heya, i have to wake up in three hours but! here's another lil human au snippet! ft. lightly implied Laughingstock! disclaimer i am so so tired so don't come at me for typos or strangely worded sentences or missing info <3
~
Before heading home, Eddie swings by a charming little store he’s been to once or twice before. He usually goes to the chain store by his house, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with the hustle and bustle and the endless aisles. This little store is quiet, nice, and strangely has everything anyone could need.
The lot is mostly empty at this hour, so Eddie claims a spot right at the front. As with the other times, the windows are littered with displays and stickers - half off on this, sale on that. Eddie enters Howdy’s Place with the chime of the door’s shopkeeper’s bell. He’ll get what he needs and get out, quick and easy and peacefu-
Boisterous laughter slams into Eddie like a hammer, so sudden that he jumps in place. An employee stocking cans nearby glances weirdly at him. Eddie clears his throat and hurries into the nearest aisle as the laughter tapers off. The silence barely lasts a second before loud chatter starts up. It’s too fast and muffled for Eddie to understand, but he can pick out two distinct voices - one deep, one less so but still decidedly masculine.
Eddie tries to tune it out as he gathers what he needs. Toothpaste, some paper towels, shampoo. For the hell of it, he nabs a box of classic bran muffins from the spacious food section. He lingers for a moment, enjoying how far-away the conversation seems at the other corner of the store. Unfortunately, theft is illegal, so Eddie is forced to move towards the noise.
A strange thing about the store - it’s a combination general store, antique shop, and diner, complete with a miniature gift shop separating the two. One long checkout counter stretches from the open store area, behind the gift shop, and into the diner, where the conversation is coming from. An interesting setup, but an understandable one. It allows anyone behind the counter to move fluidly between customers and sections.
As Eddie approaches, the conversation becomes slightly clearer.
“-said, no wonder you didn’t get her number!” the deeper voice barks, and the two dissolve into that almost-too-loud laughter again.
As it tapers off, the other voice says, “Sounds like a real charmer! But really, you oughta be careful, Barn. One of these days someone’s gonna throw a right hook at ya.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. A transatlantic accent? He hasn’t heard that anywhere outside of real old movies and a queen he once knew. It sounds natural too, like the man was born to sound like he belongs on a 1920s radio show. It nudges something in the back of Eddie’s mind. He’s started to get really sick of that nudge.
“Oh, this guy did.”
“No kidding? I don’t see a shiner.”
“Well, yeah. I went left.”
Both of them laugh again, and Eddie feels a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth. That wasn’t funny enough to garner an actual laugh in his opinion, but it wasn’t unfunny.
Eddie steps up to the counter and quietly puts his acquired items on it, not wanting to interrupt. He chances a glance to the side - walking space in front of the counter’s length lets him see right down into the diner.
A large man with dyed-blue hair and an interesting fashion sense is at the bar, talking to an employee leaning against the other side. The employee doesn’t really catch Eddie’s gaze, but the other man… Eddie swears he’s seen him before. He studies him from the corner of his eye, not wanting to be rude but unable to mind his business.
“Our bouncer didn’t even get a chance at the action - the idiot knocked himself out tryin’ a second swing!” The customer says. His deep voice, wavering with humor, only adds to the sense of familiarity. Metal glints in his right ear. Eddie knows this man from somewhere.
The employee shakes his head, tutting. His busy hands polish a vintage pitcher. “I swear, you get all the crazies.”
“Makes for a good story, though.” The customer takes a sip from his tall milkshake and scoffs. “Though if it wasn’t all well-ending, amusing bull, I doubt I’d be so tolerant.”
Minutes drag by as the two keep talking. Eddie goes from patiently waiting to awkwardly trying to get the employees attention. If only there was someone else behind the counter, but the only other staff member is elsewhere, likely still stocking shelves.
The two men are too absorbed in their little world, even though both are facing Eddie’s way. The customer has both elbows on the counter, one of them bent to prop up his chin. The employee has his hip leaned against the edge as they chat. They’re obviously very familiar with each other, and clearly deeply enjoy each other's company.
Still - and Eddie is sorry to say, but it’s bad customer service. He’s not in a rush, but he’d still like to be on his way home. He could be fishing out the complex keys right now. He checks his phone - he’s been here for nearly fifteen minutes. Picking out the items took less than five.
Eddie sighs, staring at the various cigarette packs displayed behind the counter. He’s never seen the appeal in smoking, but as the laughter starts up again, he almost wishes he did. He’s going to treat himself to a very long shower once he gets home.
The store’s other employee walks behind the counter, carrying a box. Eddie lights up. Finally - she pointedly clears her throat and heads into the back.
The constant conversation stalls for the barest moment, and he looks over. The customer grins at him for a second - lord he’s handsome - before turning that grin towards his friend.
“You’re losin’ your touch, Howds,” he teases, bringing his shake straw to his lips.
“I resent that statement. You’re just distracting.”
“Lil’ me? Distracting? C’mon, you can just tell me I’m pretty to my face. I’ll take it like a champ, I swear!”
“Ha, good try.” The employee sets the pitcher down and starts to mosey in Eddie’s direction. “Your ego is big enough for the both of us as is. One more compliment and your head’ll pop like a balloon.”
“Well, given that most balloons don’t really pop, they just kinda deflate slowly-”
“Sorry for the wait!” the employee says loudly in a glaringly obvious customer service tone. He stops in front of Eddie with a cardboard smile. At the other end of the counter, the familiar man snickers and hides his grin behind his drink. “I trust you found everything you did - and didn’t! - need.”
Eddie just stares up at him for a moment. At six-one, Eddie hasn’t felt small in a very long time. He usually stands at least a full inch above other people. This employee - Howdy, his name tag states - has several more on him.
“Uh, y-yes, I uh, I did,” Eddie stammers, glancing at his items.
“Wonderful! And again, my sincerest apologies for the delay. My friend makes a game out of keeping me from my job.” Howdy shoots his ‘friend’ a glare with enough heat in it to make an ice cube sweat.
“No worries.”
Howdy scans the items at an almost frightening speed. Beep, into a paper bag. Beep, in. Beep, beep - “Oh, no.”
“What?” Eddie says, dread plucking at his ribs as Howdy holds the bran muffins and shakes his head. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”
“Indeed there is! You’re making a mistake with these. They’re absolutely horrible, I tell ya - and bad for you, too!” Howdy tuts and puts the box to the side. “No, no, you don’t want those.”
“I… don’t?”
“Not if you knew better! Lucky for you, I’m here to set you straight. What you need is-” he snaps his fingers, “Barnaby, be a pal and-”
“Already on it,” ‘Barnaby’ says, appearing next to Eddie.
If Eddie weren’t already paralyzed, he’d jump right out of his skin from how Barnaby towers over him. He has to be a scant inch or so shorter than Howdy, but he still makes Eddie feel tiny. Unfortunately, Barnaby is even more handsome up close.
“Here ya go.” Barnaby hands a plastic container to Howdy and taps it, smiling lazily down at Eddie. “I’d take his advice on this one. Those bran-named muffins may sound fancy, but they’re pretty crumby! You want muffins of quality. Real breadwinners!
Eddie can’t help a soft laugh. “Breadwinners, heh, that’s a good one.”
“Are you selling these or am I?” Howdy says, raising a bushy eyebrow.
“Hey, I’m just doin’ what you asked! I’m bein’ a pal.”
“And I - I’m sorry," Eddie interjects, "but you’re awfully familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Eh, I’ve been around, but uh… you ever been to [INSERT GAY BAR NAME HERE]?”
Howdy clears his throat. “I’m trying to make a sale here, Barn. You can flirt on your own dime when you’re not costing me mine.”
“Didja know your nose gets redder when you’re jealous?”
Howdy rolls his eyes and shoves Barnaby in the diner’s direction. Barnaby goes with a hearty snicker. Despite the joke, Eddie thinks it has some merit as Howdy scans the final item and rings him up, considerably frostier than before.
Belatedly, Eddie realizes that he didn’t actually agree to the different muffins. Too late now. “Say, what kind of muffins are those?”
“Poppyseed-lemon.”
Eddie relaxes - that is a lot better than boring bran. “Y’know, my mother loved poppyseed-lemon muffins.”
“Did she now,” Howdy drawls.
“Like you wouldn’t believe! If baking was so much as mentioned, she’d jump right on houndin’ us to whip some up for her, or send us to go buy some. We’d never even get a taste! They’d be gone the moment they hit the air, I tell ya.” Eddie chuckles. “Took me a while to understand what all the fuss is about, but man was she right. They are good!”
“Uh-huh. Well, we have a fresh batch delivered every morning. They’re not the same type every time, mind you, but I can promise that they’re all of the highest quality.”
“Breadwinners, right?” Eddie jokes. Howdy doesn’t blink, but Barnaby snorts. He’ll take it. “I might have to come by more often, if that’s the case! Thank you kindly, sir.”
“Mhm, have a good day.” Howdy hands him the bag and strides away without a glance. The dismissal is clear as day. “Say, Barn, did you hear about the racket one of those cult crackpots stirred up at our dear friend’s tearoom?”
Eddie doesn’t catch the tail-end of the sentence as he hurries away, but he frowns. Cult? What cult? There’s a cult? He certainly didn’t hear of one before moving here, and none of his background checks had turned up anything of the sort. He hopes it was just a figure of speech.
The door chimes again as Eddie leaves. It isn’t until he’s in his car that the embarrassment of that whole exchange catches up with him. If he had a nickel for every time he’d made a fool of himself in front of a gorgeous, strangely familiar man, he’d have three nickels. At the rate he’s going, he’ll either be rich, or he’ll have to move.
Eddie subtly tries to peek around the store’s window displays from the safety of his car. He catches a scant glimpse of blue hair - come to think of it, it’s a similar shade to Wally’s. But where Wally’s had, to Eddie’s memory, been uniformly dyed right down to his eyebrows, Barnaby’s rich brown roots were obvious. His beard and eyebrows weren’t dyed, either.
As Eddie relaxes back into his seat, he re-reads at the store’s name. The color drains from his face and he barely restrains himself from slamming his forehead against the steering wheel.
Oh, of course. Of course he made a fool of himself in front of the owner. Eddie can never come back here again. And it was such a nice store…
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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?”
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low down ✴︎ cl16
genre: porn w slight plot, humor, tad bit of fluff
word count: 2.5k
A lot can happen under an hour. You and Charles, self-proclaimed pros at sneaking around, can attest to this.
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+ because... smuuut,......,,, ... ,, dirty talk, charles is a bit dom-switchy, penetrative sex, handjob (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), semi public sex, yeah
req'd!!! title from this. leave it to auds to dip for 6 days n come back with another fic... i love u guys, my best friends foreva (dipping again for a bit after ths bec im headed back to ldn)
“So I said to her—if you text me, call me. Clever, innit? Oh.” Lando pauses telling his story, spotting you and Charles sitting on the sofa of the lounge. “Hey, you guys.”
“Mmm,” you mumble noncommittally, both of you focused on the film playing. “Close the door, the light’s blocking the screen.”
“Right, sorry.” Lando pulls it shut and turns back to Carlos to finish his story. “So this girl, yeah? Proper fit and all. Hey, Charles, her friend’s single, if you’re into that.”
Charles mulls over it for a second, his lips warping into a pout. “Sure…? Actually, mate, no.”
“Both of you are going to die single,” Carlos chirps from the fridge, tossing Lando a can of beer, who receives it as he laughs.
You snort from your place on the couch, clearly amused. “You’re saying that like it’s wrong.”
five minutes earlier
Charles’ hands sneak up, underneath your thin tank top and higher to cup your breasts. You mouth his name hotly against his ear, your own fingers threading into his hair as you whimper. “You”—another moan escapes your lips involuntarily when one hand leaves to squeeze at your ass—“you’re sure Carlos won’t come in?”
“We’ve got an hour at the least,” he promises roughly, groping hungrily, blindly almost. You part from him to catch your breath, meeting his eyes. They’re dark, with want written all over them, so you pull him closer, to let your mouths meet in a wet, messy kiss.
You two haven’t hooked up in two weeks, record time for how good you are at sneaking around. You’re not usually so careless, but you’re both desperate. He breathes hard, urgent, the tent in his jeans rubbing against the seat of your shorts. So much pent up tension, weeks of lingering touches, of eye contact at the same table, of wanting each other so plainly, in front of everyone who thinks the two of you are just friends.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whimper, grinding downward, harder. Your top’s been pushed up so he can bury himself in between your tits. “But—mmmmf, fuck, I need it.”
“Tell me,” he says, demands, breathless. He thumbs at the cup of your bra.
“I keep touching myself thinking about you,” you confess. It slips easy when it’s him.
You spread your legs wider from where you are on top of him, lying on the sofa, movie playing idly and forgotten behind you both. It’s almost embarrassing to admit how much you want him, your body warm with desire, for him to bring his hand where you need it most.
“Fuck, baby.” He hums, and it makes you so, so wet. Like he can read your mind, he mutters, “Wanna feel how wet you are.” Your hand loops around his wrist and you’re guiding it to your shorts, thighs clenching.
“Char—” Your breath tapers off into a high-pitched gasp when his arms suddenly wrap around your waist and gently, but urgently, push you off of him.
Briefly, you’re confused, your mind stuck on Fuck, baby and two weeks without all this and his promise of having enough time to fuck which has gone woefully unkept. You feel his fingers, quick to pull your top back down, feel him mumble a quick apology, and you sit yourself down on the other end of the sofa just as the door opens fully.
“You said an hour you asshole!” You manage to wedge it in before the chaos fizzles out.
“So I said to her—if you text me, call me. Clever, innit? Oh, hey, you guys…”
—
“Leave it to her and Charles to swim even further off the beach,” George mutters to Lewis, both of them walking along the shore, feet sticky with water and sand. “Those two are always getting into trouble.”
Lewis calls out to the blank bright sea. “Guuuys! Helloooo?! We’re leaving!” He scans the water for two heads, finds nothing.
Your head pokes out from the door of the yacht a few feet away, docked just by the pier. “Alright! Just a second!”
“What the hell?” He mutters quietly, just level enough for him and Lewis to hear. “Could’ve sworn they swam out…” The two exchange a puzzled look, but shrug it off. “Okay. Come quick!”
“Yep!” You shut the door again with a smile.
twenty minutes earlier
“Please,” you beg, fingers toying at the waistband of his shorts. It’s been so long, you’re implying. There was that one quickie three weeks ago and nothing else. Dry, dry, dry. It’s been ages. You blink, flirty, brows furrowed, lip red with how hard you’ve been biting on it. “Need you.”
Really, you are never this careless. The group—you, Charles, Daniel, George, Lewis—had all been drinking on a yacht, and then when everyone swam off, you both snuck back onto the boat and shut the door quick behind you so you could—
“I need you now,” you add, feverish, your head thrown against the wall.
“Slow down,” he grunts, a low, amused drawl. “So eager.” His hair’s a bit wet from the two minute dip you took to pretend you were both swimming like everybody else. It smells like the beach, his lips like beer. You’re addicted.
It’s killing you, the want. The hunger. The need. “Can you blame me?”
He brings his fingers up your skirt to push your flimsy bikini piece to the side, swearing gruffly under his breath when he pushes one inside of you slowly. A throaty moan leaves you, involuntary, drawn out by the slight stretch, the relief. You tighten around him, hands caging him closer toward you.
“You’re so tiny, baby.” He mutters something in French, amused, a bit in awe. “So good for me.”
“Just you, just you,” you whine, feeling him work another finger into your cunt.
He laughs, vicious against your ear. “You like that? What if someone walks in, hmm?”
Your stomach lurches with excitement and you grow wetter. “I don’t care.”
“Atta girl,” he chuckles, low and hot. It’s so dirty, everything, all of it. The sneaking around, pretending you’re nothing but friends around everyone but claiming each other once you’re alone for even just a second. You’re desperate for him, more, more, more.
So he gives it, a third finger pushing into you and letting you feel more of the dull stretch. Your hand’s palming at the bulge in his shorts, ears savoring the whiny grunts coming from him when you squeeze at it, albeit distractedly. “I’m gonna—fuck—” You tense, the pleasure bubbling over, thighs shaking.
“Let me feel you,” he orders lowly. “Come on, ange. J’en veux. Cum for me.”
Like you’re on command, you do, toes curling and hands pulling him to latch against your neck so you can smell him, feel him everywhere as you cum. It’s hard, long, a direct result of the god awful dry spell, gushing all over his thick fingers. He slips them out, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheekbone, then your nose, then finally your lips meet again in a messy, slow kiss.
“How long do we have?” You ask, giggling. He smells good, like always, and having him pressed up against you is as comforting as it is arousing.
“I figure an hour.”
Guuuys! Helloooo?! We’re leaving! A disembodied English voice permeates the wooden wall and you screw your eyes shut tight, adjusting your pulled-up bikini top. You turn to open the door, head poked out, finding George and Lewis standing idly by the pier. Just behind the door, Charles’ big hand gropes at your ass and he laughs behind you, unseen.
“Alright! Just a second!” You chirp smilingly. They say something your mind’s too clouded to register, so you reply with a safe “Yep!” and shut the door, facing Charles with a stormy expression on your face.
“You are shit at timing these,” you scold, letting him lift you up and pin you up against the wall to savor a two-minute makeout session.
—
Daniel hands Charles a pickle jar, asks him to open it. You watch with mild amusement. This is an hours-long prank now, with Daniel proclaiming the jar to be fully un-open-able and garnering over fifteen failures over the morning. Lewis failed. Max failed. Esteban failed. Three engineers, two strategists, and one janitor failed. “Lewis failed?!” You’d asked when Daniel let you in on his secret challenge.
So you watch, eyes transfixed on his veiny, ring-clas hands wrap securely around the jar. And then it pops open.
Surprise etches itself onto your features—then warmth, at the realization that arousal had begun to boil in your stomach. “You should be proud of him,” Daniel says beside you, in awe. “Some friend you’ve got there.”
“Totally,” you say enthusiastically, elbowing Charles. “Nice one, mate.”
forty-five minutes later
“Your hands.” You feel them grope at your ass. “They’re wicked.”
“You’re weak,” he says. A menace.
“Just shut up.” In retaliation, he wraps a hand around your neck, but doesn’t squeeze. It just rests there, a promise of something more. Your breath hitches and you grow wet under your jeans. Your eyes flutter.
“Fuck me,” you breathe. And he does.
—
“What’d Charles say? Ring him, won’t you?” Alex asks, reviewing the reservation list for dinner. “He’s late.”
“He said he was good with 8PM. Let me call just in case,” Max hums, clicking at his phone and pressing his ear to it. “Charles?”
“Mate,” says Charles on the other end, voice muffled through the phone. He’s quiet.
“You up for dinner, right?”
“Later, at eight,” says the other, breathy. “Bye—”
And the line’s clicked off. Max stares confusedly at his phone, turning back to Alex and shrugging. “Well, he said fine.”
“Does he knowit’s 8:15?”
thirty seconds earlier
Charles grabs your hair, knotting it in his grip as he sucks in through his teeth. “Fuck.”
He’s big, thick in your mouth, stretching your jaw out wide. You’re so pretty on your knees, like you have been for the past few minutes, head bobbing, bringing him toward and away from release. Your eyes are watery, pleading almost, and the farther you go the more you choke around his dick, unable to take it.
“Deeper,” he says gruffly. And you obey, like always, with a devious smile that translates mostly in your eyes, a raised brow.
He smiles back down at you, and then his phone is ringing in his back pocket. This has happened before—bosses, friends, family (God, family) calling during trysts, but Jesus, Charles will never ever—
“Answer it.” You pull off with a teasing smile. It’s a challenge, leaves your shiny lips that are currently wrapped around his tip again. You raise both brows. Go.
He does, presses accept without reading and then mumbling the first thing on his mind. “Mate.”
You cough around him, throat tightening as you deepthroat, humming sweetly like this is your favorite thing in the world. Above you, Charles is spilling nonsense. “At eight,” he says. “Bye—”
The phone clatters to the floor beside you and he thrusts roughly into your waiting mouth, good girl good girl leaving his mouth in thin, desperate, gritty moans until he’s pulling you off by your hair and cumming onto yout lips.
“Tastes like shit,” you tease menacingly, licking over them anyway and smiling. You stand up and button his jeans, laughing. He kisses you.
“I’m on a fucking time limit. Dinner at eight.”
“It’s 8:15.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “I’ll just fuck you, then.”
—
“Is sneaking around the best idea?” You ask. “For us, right now?”
The season’s almost over, and that means Charles has no time to sneak off. Between almost being caught with your panties in your mouth by Carlos, and Charles almost being caught eating you out by Daniel, you’ve both agreed the stress isn’t worth it. But it begs the other question: how long will you wait?
“It…” He meets your eyes, exhaling, bummed. “It isn’t.”
one hour later
“Harder,” you whimper, the plead leaving you softly and desperately. His hand’s heavy at the small of your back, pushing you into a perfect arch so he can pound into you the way he likes.
“How could I say no to you?” He says breathlessly. You hear his smile, his teasing pleasure. You shudder when he goes harder, tightening around him, sinking further down onto his cock. Your brain’s all fog, dumbed down by Charles’ insistent, hot words, hands all over you.
“Cumming,” you say, the words thin and whiny. Your thighs shake when you do, for the third time in the hour. This fuck is messier, more desperate, hotter than all the rest. He doesn’t usually handle you so roughly but you both know it’s what you want anyway.
You’re so fucking cock drunk it’s crazy. So good Charles—I want to cum again, I—
“Come on, for me.” He pounds into you harder. “Before I fill you up with my cum.”
“Wanna be full of it,” you pant, crying into the pillows when you let yourself give in to the knot of pleasure again and cum, gushing all over his cock.
He feels, semi-blindly, for your lips, presses his thumb into your mouth for you to suck on. You sniffle around it, and clearly he’s close to release with how sloppy and rough his thrusts are now, the constant grunting music to your ears. “Gonna be good for me?” He asks. You nod. “Gonna be my good little slut?”
It’s too much, in the best way—it sends you both into overdrive, cumming at the same time. It’s so good, you’re saying, but it’s cloudy and faraway and dumb.
“I can’t,” he says through gritted teeth. His face is shiny and pretty when you turn over, feel his dick slip out, and press a kiss to his sweaty nose. “I can’t get enough of you.”
“Me neither,” you admit. The confession is swallowed into a kiss.
—
“Are you wearing Charles’ shirt?”
Max is eagle-eyed. Nobody noticed for twenty-seven fucking minutes and then Max walks in, takes a glance at your shirts, and suddenly everyone’s eyes are like glue. Your Ferrari shirt, which you’d purchased to be intentionally oversized—Charles’ size, just about—had a plain collar. Charles’—his was a polo.
You are wearing a polo. Charles is wearing a plain, U-shaped collar.
twenty-seven and a half minutes earlier
“I love that bra.” Charles flicks the black lacy strap and lets it snap against your skin. You yelp, brows furrowed defensively.
“Hey.” You pick your shirt up off the ground. “Don’t get turned on, we have to go and meet our friends. Isa’s here today, and so is Lily.”
He does the same, clutching the red and black Ferrari gear to his bare chest. “You turn me on.” It’s teasing, flirty, and you smile, pretending to shoo him away when he crowds you against his room’s wall. Get away! You’re shout-whispering, but he presses a sure kiss to your lips, and you smile against them.
“We’re pros at sneaking around,” you say, giggling as you tug your tee on.
He fixes his collar, tugs the shirt to fit properly, winks. “We really are.”
And maybe you don’t know it now, or in twenty-seven and a half minutes, but one day you will realize that the only people you’re hiding all your feelings from are yourselves.
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