[grotesqely]

ུ𓉸ྀིྀིིིིིིིིིིིིྀིྀིི̟ spoiled deathbat missing from cemetery: ADMIR ⠀  last seen dead but lively ྐ❤︎ appears to be 23ys ago ‌ beware, she’s a consumer of flesh, blood n bones ⠀ 𝟅ᥱ wears black lace bows in her teal hair n on her bra ⠀ horror film stalker n perverted raspberry scented ᭄ི₍᭡ ⠀ 𓂃 when found please return to frank castle !

[yummbrainzz]

[grotesqely]

fuckin frank while he’s covered in blood ྐ❤︎  ིྀ ⠀ reader likes the thought that frank’s a big beefy ⠀ man who could hurt her but chooses not to . . ⠀ blood (none fresh), fully clothed penetration ⠀ panties to the side, unzip to access his dick, ⠀ one of his hands are broken, a lil degradation

his clothes were absolutely filthy compared to your bedsheets he was laying on. dried blood and dirt soaking both his black jeans and shirt, now dirtying your cute panties as you rock your pussy against his bulge. frank hadn’t given either of you any time to get much of anything off—besides his shoes and coat—before his blood stained mouth was on yours. his wounds seemed to concern him about as much as his torn clothes did—not at all. he claimed they’d been worse before, and judging by the hungry look he gave you, he wasn’t interested in hearing otherwise.

in the end, you gave in, but only after making him agree to one thing: you were patching him up afterward. naturally, frank scoffed, squeezing your side with his unbroken hand. “don’t need it,” he groaned, slipping his tongue farther in your mouth in attempt to make you forget it. but after a tight grind of your hips into his growing bulge, he groaned out a, “yeah, alright.” so with a satisfied smile, you unbuttoned his pants, pulled his dick out through the slit of his boxers and slide your panties to the side to slide onto him.

as your pussy adjusted to the stretch, he watched quietly, more attentive than he’d ever admit. his hand rested against your side, his soft touch completely contrasted the harsh stretch you had to endure to take him. he didn’t look away until the tightness in your expression eased and you’re hips begin to rock. you rested your hands on his chest for balance, with light pressure to ensure his ribs don’t collapse as his hand wonders up your shirt. “you’re so stubborn,” you whined, throwing your head back at his grimy hand roughly massaging your tits. the force from his fingers making your hips fasten and your nipples harden. “yeah,” his voice just as rough as his calloused fingers that dirty and softly squeezed your harden nipples.

you lower your head, ready to meet his gaze with a playful look but the moment your eyes locked with his, the words died in your throat. suddenly, you became acutely aware of the man laid out before you. his eyes dark, muscles tight under his shirt, big arms covered in fresh bruises, lips all wet and split in different places. so big, but so soft. even though he’s extreme capable of hurting you, he’s making sure not to squeeze your nipples too hard or squeeze your hips enough to leave bruises. the thought makes your head swim, breath shorten and pussy absolutely leak.

he takes notices fast but feels it before he sees it. the fabric of his boxers clinging to his pelvic from a wet spot right below you and the slick coating the zipper of his pants. “god damn,” he whispers, instantly looking back up at you for why you’re so wet all of a sudden. then he notices you’re strong stare at his arms and he knows that half lidded look you’re giving them very well. “you like this?” you don’t deny it or even look away, just giving him a pathetic whine with a nod. “there’s somethin’ wrong with you.” it might sound like disapproval but his remark slowed neither of you down— the complete opposite actually.

his eagerness only grew seeing you with all his grime smudged all over your hips and tits. his broken hand moved instinctively to your hips, only for a sharp bolt of pain to shoot through it. frank ignored it, clinched his jaw and pulled your hips into him harder. his attention was fixed entirely on you. there was something reckless in his gaze, something raw. like he might want to die right here, right now as long as he dies with your pretty face all twisted for him.

[ickology]

𓏵 ┊ younger girlfriend squirting with jack abbot . 18+

you tell jack who’s been knuckles deep inside your pussy for the past hour that something feels weirder than usual, as you’re sitting in between his legs — your back pressed against his chest with your thighs parted giving him the perfect amount of access needed to pleasure you.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he murmurs against your temple with a gentle kiss as his calloused digits are rhythmically plunging in and out of your hole. curling his fingers sweet into that spongey spot inside of you, it’s almost cruel the way he knows exactly how to make you lose it. “it feels weird.” you testify, eyes fixated on the recurring disappearance of your boyfriend’s fingers inside of you.

“yeah? tell me what feels weird, hm.” he hums, feeling you shift and squirm against him as he holds one of your legs open by the backside of your knee. and you can barely utter the words from your mouth, “your fingers keep pressing against my bladder, its making me feel like i have to go— go to the bathroom.” you bite down on your bottom lip.

every time jack’s fingers plunge back inside you, it feels as if you’re peeing yourself already. as if the motion of his fingers are forcing that specific release from you. “that so?” you feel his chest rumble against you as he lets out a gruff chuckle, “that’s good then. that’s the feeling you want when it starts feeling good, sweetheart.” he reassures, as your walls pulse around his fingers.

you whine, throwing you head back against his shoulder. each drag of his digits bringing you closer, and closer towards the edge as you let out soft moans.

jack let’s out an impressed whistle once he starts to feel your hips rock into hand. “fuck— it feels good.” you moan warm against the side of his neck, “so good i might actually pee.” which earns a low, amused groan from jack.

“mhmm, you gonna make a mess on my hand?” he lifts his thumb up, before pressing mean against your swollen clit making you jolt. “w—wait!” you stammer, throwing your hands towards jack’s forearm in attempt to halt his movements as he shakes his head in disapproval. “uh-uh, can’t have you telling me to stop now.” he rasps, pressing circles around your nub as it twitches under the pad of this thumb.

“c’mon and show me how messy you can get.” his breath fans warm against your cheek, before your body’s involuntarily letting loose. your body is shaking, and your walls are caving in around jack’s digits as you’re whimpering. “thaat’s it, baby— give it to me.” he groans, targeting that sweet spot inside of you, before you’re making a wet mess all over yourself.

“mmgh, jack— jack.” you’re whimpering as slight humiliation fills your chest, though the pleasure is far too euphoric as he coaxes every last drop out of you. “atta girl.” he nudges his mouth against the side of your head to whisper in your ear. “i love nasty girls.” he groans.

[bbuuunnyyy]

feeling so needy when jack is working his shift and you call him while playing with yourself so you can cum to his voice :((

18+ mdni cw: daddy kink

“baby? everything okay?” jack calls you back, unable to pick up on the first ring because of incoming trauma, but he always finds a second to step outside—away from the chaos—to call you back.

you’ve got your hand in your panties, rubbing your clit slowly, been edging yourself now for a while, needing to wait to cum by the sound of his voice. “yeah—“ you say breathlessly, “everything’s okay!”

he notices the hitch in your voice, can hear the way you’re moving around on the other line, and his body heats up, cock immediately stirring as he’s on his shift. “baby… what are you doing?”

you whimper, “i’m sorry—just had to wait to hear your voice, jackie. i know it’s bad, you’re at work…” he hums lowly, “you been waitin’ for me to answer so that you could cum, baby? that it?”

you sigh, “yes—please, jack. i need you.” he turns around, gripping himself through his pants a bit as he lets out a low, “fuck.” moving your fingers faster at the sound of his voice and breathing, you feel yourself getting closer. he knows you’re almost there by the sounds of your whining, he can almost see you—back arched, legs bent and open, eyes closed and mouth slight agape… fuck.

“go ahead, baby, come for daddy—come on. gotta go back to work.”

you cry out, strings of moans coming out of his phone as he smiles, “there you go, what a good girl. callin’ her daddy for permission to cum.” you come down from your high, giving him a shy, “thank you,” as he clicks his tongue, “i’ll be home to take care of you soon, doll.” <333

[bbuuunnyyy]

jack holding ur achy little cunt in his hand while you both sleep ?? so so cute :33 Occasionally groping you then shushing ur whines when he starts rubbing lazy circles on ur clit through those cotton panties he loves so much

18+ cw: daddy kink !!

oh my god he’s such a gross old man—hand never leaves your pants you just get used to it when you’re falling asleep. when he starts lazily rubbing your clit you squirm, moaning out to him, “mhmmm, jackie—“

he shushes you, “shhh, baby—let daddy feel you, yeahhh that’s it, go back to bed.” you arch your back, falling back onto the pillows you cuddle into him, spreading your legs a bit so he has better access, hand moving in your cute little cotton panties. <33 he can’t get enough of you, needs to feel how wet you are for him all the time. <333

[j4ckr4bbits]

popey love clit :( soft clit

18+ MDNI

popey love clit!!!!!!!! :( :( popey loves ur clit soo much...

it's his fav stim toy. he crawls down the bed and tugs softly at your panties until he can finally get his lips around it, and then he stays there for hours, just gently sucking and licking at it while his mind goes blank!! your fingers tangle into his dark curls, scratching softly at his scalp. sweet pope is in heaven

his hands grip your thighs, tugging them close around his head because he loves the pressure. it barely even registers as sexual for him because it just makes him feel safe and sleepy :( he loves the feeling of ur clit in his mouth, it's so soft and fun to flick with his tongue. it's just an added bonus that it makes you come

when the two of you are at home, he always has a hand down your panties so he can toy with your sweet little bud. he'll come up to you while you're doing the dishes and just silently shove his hand in ur pants, rubbing your clit while he nuzzles into your hair and nips at your earlobe 😵‍💫 and then when your back starts to arch against him and you get distracted, he murmurs "baby, gettin' soap everywhere..." but he's not really mad <3

sometimes when you're in public and he gets stressed u catch pope looking longingly at your pussy, his fingers twitching towards you before he gives a heavy sigh and pulls them back, turning away from you to avoid the temptation :( pls give him a kiss and promise him he can have clit time when you get back home!!!

[grotesqely]

ུ𓉸ྀིྀིིིིིིིིིིིིྀིྀིི̟ spoiled deathbat missing from cemetery: ADMIR ⠀  last seen dead but lively ྐ❤︎ appears to be 23ys ago ‌ beware, she’s a consumer of flesh, blood n bones ⠀ 𝟅ᥱ wears black lace bows in her teal hair n on her bra ⠀ horror film stalker n perverted raspberry scented ᭄ི₍᭡ ⠀ 𓂃 when found please return to frank castle !

[ichigf]

୨୧﹕fem!reader, you hate his mask

the mask hit your nerves before his cock even did. that heart-shaped thing, cracked and splattered, staring blankly at you while his weight pressed you down. you whined, tugging at his shirt, voice small and pleading.

“shin, please—take it off. just for me.”

his hand gripped your chin tight, tilting your face up until your reflection stared back at you in that warped grin of his mask. his voice came muffled and deep. “no time, doll. i’m heading out soon. you’ll take me like this.”

something about not seeing his mouth, not watching the smirk you knew was curling beneath, made your pulse pound harder. you clutched at his tie, your thighs trembling as he shoved them apart.

your panties tore in his fist—ripped like tissue, tossed aside. the head of his cock pushed against you, hot, blunt, insistent. you begged again, whispery, desperate: “please—i hate the mask—i want you—”

he drove into you before you could finish, one brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs. the bedframe squealed, your body jolted, and you cried out loud enough to echo off the walls. he stayed deep, buried to the hilt, his masked face hovering over yours, expression unreadable.

“shh,” he murmured through the ceramic, grinding into you so your pussy stretched around him, obscene and aching. “you’ll take me like this. you’ll remember me like this while i’m gone.”

your hands flew to the mask, desperate to peel it off, but he caught your wrists easily, pinning them above your head with one hand. his hips began to slam forward, merciless, cock splitting you open again and again until slick squelches filled the room.

the mask stared. blank, smiling, uncaring.

it terrified you, not seeing the man, just that grotesque heart looming while your body bounced beneath him. your nipples dragged against his shirt with every thrust, and your breath came out broken, whimpering, crying his name like prayer.

“too much—shin, please—i can’t—”

“you can,” he growled, hips snapping harder, balls smacking against your ass. “you will. my doll can take it.”

your pussy clamped down, wet heat clenching him as you came hard, tears streaking down your face. he never slowed, the mask inches from your nose, forcing you to watch that painted smile instead of his real one. it felt almost wrong, like a stranger owning you, but his voice—his voice anchored you.

“look at me,” he ordered, pulling out halfway then slamming back in so deep your back arched. “even if it scares you. even if you hate it. you’ll look at me while i wreck you.”

you sobbed, obeying, eyes locked on the mask even as your cunt gushed around him, slick dripping down your thighs. he grunted, movements growing frantic, and you knew he was close.

“where do you want it, doll?” the muffled voice asked, merciless thrusts rattling the bed.

“inside—” you gasped, barely able to breathe. “please—inside me—”

he slammed in deep one last time, holding you pinned beneath his weight, mask pressed to your cheek while his cock pulsed and spilled hot, thick cum into you. his groan echoed strangely behind the mask, guttural, primal.

he stayed there, buried and twitching, until his gloved fingers stroked your hair, deceptively tender. “good girl. my doll looks so perfect under me, even when she’s scared.”

the mask tilted, pressing a hard kiss where his lips should have been. you whimpered, wishing for his real mouth, but all you had was that cold porcelain grin and his seed dripping out of you while he fixed his tie, already preparing to leave.

[dilfgifs]

CHARLIE HUNNAM ✧ JAX TELLER SONS OF ANARCHY Season 7, Episode 9 — “John”

[lvmimis]

anyway i want the whole bed to shake with every thrust and i want him to sound more helpless than i do

[strangelure]

by the way, immigrants deserve to live safely and not be separated from their families. free palestine. viva latin america. trans rights are human rights. black lives matter. 🧊 OUT.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Submissive, but in the way a guard dog is submissive. If you could sum up your relationship with Dex, that might as well be it.

It's not that he means to come off like a muzzled pitbull while the two of you shop together. Or that he means to scare the poor teenage cashier when he miscounts some of your change.

When you ask him about the terrified cashier, he feigns ignorance, "Sometimes people just get scared...Look at the city we live in." He doesn't verbalize the last part, but it's clear. And if anyone did anything to scare you, he'd put a bullet through the middle of their skull. Even if it was him. Especially if it was him.

All it takes is a naive grin from you to reel him back in. As soon as you're back home, and there's no dishes in the sink, and no mess to clean up. He's only settled when a controlled environment is established, with you at its center.

He'll tentatively relax in your arms with a hesitant raise of his hands to cradle you back. Breathe you in. He always closes his eyes when he has you like this. All to himself. Where no one can hurt either of you. The way it should be. You quiet the noise until all he can hear is the soft sound of your heartbeat.

But the noise you quiet in his mind is never fully silenced. Not when he knows someone out there could take you from him. Not when there's someone out there that could hurt you. Scare you. Even just...annoy you. Strip his peace away with you.

He fantasizes about what he would do to that poor, excuse of a person. How he could take that annoying cashier that inconvenienced you out back and watch his blood paint the brick wall.

He finally reopens his eyes with a small, twitchy smile on his lips. He might as well keep watch. You can rest, he's got this. It's his job.

You'll start to realize...lately, every time you sit down with Dex at a diner, mindlessly reciting menu options, he's staring at the waiter just a little too hard. And counting the number of knives on the table. Just incase.

[district4widow]

left behind, still yours

summary : dex can’t let you go after you broke up with him. spiraling into obsessive stalking, one night he breaks into your apartment while still you’re asleep.

cw : [reader is hinted as black] (mention of brown nipples / POC friendly) somnophilia/ dubcon / stalking / mild-choking / masked sex / fully clothed penetration / emotional vulnerability / self-worth issues / possessive dirty talk / creampie / messy feelings (typical delulu dex) not proofread mb yall

he can’t stop replaying your last words, your coldness cutting deeper than any punch. the way you said you needed space, freedom from him. freedom from the chaos he carries like a second skin. but the truth is, he’s not ready to let go. not yet.

tonight, something inside him snaps. a decision he knows is reckless, dangerous, but inevitable. he can’t stand another night without touching you, without reminding you, and himself, that you’re still his.

he’s dressed for the night like a shadow of himself. black tactical pants, worn but functional. a fitted black hoodie with the hood pulled low, the fabric soft but concealing. on his feet, silent black military boots that grip the metal of the fire escape like a second skin. his mask the old black one with the angular lines covers his face, hiding the desperation in his eyes but not the raw need twisting in his gut.

he moves with practiced precision, scaling the fire escape like a ghost, every metal step cold beneath his fingertips. the city hums quietly around him, the distant sirens and buzz of late night cars fading behind the wall of silence he wraps himself in.

the window to your apartment looms ahead, half open, just like you always left it when you went to sleep. he slides the glass up with barely a sound, muscles coiled and tense as he slips inside.

dex stands just inside your apartment, the faint glow of the city bleeding through the cracked window you left open, a tiny flicker of hope that maybe this is some sign. that you’re still waiting for him in your own way, even if the silence says otherwise.

his heart pounds, heavy and erratic, like it’s fighting against the weight of what he’s about to do. every instinct screams at him to stop, to turn back and respect the space you’re trying to carve out for yourself without him, but some desperate part of him clings to the fact that the window was open, maybe you wanted him here. maybe.

inside, the air smells like you, your shampoo mixing with the faint hint of the lotion you always keep on your nightstand. his pulse pounds as he takes in the quiet sanctity of your bedroom, the soft rise and fall of your sleeping form beneath the blankets.

this is his moment. the place he’s been craving, stalking, aching for. and now, finally, he’s here.

you’re lying in your bed, skin warm beneath the thin cotton sheets, the soft curve of your tummy just visible, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with your breath. your brown nipples, dark against the smoothness of your skin, catch the faint moonlight slipping through the blinds. your thighs spread lightly beneath the covers, familiar and soft, everything dex always loved.

you don’t hear the door open, don’t feel the weight cross your threshold — but dex is here. masked and fully clothed, the smell of his cologne and sweat lingering around him, he moves carefully, reverent almost, like you’re some fragile treasure he’s terrified to break.

he kneels beside the bed, watching you sleep, voice low, a rasping whisper. “you’re so fucking beautiful.”

he then climbs on the bed, over you. his hands twitch, uncertain, hovering just inches from your skin before he finally lets his fingertips ghost over your bare shoulder, trembling like a prayer. he’s terrified that the smallest wrong move will shatter this fragile moment, your breath, your sleep, the thread of trust left between you. the warmth of your skin under his touch pulls him in, raw and tender and achingly familiar, and he leans closer, letting his face bury in the crook of your neck, drinking you in. your scent is everything he’s missed. honeyed, soft, the way it clings to the curve of your collarbone and wraps around him like a lifeline.

his hands move up, trembling but reverent, to cup your full breasts, his thumbs brushing over your clothed nipples, aching under his touch. he wants to worship you like a temple, slow and soft and careful, but the hunger beneath that tenderness claws at him, pulling him deeper into desperation. his lips find the skin below your ear, sucking lightly, murmuring your name like a prayer, a plea.

his hands reach out first, trembling as they brush your thick thighs, tracing the soft curve of your tummy, the part he always loved. his fingers curl around your waist, pulling you closer to him in the dark.

he pulls back, sliding his hands beneath your shirt.

then his lips find your chest, full tits rising and falling with your steady breath, brown nipples hardening beneath his mouth. he sucks one gently, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, reverent and needy.

his voice cracks when he whispers, “i missed you,” barely loud enough for you to hear, but it’s everything he feels, an ache that’s been gnawing at his ribs for too long. he’s torn between worship and want, between fear of breaking you and the primal need to claim you again. he hesitates, his hands trembling on your skin, caught in the storm of his own conflicted desire, draw a quiet moan even from your sleep.

they wander, worshiping your curves, the way your body fits like a goddamn prayer beneath his fingertips. his voice starts to ramble, desperate and tender, a broken confession whispered against your skin.

“you were waiting for me,” he murmurs, lips barely grazing your skin. “i know you were waiting, baby. i’m here now.”

he knows this isn’t like before. you’re not waiting, not really, not now. but he’s desperate to believe that maybe this touch, this breath, this moment is still yours. and slowly, trembling, he moves lower, trailing kisses and soft sucks along your neck, your collarbone, until he’s pressing his forehead against your skin, silent except for the frantic beating of his own heart.

you shift slightly but don’t wake, his worship continued — his mouth finding your other nipple, sucking harder, rougher now, his desperation bleeding through every touch.

his cock presses hard against your thigh, strained in his belt.

dex’s hands slide lower, over your belly, soft, just a little round where he always loved to rest his palm, before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers tracing the slick heat between your thighs.

he pushes your shorts down slowly, loving the way your skin reacts even without waking. thick thighs spread, exposed and soft, waiting. breathing shallow, fingers trembling where they ghost the curve of your hip beneath the blanket.

slowly, reverently, dex slips his fingers beneath the edge of your panties and shifts them aside, his breath catching when he sees the warmth glistening between your dusky thighs.

he slides a hand beneath your body, lifting your hips gently and after unbuckling his pants, he presses the tip of his cock through your slick folds. you’re still asleep, he lines himself up, hand stroking gently down your thigh, grounding himself. and then, with a low, shaky sound, he pushes in, slow and deep, his whole body trembling as your warmth welcomes him like home.

his voice breaks in a low, trembling whisper. “i love you. please ever don’t leave me again.”

he fucks you slow at first, savoring the feel of you so warm and tight, the way your body yields beneath his. then faster, desperate, nearly choking on his own need.

his hands cup your cheeks, thumb stroking tenderly as he buries himself deeper, moaning your name like a prayer.

you stir, eyes fluttering open.

“dex? what the… what are you doing?” you ask, voice raw, half-dreaming.

dex’s mask hides his face, but his voice is soft, trembling, pleading. “you were waiting for me… you always used to. you said i could always find you in your sleep. remember?”

he rocks into you again, deeper, harder this time, like the rhythm itself is an anchor.

“i know you still wanted me. i know you were waiting.” his voice is rough, torn at the edges. “i watched you fall asleep. no one else is here. it’s still me. it’s always me.”

his hand moves up to your throat, not squeezing, not yet, just holding, thumb stroking along your jaw like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

you’re wet, so fucking wet for him, even half-asleep, and he takes it like proof. like permission. like you were aching for this too.

his hips grind in deeper, a soft whimper catching in his throat when he feels your walls tighten.

“god, i missed this pussy,” he groans. “so fucking soft, always take me like you were made for it.”

your breath catches again, half from his words, half from the way his cock keeps hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. he’s still fully clothed, the texture of his hoodie rubbing against your exposed stomach, the weight of him holding you down in the way you used to love.

“why did you leave me?” his voice cracks as he thrusts into you, slow and deep, his mask damp against your skin. “why the fuck did you walk away?”

you blink up at him, breath hitching, the stretch of him inside you grounding and unbearable all at once. you don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know but because saying it out loud might shatter something permanent.

“don’t… don’t do that.” you plead.

“don’t shut me out. you said i could come to you. you said i could have you like this.” he begs, almost choking on it.

your hands come up, fingers brushing his jaw beneath the mask, the heat of his skin trembling under your touch. “i didn’t leave because i stopped loving you,” you whisper. “i left because you looked at me like i was… pure. like i was something holy…i couldn’t take it anymore.”

his rhythm falters.

“and i’m not, dex,” you breathe, lips parting around the truth. “i’m not that. i’m fucked up. selfish. angry. i’ve done things, thought things i didn’t want you to see.”

he lets out a ragged sound, like a sob and a moan tangled together. “don’t say that. you’re mine. you’re everything.”

you shake your head against the pillow, tears catching in your lashes. “i couldn’t keep letting you love me like i was some perfect thing. it felt like lying.”

he thrusts deeper, desperate, his gloved hand coming up to wrap around your throat with a gentleness that shouldn’t make sense. “then don’t be perfect,” he growls, forehead pressing to yours. “be broken. be angry. be fucking cruel. just don’t leave me again.”

your eyes lock and there’s nothing left to hide.

you reach up without thinking, fingers brushing the side of his mask. “take it off…”

he stills, just for a second. then he presses deeper, choking on a breath. “you sure?”

you nod, eyes meeting the black fabric. “i want to see you. all of you.”

his hand lets go of your throat just long enough to pull the mask up and off. his face is flushed, eyes glassy with emotion, jaw clenched like he’s holding back something dangerous.

you cup his cheek, and he leans into it like a starving man.

“you came back,” you whisper, and there’s no anger in your voice. just heat. just heartbreak and admiration.

“i never left,” he says, voice shaking. “you tried to lock me out, but you’re still mine. i know you are.”

his hand returns to your throat, squeezing just enough now to make your breath hitch, his other palm sliding down to your stomach, pressing gently where he’s filling you so deep.

you whimper, thighs tensing as he starts fucking you harder now, no less loving, just desperate, rougher, his control slipping.

“say it,” he pants. “tell me you’re still mine.”

you can barely breathe, barely think with how full you are, how he’s choking you and touching you and claiming you like you’re his goddamn oxygen.

“baby,” you whimper, softly, like it’s sacred. “i’m yours. i’m so fucking yours.”

“i’m not going anywhere ben…not now. not ever again.” you promise, body clenching around him.

a strangled moan tears from his throat.

and you don’t say anything, not with words. just a gasp, a moan, the way your legs wrap tighter around him. the way your body arches into his like your skin still knows the shape of him even after all that distance.

you squeeze around him again, and that’s all it takes for him to break.

his body convulses as he spills into you, hard, messy, overwhelmed. his head drops to your shoulder, mouth open against your skin, clinging to you, his breath hitching like he can’t get enough air.

and even after, he doesn’t pull away. just breathes you in, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other around your waist like he’s never letting go again.

a few moments pass. after catching his breath, he tears away from the crook of your neck, for a moment, he just stares—like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face, to convince himself this is real.

you smile — tired, aching, you still look at him like he hung the stars. your palm presses to his cheek.

“hi,” you whisper, like it’s the first time. like you’re seeing him all over again.

he pulls back just enough to catch your gaze, a slow, shaky smile curling at the edge of his lips. “hi.”

you lean up, kissing him so slow and sweet it makes his chest cave. no lust. no desperation. just the kind of softness that says stay. he kisses you again, slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world now. and when he finally pulls back, you whisper against his mouth :

“i missed you.”

[81gb]

wilson bethel as benjamin ' dex ' poindexter / bullseye , daredevil : born again . s2 : e5 the grand design .

[angelicdewdrop]

[angelicdewdrop]

source 🌷(ㅅ´ ˘ `)ꕤ*.ﾟ