#thank you for prompting me!

[jaggededges123]

for the kiss prompt: 24. kiss to distract!

24. kiss to distract!

It was morning, and Colum Asht really didn’t want to be awake. His body ached as though he’d been crushed by a compactor, but really it was that his soul had been conspicuously absent for too long the day before. He always felt… addled, and weary, and a hundred other nasty things when Silas used him so thoroughly as he had the day before, like each of his component parts had been separated, put into a box, shaken vigorously, and then put together again by a blindfolded toddler.

But just because Colum felt like shit, that didn’t mean that Silas did.

And Silas Octakiseron was, annoyingly, a morning person. Early morning prayers were his favorite time of day—peaceful and meditative, unless of course you felt like a jigsaw with a dozen missing pieces.

“Brother Asht,” Silas’s voice intoned from somewhere very close to Colum’s cot, probably kneeling beside it, “it is time for morning prayer.”

Colum sighed, disgruntled, and rolled away, toward the foot of Silas’s bed. It made about half a dozen joints creak. “A cavalier is meant to care for her body first, to fulfill her primary purpose to her necromancer,” he quoted scripture from the deepest parts of his mind, the part that didn’t get all mixed up no matter how many times Silas sucked his soul out.

“That doesn’t mean you can neglect your soul,” Silas shot back. A small, smooth hand pressed against the bare skin of Colum’s shoulder, soft but relentless. “Rise, Brother Asht.”

Colum didn’t know what wires had gotten crossed the day before, but there was a terrible idea that sparked in him, and the rest of him was so discombobulated that he couldn’t stop himself in time from acting upon it. He sat halfway up in his cot, his blanket falling to his waist, and he pressed his face forward until his chapped, dry lips met Silas’s.

They were perfect, excessively so, as Colum’s uncle was designed to be in all things.

It really was just a peck, to distract Silas from his line of thought and hopefully to gain Colum a little extra much-needed rest so that he would feel more like a person when he woke up again later. He hardly felt it, though he did feel Silas’s full-bodied gasp.

“There—your holiness rubbed off on me. My soul will be fine. Now, let me sleep,” Colum huffed before dropping back to the bed like a sack of a hundred potatoes.

He didn’t hear Silas’s response, whatever it was. He was already sucked deep into the sweet relief of the abyss, that gentle cradle of nothingness.

[lotus-pear]

horrendously late entry for @luneariann’s dtiys!! congrats on one million ely i’m so proud of you <3

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Vibes based grading system.

(for @epistemologys, who wanted some post-canon, teacher WWX)

[aterfish]

Good thing it was a short spin

[anbaisai]

"Prefect, what did you... just..."

Based on this ask from my friend Sheep! A true love's kiss to free him from plushie-ness indeed...

[disgracefulthings]

Modern Day Platonic Cumplane AU where Shen Yuan meets struggling author, Shang Qinghua. He realizes that Shang Qinghua is the author of his most hated story, and rips into him. After he is done, Shang Qinghua explains how he currently can't afford to write a good story, and Shen Yuan, a rich kid who has done nothing with his life at this point, decides to help fund his story in exchange for being his editor, and Shang Qinghua agrees

After seeing the state of Shang Qinghua's apartment and all of his possessions, Shen Yuan decides 'hell naw', and has Shang Qinghua move in with him (he had an extra room) and replaces all his stuff. They end up becoming close friends, and Shen Yuan learns that being an editor is fulfilling for him

While those two get along, their friends think something else is happening. They believe that Shen Yuan has become a Sugar Daddy, and Shang Qinghua is his Sugar Baby, and they are NOT happy about that

It does not help when they go to Shen Yuan and tell him that Shang Qinghua wants his money, Shen Yuan replies 'I know, that was part of our arrangement'

Hearts are broken and many people want to break them up for their own selfish reasons (whether because they want to be with Shen Yuan or Shang Qinghua, or in Shen Jiu's case, doesn't want his baby brother to date a freeloader)

Meanwhile Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan are oblivious and are having the time of their lives working on their masterpiece

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they licensed his ass

my finished piece of the FWMS (official name definitely 100%) thing we started a few days ago! I had fun I hope folks had and/or continue to have fun with the sketch as well.

[bukashki]

Is it true I'm an eagle? Is it true I can spread my wings?

Flying high, high, I'm a bird in the sky I'm an eagle that rides on the breeze High, high, what a feeling to fly Over mountains and forests and seas, And to go anywhere that I please

ABBA - Eagle (flashing video)

close-up:

they have their weapons ready but i think they're actually just going to kiss next second. sigh

[adozentothedawn]

"abandoned in the wilderness and out of action for centuries" off the Elytis prompt list?

prompts here

Abandoned in the wilderness and out of action for centuries

It remembers when It first became what It is now, though it doesn't quite remember what It was before. That is alright. Whatever It was, It knows It still is. Back then there was always buzzing around, little fragments skidding from one place to another, busy busy busy. It is never busy. Even then, when It became new again, it was old and slow. The buzzing amused It as It felt itself grow and take shape. Now the world feels empty, the buzzing quiet and muted. Not vanished entirely, there is still some flitting, some wiggling, some gnawing, but much less then there was before. Where Its senses were full of movement and presence before, there is now only slow flow, the kind the buzzing whirring humming drowned out before. It is quiet. Calm. That feels familiar, from Before It supposes. Familiar, yes, but pleasent. But that is alright. It will wait, It will endure the silence of where the buzzing left It. It knows the buzzing will return. It knows that the special Thrum will return. It doesn't remember the special Thrum like it remembers becoming new, but it knows regardless, the special Thrum always returns. It leaves and returns and leaves and returns, for as long as back It cannot remember. The special Thrum will return, and with it the buzzing It will not be empty anymore, with only the gnawing and flow to keep It company.

And so Caed Nua stands next to the river caressing Its foundation and waits.

[magicpiano]

Bruce Wayne had a child that was somehow kidnapped right out of the hospital just hours after being born. He of them ever stopped looking despite how cold the trail had grown.

Years later there is some rouge attack and a civilian child was injured and taken to the hospital. Bruce does a DNA test on the blood found at the scene and concludes that the child is actually his long lost kid.

Dani was planning to sneak out of the hospital the moment the doctors stopped looking at her. Then Bruce Wayne of all people comes in and claims that she is his long lost child. She knows that this is very impossible because she is a clone, but Bruce won't listen to her and she really doesn't want to explain the clone thing to a "normal" stranger.

This does brings up a lot of questions about how Danny ended up living with the Fentons though.

[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[artgroves]

Bucky Barnes for @cuidadolasllamas

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A whole new meaning to Gay Chicken.

(For: Anonymous raffle winner!)

[ghoulishhx]

ohhh number 4 from the prompt list you reblogged screams frank castle!! I would love it if you could write it, please!

4.) slow sex while one or both are injured (bonus points if it’s after a battle or after they’ve patched up each other’s wounds)

arghh this is so cute, i can imagine it so vividly with him. he's perfect for this prompt, thank you for suggesting it !!

18+ MDNI !!

My Masterlist!

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: MDNI, SMUTT, thigh riding, oral (m recieving), unprotected p in v sex (dont do this irl please and thanks), cockwarming, VERY fluffy, mutual pining, praise (phrases such as good girl and whatnot), choking, injured frankie

TW: discussions of cuts and stitches

Wordcount: 2.2k

──── ୨୧ ────

✦ seven stitches

“Hold still baby, I’m almost done with this stitch.”

You’re standing hovering over your boyfriend’s left thigh, giving you a better angle of the deep gash on his shoulder. You’re used to this routine with him, he comes over almost every night injured and bruised, you tend to his cuts and grazes, he stays for dinner and for dessert he has you coming undone on his cock, wakes up in the morning and rinse and repeat. You love your routine, he’s started keeping his weekends open from ‘work’ to spend more time with you.

Tonight is different however, he’s more hurt than usual. He struggled walking through your door, you had to wrap his arm around your neck to lug him into your small apartment, dragging him to the bathroom to tend to a whopping seven injuries, a new record, as opposed to the regular three or four.

All are littered across his toned chest and large arms, leaving you with a gorgeous view of Frank man spreading on a chair in your bathroom wearing nothing but his jeans. The sight causes a hitch in your breath, a wetness instantly blooming in your sleep shorts. 

“Ah shit.. Doll ya almost done?” he winces in pain as you push the needle and thread through his skin for almost the final time, his hands flying to your hips holding you firm in place, feeling your heat on his thigh causes his cock to twitch. 

“Almost Frankie, you’re being so brave for me.” you coo, taking a moment to turn your head and lean down to give him a quick peck on his cheek, giving him a perfect view of the valley between your chest. He can’t help the way his eyes instantly lock onto your breasts, the way your chest goes up and down with each breath, the feeling of your pebbled nipple on his arm. It’s almost comical how hard he is just from this passing moment, he blames the adrenaline from the events of the day before coming home to you.

“My eyes are up here, Frankie.” you giggle as you stand up straight again, getting back to work. Blush creeps up his neck as you resume your position. You look down meeting his eyes, giving him a little wink and smirk. If he wasn’t unbearably erect before, he is now. Shifting his position again, he bumps his thigh between yours, meeting your clothed core, the sensation sending a jolt up your spine and you have to bite your lip from whining out. You’re just as desperate as he is. Noticing his affect, he offers you the same wink and smirk as you did seconds before. You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you go as red as a tomato, as you go back to work.

After a few minutes, you finish putting him back together, covering all the stitches in gauze, kissing all seven after they are firmly protected. 

“All better now baby, don’t go moving around too much for a few days, ‘kay? You need anything, you ask me, got it?” you state, still in the same position, looking down at him.

“Yes ma’am.” He says, grabbing your hips and pushing you down onto his thigh, straddling it. You cannot control the whine you feel at the sudden movement, the friction of his tensed thighs rutting against your dripping centre so perfectly. “I do need somethin’, now that I think about it.” His jaw ticks as his eyes stare deep into you, you know this look.

“Shit Frankie, I don’t wanna hurt you anymore than you already are.. Fuck.” Mid sentence he starts maneuvering your hips to rub against his jeans, a wet patch on the dark denim already made apparent.

“Shh darlin’, I can handle it.. We’ll just go slow okay? Need you sweetheart, need you so bad.” he glances down at the stain and smirks “Looks like ya need it just as bad huh doll?” his lips attack your neck, as you start grinding down with him as he helps, guiding you.

You throw your head back as you let the pleasure take over, reaching up to the straps of your cami top, pushing them down your shoulder as you let your tits bounce out, nipples hardening even more than they already were as the cool air of the bathroom hits them. He takes one of his hands from your hip and greets your left breast, kneading the flesh and twisting your nipple between his fingers. You wrap your arms around his neck, being careful as to not disturb any of your handiwork. You run your hands through his hair, pulling him into you to steady yourself. The rough texture is causing delicious friction where you need it most, reaching down to pull your shorts aside so you can feel him even more, he leans down to take your right breast into his mouth all while guiding your hips with his right hand, his left kneading into your ass.

After a few minutes of fucking yourself on his thigh, his hands moving all over you slowly as to not disturb the stitches, you feel yourself getting close.

“That’s it doll, you look so pretty makin’ yerself feel good on my thigh, cum for me angel let me have it. Let it allll out.”

You listen obediently, feeling your clit throb deliciously, whining his name and a string of curses under your breath as you ruin his denims.

“That’s a good girl, atta-fucking-girl baby, shit I needa feel that sweet pussy on my cock now ok?”

“A-are you sure you’re up for it baby? I don’t wanna hurt you..” Interrupting you, he pulls your face down to his into a bruising kiss.

“Never been more sure of anythin’ in my life doll, I don’ care if I lost both of my fucking legs there’s nothin’ I’d rather do than be inside ya.”

You lift yourself off of his leg, embarrassed by the wet patch, his reaction opposite as he whistles at the mark, roughly palming himself through the material.

You take his hand in yours as you guide him off the chair, he stumbles a little, muttering to himself an abundance of curse words, as you help him into your bedroom. He sits on the edge of your bed as you kneel down to help take his confines off, unbuckling his belt for him as he places both of his hands on your cheek, kissing your forehead. You reach down and take your small tank and pull it over your head and slip your shorts down your body and toss them to the other side of the room.

After wrestling with the fabric, you slip the denim down his legs, and then his boxers, leaving you with his thick, throbbing member only mere inches from your face. You’re both naked now as the days you were born. You get comfy on your knees and take it in your hand, he can't help throwing his head back, knowing what's coming.

You place your thick lips around the head of his cock, licking up his pre-cum. You begin bobbing your head, humming at the heaviness of his member in your mouth. His arms move to put his hands in your hair.

“Shit baby just like that, you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

Lifting your head up and down in a slow, passionate way, you swirl your tongue around his sex, enjoying the symphony of groans coming from his mouth. He helps with the pace, maneuvering your head softly on his cock. You continue for a few minutes as he taps your chin to get your attention.

“C’mere doll, need you now.”

He lies back on the bed slowly, on his side where the fewest of the injuries sat. You join him, carefully situating yourself in front of him, placing your back to his chest. Apprehensive of your position, you look to his face to try and sense if you’re causing him any discomfort. You look into his eyes and you see nothing but lust and adoration. You know he’s feeling fine.

He reaches down to his throbbing cock, taking the base of it and pushing the tip through your slick folds, collecting juices as lubrication. You whine as he passes your clit, kissing and sucking in the crook of your neck. He pushes down to meet your entrance.

“Tight squeeze now baby shh.. You can take it.”

Pushing inside of you agonisingly slow, your hand reaches behind your head to his, pushing your fingers through his short hair, pulling him into you, deeply exhaling as you feel the full eight inches inside of you, the head kissing your cervix.

Frank fucks you slowly, knowing his body couldn’t handle anymore than this. The long, deep and passionate thrusts have you moaning his name as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. The pleasure for him is elevated by his pain in his injuries, oddly enough, but he always knew he had a masochistic side to him. 

Sex with him like this you’ve always held close to your heart, the passion as he pours his love into with each individual thrust, time stands still and there is nothing in the world but you and him, making love in such an intimate way.

His free hand is situated on your waist and the other is under the crook of your neck, on your breast. He moves the hand from your waist to your throat, gently squeezing and your eyes roll to the back of your head. His teeth and lips delicately grazing the back of your neck, his breaths erupting goosebumps on your skin while his cock fills you to the brim with every push of it. It’s not long before you’re coming undone with him inside of you as deep as he is, pushing your spongy spot so sensationally. 

“That’s it baby, you feel so fucking good stuffed with my cock like this. I love ya honey, lemme feel you gush around me.”

His words push you over the edge into a shaking orgasm, trying your best to stifle your movements to not hurt him. The quickness of your orgasm approaching is ironic considering the slow pace of which you’re being fucked. He continues this way, fucking you so tenderly, pulling himself almost fully and then pushing himself back into you fully, feeling your dripping cream on his balls. 

You both stay like this for a while, slowly fucking for, what feels like, a few hours, losing count of the amount of orgasms you have both shared. He would finish, draining his cock with an abundance of cum each time, cockwarm inside of you for a few minutes until he’s rock hard again ready for the next round. Boty of you are so addicted to the feeling, the sensation of being as close as humanly possible that it's almost impossible to stop. Neither of you realise how much time has passed or how long you’ve been here like this, until you see the sun rising past your curtains. The sight paints the room with beautiful shades of oranges and reds, illuminating your bodies in such tantalising ways.

You giggle to yourself at the realisation of how long you two were going for, and you look back at him and he’s smiling too. That perfect, cocky smile. It had felt like 2 hours tops you were there, interlocked, but time always flies when you’re with him (as corny as it sounds). He places little kisses along the side of your head, his arms pulling you even closer, suffocating you with his grip.

“You always take such good care of me, sweet girl. I dunno what I did to deserve ya.” he whispers into your hair. He pulls his semi-hard cock out of you, and goes to get up but you stop him.

“Just a little longer, please? Just wanna lie like this for a while more.”

He chuckles, getting back into position, 

“Of course doll, not like we’ve been here for hours or nothin’..”

His sarcasm makes you laugh as you look over your shoulder, checking the condition of his injured body. Somehow all of his bandages are still intact, not really having moved all night. You sigh in relief as you cosy into him, starting to feel your eyelids grow heavier as you fall into a deep sleep, waking up for a second about 10 minutes later to the sensation of a warm washcloth between your legs.

“Just cleaning you up doll, won’t be two minutes.” he whispers, cleaning your mixed juices from you before tossing the towel into your wash basket as he resumes the spooning, pulling you into his chest.

“I was supposed to be taking care of you Frankie, not the other way round.” you mumble, sighing and yawning.

He chuckles, kissing you on your cheek,

“Shh darlin’, go back to sleep. You took such good care of me already ya hear me? Wanted ya to be comfortable.”

You hum at his words and within seconds you’re sound asleep again.

“I love ya sweetheart, so much.” he softly utters into your ear as he joins you in deep sleep.

a/n: im not gonna lie yall, i couldnt think of a name for this for the life of me so please don't be surprised if it changes lol. i hope u enjoyed!!

my inbox is open!

[guardian-angle22]

This or That: Tarlos Edition -> Babe or Baby

[vbrosclips]

s2e10 I Know Why The Caged Bird Kills