#frank castle oneshot
Text
Good Girls Get Rewarded
Summary: Frank gets tired of you running your mouth and decides to remind you who's in charge. Smutty antics follow.
Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader
Word Count: 7.5k (holy shit!!!!)
masterlist // join my taglist
a/n: im not ashamed to admit that this fic is the only thing i thought about for three days straight. please enjoy. it is an absolute smut-fest!
warnings: buckle the fuck up bitches, cursing (obvi), all porn no plot, oral (male & fem receiving), fingering, pet names!!!!!, p in v sex, praise kink, size kink a little??, frank is so mean at first lmfao, lots of teasing, spanking, frank gets called sir a lot lmfao, reader is a brat, physical violence (this does not transfer to the smut!!!), i am probably forgetting so many pls let me know what i need to add!
“How’d you get this number?”
Frank’s familiar rasp was even more apparent over the phone, a tingling revelation that sent a shiver up your spine. He was in a sour mood, and you were itching for a fight. It was the perfect way to end your evening.
“Oh, c’mon, Frankie. You know I can get whatever I want whenever I want.”
“How could I forget you’re such a spoiled princess, huh? The fuck you want, princess?”
He spat the last word at you as if it were an insult. Good. He was angry, too.
“Did I catch you at a bad time? I was just admiring these pretty curtains. They designer?”
Annoyed resolve rang through in Frank’s tone as he replied. “You know I don’t know what you’re talking about. You gonna make me ask?”
“Sure, honey. I think you’ll want to know the answer.”
You smirked, eyes roaming the living room you were currently standing in the middle of. If only Frank could see you now.
He huffed. “What curtains?”
“These blue ones in your living room. Did you pick them out, or was it that Karen Page with her over-eagerness to please you?”
“You leave her the fuck out of this.” He paused, and you smirked at yourself in the mirror as the realization of what you’d said was processed fully by Frank. “You’re in my fuckin’ house? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He was already moving. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear the hitches in his breath as he barreled his way across Hell’s Kitchen, you’d know he was coming. Your plan was working. You were ecstatic.
“Cat got your tongue, princess?”
“Clever.” You hummed, running your tongue over your teeth. Since you’d first met Frank, he’d managed to throw a cat pun in your direction during every interaction you’d had. He claimed it was because the newspapers were calling you the Black Cat, but you thought it probably had something to do with the latex suit you wore. He never could keep his eyes off the curve of your hips. “Lazy, but clever, I suppose. I’ll allow it, considering the spontaneity of this phone call.”
“How kind of you.” Frank spat, and you resisted the urge to giggle over the phone. He had to be getting close, now. He’d come bursting through the door at any second. Your muscles were giddy with the thought of finally being challenged.
“You know I love chatting with you, darling, but I’ve got to run. I have a thing. Ta-ta!”
You hung up the phone, placing it on the counter and angling yourself so that you could see the front door. You weren’t exactly sure how angry he’d be that you broke into his house, but you wanted to at least seem like you had the upper hand when he charged through the door. You waited, anticipation building until you could no longer stay still. You began to pace, nervous and giddy at the same time, and of course, if you’d just been a little more patient and quiet, you probably would’ve heard the creak of the window opening behind you.
You didn’t realize Frank Castle was standing directly behind you until you backed into him. Your heart thundered in your chest, realizing exactly who was behind you and how he’d managed to perfectly out-do you in your own plan. The hands around your throat shouldn’t have been a surprise.
“It’s fuckin’ rude to break into people’s houses, princess.”
He pulled your body fully against his, attempting to wrap his arm around your neck from behind to pull you into a chokehold. You were a tricky little kitten, though, and you slipped out of his grasp almost as easily as you’d waltzed through his door earlier. Maybe he let you out. Maybe he was curious about your unprompted visit, too.
“You’re one to talk. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to grab a lady like that?”
He snorted. “Lady? Someone confuse you with someone less bitchy?”
“I’ll have you know, I am perfectly fucking civil to most people.” You assured him, jutting your chin out in defiance.
“We really doing this?” He ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw. You eyed the movement and shrugged.
“Eat your fuckin’ heart out, honey.”
You both lunged for each other, your leg rising to connect with his stomach before his fist could connect with your face. He sprang back, unharmed but winded, and caught your leg before it could connect with his chest. You were suddenly on your back, having been thrown off balance by Frank, who was pushing most of his weight down on your hips to keep you from thrashing beneath him.
“You’re rusty, kid.” His eyes were bright and fiery, a combination you’d grown accustomed to during these bouts. You brought your forehead to his chin in a headbutt that would’ve knocked anyone else out completely. Frank, unfortunately, was just dazed for a moment, blinking the confusion out of his eyes before you could make much leeway against his ridiculously strong hold on your hips.
You were, however, able to wiggle one of your legs out from underneath him, giving you the perfect opportunity to pull Frank into an armbar.
“You’re old.” You smirked. Old or not, the best thing about fighting Frank was how incredibly resilient he was. No matter who ended up on top at the end of the night, your pent-up energy was always spent.
He resisted the pull into your hold, though the only other direction for him to go was on top of you. Your breath rushed out of you as he landed directly on top of your lungs, your grip on his arm loosening enough for him to roll away from you.
“Real cute, princess. You break into my house, and now you’re trying to what? Hurt me?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as you coughed and remained on his kitchen floor. He really had landed hard, but you were playing the long game. “Good fucking luck. I’m not an idiot, in case you were wondering. You can stop the act.”
“You sure about that?” You rolled to your feet, pulling your hands into fists and holding them up to block your face. He rolled his eyes again, and even though he looked relaxed - unready, even - he caught your fist before it could connect with his jaw.
“You learn that on TV, princess?”
Your brow furrowed in anger. He was annoyingly good at reading your body language now.
“Actually,” you smiled up at him, face so close to his chest that you could nearly feel his thundering heartbeat, “I learned it from your mom.” You punctuated your insult with a swift knee to Frank’s groin. “I win.”
He hunched forward and you let him fall to his knees on the linoleum flooring. It was a low blow, but you weren’t in the mood to fight fair. He never did, anyway. You pushed yourself onto the counter, watching him breathe through the worst of the pain. You were an asshole, sure, but you weren’t the type to kick a man when he was down.
“You’re a fucking menace.” He grunted, nostrils flaring with anger when he took in your relaxed posture on the counter.
“Oh, please, Frank. It’s not like you fuckin’ use the thing.” You rolled your eyes, flipping your hand through the air in the universal sign for “whatever”.
His gaze shifted from anger to something you couldn’t quite place. You’d seen the look on his face before, but you’d never been able to figure out exactly what he was thinking during those moments. He tilted his head and rose to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on your face. Predator stalking prey. Goosebumps broke out on your skin.
“What was that, princess?” He stalked closer to you, and you were suddenly very aware how cornered you were in this position. To make a hasty escape you’d somehow have to catapult yourself over Frank’s shoulder or burst through what you guessed was a solid block of drywall beside you.
You swallowed thickly. “I said, it’s not like you use the thing.”
Frank’s eyes were bright with delight. Coupled with the teasing smile on his face and the slight tilt of his head, you were a little frightened.
“And you’d know that, how?” He taunted, stepping closer to you. He was in your space now, close enough to touch.
“I know a lot of things, Frankie.” You desperately grasped at the semblance of control you had left. “I know where you live, I know what you order every morning from that diner around the corner, and I know for sure that you. Don’t. Fuck.”
“Oh yeah?” Frank was leaning on the counter now, hands pressed into the granite on either side of your hips. “You think I can’t handle myself in bed, princess? Wanna try it out for yourself?”
“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.”
You didn’t know why you’d said it, or where it came from. Frank Castle was not the man to play games with, especially not these types of games. In actuality, you had no idea who the man was fucking or how often it was happening. You hadn’t expected him to rise to the challenge when you’d teased him about it.
“Is that right, princess?” His eyes gleamed with desire, and you finally realized what the look on his face meant. “Wanna bet?”
He pressed himself fully against you, the hardness of him apparent through his jeans. Your breath hitched against the column of your throat, and you swallowed thickly. You couldn’t deny the steady pounding between your legs, and you slightly widened your legs to allow him more room.
“Yes or no, princess? Wanna learn a thing or two?” His lips ghosted over yours, tongue darting out to lightly lick your top lip in a teasing, playful motion.
Your expectations for the night had been drastically different than this. You’d planned on a physical fight, maybe a black eye or two, and a slew of insults that you’d giggle about until you saw him again. You had not been expecting…this. Whatever this is. They probably existed, but you couldn’t think of a single reason why this might be a bad idea, so you leaned into the feeling that had been steadily growing in your core, and slammed your lips against his.
He groaned, immediately plunging his tongue into your mouth in a desperate, aching kiss. Your teeth clashed against his, but neither of you seemed to notice.
“Fuck, princess.” He mumbled against your lips, angling your chin so that he could pepper kisses down your jaw and onto your throat. You panted, pawing at his shoulders as he nipped the sensitive skin below your ear. “You gonna be good for me?”
“I’m not good for anyone.” You tried and failed to sound feisty. Instead, it came out in a mixture of a whine and a moan.
“You can be good for me, kitten. I won’t tell anyone.” His hands ghosted over the bottom of your shirt, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He didn’t lift it up yet, and he probably wouldn’t, you realized, until you offered him some kind of consent.
“Only if you ask nicely.” You teased, brushing your lips over his jaw.
He snorted. “That ain’t happenin’.”
A feline grin made its way across your face. “I know.”
He gripped your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up at him as he leaned in close and whispered, “You’re going to be good for me, you fucking brat. Don’t make me say it again.”
Warm delight flooded your stomach, and even though it went against what you believed in, you nodded. You couldn’t think of a single thing you would rather be doing.
“Good girls get rewarded, kitten.” He adjusted his grip on your jaw, sliding his fingers further down your neck. He toyed with the hem of your shirt again, tugging it slightly so that you arched into his chest. “Can I take this off, sweet girl, hmm?” He hummed, running his tongue across your bottom lip.
You nodded again, and the hand around your neck flexed with displeasure.
“I kiss you for thirty seconds and your big mouth suddenly knows how to shut up?” He pinched your hip, eliciting a yelp from your unassuming mouth.
“Fuck yo-”
“Careful.” He warned, arching an eyebrow at you. “Use your words, kitten. I know you know how to be sweet. Be sweet to me.” His lips ghosted over yours, breath fanning across your flushed cheeks. “Can. I. Take. This. Off?” He punctuated each word with a slight squeeze of his hand, still wrapped around your throat.
“Yes.” You breathed, dipping your chin in a single nod.
“Yes…?” He cooed, close enough for you to see the amusement glittering in his eyes. The fucker was enjoying this entirely too much. Still, your core hadn’t stopped pounding since he’d cornered you, and you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t incredibly turned on by this, by him. You gave in to his question, as much as it hurt your stubborn heart to do so.
“Yes, sir.” You clenched your teeth around the word ‘sir’.
“See? That wasn’t so hard was it?”
“Or should I call you master? Or daddy? Or maybe punisher? You gonna punish me, dadd-”
His hand clamped over your mouth, cutting you off before you could continue.
“Shut the fuck up. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You’re such a fucking brat.” He pulled your hips flush against his, and you bit your lip to stifle the moan making its way up your throat. He leaned in, centimeters away from your lips as he whispered, “You want to be punished, kitten, hmm? I can do that.”
You were suddenly pulled off the counter and roughly thrown over Frank’s shoulder. The swiftness in his movements made you yelp, anger coursing through your blood at his man-handling.
“Fuck you, Frank.” You gritted your teeth.
His only response was a swift slap to your backside, which was nestled directly over his shoulder.
“You can’t just throw me around like a doll!” You protested, though you did nothing to try and wiggle your way out of his grasp. The man-handling was making you a little hot and bothered, but you wouldn’t be admitting that anytime soon.
“Oh yeah? Watch me.” He grunted as he threw you down on his bed, grasping your legs and pulling you down the mattress until he was towering over you again. He brushed your hair out of your face, a gentle gesture that juxtaposed the usual ferocity of your meetings. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, and before you could think twice about it, you opened your mouth and began sucking on it. A grunt, a smirk, the subtle desire lurking behind his intense gaze - all of it was incredibly sensual. “Should’ve known the sweetness wouldn’t last. You’re a brat, through and through, kitten.” You replaced the sweet caress of your tongue around his finger with your teeth, softly biting down on the tip of his thumb in response.
“I like it though.” He mumbled quietly, more to himself than to you. His gaze coasted down your body, catching on the swell of your breasts and the curve of your hips. He looked back at you, having come to a silent decision. “I’m gonna give you another chance, kitten. Does that sound okay, baby, hmm? I want to make you feel good, alright? All you have to do is be good. That’s it. Can you do that for me? Can you be good for me?”
You blinked up at him, his frame so wide above you that it was almost sinful.
“I can be good for you.” You responded slowly, relinquishing your hold on his thumb. He quirked an eyebrow at you, and you quickly added, “I can be good for you, sir.”
His cheeks widened into a smirk.
“You’re already doing so well, sweetheart.” He praised, running his hands along your sides until they met the bottom of your shirt. You arched into him as he pulled the fabric over your head, relishing the gentleness of his touch while simultaneously missing the roughness from before.
He slid the tip of his tongue from your navel to the valley between your breasts, tugging on the thin material of your bra with his teeth. His breath fanned across your chest, bringing a renewed sense of urgency to your aching core.
“Frank.” You whined, pawing at his shoulders and attempting to pull him fully against you. He barely budged, instead choosing to narrow his focus onto your pebbled nipples.
“What is it, kitten, hmm?” He pressed a soft kiss to your nipple. It was through your bra, but it might as well have been to your bare breast, because the rippling heat that washed through your body elicited a breathy moan from your throat.
“I need- I mean, I want- Can you-” The warmth from his mouth around your nipple was scrambling your brain, and you couldn’t begin to function as his fingers began sliding your pants down your legs.
“You need somethin’, sweetheart?” He was teasing you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stay silent about it.
“Quit teasing me.” You whined, and his hands halted midway down your thighs.
“You think you have any control over this right now?” He chuckled, yanking your pants down your legs in one swift motion. “I haven’t forgotten how bratty you were earlier. You keep this up and you’ll be lucky if I let you come at all, sweetheart, and it’d do you good to remember that.”
Desire sparked deep in your core at his tone, and a devilish smile made its way to your face. He eyed you warily.
“Don’t do whatever you’re thinking about doing.” He warned, returning his attention to your breasts. “Behave. Can you do that for me?”
“Can you?”
The words were out before you could stop yourself. It was just so easy to talk back to him. He brought his teeth down around your nipple, biting hard enough to bruise.
“Brat.” He grunted, pushing himself off the bed completely. You whined at the loss of contact, but it quickly turned into a moan when Frank’s rough hands flipped you onto your stomach and slapped your ass hard enough to leave a mark.
“You’ll learn to be good.” One hand held your squirming form beneath him while the other came down in another harsh slap. “I’ll fuckin’ teach you if I have to.”
You moaned, louder and louder with every slap. Sure, you were a menace to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen and, likely, Frank Castle, but you never knew being bad could feel this good. Frank hoisted you up against him, roughly pressing your back into his chest.
“You’ll submit.” He whispered, nipping at the exposed skin on your neck. “I’ll make you. I dare you to try and stop me.”
He shoved you off of him, pulling his shirt over his head as you flopped down on the mattress. You tried to crawl further up the bed, but his hand clamped around your ankle and tugged you onto your stomach again. The position gave him a perfect view of your clothed cunt, which was thoroughly soaked in its current state.
“This underwear is pretty, baby.” He mumbled, running his fingers over the damp cotton. You squirmed beneath his touch, moaning as his fingers brushed against the part of you that needed him the most. “You wear these just for me?”
“Yes, sir.” You breathed, arching your back even more to give him a better view.
“Turn over, baby.” He instructed, gently prodding at your hips. You flipped over, splaying yourself out beneath his standing form, panting. “You’re good when you want something, aren’t you?”
“Who says I want something?”
Jesus. Christ. You really couldn’t help yourself. You sighed in disbelief at your own attitude. At this rate, he’d never let you come.
“Watch it.” He brought his hand down, slapping your clothed cunt in warning. You felt yourself clench around nothing, dying to be touched by him again. “You look delicious like this, kitten. I’m dying for a taste.”
His eyes flicked up to yours in question. Even after everything, he still wanted your consent before he crossed the next line. You nodded, and then winced as his eyebrows shot into his hairline and he brought his hand down in a harsh slap, connecting with your pussy again. “Words.”
“Yes. Yes, please, sir. Please taste me.” You corrected yourself, widening your legs.
“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” He sank to his knees, grinning. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, which surely would’ve gotten you another punishment, and tried to relax against the mattress.
“Look how pretty you are when you’re behaving.” He hummed, breath fanning over the soaked fabric. You whined as your pussy fluttered at his praise. He pressed a soft kiss to your mound, still refusing to remove the fabric simply because he knew it was driving you crazy. “You like it when I compliment you, kitten? Look at how wet you are, and I haven’t even touched you.”
“Yes, sir.” You breathed, swallowing hard. You were so turned on it was starting to hurt, but you knew if you complained he would stretch the process out even further. Instead, you leaned into the praise and hoped he’d give in soon. “I’m being good, right, sir?” You asked, legs trembling with anticipation. He kissed your mound again, eliciting a groan from deep within you.
“Yes, kitten.” He smiled against your pussy. “And good girls get rewarded. Right, baby? Hmm?”
You moaned loudly as he hummed against your wet core. “Yes! Yes, please.” You nearly screamed out.
And finally, finally, he pulled your panties down your legs, discarding them in his back pocket. He briefly sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, taking in the sight before him. You were glistening with wetness - so turned on from his words alone that you could quench his thirst for a year with the amount of arousal leaking from your cunt. He grunted, slowly remembering the game he was supposed to be playing with you.
And you tensed, noticing all of this. You may not know a lot about a lot of things, but you knew Frank Castle, and you knew how to read him. You knew exactly what he’d been thinking. For a second, you had forgotten that this was all one giant game to him. He didn’t miss the way your demeanor changed. His eyes slid to yours in question.
“What is it, honey?” He asked, voice still dripping with lust but also with genuine concern.
“I just-” You struggled to find the words, and then tried to sweep the entire interaction under the rug. You wanted his tongue on you, now. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Lying ain’t something good girls do.” He arched an eyebrow at you. You whined, pressing your head into the mattress.
“Is this a one time thing for you?” You asked, refusing to meet his eyes as you did so. It would be pretty embarrassing to be sent home in your current state - needy and wet - but not the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. You would not torture yourself by watching his eyes go from lusty to their usual cold demeanor.
“What do you mean?” He asked, running his thumbs over your hip bones.
“I mean,” you huffed, sitting up on your elbows and forcing yourself to look at him, “Will you call me after this?”
Frank’s face morphed into an understanding smirk. “Are you asking me to?”
You glared at him. He pinched your sides again. You rolled your eyes. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll call.” He said, and then his tongue was swiping through your folds, and you couldn’t do anything but flop back onto the mattress again and groan.
He lapped up the arousal that had been leaking out of you since he’d arrived earlier before focusing his efforts on your clit. His tongue drew figure-eights around your clit, sending shocking waves of pleasure through your body, and when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, you were sure you’d died and gone to heaven.
“Fuck, princess, you’re so pretty.” Frank mumbled against your clit, sending a new spark of pleasure through you. “It pisses me off how pretty you are.”
“Please don’t stop.” You begged, legs shaking as you wrapped them around his head. His hand, which had been trailing closer and closer to your entrance, finally found its home, buried deep in your pussy. He pumped two fingers in and out of you, all the while sucking on your clit and going back and forth between praising and degrading you. You weren’t sure which direction was up.
“You just show up looking like a fucking goddess,” he punctuated the word with a harsh suck to your clit, “and expect me not to fuck you, princess? You’re begging to be fucked in those tight pants.”
He pumped his fingers faster and harder, sucking at your clit with more ferocity than you thought he was capable of. You were sobbing now, so close to the edge that you couldn’t stop the tears flowing down your temples and onto the comforter beneath you.
“You’re such a fucking brat sometimes, fuck.” He grunted. “But you’re so god damn pretty when you misbehave. You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”
“Frankie.” You sobbed, moaning as he sucked on your clit again.
“You wanna come, baby, hmm?” He cooed. “Only good girls get to come, kitten. You think you’ve earned it?”
“Yes! Yes, sir!” You practically screamed it, your entire body shaking with anticipation of your release. “Please let me come, sir.”
“Well, when you ask so nicely, honey.” He shrugged before attacking your clit with his tongue again.
You erupted beneath him, coming so hard your vision blacked out. You could vaguely feel Frank holding your hips in place, but your body was mostly one spark of pleasure after another. Your heart thundered in your chest, mimicking the pounding in your core. Frank squeezed your thighs hard enough to bruise, lapping up every drop of your release, but you were so far gone you barely registered it.
You eventually returned to your body - sweaty, panting, and thoroughly taken care of. Frank was smirking, pressing soft kisses into your skin.
“See what happens when you’re not a brat?” He teased, kissing the valley between your breasts. “Good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been so good for me, kitten.”
“What’s my reward?” You gasped, still a bit hazy from your orgasm.
“What do you want it to be?” He nipped at your jaw, trading between soft kisses and little bites that were sure to leave marks.
“I want to-”
His phone began ringing in his pocket, a sharp and alarming ring that startled both of you out of your hazes. He reached into his pocket and cringed when he saw who it was.
“Who is it?” You asked, curious.
He flipped the phone around for you to see, and you immediately tensed up. Motherfucking Karen Page was calling Frank, and he looked like he wanted to answer it. Your haze was gone now - long gone - and you suddenly felt like crying.
“Answer it.” You taunted, though you thought you might really start to cry if he did.
“I don’t think I’m going to.” He responded, watching you carefully.
“No, really,” you said, attempting to sit up, “She might need saving, again.”
It was a low blow, and you both knew it. It wasn’t Karen’s fault that she wasn’t skilled in hand-t0-hand combat. There was a pattern, though, and no matter how many times she got herself into trouble, Frank and/or Matt were always there to save her.
“Watch your mouth.” He blocked your attempt to sit up, shifting his weight so that he was fully hovering over you. He silenced his phone and slid it into his pocket. “You’re being a brat again.”
Hot, shameful tears welled in your eyes.
“I’m not trying to be one. This is my personality.”
“Crying after the most mind blowing orgasm you’ve ever had?”
“No.” You mumbled, though you couldn’t stop the sneaking smile from forming on your face.
“You’re pretty when you smile.” He said, peppering kisses along your jaw.
“Careful, Frank.” You murmured. “It almost sounds like you care.”
He nipped at your neck, an already sensitive area, and you groaned against him.
“I do.” He said genuinely, pulling back to make eye contact with you. “But don’t you worry your pretty little head about that right now, princess. You’re about to be so cockdrunk that you won’t be able to see straight for a week.” Your pussy clenched as he grinded against you, the denim of his jeans rubbing against your sensitive clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your stomach for what felt like the millionth time that night.
“What about my reward?” You hummed, wiping stray tears away. “I still get that, right?”
“How could I forget?” He mumbled, nipping at the marked skin around your breasts. “Princess wants her reward. What do you want, sweetheart?”
“I want to suck your cock.” You said, straight-faced and innocent, blinking up at him with such softness that he looked on the verge of tears. “Sorry.” You mumbled, correcting yourself before he could, “I want to suck your cock, sir.”
“You’re a fucking angel.” He grunted, pushing himself off the bed and into a standing position again. You followed, reaching for his jeans. He grabbed your hands, briefly stopping them from tearing his jeans off.
“Are you sure you want this, princess? A reward is supposed to be about you.”
You sort of liked the way he called you princess now. Before, when it had been fist fights and anger, it sounded like an insult. But now, the gentle cadence he said it with made your heart clench in your chest.
“I want to.” You nodded, and smiled up at him. “Can I, please?”
He undid his belt with one hand, bringing the other up to cradle your jaw. His hand was massive on your face and neck, a reminder of how insanely large the man standing in front of you was.
“When you look at me like that,” he started, biting his lower lip and slightly shaking his head, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was saying, “I forget how fucking bratty you are. I just want to corrupt the innocent little smile of yours.”
“I come pre-corrupted.” You grinned, the feline smile returning to your face as you looked up at him. “But you’re more than welcome to try.”
You tugged at his boxers, revealing his achingly hard cock. Sucking in a breath, you tried to imagine all of it fitting inside you as he stepped out of the boxers. Your mouth watered when he stroked himself a few times, smearing the precum across the tip of his dick.
“You realize I can’t let another man touch you after this, right?” He asked, eyeing the way your tongue slid across your bottom lip. He shrugged. “You’ll never want another man, anyways.”
“You sound so sure of that.” You murmured, not fully comprehending the words coming out of your mouth. You flicked your eyes up, briefly meeting his gaze before returning to the matter at hand.
“That sort of sounds like that attitude that keeps getting you in trouble, princess.” He raised his eyebrows at you. You quickly rewound the conversation, blinking out of your cock-drunk haze.
“No. No, sir.” You shook your head, desperate to get your mouth on him. “Can I? Please?”
“That’s what I thought, baby.” He murmured, tucking your hair behind your ears. His hands traveled around your head, pulling your hair into a ponytail at the base of your neck. You slid off the end of the bed, sinking to your knees in front of him. “Go ahead, sweet girl.”
You wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and kissed the tip. He let out a slow breath as you grew bolder with your mouth. His salty pre-cum smeared across your lips, and you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging your tongue through it. He groaned, tightening his hold on your hair.
“I want you to fuck my throat, sir.” You murmured, looking up at him.
“You keep looking at me like that, I ain’t fuckin’ anything. Those fuckin’ eyes of yours are gonna be the death of me.”
“Didn’t realize you were so quick to-”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” He warned, arching an eyebrow at you. You grinned, stifling a giggle before wrapping your lips around him again. You pushed your head further and further down his cock, hollowing your cheeks and sucking as you went. When your nose brushed against his pubic bone, he let out a stunted moan, slightly thrusting into your throat.
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you bobbed your head up and down with more fervor, begging him to fuck your mouth harder and faster.
“You look, fuck-” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, which spurred your movements on even more. “You look fucking amazing like this, princess.”
You hummed with acknowledgment, hoping it was enough for him to keep thrusting into your throat. Tears freely streamed down your cheeks, surely smudging the eye makeup you’d put on before you left your apartment earlier that night, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Frank Castle was sliding his dick down your throat, and you were so turned on you could probably come just thinking about it.
Frank suddenly pulled out of your mouth, a trail of spit connecting your lips to him as he panted. “‘m gonna come if you keep doing that.” He explained when he noticed your furrowed eyebrows.
“Want it.” You breathed, reaching for him again. He instead pulled you to your feet in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“Another time, princess. The first time you make me come, I want it to be in your sweet little pussy.” He winked. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed how good you’re being.”
He pulled you into a kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth. You groaned at both the praise and the intensity in which he kissed you. Both set your insides on fire. He led you backwards until your legs hit the bed, and you couldn't help but nip at his bottom lip when he tried to pull his head back.
“Good girls don’t do that.” He smirked, pushing you lightly so that you’d flop onto the bed again. He ran a hand over your cheek, smudging your makeup even more before running two fingers along your bottom lip. You caught on, slowly wrapping your lips around his fingers and lightly sucking. “You’re not good, though, are you, princess?”
You shook your head. His eyes had darkened again, sending a familiar pounding to your core. Your legs trembled as he began to inch his fingers in and out of your mouth.
“You can be.” His voice had lowered considerably, barely above a raspy whisper. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, princess. I won’t tell anyone.”
You whimpered, sliding your tongue around his fingers. Your skin was on fire, and the longer he stood there staring at you with those lusty eyes, the wetter you became.
“Can I fuck you now, princess?” He asked, transfixed on the fingers he was sliding in and out of your mouth. “You gonna be a good girl and let me ruin you?”
He pulled his fingers from between your lips, gripping your jaw tightly. He watched you, waiting for a response. You almost nodded, making the same mistake you’d made countless times already, but caught yourself at the last second.
“Yes.” You said, swallowing. “Yes, sir.”
“Lay back, princess. I’ll take good care of you.”
You laid back and widened your legs for him, noticing the twinkle in his eyes as you complied with his demand. If you were in your right mind, you might’ve said something witty or bratty to him about it, but he was towering over you, cock hard and ready to fuck you into oblivion, and you wanted him so badly. You groaned when he began running his fingers through your slick folds, already trembling.
“This all for me?” He asked, circling your clit once, twice.
You nodded, forgetting yourself for a moment, and yelped when his hand smacked your bare pussy. It didn’t hurt. In fact, you felt your pussy spasm in response, but you’d been so lost in how great his touch felt that you hadn’t realized you’d broken a rule.
“This all for me?” He asked again, rubbing your clit roughly with the heel of his hand.
“Yes! Yes, sir!” You whimpered, legs trembling when you felt the heavy weight of his cock resting on your pussy. He used it to slap the slickness a few times, eliciting a whine from deep in your chest. If he didn’t fuck you soon, you might actually die.
“Who does this belong to, baby? Whose sweet pussy is this?” He asked, smacking your pussy with his cock again.
You froze, knowing the answer he was looking for, but wondering if you wanted to lower yourself to that level. It was vulnerable to give yourself over to Frank this way, but it also wasn’t as terrifying as you thought it would be.
“Say it.” He encouraged, sliding his cock through your slick folds. “Submit, princess. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Is that a promise?” You taunted, trying not to groan at the friction against your clit.
“Quit being a fucking brat.” He grunted, lining himself up with your entrance. “Say it.”
“Yours. It’s yours, sir.” You whispered, and he buried himself deep inside you.
All the gentleness you’d experienced leading up to that moment was gone, and you couldn’t do anything but cling to Frank’s shoulders as he obliterated you.
“Fuck, you’re so tight, sweetheart.” He hovered over you, kissing, sucking, and nipping at every inch of skin he could reach. He was marking you everywhere - you didn’t miss the implications of that - and barreling into you over and over again.
“Say it again, baby.” He whimpered in your ear, the closest you’d ever come to hearing Frank beg. “Who does this sweet pussy belong to?”
“You, sir. It’s all yours.” You replied instantly, whining as he angled himself and pistoned deeper into you. You could barely think straight, only aware of where your skin ended and Frank’s began. “Fuck, Frank. Sir. I’m fu-” You panted, whimpering, “I’m close. ‘m gonna-”
“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart.” He murmured, ghosting his lips over your jaw as he pressed kisses to and nipped at your throat. “Cock drunk and needy. You’re so fucking pretty.”
“Sir, can I-” You shuttered when you felt his hand on your clit again, teasing it with rough, slow circles. “Oh, fuck.”
“You’ve got such a dirty mouth, baby.” He grinned, skimming his teeth along your jawline. “You drive me fucking crazy.” He punctuated the word ‘crazy’ with a deep thrust, pressing against the spongy spot deep inside you that would send you reeling. You whined, squeezing your eyes shut as you trembled around him. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, a sight he never wanted to stop seeing.
“You wanna come, princess?” He cooed, biting the sensitive skin on your throat and kissing the sting away.
“Please.” You gasped. It was the only thing you were capable of saying. You barely registered that you’d forgotten to call him sir, but he was so transfixed with the sounds you were making that he didn’t mention it.
“Princess gets what princess wants.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you and holding you steady as he pistoned into you at an indescribable pace. You fell apart beneath him for the second time that night, arching and panting and whining as you fluttered around him. He attacked your throat, jaw, and lips with kisses, licking and nipping at your skin.
“That’s it, baby.” He talked you through the overwhelming pleasure, holding you tightly against his chest as he continued to thrust into you. “You were such a good girl, honey. You did so good.”
You whined, fluttering around him at the praise. “I want another reward.”
In any other circumstance, your demand would’ve pissed Frank off, but you just looked so pretty underneath him. “Oh, is that so?” He asked, eyebrows raising. Amusement rang in his tone, and it emboldened you to keep speaking.
“Yeah.” You gulped, still shaking from your orgasm. “I already know what I want.”
“You’re sounding more and more like the brat I just fucked silly.” He said, gently thrusting into you. “Spit it out, baby. What do you want?”
You swallowed, smiling a little. “I want you to fill me up, sir.”
He paused, pressing his forehead to your shoulder and huffing a laugh. His warm breath sent goosebumps skittering across your skin. “You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, kissing you sweetly.
“I was good, wasn’t I?” You feigned innocence, knowing it would send him closer to his relief. “And good girls get rewarded?”
“Yeah, baby.” He nodded, picking up the pace of his thrusts again. “Good girls get rewarded, and you were the best girl, baby.” He leaned into your hold, lips ghosting over the crest of your ear as he whispered, “I’m gonna fill you up, baby, and you’re going to walk around dripping into your pretty little panties all day tomorrow.”
You eagerly nodded, agreeing with him, and whimpered when he began thrusting into you at a relentless pace. You arched into him, nipping at his throat hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re perfect, baby.” He breathed. “Even when you’re being a brat. Wouldn’t have you any other way.”
His thrusts grew sloppier, his breaths coming in short, stunted grunts as he finally let himself go. His heart thundered in his chest, and you clung to him, kissing across the broad expanse of his body until he nearly fell on top of you in trembles.
You cradled his head against your chest, breathing in unison with him. At some point, his arms had wound around you, which meant you were now wrapped in each other’s arms, limbs tangled together as both of you came down from your highs.
“Holy shit.” Frank said, chuckling. “That is not what I was expecting when you called.”
“You gonna kick me out now?” You asked, half-joking. He tensed against you, lifting his eyes to meet yours.
“Don’t be a brat.” He nipped at your skin. “I’m not kicking you out, unless you want to leave.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, sighing deeply. “Of course I want you to stay. I’m a fuckin’ gentleman, kitten.”
You scoffed, though you could feel yourself hiding a smile. “Whoever told you that clearly hasn’t heard you in the bedroom.”
He scoffed in mock-offense. “Are you saying you didn’t have a perfectly nice time just now?”
“I did.” You grinned. “I’m…sorry I said you weren’t good in the sack.”
He looked up, stunned. “Did the Black Cat just apologize? To me?”
You rolled your eyes, huffing. “Yeah, but no one would believe you if you told them.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough, princess.”
You scoffed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think you need to admit to me that I’m incredible in bed and that you were wrong.” He was grinning so wide you had to resist the urge to punch him in his stupid, handsome mouth.
“I’m not doing that.” You shook your head, stifling a laugh.
“Do it.” He murmured, nodding.
“I refuse.”
“Please?”
“Absolutely not.”
You were both grinning at each other now.
“You’re such a brat.” He said.
“That’s what got us into this mess.” You countered.
“Just say it, princess. For me?” He pleaded. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“Fine.” You gave in, rolling your eyes. “Frank Castle, you’re a sex God!”
He chuckled, pulling you tightly into his chest.
“Good girl.” He praised, kissing you softly.
“Do I get a reward?” You arched an eyebrow at him, smirking.
He smirked back, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Oh yeah, princess. Good girls get rewarded, remember?”
Tag List:
@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @stray-kaz @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @fxlsealarm @evyiione @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @rayray787-blog @ginnysculture @ryebreadsworld @laaundromat @coacaiyne @niki-is-a-thing @megmastersgf @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt @aynsleywalker @queenofthenoobs
#frank castle x reader#frank castle#frank castle x you#frank castle fluff#frank castle smut#frank castle imagine#frank castle angst#the punisher#the punisher fluff#the punisher angst#the punisher smut#the punisher imagine#marvel#jon bernthal#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle oneshot#frank castle fic#nmcu#amhrosina
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
domestic frank seeing his girl after she’s just come back from a girls night out and she’s a little tipsy and giggly rambling about how much she loves him and how happy she is with him whilst he’s trying to help her get ready for bed :’)
screaming and crying and throwing up, im so glad someone else had these thoughts <3 lots of sweet frankie under the cut!!!!
You weren’t sure who called him or when he showed up, but god he smelled good. He big, strong arms supporting about ninety percent of your weight as he walked the two of you from the car and into the house.
“Frankie!! You smell so good.” Your words were soon followed by a hiccup and some other things neither of you could quite understand.
“C’mon baby, in the house.” Is all he responded, lifting you up the stairs of the porch and avoiding any falling that may have occurred if he let you climb them yourself.
He took your purse and any other accessory he could find and set it on the kitchen counter, grabbing a glass of water and a small snack to help counter, what he was sure was, an empty stomach.
“Missed you so much.” You slurred, clumsily taking off your shoes and smiling up at him proudly when you didn’t fall in the process.
“I missed you too, come drink this water for me, okay?” Frank motioned for you to come over, the space between you and the island counter wasn’t that far so he trusted you enough to make it over there.
“M’kay.”
He stood there and watched you drink the entire glass and eat the entire snack he set out, making sure you swallowed it all and didn’t choke, he felt like a father. He loved you too much to risk you choking on a fucking cracker because you forgot how to swallow, in your inebriated state.
When he had gotten the phone call from you about how much you loved him and how glad you were to have him, he knew it was time to pick you up. He knew how much you loved girls night but at some point, your old man, had enough and wanted you back.
“Let’s go get changed for bed, you need to take your meds too.” He grabbed your hand softly and led you to the bedroom, yet again supporting most of your weight but he didn’t mind.
“Can we have sex?” You blurted out, slapping your hand over your mouth and bursting into a fit of giggles. “That was supposed to stay in my head.”
He smiled softly at you and sat you down on the bed, placing a kiss on your forehead before changing you into your pajamas for the night. He disappears momentarily before coming back with a paper cup of water and your nightly meds, taking the cup away once you had taken the meds.
“C’mere funny girl, let’s rest.” He climbed into the bed and pulled you into his chest, rubbing your arm softly as a way to coax you into sleeping.
#asks 🫶🏼#he definitely is so patient with hungover reader#frank castle#jon bernthal#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#the punisher#frank castle smut#frank castle fluff#frank castle fic#frank castle oneshot#frank castle headcanons#frank castle imagine#frank castle fanfiction#the punisher fic#the punisher smut#the punisher fanfiction#jon bernthal x you#jon bernthal fluff#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal imagine#jon bernthal smut
942 notes
·
View notes
Note
I’m obsessedddd with the idea of sub!frank. Like that man was a soldier and he follows karen like a lost puppy. Maybe not all the time, but yk that man likes to be told what to do
Submissive Solider
Warnings: smut, talks of sex.
Parings: Frank Castle x Reader
A/N: This is more of a thought/blurb? Omg I’m sorry I got carried away, this man just does things to me. Also does anyone know how you get one of these thin border/divider things, i’ve been looking for one in pink and I just can’t find one. ⬇️ 😭
This man absolutely follows his partner around like a lost puppy everywhere, everywhere.
Don’t get me wrong, Frank loves being dominant, loves taking control of you, mind and body, but there are days where he just needs to take a break, days where he doesn’t want to think for himself.
On those days he starts arguments, and has an attitude until you decide you’ve had it with his behavior, with him. Some days Frank puts up a fight, he’ll be bratty, he’s giving you lip until you fight him into submission which is difficult. But on those days where he just gives in. No arguments, no talking back. Those are the days where you know he’s having a really rough time.
Frank is willingly to do anything on those days, he’ll listen and do as told, he’ll beg. He’ll get on his knees while looking up at you, kissing your thighs, pleading for even just a look at your chest or under your skirt.
He’s so shameless when he’s in a submissive headspace, he loves doing anything in his power to please you. Frank adores your whimpers, moans and whines, any noises that escape your lips from his doing is music to his ears.
Now I don’t think he’s the type to call you mommy in bed…but there has definitely been times where the word is on the tip of his tongue. There has been times where you just make him feel soo good and he just wants to groan ‘Mommy.’
I feel like he’s definitely more of the ma’am type, I don know if he’d be the type to say any other titles than Mommy and Ma’am.
One night though, one night when Frank is so tired, so, so tired and just needs a break, he’ll come home and find you cooking in the kitchen or reading some book he recommend and he just gives you ‘that’ look with his stupidly beautiful eyes.
You don’t have to ask any questions before you’re taking off your shirt and laying in bed, letting him suck your tits. He just lays there with you caressing his head, running your nails against his scalp comforting him to the best of your ability. Kissing his head while he runs his hand down your hips. He groans as soon as he wraps his mouth around your tit, sucking and groaning.
He treats this moment as if it’s something he never wants to forget, as if he never wants to leave it. Now, it happens when you have to pull him off for a second. He just so needy for you, he needs you. Frank groans ‘Mommy’ his voice is deep, it’s clear he’s desperate. He looks up at you. His eyes starring into your soul begging for more.
God the things it does to you just hearing it leave his mouth, God you didn’t even realize you liked that until it left his mouth, Franks mouth. You just have to give in, you have to. He’s your solider, ‘The Punisher.’ For the first time he’s begging you for something and you just have to give in, just have to let him have it.
This will usually always leads to passionate sex with soft caresses followed by ‘I love you’s’ and ‘So good Frankie.’
#frank castle smut#frank castle x reader#frank castle x female reader#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x you#frank castle#frank castle fic#frank castle oneshot#smutty thoughts#Bianquitas smutty thots#the punisher x reader#the punisher smut#the punisher fanfiction#the punisher x you#jon bernthal smut
425 notes
·
View notes
Text
⟢﹒𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡
⟢﹒ summary : your boyfriend’s too pretty for you to sit correctly at your friends’ party, thankfully his fingers are here to help you
⟢﹒ contents warnings : SMUT, afab reader, fingering, overstimulation, semi-public, praise, no use of y/n
⟢﹒ word count : 1,2k
⟢﹒ note : hehe this thought has been lingering in my silly brain for a bit, had exposed it to besties @sunflowersandsapphires and @gracethyomen and chose to write a lil something sooo here we are
"Frank...," a sigh laced with a moan left your lips, "please-"
Your sentence was interrupted as his fingers worked themselves into you to perfection, arching your back as your head rolled back on his shoulder.
Two - that's how many orgasms he'd managed to give you in record time with just the help of his fingers. While one hand was busy satisfying the warmth of your needy cunt, the other grasping the full flesh of your breast freed from your tank top pulled up over your chest, his lips were whispering the sweetest torments.
"I thought that's what you were craving," his lips stretched as his warm breath spread over the skin of your shoulder. "Ain't that what ya wanted sweetheart?" he questioned as he came to place a kiss behind your ear.
The overstimulation was beginning to permeate your whole body, everything tingled you, nearing the painful point. Your hips moved to lift you up so your body didn't feel like it was about to explode, but his hand let go of your nipple to hold you firmly in place by the hip.
Another complaint escaped your lips as your eyebrows tilted back begging for mercy. His nose pressed against your jaw, his low, warm sneer landing on the inflamed skin of your cheek.
"Couldn't even wait for us to be out of here, huh?" his hand moved your hips closer to his lap as a curve of his fingers inside you made you jolt.
Your thighs pressed together as if this gesture would stop Frank from continuing. Your teeth sank into the tender skin of your lip, trying in vain to hold back the sounds Frank was creating from your body.
You were at a party with friends, with enough guests that if you both slipped away no one would be looking for you. Good laughs, chatting about everything and nothing, and just what was shaping up to be an excellent evening.
But it was hard to stay put when your boyfriend was like this: his shirt sleeves rolled up, listening to other people's discussions with his arms folded, a grin on his face as he laughed at a friend's joke.
Every time he turned his back in your direction, you couldn't help watching him, noticing how the fabric of his shirt seemed to clench against his muscles. And the way his broad shoulders shrugged slightly as he answered questions from the guests.
And his fingers, curling around his beer, his digits brushing the mouth of the bottle as his lips placed a thirsty kiss on it.
No, you couldn't have waited, you couldn't have lasted for very long.
"Want me to stop?" he asked as his hand gripped your hip and slid down to your navel, pressing into the hollow.
Lightning flashed through your thighs, making them tremble as your whining became less muffled. He pressed against the spongy spot, making you see stars in a way that was as cruel as it was life-saving.
Your lower belly felt like a hot summer's day, and you struggled to hold on as one of your hands clutched the sheets of the bed you were sitting on and the other gripped Frank's thigh.
Your mind was all fuzzy, and yet wide awake: enough to tell you that you didn't want him to stop.
He was kissing the corner of your jaw, "My baby couldn't wait for me," he whispered, "M'gonna give her what she wants."
His hand moved up your belly, taking hold of one of your tits again and resuming the movements of his fingers within you in a slow, delicious rhythm.
But he stopped for a moment, tilting his head to one side and staring at the door facing you. Lost in the euphoria of your body's sensations and the sudden halt to his movements, you let out a moan, your lips forming in a small pout as you managed to breathe and realign your senses for that brief moment.
Gently, his lips brushed your lobe as he whispered "Gotta be real quiet for me little one, hm?"
It was when the shadow of your thought rose above the bright light of your pleasure for a moment that you realised: someone was close. The panic didn't even have time to grip your guts before Frank's fingers resumed their torment.
You leaned forward as you tried with all the composure you had left to be silent. But his hand on your breast climbed to your shoulder to pull you back against him until your back was against his chest.
"Seen Frank anywhere?"
Your eyes rested on the slit of light just below the door that contrasted with the half-light of the room, fearful of shadows on the other side.
But Frank's lips pulled you back to him as he kissed your neck, exhaling against your skin and letting the wetness of his kisses turn icy hot under his breath.
"Don't know," a second voice replied, "him and his girl haven't been down in a while."
His palm pressed against your clit and you took a jerky breath, Frank's hand immediately coming to rest over your mouth without ever stopping.
You felt yourself getting closer, felt the knot in your stomach tighten as the seconds ticked by, as Frank's fingers continued to build the ecstasy, as you felt yourself losing all control.
"Maybe they went to sleep, both seemed a bit tired."
Your heart pounded in your ears as the voices got closer. Tired wasn't really the term you would've used, pretending was more of the sort. It was important that it didn't look too obvious, that the way you were pulling Frank's hand towards the upstairs rooms didn't give the impression that you were in high school and taking your boyfriend back to your room away from the eyes of your parents.
You bit your cheek, trying to restrict the moans rising from your throat by any means possible, letting your body gently vibrate to his every move like a guitar string vibrating every time it was plucked and its music had to sound at all costs.
And you felt it rising to complete intensity, your back arching wildly but Frank's grip holding you in place as everything shattered. Waves of electricity were crashing in your body like the angriest waves an enraged sea could ever send. Your thighs were shaking so hard you thought that at any moment your body would burst into a thousand pieces of embers.
Your body jolted violently in silence as Frank continued his movements, slowing them down little by little as you were coming down from your high.
"Let them sleep, we'll see them in the morning."
When they were far away enough, Frank removed his hand from your mouth and simply let it slide until it gripped your jaw and turned you towards him softly.
You felt yourself floating, your eyes half-closed as your body slowly came down from its emotions. You still twitched a little as Frank smiled, clearly proud of the state he'd put you in. All dumb-fucked, just from his fingers : he could get drunk on that sight of you.
Then he came and kissed your temple gently, a low chuckle vibrating in his throat, "That's my girl."
#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x f!reader#frank castle x fem!reader#frank castle x female reader#frank castle oneshot#frank castle imagine#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle fanfic#frank castle fic#frank castle#the punisher#the punisher x reader#the punisher x you#the punisher x y/n#the punisher imagine#frank castle smut#the punisher smut#the punisher fanfic#the punisher fanfiction#my writing
276 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Swear To You
Frank Castle x Reader Requested:
Hello my lovely writer, I'm in great need of some protective care taking fluffy angsty Frank Castle fic. And so I was wondering if you are interested in my request =) please let me know what you think. Frank has a cute new neighbor. They ended up talking a lot, Frank even flirting with her, but doesn't have the guts to make a move. One evening she was on a date which went sideways. The creep drugged her. As she notices something is wrong she snuck out of the bar calling a taxi to go home as fast as she can. He manhandled her as he notices she waiting for a taxi but she makes it home... She barely made it to pay the driver as she stumbled to her door to out if it from her spiked drink, so she isn't able to open her door let alone find her key. She collapses at Sehr front door, lying in the Cola night (maybe she hit her head pretty badly when going down). Frank comes home and finds her in feoneof her door. She's hypothermic and he notices her weird state and knows instantly she was drugged. So he takes care of her and her wounds and tries to warm her up. He nurses her back the next days
I hope you like it and thanks for requesting, and sorry for pushing this out for too long.
TW: Mentions of dru-gs, mentions of SA, puking, a terrible man doing terrible things
Frank was a goner. The moment he spotted you at the end of the hallway, gently balancing on your high heels, dress hugging your curves perfectly, hair and makeup done like you were ready to walk the red carpet, he knew he messed up. He messed up when he let his facade fall, and let you see the real him. Or part of him. Nothing was out of place, he came back from work, catching your right opposite of his door, going to a walk, to get a coffee, to meet up with your friends. You greeted him just the same, but your smile was giddy, a little bit too wide for a regular day.
He was oblivious to a lot of things, but even he could see that you are going to a date. And the guy is pretty fucking lucky tonight. He could see you wanted to impress, and you already won, because he was fascinated. He took sneaky glances, tried to act casual when you eyes spotted him walking towards you, shoulders heavy with a long ass day behind him. You greeted him as usual, asked about his day as usual, but he just couldn't act like usual. He had to acknowledge how beautiful you looked, and he did just that. A compliment, then a hidden question to confirm his suspicion. Your hips swayed as you walked away from him, giggling at his compliment, dissepearing into the night.
He was in deep. Too deep.
*
You had a good time, the best since a while. He was charming, charismatic, a kind face with a killer smile. Smooth talk, lingering touches. He was literally perfection. He really was.
As the night progressed, your glass never emptied out fully, he made sure you had plenty to drink. You didn't think much of it, his glass was the same, always full, often smiling into the golden liquor that grazed his lips. You ate, but surely not enough for the amount of drinks you consumed. How much did you really drink? You couldn't recall when your vision started to feel so tunnel like, or how your head felt heavy like a brick strapped to it. The more you felt it, the often his smile faltered.
First you thought you were just tired, haven't ate enough, that's why you are being a lightweight now. But in the back of your mind something told you it wasn't that. You only drank wine, wine that most of the time brought the frizzy numbness to you and the giggles out from you, meanwhile right now, you feel like you drank an entire cupboard of alcohol.
He is closer now. Pulled his chair next to you sometime you don't remember happening, if you saw it, you already forgot it. His breath fanning you ear as he speaks to you, something along the lines of going home, having a good time, taking it somewhere more private.
You wonder if you can walk to the restroom, or even stand up on your feet. You never had to wonder. Alcohol never made you think you physically can't move your body as you want. Panic have settled in your bones, silently urging you to do something. Anything, just to get away from him. You felt his fingers grazing your thigh, pushing your dress higher with every stroke, his voice still murmuring into your ear, although you cannot understand what he's saying.
You excuse yourself, trying to mimic you half an hour ago self. Flirty and joyful, you try to laugh it off, telling him you have to freshen up, telling that you have to pee badly, giggling while admitting it. You must act good, because when you slip off the chair, his warmth doesn't follow, nor his voice. You heart is beating rapidly in your chest, probably the only thing that you can concentrate on to not fall face first to the ground.
You are so fucking hopeful you walk somewhat towards to restroom, so he doesn't realize you are figuring your way out of the place.
A cute face emreges in front of you, your body oddly colliding with the person, you hands flying up to steady yourself on their shoulder. You would be so embarrassed if you were sober. It's a waitress, asking you if you are alright, honest concern in her voice.
You mumble something out, praying it makes sense and she'll know what you need.
"You want to go home? Want us to call a taxi?" She asks with a comforting voice. "Do you need us to call someone?"
Frank's name comes to mind first, and you silently scold yourself for never asking for his number.
"Hmmm, no."
"Let us call a taxi, yeah love?" She says, gently pushing your body forward with her hands eloping you in a side hug. Everything is blurry, your vision only picking up bits and parts of the world around.
You were more than sure that he put something in your drink. If your body wasn't so numb, you would be an erratic mess right now. Your senses are limited, everything comes and goes like a dream. You are not even afraid what he had put in your drinks, you just want to get away from him far away enough so he cannot talk the sweet lady out of helping you. You momentarily feel the cold breeze outside before the early winter air hits you in full force, the cold easing your flaming skin.
"HEY, excuse me. Where are you taking her?" The hair stands up on your whole body from his voice. Sweet, hidden malicious. "No i won't take a step back, where are you taking my girlfriend? Honey look at me!"
You don't have anything in you to respond. You just want to go home.
"Sir you need to leave her alone."
Hushed voices follows movement, softly pushing and pulling you around. Where is your purse? Did you left there at the table? You have your phone and wallet in it, you'll need that.
"My purse, my phone.." You mumble, feeling your body lowered to a flat surface.
"It's in your hands love, take care." The lady says, her voice is distant. You squeeze your hand, feeling a tiny little strap in your palm confirming your fingers are locked on your bag. You barely feel the material on your skin.
"Where to?" Your eyes go wide with a new voice calling out. You are getting comfortable at the back of a taxi, an older man looking at you, waiting for an answer, the dim light up on the car's ceiling giving him a really bad angle.
You hear yourself telling him the address, the sound is like someone else and not you. The car goes smoothly, at least that's how you feel it, the seats smell funny, and the lights outside paints a weird image through the windows, your head's starts to spin as you can't comprehend your surrounding no more. You just wish the taxi driver is kind enough to lead you to your door.
You wished and you were so wrong. He calls out to you plenty of times before you manage to get out of the car, almost tripping over your own feet while doing so, trying to give him money for the ride.
And that's it, the car speeds off behind you, leaving you trembling on the sidewalk. Just a few steps right? That's all it takes to get to your apartment.
Your body sways with each drag of your legs, barely standing up. How you manage to get to your door? You don't know, probably will never know. But you eventually do, legs giving out right in front of it, landing on your knees with a sharp pain then ending up on your butt, the ice cold ground burning your skin where it connects.
Your body gives in to the drug in your system, turning the world to black.
*
He took a peaceful walk to the nearest diner, a place he and you are very fond of, often bumping to each other there, one of those times you said yourself how you love the oldschool vibe and the quiet there. Frank only grabbed a coffee to go, the couple of minute walk clearing his messy head, head that is filled to the brim with thoughts of you. It's rare to him, to have something else on his mind than his family or blood rage and revenge. It's refreshing and terrifying. When he left, you weren't home yet, almost two hours after you waved goodbye to him, and he started to feel restless. Two hour isn't too much for a first date? He wouldn't know, even back in the day he wasn't the guy who took girls to a date. His parents raised him old fashioned, but he usually liked the simpler things. Car rides, walks with deep talks, cheap picnic with soda and snacks. So what does he knows about fancy restaurant dates?
It's cold, too cold for the tiny dress you were dressed in, but he would take you home right? He would take you home, making sure you walk in your front door, seeing it close behind you before leaving. But that's him, and he knows for sure not every man thinks like that.
The coffee warming his palm, giving him some sort of comfort to his uneasiness, his eyes searching for the familiar door when he takes a turn to your street.
No lights up yet? Now he's worried. You might went home with him. It's possible, you are a beautiful grown woman, who probably knows very well what she wants. But his jaw clenches nevertheless at the thought. His eyes dart away in shame, knowing he has no right to be mad at you for having a good time.
His head snaps back so quick it hurts his neck, in the corner of his eyes a big dark spot in front if your door that wasn't there before. He blinks for a few times to make sure it's not just his brain tricking him into some illusions. His mind failed him before, showing him terrible things that weren't really there, but the rapid beating of his heart and the pounding in his head is a signal of the familiar danger he encountered so many times before. The type of feeling in his gut when he knows the worst is coming.
And nothing could have prepared him for your frozen body on the freezing ground. In your tiny dress, exposed skin sticking to the concrete, the contains of your purse scattered around.
His instinct kicks in with full force, his hands fumbling for a pulse under your skin. He checks your wrist and neck before pulling your numb body up to his embrace, without thinking twice about who might see him taking you into his apartment. God knows how did you end up there, and he's not risking it if your date shows up at your door, finishing what he had started.
Because why else would you be lying knocked out in front of your home, why couldn't you get in, why else would you loose consciousness if not because of a doing of a horrible piece of shit man?
He is a man on a mission. Something he felt ages ago, and now it's welcomed with a sense of purpose and a sharp sting in his heart.
You are terribly cold in his hands, and he has to hush the voice in his mind that tells him the worst possible outcome.
He rushes to his bed, putting you down on his sheets gently, fingers trembling as he pulls your damp dress off of you, at this point he can't bothered that you are nearly naked in his bed, this isn't how he imagined it. He rushes off, his boots heavy on the creaking wooden floor, looking for the warmest clothes he has in his mostly empty wardrobe. It's a hoodie and sweatpants he comes up with, the best he can offer.
He knows you'll be greatly embarrassed when you come to your senses, so when he removes your undergarments, he tries to do it as respectfully as it's possible. One clothing off and another on, your icy skin burning under his warm hands, the sensation leaving a bad taste in his mouth. A reminder that he has a bastard to find after you are recovered.
His mind is racing, the loud thump in his ears slowly quieting down as he checks for your pulse again, cursing himself that he doesn't have a damn thermometer. He should have called an ambulance, he thinks. But god knows how much time they need to get here, if they ever. He's being selfish. But you are in good hands, he wants to think you are okay with him.
He's greatful for his years in the military, now more than ever. When it comes to himself, he's tactical and precise but numb. Any wound he stitched up and treated is decent enough, but nothing more. His own discomfort and pain is a welcomed guest. But right now it's not his body that is in pain, and he's not allowed to be careless and emotionless. You are wrapped up in his bed, safe and sound, but it's nothing to soothe his nerves.
He grabs a towel from the bathroom, the exact same of the pretty set you gave to him a couple of weeks ago when you saw his own torn up one, insisting he needs it way more than your wardrobe where you kept it since buying them. He gently lifted your head from the soft pillow, neatly covering your damp hair in it, your soft breaths music to his ears, he leans closer, just to confirm you are breathing evenly.
He considers for moment before deciding to open your eyes with his fingertips, his suspicion is confirmed by your blown pupils, the color of your eyes barely visible from the blackness of it. He sighs, rage and anger coursing through his veins, tempting him to get up and find the fucker. It would be easy, so easy. But you need him more than he needs to ease the bloodlust.
Just now he realizes he is still in his coat, sweat glistening on his forehead, his body hot under the layers he should get rid of, dirty boots tainting the already year long stained flooring of his apartment.
He glances over to you, a last conformation you are okay before he himself changes from his street clothes.
He doesn't mean to overstep, but when he goes back to you, and you body is just as cold as when he found you outside, his mind is set. He carefully slips in to the bed, he himself isn't sure how he manages to get under you, he searches for the best way for his body to give off it's heat to you. So you are now trapped between his legs, back laying heavily on his abdomen, hair tickling his bare skin. It's more intimate Frank anticipated, but to be honest, he wasn't debating about it much before doing what his brain told him to do. He would change his mind about the position if he couldn't feel your body soaking up his warmth. It's satisfying, how you take unconsciously, and he's basking in the feeling of giving. It's been so long since he was able to serve gently, in a quiet manner. Like when he ruffled his son's hair, or put the school bag on his daughter back. Or how he played with a single strand of Maria's hair, putting it behind her ear.
So his hands pulls you closer, every part of you hugged by his body, giving and giving everything he has to offer.
*
Your head hurts. No, not hurts, splits into two, even more when your eyes open with a painful sharp feeling behind them. You would groan if your throat would let it slip past the desert that's inside. The rest in your bones mixing with various aches under your skin, and the comfort around isn't enough to reach your body. You are tempted to back to sleep, sure another hours wouldn't hurt, before you mind clears up, shaking the sleep out of you.
It hits you like a lightning. What day is it really? What day was yesterday?
You shot up, dizziness almost pulling you back down with a terrible feeling in your stomach. Before you could comprehend anything that's happening, something is held to your face where soon you empty out the contains of your stomach. A soothing hand appears on your back, trying to keep your hair there while you puke your literal life out. Sweet words reach your ears when your traumatized body calms a little bit down.
"You are alright, sweetheart." It's Frank's voice. "How you feelin'?"
Your grimace, disgust being the only thing you are feeling besides every ache of your body. "It's okay, darlin'. Just breath, let it out if you have to."
You look sideways, seeing him half naked, his body so close you can feel his warmth radiating towards your trembling body. He's concerned face is looking for something in yours, perhaps panic that why he is here with you, or the fact, that you aren't in your own room, or apartment, or why are you wearing his clothes that hangs on you loosely. There is an explanation for it, you know that, and you don't have the will or the energy to be panicked. Despite these thoughts, you heart beats out of your chest, hearing your blood rushing in your ears.
"What happened?" You ask. If you are with him, he's having all the answers. What is the last thing anyway that you remember? You getting ready? Was it yesterday? Your date. You don't remember your date. It's daytime right now, so it's surely passed.
Maybe it's too apparent on your face how you put together the pieces in your head, or he's just panicking at how you are starting to panic that you don't realize. Your shaking body is fumbling with the duvet around you, eyes snapping to Frank then to your surroundings, frantic with your every move. Like an animal cornered.
"Hey hey hey..You are alright! Look at me darling! Look at me." He forces you to look in his eyes, warm and safe, attention seeking. "You were drugged last night, but you are okay, you hear me? You'll have a hell of a day today, but it's gonna pass. Nothing happened, okay? He did nothing to you."
It's sincere. Everything he says he believes. How does he know?
"How..?"
"You know how, sweetheart. Let me get you some water okay? Get back in bed." He commands, leaving you on the side of the bed. So he is Frank Castle after all. You had you suspicion for a while, and you might asked too risque questions he caught on. How does this makes you feel? Kind of relieved, and grateful? You are grateful that your neighbor is a cold-blooded killer?
"There you go. Drink slowly, okay?" He murmurs, a black t-shirt now covering his upper body. You take careful sips, eyeing the man next to you without shame. He does the same, watching intently with so much comfort in his eyes.
"I don't remember anything." You voice is defeated, drained even without using it for hours now.
"I know, i'm sorry." Tears are threatening to fall as your mind tries to navigate the information that you have been drugged.
"What if he.."
"Nonononono, look at me! He did nothing to you. He put it in your wine, let you have too many drink, but he did no more than that!"
You nod. Accepting it. He's the Punisher after all.
He takes your hand in his, planting a faint kiss on top on your knuckles. "You are safe, i swear to you."
You are safe with him.
#frank castle x reader#frank castle imagine#frank castle oneshot#frank castle#the punisher x reader#the punisher
181 notes
·
View notes
Note
☁️ - #15 with Frank Castle (👀)
“𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐲𝐞-𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭?”
pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader
warnings: dirty talk, oral (m receiving).
frank masterlist I| main masterlist |I follower celebration I| ask
The flowers lay on the table, still neatly arranged in their brown paper wrap, and the bottle of your favourite wine that Frank had brought back from the store stands guard.
You want to thank him, want to show your appreciation for his thoughtful gifts- but you can’t drag your eyes from him. The rain beating against the window pane had drenched Frank on his way back home, his hair slicked back with the weight of the water it had absorbed. He looks handsome like this, cheeks and nose flushed pink from the cold.
Frank smirks to himself, eyes glancing to the ceiling as he shucks off his soaked jacket, neatly tucking it over the radiator he had used to warm his frozen hands.
“Are you going to eye-fuck me all night or are you going to do somethin’ about it?” He sounds smug, glancing over his shoulder at you and arching his brow in question.
You swallow thickly, chest seizing with his straightforward question. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head slightly- that self-satisfied body language only adding further to the need you feel settling between your thighs.
“‘m gonna do something about it,” you insist shyly, stepping away from the kitchen island to approach him.
“Yeah?” He smirks, enjoying your nervous energy as you pad across the floor. “What’cha gonna do?”
It’s his turn to stumble over his words when you slowly sink down to your knees, his eyes following your body to the floor as you reach up to undo his belt. You pull his cock out from his jeans, half-hard already with your sudden seizure of control.
“Oh-“ he mumbles, eyes rolling back as you settle the weight of him on your tongue. “Oh-!”
#frank castle#frank castle oneshot#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x female reader#frank castle x reader smut#frank castle x female! reader#frank castle smut#frank castle x you#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you smut#the punisher#the punisher imagine#the punisher smut#the punisher fanfiction#the punisher x y/n#the punisher x you#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal smut#jon bernthal#✩‧₊˚ 6k follower celebration ˚₊‧✩#જ⁀➴ mail: received
584 notes
·
View notes
Note
Liv my wonderful writer. I'm in desperate need of some protective Frank Castle fic. Frank and fem reader are best friends and know each other for a long time. He's always very protective and soft with her. Finally settling down they're both happy that they know live near each other and see each other as often as possible (both are harboring deep feelings for the other, but both are too dumb to admit it) unfortunately the two had a big fight and reader storms out of Frank's apartment, clearly disappointed at Frank's harsh behavior towards her (maybe she criticizes him for his one night stand or you can come up with something else) one evening reader is attacked at her apartment and hurt badly... With her mobile broken (the guy who attacked her smashed it) she's not able to call for help, so she stays at her apartment for two days until she's able to stumble to Frank's house. He finds her at his doof, hurt badly with a raging fever....
Hopefully with a fluffy ending, after Frank takes care of her and apologizing to her. I know the best friends to lovers is a trope which is rather used often. But I LOVE it so much and as a sucker for whump hurt and sick reader fics, I really need this trope.
Love ya girl =)
Thank you so much for requesting this, it’s such a cute concept. I changed it a small bit so I hope you don’t hate that. :)
Word count: 2k
Warnings: Violence and Language
Yours and Frank’s friendship consisted of almost daily check-ins, so you found it odd that he hadn’t checked in. You realized you hadn’t spoken to him in a few days, and this worried you. You called a couple of times and received no answer, which wasn’t too strange considering his line of business. Occasionally, he had weeks here and there where he would need to be unbothered or keep a low profile, so he’d turn his phone off, but he always warned you. Having waited a bit longer and still having no answer, you grabbed your coat and keys and exited your apartment. Walking to his apartment wasn’t too bad, as it was a few blocks away. You knocked on the door, but there was no answer. You gave it another try, this time you accompanied it with a shout of his name.
"Frank?"
However, there was nothing, no shuffle, no callback, and no door pulled open. There was silence. You stuck the key in the handle and unlocked the door. You slowly opened it and stepped into the apartment. There was nothing out of the ordinary at the front of the apartment. Everything was still in its place and nicely organized, just as Frank liked it. You headed towards the bedroom, finding the door slightly jarred. You pushed it, and as it creaked open, you could see that Frank wasn’t on the other side. No Frank in his apartment. Instead of returning to your apartment, you became comfortable on his couch and decided to wait.
Frank couldn’t have been happier to see his shitty one-bedroom apartment. His night was completely shit. The situation escalated, causing his arm to receive grazing from a bullet and his thigh to throb from a stab wound. Nothing that would kill him, just more of an inconvenience, and he was annoyed by the pain. Covered in blood and disgusted, he wanted to shower and collapse into bed. But upon inserting his keys in the door, he realized it was unlocked. He perked up and was ready to fight again. Slowly creeping down the hall, he strained his ears to hear anything. His gun was held tightly and ready to unload the clip. He cautiously stepped into the living room and scanned for any sign of an intruder. All was silent, but he held his breath. He knew that he was not alone. As he turned to check the kitchen, you had started your return to the living room. He pulled his gun up as you screeched.
"Oh my fucking god Frank!" You covered your face with your hands as you tried to calm your heart which was racing a like you ran a marathon. His hands trembled as he put his gun away, he had almost shot you. He was relieved that it was just you. He took a deep breath, calming his own racing heart.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I almost shot you!” He dropped the weapon on the counter.
“I was trying to check on you, I hadn’t heard from you so I was worried.” He knew that your intentions were pure, but he was stressed from the night and wore out, and still upset about almost killing you that he had become more irritated.
“You can’t just be in here like that.” His eyebrows were furrowed, you looked him over, there was a lot of blood, How much was his?
“I should help you, you look in pretty bad shape,” You wanted to change the subject, you wanted to help him. He wasn’t having any of it.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. You should go home.” He moved away so you could make it to the door.
“Frank I can’t just leave you here without helping-”
“I don’t need you here, there’s nothing you can do. Leave.” He wasn’t shouting but his voice was stern.
“Goddamn it Frank, can you please stop being so stubborn and let me help you?" You outstretched your arms to him, hoping that if you touched him, he would melt and let you in. But not tonight. Frank wasn’t having it. The last thing he wanted was to feel your warmth, both physically and emotionally. You being sweet on him would only make him feel worst for almost killing you.
He didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve love. How dare he try and not feel guilty.
He flinched backward like you were going to burn him. You stood still processing and feeling your heart begin to ache.
“Go home. You shouldn’t be here anyway, I don’t need your help.” He almost snarled at you.
“Fine, hope you don’t fucking die.” You turned on your heels and stormed back to your apartment. How dare he? All you wanted was to help and he treated you like that? Of course, he didn’t need or want it. How foolish of you to believe that he needed you. Your eyes burn from tears, and you feel idiotic . You felt stupid for being there and stupid for letting him hurt your feelings so easily. Slamming the door to your apartment you quickly made your way to the bed and laid down. You wanted to sleep to forget tonight. You prayed that when you woke up in the morning, this night would have just been an awful dream.
There was a loud noise. Loud enough to wake you up. You groaned and sat up in bed, looking towards the door, you couldn’t see anything. Getting out of bed, you slowly made your way toward the hall. There was nobody in the hallway, but the noise seemed to come from the living room. As you approached, you noticed a man standing in the living room holding a huge knife in his hand. You needed to get back to your room to call Frank. As you walked back to the room, you tried not to make any noise. As you approached your room, you grabbed the door, and as you moved it to close it, the door made a loud squeaking sound. You knew he had heard, so you knew it was only a matter of minutes before he got to you. Closing the door and locking it, you could hear him running towards your room. You quickly grabbed your phone, which had a charge of 2 percent.
Fuck
As your hands trembled, you quickly thought about what to do. The only thing you could do was to hide. Running into your bathroom closet, you attempted to call Frank, but your phone had already died. You hear the man outside, banging on the door. He would get in soon
You grabbed the metal bar you kept in the closet, you were relieved that your paranoia was paid off. The bedroom door cracked open, you gripped the bar so tight your hands were hurting.
“I know you’re in here, it’ll be easier for you if you just come out.” He moved his way to the bathroom, looking to see if you were hiding. As he made his way, you stood and quietly emerged from the closet. As he turned back, you slammed the rod against him. It collided with his ribs. He stumbled back, and you moved to hit him again, but his hand caught the bar and yanked it toward him. You wanted to fight to keep the rod, but you knew that there was no reason. He was strong, and if you kept your hands on it, you would have been too close.
You took off running to the living room. If you could just get out of the front door, you would be fine. You could run to Frank, and he would keep you safe. He would hold you in his arms and congratulate you on your bravery and kiss your forehead, as he had done before. He would be firm against your body, and that’s all you could think about. You had almost reached the door when he grabbed your arm and his other hand wrapped itself in your hair. He shoved you on the ground.
“I just want to ask you some questions about Frank and depending on how nice you are determines how well I’ll be treating you.” Crawling to the kitchen you were hoping you could get a knife, he flipped you over on your back and stood above you. “Don’t try anything or it’s gonna get worse.”
As he interrogated you, you denied knowing anything. He became angrier, and he took it out on you. He started hitting you and threatening to kill you. You felt the blood drip down your face. The warmth of the sun started to leak into the apartment, in stark contrast to the coldness of the behavior you were receiving. You were dizzy and your eyes felt like cinderblocks. He had taken a break to use the bathroom and thinking that you were too weak, he left you untied. The knife he had wielded was left on the counter, waiting for you to grab it. As he approached you, you struck. The knife slashed across his chest and into his shoulder.
You slashed again, using your fleeting strength. You made contact over and over again, but you faltered stumbling back at a loss for breath. He knocked the knife out of your hands and slammed your head to the counter.
Frank let the coffee cleanse him of his sleepless night, but it couldn’t save him from the fight replaying in his head. The look on your face when he snapped replayed. His eyes squeezed together, and he shook his head in the hope that it would disappear. He knew he had to apologize; he needed to fix what he had broken. Taking a deep breath, he reached for his phone to call you. He had to try to make things right. He pressed the call button, but it didn't ring. It was sent directly to the voicemail. He gave it another shot and got the same outcome. He almost lost his breath. He knew you would need your space but didn't realize how much that would break him.
Your body must have woken you up. You were sweating and freezing; the sunlight made the pounding in your head worse, and you listened carefully, not wanting to show you were awake. Not hearing anything, you looked around. You were alone. You began elbow-crawling to the bedroom, praying your phone was there. Getting your arm up on the bed took all of your remaining strength. You can see the phone towards the top of the bed, just out of your arm’s reach. Trying your hardest to reach, you couldn’t make it before your eyes begin shutting and your body collapsed onto the bed.
Not waiting any longer, Frank left his apartment and headed to yours. He needed to see you, even if it meant you were mad, even if you slammed the door in his face. He just wanted to see that you were still there. Making his way up to your door, he noticed that it had been cracked open. His blood ran cold.
He called you, but there was no response. He pushed slowly inside and noted the blood in the living room and kitchen. His mind raced. Making no noise as he entered the room. His eyes landed on your sweating, bloodied form. Rushing to get to you, he gently inspected you to make sure that you were still breathing.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” You were breathing, but unresponsive. He needed a rag and bandages. He helped you quickly, cleaning the sweat and blood off you. Although you grumbled, you didn’t fight against the help. To you, this whole situation was just a fever dream. You knew Frank wasn’t here, but at least your brain was kind enough to conjure an image of him. You had accepted the fact that you were fighting a fever and probably bleeding all over your bed.
Night had passed and so had your fever. Frank kept a watchful eye on you. He cleaned up your apartment and fixed your door. At noon, you opened your eyes. Blinking a few times, you registered you weren’t alone. The smell of soup from the kitchen and the sound of low music playing let you know it wasn’t anyone with malicious intentions but instead, it was Frank.
“Frank?” You tried to call out to Frank, but your voice was too hoarse to do anything, but squeak. There was tightness all through your body. Your body was unhappy to move. Frank appeared at the bedroom door, holding a glass of water. His black shirt stretched tightly against his arms, and his hair was slightly disheveled. Damn, did he still look so handsome.
“Don’t move,” He brought the cup gently to your lips and allowed you to drink as much as you needed, his eyes soft.
“What happened?” Sitting on the bed he rested a hand on your leg. You looked away from him, having trouble finding the words to say. Frank waited, he would have waited years if needed it.
While you found your words, Frank already knew what he needed to say. When he found you lying in your bed, passed out, and covered in blood, he knew he needed to tell you how he felt once you were better. He couldn’t go without you knowing he loved you anymore.
Once you turned back to him, he held your hand. You told him everything, how the guy wanted information on Frank, how you almost whooped his ass, and how all you could think of was Frank toward the end.
“I am so fucking sorry you got in the middle of my shit, sweetheart. This should have never happened to you, you didn’t deserve this. I was so–so scared that you were gone when I got here. I have never been that scared. And I’m sorry for the other night. I shouldn’t have snapped, and I didn’t mean anything I said. I need you in my life. I want you here.” He shook his head and licked his lips, you could tell that his words were heavy with emotions. You can see it in his eyes that he wants you to feel these emotions.
His truth made you cry harder. You pushed yourself forward and hugged Frank. His arms wrapped around you tight enough to make you feel safe and secure, but not enough to cause pain. Slowly pulling back, you looked back into his eyes. He was so close, you could see the small scar on the side of his head and the little stubble growing.
Frank looked down at your lips and then back into your eyes. He brought his hand up to your face, rubbing your cheek, and gently guiding your face toward him. Your eyes closed, and you waited for his lips to meet yours. Kissing him now was far better than you imagined. You hoped Frank felt butterflies like you were. You hoped his heart was racing. If only you knew just how much of an effect you were having on him. He never wanted to stop kissing you.
Finally, pulling apart, you rested your forehead on his chest and basked in his scent. Frank’s smile was so big, his eyes were bright from the love he was allowing himself to feel. It had been so long since he felt something like this. That horrible night was far from you. Frank chased it away. Now that you had Frank, you were never letting him go, and you knew that Frank would never let you go. You couldn't help the smile on your face, as you reveled in the feeling of Frank being all around you.
#frank castle#frank castle x reader#frank castle oneshot#askLiv!#marvel#the punisher#punisher x reader
193 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this idea came to me at like 2 am and im obsessed
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!frank castle x sub!reader
𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝!
𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!
𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ ONLY, language, unprotected sex, masturbation (f), use of sex toys (dildo), daddy kink, unedited, sorry for any missed typos
"What happened?" Frank frantically asks, pressing the phone to his cheek.
It was almost one-thirty am when your name popped up on his phone. It wasn't often that you called him this late and the last time you did, you had gotten lost walking home from a night out with your friends. Since then, he's kept his phone on with the volume high.
"Baby, what happened?" He sits up in bed, waiting for you on the other again.
"I'm safe, I promise... I just.." You trailed off, before taking a deep breath.
Frank was getting nervous, looking around for his keys and his clothes. Even if it wasn't anything important, he was going to head over to your place- not wanting to chance anything.
"I can't..." You felt ashamed having to call him this late for something so little, but you needed him.
"I can't... cum.." A sigh of relief that you weren't in any immediate danger came from Frank.
Your cheeks burned and your eyes welled with embarrassment. Frank's cock twitched at the shyness of your voice. This was the first time you've called him with something like this. Frank didn't mind you getting off on your own, but he would of course prefer being there with you.
Smiling to himself he asks, "Why can't you cum, sweetheart?"
He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling at his sweatpants. You're lying back against pillows completely naked with your fingers between your thighs. Hearing his voice drop with the rasp had arousal leaking out of you.
Your heartbeat began to beat faster,
"... My toys don't feel as good as you,"
You huff, looking over at the dildo lying next to you. Frank inhales sharply, running his hands through his hair. He can't even imagine how wound up you had to be to resort to your toys. The pink glass dildo, he had bought it for you for when he's away and you didn't usually use them- but tonight you just needed a release not even the dildo was helping.
The image of you sprawled out on the bed with your fingers rubbing your clit while you pumped yourself had Frank's cock stirring.
"Yeah?" He breathed, standing and grabbing his keys.
"Please, Frankie... I need you," Your voice was just above a whisper.
Frank bit back a moan, "I'll be right there, sweetheart,"
Placed your phone on the nightstand and continued to slowly pump yourself. You would get so close, but nothing seemed to get you to that last bit. You wished you knew why you were extra needy today and why it was extra hard to finish, but you just couldn't figure out why.
The closer Frank gets to your apartment door, the bigger his bulge grew. You only lived a few blocks away. In moments like this, you wish you lived together.
Frank digs in his pockets for his key. When he opens the front door, he can hear the frustrated whines and whimpers. Chuckling to himself, Franks kicks his shoes off and empties his pockets on the dining table by the door. Your bedroom door is shut, so Frank knocks gently before opening it, making sure not to startle you.
"I told you I was on my way," Frank's cock twitched again seeing you bare and spread wide on the bed.
Dropping the dildo, you jump up from the bed and practically run to him. Frank pulls you close, kissing the top of your head. You bite the inside of your cheek when you feel the bulge pressing against your skin. While he hugs you, Frank feels the tension in your shoulders.
"You're so tense, sweetheart, no wonder you can't cum." His hands run over your back, soothing the tension.
"C'mon." Pulling away from the hug, Frank gives you a soft kiss.
Motioning to the bed, you climb back on top of the comforter. Frank removes his hoodie and tosses it on the chair in the corner of the room.
"You have to relax, okay?" Frank slips between your legs, lying on his stomach and placing one of your legs over his shoulder.
He opens your pussy wide and sees your clit is swollen from all the attention. Running his thumb over the sensitive bud, you jerk your hips. Frank sees you pulsing around nothing, desperately begging to be filled. You watch him as he intently, inspects you- getting more frustrated that he's not doing anything.
"Frankie..." His palm runs up the top of your thigh, soothing your restlessness. Frank grabs the dildo and begins to tease you.
Knowing how impatient you are, it's safe to assume you didn't properly warm yourself up. Frank begins to drag the toy up between your folds, lazily circling your clit. Soon the soft noise start flowing and your body relaxes. It's so easy with Frank, he understands your body better than you do. The dildo glides down to your aching hole, slipping in only about two inches.
"Attagirl, look at that! How does that feel?" You nod, and your fingers find your nipples.
They begin to pinch and tug adding to the pleasure. Frank adds a few more inches, twisting and pumping you full. It feels better than when you tried, but it just still wasn't doing it.
You needed more, you needed Frank.
"It's still not enough..." He knew exactly what you were referring too, but he needed you to say it. Frank chuckles, kissing the inside of your thigh.
"Sweetheart, if you want my cock you need to use your words." Frank's still pumping you with the dildo.
You whine, "Daddy, I need your cock!"
With that, Frank smiles. He carefully pulls the dildo out, giving it to you to clean off. You take it and slip it past your lips. While you suck it clean, Frank removes the rest of his clothes.
When he's ready, he strokes himself a few times to get himself ready. Frank pulls your legs to the edge of the bed. Running the tip of his cock over your folds, you moan, finally getting what you need.
Frank slides inside you and you gasp. There is a relief that you hadn't had all night. It felt right and you lit up. Frank hovers over you and your legs wrap around him instantly. You claw at his lower back wanting him to get closer.
He chuckles, "There's my girl, just needed daddy's dick huh?" You're lost in it and your mind is fuzzy.
"C'mon now, use me- take what you need- fuck-" You're bucking your hips upward, signaling that you want more.
Frank takes the queue and picks up his pace.
"That's it, attagirl! Feels so much better doesn't it, sweetheart?" Without warning, your body seizes, you're gripping his body so tight and you clenching around him so tight.
You barely have time to process what's happening before you're hit with overwhelming pleasure.
"F-Fuck, y'so tight-" Frank holds steady while you inhale sharply.
The moans get caught in your throat while your orgasm hits you like a train. It's so hard that tears swell in your eyes and all you can manage to do is whine.
"M'sorry, daddy- I couldn't hold it- It was so strong-" You gulp back, embarrassment washes over you. You've never cum that hard before and you certainly never cum without asking his permission.
"Baby, baby- you did so well! Don't you dare say sorry," He kisses your forehead. All you do is nod and Frank kisses your forehead down to your lips. Frank just kisses you and runs his thumb over your cheek, calming your body down from the intense high.
#frank castle#minors dni#frank castle smut#frank castle x reader#frank castle imagine#frank castle x you#frank castle x female reader#frank castle drabble#frank castle blurb#frank castle fluff#frank castle oneshot#frank castle angst#the punisher x reader#the punisher#the punisher smut#the defenders#marvel#mcu#jon bernthal#jon bernthal smut#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal oneshot#jon bernthal x female reader#daddy!frank
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
🐰 25 with frank castle!
Hello! Sorry this took so long, and congratulations on being my first Frank Castle fic!
Frank Castle x Reader- Jumpscare
Prompt: I can't smile, I'm mad
CW: Established relationship, F!Reader, written in 2nd person, reader referred to as "you". Body shape, hair colour, eye colour left ambiguous
Summary: You're home by yourself and watching a scary movie. Frank comes home after being gone for awhile. Chaos ensues.
You should’ve known better than to watch a scary movie when you were home alone. But Frank was still away, there was nothing else on and you were already too invested to turn it off.
Which is how you found yourself, up past midnight and still watching the hapless teens meet their doom at the hands of a knife wielding killer. Your black lab mix, Riley, was loyally snuggled against your side, fast asleep and completely indifferent to your growing anxiety. You ran a hand down his back, mindlessly working your fingers into his soft fur to try and soothe yourself. It didn’t have the desired effect however, since you nearly jumped a foot in the air as the movie killer leapt out from a closet onscreen and snared yet another victim.
Riley jumped with you, his head jolting up and a soft growl rising in his throat as he looked around for the hidden threat. You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself, reaching down to rumple the dog’s ears to try and calm the both of you.
“Sorry boy, just the TV.”
Your dog stared up at you for a moment, before letting out a heavy sigh. You could almost hear the annoyance in the sound, as if Riley couldn’t believe you’d woken him up for something so stupid. You watched as he shifted position and tucked his muzzle beneath his paws, most likely trying to block out any further interference with his sleep.
“I hope your Dad comes back soon” you said, half to Riley and half to yourself “I always get so jumpy when he’s gone.”
The movie certainly wasn’t helping. Every creepy sound effect from the TV seemed to echo back at you from somewhere in the apartment, and you kept glancing over your shoulder as though you expected the killer to pop out the second you looked away. You thought about texting or calling Karen, knowing your friend’s cheerful disposition would soothe you instantly, but decided against it when you remembered how late it was. Even though you knew Karen would answer right away, you didn’t want to disturb her. She was so busy with her new job at the paper, and it was your fault for putting yourself in this position anyway.
“Watcha watching?”
“Jesus SHIT” you shrieked, flying from the couch the second you felt a breath ghost against your ear. Riley, good boy that he was, followed suit, barking for all he was worth and doing his best to get a grip on the slippery hardwood so he could put himself between you and the intruder.
Said intruder however, was none other than Frank Castle. He was standing behind the couch, eyes wide and hands held up in a submissive gesture. A bag of takeout from your favourite Thai place hung from one wrist, and his keys were still in the opposite hand, which told you he’d just come in. How had you not heard him?
“Frank!” you yelped, reaching down to grab a pillow from the couch and lob it at his head “What is WRONG with you?!”
Frank ducked, the pillow barely grazing his ear as it flew past. He was upright again in seconds, years of Marine training giving him reflexes you could only dream of.
“Hey now” he said, a lopsided smile already tugging at the corners of his mouth “Is that any way to greet your husband?”
A sigh buzzed past your lips as you sank back down onto the sofa, your heart pounding a mile a minute in your ears. Riley, upon realizing it was Frank and not the Boogeyman, had stopped barking and was now doing a happy dance towards his master. Frank smiled down at the big dog, setting the bag of takeout on a end table next to the couch and kneeling down so he could greet Riley properly.
“Hey mutt” he said, his voice soft as he rumpled the dog’s ears “You been taking good care of your Mom for me?”
Riley squinted up at Frank, his tongue lolling out in a doggy grin as his tail wagged a mile a minute, nearly catatonic with delight. Yes he seemed to be saying Please tell me a did a good job because I tried so hard.
Frank gave the dog’s side a couple more affectionate pats before rising and turning to glance in your direction. You could feel his eyes tracing your profile, but you refused to meet his gaze. Instead, you bit your lip and stared resolutely at the TV, though the credits on your movie had started to roll.
“Babe?”
Nope. You weren’t going to look at him. Yes, he had been gone for at least a week and you had missed him so bad it hurt, but after that entrance he was going to have to work his way back into your good graces.
“Hey. Babe, look at me.”
The sudden closeness of Frank’s voice finally made you look up. He was leaning in front of you, his hands braced against the back of the couch so his arms made a cage around your torso. You could smell his aftershave and the coffee he must’ve drunk on the way home. It was a potent cocktail that made you want to grab hold of his collar and kiss him stupid, but you held fast.
“I haven’t seen you since last Saturday. Doesn’t that at least get me a smile or something?”
You ducked your head down, trying to hide your face from Frank’s probing gaze.
“I can’t smile, I’m mad”
Frank chuckled, the sound a deep rumble in his throat, before grabbing hold of your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He paused for a moment, gauging your reaction to the touch and waiting to see if you’d jerk away. When you didn’t, he gently tilted your face upwards so his eyes met yours.
You wanted to tell Frank to fuck off, that he was a jerk for scaring you and he wasn’t getting shit until he apologized, but any response you may have come up with vanished the instant his lips met yours. You melted into the kiss so quickly it was almost embarrassing. Within seconds, you had thrown your arms around Frank’s neck, clinging to him as though he was gone a year instead of just a week. Your eagerness wasn’t lost on Frank, and he pressed at the seam of your lips with his tongue, tightening his grip on your waist when you moaned in response.
You were about to open your mouth and reciprocate, when Riley pushed himself between your bodies, breaking off the kiss to give out some of his own. The two of you laughed as the big dog eagerly licked your faces, re-establishing himself as the centre of attention where he rightfully belonged.
“Ah, you missed me.” Frank said as he plopped down on the far side of the couch, leaving room so Riley could still sit in the middle. The big dog sprawled out as soon as Frank settled, his head in his master’s lap with his rear facing towards you for maximum pat potential. You happily obliged, scratching the spot between his hips you knew he loved.
“No way” you shot back, unable to keep the smile off your lips “I’m mad at you, remember?”
“Oh yeah? Well, you don’t kiss like someone who’s mad.”
You let out a snort and threw another pillow in Frank’s direction. He caught it nimbly instead of ducking this time, and leaned forward to tuck it behind his head. Once he was comfy, he held a hand out in your direction, loosely open with the palm up. With a sigh, you grabbed the remote from the nearest side table and handed it to him, turning back to grab the bag of takeout as he started to channel surf.
“You in the mood for another movie?” you asked as you placed the various Styrofoam containers on the coffee table. Like an idiot, you’d skipped dinner in favour of snacking on popcorn and the smell of the sai oua and fried rice almost had you drooling.
“I dunno,” Frank replied, his eyes trained on the screen “It all looks like horror stuff. You up for that?”
“Yeah. It’s not so scary when you’re here to protect me.”
206 notes
·
View notes
Note
Heyy I would like to request where after a long day the reader comes back home and she’s feeling exhausted and when she gets back Frank helps her feel more relaxed by massaging places on her body where she feels a little sore and as he’s doing that he leaves kisses along her back etc and that leads to a heavy make out session but Frank is so gentle with her and they have sex. Sorry is this is so detailed this was a scenario I was imagining😭😭😭❤️
I Got You | Frank Castle x Reader
warnings: fluff with soft smut. Established relationship, fingering, unprotected sex, creampied, implied size kink. Frank is being an absolute teddy bear of a boyfriend.
Word count: 1.6K
18+ ONLY | Minors DNI
A/N: Ah I absolutely love this scenario! Thank you so much for sending in Frank's request! I don't get him often! After I wrote this, I realized I forgot about the heavy making out part. I just went straight to the sexy time. I hope that’s ok! If you liked this, please comment or reblog. It means a lot, and it’s greatly appreciated.
Frank Castle Masterlist
Do not copy, translate, or repost my works anywhere else !!
“Rough day?”
His voice croaked, pulling you out of your little thoughts as you turned after you put on his T-shirt. His eyes melted like molten dark chocolate. His mass frame overwhelmed the apartment's small bedroom.
“Very tiring,” you replied lazily. “Is box mac and cheese ok with you? I just have no energy to cook today.”
Frank didn’t miss your tired voice. “Anything is good, sweetheart,” he said as he made his way to the bed. The soft mattress dipped by the weight of his massive frame. His large palm patted the spot in front of him.
“Come here,” he said softly. The low rumble of his voice sent a slight tremor through your nerve like a gentle earthquake.
You did as he had asked, sitting yourself down right in front of him. Frank was sitting astride your body. You felt small compared to his larger body. His warmness permeated the air around you almost invitingly. He was your comfort and warmth.
Frank slowly massaged your shoulder, squeezing and kneading your flesh firmly. A throaty moan slipped past your lips and the sound made his cock jolt. He knew he shouldn’t get turned on by such a simple act as this, but your voice–God, your voice sounded like it was buried deep inside you.
Another pleasurable groan ripped from your mouth as he continued to work through your stiff muscles. You were clearly unaware of the sort of sinful things that came out of your mouth, and Frank was suffering for it.
Your eyes flew open when you felt his lips on the nape of your neck, kissing you almost gently, eliciting a deep hunger from within you. Your breath started to hitch in your throat as the ache between your thighs was growing prominent and insistent, throbbing not so subtly to your heartbeat. Your attention narrowed on his lips, pinpointing where he would kiss you next.
First, he was at the nape of your neck, then down to your shoulder. His large, calloused hands slipped underneath the oversized t-shirt, making your stomach do a flip as your heart began to raise.
His rough palms skimmed over your stomach, then upward till he grasped both of your breasts. Only then you could feel yourself exhale shakily. Your body slumped against his and you wanted to moan by the way his distinct bulge was pressing against your back. He was rock hard. Your pussy throbbed needily as you imagined the way his cock fit so nicely into your tightness. You were aching to be stuffed by him.
Frank kneaded your breasts lazily as his lips were now on your shoulders. His rough fingers lazily twirled and twisted at your nipples until they were painfully taut.
“Does it feel good, baby?” he asked. Lust was evidence in his voice as he continued his assault upon your soft mounds. Slick began to gather at your pantie, soaking it through as your legs instinctively parted.
Words failed you as you laid your head against his chest all the while that he worked you and strung you up like a tight chord. You could feel his hand slowly moving southward toward your throbbing heat.
His fingers pressed firmly against your clothed slit, and you whined softly in his arms. Frank didn’t say a word as he continued to rub you shamelessly.
“Baby, you’re so wet for me and I barely touch you,” he murmured softly. His hot breath fanned against your ears, only making you become hyper-aware of his touches.
“Look at this,” he said as he pressed his finger against your swollen clit. A soft, whiny cry fell from your lips as your legs threatened to close.
“Keep your legs open or I’ll make you,” he warned. His tone only made you wetter if you weren’t drenching through your panties already. The dangerous edge in his voice thrilled you and made you want to do the thing he said not to do just to find out if he’d followed through with his threat.
Knowing Frank though, he didn’t like fucking around.
You complied willingly, spreading your legs apart to give him more access. Frank not so gently now pushed your pantie to the side and slipped two of his fingers inside you. A soft hiss left your lips and the suddenness. You didn’t push him away though as you welcomed his thick fingers, working your slick heat, pumping them at a slow, tantalizing pace.
He took his time with you, stroking you and filling you with his fingers as he nibbled the shell of your ear gently.
“Fuck, look at how your pussy squeezes my fingers. Are you imagining me fucking you with my cock?”
You nodded, but Frank wanted you to say it, so he drew out his fingers all the way out before he pushed them all the way till he was knuckled deep inside your drenched heat.
You let out a cry as your body jolted. “Yes, baby! Yes. I want you to fuck me with your big fat cock so bad,” you whined against his chest.
You could feel Frank smirking against your shoulders before he withdrew his hand away from you, leaving you high and dry. You let out a protesting whine before you felt yourself being flipped over onto your back. His body covered yours in a matter of seconds before his lips found yours again, kissing you with a newfound urgency.
His dexterous fingers worked their way around your pantie, slowly sliding it off you. You let out a hiss as the cold air hit your bare pussy, but Frank didn’t let you have time to think as he settled himself between your thighs.
His hands slid underneath your ass, and he pulled you till your pussy was flushed against his bulge. Frank began to ground his hips against you, and you would have sworn your eyes were now rolling to the back of your skull as jolts of pleasure shot through you.
He was a fucking menace for teasing you and edging you like this.
“Frank, baby, please,” you begged softly as you tried to grab onto the pillow with your might, but to no avail. You could feel yourself strung up tighter at the friction, but Frank was relentless.
It felt like ages as you laid there when you knew it wasn’t that long. He was finally given into your soft pleading and begging. Frank finally had enough of the teasing. He pulled back slightly and slid the gray sweatpants down. Then his shirt was next, throwing it over his shoulder with little care.
His mouth descended upon yours once more as you felt his hand begin your thighs, rubbing the fat head of his cock against your slick first before he pushed himself all the way inside you, making you moan in unison.
It always felt like the first time all over again by his sheer size. Your body felt like it was set ablaze from the inside before it melted into something more as pleasure began to course through you. He always stretched you out so deliciously, stroking that hunger inside you.
He withdrew himself almost to the edge, then pushed deep inside you. His body was hard and forceful, his muscles taut, sending your body rocked against the bed. You fought to control the noise that threatened to escape from your mouth, though the effort was fruitless by the way he was fucking you so deep and hard. You barely have any sort of self-control left.
Your hands flew to his back, nails dug into his hardback. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he continued to set the pace, setting your body on fire. Frank grunted deeply every time he thrust into you. He sounded so primal and so feral that all you did was let yourself go.
His cock somehow felt bigger as he thrust into you faster and wilder. You were both panting now as both of your bodies slicked with perspiration. Then his hand flew to the apex of your thighs, where both of your bodies joined.
Cupping your slick pussy, he squeezed and rubbed at the hard nub, not even bothering to be gentle anymore.
“I got you baby. I got you,” he whispered almost sinfully.
His roughness drove you straight to the edge as your body ascended by the pleasure. Your wall fluttered around him, squeezing him till you let out a shout.
You came around him hard as he continued to hammer into you. Your body arched off the bed as intense pleasure shot through you.
Frank groaned into your throat as his hips continued to drive into you as he gave you a few more thrusts, shoving his cock so hard up your inside that you felt like he might have rearranged your inside.
He cried out your name. It was deep and gravel almost like an animal. His body strained as he came inside you, spurting his hot cum inside of you, flooding you with nothing by his release.
You lay underneath him, panting. Your body felt heavy and sluggish as you bathed into the afterglow of your orgasm.
Eventually, Frank pulled himself out and laid his large body beside you. His soft brown eyes melted into you with devotion. A crooked smile etched upon his features as his fingers traced your cheek.
“Told you, I got you,” he said lazily.
“I know, baby, and I've never doubted you.”
You turned and laid on his chest as he stroked your back. The tenderness made you want to cry because you know this moment is reserved only for you.
#wint3r h3art#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#frank castle imagine#frank castle smut#frank castle oneshot#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal x you#jon bernthal imagine#jon bernthal smut#fanfiction#the punisher x reader#the punisher x you
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
frank with reader who’s really touchy and loves to touch frank and after a bad mission he snaps at her and she knows it’s because of what happened that night not her but she still feels really bad and distances herself
A/N: hey bestie i got this ask and felt so inspired that i wrote 90% of it in my free time at work today. fastest turn around time ever??? don't get used to it lol i hope you enjoy!!
MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST
Frank knew he had fucked up the second the words left his mouth. He watched the words hit you, watched you process the rage induced slip-up that had forced its way out of his mouth – the way you recoiled your hand from his skin and stumbled over yourself to move away from him. It made him sick. Guilt coiled in his stomach, and before he could apologize, or say anything at all, you turned and left the room, mumbling an apology under your breath.
Frank couldn’t figure out where it had gone wrong. He’d never snapped at you before tonight and was almost as shocked as you were when the words tumbled out of his mouth.
“Stop fucking touching me. I said I’m fucking fine.”
Regret gnawed at his stomach, and if he wasn’t bleeding so hard out of the wound on his arm, he would’ve followed you out of the bathroom, dropped to his knees, and begged your forgiveness. But blood was hard to get out of carpet, and he didn’t want you upset about two things tonight.
So he stitched himself up, and wondered where you were in the apartment, and hoped to God you weren’t somewhere crying. The tears, your tears, he realized, were his least favorite thing in the world, especially if he was the cause of them. He’d rip any fucker who made you cry in half, a promise he’d made good on multiple times, but he hadn’t accounted for the tears he, himself would cause. The guilt overwhelming his senses were doing the job for him anyways – the longer he waited to confront you, the more he felt like an absolute asshole.
He tested the durability of the dressing on the wound, winding his arm around until he winced. A sharp pain clanged through the left side of his body, and though it made him grimace, he sat with the pain for a moment – let it ground him so that the stress of the evening could leave him. Pain usually sharpened his senses and made him feel more at home in his body. Tonight, it only unsettled him more.
He wondered if he screwed it up with you for good. You’d worked through a lot of things with Frank, but never this, and the idea of you leaving before he could even try to make things right targeted the urgency in him. He stalked to the door and began his search.
-
The hard brick dug into your back as you sat down, and for the third time in half a minute, you questioned your decision to clamber out the window and climb to the roof. You didn’t mean to leave so quickly, but the idea of pacing around the apartment listening to Frank grunt his way through stitches made it hard to breathe, so you did the next best thing – aka the roof.
You didn’t even need time to think the encounter with Frank over. You knew why he’d said it and what he’d been through tonight, but that didn’t stop the ache in your chest from blooming. It also didn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. You had tried to blink them away, but the more you tried to ignore them, the more your vision blurred.
You’d always been a touchy person, though it had never been quite as present as it was when you were near Frank. When you first met him, you’d been so drawn to his charming aura that you hadn’t realized you’d been shaking his hand for at least 45 seconds. He hadn’t said anything – just kept watching you watch him with a soft smile on his face.
And the rest was history. You spent the entire first weekend after you met wrapped in each other’s arms, fucking on every available surface in your apartment. You didn’t quite understand why you felt the desire to be constantly touching him, but he didn’t complain and allowed you to give in to your desires as often as you wanted to. You had mentioned to him early on in your relationship that he could tell you to stop if he needed his space, but he’d never asked you to stop.
Until tonight.
And you respected it. You did what he asked. You “stopped fucking touching” him as soon as the words had left his mouth, and maybe it hurt your feelings, but you weren’t going to push that on him. If he wanted you to stop touching him, you would, even if it carved a deep, cavernous hole in your heart.
“Sweetheart?”
Your heart seized, and you jumped at Frank’s sudden appearance.
“Hey.” You mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. “How’d you find me?”
“I worry about you too much not to be able to find you.” You quirked an eyebrow at him, unable to resist looking at him any longer, and he shrugged. “You left the window to the fire escape open. Can I sit?”
You shuffled to the side, allowing him the space to sit down, though you were careful not to let your skin brush against his. Frank let out a choked scoff and pressed his leg against yours. You turned to him, brows furrowed.
“I thought you didn’t want me touching you.”
And yeah, maybe you threw the words in his face to make him feel a little worse, but he was cracking jokes after snapping at you, and you couldn’t help the bite in your tone - didn’t want to help the bite in your tone.
He shook his head, expression turning grave.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“You said it, though.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I know.”
You watched him take in your features – the swollen cheeks from the few tears that slipped earlier, the wildness of your hair after one too many run-throughs with your fingers, the way you could barely look at him before turning away again.
“I was just trying to help you.” Your eyes crinkled at the thought of him snapping at you again.
He nodded, cradling your face in his palms.
“I’m an asshole, baby.” His voice cracked, “I never want you to stop touching me. I love it – I love you – and I’m sorry.”
You gaped up at him, at the desperate expression on his face. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the back of your eyes. You gnawed at your bottom lip, unsure what to say.
“Don’t cry, baby.” He shook his head, wiping your tears away with the soft pads of his thumbs, “Please don’t cry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You don’t understand how sorry I am.”
You sniffled, nodding. He’d groveled enough, and you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to stay upset with him for longer than 10 minutes.
“Did you tie the stitch off correctly?” you asked, nodding to the injury that was now covered with gauze.
“Of course.” Frank nodded. You narrowed your eyes at his nonchalant tone.
“Are you sure?”
“No.” He huffed a laugh and pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek.
“Why not?” You giggled, swatting him away.
“Because if this didn’t work, I was going to complain about my awful stitches later and hope my muscles would entice you to forgive me.”
He smirked, and laughter bubbled out of you from deep in your chest. You climbed to your feet, holding your hands out toward him.
“Okay, Mr. Muscles, let me fix it before it really does get uncomfortable.”
He rose to his feet, using the leverage from your hold on his hands to pull you against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he paused, “again.”
“I know, Frankie.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his nose.
“I love you.” he added, smiling.
“Shut up and kiss me, muscles.”
Tag List:
@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt
#frank castle#frank castle angst#frank castle imagine#frank castle x reader#frank castle fluff#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle x you#frank castle fic#the punisher#the punisher fanfiction#the punisher fluff#the punisher angst#jon bernthal#marvel#marvel imagine#the punisher imagine#frank castle oneshot#the punisher x reader#marvel fanfiction#marvel angst#marvel fluff#requested#amhrosina
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
domestic!frank taking your kids to a trunk-or-treat, holding their little hands and leading them to all the different cars, whispering to them to say please and thank you!!
domestic!frank who dresses up in coordinating costumes with you and the kids, never complains about who he has to be and proudly shows off his little family!!
domestic!frank who carries your kids on his shoulders while trick-or-treating around the neighborhood, holding the candy bucket and jokingly telling the child on his shoulders that they’re soooo heavy!!
domestic!frank and trick or treating <333
#frank castle#jon bernthal#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#the punisher#frank castle smut#frank castle oneshot#frank castle fluff#frank castle headcanons#frank castle imagine#frank castle x y/n#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle drabble#jon bernthal x you#jon bernthal fluff#jon bernthal imagine#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal smut#the punisher fic#the punisher smut
290 notes
·
View notes
Text
Parings: Frank Castle x Reader
A/N: This is my first time writing anything like this please be nice I can’t take bullying :)
I grip his length in my small hands he’s so thick and long he grabs the back of my head and pulls me up for a kiss, he gently guides me as I lick it with little teasing licks, He groans.
“like a lollipop pretty baby, atta girl there ya’ go”
he says In a deep groggy voice.
The noises that are being made are so dirty, the gagging. It’s music to his ears.
#frank castle x reader#ahhhhh#dirty thots#frank castle#frank castle x female reader#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x you#frank castle oneshot#frank castle smut#frank castle x reader smut
219 notes
·
View notes
Text
⚝﹒𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬﹒⚝
⚝﹒author's note : just wanted to write a soft thing about frank meeting a dreamy reader and being in love
⚝﹒contents warning : mentions of blood, death (frank's past), mostly fluff though, afab reader, no use of y/n
⚝﹒word count : 1768
When you live in a world where nightmares haunt you, it’s hard to find the time to chase after your dreams.
They tormented Frank, these ghosts of the past. The dead, the deaths that piled up like an ugly heap, a scarlet stack of glassy eyes bleached white by the lack of a soul.
Their warm, sticky blood stuck to his fingers. No matter how many times he washed them, how hard he scrubbed his own skin, how hot he turned the water on; he would never feel clean.
All those times he came home, covered in the coppery smell of carmine liquid, he waited for the shower like a saving goddess. She would take him in her hot arms, the steam enveloping him in that reassuring mist like a mother's embrace.
The water cuddled him, caressing his body drop by drop, leaving a crimson river running down his skin and escaping into the black hole of the tub.
She reassured him, whispering in his ear the sweet words that could come from the pearls of purity and insouciance. But there were times where she'd come down on him like a storm.
And when he lay there, in his miserable bed, and the pouring rain came beating against the glass of his window, he couldn't sleep.
Because when you've learnt Morse code and used it enough times in your life to read it, write it, listen to it and understand it, even the rain screams at you to run.
He had lived a life, and he had taken more of them than he would live again later in the meanders of time. Would he ever find the strength to forgive himself? He had already found it, somewhere, somehow.
Would he ever find someone to forgive him?
This thought sometimes kept him awake. He usually came home exhausted, worn out by a day that had taken him through so many emotions and feelings that he wondered if that single day hadn't lasted a whole year.
Once he was clean, he'd collapse onto his bed and, far too tired to think, let himself drift off into the darkness of the night to the jars of stars that dreams shine in.
But nothing was bright. No lights, no candle with a flame the size of an almond barely illuminating you a room, not even a flickering firefly gently flying under the weight of its glow.
Nothing. The pitch black of the night, the black of his thoughts, the black of his title.
He was trying to rebuild his life, to leave all this evil behind, no matter how tenaciously it clung to him like his shadow.
Was it only his shadow, or was his reflection a part of the loathing ? Every vision he had of himself was distorted by the depth of his actions.
He had lost count of the times when facing his own gaze seemed harder than any fight, harder than being shouted at for something stupid, harder than staring into the sun for too long.
When other people's eyes met his, did they have any idea of the weight they carried? Of what those eyes had seen, of what those eyes had cried, of how those eyes turned all black and devoid of light when he clutched the grip of his guns.
Who would want to look into eyes as black as the room he went to bed in every night?
Life swept into his path the most pleasant devil he had ever met. His circle of friends gradually dwindled down to his own. But he didn't give himself any hope that it would last.
When you're used to losing, you expect everything to be taken from you without asking. You expect your hopes to melt away like snowflakes in the palm of your hand. But you'd have to believe that his heart was cold enough to prevent them from turning into tears from the heavens.
It was thanks to Matt that he had met you. It was no secret that Frank was an avid reader, as if reading what literature had to offer would revive the dead that the words on paper exposed to him.
So Matt had recommended a bookshop where, according to him, he could find a wide variety of books. At first Frank thought that the demon was sending him into a den of other fools who read the criminal and civil codes day and night as if their lives depended on it.
But the latter quickly confirmed that there would be someone there to help him. He didn't have much to lose, and when the time came to read a new book, he went there. He had no high expectations, it was a bookshop like any other.
There was nothing special about it. It had a window displaying the major releases of late, the familiar smell of book paper wafting through the air, and shelves full of intriguing covers.
But it had you.
Knees bent to the ground, arched towards the floor as you pointed to a page of a book a child was holding in his tiny hands, your eyes sparkling as you explained something he couldn't hear.
You hid your mouth for a moment, leaning over to whisper a secret to the child, and the little boy laughed softly as you lowered your fingers from your lips to let your smile shine through.
All the secrets in the world that interested him seemed to be held by you alone.
You straightened up, letting the child read quietly, turning to Frank with that same smile adoring your lips.
"May I help you?"
Frank had forgotten how to speak for a moment, but his wits quickly pushed him to start talking and not look like a moron with his mouth half-open in a fish-like fashion.
He told you what he liked, and with an unconscious charm that made him feel as if he were suffocating, you guided him to the first shelf, summarising the synopsis of a book for him with mad, bewitching simplicity.
Then, feigning dissatisfaction when you'd hit the nail on the head, he asked you if you had anything else to suggest.
Then came the second book, which he had already read. Then the next, which seemed too close to another. Then another. And then another. Until he couldn't come up with any more excuses he searched at every turn of shelves to hear you talk and spend any time in your presence.
When it came to the checkout and you handed him the book, your fingers touched for a moment as you wished him a good day.
He thought about it every evening that followed.
As the days passed, a rhythm settled in. He would finish a recommended book, come and see you, find premeditated ways of spending as much time as possible in the bookshop, and leave with another novel.
One day he plucked up the courage to buy you a coffee, and he thought his heart would burst when you accepted. Coffee led to lunch, lunch led to dinner, and dinner led to a bottle of wine at home.
And even when your flesh intertwined, your voices became whispers, and your lips kissed, he never had any doubts :
You were everything, and he was nothing.
He had lived with the idea of being nothing for a long time, had become accustomed to the thought, had become almost attached to it. Nothing is always alone, otherwise it wouldn't be nothing. So what was he now that he had a glimpse of you in his life?
It was one night, in his dark bedroom, as you sat on his bed facing him, that his thoughts glowed.
You had leaned over him and kissed his forehead so tenderly that he felt fragile beneath your fingers. You gazed into his eyes, as if no matter how deep they were, you weren't afraid of what you were about to find.
There was a moment of silence, a moment of darkness, a moment of nothing. Fear buzzed in his ears for the first time in a long time.
She won't choose me, because if I were in her place, I wouldn't choose myself. That's what he thought. He thought that you had seen in his eyes what people call "void", a farewell to every "goodbye", and that you were going to take time in the oceans to drown his despair.
He was petrified at the thought of you leaving. Until you told him:
"You've forgotten how to dream, haven't you ?" your whisper and your gaze came in a wave as your thumb stroked the frown of his forehead to loosen it, "It's been ripped away from you," you whispered as your eyes met Frank's. "Hasn't it ?"
And you... you looked at him as if there was something in him worth looking at.
You saw in him what he couldn't see anymore, half skinned like a piano key, between the living and the lived.
He took you in his arms, pressing your body against his as if you were the frailest thing he had ever seen, fearing that the smoothness of your soul would be pierced by the twisted peaks of the brambles around his heart.
Winter came, and you hadn't left.
The snowflakes fell in front of the car lights as if they lived only in the light. They fell to the ground like their only purpose in their infinitesimal lives was to simply lie on the ground and kiss it cold.
You looked up at the sky, it was night, and everything was full of thick clouds. They were all falling like the white feathers of a fallen angel, twirling in an incessant waltz until they grounded wherever the wind took them.
They were falling, and if Icarus had flown too close to the sun, then they had flown too close to the moon, and the latter, recognising them as no stars, blew them away to send them elsewhere.
And there you were right in front of him, in all that cold magic, reaching out with your gloved hand to pick up a little crystal star that you were looking at very carefully.
It was terrible that there wasn't enough time to take all the snowflakes one by one and look at them. Nature made such beautiful things that it seemed unfair not to be able to see them all.
You took his hand again to go home, and he prayed to anything that was still dear to him that you'd never fade.
And that night, his first dream was of you.
#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x fem!reader#frank castle x female reader#frank castle imagine#frank castle oneshot#frank castle fic#frank castle fanfic#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle#punisher#the punisher#the punisher x reader#the punisher x you#the punisher imagine#the punisher x y/n#the punisher fanfiction#my writing
60 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍
pairing: frank castle x fem!reader
word count: 5.4k words
summary: in which you want to get revenge on the people that killed your brother, but you needed frank’s help to do so
warnings: explicit language, death of a loved one, blood/mentions of violence, angst, implied smut
author’s note: i was working on this on and off for the past maybe three months (going through that never ending cycle of gaining inspiration and then losing it). and i’m so happy that it’s final done! and i really love how it turned out!! hope y’all enjoy<333 (full folklore series here!)
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
❝and there's nothin' like a mad woman. what a shame she went mad. no one likes a mad woman. you made her like that.❞
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
“Y’sure you don’t want to just stay here?”
Frank’s question didn’t surprise you, but that didn’t change how annoyed you immediately felt by it.
“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” You were quick to tell him, and you firmly buckled your seatbelt to show him how serious you were. “Especially because you’re only doing this for me.”
“I’ve done worse things.”
It was hard to rebuttal Frank’s statement because you knew exactly how true it was, but you still said something. “I’m coming.”
Frank only nodded his head at your words before finally beginning to drive the car the two of you were sitting in.
If it were a year ago, you would’ve actually understood Frank’s hesitance toward you coming because, in comparison to who you were now, you were completely different then. And sometimes, it surprised you how vastly your life had managed to change in just twelve months.
However, if it was also a year ago, you wouldn’t have needed Frank in the first place.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
❝now i breathe flames each time i talk. my cannons all firin' at your yacht. they say, "move on", but you know, i won't.❞
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
Five Weeks Earlier
The pain in your wrist was what woke you up.
A part of you felt upset because every other night, the sleep you had been getting in your motel room located in the middle of nowhere Illinois was shitty, but the deep state of rest that you’d found yourself in that specific night actually felt really good.
When you opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was Frank Castle sitting across the room in the creaky wooden chair that you hated.
“Jesus Christ,” You said, shooting upward in surprise, and from the tug of your arm, you noticed why your wrist was hurting in the first place; it was handcuffed to the headboard. “What the hell?”
Frank dismissed your previous statements and instead leaned forward in the chair, squinting at you. “You’ve been following me for the past two weeks. Why?”
You mentally kicked yourself because, apparently, you hadn’t been as discreet as you thought you’d been. However, the man in front of you was Frank Castle, so it probably would’ve been more surprising if he didn’t notice you.
You took a moment to truly think about how to respond to him. The next words that you would say would be the most important, and you knew that this was essentially your “make or break” moment with him. That was why you had only been mildly stalking him for the past few weeks instead of approaching him at any of the places you had followed him to. Because you couldn’t figure out the best way to actually talk to him. What you wanted, needed, from him was so important to you, and you couldn’t risk screwing it up.
After Frank stared at you as you took what felt like hours to think of what to tell him, you settled on simply saying, “I want your help.”
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and his head cocked slightly to the side. “Who are you?”
It sounded like a fairly easy question he was asking you. But you knew that it wasn’t; he wanted more than just you simply responding with your name.
“Eight months ago, my brother was murdered,” You started and then stopped immediately. Those words still felt so foreign falling from your lips. “He got involved with this fucked up group of people that he thought were his friends at first, but then they wanted him to do a bunch of illegal shit; robberies, drug deals, kidnappings, pretty much any horrific thing you could think of. And when he tried to get out, to leave, they killed him.”
You left out the part about how you had been so close to getting him out of it all. That days before Jackson was supposed to board a flight to where you lived in Seattle, they shot him and left him for dead in the middle of a park.
You also didn’t tell Frank that sometimes you couldn’t help but blame yourself because you had left him alone in New York. Even though when you got your job in Washington, Jackson had begged you to go because he knew how much you had wanted the job and to get away from New York. The city that took your parents and left you as the only guardian of your brother since you were sixteen and he was five.
But that still didn’t stop you from blaming yourself. For not forcing him to come with you when you got the job, to get a fresh start like you wanted in a completely new place, sooner. Even though he was twenty and could make his own decisions, he was still your little brother, and you always wanted to protect him.
You didn’t say any of that to Frank, though, because you knew it wasn’t needed. That information wasn’t important to the task at hand.
Instead, you said, “And I found them. Exactly where they are in New York. What they’re doing right now, and what they’re planning to do. But I need your help. I know who you are and what you do, and I want those people that killed my brother dead. And you’re the only person that could possibly care and help me with that.”
Frank was silent once you finished speaking and your explanation just lingered in the air of the motel room. It was then, in that moment of quiet, that you were reminded of how badly your wrist was feeling.
“So,” You decided to break the prevailing silence. “Can you help me?”
Instead of answering your question, Frank posed a few of his own. “How do you know where these guys are? How do you know anything about them?”
Frank’s lack of a response to your very important question didn’t worry you. In fact, a part of it made you inwardly smile. Because he wasn’t saying no to you, at least not yet, and that gave you all the hope you needed at that moment.
“I work with computers; I.T., data analysis, it feels wrong to say hacking because of its negative connotation, but yes, that too,” You began explaining, happy to tell Frank what you had decided to look into a few months ago when your grief morphed from intense sadness to anger. “And these guys are idiots. It took me less than an hour to get into my brother’s phone, get these guys’ numbers, and find every single piece of information about the shit they’re doing. I tracked the warehouse that they’re set up at outside of Long Island, and I got into all of their phones, so I know every single text message and call they’re making at any time.”
Frank studied you for a moment, almost as if he was trying to see how honest you were being. “I wanna see.”
“It’s all on my laptop. In my bag, on the table by the door,” You responded quickly, and Frank was quick to reach into your bag and hand your laptop over to you. You gestured your head in the direction of your wrist that was still cuffed to the headboard. “Could you take the handcuff off?”
Frank nodded as he pulled a key out of his back pocket and finally unlocked the handcuff, taking it off your wrist. You almost immediately began rubbing it, trying to ease away some of the pain.
“It’ll be bruised for a bit, but it should stop hurting after a day or two.”
You didn’t say anything in response to that, although you did appreciate Frank’s words. Instead, you opened up your laptop and began pulling up the information that he wanted to see.
As he looked at your computer, you abruptly said, “Thank you.”
Frank shook his head at you. “I haven’t said yes. That I would help you.”
You simply nodded understandingly at his words. However, there was a certain look of intrigue on his face as you showed him everything you knew about your brother’s murderers that told you otherwise.
He didn’t have to say it aloud, and a part of you thought he might never actually say it out loud, but it didn’t matter because Frank Castle was going to help you. That was something you knew for certain.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
❝i'm takin' my time. takin' my time. 'cause you took everything from me.❞
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
It was nearing eleven when you and Frank pulled up across the street from the warehouse that housed the people that killed your brother.
A part of you felt nervous knowing what was going to happen, but the other part of you felt happy that something completely justified was about to occur.
“They’re all in there, right?”
You looked down at your laptop, which currently showed the pinpointed locations of the cellphones of everyone involved.
Apparently, from the text messages and phone calls you had been monitoring, there was an important meeting happening right then about the next robbery they were planning.
“Yes, they’re all there and have been for the last thirty minutes.”
“Okay,” Frank responded. “Then it’s time.”
You nodded and shut your laptop before placing it in the backseat. When you turned your attention back toward Frank, you noticed a certain look on his face that you couldn’t necessarily decipher, but for some reason, it worried you.
You almost asked him what was wrong, but he grabbed your arm before you could mutter out the first word of the question and handcuffed your wrist to the steering wheel. You were too in shock about what was happening that you couldn’t even put up a fight against him.
“Frank, what the hell are you doing?”
“Remember that conversation we had a few weeks ago?”
You knew exactly what he was talking about, but you didn’t allow yourself to acknowledge it right then. “I don’t care about the conversation. Uncuff me, Frank.”
“I’m not gonna do that,” He shook his head at you. “Instead, I’m gonna go inside that warehouse, handle this for you, and then come back out. Okay?”
“No.”
None of this conversation truly felt real to you. The plan that you had curated with Frank over the past weeks felt like it was going completely down the drain. And although sometimes, deep down, you thought maybe you’d be the one to bail out and change things up at the last second, instead, it was Frank forcing you to do so, and you couldn’t believe it.
He didn’t respond to your one-word protest and instead opened the driver’s seat door.
There felt like there wasn’t really any hope that Frank would change his mind, but you couldn’t allow yourself not to try at least once more.
“Please, let me go in there with you. I want to do this.”
He only looked at you for a moment before saying, “No, I’m not letting you do this. You’re a good person, and doing this will change that. As much as you think it won’t change you, it will. And I’m not gonna allow that to happen. So, just let me handle this for you.”
You didn’t get another chance to protest because Frank stepped out of the car before you could say anything.
He was protecting you, and you knew that. But, it also felt like after over a month of knowing one another, he still only saw you as weak, as someone that needed saving.
And that made you angry because you never wanted him to save you; you just wanted him to help you. You truly wanted to fight your own battle and hurt the people that hurt your brother, and he took that opportunity away from you.
As you heard the trunk pop open and Frank reach for the guns that he put back there, two of which were supposed to be yours, you couldn’t help but think back to the conversation he had been referring to only moments ago.
There was a certain thing he said during the minor argument that happened during that conversation, and thinking about it right then, with your wrist uncomfortably handcuffed to the steering wheel, it finally made you realize that maybe you should’ve seen all of this coming.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
❝what did you think i'd say to that? does a scorpion sting when fighting back? they strike to kill, and you know i will. you know i will.❞
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
Three Weeks Earlier
You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was something worse about the motel room in Long Island than the one in Illinois.
The smells there were far worse than what you’d experienced in Illinois, but there was something else too, something that you couldn’t fully decipher.
Maybe it was simply the place itself. You were back in New York, the city that took your parents and your brother too, and you truly hated being there. It no longer felt like any sort of “home” to you, and it hadn’t in a really long time.
However, knowing what you were doing there and what was soon to come made the smallest part of you feel good about being there. And you had Frank too, as both quiet and annoyingly bossy as he was.
“Why are we waiting so long?” You had asked him one night as the two of you sat opposite one another at a diner.
“Waiting is good. Waiting lets us know exactly what we’re up against. The guys may be idiots about keeping their shit off of computers, but they might be smart about other things,” Frank explained as he adjusted the hat on his head that he was using as part of a disguise. A part of you couldn’t help but reluctantly agree with his words. “Also, you need as much target practice as you can get. You’ve gotten better in the past week, but you’re still pretty bad.”
You felt absolutely offended by the statement but still knew that he was completely right. However, that didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes at him and dryly saying, “Thanks for the words of encouragement.”
“You’ll be ready when the time comes.”
You didn’t thank him for the actual words of encouragement and instead just took a bite from one of the last few fries on your plate.
The ending of that conversation left you feeling the tiniest bit hopeful, glad that Frank seemed as if he believed in you and that the two of you were actually a team in all of this.
However, on a different night, only a few days later, the conversation had been much different.
“Doing this won’t take the pain away,” Frank had told you. He was sitting at the foot of the double bed that was closer to the door, and you were in the other with your back against the headboard. The tiny television was on and playing reruns of Friends, as it probably had been all day. Your head immediately turned in Frank’s direction when you heard his abrupt words and as he continued speaking. “At the end of the day, he’ll still be gone.”
“I know,” You said, the two words coming out a bit sharper than you meant for them to. You cleared your throat. “But that doesn’t mean his murderers should continue to run free and keep doing severely fucked up shit.”
“I agree, but I wanted to tell you, so you can make sure you understand what you’re gonna do.”
“I know,” You told him. This time your voice was softer as you said the same two words.
“You’re a good person. Doing this, killing people, can change that.”
“You are too.”
“I’m not a good person.”
“I don’t believe that.” You were quick to shake your head. “You’re helping me. For absolutely no reason. There’s gotta be some good in you, Castle.”
He bypassed your statement. “Just think about this, okay?”
“My mind is already made up and has been for the past four months,” You told him before getting under your blanket and then turning on your side, facing away from Frank. You weren’t the least bit tired right then, but you were happy to pretend to bring an end to the conversation.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
❝what do you sing on your drive home? do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn? does she smile? or does she mouth, "fuck you forever"?❞
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
Over the next three weeks, that conversation never came up again, so you thought that Frank ultimately stood by your decision.
However, you were wrong. And you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that just yet.
Yes, you were mad at Frank, but you couldn’t allow yourself to hate him until you heard a good enough explanation as to why he wanted to do this without you. And not one that solely consisted of him calling you a “good person” because that sounded like a bullshit cop-out to you.
It wasn’t long after Frank slammed the trunk shut and walked toward the warehouse that you heard the faint sound of gunshots. The sound startled you, even though you knew that it was coming, and you hated that the smallest, smallest part of you was glad that you weren’t in there.
And that felt like a betrayal to not only yourself but especially your brother.
You tried hard to push away the thoughts you knew would come next. The thoughts that you had successfully buried deep down for the past month you’d been with Frank. They were the thoughts that told you that you were to blame for what happened to your brother and that you should’ve tried harder to save him. When you thought about it long enough, the pain you felt from his death still felt fresh.
You suddenly felt insanely claustrophobic, and you started yanking your handcuffed wrist hard in efforts to get yourself freed from the steering wheel. Of course, that did nothing but only hurt your wrist even more. However, you didn’t care because at least trying to do something at that moment felt better than wallowing in silence and crying as you thought about your brother.
Barely twenty minutes later, you heard the sound of the trunk opening again. You hadn’t been paying attention to the sounds of the gunshots anymore, instead successfully dissociating yourself from the moment entirely, so you hadn’t noticed when they stopped, and hearing the trunk right then surprised you.
You roughly wiped at your cheeks, which were unsurprisingly wet with tears, because some things you couldn’t push away, as you heard the trunk slam shut. And then moments later, you heard the driver’s side door open, and Frank get inside.
He uncuffed your wrist without saying a word and especially didn’t say anything about the bruises already forming on your skin; from your pointless attempt to break free. He looked at your face— well, only the side of it, since you were staring straight ahead and avoiding eye contact with him— and he didn’t say anything about the fact that he could tell you’d been crying.
Instead, he just started driving.
You allowed yourself to take one quick glance at him, and right when you did, you knew that the sight of him with blood all over his clothes and face would never leave your mind. You silently wondered how much of it was his own.
Instead of asking, you turned your head and decided to stare out the window as Frank drove back to the motel.
“Don’t be fucking mad, okay?” He finally broke the prevailing silence after about five minutes. “It’s done and over now, and that’s what you really wanted, right?”
“Thank you,” You told him, words completely sincere, and you hoped your next ones came out the same exact way. “But, also, fuck you, Frank.”
He didn’t say anything in response to that, and you didn’t necessarily want him to, so it was a win-win situation in your eyes. Silence prevailed once again, and you continued to look out the window.
“There was no reason for you to come in too,” Frank finally spoke. “It was seven guys. I’ve handled more than that, and smarter ones than that, before. Too many times to fucking count.”
“That’s not the point,” You responded and then sighed, not having the energy to explain yourself further.
“Then what is the point?” Frank asked and then huffed when you didn’t say anything after a few moments. “Exactly.”
You let out a long breath before speaking. “I wanted to see them get what they deserved. I wanted to see them pay for what they did to him. That’s the point.”
Frank abruptly pulled the car over and looked at you. “So, what? You wanna go back? You wanna go see their lifeless bodies?”
You met his glare with a harsh look of your own and tilted your head a bit. “And what if I said yes?”
He shook his head and rolled his eyes at you. “It doesn’t matter because you wouldn’t say yes. You don’t have the stomach for that shit. As much as you keep trying to convince yourself otherwise, you’re not this kind of person.”
“You act like you know me, Frank, but you don’t. Like, how you keep spewing this shit about how I’m a ‘good person.’ Well, I’m fucking not.” You wanted to scream that at him, but you didn’t, and instead pulled your eyes away from his and went back to staring straight ahead at the empty road. “And you want to know how I know that? Because what happened to Jackson is my fault.”
“No, it’s not.”
You almost didn’t respond to him, but ultimately you did. “I left him, and he fell in with that group of people that hurt him. I should’ve forced him to leave the city when I did. But I didn’t. And I truly hate myself for that.”
That was the first time that you admitted out loud how much you blamed yourself for your brother’s death. And hearing the words finally fall from your lips made them feel even truer to you, and it also made your last sentence feel a thousand times more right as well.
You sincerely did not want to hear Frank say anything in response to any of what you had just said, and instead, you wanted the conversation to end there. He must have read your mind because he didn’t say anything else the rest of the drive back to the motel.
When he pulled into the parking lot, you stayed in the car as he exited and went to walk inside the room. He didn’t question you about what was going on in your head, which you were grateful for.
You sighed and let your eyes slip shut. A part of you wanted to cry, but the other part of you felt too empty and numb, so ultimately, you just sat in the car in silence.
It almost pained you to realize how right Frank was.
Now that this was done— you got your “revenge”— it changed nothing for you. Jackson was still gone, you were still hurting, and it wasn’t only that you lost him; you lost the final person in your family. Now you had no one.
Although you already felt pretty numb, you sincerely craved a drink of anything, and the liquor store down the road suddenly sounded like a really good idea. But, instead, you walked into the motel room and could immediately hear the sound of the shower running. When you closed the door behind you and locked it, you planned to force yourself to sleep and hope tomorrow would bring better feelings, even though you were unsure what you would do next.
However, when you saw the bathroom door open and heard Frank say the words, “I need your help,” you knew that you probably wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.
He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, and if this was any other moment, you would’ve allowed yourself to admire his body and how good he looked, a fact that never had been lost on you. However, all you could process was the gash on his hip, where you could tell a bullet had grazed him.
“You’re bleeding,” You said, stating the obvious.
“Yeah, that’s why I need your help,” He responded and then looked down at the open wound, examining it for a second. “It’s actually pretty deep so I need you to stitch me up.”
You hesitantly nodded and then went to grab the first aid kit that was packed in your suitcase and went over to where Frank was standing by the sink.
“I’ve never done this before, so it is probably going to look very bad,” You told him before bending down to start stitching him up.
He shrugged halfheartedly and glanced down at you for a brief moment. “It’s fine.”
You gave him a small nod and then pushed away the nausea you were already feeling because you had to do this.
For the first time that night, you felt like things were too quiet, and the sounds of Frank’s soft winces as the thin needle pierced his skin didn’t fill the silence in a way that made things feel any sort of comfortable.
Therefore, you decided you had to say something. “You were right.”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments, so you took that as your cue to keep going.
“The pain hasn’t gone away. And honestly, it might feel a bit worse than before; I am not entirely sure yet.” The fact that you weren’t looking Frank straight in the eyes as you spoke made it easy for you to continue to ramble on and say the things that you wouldn’t have told him, or anyone, any other time. “He was the last person I had, and now I have no one. And now that this is over, that fact just feels much more solidified. So yeah, you were right, and I’m glad I wasn’t in there with you. And honestly, maybe none of this shit you did for me really mattered in the first place. I don’t feel angry about it anymore. I just feel so fucking sad.”
There was more you could say, but you knew that you needed to stop there before you turned into a sobbing mess on the white-tiled floor.
“I didn’t wanna be right.” Frank finally spoke, and you stayed quiet, not saying anything more as you finished stitching him up.
“You’re done,” You told him before standing up and purposely avoiding his eyes. “And I need alcohol, so I’ll be right back.”
Frank furrowed his eyebrows at you as he went to slip on a black t-shirt. “Are you sure about that?”
You didn’t turn around as you walked toward the door. “Positive.”
Of course, you knew it was a bad idea, and maybe you should’ve noticed the wary look on Frank’s face directed at you, but right then, you didn’t really care.
Your journey to and from the liquor store down the street surprisingly took less than twenty minutes, and when you entered the motel room again, you didn’t waste any time unscrewing the bottle of dark tequila and taking a swig from it.
Usually, it took at least four shots for you to effectively feel something; even in college, your tolerance for alcohol had been good. However, this night you only needed to take two shots for your mind to feel fuzzy. You chalked it up to the fact that you had already felt pretty numb inside.
After your many persistent requests, Frank joined you and took small swigs from the bottle as well. The two of you sat at the foot of the bed that was his and traded the tequila back and forth as an old sitcom played on the small television, and a silence that you didn’t mind took over.
“You’ll be fine eventually,” Frank abruptly said as he placed the top on the bottle and put it on the floor, an action that you didn’t protest because you knew that it was definitely for the best. “It won’t hurt forever.”
Without much thinking, mainly because your brain couldn’t allow you to do a lot of thinking, you leaned your head against Frank’s shoulder and hoped that he would also be right about that because, quite honestly, you were tired of feeling sad.
“I truly hope so,” was what you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t form the words on your lips. However, you still wanted to somehow show him that you appreciated his words.
You pulled your head off of his shoulder and turned closer toward him to let your lips softly press against his cheek. The proximity was dangerous, and it was in that moment that you let yourself recognize how attractive Frank was; a thought that had been off limits from the second you decided you wanted his help to kill your brother’s murderers because you knew that thinking about him in that way would only pull your mind away from the task at hand. But, now, the task was over.
Therefore, you allowed yourself to think about the stubble on his cheek and how it tickled your chin and made you want to smile. And you also thought about how nice he had always been to you, even when he showed it to you in a shitty way.
He might not have seen himself as a good person, but to you, he was.
You allowed yourself to meet his eyes for a brief moment, unable to read his expression, before letting your lips slot against his. You immediately tasted the tequila on his mouth, which sent a shiver down your spine but also warmed your insides.
For some reason, kissing Frank at that moment didn’t feel wrong to you, and you could tell by the way that Frank’s hand found your cheek and pulled you the tiniest bit closer to him that maybe it didn’t feel wrong to him either.
You slowly pulled away for a moment to catch your breath and maneuver yourself, with the help of Frank’s hands on your waist, so that you were straddling either side of his lap. When your lips found his again, you let your fingers thread themselves in his short hair. It was both slightly surprising and flattering to feel how hard he was beneath you, and the feeling made you moan in his mouth.
Abruptly, Frank pulled away, and your confused eyes met his gaze as he softly said, “You’re sad and drunk right now.”
Both things he said were very true, but that didn’t mean that you wanted any of this to stop.
“It’s okay. I promise,” You told him and started to slowly move against him. However, both of Frank’s hands found your hips and halted you. You sighed before letting out a soft, “Please.”
You hated how desperate you sounded at that moment, but you couldn’t help it. For once, you didn’t want to think about anything, and you wanted Frank to do the same.
He simply looked at you and didn’t say anything for a few moments. You could tell that he was contemplating things, but the fact that he hadn’t moved you off of his lap yet gave you a small sliver of hope.
“It’s okay,” You told him again and hoped you could convey to him how entirely true those words were. You knew that you wouldn’t regret this, even once your mind was fully cleared and devoid of alcohol.
He didn’t verbally respond to you and instead pressed his lips against yours, which was a response you liked better anyway. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss before matching his intensity with your own and passionately moving your mouth against his.
It didn’t take long for you to end up with Frank on top of you, clothes still on but wildly anticipating the moment they weren’t anymore.
For once, something actually felt okay in your life, and you couldn’t remember the last time that was true. Since your brother died, you felt lost; and perhaps even before then, that feeling wasn’t too far off.
It worried you thinking about what was next; even the thought of tomorrow scared you, knowing that somehow you’d have to go back to a life that was normal. But you didn’t want to think about that too much because doing so scared and confused you.
As Frank peppered harsh kisses against your neck, leaving marks that would definitely be there for the next few days, you knew that there was one thing that remained certain. At that moment, you wanted him, and he wanted you. Even if it would be just for the night.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
❝and you find something to wrap your noose around. and there's nothin' like a mad woman.❞
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。
let me know ur thoughts<333
#frank castle x reader#frank castle x oc#frank castle fluff#frank castle smut#frank castle x fem!reader#frank castle imagine#frank castle angst#frank castle oneshot#frank castle x you#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x female reader#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal smut#frank castle#the punisher
333 notes
·
View notes
Text
-ˋˏ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 ˎˊ-
summary: Following the death of your husband, you find solace in a fellow widower.
pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader
word count: 6.2k
warnings: Angst: Grief. Loss of a loved one. Desecration of a grave (not done by main characters). Navigating feelings for someone following the death of your marriage partner. Very vague references to violence. Softest smut I could muster, P in V sex, unprotected sex (the pull out method is NOT safe, ya’ll!)
Send me an ask || Frank Castle Masterlist || Main Masterlist
Day 10
The condensation on the glass of the beer bottle in your hands grounds you to the grass beneath your legs. The green strands feel more like emerald blades against the soft skin of your calves, just as your clothes feel like sandpaper and the lukewarm alcohol that slides down your throat burns like lava against your lips. All the small, beautiful things you used to appreciate with him all feel tainted, curdled without him by your side.
You exhale shakily, tears welling up in your eyes as you reach across to trace the arch of the gravestone, your husband's name etched into the marbled stone with an engraver that had probably written out ten other names that same day- so impersonal. It’s cold to the touch despite the warm sunshine spilling onto your skin, and the edges of the engravings feel as though they leave papercuts, too sharp to replace the soft, gentle touch of your late husband.
A sob rips its way up your throat, and you find yourself having to step away. It’s too much, too overwhelming to sit beside the stone for too long. Loosely gripping the emerald green neck of the beer bottle, you stumble blindly towards the bench on the other side of the gravel footpath just beyond your husband's grave. You had noted it, and the man sat on the end of it when you walked into the cemetery.
The exhale you let out as you set yourself down on the wooden bench is shaky, and your eyes cast skyward at the beautiful azure while you attempt to collect yourself and cease the tears that stream down your cheeks. They accumulate in the hollow of your chin before dripping down your chest and soak into the fabric of your sweater, leaving wet stains that darken the material. Fumbling to wipe the tears from your skin before they can do any more damage, you note the man beside you doesn’t make an effort to bother you, opting to gaze at a stone to the left of him.
You’re thankful for his silence; it gives you a moment to clean up. It’s only when you stop sniffling helplessly that the man raises his head, bistered irises slowly drifting over your face. He’s rough around the edges, with deep-set eyes and high cheekbones. His lips are pretty, the lower smaller than the upper, which has a sharp Cupid’s bow. His nose looks as though it’s been broken too many times, and there are creases in his forehead that appear to be a permanent fixture thanks to several years of frowning.
His face is framed with stubble that reaches his cheekbones, and there are deep shadows under his eyes that emulate that of bruises with their deep purple colour. He looks tired. Grief-stricken.
Again, he graces you with silence and offers you a wordless nod of acknowledgement, of understanding. He doesn’t speak, but the simple act says so many things.
“I understand how you feel.”
“I was there not long ago.”
“I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
No matter how often people tried to soothe your anguish with words, they never managed to achieve in one hundred comments what this stranger had in a single, wordless gesture of compassion. So you nod back. A short, soft tilt of your chin downwards in appreciation. It’s enough for him, it seems, because his head turns back to the stone of his deceased loved one, lips turned downwards as he gazed resignedly at the marbled stone as if willing them back from the dead.
You join him in his grief, eyes cast back to your husband as you quietly plead to all the Gods above that he doesn’t leave you alone. You can’t be alone.
-✩-
Day 25
You see it before you even make it to the foot of your husband's grave. The green and brown shards of glass glistening in the sunlight amongst the brown soil that was yet to flourish new grass since his burial. You leisurely walk upticks to more of a jog as you approach, panic rising in your chest and tears stinging your eyes.
Frequenters of the graveyard had warned you of rowdy teenagers messing around and getting drunk around the site's perimeters. Maybe it was foolish to believe that people would be respectful even in a place as sacred as a graveyard, but the smashed bottles over your lover’s grave make you want to scream in dismay. Your chest heaves as the tears stream down your cheeks, choking on your sobs as you fall to your knees in the soil and begin to pick out the shards with your naked hands.
Clinking together as you gather the pieces in your palms, the fragments are sharp to the touch. There are tiny pieces that you need to pick out of the earth with your fingertips and large shivers that you manage to collect with relative ease. Still, you can barely see through the distortion of your tears as you work hard to make the grave presentable again.
“Ow-!” You cry out weakly, a fracture of glass slitting the skin of your middle finger across the knuckle. The frustration bubbles over, anguish crushing your chest as you drop the fragments again to hold the affected area. You can feel blood seeping down your wrist, smearing your palm.
It’s too much.
Ugly, wretched sobs wrack your body as you practically fold your body in half, clutching your bleeding hand to your chest and rocking back and forth. It’s so overwhelming, the torment of being alone, being without your husband who was always there to lift you up. He would be here with his arm around your shoulders now, telling you that it was going to be okay.
“Hey, hey hey, sh-sh-sh,” you hear a gruff voice sound behind you over the volume of your cries, hushing you in a gentle tone. It takes you a moment to respond, wiping your eyes with the back of your wrists before you look up, still struggling to swallow your tears. The mysterious stranger who had sat on the bench with you only a few days ago crouches on his heels beside you, dark eyes surveying the scene with a furious frown.
“Who did this?” He asks. His voice is coarse, rage laced between each word as he reaches across to pick up the glass you had dropped in your breakdown. He does it with little effort, as though the honed edges of the glass do little to pierce his thick, calloused palms—years of blistering, years of hard work layered between scarred skin.
Struggling to form the words on your quivering lips, you throw a half-hearted shrug his way, only for another heaving sob to break past your throat. You can’t see, but you hear the creak of his leather combat boots as he stands. The stranger is quick to cross the short space to the bin beside the bench you had met him on in order to discard the glass but immediately returns to his spot beside you.
He doesn’t try to rush your grief, to get you to relocate or even stand. The caring, albeit gruff-looking, stranger stays hunched beside you, just letting you know without contact or words that he is here for you. It takes you a good while to settle the heavy breathing, but when it finally stalls, you feel hollow, as though you’d cried out all your energy to water your husband's grave.
“M’gunna kill ‘em.” Despite the violent words, the tone is spoken softly but with conviction. You glance up, feeling your eyelids almost squeak with the effort it takes, finding his eyes searching the cemetery's edges in a crude investigation. It makes you laugh weakly, wiping the tear stains from your cheeks despite them beginning to dry in the open air.
“Don’t hassle yourself with stupid kids, please-“
“No. No, don’t you be worryin’. Alright? M’gunna make sure they don’t do this shit again,” he asserts himself with a stern point of his index finger, eyes set on your face with dogged determination. You swallow down the argument threatening to leave your lips, instead solemnly accepting this vigilante’s justice. He nods at your silence, taking it as the wordless go-ahead.
Standing again, he walks through the marbled headstones. His all-black outfit is stark against the bone colour of the grave markers, almost imposing.
“Please let me at least know your name?” You call to him, “So I can use it when I thank you!”
His footsteps hesitate in the neatly trimmed, glass-free grass, stalling slightly before jump-starting again. He doesn’t look back at you, instead opting to call over his shoulder. “‘S Pete.”
You remember it. Let the name play in your skull over and over in that gravelly voice so you couldn’t possibly forget it. Pete, Pete, Pete. When he approaches you days later as you readied to leave the car park with keys in hand, he informs you ‘they won’t be comin’ round here to bother you no more, got it?’ You manage to ignore the lingering thoughts of how he had managed to scare the teens from the area (given his bloody knuckles and busted lip, it didn’t take much to figure it out), instead choosing to focus on addressing him formally, with sincerity.
“Thank you, Pete.”
-✩-
Day 70
The rain beats violently down on the windscreen of your car as you pull into the cemetery car park, the water slipping down the glass, causing the landscape to ripple as you stop the wipers. The sky is black with thick clouds, and the water they drop pelts the car's roof so loudly that it drowns out the low-level noise of the radio.
When you park up, the ‘tik’ of the radio turning off when you shut down the car is so soft you’re almost certain you haven’t killed it in the din. Satisfied only by the dash light going dark, you sit back in your seat for a moment and just gaze out of the window in dismay. Maybe this was as close as you would get to your husband today. You’re almost sure he wouldn’t mind, not wanting you to catch a cold in this weather just to spend five minutes with him.
As you gaze out at the cemetery, watching the rain batter the cold headstone that marked your husband's final resting place, you almost miss the shadow of the darkly dressed man hunched over on the bench you frequented. He’s tall and broad, and you know almost immediately who it is without having seen him in nearly a month.
Sat out in the cold and wet, Pete hasn’t even bothered to bring a coat. With no hood to protect him from the elements, his hair is drenched through, and you swear you can see how red his nose is even from the car. Despite the discomfort he must be feeling, he sits forward on the bench, forearms braced on his knees and fingers interlocked as he watches the raindrops run down a gravestone.
You’d taken it upon yourself to bring the stone flowers when Frank was away. You had no doubt he was still visiting at some point during the day, but you thought it would be a nice thing to do, given he had helped you—hydrangeas, you chose, a symbol of gratitude. When you approached the stone on a day that was definitely sunnier than this, you had noted the engraving. “Precious are the memories of Maria Elizabeth Castle, devoted wife & mother.”
Perhaps it was presumptuous to feel as though you understood his pain, just as he had understood yours, but knowing he, too, had lost his partner made it feel as though your silent bond meant more than you had initially realised.
So despite your better judgement, you step out of the car and hop straight into a puddle, soaking through your sneakers. You don’t bother to complain, despite how it wets your socks and instantly freezes your toes, approaching Pete with your arms crossed over your chest to retain as much body heat as you can against the wild wind and freezing rain.
Since fighting with the rowdy teenagers, Pete had been lying extremely low. So low that even other frequenters of the cemetery claimed they hadn’t seen him in weeks. You had almost been concerned that something had happened to him, so to see him sitting on his side of the bench came as a relief to you. As you approach, he’s still yet to note your advancing footsteps over the racket of the rain against the gravel.
You can see him closer now. Water drips from his long lashes, mixing with the tears that have settled on his cheeks if his bloodshot eyes are anything to go by.
“Hard day?” You speak softly, snapping him out of his trance. His head twists sharply to look at you, eyes wild with survival before realising it’s you instead of some silly teen trying to pick a fight or something more sinister than that. You just give him a pitying look. He’s totally deserving of it; he looks like a drowned rat. Still, he casts your sympathy aside with a scowl, grumbling wordlessly.
“I get it,” you begin, moving to sit beside him as the rain finally starts to soak through your jacket and chill your body, “Big scary man doesn’t like to talk about how he’s feeling. But that’s not good for you, you know?”
You’re met with silence, his eyes sliding back over to his wife’s headstone. Pete looks devastatingly sad whenever he looks at it, like the weight of the stone crushes him despite the fact his humongous body could probably carry quadruple its size with little effort.
“… It’s okay to be hurting, Pete,” you murmur softly, and in return, you are gifted with the sound of him exhaling slowly, shakily, as if he was releasing some of the tremendous pressure he was carrying. It makes you smile, to see him make an effort for you.
“Something started it?” You ask in a hushed tone, loud enough to be heard over the clatter of gravel pieces tossed about by the heavy downpour. “Someone said something? Had a shitty shift at work?”
“Mmmh. I woke up, and she just… wasn’t there,” he said softly, exhaling again. It sends a devastating pang through your chest. You know that feeling well. Understand that sensation of still reaching across the mattress to feel your husband's warmth only to find cold, empty sheets instead. For the first week after his death, you opted to sleep on the couch in the living room just to avoid that torturous realisation every day. It was only recently you had managed a morning without crying.
You swallow back the tears that pinprick your eyes now, threatening to undo all your hard work. Tapping your toes against the gravel, you purse your lips as you consider a way to answer him that doesn’t sound condescending. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like a child.
“Have you spoken to anyone? A friend, family?”
“Got no family,” he admits, glancing over to the distant city lights of New York. “Got no friends. It’s just me.”
You didn’t find it hard to believe at all. Pete seemed like an entirely lonesome character, consistently appearing on his own, being the only one to ever visit Maria’s grave.
“You’ve got me,” you whisper to him quietly, and he looks to you now with those deep mahogany eyes, ebony lashes framing his brown irises so beautifully. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, shaking his head slightly before letting out another heavy sigh.
“C’mon. You’re gunna catch a death out here.”
“… Well, at least I’d belong,” you point to the gravestones carelessly.
Pete Laughs. A genuine laugh that makes your insides warm. It’s deep and chesty and makes your own lips pull into a smile of their own. You find that when you get into the car after saying goodbye, the cold isn’t as bothersome. You think about that laugh at night before you visit your husband in your dreams. Think about how the two of you can comfort each other without sharing words. It’s a strange bond you’re building, but you realise it’s making your trips to the cemetery a little less burdensome.
-✩-
Day 140
Twenty days. Pete is gone twenty days, the blackness of the night and the brightness of the day all blending together without him. You continue to visit Maria for him, laying flowers some days, always stroking her stone gently to let her know you were there for her. You would talk quietly to Maria, just as you did your husband, about how nice Pete was. How he always looked after you. You wondered if he looked after her this way too.
The day he returns, you’re utterly relieved. A desperate exhale escapes your lungs when you set eyes on him from inside your car. He’s sitting on his side of the bench still, gazing at Maria’s stone. A hoodie covers his hair and hides his eyes with the aid of a worn, black baseball cap, but it’s hard to confuse his abnormally large frame for anyone else.
Carrying your flowers from the car, you first visit your husband. Pete raises his head slightly as you approach, and you note a slight nod of acknowledgement despite not being able to see his face. He doesn't want to interrupt this special time. You both have this silent agreement, never wanting to bother Pete when he’s with Maria, and he grants you that same courtesy. You’re thankful for this. Thankful for him.
You lay the crystal-white lilies down across the grass. It had finally reached the height of the greenery surrounding his plot, covering the freshly dug grave. It’s less unseemly this way, but it reminds you of how long you’ve been without your husband, the love of your life. Stroking across his carved name and pressing a kiss to the curve of the stone, you hold onto these moments tightly, needing to feel close to him.
Finishing up after giving him an update on your day, you stand slowly, approaching Pete on the bench with a weak smile. You cry less with him here. He looked up at you through his long lashes, deep chocolate eyes taking in your expression. It’s only now you see the blue-purple bruises that cover his eye and cheekbone, the split in his brow.
“What the fuck happened to you?!” You gasp, sitting down quickly and taking in his mashed-up face.
“Ah, got jumped by those kids,” he shrugs off your concern, pointing to Maria’s grave in a quick bid to change the topic. “You’ve been looking after Maria while I’ve been gone-“
“No, seriously, are you okay?” You question him softly, eyes scanning his face. He looks like he’s been hit by a car, but Pete looks at you with a pointed expression.
“‘M fine.” His grumble does little to ease your concerns, but you’re kind enough to let him move the conversation along.
Sitting down beside him on the bench, you exhale a loud sigh of frustration. Pete watches you settle beside him, clearing his throat. “Thank you for looking after Maria.” He repeats himself, clearly wanting to make it known he appreciates your help.
“Mhmm. She needed somebody while you were away,” you smile weakly, taking in his pained expression. It was obvious Pete hated leaving Maria alone for weeks on end. He wanted to be with her frequently, just like you with your husband. “Where were you anyway?”
“Business trip,” he mumbles, brushing over his bruised knuckles with his fingertips. The blood blooms beneath the thin skin, deep crimson and violet framed in the yellow-green hue of a dying contusion. He looks exhausted. Whatever business meeting he had must have taken place in an MMA Octagon.
You sigh softly, plucking his paw from off his lap and taking it into your own hands. He’s massive compared to you, veins protruding from the back of his palms. You’re gentle when you massage the blotted skin, eyes flicking up to his face. Pete watches you closely, those brown eyes impossible to read when they settle on you.
“You need some time away from here,” you insist, standing up from the bench and pulling his large hand with you. “Let’s go get coffee.”
“Mhm- I don’t wanna be botherin’ you-“
“It’s no bother! Come on; it will keep me busy,” you insist, a gentle smile on your face in an attempt to coax him out of the depressive cocoon Pete consistently wraps himself in. Maybe you’re imagining things, but you can see the edge of his lips quirk upwards slightly, shaking his head as he stands too.
“Alright,” he agrees, much to your delight. So caught up in the idea that you could brighten his day a little, you forget to let go of his hand as you lead the way, leaving the cars at the cemetery. You’ve stopped at a road crossing halfway to the coffee shop when you realise you’re still grasping onto him, Pete seemingly not having it in himself to burst your little sunshine bubble and ask you to let go of him.
Over a few black coffees and lattes, the two of you have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around your deceased partners for the first time. It lasts for hours. Pete reveals himself as an ex-marine working in Kandahar in Afghanistan, informing you of his interests, like playing the acoustic guitar and reading. You find yourself taken aback, the two very ‘delicate’ interests a contradiction to his rugged persona.
The baseball cap on top of Pete’s head hides his eyes from the setting sunshine that pierces the window you’re sitting beside, but his smile almost seems to shine brighter. It’s infinitely warmer than that orange orb in the sky, simmering in your chest as you smile along with him. You hope you can keep him that happy, never wanting to see him as gloomy as you did that rainy day.
“Pete-“
“Frank.”
You pause, staring at him with an incredulous expression. He takes a sip of his black coffee, exhaling slowly with a ragged breath before looking at you through his long lashes as though he’s shielding himself from the fallout of your reaction.
“My real name is Frank.”
Licking your lips, you take a moment to allow the information to sink in. You’re unsure why he would hide this from you, shield his identity like this- but given his battered state whenever he returned from a ‘business meeting’, you could guess it was due to his line of work. It also informs you it’s better than to go prodding at him, trying to get answers. The less you knew, probably the better.
“Frank…” You correct yourself slowly, to which his eyes duck to the surface of the table as if he finds the grain in the oak wood oddly fascinating. “What d’ya say we head back to my place so I can offer you a drink that’s a little more satisfying?”
It’s your turn to catch him off guard now, his eyes snapping up quickly to process your expression- as if he thinks you’re lying. His mouth falls open to answer you, but no sound comes out, his brain running quicker than his lips can follow.
“There’s no pressure,” you inform him gently despite your heart rapping violently against your ribcage. You glance towards the clock that hangs from the wall opposite your table, “But the shop is closing soon, and I don’t really feel like ending our conversation here.”
Frank’s eyes flick to the wall and then back to you, nodding slightly as if to urge himself onward.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
-✩-
The bronze brandy you hold in a crystal glass blurs your vision as you listen to Frank talk about his time in the military while sitting cross-legged on your living room floor. He won’t tell you much, insisting upon not bringing the mood down with gruesome tales of IEDs and blue-on-blue fire. Instead, he offers you stories of his friends Curtis and Billy.
An ache settles in your tailbone where you're seated on the carpet, just across from your guests' boots. Frank has settled into an armchair, swirling his brandy in the glass that looks minute in his giant paws. You don’t have it in you to move to the sofa, wanting to be close to him and take in his finer details.
In the low light of the living room, you can’t help but get lost in the contours of his face. His misshapen nose, the length of his ebony eyelashes and the curve of his Cupid’s bow. At some point, you lose track of the conversation, caught up in the view of his pecs beneath the grey cotton of his T-shirt. It’s evident that Frank is huge, but in this overhead lighting you can see the shadows of his muscular body beneath the sofa material, and you can’t help how your mouth almost waters.
“You good?” Frank’s voice cuts through your needy haze, your eyes snapping up quickly to focus back on his face. He’s watching you with a raised eyebrow.
“Y-Yes! Yes, I’m fine, honestly!” You insist, embarrassment upheaving your intoxicated stomach as he nods slowly, obviously taking note of how you had been staring at him. He could read you like a book, and had been able to since the day he saw you crying in the cemetery with a beer in your hand. How many days, weeks, months has it been since then? He made the days move quicker, always looked forward to seeing him.
“Have I overstayed my welcome?” He queries carefully, his eyes flitting to the picture frames that contain your happier memories of your deceased husband. It takes your drink-laden brain a moment to catch up to what he’s inferring.
“God, no!”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m- tryna insert myself. I’m not tryna replace him-“
“Frank,” you plead, voice cracking on the single-syllable name like it’s a desperate lifeline. “I am so fucking lonely. I’m so empty.”
Fuck.
It slips out of you so easily in your distress, anguished by the idea he might walk out of the door and leave you to spend your evening alone. Your heart plummets into your stomach when you see his expression shift, a look of surprise settling into the fine lines on his face.
“Hey now,” he whispers when he sees tears welling in your eyes, his gruff voice husky with the low volume. Frank leans forward in the armchair, reaching down and hooking his hands under you. You’re too overwhelmed to fight off his embrace, and his firm hold pulls you to your feet and settles you on his lap.
It’s intimate. You can feel the warmth of his body through his layers of clothing, and his forehead runs hot when he presses it to yours. The brandy makes your skin prickle where he touches you, his breath tickling your face as he breathes slowly and calmly.
“Deep breaths in, go on. You’re fine, I promise.”
His words of encouragement settle your hiccups. Your sobs tearing at your throat, sink back into your chest, and you exhale shakily with him, following his rhythm.
“Attagirl,” he murmurs, praising you for bringing yourself down from the emotional cliff you had just threatened to throw yourself off. “That’s good.”
You don’t know when it shifts. When the churning agony in the pit of your stomach twists into a warm buzz of something a little more addictive. His nose bumps yours as he holds you, forehead still pushed up against your own. His body dwarfs you, his palms on your hips smothering the flesh there. Your heart leaps.
When his lips brush yours, it’s not a kiss. It’s a whisper. It’s barely there, and it tickles your nerve endings. You whimper softly, your own lips parting as you feel his mouth skirt around yours, just barely teasing at the supple flesh.
Your breathing labours once more, but this time its breathy keens instead of the rattling sobs he’d just pushed aside. His fingers skirt up the hem of your sweater, his warm, calloused pads trailing the ridges of your spine and sparking a heavy need.
“Frank,” you whisper, and it edges on a whine. The rumbling response that rattles in his lungs has your heart lurching out of the cavity of your chest.
You expect a burst, a sudden lurch towards something more primal, but Frank’s hand slowly drags up your throat to hold underneath your jaw. His grip is gentle, feather-light as he slightly tilts your chin to press a fuller kiss to your mouth. It’s so soft, his hulking body so delicate with you as he pulls you into him ever so slightly.
Brandy burns on his lips, and you can taste it, smell it on his tongue. It’s fruity and sweet with notes of oak that match the scent of his cologne. You’re breathing into his mouth, disarmed by the tenderness he offers you and losing any and all hope of a confident persona.
Trembling, your hands lay limp on his chest, fingers balling around the black cotton T-shirt he wears. They’re pulling at the fabric, clinging onto literally anything they can find because you feel like you’re floating, the alcohol in your system burning up and being replaced by the far more intoxicating kisses.
“Y’okay?” He whispers to you, lips barely leaving yours as he does. You’re nodding because God knows you can’t string together a sentence right now.
You could cry. His scabbed knuckles reach up to brush at the skin of your cheek, and you feel an overwhelming surge of emotion. These hands, the same that evidently found violence a more persuasive argument, were so affectionate with you. It was as though Frank disarmed the fighter in him, turning on the safety and locking him in the back of his mind.
A part of you finds inspiration in his demobilisation, urging yourself to let go of the safety blanket you were clinging to. Your hands slip down his front, feeling the ridges and contours of his fit, muscular body through his shirt as it descends. It’s as though your body lights up when you push your fingers underneath the hem of the cotton, buzzing hot between your thighs with a feeling you’d long forgotten.
“Mhmm,” Frank hums softly against your mouth, feeling your palms explore the smooth skin and the rippling muscles beneath. Your hips lift slightly from his lap, moaning as something throbs through you. It’s sickly sweet and drips like honey, and you find yourself chasing the awakening of a side of you that had been neatly stored in a box and left at your husband's bedside.
“You don’t need to,” he mumbles, and he’s right. You don’t. But you’ve never wanted something as much as you want this, every atom, every proton, neutral and electron of your body vibrating with a panging ache
“I want to,” you reply, the words like cotton in your mouth as you watch his eyes flit across your face. He takes you in, drinks in your beauty and commits it all to memory in a way only a widower would- spurred by the underlying fear of waking tomorrow having forgotten the little details. How long your lashes are, how your lip quivers when he runs his palms up either side of your ribs. The look in your eyes when your eyes lock; that sheer drop hanging above a four-letter word that’s too early to say aloud yet settles between the moments of shared silence.
“C’mere.”
-✩-
Frank’s palm settles on your throat as he sinks into your heat, his fingers lightly pressing into the curve of your jaw on one side, his thumb on the other. He applies no pressure there and simply holds you as he whispers praise against the angle of your cheekbone.
You clasp his bare shoulders with trembling hands, moaning out his name as he slides into you ever so slowly. Ragged scars litter the skin of his shoulders- slash wounds and destruction left by bullets. You decorate them with little, red crescent indents, your nails digging into his skin as you bloom around his cock.
“Pretty Girl,” he mumbles softly, and you let out a slightly pained whine as you stretch to fit him, “I know, baby. I know. D’you need me to stop?”
Frank’s words are slurred together as he holds himself back, knuckles white as they grip the bed sheets. You shake your head quickly, horrified by the prospect.
“D-Don’t stop,” you wheeze, your cunt fluttering around him. The stretch is delicious, the mild pain arcing something hot up your spine.
The sinews in his jaw flex as he rolls his hips forward, rocking into you fully. His thighs settle against the curve of your ass, and he presses kiss after kiss to your temple as he peppers you in compliments.
“You’re so good, bein’ so good for me,”
“That’s it, Good Girl. Can feel you relaxin’ for me.”
“There? S’That it? Yeah, that’s it.”
Frank’s forearms settle on either side of your head, his palm resting on your crown to steady your body as he begins to thrust into you. You wail softly, back arching off the pillows as he slides out of you, and back in. He touches something inside you that makes your vision blur, fizzing like static.
Each time he works his way out of you, your cunt tightens around the head of his cock in a desperate attempt to keep him there- a subconscious fear that he’ll disappear beneath the earth too.
“I’m right here,” he breathes, one of his hands moving to the inside of your thigh to push your legs wider. When he slots his hips against yours again, his pubic bone grinds against your clit. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”
You sob. Frank’s winding your arousal up and up, pulling it right until you feel it throbbing around the edges of your being. His fat cock-head pushes up against something that obliterates you, punching the air from your lungs and making you choke around his name.
“That’s it Darlin’… That’s it,” he coaxes you, slipping his ring finger over the hood of your clit and rubbing in tight little circles.
Blackness- you think. Or you’re so far gone that your mind can no longer process what you’re seeing. Your orgasm bears down on you with an intensity that has your thighs quaking around Frank’s hips, your toes curling and cramping as you wail his name.
The afterglow embers continue to smoulder hours after you settle into his arms. Frank lays on his side, tracing his fingers over the divot of your spine as you gaze up at him. He’s tired; you can see it in his half-lidded eyes, the edges of sleep creeping up on his mind.
His lips are kiss swollen, his shoulders red and littered with scratches you had no idea that you had inflicted upon him.
Despite your embarrassment, Frank had smiled when he saw them—made a joke that you’d added to his collection of scars.
Though sleep also threatens to pull you under, your eyes are naturally drawn to the golden necklace that hangs from Frank’s neck. A golden wedding band hangs from the chain, glinting warmly under the low lighting of the lamp settled on the bedside table. You reach for it, tracing the circumference with the pad of your thumb.
Frank pauses for a moment, watching your mind work behind your eyes as you fall into the depths of your brain. It’s a sobering moment, knowing Maria and your husband hang over you both- feeling their loss once more. You don’t hide your thoughts from Frank for long, looking up at him through your lashes and holding your breath.
“… Do you think they’d approve?”
The man settled under the covers beside you doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turns his palm over, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone. You melt for him, leaning into his affections as you wrap your hand around his wrist. His pulse thrums in his veins beneath the thin skin, and it’s beautiful, a perfect tempo.
“I think they’d approve of whatever made us happy.”
Happy. You’d forgotten what happiness was, how it felt and tasted following the death of your husband. It evaded your every attempt to grasp at it. Only now did you rediscover the elusive state of mind. It was different to what you remember, almost foreign.
It felt like body-warmed bed covers. Like wet sneakers and cuts on beer bottle glass. It tastes like brandy and smells like coffee shops. It looked like Frank.
You release the breath you’d trapped in your throat, feeling the weight of grief shift ever so slightly from your shoulders.
“I think so too.”
END
authors note: I began this fic in July of 2022. It’s been sat in my WIPs folder all this time, and I finally managed to find a way to finish it. I don’t feel like it’s perfect, but I do love it very much. I hope you do too.
🏷️ Tags: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @pedrosprincess @inklore
-
-
-
#frank castle#frank castle x reader smut#frank castle x you#frank castle smut#frank castle x reader#frank castle oneshot#frank castle x female reader#the punisher#frank castle x y/n#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle imagine#the punisher x you#the punisher x reader#the punisher smut#the punisher x y/n#the punisher oneshot#the punisher x female reader#the punisher fanfiction#the punisher imagine#marvel#mcu fanfiction#mcu smut#marvel smut#jon bernthal#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal smut
397 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
striikee
🎃robért🎃
raidon21
Hi :3
darcyesque
potes semper mutare
emichan
Hi, Everyone ( ^ω^ )
collarme
Puppy♡