevlor began slowly. You could feel your heart sink just as Rolan stopped his display to regard your partner. Sensing your fears Zevlor moved closer and took your hand. “My heart, I could no more regret you than I could regret breathing. But I wish you could be spared such things, it pains me that all my family must suffer no matter the race. I did not mean to get so worked up but seeing him grab you like that- Gods my blood’s boiling at thought. ” 

 • “Than come closer and let us calm you, my love.” Rolan coos, grabbing Zevlor and peppering his face with kisses. You can’t help but smile as the tension of worry finally lifts from you and you join Rolan, raining kisses on your beloved commander. “Do you think any nitwit to blather at us in the street has even known such a love as ours? Has ever had two beauties show them such affection? ” Rolan laughs and soon Zevlor joins him and you feel a sudden warmth spread over you, the joy of seeing your two favourite people happy. The best feeling in the world.

[the-grimm-writer]

My friend just suggested a scenario to me and I need someone just as or more deprived than me to tell me if it’s a hot scenario or if therapy is needed….

Yandere Stepson is obsessed with the idea of stealing you from his dad. Example given to me; he listens while you and your husband get it on and is determined to outdo him because you are clearly faking it with him

Thoughts…..?

Ooooh ngl im not a big fan of the stepson / stepmom trope just because i don't like the idea of dating someone younger than I am.

But I can definitely see the vision!

Like just trying to be a good wife to your new husband, but it's so hard when his oldest son who just graduated college still lives with him to help around the house and save up money like his father encourages.

Despite everything looking great with your husband and stepson on the outside, you quickly notice there's something off with them. The competiveness, the subtle insults they throw at each other. The jabs he throws at his father for marrying a younger woman like you (not that he blames you at all!). But you decide not to say anything and try and help them instead.

And at first, you think nothing of the subtle brushes against from the stepson as you walk past each other or the way his hand seems to linger on your arm or on your lower back when he's guiding you to show you something. Or the way that you coincidentally saw him walking past the room you just stepped out of in just a robe after your nightly "lovemaking" secession with your husband, trying to hide your disappointment.

You try to deny the tension between the two of you, seeing the way he looks at you during the little "family" dinners. The smug smile on his face when he catches your eyes lingering on him while he's outside working, taking off his shirt and using it to wipe the sweat off his face and chest, muscles flexing as he does. And the way he's always complimenting you, not letting you do things for yourself, kissing the top of your hand, opening the doors for youand helping you out around the kitchen when you cook. Things your husband never does for you that you only wish that he would.

Then your husband has to go on a business trip, and you can see your stepson standing behind him with a small smile on his face as you panic a little bit, knowing something's going to happen.

A few hours after he left, you're back inside, washing the dishes when you feel hands grasp your waist and pull you against them.

You gasp, already knowing who it is. You're about to tell him to stop, that this isn't appropriate. Until he leans down and starts kissing your neck, making you drop the dish that you were holding onto as he sucks on a sensitive spot on your neck. It's like all self-control breaks. Besides, you think it'll happen just this one time, a dirty secret that you'll take to your grave.

And it's not like your husband is the most faithful man on those business trips of his, both of you know that. So you finally turn around and wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes you against the counter and captures your lips into a kiss.

Yandere stepson worships the ground that you walk on, showering you with love and affection and so much pleasure that you barely realize how long it's been since you've last seen his father. <3

[eldritch-spouse]

I want to know how many monsters spend their paychecks at Gallon's bar crying because they developed feelings for Santi 💀

" I just... He's so amazing man. I don't even know why I'm crying, I don't deserve him. "

The latest sad sap cries onto his precious counter. Gallon circumvents them to give Fasma a shot of plain whiskey.

" You really don't. " He mumbles.

" H- Huh? "

" Nothing. Say champ, why not have another night with the hunk if you like him so much? " The bartender tilts his head, trying to cheer up the loser, or get them off his metaphorical nuts.

The monster sniffles, looking into the distance, where none other than the incubus is seen on his knees, hands on his thighs and tongue out as he apparently waits for a woman to squirt in his mouth while her hammered friends cheer her on. Gallon follows their gaze. Yeah, seems like a standard night for the resident manwhore.

" Just look at him, so radiant, so perfect. I don't want sex, dude- I want to love him! "

Fasma grimaces, definitely not because of the alcohol. He's seen Santi effortlessly do some of the dirtiest shit he could ever imagine, the thought of kissing those lips could send the old geezer into an early grave.

Gallon continues to work. " Oh boy. " He hopes this one makes a scene. It's a bit fun when they break down and throw a tantrum because the incubus won't give them the light of day unless they're putting out.

The depressed sod sniffles. " Do you think I have a chance? I... I have his phone number. "

Everyone and their mother has Santi's phone number. Maybe their father too.

Gallon grins creepily wide. " Suuure buddy, give it an honest shot. The worst he can say is no, right? " Fasma wordlessly shakes his head in disapproval of the slime's cruelty.

His client starts clumsily tip-tapping at their phone, likely typing something extensive and heartfelt, and now Gallon has to admit he's invested. If only because he knows how it'll end, and he likes to see the light fade from a hopeless romantic's eyes.

A phone eventually pings on the opposite corner of the counter, Santi's. It prompts the incubus to come over, still sucking the cuntjuice out of his fingers, some coating his chin. He doesn't bother to look around as he unlocks his device and squints at the notification. Gallon, Fasma and the client are eerily silent while he opens the text.

The incubus reads about the first three lines, frowns, then looks up. " Gallon, are you busy? "

" Uhh... Not any more than usual, why? "

The phone is slid his way. " Write me a rejection message here, please. I don't want this one coming back. "

And just like that, he turns back around, likely to see if any of the other girls can play with him too.

Gallon has to contain a maddening bark of laughter that is slowly turning him orange. He didn't even recognize the mess of a monster looking so hopefully at him from just across the counter. Oh that has got to sting!

He absolutely loses his cool and has to muffle his cackling when the monster in question wails brokenly and buries their head in their arms, sobbing like a dejected baby.

Fasma pats their back twice. They need that whiskey more than him.