— 🏒

󠀠 Keep calling me like that and I *will be begging you to fuck and beat me up infront of everyone . 󠀠󠀠󠀠

󠀠 Better start doing it , my ribs won't break with just words . 🤍* 󠀠

󠀠 Would like to recreate it .ᐣ 󠀠󠀠

󠀠 Impact play so hard it *will break a rib . . . *💭 󠀠󠀠

ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ He should be if he knows who ᅠ ᅠ he's messing with. ᅠ ᅠ

ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ Slowly glaring back, shooting ᅠ ᅠ him a single glare. ᅠ ᅠ

ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠ You can look but no touching. ᅠ ᅠ

ㅤ About damn time - he NEEDS his daily breeding from his, loving husband, badly. Don’t worry - he’s already lying on his bed, on top of the bed, with his legs spread far apart from each other, giving the killer a clear, advantage point of his hole. He’s the best “final-girl.”

ㅤ … Killed or Bred ? … Why the hell did he sign up for this job again? Fuck - okay, he’s leaving. ㅤ

Absolutely he can .

ㅤ Uh - running — ? And if he doesn’t … ? ㅤ

heard someone was in need of something ?

ㅤ Uh - the mask, the entire outfit? … Is this like - a prank or something?

ahem .

Hm! That's definitely something. He gets on his tiptoes to reach fully, a hum as he presses their lips together.

... ... Huff. Fine, down he goes. Just glancing up at him blankly. "Riiiiiight... forgot you ain't really a talker. Bored? Hungry? Wanna make out? Fuck?"

"Heh...! You're a— a good workout, pal! I don't hafta shift to pick ya up and everythin'...! So. Whatcha thinkin'?" He feels pretty good, that smirk on his face only growing wider as he keeps him hoisted up.

Picking up the reader with ease, followed by a sloppy kiss. Cocky smirk on his face when he pulls back. "Who's my good boy, eh?"