#jon bernthal fic
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Teacher - Chapter III
Frank Castle x Inexperienced F!Reader
Summary: Frank invites you to hang out with him at a bar on the outskirts of town. After some good food, and lots of teasing, you get invited back to his place to take care of the problem you caused him.
Warnings: age gap (reader is in her early 20s), mentions of drinking and smoking, cursing, grinding, detailed handjob sorry, slight praise kink
Author's Note: I am so incredibly sorry for how long it took for this chapter to come out!! I had a lot of life issues that delayed this, but I'm pretty happy with how this turned out so please accept this super long chapter as my apology/holiday gift!! And if you want to be added to the tag list just let me know. As always, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :) Leave a comment or shoot me an ask!! I'd love to hear what you think!
Word Count: 9k
Previous Chapters: I, II
“So I was thinkin’… Said you didn’t get many experiences even after high school, right?” Frank asks. His voice slightly muffled through the phone, which is wedged between your ear and your shoulder as you drag the spatula over the food you’re cooking on the stove. He had randomly rang you out of the blue and, after attempting to control your breathing, you answered the call. This was what he chose to greet you with and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t confused by the topic of conversation.
“Good morning to you too,” you tease, the food sizzling as you flip it in the pan. “But no, I haven’t. Why? What’s up?” you question.
“There’s this bar on the edge of town,” he begins his offer. “Little bit of a drive but they got good food,” he explains.
“Tempting…” you trail off, trying not to immediately agree just because it’s Frank. “Who all is coming?”
“Just me,” he replies. “That alright?”
“Yeah!” Your answer is too loud and far too fast to be playing it cool. After cursing yourself mentally, you try again. “Yeah, I was just wondering if it was a whole… get-together thing.” Your voice grows quiet at the end, not wanting to plant the idea in his head that you’d prefer it if there were more people.
Honestly, you were surprised he was reaching out this soon after the bonfire. It was one of the best nights of your life. Whenever you think about it, there’s this warmth that rushes through you; you’re not sure if the heat was from the big flames or his strong chest you laid against all night.
“Nah, just me. Just thought it would be somethin’ you might like,” you push the spatula around in the teflon pan as he speaks. “Plus it’s another thing off the list, right?”
“Yeah, it is! Thanks, Frank,” you say cheerily as you turn the burner off and open the cupboards to grab two plates.
“No problem, kid. Just thought about you, y’know?” You sink your teeth in your lower lip to calm yourself down before another thought comes to mind.
“Oh! When are we going?”
“Tonight,” he answers nonchalantly and your eyes grow wide. “If you’re free.”
You seriously weren’t expecting him to want to see you only two days since you two were last together. In your head, Frank is so calm and collected and you’re practically certain that this… thing you two have going on isn’t as big of a deal to him as it is to you. Still, you try not to question too much why he actually seems to enjoy having you around. Instead, you decide to just take the good as it comes.
“I am, I can do tonight. But I’m not sure I have something to wear. Is it like a club? Should I dress up or is it more jeans and—?” You don’t even realize when your voice picks up in speed and the questions fly out faster than you intend for them to, but Frank is quick to center you out of the beginning of your spiral.
“Just wear somethin’ cute, alright? I’ve seen some of your outfits, sweetheart, you’ll be fine.” You bite the inside of your cheek at his comment and inhale deeply before sighing. “I’ll pick you up at six, okay?” You hum an agreement as he confirms the time and say a goodbye before hanging up.
As you pull the phone away from your ear, you see an incoming text from your best friend drop down from the top of the screen.
“I’m two minutes away! I can’t wait to hear everything.”
That night when you got home from the bonfire, she had sent many texts in hopes of finding out the reasoning behind the newfound closeness between you and Frank. In your exhausted and slightly inebriated state, you told her that you would have her over Saturday morning to explain it all to her. You were much too tired to string the words together and you also know how she can tend to put her own emotions onto words; the last thing you needed was for her to hear the little arrangement you and Frank have and blow it out of proportion.
You set the table as you wait for her, making sure to leave a mug beside her plate for her tea that tends to be the staple of her breakfast. By the time the food is divvied up for each of you, there’s an impatient knock at the door. You shake your head with a smile as you open the door and she’s pushing past you as the questions immediately begin to roll off her tongue.
After guiding her to the small dining table in the kitchen, you watch her sit down and her eyes never stray from you. Her voice continues to fill the air as she talks over herself; there’s no distinct end to one sentence and the beginning of the next. By the time you’re sitting beside her and about to dig into your meal she finally covers her mouth, stopping all the enthusiastic queries she desperately wants to know.
“I’m gonna let you talk,” she mumbles behind her palms. You laugh at her attempts to force herself to be quiet and pick up a forkful of your food.
“I promise you it’s not as exciting as you think it is,” you warn her before popping the food in your mouth.
You start at the beginning—trying to skim over the details of your not-so-controlled crush on Frank as well as the more heated parts of the things you two have done together. Excited gasps fill the space surrounding the dining table and you watch as her eyes go wide when you mention it was his idea. Her mouth gets the better of her though and she begins to ask more questions while you speak. You make sure to answer all of them in time, save for a few chuckles here and there, before finishing your last bite.
“I actually have a question for you now,” you start again, watching as confusion washes over her features. “Frank called me this morning and he wants to take me out to this bar he likes. I just don’t know what to wear and I was hoping… you could help me?” You hesitantly look up to face her and you’re met with a beaming grin.
“Is this a date?! Is this the first one? Are you going back to his place after?” You shake your head once again as the sudden influx of questions fill the air.
“No, it’s not a date. I mean… I don’t think it is?” you let your thought process be shown aloud and watch as her giddy expression comes back to the surface. “It’s not! We’re just friends and he’s doing me a favor. I’m sure of it.” You decide then and there that you can’t afford to hold out hope and expect more than what he’s given you—which is already so much.
She raises her eyebrows up from behind the rim of her mug and you scoff at her knowing look. You brush your hand through your hair and try your hardest to not let your anxiety creep in about the idea of being on a proper date with Frank Castle.
And so together the two of you spend the afternoon diving through your closet together for something that could fit. It felt similar to a movie montage where the teenage girls toss different colorful fabrics through the air. With a growing pile on the floor of your bedroom, she gasps once you stand in the completed outfit.
“That’s the one!” she says excitedly before tugging you towards the bathroom. “Time for makeup!” She eagerly pats for you to sit on the counter while searching through your, admittedly limited, makeup bag. Doing the best with what she’s got, she gets to work on the eyeshadows and blush, finishing up with a curl of your eyelashes and combing mascara through them. You always loved how focused she got when it was time for something special; her tongue pokes past her lips as she concentrates, her eyes squinting to get the very last detail to sit right.
Once she’s satisfied, she spins you around to see yourself in the mirror and you’re actually surprised at how nice it all came together. You’re wearing an oversized, comfy jumper, tights that line your legs, and a black skirt that accentuates your frame. It’s not too fancy, but the black tights make your outfit more sleek and you silently hope that Frank will like it. As you fluff your hair up to give it some more volume, you thank her behind a wide smile.
A buzz of excitement rushes through you as you wait by the front door and hear the heavy revving from the engine of Frank’s van. You physically shake your arms in an attempt to let go of some of the nerves that built up and your friend gives you a quick hug.
“You got it, baby!” she encourages sweetly. “Have fun!” she calls out as you slip past the door. Making your way down your porch steps, you hear her shout something else from behind you. “Don’t do anything stupid!”
You chuckle at her warnings and make your way to the big, black van. You open the door and find Frank sitting with his elbow on his armrest and his head in his palm as he turns to face you. You stand there for a moment and await his initial reaction to your outfit. His eyes widen slightly before they rake over your boy, his lips parting as he takes it all in.
He brushes his thumb along the defined line of his jaw before sinking his teeth into his lower lip. His eyes settle on the small slit of the skirt that rests high on your thigh. There’s a pause for a moment before he finally speaks up.
“Told you you’d find somethin’ cute.” He fixes his posture and gives you a smile as you roll your eyes and sit in the passenger seat. Being with him felt easy now—of course there’s still the butterflies, which you’re expecting to make a permanent home in your stomach any day now, but it’s mostly when you’re about to see him. When you’re actually in his presence, it all fades away and you love how comfortable he makes you feel.
If you had told yourself a few weeks ago that you’d be on a half hour car ride with Frank Castle to the outskirts of town, she probably would’ve brushed it off as some sick joke. But here you are, sitting beside him and watching as he flips through radio stations until he settles on a classic rock song. You enjoyed getting to discover little pieces of him the more time you spent with him.
As he drives under the lamp posts longing the winding roads, you watch as the passing lights illuminate his face before it’s cloaked in shadows of the night once again. Each time you move underneath them, light showcases his features in a warm glow for mere moments at a time. You think your new favorite thing might be when the gleam seeps into the small dip in the bridge of his nose. That small highlight makes you smile and he catches it as he turns to look at you once you’re stopped at a red light.
“What is it?” he questions, his eyes squinting slightly as he looks at you. With a shake of your head, you face back to the light strung up in the air. His gaze doesn’t leave the side of your face though, and you know he’ll want an answer.
“This is just nice,” you shrug your shoulders. “Thank you for thinking of me,” you add. You want to make sure he knew how happy you were to be doing this, despite your quiet nature due to your fear of somehow screwing this up with your words.
“Haven’t even done anything,” he laughs softly.
“Well, I’m still enjoying myself,” you reply in a gentle tone. Frank doesn’t say anything more as he continues to look at you. The light changes and a green glow washes over your face, queuing him to face the open road once again. You glance down as his hand moves to the gear shift, trying not to focus too long on how the veins in his hand are accentuated as he curls his fingers around the knob.
Frank speaks up again after a moment and you quickly recenter your attention. He engages you in some light conversation and pretty soon you’re laughing along to his comedic storytelling. You don’t even realize you’ve arrived until he’s put the car in park and turns the key off in the ignition. Looking out from behind the glass in front of you, you see the neon lights surrounding the big, bold letters of the name of the bar. It shines brightly in the night sky and acts as a small beacon in the dark parking lot.
You look up at the sound of the driver side door closing and realize Frank has left the car. You reach for your bag that’s resting on the floor between your feet and by the time you move for the handle, he’s opening your door for you. It’s the first time you’re able to truly take him in. He’s wearing a pair of nicely fitting blue jeans and a grey jacket, complete with the black boots you’ve never seen him without. You can’t tell what he’s wearing under the thick material that conceals his chest though, and you find yourself hoping it’s something tighter and hugs his torso.
“You ready?” he asks, and you nod in response. “Alright, watch your step,” he warns and you feel his hand bracing your upper arm as you hop out from the slightly lifted van. Once you’re secure on the ground, the two of you begin making your way towards the entrance. As you pass by the cars parked in organized rows under dim lamplights, you begin to make out the few scattered people smoking and even spot a couple sharing a cigarette just outside the main doors.
Once inside the building, he shrugs off the jacket and you can finally piece together his outfit. Frank’s broad shoulders stretch the fabric of the dark blue button up shirt. It’s tucked into his denim pants and secured with a black belt. He fits the attire of everyone else here in the bar, but still stands over a head taller than the rest—not to mention infinitely more attractive. You try desperately to rip your eyes away from him, and in doing so, take in the scenery of the pub.
The bar is crowded but not so occupied that you can’t move. The loud, overlapping voices meld to create a soft droning that accompanies the background. It doesn’t stand a chance to the band though, whose loud amplifiers cause a shake in your chest with each note they strum. Polished wood lines the walls and there’s photographs of smiling people decorating them, forever cherished behind glass frames. It feels oddly homey, admittedly impressive for a place you’ve never stepped foot into before tonight.
You accidentally bump into Frank and he steadies you with his large hands on your waist. He’s staring down at you with a subtle smile on his face. He begins to talk but you don’t have the slightest clue what he’s saying; the song that’s playing is far too loud to hear the lower tone of his voice. Shaking your head with a frown, you let him know you can’t understand him and his smile grows wider. He then leans down, his fingers brushing your hair away from your ear before he speaks.
“Asked if you wanted to eat,” he starts, his breath immediately warming the side of your neck. With just those few words, it feels like all the other noise falls away. All you can focus on is the rumble in his voice and how the words feel as if they dance down your spine. “I’m starving,” he adds, and you’re certain your new headspace gave his words a different context than he intended.
He pulls away for your response and all you can muster up is a slow blink and a delayed nod. There’s no cocky smirk at your expression and you wonder if maybe he decided to spare you the embarrassment this time. He promptly turns and you fall in line beside him, letting him guide you around the crowd. His palm finds its way to your lower back as he leads you and just like that, your heart picks up in pace once more.
You’ve only seen the same small movement depicted in movies and you can now safely say that experiencing it is so much more exhilarating. Part of you is frustrated that such an insignificant touch can make you this excited, but Frank’s charm has a tremendous effect on you. Still, you tell yourself it’s the anticipation of his hand being elsewhere on your body that riles you up.
His hand stays put until the two of you reach a booth lining the back wall. There’s a small lamp that bathes the whole table in a warm glow and you and Frank place your things down before sliding into the long seats. As you stare at him from across the table, you watch as his eyes scan the crowd and then the main stage as he focuses on the band. They’re currently playing a cover of a classic rock song and Frank smiles as he nods his head to the music.
“This place is nice,” you raise your voice slightly to be heard over the music. He turns to face you and his smile grows wider.
“Yeah? You like it?” His question is accompanied by your own nod and he continues. “I’m sure there’s fancier ones close to town, but I’ve been coming here for years and they’ve always been good.”
He raises his hand in the air, tilting his head up and leaning to the side as if to catch someone’s attention. You follow his line of sight and look over your shoulder to see a woman with a black apron tied around her waist. She looks slightly past you as a grin covers her face and walks over to your table quicker than you expected.
“Frank?! What are you doing here?” Her voice is already grating and she’s only said a handful of words. Her tone is drawn out, almost flirtatiously, and she stands closer to him than you would’ve liked.
“Just showing her around,” he answers simply. He looks at you and when the waitress does the same, her face falls. You muster up an awkward smile and try to shake off the weird look she gives you. “She’s never been here before, you think we could get some menus?”
“Sure thing,” she mumbles, stepping away only to return a moment later with two long, laminated sheets of paper. She drops them to the table and you spare yourself the trouble of looking at her again.
“She sure seems to like you,” you speak up once she’s left. Frank scoffs before grabbing a menu and shaking his head. “Did you see the way she looked at me? What did I do?” You ask with a frown, wondering if you did something unintentionally.
“She’s probably just pissed cause you’re sitting with me and she’s not,” he answers with a sigh. He flips the paper around and you notice the way his eyes dart around the page. His answer wasn’t very reassuring though, and you still feel the tension in your body. As you scan the small print of the menu in your hands, you can feel his gaze on you. You try to shake the disappointment and to make it less obvious that what she said affected you, but you’re not certain how good of an actress you are.
“Y’know what?” he speaks up after a few seconds. You raise your face to him as he continues, “I know this place a couple of blocks down? Best god damn beer I’ve had.” His hand disappears under the table and a moment later you see his fingers curled around his jacket. “It’s German! You haven’t tried that one before.” He leans across the table before whispering, “You’re gonna hate it.”
His attempts at distracting you work well and you can’t help the laughter escaping you at the final thing he said. Frank’s own crooked smile returns at your reaction and a softness settles into his brown eyes.
“There she is,” he mumbles once he sees your regular self bubble back up to the surface. You bring in a deep breath and choose to shake off any residual awkwardness you felt from before.
“No, no it’s okay. We can stay here.” You finish your sentence and look back towards the music before facing him. His hands are empty now as he continues to stare at you and you feel confident in your choice to stay.
After looking over the endless list of drinks, burgers, and other appetizers, you read a description of a sandwich that makes your stomach rumble to life. You immediately decide on it without a second thought and smile up at Frank, watching him run his finger across the page between two options and looking quite indecisive.
Before long, the ill behaved waitress is back to take down your order. You pick your sandwich, remembering to take off the toppings you aren’t too fond of, add in an order of fries, and your usual favorite drink to top it off. With a hesitant glance up, you see her scribbling down your order on the small notepad in her hand. Her expression is twisted up as if she smelled something foul and you feel that uneasy feeling settling in once more.
“I’ll have the same as my date here,” Frank answers before she can ask about his meal. He gently taps the two menus on the tabletop before handing them over to her. His lips part as his eyes drag over your features and you notice the way they stop for a little longer than they should when they reach your mouth.
To say you were shocked was an understatement. You weren’t sure if he said it just to get under her skin or not but part of you didn’t really care. He said it regardless and that made a smile carve its way onto your face. An annoyed scoff is heard from above and you see a hand come into view to snatch the menus away from Frank. He never looked away from you once.
The moment the food arrives, you’re excitedly grabbing your sandwich and lifting it to your mouth. As your teeth sink into the toasted bread, the flavor hits your tongue and a satisfied moan escapes you. Frank is quick to lift his eyes at the sound, his eyebrows raising as he takes in the scene in front of him. You raise your hand to your mouth and begin to grow bashful at the look on his face.
“Sorry!” You apologize, your voice muffled behind your palm. “It was just really good,” you explain once you swallow your food down.
“Don’t gotta apologize for that, kid,” he replies through his own raspy chuckle. You bite your lip and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before reaching for the fries in your basket next.
The two of you dig into your identical meals and make some easy conversation in between bites here and there. You’re honestly impressed with how good the sandwich is and you’re glad you picked it out of the infinite number of items on the menu. Frank wasn’t lying when he said he loved this place. You watch him look up from his meal every now and then with a big smile on his face as he moves his head to the beat of the music. His energy was infectious and you found yourself tapping your toes along too.
“Y’know,” he speaks up after finishing the last bite of his sandwich. At the sound of his voice, you begin to look up to his face, but your eyes latch on to something else. Frank sucks his fingers clean of the salt from his fries, his lips pursing as his cheeks hollow, and you immediately lose any grip you had on controlling your thoughts around him.
“When we ordered I saw your beer on the menu.” You hear his words but they have absolutely no meaning, no way of stringing them together to make a continuous thought as you watch him suck the seasonings from his thumb. You begin to feel a sense of injustice at the fact that those fingers weren’t where you desperately wanted them to be. With a pout, you look back to his gaze and see the confusion clear in his eyes.
“What?” you blurt out, finally remembering he had spoken and that you hadn’t processed anything he had said. He scoffs before shaking his head, his smirk spreading wide across his face before he speaks again.
“Said they have the beer you like here,” he repeats himself, his cocky grin a clear indicator that he saw how you froze up at sight just moments ago.
“I’m actually good tonight,” you say confidently. Reaching for your glass, you take a sip of your drink and hold his gaze as you stare at him from under your eyelashes. He sits back against the cushion of the booth and his eyebrows pull together as he thinks about what you said.
“Yeah?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you.
“Mhm, not letting a few beers stop me from what I wanna do after this,” you explain. You’ve never felt more frustrated than when he stopped you from kissing on his neck. You understood why he did it, and are actually very thankful he didn’t want it to go further, but the disappointment coursed through you all the same.
“Hmm? And what exactly is that?” he questions as the band finishes up the song they had been playing. Your eyes follow the noise as the crowd erupts into whistles and claps, applauding the musicians. When you finally look back over, Frank’s in the same position. It’s like he never looked away from you—hell, you’re not sure if he even blinked.
You don’t answer him though and make up your mind to keep him on the edge of his seat. Instead, you smile sweetly before picking up a fry from your basket and popping it past your lips.
He gives you a knowing look, but doesn’t pry. Perhaps he was looking forward to the surprise of it all. You only hope you can remain as confident as you feel now so you can properly act out your plan. Before long, he swallows down his last french fry and Frank speaks up with a question.
“You wanna go dance?” Your whole body freezes at the mere thought of attempting to dance, not to mention the added nerves of doing it in a crowded room with Frank Castle standing witness. But as you look out onto the dance floor full of moving bodies, you realize most of them are probably far too intoxicated to really pay attention to you. Deciding to push past the initial fear, and wanting to be fully present with him and have fun, you nod and scoot out of the booth.
Frank stands in front of you and his hand soon comes into view of your eyeline. You place your hand in his and feel his fingers curl around your palm as you brace your weight on him and rise to your feet. You stand on your toes and motion for him to come closer so you can speak into his ear.
“Just so you know, I’m a terrible dancer,” you say after he’s tilted his head towards you.
“What part of me screams that I’m a good one?” he asks, and you chuckle at his joke. He smiles down at your laughter and nods his head behind him, letting you know he’s going to the dancefloor.
Frank keeps a hold of your hand as he leads you through the crowd. His broad body splits the sea of bodies as he walks and you follow close enough behind him to squeeze past them as well. There’s blue hues from the dim lights that shine over the people, but other than that you can’t see much beside their moving feet. He must’ve gotten to a clearing where there’s not as many people bumping into one another, because he stops walking and turns to you.
You’re sort of frozen still for a moment as the reality of it is beginning to creep in. But then Frank starts to shimmy his shoulders and you can’t help but break into a wide grin. Just like that, you’re thawed. The awkwardness you felt is starting to leave you as you begin to loosen up in front of him.
The band plays a fun, upbeat song that you don’t recognize, but he seems to be making the moves up as he goes along. You follow his direction, copying him but still keep some distance, trying to slowly shake off those nerves that are still lingering around. Suddenly, Frank does a move that you can’t even begin to describe with words alone and you burst into laughter as you watch him. Holding your stomach, you shake your head at him and he begins to laugh too.
The band then retires from the stage, saying their farewells as the crowd applauds and whistles. Frank claps along with the rest of them and you cup your hands around your mouth to give a small cheer. You really enjoyed their set and wouldn’t mind coming back here again to watch them play once more.
Once the stage is clear, music begins to play over the speakers and Frank’s face lights up. His excitement is clear after just the first few notes.
“God, this takes me back,” his wide grin causes his eyes to squint up. You smile up at him, happy at his enjoyment, but you can’t help your head from tilting to the side confusedly.
“You haven’t heard this before?” he asks incredulously and you shake your head. “It’s literally my favorite song, how do you not know this?”
“When did it come out?” you ask, and watch him look up as he starts to think.
“Must’ve been… right after graduation, I think?” He does the math for a moment longer before answering with the year it was released. The answer has you fighting back a giggle as you stare at him awkwardly.
“Frank, I wasn’t born until two years later,” you answer honestly, and the look on his face is priceless.
“Jesus Christ…” he replies, dragging his hand down his face. You begin to worry now, wondering if you shouldn’t have brought up that point. He must’ve caught a glance at your anxious frown because he’s quick to explain himself.
“You’re fine just… my back hurt when you said that.” His hand comes to the back of his neck to emphasize his point and your smile finds its way back to your lips.
Despite the initial embarrassment you ran into after being reminded again of the gap in age between you and Frank, you found yourself really enjoying the song. He was honest when he said it was one of his favorites. You’ve never seen him this lively before and you love being able to soak up every minute of it. He’s so animated as he dances, holding you close to him with his hand secured at your back. The lines to the song fall past his lips like muscle memory as his forehead presses to yours.
You can’t stand being this close to him. Your whole body feels like it’s been shot with a current of electricity and you’re desperately wanting him to stop singing and put his mouth to yours. He might have a sixth sense—or simply just picked up on the timing—because his lips are on yours a second later. He kisses you deeply, his tongue brushing your lower lip for a moment before you eagerly let him in. Your head tilts to the side as you kiss him back and your arm wraps around his wide shoulders to ensure you’ll have your fill.
All too soon he’s breaking the kiss and you immediately suck your bottom lip behind your teeth to savor the feeling of him. He suddenly lifts his arm into the air and cues you to spin. You twirl under his hand with a huge grin and then he yanks you in for the finish, timing it so that your back is to his chest when you land against him. His same palm immediately finds your hip and tightens to keep you flush to him. His opposite hand travels down the length of your torso, his index finger tracing your side as he moves.
He begins to whisper the lyrics against your ear and you can’t bring yourself to focus on their meaning. He’s all over you and it’s making you feel dizzy, as if you’re drunk on his scent alone. Each pass of his finger along your ribs alights a fire at your side and you try to keep up as he begins rocking you from side to side to the rhythm of the song. His breath warms the entire side of your face and neck with each word he whispers. You fall under his spell and roll your head to the side at the feeling of his warmth all over.
When the song starts to fade and a new one begins overlapping it, you’re left with a bittersweet feeling; part of you never wanted to leave that moment and would gladly listen to that song on loop for the rest of your life, but the other half of you was almost frightened at how easily you turned to putty in his hands. You felt the need to have a better grasp on yourself, especially if you wanted to stay courageous for what you had planned for tonight.
The mix of two songs smoothen down into one and you instantly recognize the slow, sexy bassline that’s pumping through the speakers overhead. You’re not sure what came over you. Perhaps you wanted to prove to someone that you’re not that same timid, little girl. Whatever it was that coursed through your veins, you’re thankful that it gave you the strength to grab his large palm and put it back into place at your hip. You use the extra support to push your ass back into him, making sure to press hard enough until you feel the bulge in his jeans.
Frank doesn’t show any reaction except for his fingers tightening into your skin as if you were a lifeline. You smile as you continue to grind into him, your hips following the similar movements he taught you just a few days prior. Facing away from him gives you the extra boost of confidence needed to perform this act, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t kill to see the look on his face right now.
With each push of your ass against the denim fabric, you feel the heat of his bulge so close to where your own warmth had started to pool. This felt good and you felt pride surging through your chest once you realized exactly what you were doing.
And then his arm crosses your chest and pulls you flat against him once more. His forearm is pressed against your collarbones and you feel your breath hitch at the hold he has you in. With a shaky inhale, you swallow down the lump in your throat and wait for him to speak.
“Look at you, sweetheart,” the tip of his nose brushes the curve of your ear and you try your damndest to not let your body double over. “Someone’s getting confident, huh?” His arm begins to slowly drop from across your chest, and instead reaches your lower stomach. From there, he applies pressure until you’re as close as you could be to him.
“You feel that? Hmm?” There’s an undeniable hardness under the thick layers of fabric. It doesn't feel as big as the last time he got turned on from you, but it’s still noticeable. “That’s all you,” he finishes with a lower tone of voice before taking half a step back and leaving you to sit with his words.
It takes you a moment to wrap your head around this entire situation. It’s abundantly clear that the mood has changed from light laughter and awful dance moves to something more sultry. You can feel the warmth slowly spreading between your legs and it leaves you with a buzz that makes you feel like your movements are slowed. When you turn around to finally face him, he’s already staring down at you expectedly.
“Why don’t we get outta here?” he asks, deep voice blending in with the booming bass. You nod at him and it feels like you’re moving in molasses. The dull, blue light from above catches his face for a moment. There’s something deeper to his unreadable expression; his jaw is clenched as if he’s trying to hold something back.
Once the two of you make it back to the table, Frank reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. He thumbs through the notes before tossing a few bills onto the table. He reaches into the booth seat for his jacket and shakes it out before draping it over your shoulders.
“Thank you,” you mumble in a quiet voice.
“Don’t gotta thank me for that, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, insisting that your gratitude isn’t needed. He begins to walk towards the door with his hand in its designated spot at your lower back to help guide you once again. The chill of the night air hits you the second you step out of the building and you find yourself curling his jacket snugger around your body. His scent is stuck to the collar and it helps lessen your shivering from the cold breeze.
He walks you to your side of the van and opens the door for you to climb in. Even after he gets in and begins driving down the same winding roads, there’s not much conversation between the two of you. The tension in the car is thick and incredibly palpable. You’re indecisive about whether to break the silence or leave it untouched so as to not make it worse.
Eventually Frank pulls into his parking spot that faces the front door of his apartment. After putting the van in park and walking around to open your door once more, you take his hand and carefully step down. He unlocks the door and gets you inside quickly, trying to shield you from the chilly air. Once he flicks the lights on, you’re greeted by the familiar sight of his living room and feel that desire to touch him creep back in. Your name falls from his lips and you turn your head at the sound.
“I’m sorry if I went too far back there. I shouldn’t have—,” he begins to apologize, but you’re quick to interrupt by pressing your lips to his. A surprised grunt comes from him and you smirk into the kiss, pleased to have caught him off guard. He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and begins leading you towards the couch. When you feel the back of your knees hit the curve of the cushion, you angle yourself in front of Frank and push him into the sofa below.
He looks up at you with his lips parted and his chest is noticeably bringing in deeper breaths each time he inhales. His usually soft, brown eyes have a darkened glint to them and you’re certain you’ve never seen this emotion on him before. Your pulse is racing through your own body and you swiftly straddle him with your knees on either side of his hips.
His impatient fingers grab hold of you in a way no one ever has before. The action causes a surprised gasp to fall past your lips, but it’s swallowed down by Frank who can’t seem to keep his mouth off of yours. The light stubble decorating his jaw scratches at your skin and the rough feeling does nothing but spur you on further. You begin to roll your hips into his as you fall into a familiar pattern and he uses his hold to help guide you into moving faster.
His movements are rushed and needy and it makes you feel reassured that he wants this—he wants you. That little boost to your ego has your hands tracing down his body, your palms rubbing down his strong chest, before finally reaching his belt. Your fingers search blindly for the leather and the sound of the buckle clinking sounds out in between the wet noises of your kisses.
“Woah, easy,” Frank breaks the kiss the second the sound reaches his ears. “Let’s just, uh…” he trails off and you feel his fingers gently prying yours away. “Let’s take it slow, alright?” His tone is so soft and the concern is written clearly across his features.
“Frank, please,” you try to reason with him. “I didn’t even drink tonight! And I just… last time I was all worked up and I really want to do this.” You finish with a pout as you glance up at him with pleading eyes. He swallows hard as he stares at you for a moment, probably battling something internally.
“What do you wanna do?” he asks slowly, trying to make his words clear. The question is so simple but admitting it to him makes you feel small again.
“I… I want to touch you,” you mumble, silently hoping he doesn’t ask you to be more explicit than that.
“You sure you want this?” His eyes never leave yours as he confirms your consent.
“I really do,” you reply, bringing your hand up and cupping his cheek. You brush your thumb over his skin and watch as he begins to shut his eyes and breathe deeply. “Please?”
You’re not sure if it’s the quiet plea, his own craving that’s swaying his decision, or some combination of the two, but he slowly uncurls his fingers from your wrist. You beam brightly at him and whisper a thanks as you peck him on the cheek.
“You’re still gonna have to walk me through it, Frank,” you say through a small chuckle.
He nods with an equally quiet, “I know.”
From there, he doesn’t try to deter your movements any longer. He lets you continue as you slide his belt past the metal buckle. You look up at him for reassurance and he nods his head with a smile. He takes your hand in his and pulls it to his bulge, letting you feel it properly for the first time. Excitement races through you and settles in your lower stomach as you watch your hand touch him over the denim.
“Can I take your jeans off?” Your question is met with another nod as he lets go of you. Slipping the button past the slit, you then lower the zipper past the teeth and the sound feels so loud in the otherwise silent room. You move to sit beside him and Frank helps you tug his pants down, raising his hips to lower them some more until they fall past his knees. He’s wearing a pair of dark grey boxer briefs and your eyes linger far too long on how they hug his thighs.
The thick outline stretching the fabric is enough to recenter your attention though. You start to feel the nerves coming back once you register just how big he is as he lies against his hip. You always had a feeling, given the sheer size of the man, but seeing it is a whole other experience. Thankfully, Frank doesn’t rush you as he lets you take this all in. You hesitantly move your hand over the length of him, brushing your fingers over the defined line underneath the head of his cock.
The next thing you reach for is the waistband of his boxers. You curl your fingers over the edge and tug them down, watching as more and more of his happy trail becomes exposed. He once again helps you pull them past his legs and now that he’s bare in front of you, you can’t help your eyes from widening. You had thought the bulge was big, but it was misleading; Frank is actually much larger than you had anticipated.
“What? You’ve never seen—?” He starts but you’re quick to cut him off.
“I have. I’ve seen, like, porn before but…” you find your voice leaving you as you stare between his legs. “It’s just bigger in person.” His chuckle sounds out and you raise your head to the noise only to be met by an amused smirk at your confession.
“S’not just cause it’s in person, kid,” he laughs through his words and you roll your eyes at his cockiness. You like that you can still crack jokes during a time like this and you find yourself thankful that you get to have Frank as your first introduction to sex. Feeling more relaxed, you reach forward and gently curl your fingers around his thick base.
“You can hold it tighter than that,” he speaks up after a second.
“I know,” you respond, tightening your hold on him a little more. He snorts lightly at the, apparently, subtle increase in pressure and you feel his larger hand curling around your own. His long fingers squeeze over yours, adjusting your grip on his length as he begins to move your hand up and down. He’s warm and heavy in your hand, two things you hadn’t given much thought of before now. Frank lifts your hand once more and a satisfied sigh leaves him.
The sound stirs something in your stomach and you try to swallow down your own growing arousal at the noise he’s making. He loosens his hold on you and you watch as his hands find the hem of his shirt before bunching it up and exposing the lower half of his stomach. There’s so much to look at and it’s pulling your attention in too many ways. You try to focus on him in your hand though and begin speeding up your movements.
“You can spit on it,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You turn to face him and feel your eyebrows pull together at his words.
“Like just… spit on it?” The confusion is more than likely obvious in your tone but you want to ensure that you don’t embarrass yourself with him. Not now when you’ve made it this far.
“Yeah, go for it,” he encourages gently. With one last glance at him, you lean forward and lower your head over his length. You purse your lips and part them as you let the split slowly drip until it’s sliding over his head. You watch as it runs down past the tip and Frank clears his throat.
“Shit, yeah that…” he trails off as he raises his hips slightly. “That works too.” You smile at his words and wonder if his movement was an instinctual reaction to the warmth running along the smooth skin of his cock.
With the help of the extra slick added to his length, you begin to work your hand faster on him. You know from what you’ve heard that the tip is more sensitive, so you raise your hand right underneath his head and tighten your grip. A grunt immediately falls from him and you impulsively let go of him. You face him with a worried expression and watch as he brings in a deep breath before swallowing thickly.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just felt real damn good.” The praise in his words immediately rushes to your heart and you feel yourself swell with pride. You can’t believe you made him feel that good, but now you’re determined to see what other sounds you can pull from his pretty lips. As you focus your attention back to his cock, you see a few beads of precum beginning to bubble up at his swollen tip. You rub your thumb in circles over the slit, spreading around the proof of his pleasure, and you feel him twitch in your hold.
“Shiiiiiit,” the drawn out curse sounds raspy and you don’t stop your movements as you check once again to see his reaction. Frank’s head is tilted back slightly against the couch cushion, his mouth is parted, and his eyes are scrunched up slightly. You try your hardest to memorize this version of him. You wish you could ingrain this memory so you’ll never forget how good he looks when he’s succumbing to his pleasure.
Twisting your hand as you move it over his length, you notice the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows down presumably another groan. You can’t resist the urge to feel even more of him, and press your lips against his neck. Lazy kisses are littered across his skin while you work your hand faster, intermittently tightening your hold on his thickness. His throat tightens as he feels the wet marks of your affection, and the next thing you feel is his fingers tangling in your hair. He pulls gently as he tugs your head up to his and he kisses down your surprised gasp, his tongue slipping into your mouth.
You’re having trouble keeping up with his movements and you realize this must be what it’s like to be kissed breathlessly. Any moment you get, you’re greedily gulping down air before he continues his ravenous attack on your lips. You never slow the speed of your hand and press yourself against his side, trying to feel more of him to satiate your need. Frank tries to break the kiss but you push against him harder, not wanting to let go for a second. But he tries again, grabbing your wrist gently and you immediately pull away with a frown.
“What did I do?” you ask in a worried tone. He’s quick to lock his eyes with yours and speaks clearly.
“You’re okay. You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he starts, and then nods down towards his lap. “I’m almost there, kid. Just wanted to warn you before it happens.” And just like that, a wide grin splits across your face. I’m making him feel that good?!
“I really wanna make you come, Frank,” you tell him honestly and you notice his cock twitch slightly as he registers your words.
“You keep talking like that and you will,” he grumbles in a low voice. His tone almost seems as if it was meant as a warning, but all it does is add to the fire in the pit of your stomach. You’re quick to reach for him again and fall back into the rhythm you established just seconds ago. With each pass of your hand you feel the veins protruding slightly through his skin and make sure to add slightly more pressure to the ring underneath his tip—he seemed to like that in particular.
“Just like that—fuck, attagirl,” he breathes through gritted teeth while he stares down at your smaller fingers wrapped snugly around him. The praise courses through you and you hide your face in his neck. You place sloppy kisses under his jaw and listen as more grunts start to fall from his parted lips. They slowly twist into a new sound and it takes you a second to realize it’s your name that’s coming out in a twisted groan. You glance down and watch as he raises his hips for a moment to chase after the feeling of you, his orgasm following soon after.
One long moan falls from him as warmth spills over your hands. You make sure not to miss a single second and don’t dare slow down or pull away. You want Frank to feel as good as possible and so you’ll drag this out for as long as you can. White begins to coat his head and the rest of his length as you continue moving over him. It isn’t until he reaches for your wrist that you take notice of the way his thigh is tense and you let go to give him some relief.
“T…That’s enough,” he pants as he speaks through uneven breathing. You mumble an apology as you snuggle into his side again, leaving the remainder of your kisses on his collarbone. His hand rubs at your back while he regains his breath and you feel him press his lips to your forehead.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and you follow his gaze to the mess in his lap. His cock lies on his hip, all spent and giving a weak twitch once or twice. You don’t even try to hide the smile that grows on your face at the sight.
“Oh, you proud of yourself, huh?” he asks through a fit of chuckles. “You should be,” he holds you to his side again. “Did so fuckin’ good.” You feel another long kiss to the side of your head. Pride isn’t even a strong enough word to describe how you feel at this moment.
“Thank you, Frank,” you smile up at him.
“Thank me? Nah, you did all that,” he brushes it off just like last time. “Thank you for making me feel good, kid. You were absolutely perfect.” The warmth spreading to your cheeks makes you hide your face in his chest again. You weren’t really sure how a scene like this was supposed to normally end, but Frank doesn’t say anything more. He keeps you close in his arms and you can still hear his pulse attempting to slow in his chest. For now, you don’t want to question what comes next; for once, you’re comfortable exactly where you are.
Taglist: @chellestrash @avengerstower-houseplant @musicals-and-mermaids @castle-of-ruin @justalittlepickle @boo8008 @doublevirgogirl @xxdrixx @yaminax @nabiiturner @imwaytoolazyforthis @vechkinfan @himesuedi @0-goblin-0 @soleilcastle @innebulae @punishersmainchick @eddiemunsonsbelover @tea-drinking-nerd
#new writing record WOOO! i just couldn't shut the hell up :)#frank castle x reader#frank castle smut#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle fic#jon bernthal fanfiction#jon bernthal fic#the punisher fanfiction#the punisher fanfic#chelsea writes
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Lose Control, i.
pairing: tattoo artist!frank castle x afab!reader
summary: you learn your tattoo artist, who also happens to be the person you love the most, is equally as in love with you but you can't deal with the repercussions of his past.
warnings: female pronouns, mentions of female masturbation, , mutual pining but they're both idiots, , tattooed frank with long hair!!, no use of y/n or descriptions of reader, not proofread
word count: 1k words
authors note: i would like to thank teddy swims for the muse to write again, please enjoy!
song to listen to while reading: lose control by teddy swims
find the masterlist here! read the next part here!
The sun peeked through the curtains, illuminating the chest of the man in the bed next to you. His face was turned away from you, but you knew from the way he was sleeping and the scent on your pillow exactly who it was. Frank Castle. You didn’t remember much about last night but you did remember you had places to be, and so did he.
“Frankie, wake up.” You shook him gently, smiling softly at the hairs plastered to his forehead and the smile he always adorned when he realized it was you.
“What time is it?” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes and sitting up slowly, reaching around the end table for his phone.
“Late, c’mon we gotta go.”
You threw his shirt at him, hurriedly putting your own clothes on to make it to lunch with your mom on time. If it was up to her, she’d have invited Frank too, but it wasn’t. She pointed out one time that most friends don’t sleep in a bed together five days out of the week when they both have places to live, and every time you woke up next to him it was the only thing on your mind.
Frank was an attractive man, anyone with eyes could see that, and the what if was always there. But, he had a reputation. As did many other tattoo artists who were too attractive for their own good. You refused to be another notch in his belt, a one and done, someone he’d forget the second he came. In order for any of those things to be true, he had to be playing the long game, and you weren’t going to find out. No matter how many times you woke up with damp underwear from wet dreams of him, or the amount of times you caught yourself squeezing your thighs together when he was around.
“Where’s Frankie?” Was the first thing your mom asked when you arrived at the small cafe she had picked for lunch, you were convinced she’d rather have him as a child than you.
“He wasn’t invited to our mother-daughter lunch, momma.” You rolled your eyes playfully, giving her a warm hug and sitting opposite of her.
“Did he sleep with you?” She asked, nonchalantly, no doubt just trying to pry and see if you’d given in to his advances yet.
“Yes, and no we did not have sex. Premarital sex is a sin, momma.”
“You’re the phoneist christian I've ever met. I just don’t get it, both of you have feelings for each other. Just go out?” She took a sip of the tea in front of her, never breaking eye contact with you as you considered her words.
“You must hate me, I’m not getting my heart broken by some guy who could have any woman he wanted.” You shrugged, playing with the straw in the drink she had ordered for you.
“Men who plan on breaking a woman’s heart don’t typically live with them, or have relationships with their parents, or give them free expensive tattoos, or take them to the hospital when they’re too stubborn to go. I could keep going, honey.”
A part of you knew she was right, but the other, much bigger, part of you couldn’t help but let go of the anxiety that played in the back of your mind every time the thought of dating him came up. You’d rather shoot yourself in the foot than trust a man, even if this one had never done anything to make you doubt him or his words.
Frank Castle was one of the sweetest men you’d ever met, even if he looked big, bad and scary. He was covered in tattoos, head to toe, that he’d done probably seventy-five percent of, but you felt so incredibly safe with him. He was the one to take you to the hospital when your appendix burst and you swore it was just really bad pms, he argued that he’d been there for enough of your periods to know it wasn’t pms and you argued back that you lived through more periods than he had. He didn’t record you when you were high off the anesthesia because he knew your biggest fear was saying something you would regret and then everyone seeing it.
He was the sweetest man you’d ever met.
But the reputation he accumulated before the two of you met haunted him every day, he’d take it all back if he could. If it would convince you that giving him a chance was worth the risk, to just know for sure you craved him how he craved you. He gladly took the slivers of your life that you allowed him to have, seared them in the back of his mind and vowed to never forget just in case you took it all away.
Three years ago you sat in his chair, nervous and unable to make eye contact with him, for your very first tattoo. Now you were littered in tattoos, all done by him, and he couldn’t be prouder. It was his own personal way of marking what was his, and it seemed to work because you hadn’t had a boyfriend since you met him. Frank beams with pride when he tells everyone you had a boyfriend at your first appointment and then showed up to your next one single, he tells everyone it was because of his ‘devilishly good looks’ but the thing he doesn’t know? He was right.
You left that appointment wetter than you’d ever been in your life, you’d had a boyfriend for a year and a half and he never even got you a fraction that turned on. You took the coldest shower of your life, trying to rid yourself of the impure thoughts of him only to fail and spend the rest of your shower desperately chasing a high you knew he’d be able to give you. You broke up with your boyfriend that same night.
#frank castle#jon bernthal#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#the punisher#frank castle smut#maddies fics#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle imagine#frank castle fic#jon bernthal fluff#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal fic#jon bernthal imagine#jon bernthal smut#jon bernthal fanfiction#jon bernthal x you#the punisher fic#the punisher smut#the punisher fanfiction
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pairing: michael 'mikey' berzatto x f!reader
warnings: angst with no happy ending, talks about substance abuse, no mention of mikey's s*icide
a/n: i don't know why i got the idea for this but then i started writing it and then more came and i couldn't stop and then it got a little too personal for me! so here we are. listened to dial drunk by noah kahan while writing this
wc 5K
You can’t cook for shit. And maybe that says something about you, says something about the way you were raised because your mother was a fuckin’ culinary genius but you didn’t seem to get much of that. You didn’t get much from your mother, including her time. But it didn’t matter much when you were younger, because your babysitter’s house was right next to the Berzatto’s. Natalie Berzatto happened to be just your age and she’d taken you in pretty damn quickly. After that, you were one of the Bears, no question about it. You looked after Carmy like he was your own brother, laughed at Richie’s jokes and called him Cousin like he was one. But Mikey…
Well, Mikey was another story.
And then you’d gotten swept off of your feet by your boyfriend, the one who promised that the two of you would be stars together in L.A. Chicago had been left behind, with Mikey and Richie and Sugar and Carmy in it. L.A. had been nice, at first— you were a waitress and he was looking for jobs. Then he stopped looking for jobs, and you were still a waitress. By the time you realized that you had walked into a dead end it had been five years, and you didn’t have anything to show for it. So you packed it up, headed back to Chicago and Natalie and Carmen and Richie and Michael. Back to your safe place. The Berzattos.
You stand before their house now with a tote bag full of farmers market veggies, something that you started doing when you were back in California. Your heart is in your throat— you’re nervous, you realize— but you knock and the door swings open almost instantly. Sugar stands before you, her typical sweetness held back by a reservation that you earned by calling her less and less as the years went by. You swallow, about to say something, but she pulls you in for a hug, and her arms feel like you never left.
“Hey, Spice,” she murmurs into your hair, squeezing you tight. Sugar and Spice, always together. That’s what the two of you were.
“Hey, Sug.”
“You didn’t call,” she whispers, still holding on to you tightly. She’s right, you know it, and there’s so much to tell her because of it. You just hold her tighter.
“I know. I’m sorry.” She pulls away from you, eyeing you up and down before she smiles brightly and pulls you into the kitchen.
“Carmy, Mikey, Richie, look alive! Guess who’s here!” She shouts, and the three all stop their chaotic kitchen shenanigans to look at you.
“Spice? No fuckin’ way. Finally left that jagoff for good, huh?” Richie jokes, pulling you in for a hug.
“Sure did, Cousin,” you grin, clapping his back. Richie may be a special breed of insane but you can’t deny the love you have for him.
“Good to see ya, Spice,” Carmy smiles, pulling you in for a side hug. Your awkward pseudo-little brother, the one who you helped with English in high school and always wanted to be around you and Sugar when you went out.
“You too, Carm.”
And then there was one.
Michael Berzatto stands in the middle of the kitchen, and he feels the way he always does, like he’s filled every part of the room and you’re connected to him even before you’re touching him.
“You look good, Spice,” he says. Your arms wrap around his middle and you hold him tight— he smells like oregano and parsley and spices, and you press your head into his chest as you let yourself be engulfed by him. It feels right, this.
“Thanks, Mikey Bear,” you say, lifting your head but still in his embrace. He smiles softly, brushing your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles and then releases you.
“So, like I was saying before Spice so rudely interrupted me, huh?” He grins, biting his tongue cheekily when you scoff in mock amusement. “Richie and I, we’re at the bar and this asshole, he’s all ‘Quit staring at my girl,’ but the chick had just spilled peanuts, like, all over the floor of the fuckin’ bar. Shit’s a mess, like bro, we’re just wondering if you’re gonna clean it up. Yeah, he did not like that. Not a little bit. So he gets all,” Mikey puffs up his chest and squares back his shoulders, staring down at you as he pretends to get up in your space. “And Richie and I, we’re like—“
“Dude, what the fuck?” Richie chimes in, laughing. “Wasn’t so funny three seconds later when he’s got a big ol’ kabar knife out and he’s slashing at Mikey’s bicep.”
“Yep, still got the scar,” Michael laughs, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the silvery puckered skin on his upper arm.
“Chrissake, Mikey,” you laugh, reaching out to trace it with your fingers.
“Hey, Spice, you mind helping me prep the veggies?” Sugar asks from behind you.
“You sure you wanna have her doing that?” Carmy asks with a shy grin. “She might add her fingers or somethin’ to it, the klutz.”
“Still shit at cooking, huh, Spice?” Michael laughs at you. You narrow your eyes playfully.
“I’ll have you know, Michael Berzatto, that I can in fact make a mean grilled cheese. Just so you know.” Michael smiles as you begin to slice the vegetables at a painstakingly slow pace.
“Alright Spice, then you gotta make me a nice grilly cheese, ‘kay?” Michael grins.
Sugar whispers something to Michael, making him clear his throat awkwardly. You have no doubt it’s a reminder to him to be gentle; that you’re fragile, damaged goods right now. She’s right. It’s a reminder of the time you wasted with that man, but it doesn’t matter now.
You keep cutting the veggies.
~~~
It’s around nine by the time that dinner’s all done and the dishes all cleaned. Your laughter hasn’t run out but you’re tired, and you need the time alone to go and feel sorry for yourself. You deserve that, you think, because you went and pushed Sugar away when she had your back like nobody else. Still does. Loyalty like that doesn’t come easy.
She had her hand on the side of your chair the whole dinner, like you were gonna bolt at any second and it was the only way she could keep you by her side. You wanna tell her that it’s for good now; that you’ll be by her side forever now. It’s just that it got hard to call when she’d ask you about your life and it felt fucking pathetic to tell her you moved all the way out here for an asshole who didn’t do his own dishes. So when telling her the truth got too hard you stopped telling her anything. And that’s on you. But you’re back now, and that’s the best you can offer.
You’re walking to the trunk of your car, tote bag now stacked with little Pyrex dishes with leftovers of Mikey and Carmy’s creations, when Mikey calls your name from the doorway. He jogs out to you when you look up, surprised.
“Hey, lemme help you put your shit back,” Mikey offers, but you know Mikey enough to know that’s just a poor excuse. He lingers by the trunk as you shut it, taking a quick breath before he gathers his courage. You’ve never seen Michael nervous like that. “So, um, Spice. You’re—you suck at cooking.”
“Thanks so much, Michael. Is that what you came out here to say?” You laugh, shoving his shoulder away as you walk to your door.
“No, no, I was wondering if you’d like to learn to cook. From me, I mean. Just the basics, y’know, but— we could do it, yeah?” And you wonder why Mikey even bothered asking because he’s Michael fuckin Berzatto and you could never say no to him. You nod excitedly, maybe a little too excitedly, but you missed him and you missed his energy and you want to be around him so of course you’d say yes. Without a heartbeat of doubt.
“Yeah, Mikey. I’d fuckin’ love that.” It’s hot in Chicago tonight, and the pavement is radiating heat or maybe it’s Michael, because you feel warm inside and you think part of you’s gonna stay stuck here forever. Forever with Mikey, that sounds nice.
~~~
You’re starting off easy with spaghetti tonight. You bought some new pans and shit, hoping to get it all set up before Mikey comes. You’re thinking about him long before he comes— about how you felt about when you were kids, that bashful feeling you’d get when he’d say hi and that little flicker of jealousy when he talked to other girls or about other girls in front of you. But Mikey Bear was so hopelessly off limits— it’s not like him and Sugar had a bad relationship but she’d never be truly okay with you dating him. Besides, you never did get the vibe that he felt the same way. So you admired from afar, and enjoyed Mikey the same way everyone else did.
But maybe it’ll be different today. Just maybe.
Mikey rings the doorbell and he fills the room the second you open the door, big and loud and joking around as he sets down big cans of tomato sauce and eggs and flour.
“Okay so I got the spaghetti from the store—“
“Stop right there,” Mikey interrupts. “Spice, if we’re cooking, we’re going all out,‘kay? Now c’mere, I want you to grab a knife and start cutting this onion up.” Mikey grabs his phone and starts playing some music from the tinny-sounding speaker. It’s not a song you recognize but Mikey sings along to it anyways, humming and stirring the eggs and flour to make the pasta himself.
You work on cutting the onions but you’re slow, something that doesn’t surprise you but you feel a little embarrassed next to Mikey.
“Spice, hey, hey, Spice, you’re cuttin’ those up all wrong,” Mikey says in quick alarm. He comes up from behind you, fingers encircling your wrist as he presses his chest into your back. You don’t know if you’re breathing— you think you forgot how to, the warmth of his body making your brain short circuit. Mikey covers your hand with his own, moving the knife through the onion and leaning down so his face is next to yours.
“All done,” Mikey murmurs, stepping back, and the immediate loss of his warmth sends a pang of want up your spine.
You work for the rest of his dinner under his guidance, enjoying how he tells you about Tina and Ebra and what Fak’s been up to, laughing at all the right points and feeling so much like that version of you that had been so in love with him. He makes the pasta from scratch, making a mess of your kitchen counters, but mess is a memory and you’re glad to make it with Mikey.
He’s so gentle with you, and it’s obvious in the way he talks about your life in L.A.. He offers you a job at The Beef but you turn it down, knowing it’ll just run you back to what you ran from, just this time without the dead weight. But he’s so fuckin’ sweet it might rot your teeth. Mikey makes you feel like you’re some sort of comedic genius— like every word that comes out of your mouth is one that he couldn't be more fascinated by. You’re sure he’s like this with everyone (because that’s who Michael Berzatto is, he walks into a room and everyone loves him) but you feel… special. And maybe he really does care because he’s got this look in his eye that makes you wanna lean in and kiss him the way you wanted to when you were young and he was only a couple years older or when he watched chick flicks with you and Sug because he wanted to spend time with her. You’ve gotten the little side rays of his light but this, this sweetness unfiltered and on your tongue, he’s so bright and you can’t look away and you want all of him. All of Michael Berzatto.
“Alright, Spice. What was the best part of L.A.?” Mikey asks you as you set the plates of spaghetti down on the table, sitting across from him.
“Uh. Leaving it?” You laugh, prompting Mikey to laugh too.
“Nah, but I’m serious. There’s gotta be one thing that you liked about it, right?” He asks, leaning his elbows on the table. The pieces of his hair fall into his face, giving him that rugged, could-care-less Mikey look that you’ve never been able to resist.
“Okay, well, uh, there was this crow who was always right by my apartment complex, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but he knew me. Like, I’d feed him seeds and fruits and shit like that every single day before my shifts, and most days it felt like he was the only living thing in that city who would care if I was gone. He’d bring me coins and twigs and bits and baubles all the time and I thought it was just the sweetest. And then one day I saw that he had a little nest with little eggs in it and then I thought, y’know, I think it’s time for me to move on too.” You smile at the memory.
“Fuckin’ Snow White over here,” Mikey teases.
“Shut up,” you laugh. “So what about you? How has The Beef been running? I’m so proud of you about it, by the way. And I heard you moved in to help Donna out. You’re the fuckin’ sweetest, Mikey Bear.” You see Mikey’s eyes dim for a second— just a brief flash, gone so fast you thought you imagined it, because the next second he’s back to smiling and laughing.
“It’s good, Spice. It’s real good.”
“And you love it?” You guessed, smiling. Mikey sips his water and smiles back at you. You take note of his silence but don’t say anything, eating your spaghetti as he moves on to the next great Mikey story.
~~~
Mikey comes over a lot. It’s not every day but it’s damn near close to it. It’s comfortable. He comes by your house on the way back to the Berzatto house, and he brings food and teaches you how to cook and peel and season and makes you feel loved through his food. You feel special, like the great Mikey Bear chooses to spend time with you so often.
You’re making chicken-pepper tonight, which is something that The Beef holds on its menu.
“I feel pretty special, being taught by a subject matter expert on this,” you tease Mikey as he murmurs a behind, hands ghosting your hips as he squeezes past you in your tight kitchen.
“Alright, Spice, you gotta give me some room here,” he grunts, towel slung over his shoulder as he moves the pan with the chicken off of the stove.
“I’m trying, Mikey, but there’s no damn room and I still wanna watch what you do,” you groan. He nods, like he’s thinking of something— which is dangerous, because Mikey’s ideas usually are. Before you can register it, Mikey’s bent down and wrapped his big, beefy arms around your waist and hoisted you onto your countertops.
“This work, Spice?” He asks cheekily, seasoning the chicken as you blink in surprise.
“I mean… I guess so,” You stammer out, confused. You’re distracted as you watch him cook, your mind dwelling on the feeling of his hands on your body, thinking about what it might feel like if he came over here and kissed you right now. You’ve missed several steps by the time that Michael calls out your name, holding out a fork with a little piece of chicken on it.
“Where’d you go, Spice?” He asks you softly, blowing on the food before he holds it to your mouth. Mikey’s eyes are tender as they meet yours— no judgment, just a genuine want to know what you’re thinking. It makes you think of the difference with how your ex treated you, how he’d ridicule you when you got lost in thought. “You do that a lot?” You shrug, chewing on the chicken as you nod.
“Mikey, that’s delicious,” you smile. You’re lost in his eyes for a second, and the world feels like it hit pause. The warm glow of your kitchen lights make everything softer, and your hand reaches out to rest against Mikey’s face. You rub your thumb softly against his skin and he’s staring back at you, eyes gentle as he looks at you.
“Hey, can I- can I try something?” You ask, almost shyly as you steel yourself with the courage to go through with it. When Mikey nods you push yourself straight, lips hovering a centimeter away from his before he bridges the gap. His lips are soft and warm against yours, moving just slightly before he pulls back.
“Spice, I… I’m sorry, but we can’t,” Mikey says, taking a step back as a red flush rises up his neck.
“No, I’m sorry, I get it,” you say, heart beating rapidly. You try to squash the swell of nausea but you can’t, the anxiety welling up in you as you realize you’ve gone and fucked it up. “Um, should we eat now?”
“Nah, I think— I think I’m gonna head home, Mom probably needs me,” Mikey says, swallowing roughly. You want to cry— you can’t lose him, but you’ve got to give him his space.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You ask hopefully, a surge of disappointment rising at his hesitant nod. Then he’s out the door, raking a hand through his strands and leaving his hair in disarray. Your nose twitches at the smell of something burning— Mikey forgot to turn off the heat, and now the chicken’s burning. Shit. There goes your dinner, along with the rest of the night. Fucked.
~~~
You waited for Michael the next day. And the next. It took you about a week to realize he wasn’t coming back, and while that was difficult to swallow, you realized you had to keep going. And for the next month you made the dishes you’d made with Mikey, practiced cooking on your own, always making enough for two just in case he stopped by.
You regret the kiss. Of course you do. You thought there was something between you— all that tension building in the kitchen every time you cooked with him, the softness of his hands and how intimate every moment with him felt. But you were wrong. He just saw you as Sugar’s best friend and probably treated you with kindness because of that. Maybe even because he pitied you. Whatever it was, it was your fault that it had fallen apart.
Tonight, though, you have a date. No more sitting around pitying yourself, you’re going out. Sugar connected you with one of Pete’s friends, who’s coming tonight to pick you up and go to a restaurant. You’ve got on your nicest dress, did your hair and makeup and you look good, dammit. So why does it feel like something’s missing?
There’s a sharp rap on your door as you struggle to hook the clasp of your necklace, the noise making you lose your focus.
“Coming!” You call out, a hint of frustration light in your voice as you attempt to hook it while you open the door. To your surprise, it’s Michael at the door, standing with a big grin and a few bags of groceries in his hands.
“Hey, Spice. You’re lookin’ good,” he comments lowly, a hum sitting behind his teeth as he looks you up and down. Your surprise doesn’t outweigh the flutter in your belly when he says that.
“Thanks, Mikey,” you say, hugging the door. “Didn’t realize you were coming today, Bear.”
“You mind if I come inside?” He asks— it’s a formality, he’s already one foot in the door before you can say a word.
“I’ve actually going to dinner tonight, hence the looking-nice-today,” you supply, closing the door after him awkwardly.
“Spice, you look good everyday,” Mikey protests, already headed to the kitchen to put down his bags. “For dinner tonight— branzino?”
“Mikey, Bear, you didn’t hear me right, honey. I’m— I’m going out. For a date.” Michael freezes then, bags slipping through his fingers as some shadow crosses his face.
“Oh.” Oh? That’s all he has to say? Whatever.
“Yeah. And I’m, um, I’m sorry about the— the, y’know, the kiss. I feel really terrible about it.” You reach back to attempt to fix the clasp, but Mikey’s already walking towards you.
“Nah, lemme get that for you,” he says, and his fingers sweep across the back of your neck, right where it’s sensitive, following the bumps of your spine to where you’re holding the clasp up and he takes it from you. Mikey looms over you as he stands behind you and he’s so everything that you almost feel like he’s engulfing you. It’s bad that you want to throw yourself into his arms and say fuck the date. Especially because that’s not what Mikey wants.
There’s a knock on the door by the time he’s finished figuring out the contraption.
“That’s him,” you say, turning to him shyly. “Whaddya think, Bear? Does it look nice?”
“Get the door, Spice,” he says quietly, leaning back on the kitchen counter as you fake a smile at his subtle rejection. You open the door and Pete’s friend stands there— typical finance bro, Patagonia vest and all but you’ll hand it to him that he looks nice.
“Hey, Jacob,” you smile, reaching out to hug him. “It’s nice to meet you. Come on in, I’ll just grab my shoes and my keys and then we can go?”
“Sounds good,” Jacob responds, kicking off his shoes and stepping into your apartment. “I’m Jacob, it’s nice to meet you,” he extends a hand to Mikey, who just looks at it stoically.
“And I didn’t ask. Spice, you’re going out with this guy? Nope. Josh or whatever the fuck your name was, you can leave now.” Jacob stammers as he looks at you and Mikey, unsure of what to do.
“Mikey, cool it, you’re being a bit of an asshole right now,” you say, slipping your purse over your shoulder.
“Nah. Leave,” he says, standing up straight. And it’s fucking intimidating. You’ve never seen Mikey like this, all big and mean and up in someone else’s face. “You don’t even deserve to be in her apartment right now. And I’m being nice to you so fuckin’ get a move on and leave.”
“Michael Berzatto!” You admonish, but Jacob is already backing up.
“Look man, I don’t know what’s going on here but I just came to take her on a date—“
“And that right there is the problem. You ever come round here again and I swear to you you’ll regret it,” Michael snarls. His face is distorted with red-hot anger, and you don’t know what you can do.
“I think it’s best you leave,” you murmur to Jacob. “I’m sorry about this,” you say, walking him to the door as Michael fumes behind you. The door closes with a soft click, and you rest your head on the cool surface as you gather yourself.
“Spice, I-“
“Michael Berzatto, what the fuck was that?” You shout. He winces and you know you should reign it in, keep your cool, but you’re absolutely furious with him. “You embarrassed me back there!”
“Spice, baby, he doesn’t deserve you. I’m just lookin’ out for you,” he murmurs, but there’s a desperate quality to it. Like he wants to convince you but even more so himself.
“This is just fucking— this is unfair as fuck, Michael,” you warn, tossing your jacket and purse onto the couch in your anger. You reach back to undo the necklace Michael had just put on you, smacking his arm away when he reaches out to help you. “If he doesn’t fucking deserve me, who does, huh? You? Does the great Michael Berzatto deserve me?” You sneer angrily, pushing his chest as you get in his space
“I don’t deserve you,” He responds quietly, meeting your eyes with such tragedy that it chips away at your stony resolve. When you go silent at his words, he hesitantly reaches out to cradle your jaw, tucking his fingers behind your ear and stroking his thumbs on your jaw. “I don’t, Spice. I’m a fucking mess and that’s why I didn’t come around for so long because if I came back,” Mikey swallows softly, leaning down to your face so that his forehead is pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours and you can’t think about anything other than his lips, his lips that you wanna kiss but can’t, shouldn’t—“I’d wanna kiss you all over again.”
“Can’t you let me make that decision?” You plead, encircling Mikey’s wrists with your hands as he pulls away, staring at you like you’re a memory of something he’s lost. “I’m right here, Bear,” you remind him, snapping him out of his reverie. He tries to move his hands away but you hold on tighter, pleading him silently to stay, to fix this.
“Forget me, Spice. For your own sake.” Mikey pulls away, giving you a look full of longing and regret, and leaves you, with just his two bags of groceries and the faint feeling that your heart just got broken.
~~~
It’s been a month since that night. Time feels like molasses—sticky, slow around you as you wade through everyday life. It feels like you’re being pulled back to him— every meal you eat, you wish it was with him; every time you meet with Sugar, you’re dragged back to the memory of him, the ghost of his presence just hovering behind your shoulder. You’re stuck, but you’re doing your best to make it through. After all, it’s not like you have another option. Mikey’s changing, too. You see it proximally— the way Sugar dims when Mikey’s mentioned, the way that he banned Carmy from The Beef. He’s lashing out, you know it, but you can’t interfere. It’s not your place.
You’ve been going over to Sugar’s a lot now. She’s got that boy, Pete, who may be a little boring but he anchors her and he treats her right and she loves him. He’s exactly what Sugar has ever needed. It makes you think of your own life, what you need, and if you’ll ever get it. Because the more time that passes, you get more and more convinced that the Mikey-sized hole in your life can’t be filled by anyone else. You can’t think of anyone else who has brought more comfort to your life, who knows you more than anyone, who makes your heart thump with just a smile. Maybe Mikey was it, and now you’re never gonna get that back.
You’re coming back from Sugar’s, sitting silently in your car with your head resting on the cool glass window as you think of Mikey. You do a lot of that. The ring of your phone snaps you out of your memories, your ringtone singing out in the space of your car as you sit and watch it go. It feels like a grenade, like something ominous so you let it ring, the feeling of something unsettled heavy in your stomach. And right before the call drops, you pick up.
“Hello?” You ask, the unfamiliar Caller ID throwing you off. There’s a beat of silence and you move to hang up, thinking that it’s just spam.
“Spice,” Mikey’s voice rings out. His speech is slurred, slow, and that heavy feeling in your gut sits like a boulder when you hear his voice. The sound of it makes tears well up in your eyes, and you grip the leather of your steering wheel to ground yourself. Why did he call? Didn’t he tell you to forget him? “Spice, could you come get me from the police precinct on 9th?”
“What did you do?” You whisper, hanging up and putting the key back in the ignition to go get him. You hate yourself for doing this, for being at his beck and call as you speed on your way to the station. It’s late, the fluorescents buzzing overhead when you stride into the police station.
“I’m here to pay bail for Michael Berzatto?” You ask the desk jockey in front of you, already pulling out your wallet.
“You the one that hung up on him?” He asks, squinting at you as he takes your card and processes it. You nod, just wanting to see Michael already. “Huh. We didn’t think you’d come,” He scoffs. “Anyways, since he listed you as his emergency phone call, we thought you should know; we found this in his coat pocket, has his name on it and everything but just in case.” He hands you a little orange prescription bottle, only a quarter of it left as the pills rattle in the bottle. Painkillers. You tamp down your shock and nod, choosing to stay wordless so you don’t incriminate him. The jockey sighs, standing up and beckoning you to follow him to the Drunk Tank. You spot Mikey immediately, shaggy strands falling before his eyes, beard grown out and that tired, tired look on his face that just pierces your stomach.
“Michael Berzatto?” The jockey calls out, clearly bored. Michael’s head snaps up and you see that heartbreaking combination of regret and gratefulness in his eyes when he sees you. “You’re free to go,” He sighs, waving Mikey out and shutting the door again.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” He stammers, uncertain, looking down at you like he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do now. You nod sharply, unable to find the words as you walk briskly to your car. Mikey trails behind you like a drawn-out shadow, lingering behind you as you throw open the passenger side door and make your way to your own door.
“Get in,” You call out, buckling your seatbelt and staring straight ahead stubbornly. He follows suit, looking almost out of place as his large frame settles in the passenger seat. You make it to the first traffic light out of the precinct before you manage to say a word, frustration making your eyes sting with tears.
“Are you abusing painkillers?” You ask him abruptly, dabbing the corners of your eyes with the pads of your fingers as tears escape you. He’s silent next to you, because he knows you know. You look over at him and his jaw is clenched, gaze trained at his hands as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Why didn’t you ask us for help?” You ask him desperately as the silence becomes traitorous. “You’ve got something good going on. You can get better, Mikey,” You plead with him.
“You think I could ask you for help?” He asks, gripping the side of the door as he looks up at you. “You think I could ask Sugar for help? And be that fuckin’ selfish?” He sniffs, wiping his own tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m like a black hole, Spice. All my fucked-up shit would just pull you in and suck out your good until you’re just like me.” You nod, looking ahead as you continue driving in silence.
“And you really believe that?” You ask, disbelief lacing your tone. “You think it’s better to go through this alone?”
“I can get out of this,” he protests, and you don’t know who he’s trying to convince.
“You don’t have to,” You say quietly. “Michael, please stop pushing us away,” you plead, a sob catching in the back of your throat. He’s scaring you now, the way he’s talking, the danger that he’s in. You just want him safe.
“I can’t,” Michael admits, tears falling freely from his eyes as he confesses. “I’m not strong enough to stop and there’s no way out for me.”
“Yes there is!” You shout. “Michael, look at me! There is a way out of this and you deserve that way out! You won’t be hurting anyone if you ask for help. We need you just as much as you need us, Mikey.” You sigh, pulling into your apartment complex finally.
“I love you, Michael,” You confess, holding his hand and forcing him to look at you. “I have for a long, long time, and that’s not going anywhere. I don’t want anything in return,” You say softly, stroking his knuckles as he closes his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours. “Just stay safe with me. For now, okay?” You ask, quietly pulling away, eager to get him into your apartment where you know he’ll be safe. Mikey nods.
You don’t know if he’ll be safe tomorrow. But for now, he’s safe with you, and that’s all that matters.
#jon bernthal fic#mikey berzatto x reader#angst with no happy ending#michael berzatto x reader#the bear#the bear fics#mikey berzatto#distortionbobble's fics#reader insert#angst
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baby doll—Frank Castle x f!reader**
summary: Frank’s had a long day and so did you. He prioritizes you instead.
word count: 2.1k
WARNINGS: cunnilingus from behind, teasing, doggy, creampie, praise kink. filthy times but make it ✨slow✨ established relationship.
AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!
gif: @bernthalus-christ
read on AO3
It’s been a long day. To put it mildly.
Things took a turn from bad to worse with each passing hour of that day, and all you could want by the end of it was a hot shower and crashing into bed. You’d be spending the evening alone anyway since Frank was away with business.
The term “business” might’ve been an overstatement. Frank didn’t like you being that involved in his actual day-to-day activities, and you didn’t like asking too many questions about it. Your lack of knowledge worked in both your interest and kept you safe.
The routine you had mentally planned took physical shape step by step: first came the shower (a little longer than you had anticipated but it felt so good to rinse off the day’s nerves and exhaustion), then a little snack, and then finally, you hopped into bed.
That king-sized bed felt a little lonely, you had to admit. You scrolled through the channels without anything in particular catching your eye, but you tried not to think too much about Frank and his whereabouts. It did you no good to worry for his safety—but the way you knew him, the others standing in his way would be unsafe.
It must’ve been a couple of years now that the two of you were together. Frank claimed loud and proud that after his family’s tragic demise, there was no one else for him. He could look at no other woman, none seemed interesting after what he shared with his wife. And when you came into his life, he was shocked at how much he’d grown to care about you in such a short period. He was shocked by the fact that he couldn’t get you out of his mind, that he craved to see you and be with you each moment of the day.
Took him a while to accept all of those feelings though. And it wasn’t easy to follow in the footsteps of his late wife: in the beginning, you felt a certain pressure, thinking how you were the first woman he showed interest in and that however you were to proceed, you had to do it kindly and carefully.
And Frank was a very giving man. The first time he took you to bed, it felt like you spent hours together in between the sheets. He was attentive, passionate, and caring, and you promised yourself at that moment to never take him for granted.
Of course, there were times when both of you needed something stronger. The sex turned greedier and rougher in a second: skin slapping against skin, angry grunts, and moans and the occasional cuss word slipped past your wet and swollen mouths.
Either way, there was immense satisfaction to be felt at the end regardless of the pace.
You heard heavy feet stomping outside your bedroom, your heart in your throat. You stood up halfway, clearing your throat. “Frank? Is that you?”
Moments later, Frank appeared in the doorway, wide eyes staring at you.
“What are you doing home?” you asked, ecstatic.
“Finished early. Long fucking day.”
You huffed, shuffling underneath the blanket. “Mine too.”
Frank snickered, licking his lips as he approached the bed.
You knew that look. You knew it all too well, and just as easily as always, heat pooled in your belly, skin afire.
“Are you coming to bed?”
“I was thinking of taking a shower. Wouldn’t want to get in bed like that.”
“Dirty?”
“Yeah.”
“You know I like it.”
With a half-smile resting cheekily on his face, Frank began stripping off his shirt. You absorbed every inch of the skin that was slowly exposed before you.
Now shirtless, Frank crawled atop of you, leaning down to kiss you. Just from that kiss alone, you could tell this wouldn’t be your usual fuck-till-you-drop evenings. That was fine by you; after the day you had—and the day Frank seemed to have had—both of you needed some comfort.
His chain dangled from his neck, tickling and bumping onto your jaw as he peppered kisses all over your face, making his way to your neck and collarbones. You huffed softly, caressing his hair with one hand, the other impatiently moving to his belt.
Frank smiled at you, lifting his head from the crook of your neck. “Greedy.”
“Can’t help it.”
“So it’s my fault then?”
“A little, yes.”
Both of you giggled, and Frank’s hands worked against your pajamas, giving concise instructions (“hands up for me”, “ass up”, and damn if he wasn’t so good at that). Once he had you stark naked beneath the sheets, a true feast for his eyes, then he stood back up and began unbuckling his pants.
“Hey, do me a favor, baby doll,” he said.
Your eyes were stuck on his calloused, large hands working to free his cock from its denim confinement, and you barely heard him.
“Turn around.”
Then you heard him.
You gazed at him with those doe eyes that drove him mad with lust.
“Turn around, on all fours,” he specified.
Oh.
Did you misread the situation? Was he hungry for more than something slow and intimate? Was he about to fuck you well into the mattress till you screamed his name for all the obnoxious neighbors to hear?
Your body tingled with curiosity and anticipation, so naturally, you obeyed.
You turned around and stood there on all fours, just as he had requested. You took deep breaths in and out, the anticipation almost prevailing you from succeeding. His hand reached to give you a slap on your ass, to which you giggled.
But a broken gasp escaped past your lips when you felt Frank’s fingers teasing your clit, testing the waters as it were. His index moved up and down your lips, teasing only the surface, barely daring to protrude the ring of skin that so badly needed attention.
“Frank—“
“Shh. Don’t talk. Let me do this properly.”
That sentence alone managed to get you wet like he turned on a switch. You couldn’t mutter any reply, not when his lips pressed against your pussy and began to drink from you.
You nearly lost your balance as you felt his tongue lapping at your folds, dutifully eating you out, yet none of that felt rough. It was, by any definition known to mankind, intimate, craving and craving, and delivering most sweetly.
“Shit, you get so wet, always so…”
Frank’s voice trailed off, seemingly getting lost in your depths as he resumed his filthy dinner. He was so lost in your scent, in your warmth, how soaked you got for him. He loved being able to turn you on with the slightest touches, with the softest words.
Christ, he could never get enough of you.
He began to impatiently slurp from your cunt, the sound emerging from in between your thighs so obscene that you could only smile. Your belly ached and burned; you arched your back to allow him more access. You felt a strong vibration being sent straight inside your body—it felt like Frank was… humming.
Fuck. He was actually humming against your pussy as he ate you out.
That’s what broke you.
“Frank—oh fuck—Frank, I’m coming—“
“Mhm—do it, come on—“
“Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m gonna come—“
He kept his pace, his tongue and lips drinking out of you like he had been dehydrated for days and you were his fountain. Mere moments later, you squirmed as you came on his tongue, his strong hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. It felt so overwhelming you could’ve easily started crying.
He was always overwhelming you one way or the other.
He kept his grip on your hips, pulling you closer to him. He peppered kisses from your ass cheeks up to your spine and finally, grabbed the back of your neck to signal you to meet him for a kiss. You felt him hard against your ass and you shuddered, grinding so that you could feel more of him.
“Always so eager,” Frank laughed.
His laugh was so rare and so different when it was just you and him. It was serene in a certain way, clear and warm, and you loved knowing you could bring that out of him even in the most intimate moments.
“I need you, baby, please,” you whined.
He kissed your mouth again, giving you a full taste of your arousal this time, and you smiled into it.
“Please?” you asked as innocently as you possibly could.
“Since you ask so nicely…”
You chuckled, feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance.
“How could I ever say no to you, baby doll?”
God, this man. He was everything you could’ve never imagined, and everything you could’ve possibly wanted in one. At times you were still flabbergasted that someone so closeted and hurt could open up and allow you in his life in such special ways and still manage to give you parts of himself.
Once Frank pushed himself inside of you at last, giving that first experimental thrust, your body was filled with an explosive sensation of indigence. Your moans served as his eternal encouragement to keep going. You needn’t say any words; Frank learned the whereabouts and tell signs of your body with ease.
His pace was considerate enough to be fitting in the “making love” terminology but powerful enough to let you know that it was him taking your body to the highest mountain of pleasure. Even as he took you from behind – and this was quite possibly your favorite position for the both of you—you felt the love, the care, and the day’s exhaustion. You both relished the moment, seeking not necessarily relief, but comfort.
But honestly, it was hard to hold yourself together in one piece whenever he was inside of you. He hit that spot that made your toes curl with ease, ridiculously so even.
“Baby doll—you’re so fucking perfect—“
Sometimes words failed Frank. He wasn’t the most talkative person on earth, but you overwhelmed him just as much as he did you. Even then, as your ass bounced back on his cock and you were arched so beautifully, words fled his mind altogether—coherent ones, at least.
“Oh God—you’re so—oh—“
Turns out, words fled your mind as well.
They were futile anyway. All you knew at that moment was Frank’s buried to the hilt in you, his harsh, protective grip over your hips, and the burn in your lower belly, begging to be ignited.
Whatever deep breath you took, it came out broken down into several small ones, your lungs working overtime to keep you conscious. You didn’t even care about coming or not. The feeling of having him so deep within you was more than enough after the day you’ve both had.
“Baby, I’m—“he tried to warn.
“It’s okay… it’s okay. Come for me.”
You needn’t ask him again or even say it in the first place: the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him, whether purposely or not, drove him mad with lust. A few more thrusts and he pushed as deep as he could, emptying himself inside of you with a guttural moan. You thought you heard him brokenly moan other things—perhaps your pet name or even your name, you weren’t sure.
All you knew was that his hand snaked around your throat, thus pulling your upper half to meet with his face. Still throbbing inside you, Frank sloppily kissed your mouth, causing you to moan into the kiss.
“That’s a good girl,” he smiled into it, sucking on your lower lip. “I’ll tell you something else, baby doll.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Pulling out of you, Frank was left mesmerized by the sight of his load dripping out of you, triggering some primal instinct that yelled at him to overpower you.
But he was too spent to follow through.
You were now resting flat on your back, staring at him in adoration as he leaned down to peck your lips sweetly.
“Tomorrow,” he said in between little kisses, “I’m fucking you properly.”
“This was proper too.”
He smirked, biceps tensing under your tender touch over them.
“I meant I’ll fuck you into this mattress till the neighbors complain.”
“Always the gentleman,” you replied with a happily exhausted smile.
#frank castle#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle fic#frank castle smut#jon bernthal#jon bernthal fanfiction#jon bernthal fic#jon bernthal smut
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Distraction
Shane Walsh x Female Reader (nothing specifically “female” except some pet names)
word count: 1.7k
warning: nothing much some basic smut, fingering, unprotected sex, swearing
summary: You ask Shane to help distract you when a family event goes worse than expect.
a/n: thank you @chelseasdagger for proofreading this little thing i really wanted to write for a while now.
“Christ”
You hear Shane sigh loudly at yet another one of your mom’s unnecessary comments. You turn to face him and give a faint smile before your eyes drop again, and you focus back on picking the skin around your finger nails. You hate the habit and usually try to fight it, but every single time you're forced to come back to your family house it gets worse.
“Why aren't you talking?”
Your mom’s voice cuts through the air and pulls you out of your thoughts.
“What?”
“You barely talked to anyone here today.”
“Just not feeling the best.”
You try to explain, but she rolls her eyes at your answer.
“As usual?”
“No, just-”
“Can you at least pretend like you want to be here?”
She cuts you off before you can answer.
“I want to, I just-”
“You’ve been acting annoyed and frustrated all day.”
“No I-”
You attempt to explain, but she doesn't let, you feel the frustration building up inside you.
“You're bringing the whole atmosphere down, can you at least pretend like you're happy? For our sake?”
“C’mon.”
Shane scoffs loudly, unable to take any more of your mother's bullshit, but you quickly grip his thigh under the table. Knowing your family, knowing your mother there was nothing he could do to help.
“It's fine, Shane, it's okay.”
You whisper before turning back to your mother with a forced smile.
“I'm sorry, you're right, I've just had a long day.”
You lie, looking straight into her eyes before getting up from the table.
“Sorry.”
You excuse yourself, pushing past all the people, feeling their eyes on you, as you exit the living room and make your way straight to the upstairs bathroom. Quickly shutting the door behind you, you hide your face in your hands. This was a bad idea, it was, and you knew it ever since your mom called to invite you and Shane over for dinner. You tried to tell yourself it'd be okay this time, that you wouldn't feel like shit the second you stepped into the house, that maybe your mom moved past trying to make you feel bad for every god damn choice you've ever made in your life.
The sudden knock on the bathroom door makes you jump, your hand flies to cover your mouth, and you sniffle quietly.
“I'll be out in a second.”
“It's me.”
You let out a sigh of relief at the sound of Shane's voice behind the door.
“You okay?”
“I'm fine.”
You answer quietly, hoping he can still hear you.
“Well cou-”
He starts, and you hear another knock, gentle and quiet this time.
“Could you open the door for me, darlin?”
You nod slowly, even though he can't see you.
“Yeah.”
You open the door slowly and feel the corner of your lip lift at the sight of him. He tilts his head down, glancing up at you with a gentle, sympathetic smile.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Can I come in? Huh? Is it okay if I come sit with you?”
You nod again, stepping off to the side to let him in before shutting the door again.
“Are they always like that?”
He asks, after a moment
“Since I can remember.”
“Your mom? What's her god damn problem?”
“I am.”
You mumble and Shane snorts loudly.
“No c'mon.”
“I'm serious, you've seen the way she acts around me, you heard the things she says, and it's like that every god damn time. It always happens I- I knew it was gonna be like this I knew and I fucking, brought you here and just hoped it'd be okay, but it's not it’s fuckin-
“Hey hey hey.”
You feel his grip on your arm.
“You want me to go down there, tell 'em what I think?”
He tilts his head down and looks up to make sure your eyes are meeting his.
“Hmm?”
“No I-”
“Can I help you somehow?”
You don't answer.
“Something I can do? I can just, I mean, the car's just out back, we can-”
“Can you fuck me?”
You cut him off, glancing up at him, your arms crossed in front of your chest.
“What?”
“I just… I don't- I want to focus on something else, I don't want to have to think, Shane, could you just.”
“Shit, yeah, yeah just-”
He takes a step towards you, his hand on your neck as he pulls you closer and your lips meet his. You hum into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he reaches down to unbuckle his belt quickly. He grabs the back of your thighs and helps you up on the sink.
“Here?”
“Mhm”
You nod, and he grabs the waistband of your pants.
“Okay c'mere.”
Pushing yourself up, you help him pull your pants down before he quickly tosses them onto the floor. Shane watches you spread your legs open in front of him and feels his cock getting harder.
“Fuuuuck baby.”
He cups himself through his pants, and you breathe out a laugh, opening your arms wide in font of him.
“C’mere.”
You purr quietly and gesture for him to step closer. He struggles with his shirt for a moment before his lips and hands are back on you.
“Shit baby.”
He mumbles into your neck, biting before dragging his tongue over the teeth marks on your skin.
“Mmmm shit.”
You push your hips into him, and he grunts, quickly reaching down to pull your panties down as you reach forward to help him get his pants off as well.
“Oh shit.”
You whisper the second you feel his fingers between your legs, he works his hand over you for a moment, his lips back on your neck. Tilting your head back you cue him to keep going, humming quietly when his touch becomes more intense, your body twitches, and you let out an impatient whine.
“Shane.”
“I know, I know.”
Gripping his shoulder tightly, you clench around his fingers, and you can't help the way your hips push towards him again.
“Shit, that's it, darlin, that feels good?”
“Mhm, I need-”
“Need what, sweetheart, c'mon.’
You wrap your hand around him through the fabric of his boxer briefs, and he grunts loudly, bucking into your palm. Shane twitches in your hand when you squeeze him tighter, working your hand over his cock, still covered by the fabric.
“Need it Shane.”
You whisper against his lips.
“Yeah no shit.”
You chuckle, noticing the darker stain on the boxers.
“Did you-”
“Shut up.”
He pulls the waistband down and his cock springs out, pushing against his lower stomach before he grabs it tightly.
“Oh shit.”
He curses, working his hand over himself before spreading your legs open more.
“Shit, c'mere, sweetheart, let me do this.”
You wrap your legs around his waist quickly, pulling him closer to you. He teases your entrance with his tip, but you both know you won't last much longer. Your mouth falls open when he pushes inside you, and you clench around him. Shane's head drops, and quiet curses fall from his lips as he thrusts inside you.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
“Good?”
You ask, but he doesn't answer, only grabs your chin and pulls your face to his. His lips on yours again. You kiss back immediately, biting down on his lower lip, feeling his cock twitch inside you in response.
“Oh fuck-”
You go to close your legs, but he pushes them apart so fast.
“Shane.”
You feel every single thrust, feel the way his cock drags when he pulls out of you almost completely, feel the small bit of pain when you stretch out around him again and again and again.
“C'mon sweetheart, c'mon, don't- make me beg you.”
You grunt at the words, wrapping your legs around him tighter, feeling his hand under your shirt, fingers brushing over your nipples.
“C'mon.”
He pushes inside you harder, but you fight your climax.
“C'mon baby, c'mon, feel good for me.”
You bite your lip, pushing your legs together, your nails digging into his back.
“Shane-”
“Please, please baby, please I-”
You fall forward, letting your entire body wrap around him as he thrusts into you a couple more times, letting you ride out your orgasm before his own follows shortly after.
You let your head fall on his shoulder, turning your face to kiss the side of his neck.
“Thank you.”
You whisper against his skin, between the small kisses.
“Mhm.”
It's all he manages. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his chest rising and falling quickly with his pants. You stay like that for a moment, alone, enjoying the feeling, before you suddenly remember where you are. The voices from the living room, now easily noticeable, make you want to leave the house immediately. You don't want to waste how good you feel after Shane's helped you on the people you know would make you feel shitty again.
“Can we leave?”
You ask, pulling away to face him.
“Please.”
You breathe out a laugh and cup his face to kiss him one more time. Both of you quickly clean yourselves up, attempting to look decent again before leaving the bathroom.
“Shit.”
You stop him in front of the front door.
“What is it?”
“My jacket, left it in the living room.”
You answer.
“Let's go get it.”
He leads you back, holding your hand. The loud conversations die down as you enter the room. You watch Shane reach over the table to grab your jacket, clearly unbothered by the people around him.
“Right, we’re leaving.”
He starts, seeing your mom’s confused expression.
“I'd say we'd love to stay but”
He glances back over his shoulder at you, and some people do the same.
“...naah we got better things to do.”
That god damn smile makes you smile right back at him, and you completely ignore all the eyes now stuck on you. Shane walks over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist before pulling you out of the room.
“You didn't say goodbye, sweetheart.”
He teases when the front door shuts behind you both.
You lean back against his car and pull him into another kiss. His hands on your waist, your hands cupping his cheeks again, you feel the short buzzed hair prickling the tips of your fingers.
“Oh, I couldn't care less, Walsh. Just get me out of here, okay?”
He nods before another kiss.
“Yes ma’am.”
#shane walsh#shane walsh x reader#shane walsh fic#the walking dead#the walking dead fic#jon bernthal#jon bernthal fic
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It's Complicated (Francis Ch3 | Frank Castle x Reader 1940s AU)
Chapter Summary: After the attack, you awaken with some pain and a lot of questions.
Series Summary: New York, 1949. You’re a waitress trying to find your place in the world and get your footing at your new job. That is, when you’re not being very distracted by the handsome, mysterious writer who frequents the diner.
Previous Chapters: 1 / 2
Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader
Content Warnings: memories of past violence as seen in previous chapter, hot man cooking you healing food (dangerous stuff).
Length: 2,908 words
cross-posted to AO3.
Your dreams are full of dark tunnels and winding paths. Shadowy figures shape-shift into terrifying creatures that you can’t escape. All you hear is the sound of your running feet and your heart pounding like a drum.
You turn down a dark path and stop. There’s a figure in this one but it’s clear, not shadowy like the others. It’s bathed in white light and glowing. It’s a man with his back to you, dressed in slacks and a white shirt with suspenders crossing his back.
As you move closer, the man turns. It’s Francis. Your eyes go first to the soft smile on his lips before traveling down to the twin guns holstered by his sides.
You start to back up slowly and he frowns.
“Sweetheart?”
As you take another step backward, your foot slips. You rear lands hard on the stone path. You’re trying to pick yourself up when you notice bloody scrapes on your legs. You turn your hands over to find they’re there, too.
A frown forms on your face.
How did that happen?
As you observe the scrapes, tiny streaks of red slowly bloom and quickly grow.
A gust of cold air draws your attention to your ripped tights. When you reach down a hand to inspect the ripped fabric, a hand appears in the darkness and wraps around your ankle. It tugs hard, pulling you down as you scream.
With a gasp, you startle awake, your eyes flying open.
Your eyes dart around a familiar room. It’s yours. You sigh a breath of relief as you grab your chest, willing your breath to slow down.
The sun is high in the sky, filling the room with warm light and humid air. Your body is covered in a light sheen of nightmare-induced sweat.
In the distance, you hear Maggie plugging away on the typewriter.
You let the rhythm of the keys fade into the background as your mind wanders to the night before. The alley. Those men. Francis.
Francis.
Why had he been there? Thank god he was, but, it was curious.
If you were being honest, there was always something odd about Francis. Sure, he was gorgeous, but there something dark and mysterious about him. It had never frightened you, it intrigued you.
He was kind, a bit sardonic sometimes, and funny. But he was also dangerous. You knew it when he’d shown up to the diner previously with bruised knuckles and scratches. You knew it the other night when you heard him taking down your attackers.
Francis Castiglione wasn’t like other men.
That's what had drawn you to him at first. But now, that hint of mystery was real and violent.
You’d heard the way he’d laid into those creeps, his fits pummeling their flesh like it was nothing. You’d heard him panting like an over-excited dog, telling them to get up so that he could brutalize them again.
It was one thing to know he had that darkness; it was another to witness it.
You hardly know him. He doesn’t owe you anything but you can’t help having more questions than you know what to do with. If the charming writer who’s been flirting with you for months is also the man you saw last night, which face is the mask? How can you trust anything he’s ever said to you?
Even with your confusion the undercurrent of fear you feel isn’t for you, it’s for him.
What have you gotten yourself into, Francis?
With a sigh, you flip back the sheet to get out of bed. Searing pain around your torso stops you in your tracks and doubles you over with a sharp cry.
The typewriter stops and a few moments later, you hear footsteps hurrying down the hall as you slowly try lower your body back to the bed.
Maggie appears a few moments later with a cool towel and a worried look on her face. The towel still drips with water, proof of how quickly it’d be gathered.
“Thank God you’re awake! You scared me half to death. Are you alright?”
You nod and attempt a reassuring smile. It’s more of a grimace.
Trying to lie back down is too painful, you end up sitting with your back propped up against the headboard and your feet out in front of you.
Maggie wrings the towel out of one of the windows before sitting on the side of your bed and brushing the towel across your forehead.
The cool water on your skin calms you enough to begin to relax. You lean into the towel and close your eyes.
“How do you feel?” Maggie asks.
“Like I got dragged down an alley.”
She sighs. “I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t know what to say. Just thank God you’re alright and that Francis passed by at the right time.”
Your eyes fly open. Francis.
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“Don't you remember?” Maggie says. “Francis was headed home and heard the commotion. Those men got spooked and scrambled away.”
“Right... And how’d I get here? Back home?”
Maggie flips the towel over and brushes it gently across the rest of your face.
“Well, early that morning, I thought I heard you coming through the door. I heard the keys and the floorboards creaking, then a man mumbling or something.” She laughs. “I thought you were about to get lucky. I came out being nosy, trying to get a look at your fella.”
You watch her face as she continues. She looks off to the side and stops brushing the towel against you.
“That’s when I saw Francis with you in his arms, covered in dirt and dried blood. Knocked out. I think I must have screamed because I remember him telling me to be quiet and asking about all kinds of supplies. I cleaned you up while he cleaned and dressed your wounds. Then he put you in the bed and left so that I could change your clothes.”
She sighs. “I’ve never been so scared or so certain. It was like I just knew what to do.”
You’d liked Maggie from the moment she stepped onto your doorstep asking about the room you had for rent. You knew a bit about her past but you mostly enjoyed each other’s company in the present. She’s like your wild and free little sister. It feels odd seeing her sad because of you.
You grab her hand and she looks at you.
“Thank you, Margaret.”
She gives you a slight smile as she squeezes your hand.
You finally take a moment to notice that Maggie’s wearing her audition clothes, a smart blouse under a grey wool jacket and matching shirt. “Audition day?”
“Oh!” Maggie stands abruptly from the bed. “I heard you call out just as I was about to leave.”
She gives you a guilty smile.
“I got a call back from that audition last week.” She gnaws on her lip. “I think this is the one.”
It couldn’t be better news. She’s been a struggling artist every day you’ve known her.
“Don’t feel guilty! I’m happy for you. Please, go. I can take care of myself.”
Maggie’s expression of guilt fades quickly into amusement. “You won’t have to.”
“Oh?”
Maggie grins and leaves the room, coming back quickly with a serving tray. The tray she settles around you is loaded up with chicken and rice soup, a hearty slice of bread, a glass of orange juice, and the morning paper.
You gasp. Maggie is a lot of things, but a cook she ain’t.
“Margaret! You cooked?”
She laughs and says in a sing-song voice, “Well, somebody did. Definitely wasn’t me.”
You open your mouth to ask who else it could have been when you hear the floorboards creak in the hallway.
“Hello?” you call out just as the visitor enters your room.
Francis leans up against the door frame. He’s fiddling with his hands and looking up at you under his eyelashes.
“How you doin’, sweetheart? Alright?”
You stare back at him. His knuckles are bruised but he otherwise looks better than the last time you saw him at the diner.
Maggie clears her throat, mouth twisted to the side as she hides a smile. “I should be heading out. Thank you so much for staying with her, Francis.”
“No problem, sweetheart.”
Maggie giggles on her way out of your room. Her footsteps recede until you hear the door open and close.
Looking at Francis, all of the questions floating around your mind earlier rush back in at once. You’re intensely aware of a chasm between the girlish fantasies you’ve entertained about him and the fact that you know so little about this man.
Neither you nor Francis speaks for minutes.
“’s gonna get cold,” he eventually says.
You nod, picking up a spoon. The soup smells delicious. You wonder how long he’s been here.
“What day is it?”
“Saturday.”
“Saturday! I slept an entire day?”
Francis nods. “Yeah. ‘s not uncommon. The shock, the overwhelm. When you’re safe, you just sort of…crash.”
You nod.
Wait, Saturday.
“What about Mister Cranston?”
“Museum guy?”
You nod.
“He was by yesterday. Pushy little guy. Grilled me for two hours about that night like I wasn’t the hero here.”
You smile. “How’s he gettin’ on at the museum? I hate the idea of leaving him alone. It’s a big project, he needs help with it.”
Francis wags a finger at you. “He said those would be some of the first words outta your mouth, worrying about him. He also said don’t worry about him.”
Francis gestures to an envelope on your bedside table. “He brought your pay by early.”
You scoff. Typical Mister C. You’re supposed to be paid on Saturdays for the work done that week. You’re certain that check includes pay for two days of work you didn’t do.
You turn your attention back into the soup. Some old, faint voice belonging to your mother pops into your head. “If you must eat in front of a man, dainty bites. No man wants a barn animal.”
But at your first bite of the soup, all ceremony goes out the window. The soup is delicious. There’s flavorful chicken, rice, and vegetables swimming in a rich and full broth. You wolf it down as fast as you can and quickly find yourself slurping up the broth after eating most of the bowl’s contents.
Francis’ laughter draws you out of your search for the last drops of the broth in the bowl.
“There’s more where that came from, ya know.”
You wipe your mouth, a sheepish smile on your lips.
“I haven’t eaten in two days, thank you very much.”
Francis finally steps away from the door, seeming more relaxed now. He sits on the bed, just past your feet.
You wait for him to speak, but he seems to be searching for words. He opens his mouth a few times, an “uh” or “um” coming out before he shuts it again.
You’d try to help him out but you don’t know what to say either. Instead, you grab the newspaper and start flipping through it. You’re hardly paying attention, just skimming to have something to do.
Then, an article at the bottom of the page catches your eye. As you start to read it, your breath quickens.
“WHO PUNISHES THE PUNISHER?”
Over the past several months, the criminal inhabitants of New York City have had a new kind of law enforcement to answer to. A nameless, masked vigilante—colloquially referred to as The Punisher—has been terrorizing the criminal sect, leaving in his wake a trail of dead and mangled bodies.
The Punisher has become a polarizing figure in the city, with many locals grateful to have a criminal who’s on their side, but with others wondering, “Just who does this guy think he is?”
Jeannie Serrano was a witness to The Punisher’s most recent outing in Hell’s Kitchen, during which he saved an unidentified girl from two ruffians in an alley two days ago. Neither man survived the attack.
Serrano says: “I heard a commotion in the alley on the side of the apartment. I went to the side window to check it out and there was a girl running from two men. She’s just screaming her head off and I ran to call the police but then I heard the men start yelling. I went back and there and saw some guy pummeling the creeps. You ask me, they got what they were asking for. Trying to interfere with a girl like that. It’s not right. I’m glad he did it. Maybe now girls can walk the streets without fear. Make those scumbags afraid for a change.”
But other residents aren’t quite as welcoming as Mrs. Serrano. “I don’t like it,” says Brooklyn resident Marvin Akeman. ”Who died and made him the law? Who even is this guy? I know I didn’t elect him, did you? What’s he want? We’re all just suckers sitting around thanking him and who knows what he’s got planned. He could be the worst of the bunch and you’re out here reporting on him like it’s nothing. You ask me, somebody oughta lock him up. See what’s what.”
Polarizing as he may be, if this week’s most recent events are anything to go by, The Punisher has no plans of stopping. Or being caught.
You finish with the article and find yourself just staring. You think back to the morning before the attack. You remembered seeing yet another article about the guy they’re calling The Punisher. He’s been in the news for months now but you haven’t thought much about it. You’re from a small town, you know how it goes. There are some things the law isn’t cut out to handle. You were really surprised there weren’t more people like him in the city, where there’s so much unnecessary danger.
Because you don’t have ill will or fearful feelings about the “Punisher,” you’d never stopped to wonder who he could be. You’d never asked yourself what kind of man might be wrapped up in this.
“What happened to you the other night?” you ask. “When you came to the diner. You looked like you’d just gotten out of a boxing ring. What happened?”
Francis, who had still been trying to figure out what to say to you, knits his eyebrows together and makes a gruff noise under his breath.
He shakes his head. “Nothin’. Just a little disagreement.”
You nod. Your hands subconsciously tighten around the paper in your hands.
“Like the disagreement you had with the men in the alley?”
“Exactly like that.”
An uncertain silence falls between you two. Francis doesn’t break eye contact until you do, looking down at the paper in your hands. As stoic as he can be, Francis is a fidgeter when he’s nervous. You watch out of the sides of your eyes as he cracks his knuckles, picks at his nails, and bounces his heel up and down.
You’re quiet long enough that when you speak again, Francis flinches so slightly you might not have noticed it if you weren’t so focused on him.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you say.
“Hm?” he says with a raise of his eyebrows.
You lift up and twist the paper around to show him the article. His eyes dart down to it and then back up to your face but he remains silent. You’re glad he doesn’t bother lying to you, but it’s clear you’re going to have to drive the conversation.
“D’you know I’m not from the city?”
“Yeah, I remember some of those stories about your growing up in the country,” he says with a grin. “Pretty sure you told me one about pushin’ some idiot’s face down into a cow pat when got fresh with you.”
“Exactly,” you shrug. “Where I come from, a girl had to look out for herself and failin’ that, we had to take care of each other. Maybe it’d be givin’ a face a slap and maybe that wouldn’t cut it.”
Francis nods. “I get that.”
You watch him for a moment that stretches so long he starts to get uneasy. He shifts his weight slightly on the bed and visibly swallows. A first nervously clenches and unclenches once where it rests on his leg. But he never breaks your gaze.
“I watched my gran run more than a couple of bad eggs out of town with her sawed off. Women beaters. Worse. Sometimes you have to take care of things yourself. Maybe I wish it was different but people doin’ what they’ve got to doesn’t bother me. But with you, I don’t know.”
He looks so handsome with his eyebrows knitted together and his lips pursed. You’d almost prefer to keep him confused.
“You don’t exactly owe me anything here, Francis, but I don’t understand it. It’s always gonna be someone but why you?”
Francis nods, seemingly to himself, as his eyes roam around the room. He stands and walks over to one of the windows, leaning his arm against the frame. The sun is still sat high in the sky and he squints against it.
“Sweetheart…,” he says quietly. He’s still gazing out the window, but he darts his head down as if he avoiding meeting your gaze. “’s complicated.”
You gesture at yourself.
“I’ve got time. Uncomplicate it.”
This chapter has been mostly finished for months but life does life and anyway, it's here now! I love writing these two. Let me know how you feel about this chapter. Comments and good-faith feedback are welcome.
mdni banner by @/cafekitsune | divider banner by @/saradika (sorry for the accidental tags! I have no idea what I'm doing!)
#frank castle fic#frank castle x reader#c: frank castle#s: the punisher#a: jon bernthal#u: mcu#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle fanfic#frank castle#the punisher au#the punisher fic#the punisher#au: 40s#1940s au#brit writes#francis series#mcu au#jon bernthal fic#jon bernthal fanfic#jon bernthal fanfiction
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If Walls Could Talk
Frank Castle x reader
Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Mentions of violence, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Physical Injuries
Length: 2k Words
But all because it felt like old times, it didn’t mean it was. Two years was a long time, and if the apartment walls could talk they would have been telling him all the ways she, too, had changed.
There was very little left of the soldier he had met. Now, half heaved over herself, was just a woman made of chaos. She was a closed discussion with no beginning or middle. Instead of the meat, she had somehow become the maggot. Went from soldier to hitman. From hitman to…this.
It had been three days since she had been home.
Home was the shittiest one bedroom, one bathroom apartment in the darkest part of New York City. It was a kitchen tap that never stopped dripping, a living room with one leather couch that was half bleached from the sun that pushed itself through the dirty windows. Windows that were covered in newspapers. But at least it was somewhere for her to rest her bones.
And how her bones ached.
Fighting a few gangsters wasn’t anything new to her. Yet when she stalked her way into that garage, she found she had miscalculated the number of friends they’d have during his recon phase. Two weeks of searching, of waiting, of watching— down the fucking drain. And she was surprised a few of her teeth didn’t go down with it.
Big guns, lots of ammo, and a huge space to cover. The disadvantage was all hers from the moment she made herself known, and the rest of them followed suit. But she thought she had things handled until the weight of a heavy chain swung around her throat and yanked her off of her feet. Landed on her back with bone-breaking force before her attacker began to drag her around like an abused cat.
The only reason she got out alive was because a bullet went through his head. A sniper shot from somewhere far enough away that she didn’t even hear it. Barely noticed a window in the garage shatter while she strangled out her breath, clawed at her neck and prayed her windpipe wasn’t crushed.
A ghost had saved her. Another jackass she now had to be weary of— they had obviously seen her there at the crime scene, had watched long enough and waited. Which meant they had an agenda of their own, and she needed to know if it would put them in her way or not.
It was all she could think about as she tossed her apartment keys into the bowl by the front door and staggered to her sink. The stink of blood was all over her. Clinging to her skin, clothes and hair. It wasn’t all her own, but she knew how much red she coughed up when the chain went slack around her throat. Could feel the break of the rib rattle at her side every time she inhaled and exhaled.
As much as she hated to admit mission failure, she knew most of the blood was her own.
She fucked this one up.
It felt like she was four minutes from a heart attack as she pressed a warm washcloth to her face and began to scrub at her skin. She knew a layer would be missing before she could see her own colour again. Everything tingled with agony. There was so much pain running through her body that it all blurred together, ran her on autopilot.
That instinct was the only thing that moved her when she heard the floorboard creak in her living room. Her limbs moved on their own to drop the cloth onto the old hardwood as she spun, kitchen knife flinging from her hand.
It flew through the air with the quietest whistle, only to be swiftly sidestepped by a massive figure dressed in all black. Combat boots lazily tied, laces stretched and well-loved. A hood pulled low over a face that glowered at her from its shadow.
“Still ain’t fast enough,” a familiar gruff voice huffed, hands in his pockets.
She felt herself let out a laugh. It was a crazed sound, one that was borderline delirious and made up of only amused disbelief. Leaning back against the counter, her body began to relax. Adrenaline was sweating itself out of her and she knew it was only a matter of time before she crashed. So, while it was lasting, she wanted to use it.
Needed to keep herself on her two feet if she was gonna greet an old friend.
“Frank fucking Castle. You look pretty alive for a dead man.”
He pulled his hood back, ran his hand over his head. She stared at him, wondering what she must look like from his point of view if he looked this different after two years. His clean military buzz-cut was replaced with soft waves that brushed against his neck, nose was a big more crooked too. Broken a few more times. Those soft eyes of his were now hardened and watchful, moons beneath them as though he wouldn’t be able to remember when he last had a good night of sleep if she dared to ask.
The only thing familiar about him was his imposing beauty. Dark and wonderful.
“And you look like shit,” Frank said to her in reply, dropping the duffel bag from his shoulder onto her couch. “Serves you right, getting into situations you can’t always get yourself out of.”
With a roll of her eyes, she pressed her lips together. Of course. “And do I have you to thank for that expert shot?”
She remembered the gasp of relief that squeaked out of her when that chain went slack. Being dragged against a concrete floor by a garrote had felt like she was going to be ripped apart. Head at one end of the garage, body twitching on the other. But she didn’t feel entirely grateful; if he had been watching her, it would’ve been nice if he had stepped in a bit earlier. Maybe even given her a helping hand through the whole fight.
But he wouldn’t be her Frank if he didn’t see a lesson in it that needed teaching the hard way. There was nothing better than a bit of tough love. They learned that together on the battle field back in Iraq.
“You don’t have to thank me. Because now you owe me,” he answered with a chuckle, finding her annoyance amusing.
“Will a beer suffice?” she asked, stumbling toward her scratched up refrigerator, barely being able to open it when she began to feel the pain making itself known again.
Somehow, he ended up behind her. His strong arm snaked under hers and plucked the first dark bottle he could reach, and popped the cap off the edge of the countertop. Just like old times— like there wasn’t a thing wrong in the world, and this was just a pit stop for them to enjoy. A beer, a bit of takeout, and maybe a cigarette smoked out an open window.
But all because it felt like old times, it didn’t mean it was. Two years was a long time, and if the apartment walls could talk they would have been telling him all the ways she, too, had changed.
There was very little left of the soldier he had met. Now, half heaved over herself, was just a woman made of chaos. She was a closed discussion with no beginning or middle. Instead of the meat, she had somehow become the maggot. Went from soldier to hitman. From hitman to…this.
A woman who looked death in the eye and laughed, daring for it to take her. Sometimes, she even wished it did. Especially now, as she declined to take a beer for herself knowing that it would do nothing to her but burn. And she didn’t want any more pain.
Didn’t know if she could take it right now.
“Glad you’re still so easily satisfied—” she began, suddenly feeling something catch in her throat.
She sputtered and coughed, feeling like she was choking on her own oxygen. She fell with the impact of the shudder, crashing to her knees and elbows, desperately trying to push something up. The taste in her mouth was vile. Sour and coppery, mixed with salty sweat as it rolled down her face. She was suffocating.
Until she felt something hot on her tongue and spat it out.
A huge black and red blob that showed her reflection as she stared at it, completely dumbfounded. It had been a while since she had so much internal damage.
“Shit, sweetheart,” Frank hissed, nearly spilling his beer as he set it on the counter and knelt next to her. Brushed her hair back from her face as she took one deep breath in. Then out. Then rolled onto her back like a dying animal.
She could feel the blood from her mouth drip down her jaw and toward her ears as she laid there, ready to never move from this spot ever again. “This? It’s nothing,” she said hoarsely. “I’d rather look like this than a hipster.”
He chuckled at her, the sound filled with little amusement as he hooked one arm under her knees and the other to cradle behind her shoulders. She heard herself whimper as he lifted her off of the floor. Like she weighed no more than a bag of feathers to him.
“Shut your mouth before I decided to drop you,” he said, a softness to his face as he carried her across the apartment and into her bedroom.
It was small. Had only a side table, a rack of clothes against the wall, and a mattress on the floor with a lamp in the corner. But it was comfortable enough. She had hid herself away here enough days, hiding from her own demons, and had grown to love its bare necessities.
Frank set her down gently, having to kneel in order to set her down. He had pulled back her blankets to make sure she could be covered up again, taking off her boots before he did so. Tucking her in like precious cargo being secured in the back of a plane.
It made her wonder where he had gone for two years. Made her wonder why she hadn’t been good enough for him to stay. They had fought alongside each other both on the battlefield, and in this concrete jungle of a city. And just when she looked at him and felt brave enough to tell him how beautiful he looked even when covered in someone else’s blood, or sat on the floor with tears in his eyes and no hope in his hands….he left her.
Just like everyone else.
And when he brushed her hair back from her forehead and began to stand, starting for the bedroom door, she felt like he was doing it again. Was leaving before she could ask him how he was, and what he had been doing living as a ghost, and why he was here if he was happy enough being dead instead of here. With her.
It was worse than any physical pain that could’ve been inflicted.
She shot her hand out, gripping a spot of loose fabric on the back of his black jeans. She didn’t know why she did it, her eyes fluttering shut against her will. There was a terrible fear bubbling in her chest saying if she fell asleep, she’d wake up and realize he was just a dream. Just another ghost coming and going.
“I’m glad you came back,” she whispered.
The fabric slipped out of her grasp and she could feel nothing but weight overcome her. Exhaustion and pain were drugging her, and she didn’t care about the dried blood in her bedsheets, or the agony she would be in when morning came. Maybe she was dead already and didn’t know it yet. Maybe she was here, alone, just like she always was.
And it was why she wasn’t sure if she imagined the edge of the mattress dipping next to her. She wasn’t sure if the softness of something pressing against her cheek was real; if the warm breath she felt was really there or not.
All she knew for certain as she fell into sleep was that if it was real, she may not remember in the morning.
Maybe Frank knew that too, because when he spoke he did so after unconsciousness took over her. “It’s good to be home.”
#Angst#marvel#jon bernthal#frank castle#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#frank castle fix#frank castle imagines#frank castle imagine#the punisher#punisher#the punisher imagine#frank castle drabble#mine#if walls could talk fic#if walls could talk#daredevil#jon bernthal fic#jon bernthal imagine
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someone would make me so happy if he wrote something about jon berthal for my birthday now past that was the day 3 August, I'm also fine with a cute and sweet story about a birthday party that there is also a kiss and a little sex, maybe I ask too much, I'm so depressed that I don't know who to ask.if you do not go I understand very well you can also delete the post 😫
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Teacher
Frank Castle x Inexperienced F!Reader
Summary: Frank's a part of your friend group and invites you to hang out one day, unaware of your massive crush on him. During the visit, you let it slip that you're very inexperienced, and he offers to teach you everything you've missed out on.
Warnings: age gap (reader is in her early 20s), mentions of sex, drinking, and smoking
Author's Note: Oh my god! It's finally here, my first fic series! I've had this idea for months now and I've finally got the courage to write it out and post it. I wanna say a huge thank you to @chellestrash and @suitsofwo3 for their continuous support on this series! Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :) Leave a comment or shoot me an ask!! I'd love to hear what you think!
Word Count: 5k
To say you had feelings for Frank Castle would be a gross understatement. It was truly nothing short of a schoolgirl crush, an all consuming infatuation that made you want him even more. Being anywhere near him made you feel like you were back in grade school with an uncontrollable flutter of butterflies in your stomach, and you knew you had to at least try and attempt to cease their movements.
But knowing and acting are two very different things, and you weren’t even sure if you wanted to stop them. Not when every smile he flashes your way makes them beat their tiny wings so fast that you feel weak in the knees. You knew logically it couldn’t end well, not with him being in your friend group, but you had a feeling you could keep up the friendly facade and not let it slip that your feelings for him are much more intense.
After all, he’s confident, handsome, and much older than you. How hard could it be?
“How hard could it be,” you repeat, whispering to yourself in the car. Your eyes are trained on the road in front of you as you listen while your GPS navigates you through the city. Frank had invited you over to his place after the last get-together the group had, where you admitted to the fact that you hadn’t seen his, apparently, favorite movie from the ‘80s. It was almost too perfect of a setup and you curse the universe for planning it all. Of all the movies you haven’t seen, you had to confess to this one?
In your defense, it was nearly impossible to decline his offer when his charm flared up like it had that night. Boisterous laughter, crinkles by his eyes when he grinned, and a, “Come on, you’ve gotta see it!” that was so warm and welcoming it had you agreeing before you thought about the implications of that damn nod you gave him.
Thinking back on that night, you nearly miss your turn onto the road that leads to his apartment. You catch it just in time though and as the automated voice informs you that he lives on the left, the anxiety sets in. You begin to focus on your breathing and you find an open parking spot right next to his black van, exactly where he said there would be. Mentally thanking him for eliminating some of the pressure of finding where to park, you pull into the spot and look towards the door with the metal numbers of his address bolted on the plaque beside it.
Once the car is parked and the ignition is off, you close your eyes and inhale enough air until your chest puffs out. “It’s just Frank,” you reassure yourself, attempting to slow down your heart rate. It does little use as his face flashes in your mind when you speak his name, so you decide not to delay the meeting any longer.
With a dry mouth and fidgeting hands you make your way to his apartment, giving yourself one last full breath before raising your hand to knock on his door. Your knuckles sound out against the wood, and there’s only a second of silence before you hear a muffled, “Coming!”
The brief moment to plaster a relaxed smile on your face passes all too quickly and you’re suddenly met with Frank’s warm grin. Failing to ignore the way he’s leaning against the doorframe, you can’t help your eyes immediately glancing at his bicep as it stretches the fabric of his sleeve. You quickly force your gaze back to his face and give yourself a mental shake.
“Hey, kid, glad you could make it,” he greets you kindly. You’d be lying if you said the nickname he reserved for you wasn’t bittersweet. It made you feel special that it only left his lips in reference to you, but logically you knew it was because you were the youngest in the group. The truly bitter part was hearing it and feeling your heart sink that little bit lower; you wondered if he ever saw you as more, if you’d ever be able to satisfy your steadfast crush.
But those spiral sessions are best had at home, so you push away the thoughts and focus on spending time with him. All you’ve ever wanted was time alone with him and you’re not sure when you’ll get the chance again after today.
“Yeah, of course,” your genuine smile takes over, ”I had to see what all the fuss was about.” He chuckles at your joke before stepping aside, gesturing for you to come in. Squeezing past his body, you step into the living room of his home. It’s bigger than you expected, housing a sectional couch and wooden coffee table in the center. There’s also a large television mounted to the wall that’s clearly the main focus of the room. One sweatshirt and a lone blanket are draped on the back of the couch, making up the only clutter in the space. You don’t realize Frank is watching you take it all in until he gently clears his throat.
“Is it as glorious as you expected?” His voice sounds out from behind you and you turn to face him. There’s a smirk on his face and you find yourself chuckling to avoid shrinking into yourself.
“Just… different than I pictured is all,” you gesture vaguely to the open space of the room. There’s a scoff before he walks past you and towards the light grey couch.
“‘Clean’, you mean?” There’s a huff surrounding the question as he plops down onto the couch.
“Well…” you trail off, tilting your head to the side. A smile slowly takes over his face as you tease him.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says as he pats the cushion of the couch. You follow his instruction, opting to keep one seat between the two of you. There’s a pause for a moment and you let your eyes wander to his thighs. His legs are slightly spread on the couch and it’s hard to ignore the way the fabric of his denim jeans are struggling to make room for the muscles of his thighs.
“So you really haven’t seen the greatest film of all time?” He begins again, disbelief clear in his tone. His voice makes your line of sight shoot back up to his face and it’s now your turn to wear a smile.
“You sure are creating a lot of hype for this movie. I hope it doesn’t disappoint,” you laugh softly. His eyes grow wide as a look of shock takes over his face.
“‘Disappoint’? You kiddin’ me? I’m pretty sure this movie paved the way for cinema.” He gets up excitedly, walking towards one of the thin bookshelves that frame the television. His fingers scan the titles quickly, trailing down the rows until he finds one. He pulls the case out from where it was sandwiched between the others before turning around to show it off with a wave of his hand.
“Made sure to rewind it for you yesterday.” You try to ignore the way your brain jumps to conclusions at those few words. The thoughts are loud, however, and you hear them despite your wishes. He really thought this ahead? Was he actually looking forward to seeing you?
Frank pulls the tape from out of its case and kneels down in front of the television. There’s a large, grey VCR lying on the ground and he gently pushes the tape past the small hinge, a tiny whirring sound escaping as it accepts the tape.
“God, I’m really showing my age here, aren’t I?” He nods towards the old technology on the wooden floor.
“I mean, I’ve seen my parents use them before,” you answer honestly.
“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, bringing his palm to cover his face before dragging it down his cheeks. The giggle that escapes you is involuntary, he looks so cute each time you tease him. You love these moments and how effortless it is to joke around with him, unlike when your usually constant bashfulness is present.
Once the tape is in, the static on the screen crackles to life and there’s a few seconds before the black fades into a dusty orange sky. As the opening scene begins to play, you feel like you recognize the actors’ names as they appear over the footage. Nothing immediately comes to mind though, so you ignore the nagging feeling of trying to place them and focus on the film.
That proves to be more difficult than you intended. Admittedly, all you can think about is his scent lingering in the space around you. It’s almost as if the couch is bathed in his smell and it feels as though you’re drowning in it in the best way. You halfway register the dialogue sounding out and decide to at least entertain the idea of paying attention. There’s a shot of the inside of an airport, and you watch as the word Diehard comes across the center of the screen. Chuckles erupt from you and Frank’s immediately turning to face you with a confused pout.
“You think Diehard is the greatest movie of all time?” Your words are unintentionally soaked in disbelief and you swear you can see his defensive guard come up.
“You tryna’ tell me it’s not?! Cause it’s clearly up there!”
“I don’t know, Frank,” you start. Each time the film is brought up around you, you hear that it’s either the best or it’s overrated. You just didn’t expect him to be this much of a fan.
“That’s right! You don’t know!” He seems proud of his argument and even laughs towards the end of his sentence. You shake your head as your smile begins to hurt your cheeks due to how long you’ve been wearing it for. He reaches for the old remote, its buttons faded with its age, and the screen halts to a stop as he presses pause.
“I’ll be right back,” Frank explains with a grunt as he pushes himself off of the couch. You turn and watch him walk to the kitchen, your eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and how they almost brush the open doorframe as he passes through it. Not wanting to let your thoughts continue any more down the path they’re already on, you force your attention back to the television and wait for him to return.
“Here you are,” his deep voice sounds out a moment later and you look up at him. He’s sitting down onto the couch cushion with the fingers of his right hand wrapped around the necks of two beer bottles. He stretches his arm towards you, offering one of the drinks and you’re distracted by the veins running up the inside of his forearm.
“What? S’there somethin’ wrong?” he asks confusedly, his own gaze glancing between your clasped hands and the bottles. You snap out of your trance and stare at the beers again, racking your brain for any excuse to use to decline the drink.
“No, thank you, I’m all good,” your voice comes out stiff. Real smooth, you curse yourself as you see Frank’s expression change. His eyebrows pull together as he tries to understand your sudden and strange behavior.
“So what’s your deal, huh?” he begins, setting the bottles down and leaning back into the couch. His entire body is turned towards you and it’s clear that you’re the new subject of the conversation. You swallow thickly, your nerves already acting up.
“Never seen you drink, never seen you smoke… Hell, I haven’t seen you do much of anything,” he continues, listing his examples off on each finger. “Why is that? You some goody two shoes or something?” he finishes with a raspy chuckle. He reaches for his beer, popping the lid off with the opener from the coffee table and taking a long sip as his eyes meet yours over the glass in his hand.
You wish you could come up with something, anything, to get you out of this situation before you’re forced to confess to him. You open your mouth, expecting your tongue to string the words together for you, but there’s nothing but silence in the room. Quickly, you begin grasping for an explanation, only to be left stuttering over your words. Frank’s eyebrows raise and there’s an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he puts his drink down again.
“Uh oh,” he laughs quietly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He squints at you, tilting his head to the side as his eyes flicker all around your face. “There’s somethin’ else there,” he whispers mostly to himself, “gotta tell me now, sweetheart.”
If none of this was enough to make your face grow warm, it certainly is now that you’ve heard the pet name leave his mouth. You feel as if you’re curling inward on yourself and you hate that the ground won’t show you mercy by opening up and swallowing you whole. Fidgeting with your fingers, you wonder if there’s any lie you can try and deliver confidently this time. But who are you kidding? You were never good at it, and it’s best to just rip off the bandaid.
With one last glance up at him, you see he’s not going to budge until he gets an answer, so you give him what he’s looking for. “Yeah, that’s… ‘my deal’,” you phrase his words in air quotes. “I haven’t really done, well, anything, and I don’t really know where to start,” you admit, still not looking him in the eyes. Frank nods as he lets your voice fill the air and you notice him making another curious face.
“When you say ‘anything’, what exactly do you mean?” he asks in a softer tone this time, no hint of teasing in his words. It’s then that you finally meet his brown eyes and see the kindness in their warm color. You bring in a deep breath and prepare yourself for the worst possible reaction to your following words.
“Um—,” you cut yourself off with a sigh, letting out all the air in your lungs and attempting to stall the embarrassment a moment longer. “Okay, like drinking, smoking, drugs…” you continue the list and watch him nod after each addition. “Never had sex, never—,”
“Bullshit,” his rumbly voice interrupts you, shaking his head in disbelief. The pout that forms on your lips is involuntary; you feared he wouldn’t have believed it, but you suppose it’s better than him teasing you. From the corner of your eyes you watch his lips part and his jaw go slack as he realizes what you said was the truth.
“Christ, you… you’re serious?” he questions as he looks at you in shock. You only nod silently, not sure how to continue from here. There’s a long pause where Frank is still as stone, remaining silent but seemingly trying to process the new information he’s discovered. The air feels so thick you worry that if you open your mouth to speak you’ll only choke.
The sound of a rumbly chuckle fills the air and you look up to see his wide smile. He’s dragging his palm down his mouth and rubbing his jaw as he shifts his hips forward and leans back into the cushions once more. You feel anger bubbling up and it quickly replaces the mortification that had been consuming you for the past few minutes.
“Screw you! I knew you wouldn’t have taken it seriously.” You cross your arms over your chest as you turn away from him. You felt stupid for sharing this with him, and now he has the audacity to laugh? Over something this personal?
“No, no, sweetheart, hey—,“ the pet name again does nothing to dull the burning under the skin of your cheeks. “I wasn’t teasing it’s just…,” he sighs heavily and shrugs his shoulders, “it’s a surprise, y’know?”
As much as you want to stay upset with him, you’re not sure your resolve can last that long. You attempt to maintain your defensive position and don’t dare soften the angry glare you’re shooting at him.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he starts, but you don’t budge. “C’mon, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it, s’all. Kinda hard to believe, honestly.” Your head perks up at the last sentence and you shoot him a look of pure disbelief.
“Yeah, well… you’re obviously the only one who thinks that,” you mumble, the self-deprecating words falling past your lips before you even register them. Frank sighs deeply and you notice the way his eyes are flickering all around your face, presumably trying to gauge how upset you are.
“It’s not like I want this,” you huff, deflating into the couch, “but now it’s like even if I want to try stuff, I don’t know what I’m doing.” You begin picking at your fingers as the insecurity grows with his silence. “It’s like everybody did the crash course in high school and they have experience. I don't even know where to start…” As you trail off, the silence becomes deafening and you find yourself missing his laughter because at least that was something.
“Aaaaand I said too much. Sorry, it’s just something that’s frustrated me for years and… yeah,” you decide it’s better to end the conversation than wait on a reply that won’t come.
“You didn’t say too much,” he finally speaks up, and the weight on your chest begins to dissipate. “Was lettin’ you get it all out,” he explains. He holds his chin between his thumb and index finger, grazing his jaw lightly and tilting his head as he thinks over your confession. You find yourself subconsciously holding your breath as you prepare for the worst possible response he could give you.
“Said you didn’t know where to start, right? Why don’t we start with something small, hmm? How about that beer?” Frank nods his head once in the direction of the abandoned bottle he had grabbed for you. You eye it hesitantly and think over the worst that could happen. Coming up with virtually nothing, you nod back to him, deciding it would be one small victory to deal with today.
As you wrap your fingers around the bottle, you raise your hand and turn to Frank. He mimics you, lifting his own in the air before clearing his throat.
“To…” he trails off, trying to come up with something as a cheer. His eyes drift off to somewhere else in the room, his lips parted as his eyebrows pull together. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at his very serious thinking face. Not wanting him to hurt himself from racking his brain much longer, you speak up.
“To trying new things,” you say confidently, and the second the words leave your mouth you’re already regretting them. You physically wince at your word choice and now it’s Frank’s turn to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, that was pretty lame,” you admit to him. “Sounded better in my head.”
“Think it sounded perfect,” he replies before tilting his bottle towards you. You follow his lead as he brings the drink to his lips and you don’t think twice before tilting your own head back. The second the flavor hits your tongue you can feel your face scrunching up involuntarily. You bring the bottle away immediately and your lips purse at the taste in your mouth. Frank’s laughter rumbles out deep from his chest and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows it down with no reaction.
“Attagirl, one thing down. That wasn't too hard now was it?” he speaks once he’s brought the glass bottle away from his mouth. Thankfully, the nasty beer is enough to distract you from reacting to his praise.
“You didn’t tell me it tasted like piss!” you exclaim, wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand.
“This is actually one of the good ones,” you watch as he takes another swig. “But you’re right, it’s not all that great,” he admits before licking his lips and looking at you.
Any residual awkwardness you felt only moments before has all but vanished and you feel comfort just being here with him. You smile softly to yourself as you brush your thumb along the curved glass of the neck of the bottle.
“Thank you for this,” you speak up, “it feels nice to get something crossed off the list.”
“Any time, kid,” his voice is raspy and you try to dissuade your stomach from doing flips at his tone.
The smile on your face grows wider in the silence, feeling a small amount of pride bubbling in your chest knowing that you tried something new. It doesn’t seem like such a big feat once you’ve climbed over the hill, but there’s always been that fear that keeps you paralyzed and unable to even attempt to move forward. You truly meant your words, you’re thankful that he gave you that little push.
“Y’know, I could help… with the list, I mean.” You’re almost certain you’ve never felt your heart beat quite this hard before. Frank waits until your eyes have locked with his before he speaks slowly, carefully chooses his words as he continues. “O-Only if you want, obviously. Just… said you wish you knew how to do it the first time, right? So it wouldn’t be such a big deal?” You hesitantly nod, still not wanting to assume what he’s proposing until he explicitly says it.
“Yeah, so I figured we could have you practice? Make sure you know what you’re doing before you get out there,” he ends his sentence with a shrug, as if it’s the most nonchalant offer.
“What?” you desperately try to ignore the way your words shake slightly. “Like you’d teach me?” You can’t even help the incredulous tone your words are soaked in. You can hardly even fathom the idea of Frank Castle being the one to show you the ropes, much less actually acting those things out with him.
“Yeah? If that’s alright?” He smiles gently and you feel your body beginning to relax some. “Just… I saw how much it meant to you and I wanna help,” he explains further, and you swear you’ve never seen sincerity like the way it’s shining in his warm, brown eyes.
You swallow thickly as you think over his proposition. It feels like this is some sort of dream; you’re waiting for your alarm to ring out as your vision slowly fades, waking up in your bedroom alone. But no amount of pinching your skin will rip you from this moment. It feels too good to be true, but it’s happening regardless. He’s waiting on an answer and it’s honestly the best offer you could think of being handed to you on a silver platter.
“And hey, you absolutely don’t have to say—”
“Yes,” you finally decide. You can’t even believe you said it.
“You sure?” he asks again, his eyes flickering between your own. You think it’s sweet how he tries to make sure you’re certain of your decision. You smile widely as you nod at him, the butterflies returning to your stomach once again.
“Also, we don’t, like, have to have sex… just so you know. I know that’s a lot, but I can help with the stuff leading up to it?” You grin and nod again and Frank laughs lightly at your response. “Just wanna make sure you’re comfortable with it.”
“I am! I’m just excited, sorry,” you fidget with the hem of your shirt in an attempt to channel all the newfound energy elsewhere. Frank’s chuckle grows louder and you wonder if you imagined the soft “cute” that was muttered under his breath.
“So…” he speaks up and you turn to face him completely. “How would you feel about crossin’ something else off the list?” You nod immediately as all the nervousness from before switches to excitement while it courses through you.
“Okay…” he laughs softly at your quick reaction. “Let’s see,” he pauses for a moment as he thinks before his eyes light up with an idea. “You ever been kissed?” You feel the familiar shyness creeping up again, but you choose to push it back down. Instead, you just softly shake your head and watch as he nods in understanding.
“You want to try it?” he asks, his lips curling into a smirk. You hum an agreement and watch as he moves a bit closer to you on the couch. Once again you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this to be some sort of joke. But Frank only waits for you to take the initiative to close the space between the two of you.
Now that you’re facing each other on the couch, you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as you wait for him to make the first move. He smiles reassuringly before raising his hand and cradling the side of your neck. His thumb brushes your cheek as his long fingers curl around the back, holding you gently in place.
“You sure you want this?” he confirms. Again, you nod eagerly.
“I gotta hear you say it, sweetheart. That’s my rule,” he explains.
“Oh…” you whisper as you glance between his eyes and his lips, “yes.” You feel your heart swelling at the fact that he wants to make sure you truly want what he’s offering. His eyes are fixed on your mouth, muttering one last, “Okay,” before leaning forward.
The second his lips touch yours, you’re surprised at how soft they are. He’s gentle with his movements and softly sucks your lower lip between his own. It only takes a moment for you to kiss him back, careful to only mimic his actions and still let him lead. The kiss is warm and sweet and you feel the blood rushing through your cheeks and tingling down your neck. His thumb catches your bottom lip and pulls it down slowly, breaking the kiss. Frank breathes gently as he licks his lips, his eyes flickering between yours.
“How was that?” he asks, his breath fanning over your mouth as he speaks.
“It was good. I-I liked it,” you smile sheepishly, subconsciously pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to savor the feeling.
“Yeah?” he tilts his head as the question leaves his mouth, his eyes squinting as he glances from your eyes to your mouth. You once again nod before you even think to do it.
“Alright, now I wanna give you a real one.”
“A real one?” you pout and stare at him confusedly.
He only smirks before leaning forward again, pressing his lips to yours harder. This time, his palm guides your jaw to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss. The stubble lining his jaw scratches at your cheeks, and the prickling has you melting under his touch. You try your best to keep up, but his scent feels like it’s truly suffocating you now; you can hardly kiss him back with how overwhelmed you are. The next thing you register is the wet heat of his tongue brushing along your bottom lip, slowly tracing the shape before he pushes it inside your mouth. His tongue glides against your own and there's a small moan that escapes from your throat.
All too soon his lips leave yours and you open your eyes at the loss of contact. Frank’s own eyes are still shut and you watch as he clenches his jaw, almost as if he’s holding himself back from something.
“Are you okay?” you ask gently, worried you messed up somehow.
“Yeah… just, that was the sweetest god damn thing I’ve heard.” His voice is so deep it sends a shiver down your spine. Out of all the times you’ve dreamt of having your first kiss, you never thought it would’ve been that good. And to think, an impulse decision to watch a movie with him led you to this plan to gain experience. You find yourself already missing the feeling of his tongue, of the scratch that his stubble gave when he deepened the kiss.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” he knocks your knee softly with his own, attempting to grab your attention. “You’re being too quiet.”
“I just, well, I wanna do it again,” you admit, looking away nervously. In one sudden motion Frank tugs you into his lap and you yelp as you wrap your arms around his neck. He laughs softly as he stares up at you but doesn’t waste a second before kissing you even quicker than before. There’s only a few chances you can take to catch your breath because he hardly breaks the kiss. You never thought someone as attractive as him would want to kiss you this much, but confidence rushes through your body as his affection continues.
Frank’s mouth begins to wander, his lips finding new space that had otherwise been untouched. The corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw—he never stops kissing you until he gets to your throat. From there, his lips part and he begins sucking on your neck. A shaky gasp leaves you as his teeth make purchase on your skin, softly biting before brushing his tongue over the mark.
“Done two new things,” he mutters, his lips moving around the words but never leaving your body. “How’s it feel?”
“I really like this,” you say breathlessly as you feel his teeth gently graze the sensitive skin of your neck. He hums into your throat, the vibration setting your skin alight before you finish your thought, “You can keep the beer though.”
Frank’s chuckle gets caught in his throat, resulting in the cutest snort you’ve ever heard. He presses soft kisses along your collarbone and looks up at you with sweet, brown eyes.
“Sure, kid, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
#frank castle x reader#frank castle smut#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle fic#jon bernthal fanfiction#jon bernthal fic#the punisher fanfiction#the punisher fic#chelsea writes#I'M SO EXCITED GAH!
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lose control masterlist!
pairing: tattoo artist!frank castle x afab!reader
summary: you learn your tattoo artist, who also happens to be the person you love the most, is equally as in love with you but you can't deal with the repercussions of his past.
all chapters will have their own warnings! ✨
୧ ‧₊˚ 🖤 ⋅ ☆ ⋆ ˚｡
chapters marked with * contain smut.
Chapter one.
#jon bernthal#frank castle x reader#frank castle#frank castle x you#the punisher#frank castle smut#maddies fics#jon bernthal fluff#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal fic#jon bernthal imagine#jon bernthal smut#jon bernthal fanfiction#jon bernthal x you#frank castle fanfiction#frank castle imagine#frank castle headcanons
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hi girlies :)). i've got another breeding blurby to share, thank ms. bubbles @harrysonlylover.
wc: 1.6k
cw: talk of menstrual and ovulation cycle, smut, minors dni, 17+, breeding kink, and more. not proofread.
Some people might say that the extent of his knowledge and control over Y/N’s life is not healthy. They might even suggest that his possessive behavior is a red flag, too. The constant messaging, always knowing her location, who she’s with, when she’s with them, why, how…
They didn’t tend to think of it that way. Love comes in all forms and theirs is… different.
Y/N likes being controlled. She wants him to know everything about her. She fucking craves the comfort of being taken care of for the price of absolutely nothing.
Well, maybe a few things.
Her obedience, for one, was expected (required). Her honesty, and loyalty. Her submission, too (although, sometimes, he liked to submit to her).
They’d found a simple way of living on some inherit, basic principles.
One, Y/N loved to be taken care of.
Two, he loved to take care of her.
So that was that. He was controlling, and she reveled in the power imbalance, and they didn’t care if others didn’t understand it, or like it, or even respect it. It was theirs, and it was enough.
It was fucking perfect.
One of the many ways he kept a tight leash on Y/N’s life was by tracking her menstrual cycle. He liked being ahead of the game—warm bath with waterlily scented suds ready for when she arrived home after her courses, her favorite sweet treats scattered across the kitchen island, Gilmore Girls queued up on his laptop, candles lit and heating pad at attention. Keeping track of her period meant knowing other things, intuitively, too. Like knowing that her cramps were worst on the first few days ( they were horrendous the last days too, though), that she’s more cuddly and soft than irritable or grumpy, that if she was too— no, severely stressed, overworking herself mentally, emotionally, and physically, she’d more likely than not work herself into a dreadful tizzy and end up intensifying (or even sometimes missing) her cycle.
Like now.
The poor thing, she was curled up in a frail little ball by end of the night every day this past week, deadlines looming over her head like a dark, rainy cloud as midterms approach. And, stubborn angel girl she is, she doesn’t bleat and moan about it to him. She doesn’t weep into his chest about how difficult this time is the way he encourages her to. She holds her chin high until the sun falls from the sky, her perseverance going with it, the stars and moon left to keep her and her misery company. And him, of course.
So, before the height of her period—when the red devil actually rears her ugly little head instead of inspiring trepidation of the inevitable with sore tits, an achy spine, and mental anguish—he thinks he’ll treat her a bit. And perhaps himself, as well (what? periods meant ovulating, and ovulating meant a lot of things).
———
Y/N’s head is quiet for the first time in days, and it’s all because of him.
As if anyone else could do what he does for her.
“Pretty girl,” he whispers in the place he’s nuzzled into her neck, littered with love bites and bruises. His cock is stuffed in her drippy pussy, stretching her deliciously over his thick, lengthy girth; his strong, beefy arms trapping her body to his like a vice.
Cowgirl usually makes Y/N’s thighs sore, but he’d taken the liberty of doing all the work tonight. He was in no mood for teasing, nor mocking or degrading. She wasn’t his whore tonight, just his girl. His soft, gorgeous, sensitive girl that deserved a sweet fucking after all the tears she’d choked down this week.
She needed a good cry.
“My little pillow princess, Yeah?” He mumbles, peaking up at her sluggish form. She’s slumped into him, head lain on his shoulder uselessly, hands gripping the tight Henley he’d neglected to rid himself of in the rush of their lustrous dance. She manages a nod, however, lazy and slow, but, somehow, still urgent. Frantic. In the glow of her eye, he can see, she adores that idea. “Yeah,” He nods, gripping the soft curve of her jaw to move her head with him, “My girl.”
She whimpers, but doesn’t speak. Too exhausted, too sedated. His cum is addicting, and if it were a drug, she’d inject it right into her veins (up her cunt).
Her arms wind around his neck, fingers spreading through the curly, sweaty tendrils of hair at the nape. Her nails tickle him, in the best way, only adding to the allure of her being. Of her mere presence.
Her hips swivel, rocking against his to create a mind-numbing sensation that has them both mewling. His cock stretches her out and fills her up completely, felt in the deepness of her tummy. Her lashes flutter when she feels him twitch inside of her, a sign that he’s close (she’d realize that she’s much closer if she had the brain capacity to think of anything other than him).
The thought—of his cum filling her to the point of spilling around their joined parts, a filthy mess between their legs—makes her dizzy. Eager. She’d been good, so good, this week, hadn’t she?
Fed herself, cleaned herself, went to class on time, even though school made her unpleasantly weak in the knees. She studied every day for at least three hours at the library, before trudging home with bleary eyes and a foggy head, only to do more studying.
She deserved a treat, right? A reward for staying in line, for not being bratty or whiny when he was busy and all she wanted was for her brain to shut off.
Now, with the opportunity before her (to go totally brain-dead, that is), she refuses to not seize the moment.
“Come,” she says suddenly, catching him mildly off guard.
Oh? She wanted to order him around?
“Please.”
Oh. Guess not.
“Please, please, come, Sir, I want it, so fucking bad,” she whines, mouthing at the chain sitting delicately across his neck. It’s nearly out of place; something so frail and pretty looks almost comical gracing his large, stocky figure. Perhaps that’s how those judgy people saw them, out of place.
She didn’t care though, she thought it looked nice on him. He made it look nice. Made it better, just like he makes everything better.
“Wan’ me t’a stuff you up, Babydoll?” he grunts, thankful that she’d somehow picked up on his primitive, feral need. Or maybe she just wanted it just as bad. “Fill you with my come and make you m’messy girl?”
“Yes, please,” she cries faintly, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, hiding her face in his neck as the tears finally start to flow.
How precious.
“Okay,” he sighs, his hands trailing from her hips to the plush, full of her ass. “I’ll fill y’up, Sugar.” He lifts her up, letting his cock slip from her fluttering hole to the tip— less than the tip. He smears himself onto her clit, making her jolt, and spanks her in reprimand. “Stay still for Daddy,” he scolds softly. “Lemme do my job.”
She cries pitifully when her thrusts back inside, hard. And he doesn’t lighten up. Not in the slightest. He pounds his cock into her small pussy, chasing his orgasm, trying to claim hers, bullying his way through her tight snatch to find them.
“Play with your pouty clit, Doll,” he offers. “Wan’ y’to come with me; cream my fat cock, Baby.”
Y/N does not need to be told twice.
One hand drops from the back of his head to toy with her swollen button, and it takes three weak twirls of her delicate fingers to get her there. He’s not far behind, nuzzling into her neck once more, mirroring her own position on top of him, groaning out profanities as his orgasm washes over him, from his head to the tips of his toes. He continues to drill his cock into her until his legs give out, trembling beneath her own.
They pant heavily, in unison, into each others necks as they start to come down.
He feels good, accomplished. He can feel that satisfaction rolling off of his girl in waves—felt it throughout their soft session—and it was more than enough to keep him happy. His orgasm was just a much appreciated bonus.
And Y/N… she feels great. Cunt clenching over his half-hard cock, full of him, literally, in every way she could be. Thoughts silenced and replaced with rose hued daydreams, floaty, fuzzy sensations that tingle through her entire body and make her slightly sluggish, slow. She feels fucking amazing.
“Hope it takes…” she admits softly, absently. The phrase slips off of her tongue without thought (we’ve established that their are none left in that subby head of hers), and her tone suggests she’s not expecting a reaction.
He gives her one, anyway.
“Say that again,” he demands, grip on her ass tightening, his voice grumbly, deep, shooting a shiver up her spine.
“Huh?”
“Tell Daddy what the fuck you just said, Babydoll.”
Her eyes round out even more, if possible, lips parted, gazing owlishly. Stupidly.
“Said, ‘I hope it takes,’ Daddy,” She whimpers quietly, squeezing around his, once again, stiff prick.
“Shit,” he hisses, eyes fluttering.
It’s like she wanted to stay locked on his cock all night.
…Oh well.
So be it.
“It’ll take, Sugar,” he says after a few moments of tense silence, shifting her up gently, manhandling her with a softness that makes her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. He presses a chaste kiss to her mouth, sweet. Contradictory.
“Daddy’ll make it take.”
#evelyn speaks#i hope this cheers u up bubbles :(((#sending love kithes and hugs <33#harry styles x reader#jon bernthal x reader#sebastian stan x reader#dylan o'brien x reader#drew starkey x reader#rudy pankow x reader#chris evans x reader#ross lynch x reader#aaron taylor johnson x reader#jermey allen white x reader#carlos sainz x reader#cillian murphy x reader#tom hardy x reader#hayden christensen x reader#andrew garfield x reader#smut#smutty fic#writing#fanfic#fanfiction
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Be My Baby
Summary: Frank takes you on a weekend trip to his cabin after you have a rough week at work. Your first stop? The enormous bathtub with enough room for soooo many activities.
Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader
Word Count: 2.8k
masterlist // join my taglist // follow me on instagram & ao3
a/n: hello! i'm back! my personal life is still a wreck but i missed writing for frank. this is probably the most self indulgent fic i've ever written lol it is quite literally the most ooey-gooey romantic plot before the softest smut imaginable. what can i say? i'm a hoe for soft frank. enjoy & thank you to the nonnie that requested something similar to this!
warnings: softest smut imaginable, fluff to the max, 'i'm an asshole to everyone except you' trope, a teensy little bit of crybaby reader if you squint, frank would burn the world for reader, reader is sOoOoO in love with frank (who isn't??), they're both a little wrapped up in each other's world and don't give a shit about what's happening outside of them type of vibes, pet names, etc.
From what you had seen, Frank’s cabin was cozy and warm, but since your arrival half an hour ago, you’d only had the luxury of soaking in the tub while Frank took care of unloading the car. He’d insisted on doing it alone, claiming his girl shouldn’t have to lift a finger for anything, and honestly after the week you’d had, you were temporarily glad he was as stubborn as a mule. You were sure that sentiment would fade the next time you were feeling bratty, but for now, you tried your best to relax and forget what an awful week it had been at work.
The heat of the bath water sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine, enticing a low groan from your lips. Sinking further into the water, you realized just how big the tub was. It stretched at least six feet across and was almost deep enough to stand, clearly a custom made feature of the cabin. You supposed Frank probably needs the room, being as large a man as he is. Still, it felt like you were in a luxurious hot tub, rather than a regular bathtub.
“There’s a button to turn on the jets if you want ‘em.”
Frank’s gentle voice carried across the bathroom, startling you from your relaxed state. You hadn’t even heard him come in. You turned, eyeing his powerful figure as he made his way toward you and sat on the edge of the tub. It was easy to get lost in the way he moved, and you tried your best to not stare at the muscles straining against the black longsleeve he was wearing.
“You okay?” He asked, reaching out to softly run his knuckles along the curve of your damp cheek. He was always gentle with you, but the desire to take care of you was even more present in his eyes than usual. It really had been a shitty week.
“This place is amazing.” You said in awe, turning your face away to hide your grin. His hand, already knowing what you were trying to do, softly gripped your jaw and turned it back to face him.
“You barely saw the place.” He chuckled.
“Whose fault is that?” You raised an eyebrow at him and sat up, fully exposing your bare chest to him. His eyes briefly flicked down to your nipples, hardening as the cool air touched them, before returning his gaze upwards. “Get in. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”
He nodded and stood, but began walking in the opposite direction of the bath. You furrowed your brow, watching him tug his shirt off and throw it on the counter. When he saw your expression, he grinned.
“Hang on. I brought something for you.”
“What do you mean?” You called after him, but he was already moving again.
He disappeared through the doorway, generating even more confusion, before returning with an assembly of things tucked under his arms. You watched as he worked his way around the room, placing various objects here and there until finally he flicked off the lights and turned to face you again.
The room was now aglow with flickering candle light, coating Frank’s looming figure in a warm haze. He’d gone for mostly unscented, knowing how strong smells could give you headaches, but had left in a few lavender candles because he knew how much it relaxed you. He also managed to sneak an entire bottle of champagne into the car without you noticing, of which he was pouring into two flutes. You blinked back tears as he handed you your glass, unable to express how warm your chest felt at the effort he was putting in to make you feel better.
“Frank.” You murmured, smiling bashfully, “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“‘s what you deserve.” He shrugged, stepping out of the rest of his clothes.
He sank into the tub next to you, tugging your body against his in a swift motion. He sat with his back against the edge, allowing you to easily settle your knees on either side of his thighs, facing him in the dim room. You sat just a little taller than him at this angle - chest pressed against his warm skin, arms resting on his broad shoulders - and God, he looked divine. The drive had taken a few hours, just long enough for the stubble to return to his cheeks after this morning’s shave, giving him a rugged look that you thought was just so handsome. You were unable to resist the temptation of running your nails over it in a soft scratch, eliciting a groan from deep in Frank’s chest. The rumble reverberated through your chest as you pressed yourself fully against him, seeking more of his affection. He tugged your head down onto his shoulder and began running his fingers along the base of your neck in a soothing pattern.
“You never answered my question earlier.” He murmured, resting his jaw against your head. “You okay, sweet girl?”
You sighed, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment as you mulled over your feelings. You were a sensitive soul to begin with, and your boss had been on edge all morning when he finally snapped at you for something you had no control over, which ultimately had you tearing up for the rest of the day. When you’d walked through the door crying, Frank’s eyes flashed violently between anger at your boss and sympathy for you. The sympathy had won, and now you were in a beautiful cabin in upstate New York, wrapped in his strong arms. Still, you weren’t sure how you were going to deal with your boss’ temper when you returned to work on Monday.
“I don’t know,” you finally replied, shrugging, “Can you ask me again later?”
You felt his cheeks widen into a small grin. He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Don’t think I won’t.” He teased, calling you on your avoidant tendencies before you could even notice them yourself.
“How long have you had this place?” You wondered, nuzzling into his heated skin.
“I bought it a few months after Maria and the kids.” He said softly, almost whispering when he had to relay his wife’s name aloud. “Thought maybe I was done with the city. Change can be good, ya’ know?”
“But you came back.” You lifted your head from his shoulder so you could look him in the eyes.
“But I came back.” He parroted, nodding. “And then I met you.”
“And you stayed.” You finished for him.
“Of course I stayed. Couldn’t leave you behind, sweet girl. ‘ve been sweet on you since the day I met you.”
This was true. From the moment you’d met, he’d been nothing but gentle and kind toward you. You had no idea, of course, that this type of behavior was incredibly far away from Frank Castle’s usual attitude until you’d met Matt Murdock, who was so shocked at Frank’s subdued personality and general softness around you that Frank had to physically close Matt’s gaping jaw for him.
“But you never sold the place?” You questioned.
“I figured we might need somewhere to run away to every once in a while. Are you mad that I didn’t tell you about it before today? I wanted it to be a surprise.”
For a moment, he looked genuinely worried that he might’ve upset you.
“How could I be mad when I’m sitting in this enormous tub, surrounded by candles and champagne, pressed up against the man of my dreams?”
He smiled then, and you could tell it was a genuine smile because of the way his cheeks dimpled at the corner of his laugh lines. It was an award winning smile, you thought. You gently set the empty champagne glasses on the edge of the tub before cupping his cheeks in your hands.
“My Frankie,” you mumbled, running your thumbs across his cheekbones, “What would I do without you?”
You really hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but every time you looked at him, you felt yourself being pulled closer and closer to him. His compassion and kindness toward you, even after everything he’d been through, was something you couldn’t avoid leaning into. All your life you’d been taking care of others, and finally, here was someone begging to take care of you.
“You don’t have to worry about that, okay? ’m here to stay.” He mumbled, bringing the pads of your fingertips to his lips for individual, soft kisses. “I love you, and ‘m gonna take care of you forever.”
Tears welled in your eyes as an overwhelming rush of emotion passed over you. In your arms was a man that should’ve been bitter and angry at the world around him. He had earned the right to become spiteful and hardened, and no one could fault him for that. And yet - and yet - in your arms was a man that loved you with his entire being. Who understood you at your core, saw the dark parts of you, and loved those parts even more. Who was soft for no one but you. Who you loved, too.
A tear slid down your cheek as you kissed him, long and slow and sensual because you wanted nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and never let go. He smiled into the kiss, cradling your head with his beautiful, calloused hands. It wasn’t enough. You needed his gentle touch everywhere. Pressing yourself against him, you felt yourself sliding along his achingly hard cock, raising the already warm temperature in the room to searing. Heat pulsed between your legs, begging to be touched.
“My pretty girl,” he mumbled against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth before following the curve of your jawline to your neck, “My pretty, sensitive girl.”
The praise made your head swim. You rocked your hips again, sliding along his length until you were hovering directly over him, waiting for the go ahead to sink down. He grunted, pressing open mouthed kisses up your throat before coaxing your hips lower and lower. You gasped when he finally pushed into you, and Frank took the opportunity to lick the inside of your gaping mouth as he did so. You shuttered against him, wanting everything he had to offer and more.
“P-please, Frankie.” You murmured, arching your back as he bucked his hips upwards.
“Please what, sweetheart?” He breathed, wrapping one of his enormous hands around the back of your head, forcing you to look down at him as you rode him. His other arm was wrapped around your torso, tugging your hips forward and back to stimulate your clit against the base of his cock. It was such an erotic way to be held that you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. He leaned his head against your forehead and kissed the tears that made their way down your flushed skin. “Tell me, sweet girl.”
“I l-love you.” You purred, stuttering as he made his way down your body, kissing everywhere he could reach. When he got to your pebbled nipples, you sucked in a sharp breath. He knew exactly how to get you off, and he was staring right at them.
“I love you too, pretty girl.” He grinned and pressed a chaste kiss to each of your nipples, eliciting a pornographic moan from deep in your chest.
He continued to push and pull your hips in a steady rhythm, grinding your clit against his pelvis as you bounced up and down his length. Slowly, in a teasing manner that had a new wave of fresh, needy tears streaming down your cheeks, he leaned forward and circled his tongue around the sensitive nub. You whined with impatience as he pulled away, only to offer the same kitten lick to your other breast. You knew he would take care of you like he always did, but his teasing was making your entire body tremble with anticipation.
“I know, I know,” he cooed, kissing the valley between your breasts, “‘t’s okay, baby. Be patient. I’ll take care of you.”
You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as you let out a mewl. You felt the hand Frank had been using to hold your head steady loosen its grip, and suddenly, he was softly wiping the tears away from under your eyes with his thumbs.
“You’re doing so good for me, bunny.” He murmured, and you very nearly came at the pet name he loved to praise you with. “‘m gonna make you feel real good, okay?”
“Please,” you begged, digging your fingers into his shoulders, “Need you.”
That was all it took for Frank to finally snap. In one swift motion, he wrapped his lips around your breast and began to run his tongue across your sensitive nipple. His hand traveled from cradling your cheek to rubbing small, sloppy circles around your pulsing clit. You keened, overcome with so much pleasure that you felt your entire body trembling against Frank’s.
The bathroom was big enough for your soft moans to echo, and other than the sloshing of the bath water, that was the sound Frank heard as you came apart on top of him. Your head was spinning as the heat in your gut finally found its release, uncoiling in waves of overwhelming pleasure that sent you reeling.
“That’s it,” he breathed, “Just like that, pretty girl. You’re so good for me, baby.”
His fingers hadn’t stopped circling your clit. You were quickly growing overstimulated and conflicted, wanting nothing more than to keep riding him while also needing to get away from his dexterous and sinful fingers. He watched you for a moment, in awe - the way your lips parted every time a moan slipped out of your mouth, the heaving of your chest as your heart rate tried and failed to return to normal, the intense trembling of your limbs every time he circled your clit. He wasn’t worthy. He knew that. He didn’t care. He’d take care of you for as long as you’d let him, and he’d enjoy every second of it.
“F-Frankie,” you stuttered in between heaving breaths, “I can’t- I’m- It’s sensitive.”
“Shh, sh, sh, sh, I know, baby. I know,” he cooed, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone and up your neck, “Can you give me one more, bunny? Be good and give me one more.”
You shuttered against him, resting your forehead against his and breathing out a sultry whine. He continued his onslaught of kisses along your jawline, following the upward curve of your chin until his lips were on yours again. His agile tongue swept into your mouth mid-moan, sending heat into your already molten core.
“Wanna feel you come around me again, baby.” He groaned and tightened his hold around your torso, sweeping his tongue along your bottom lip before capturing your mouth in his again.
He had brought you to the brink again already. You squeezed around him, earning a rare groan from Frank. The usually stoic and quiet man let out another sinful moan when you arched your back and squeezed again. He was as close as you were to the edge, and God, the tension was palpable.
Finally, in a moment of pure bliss, he nipped at your bottom lip and let out a soft, barely there whimper, which sent you careening off the edge and into oblivion. You could feel yourself clenching around him as you came, but your head had been sent straight to a euphoric haze. Your heart thundered in your chest as Frank wrapped his arms around your torso and held you tight against his chest, coming inside your sensitive, throbbing pussy.
You’d both worked yourselves into a haze, high off each other’s touch. The comedown was gentle and warm - soft caresses of each other’s skin, chaste kisses pressed to collarbones and fingertips, thundering heartbeats slowing in unison. The bath water was surprisingly still warm, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle into Frank’s chest with languorous, droopy eyes.
“You okay?” He asked, running his fingers up the length of your spine.
You nodded into his chest, sighing. “I’m perfect.”
“‘m glad.” He responded, kissing your forehead lightly. “‘m sorry you had such a rough week.”
“I’m not.” You giggled, glancing around at the luxurious bathtub you were in. “This place is like a dream.”
He held you tighter against him, resting his chin on your head before responding.
“You don’t know the half of it, pretty girl.”
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#frank castle#the punisher#jon bernthal#frank castle imagine#frank castle smut#frank castle fluff#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#the punisher smut#the punisher imagine#the punisher x reader#the punisher fluff#frank castle fic#jonny bernthal#nmcu#marvel smut#marvel fanfiction#amhrosina
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hope you having a good day/night 💘
frank having a wet dream (i’m not a native speaker i’m not sure if it’s called this, i’m sorry) about reader and when it’s just about to endddd….reader wakes him up cos obviously he was grunting, sweating and moving a lot in his sleep so she thought he was having a nightmare and she’s worried about him…(my horny brain just died here so i’m leaving the rest of it to you)
a/n: this maaaaaaaannnn 🫠
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
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“Frank? Baby, wake up,” your sprawled-out fingers gently swept over his broad shoulder, “it’s okay, it’s just a nightmare.”
On a sharp intake of oxygen, Frank stirred from his slumber. Blinking open his dark eyes to see you staring back at him, your cheek smooshed against your pillow, only a second passed before his touch slid up to the sides of your face as he longingly let his forehead melt against your own.
“Wow,” you uttered softly as he crawled closer, “are you okay?”
“Mhm,” he hummed gravelly before crashing his lips against yours.
Out of pure surprise, a palm came up to press against his chest as you grasped the first sliver of a break to tilt your head back enough to search his eyes in the low moonlight, “Frank?”
“It wasn’t a nightmare,” his thumb brushed across your cheekbone as his gaze all but ate you up.
“Frank, you don’t have to act all tough around me, you know that–,” but the rest of your sentence fell from your lips as he rolled on top of you and the palpable tent in his boxers pressed against your thigh, “oh…” heat swiftly began to rise in your cheeks, “not a nightmare, got it,” a small chuckle bubbled out of you, “I guess I’m sorry then for waking you up.”
“It’s alright,” he dipped down to press a kiss to your jaw, “dreams are fun and all,” his pecks slowly began to migrate further south, “but I’d much rather have the real deal,” holding onto the covers that draped over you both, he flashed you a small smirk before his head disappeared beneath it.
“Frank…” you let out a laugh as he moved down your body, caressing your curves before his head settled between your soft thighs, “was it about me?” you held the top of the duvet up for you to see him, “did you have a sex dream about me?”
Cocking his head, he said, “why do you sound so surprised?” and pressed a hot kiss to the very top of your inner thigh, “they’re always about you.”
© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#frank castle x reader#frank castle smut#frank castle imagine#frank castle x fem!reader#frank castle x you#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x female reader#jon bernthal smut#marvel smut#marvel x reader smut#frank castle x f!reader#frank castle fic#the punisher fic#frank castle fanfiction#the punisher x reader
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snowed in
Matt Rayburn x GN!reader
summary: Matt isn't a fan of the Christmas plans you two made so he attempts to talk you out of them in his own...interesting way.
warnings: brief smut, explicit in some parts, swearing.
word count: 2.9k
AN: thank youuu to @chelseasdagger for proofreading and encouraging me to write this one even tho Matt isn't really a very popular character and i can't imagine a lot of people will read this one i still hope those who choose to do that will enjoy it.
“Shit, that's a lot of snow.”
You point out and turn around quickly, glancing over at Matt, still laying under the thick covers in the big, warm bed. He watches you with one arm behind his head, his other arm still in the same position from when you pushed him away to crawl out from under the comforter. Nodding his head to the side, he gestures for you to come back to him, hoping you'd both get at least a couple more minutes of sleep.
“What?”
You ask, your arms resting on your hips as you wait for the answer. Matt's eyes slowly drops from your face, as he takes in the full picture. You're standing in front of the bed, your hair slightly messed up from the sleep, his shirt thrown over your body, the hem of it a bit above the middle of your thighs, the big window and snowy landscape behind you, the light from outside making him squint slightly.
“C'mere.”
He grumbles out, his voice low and raspy after the night. His hand reaches over to your side of the bed to pull the covers back, inviting you back into the warmth.
“You want me to get back in bed, Rayburn?”
He scoffs quietly at the obvious question and the tone of your voice, and watches as you walk over to the bed, throwing your leg over him to climb on top.
“It's only been a couple of minutes. Missed me that much?”
“Oh, you’ve got no idea.”
He murmurs softly, looking up at you now leaning over him slightly.
You push back on top of him gently and his hands immediately travel back up, and you feel him gripping your ass tightly, pulling you closer to him. Your own hands rest on top of his bare chest and you move your fingers slowly over the muscles, your nails dragging against his skin.
He hums quietly at the feeling, his eyes close slowly and his head falls back onto the pillow when he lets himself relax back into the bed.
“Oh no, no, no-”
You cup his face quickly, the beard scratching your palms slightly as you attempt to keep him awake.
“We're not doing that.”
He frowns slightly when you smack the side of his face a couple of times, and he wraps his hand around your wrist quickly.
“Yes we are.”
“No we-”
He grunts loudly, turning onto his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders when you inevitably fall down on the bed next to him as he changes positions. You attempt to somehow wiggle out of his embrace, but he only tightens his grip around you, making you sigh loudly.
“Matt, we have to leave soon, if we want to make it on time.”
You make a point and he grunts in response.
“What if we don't want that?”
He mumbles against your skin, and you feel his lips grazing the skin at the back of your neck. It's not a surprise to you, Matt's been trying to get out of this Christmas party with friends for a week now, trying to come up with excuses or make up plans that could maybe somehow lead to you both getting to spend the day alone. The snowfall made him hopeful, the thick layer of soft white powder covering the mountain roads made the idea of a couple hour long drive a bit more daunting.
“You don't want to be on time?”
You glance over your shoulder and catch his sleepy expression before he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
“I don't want…to be there.”
“Matt.”
You feel the warmth of his body somehow cover even more of you when he moved to kiss the side of your face before snuggling closer, his face now resting on your cheek. You can't deny it, the idea of spending a whole day alone with Matt over at his place for Christmas sounds tempting. The trailer is not big, but it's enough, furnished and decorated in a way that makes it feel cozy and so warm, even despite the many layers of snow covering every inch of it on the outside. The bed and covers smell like him and so do the blankets on the couch, the towels, and your clothes that lay in a pile on the floor under his hoodies and shirts for most of the time you two spend together. You wouldn't mind staying in bed all day… but at the same time you don't want him to feel like he's winning.
“I'm getting up.”
You announce quickly after a good moment of both of you lying together in silence, and it catches him off guard.
“Wait!”
You manage to free yourself from his grip and get off the bed. You only take a couple steps towards the pile of clothes on the floor before he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you back down on the bed.
“Matt!”
You protest, but he pulls you closer.
“Wait wait wait, just, give me a second here, okay?”
He tries to reason with you, looking down, now leaning over you in the bed.
“A second for what?”
He pretends to think about the answer really hard, and you watch the few strands of hair fall forward onto his forehead.
“Trying to come up with a good excuse.”
You reach up to push the hair back from his face, and he leans into the touch.
“And what would that be?”
His expression softens slightly when he realizes you're willing to listen, maybe even considering ditching the Christmas party idea.
“We could say something came up?”
Matt suggests after a moment, and you shake your head slowly.
“What came up?”
He glances back over his shoulder at the big window and then turns back to you.
“Us not feeling like going? Does that count?”
You snort, pushing your arm against his chest to get him off of you, and he falls back onto the mattress with a big sigh.
“Guess that's a no.”
“That's a no.”
You roll over to peck his lips quickly before finally getting up and out of the bed. Matt props his head on his elbow and watches you walk over to the couch. It takes him a moment, but he quickly throws the covers off and follows, catching up with you just in time to stop you from putting your pants on.
“Alright but-”
He starts again, and you throw your head back with a little chuckle. Turning back to face him, you look up to look into his eyes, but feel his hand on your chest before you can say anything. Matt pushes you back, and you fall down on the couch.
“What was that?!”
You protest and try to get up, but he pushes you back down.
“Listen to me.”
He explains with a little squint and doges your light kick.
“Okay no, listen.”
He starts, and you cross your arms in front of your chest.
“What if… what if we-”
He clears his throat, and you watch him slowly drop to his knees right in front of you.
“What if-”
You feel his fingers brushing over your knee slowly.
“Mhmmm?”
“What if we told them, we can't make it?
He leans down slowly, glancing up at you as if he's looking for approval. His deep, auburn eyes fixed on yours for a moment. You tilt your head to the side and nod slowly, encouraging him with a soft expression.
“I'm listening.”
His lips brush over the skin of your thigh, and you sigh quietly, feeling his tongue now tracing up your leg. You push your fingers through his hair slowly, and he hums quietly at the feeling.
“We could say…”
He moves from one thigh to the other, kiss after kiss, his lips on one leg, his fingers gently brushing up the other.
“There's too much snow?”
You breathe out a laugh, and tug on his hair softly to make him look up at you again.
“Matt, they live here too, they have eyes.”
“Yeah, but… this place is higher up the mountain.”
He sighs, resting his head down in your lap and doesn't move for another moment, letting his eyes close and his body relax slightly. He lets himself enjoy the feeling of your fingers brushing through his thick, dark brown hair, the warmth of your body against his skin is so pleasant and so, so calming.
“You really don’t want to go, huh?”
You slowly drag the back of your fingers down his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his face from time to time while you let him stay like this. His body is between your legs, his chest pressed against you, his head resting right there against your thighs.
“What gave it away?”
His voice rumbles softly when he answers quietly with a question without even opening his eyes.
You hum in response, more to yourself than to him. Slowly beginning to consider the idea of spending the whole day right here at Matt’s place with him, you try to come up with your own excuse. The feeling of slow, gentle kisses on your thighs pushes any other thoughts away, and you come back to the room. Glancing down, you feel yourself smiling softly at the sight of this big and tough looking man being so gentle and slow with the way he traces his lips on your skin at this moment. He moves up after a bit, pushing you back so that you're resting against the couch now, before you feel his thumbs brushing over your sides, his lips over the hem of your underwear now.
“Matt…”
You start, but it doesn’t stop him.
“Mmhmm?”
He hums quietly against your body, now working his way up your stomach to your chest. A satisfied, quiet hum slips past your lips as you feel your body slowly relaxing into the pleasant sensation. Your fingers push through his hair again, and he grunts softly at the feeling of your fingertips on his scalp. Everything somehow feels slower, softer and quieter than it did moments before. His lips, warm and gentle, move over your skin bit by bit, slowly taking care of every little part of your upper body.
“We’ll- shit.”
Matt sits up, pushing himself off his knees and moving closer to you, the width of his body making your legs slowly spread open for him even more. With his fingers now wrapping around the side of your neck, he pulls your face towards him, and you watch the way his eyes glance around your face before finally stopping right at your lips. You lean into the kiss without thinking about it too much, and a soft moan escapes your mouth when your lips find his. You both hum quietly, pulling each other closer and Matt tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss. You feel the way he drags his finger down your cheek, unable to help it, you smile against him at the feeling.
“What?"
He pulls away only for a second before coming back to your lips right away. It takes you a moment to break it again and answer.
“We'll come up with something.”
Matt sighs in relief as his hands find their way back to your sides, thumbs brushing into your ribs, his lips wet and warm at your chest again.
“C'mere.”
You whisper, cupping his face in your hands and making him look up at you before leaning down on the couch. The grunt he lets out as he gets up off the floor makes you breathe out a little laugh.
“Yeah? That’s what you want? Hmm.”
“Don’t even try that, you started this.”
He scoffs at your words, unable to deny the accusations.
“Damn right, I did, and I’d do it again.”
“Yeah… yeah, I know that actually”
You start, sitting up a bit before you hook your fingers at the waistband of his dark gray boxers. Your eyes trail over his body—first you look up, up his stomach and chest, admiring his thick arms and broad shoulders, strategically avoiding his gaze before letting yours fall. You catch the way his thighs look even bigger in the boxers he chose to wear today, before stopping right at the bulge between them.
“Come here.”
You repeat, pulling him closer to you.
“M’ here.”
He murmurs in response, climbing on top of you, once again pushing your legs apart with his body. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him, and almost immediately you feel his tongue right there under your cheekbonejaw. A couple of wet kisses follow before you feel his hips push down into you. You both grunt softly at the feeling, and you let yourself sink into the pillows under the weight of his body.
“Yeah? That feels good?”
The question is genuine, Matt honestly wants to know if what he’s doing is working for you as much as it is for him. He doesn’t care much about how he’d do it, but he just wants to make sure you feel good. Wrapping your legs around his back, you let him know it does, it does in fact feel good. Your hands are now on his back when you feel his hand push under the waistband of your underwear, touching you right where you want him to.
“Matt?”
You start, after a moment, pushing on his shoulder to let him know you want his full attention. He groans into your neck and rolls his hips on top of you one more time before looking up.
“What is it, baby?”
You rest your palm against his cheek, and he leans into the touch, closing his eyes for a second.
“Want me to call them, and tell them we won’t make it? You’d like that?”
He nods.
“Can you open your mouth and tell me?”
You tease him quietly with an evil smirk and his head drops. He chuckles quietly, looking up at you with that cute little squint, nodding repeatedly.
“Yeah, yeah, I’d like that.”
He tilts his head to the side.
“Can you do that for me, baby? Hmm?”
You know he’s doing it on purpose, you know, and you can literally feel his words between your legs.
“Keep this attitude up, and you’ll make me change my mind.”
You warn.
“Naaah.”
He looks off to the side before turning back to look at you.
“I don’t think you’d want to miss this.”
He grabs your wrist and guides your hand between his legs. Feeling the warmth against your palm, you sigh loudly.
“Cocky.”
He nods with a smirk.
“Yeah, learned it from you.”
You roll your eyes and breathe out a laugh, enjoying the fact that both of you really just want each other.
“So…”
Matt brushes your cheek with the back of his hand before dragging his finger down your nose, glancing down at your lips, yearning for another kiss.
“We're staying here?”
You nod quickly.
“We're staying here.”
He leans down over you, closer and closer to your face, to the point where his lips basically brush over yours with his every word.
“Good.”
His voice is barely a whisper now, his eyes glancing around your face before you push your head up towards him, catching his lower lip between your teeth. You spend the next couple of minutes making out before Matt finally reaches between you both to pull your underwear down. You break the kiss only to glance down for a moment. Grabbing at the waistband of his boxers, you pull them down quickly before whining quietly at the sight.
“You said something?”
He teases while wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock, and you have to stop yourself from pushing him off the couch. He works himself over a couple of times, letting you watch the way he gets harder at the thought of you, the sight of you, because of you, before pushing your legs open wider for him.
“If you won't put it inside me, I swear to god I'm gonna make you go to that Christmas party, Rayburn.”
You warn, but can't help the smile when he bursts out laughing before nodding quickly.
“Understood.”
...
“You know what I think?”
He mumbles into your skin as he settles between your back and the couch, grabbing a blanket off the floor to pull over the both of you once you're both done.
“You didn’t want to go either.”
He states, and you roll your eyes, your fingers slowly brushing over his shoulder in a gentle, circular motion. You can feel the warmth of his body behind you, can feel the weight of him sinking into the couch pillows, his stubble scratching the back of your shoulder slightly while his lips work on soothing your skin. You let out a heavy sigh and feel yourself pushing back against him. The part of you that needs to be right there, right where he is, the closest you could possibly get to him, wins. You snuggle even closer and peck his arm softly one, two, three times when he wraps it around your chest before finally answering his question… not really.
“Shut up.”
Matt snorts, knowing that he won't win this one, but neither do you. Burying his face in the cook of your neck, he lets himself rest now, feeling your body relax against him makes him relax as well. Both of you close your eyes now, both of you feeling really god-damn glad you decided to rethink your Christmas plans beforehand.
#matt rayburn#wind river#matt rayburn fanfiction#jon bernthal#jon bernthal fanfiction#jon bernthal character fic#jon bernthal fic#jon bernthal character#gender neutral reader
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So my dear @tea-and-wine ❤️ here's your Shaneless hoe asking you to treat my thirst:
So the idea is that, the reader and Shane were classmates. We know that Shane was/is a womanizer but the reader was not a popular girl in highschool, she was the clever but not the "I want to date with you " type.
So..they haven't met since, and the reader changed a lot. I mean she became hot 🔥 and she is a veterinarian and she's just moved back to King County. They meet in a wedding, where both are guests and Shane doesn't recognize her and start to flirt with her. The reader is playing the fool but when things start getting "hot" during the night she just says "you really don't recognize me, do you?"
pleeease ❤️ I know you can't resists those puppy eyes so here is your emotional blackmail 🤭🤭
so you KNOW I can't resist those puppy dog eyes. furthermore, after our talks you already know more pieces from plot this are to come.
summary: it's your cousin's wedding, and of all the damn people you are subjected to seeing, it's shane walsh. what surprises you is how he starts talking to you, after years of ignoring you and even pulling a cruel prank on you. let alone things heating up.
warnings: there is mostly just a heated kiss. a little bit of skin touching, but nothing completely explicit. i know, for me that's shocking.
word count: 4,270
inspiration: apart from your request @sweetieswiftie i listened to steal your heart by augustana a LOT while writing this. thanks for the ADORABLE request. you know i love shane.
steal your heart
You weren’t expecting to have an unwelcomed trip down memory lane at your cousin’s wedding, of all fucking places, even though it was in King County.
Walking down the isle you saw a familiar face in the crowd.
Seeing Shane Walsh reminded you of every terrible fucking day you had at King County High. He was a womanizer even in high school. Stereotypical shit, sure. You had always felt invisible. Though he surely didn’t help you with that. There was one time you had been walking down the hall with a damn science project and he had run into you playing a stupid game with one of the other football players. Jim. Your science project crashed to the ground, as did you. An entire two weeks of work. Gone. And it was due in the next couple of hours. And what did Shane Walsh do? Pushed at Jim, as if he was the one irritated that he ran into you. Fucking. Invisible. And that was just one of many instances.
Not sure what pissed you off more though. The fact that he treated you as though you were nothing, and confirmed all of your insecurity growing up, or the fact that now he looked so fucking good. Your eyes fell on him sitting there in tight black dress pants, a white shirt with the top two buttons undone, and a black suit jacket. His hair was slicked into place, but you bit your lip and looked away at the thought of the curl you knew his hair had, and how you wanted to mess that hair up. You assumed he wouldn’t notice you, but this time was different. Just as you bit your lip and looked away, Shane’s dark eyes fell on you…and he felt like he couldn’t look away.
Yeah, he should have been focused on his buddy’s vows to the woman he was marrying. But the way your eyes were large and innocent, watching the happy couple get married, a sniffle escaping you as you smiled the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Shane was transfixed on you.
His eyes even roamed your body, on full display in that tight ruby red dress, the lean muscle and meat of your leg peaking from that high slit, accentuated even more by heels you were wearing. Your thick pouty lips were painted in the same red color as your dress. Shane cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. Now was not the opportune time for his cock to react. He looked back to the happy couple.
Just as he looked away your eyes scanned the crowd and saw him again, looking straight faced at the couple, jawline flexed as though he were chewing on his tongue. The sight shouldn’t have made you feel weak but all you could think of was how good he’d be at other things with a jawline that strong. The stamina his mouth must have. Fuck. Look away girl.
By the time the ceremony and pictures were done you needed a fucking drink.
Headed to the bar, you order a whiskey neat, asking the bartender to muddle orange into it. A drink your friends always referred to as your “weird half assed old fashioned”. You took a sip just as Shane Walsh came up beside you, leaning against the bar. Fuck. You took another much longer sip of your drink thanks to nerves, despite telling yourself he wouldn’t say a fucking thing to you anyway. Why would now be any different, yeah? Bringing your glass to your lips to take another long sip, Shane spoke up, “Bride or groom?”
Much to your complete horror him talking to you caught you off guard and as you went to swallow, the alcohol caught, and you choked on your drink. Shane swiftly reached for some napkins to hand you before chuckling a little, “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”
You thanked the fact that your cousin dished out serious money to the makeup artist, so you were confident your lipstick stayed in place. You took the napkins Shane handed to you, ignoring his smirk and the laughter. Clearing your throat as you dabbed the corners of your mouth, you smiled, “Thank you. And uh…bride’s side. You?”
“Groom’s. Met him when he moved into town, and for some reason the asshole liked me enough to invite me to this shindig. And uh, feeling’s mutual to come watch him exchange vows and dance…absolutely terribly.” Shane’s biting back a laugh as he briefly watches his friend start dancing or attempt to dance anyway. You follow his gaze and immediately start laughing, not even trying to politely mask like he was. His eyes fall back on you and linger there, the sound of your laugh drawing his attention.
As you took another sip of your drink, Shane ordered a beer, holding it up to you, “To the happy couple.” Hesitant, you clink your glass against his bottle, “Here, here.”
Shane took a long hard drink before speaking up again, “So, you in King County or out of town?”
“Was out of town for school for a bit, but I’m back now. Would have probably been back sooner but turns out it takes a while to get a license to practice medicine.”
Shane laughed a little in disbelief, “Get the fuck outta here. No way you’re a doctor. You practice medicine?”
“Oh yeah,” and you knock back the rest of your drink, signaling for another one, “you’re looking at the best when it comes to the cost efficient spay and neuter of the pets of King County, Georgia.”
He arches an eyebrow as you’re given another drink, laughing at what you’ve said before holding up his hands, “Well, hell, color me still impressed, yeah? Better than me just getting through the police academy for damn sure. Can’t imagine vet school is easy.”
“It was easier than most things.” Like all of my school career here, for starters.
You were always smart, clever, and a hard worker. All throughout school you got all A’s. Finished as salutatorian, missing valedictorian on a damn technicality. But hey, it just followed the already established pattern of not standing out.
“So,” desperate to stop talking about yourself, you take another drink, “a cop huh?” That fit his personality. Smug, attitude, and liking to be in charge. You down the rest of your drink to smother the thoughts you just had about the handcuffs he must carry around with him.
Shane laughs a little bit, “Yeah, why? You aren’t hiding an outstanding warrant, or anything are you?”
“Oh no,” your voice is deadpanned as you continue, “just the bodies of my exes out back. But don’t worry. The pigs got rid of the evidence ages ago. So, I’m free as a bird.”
What you didn’t expect was Shane to start coughing as he choked on his beer, taking a sip right as you cracked your joke. With a smile you mimicked him from earlier, scooping up extra napkins and handing them to him, “careful officer, don’t want to be driving home smelling like beer, do you?”
Right at that moment your cousin came by to find you. She looked absolutely stunning, you thought. It wasn’t fair how effortless her beauty came to her. She’d been like that all of her life. But if you weren’t thrilled to see her, until she breathlessly laughed, “Come on! We’re about to do the bouquet toss.”
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for single,” Shane said, a tone you couldn’t identify to his voice, before he looked you over from top to bottom again and raised his glass to you, “good luck, darlin’.”
At that your cousin whisked you away. This was embarrassing, your cheeks flushed as you found yourself looking back towards the bar, Shane no longer there. Your cousin didn’t miss a beat though, “Did I see you talking to the Shane Walsh, the one you hated up until you left? Because if that was the Shane Walsh, he was absolutely flirting with my hot and sexy cousin. Told you, you’d thank me for picking that dress.”
“Yeah well,” you sigh as she nearly drags you to the center of the floor where only three other girls are, “either he is very confident or doesn’t remember me.” The thought of it pissed you off.
Your cousin made sure you stayed put and didn’t run away the second she turned around. You hadn’t had quite enough alcohol for this. The DJ announced the bouquet toss and to your horror Single Ladies by Beyonce started playing and everyone gathered round. You held your hand up to your forehead while whispering to yourself, “please shoot me”.
Knocking you out of your reverie was the bouquet. It smacked you hard in the face and it caused you to startle, falling straight down into your hands. Looking up you see your cousin smirking at you. You let out a small laugh before quickly fleeing the floor again, ignoring the flash of the photographer’s camera.
Right as you blend into the crowd, or try to, a drink appears in front of you. Your drink. Attached to Shane Walsh. Hesitant, you take it from him, “Thanks.”
“Yeah, well call me crazy but you didn’t seem all too eager to get out there.”
You chuckle into the glass, already half empty, “Yeah.”
Shane sniffs a little before meeting your eyes, his dark brown one staring into your own, “You wanna take a walk…get some fresh air? There’s a woman running around in a green dress. Won’t leave me alone. Smells a bit like cigarette and bourbon of all things. No idea where she came from either. Definitely had too much to drink. Told me she was going to walk me with her dogs in the morning.”
Unable to contain yourself, you snort with laughter, “Oh no, you got Gloria’d.” Your shoulders are shaking as you double over, “I’d say you won’t hear from her again tonight but, like a shark that one. My condolences.” You keep laughing, almost to the point of crying, and Shane watches you with a soft smile taking over his features…the sounds coming from you endearing. He takes a sip from his beer, looking at you, “…yeah, I can tell you’re really broken up about it.”
After a few minutes you collect yourself, the bridge of your nose and cheeks flushed from the laughter. In this exact moment Shane swears he’s never seen anything prettier than you. As a result, when you nod towards the door and comment, “c’mon, let’s get outside for a bit,” he follows you with zero hesitation.
Then you stop at the door, “Spend your last night outside as a single man Shane Walsh. Gloria’s a lucky lady.”
“Yeah, yeah, last night as a free man so I get to call the shots. Let’s get outside already.”
Once the two of you are outside and the door is shut, the quiet sets in, and you swear you can hear the sound of your own heartbeat racing. You fucking hate that he has this effect on you. Luckily though, you’re also feeling the effects of all of your drinks. Knocking back the rest of it as one large shot you shout out, “mazel tov!” With gusto you throw your rocks glass behind you, letting out a stream of curses and laughter as the glass breaks somewhere in the distance.
Shane is eyeing you only after making sure there was no one behind the two of you, “I think maybe you’ve had too much to drink darlin’.”
“Must be the case since I’m walking around outside in the dark alone with a man,” you use mock horror on those last words, causing Shane to have a laugh again. His mouth runs dry though as he watches you take a little spin, the skin of your legs even more visible, your nipples peaking softly against the silk of your dress in the chill of the air. But it’s that damn smile. Fucking beautiful he thought to himself.
“So,” you slow down and walk backwards, looking at him, “tell me Mr. Walsh, is it true what they say?”
He has his hands ready to catch you. You’re making him nervous with how you’re walking but he plays along, “I dunno, what do they say darlin’?”
“They say,” your voice holds a sing song tone to it as you continue, “that you had sex with the women’s athletics teacher.”
“Well darlin’, it is true what they say.”
“Oh!” You stumble a little but catch yourself quickly, before turning your attention back to Shane, “Now that is very naughty, Mr. Walsh.”
Shane couldn’t help himself, “And what would you know about being naughty darlin’?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Oh, I seriously doubt th”- you caught the hem of your dress with your heel and tripped, Shane lunging forward and grabbing you but not in time, landing on top of you instead- “you okay darlin’?”
You take a moment to appreciate the weight of him on you before slowly rousing from your thoughts, “Yeah, m’fine. Though, I gotta say, we should probably get up before Gloria finds us in such a compromising position.”
You laugh at the end of your sentence, and Shane’s smile reaches his eyes but instead of getting up he pushes himself up on his elbow to look down at you, “I dunno, I think I’d rather stay here than get walked with Gloria’s dogs.”
You’re sure you can feel your heart hammering out of your chest as he pushes a few strands of hair from your face, looking at you like he is in awe. Within moments he slowly dips his head, lips barely brushing your own, as if feeling uncertain. The alcohol is clouding your brain ever so slightly. That’s what you blame what happens next on. You pull him to you, kissing him hard as his tongue pushes past your lips. Quickly, all too quickly, you wrap one leg around him. Shane’s hand instinctively travels up the length of it until his thumb is caressing the spot of your leg where it meets your hips. As his hips grind against you, you can feel the swell of his hard cock, which leaves you moaning into his mouth. He hungrily swallows the noises that escape you. That’s when the door that the two of you came out of opens and you hear Gloria’s smoker voice calling your childhood nickname, followed by, “…sweetheart, you out here? Bride wants photos of everyone dancing sugar.”
Sobering you lightly push at Shane so that he stands up and backs off, helping you up, afterwards apologizing, “Sorry ‘bout that darlin’, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Not like I didn’t kiss back,” you comment, breathless, before waving your hands like it wasn’t important. Why in the actual fuck would you kiss him back?
Shane wiped his mouth with his hand before commenting, “Sounds like you need to get back in there. You still look…wonderful…by the way. Not a hair out of place.”
“T-thank you, yeah. I should go back inside.” You were reeling as it sank in more and more, you just kissed Shane Walsh. You were oblivious to him holding the door for you. Your cousin caught your eye and she made a face of intrigue at you coming back in from outside with Shane. You shook your head. Nothing was going to come of this. Not a damn thing.
Until two more drinks later.
You needed to stop drinking for the night, or Shane needed to stop being so damn inviting, or both. He walked up to you with a shit eating grin on his face and looked at the dance floor before looking at you, “Care to get out there and dance with me? I mean, we’ve already done more intimate things together.”
Looking over at him, you scoff ever so slightly, “It was just a kiss, Walsh.”
“A kiss that let me know what sort of underwear you’re wearing under there,” he replies with a confidence that you should hate, but instead it makes you laugh.
“C’mon, my buddy Rick, he didn’t believe me when I said that I ran into you, and that a girl like you might be just a little interested,” you laugh at the implication as he holds up his hands in mock surrender, “now I said just a little. So, what d’ya say darlin’? Wanna get out there with me just to prove him wrong, even if you never talk to me again. How about it?”
You run your tongue along the edge of your teeth before biting at that perfect red bottom lip. Shane ran his tongue along his own lip in response, wondering what it’d feel like to have you bite him like that. He hadn’t been this taken since…ever. Part of him was hoping you would say no. That way, you’d shut him down and he wouldn’t have to entertain thoughts of what could come of this. A larger part of him wanted you to say yes, just so he could hold you close. He wanted to feel you pressed against him again. Wanted to talk to you more, keep that mouth running to learn more about you. You were just different. Shane could feel it. So, when you looked up at him, eyes beneath those thick lashes, he felt his breath catch as you nodded, “Yeah, sure, okay. But if you’re a terrible dancer or something,” you cleaned up your drink before putting the glass down, “I reserve the right to leave you out there by yourself.”
He follows behind you as you head to the dance floor, his eyes focused on the sway of your hips beneath that ridiculously fitted dress. As soon as you reach the open space, a slower song comes through the speakers. Shane took your hand, going slowly as he could sense your hesitancy before you got close to him. The two of you began moving to the music and after he twirled you out and back into him, you rested your head against him. Something about him…you felt at ease.
Until suddenly you tensed at a question that slipped through his lips, “So, you know my name darlin’, but uh…you gonna tell me yours?”
Anger flashed through your eyes as you spoke up, “Excuse me?”
“I know so little about you…seems like a good question to ask? Or,” he chuckled, “even where you went to school? Musta been somewhere close for you to know who I am.”
Before you knew what you were doing your arm pulled away and hand came across his face hard enough for everyone nearby to know it. Somewhere off to the side you registered Rick laughing. But Shane stared at you with a look of shock, “The hell was that for? All I asked for was your name. Or where you went to school.” Rick was trying hard to hold in his laughter. He knew exactly who you were. Made it a point to find you before the ceremony and apologize. It was easy enough to forgive him with those kind blue eyes.
But this asshole? Your nostrils flared as you fumed, “Let’s see, Shane, I went to the same school as you. Same grade as you. Same classes as you!” Your voice was rising much to your frustration. You did not want to bring attention to this. You fought back tears, “The name Carrie mean anything to you? Causing some brain cells to fire off in that hard head of yours?”
You could see the recognition flit across his face before his brown eyes got large and he whispered, “aw shit.”
“Well, at least we have a winner. Leave me alone.”
You storm away and Shane is left there remembering. Senior prom. Him and a few others thought it would be funny to pull a Carrie. They got cans of bright red paint and set them up to dump on you, figuring you to be the weirdest in the class. None of them ever talked to you. Shane least of all. He had his head so far up his ass in high school. His dark eyes found Rick who immediately dropped the laughter at seeing his friend get the shit slapped out of him by you. Shane mouthed a sarcastic thanks before following the path you left of people parted, all of their eyes on you.
“Hey!” You were fishing in your purse for your phone to call an uber. You were drunk, not stupid. You ignored his voice, hoping it would go away. “Hey, I’m trying to talk to you!”
As he approached you, you were looking down at your phone, trying not to cry. Shane cleared his throat, “Look, I’m sorry. For back then, and not recognizing you now. I was a dumb kid.”
“There a point to this apology, Shane? Because I’m waiting for the part where I also don’t feel like an idiot. But that doesn’t seem to be coming up any time soon.”
“Um, uhhh…..”
Your nostrils flare again when you realize what he was trying to say, “Seriously?! You couldn’t bother to find out my name BEFORE you chase me outside after pissing me off for forgetting about me in the first place? Seriously?!” You start laughing hysterically when he interrupts, “I came out here to try to ap”-
“I mean, there are actual wedding programs with my name PRINTED on them. I was IN the wedding party. You could have asked your god damn friend, the GROOM! God!” You get up and walk away before turning back to him, “You must be a terrible fucking cop. Please tell me you’re not a detective Shane because, fuck. You’d be a terrible one.”
Shane didn’t know what to say, and it showed. Right around that time one of your family members came out to find you. They looked at Shane, a look of anger that he did not miss, before looking at you, “Hey girl, was coming outside to see if you wanted a ride home.”
The look on your face when you glanced at Shane again nearly broke him. Your eyes were filled with unshed tears, and you looked so…defeated. He watched you look at your cousin and nod your head. She threw a protective arm around you. Understandable, he thought, after the ass he made of himself. Your voice carried over your shoulder as you walked away, “Goodbye, Shane.”
That was Saturday. Monday when you got to work, the receptionist you hired when you moved back smiled big and wide, “Morning doc. You had something come for you this morning. Looks like you made an impression on someone somewhere.”
Walking into the back, you halted. There was a huge vase filled with your favorite flowers. Peonies and forget me nots. Along with that was a box of something. Walking closer you saw cupcakes through the clear window of the box. They looked like chocolate with chocolate icing. If you had to guess, judging by the clues, they had your favorite filling, strawberry. A small smile came to your face as you saw a card sticking up from the flowers. The envelope it was in was covered in your name. A blush crept across your cheeks. There was very little doubt who this was from. Opening the card, you read:
Morning beautiful.
Thought about what you said, a lot.
Did a little detective work.
If you wanna give me a call to tell me how else I can improve…
There was a phone number at the bottom of the card.
Taking out your cell phone you sent a text to Shane: Well hello Lewis. Got the flowers. They’re beautiful. And the cupcakes…looking very forward to eating one for breakfast. So, thank you. The envelope was a very nice touch. Though…my name is spelled wrong. You hit send and immediately smirked at your joke. Smelling the flowers, you felt your phone start to ring and pulled it out to see the number you just texted. Arching a brow you answered, “Yes, Lewis?”
You expected a joke of some sort. Some snarky comment about the name Lewis. But no, it was Shane’s voice immediately apologizing, “I can’t believe they spelled your name wrong darlin’. I told them multiple times how to spell it, told them how important it was for them to get it right and actually g”-
Shane got cut off by your laughter and you smiled big, “It was a joke, though I am very touched that you were so quick to apologize for it Shane.”
“Yeah well,” you could tell he was laughing a little, “it wasn’t very funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
“Okay, maybe a little funny. So…you texted me, even answered when I called. What do ya say? Think we could get together some time and have a redo?”
Biting your lip, you smile despite yourself. Your receptionist was watching you with a curious eye as you answered, “I suppose it’d be rude to say no. Besides, this way if I need a speeding ticket fixed.”
That got a laugh out of him before he cleared his throat, “Alright darlin’, see you for lunch? I’ll even pick you up.”
“Lunch?”
“I gotta start sooner rather than later. Lot of time to make up for.”
You were hesitating again, before thinking about how easy it was to talk to him at the wedding…about that damn kiss, and you sighed, “Yeah, yeah okay. And Shane? Don’t make me regret this.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
#shane walsh x you#shane walsh x reader#jon bernthal fic#shane walsh fanfiction#shane walsh drabble#walking dead fanfiction
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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
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