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frankcastlescumslut · 8 months

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A House in Nebraska

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: gore, violence, minor character death, amy bendix (lol), language, angst!!, eventual smut

summary: He was afraid of you. Afraid that you had made up your mind and had enough of him, that this was the final straw. But the worst thing, he decided, was the possibility that this, that he, was enough for you—that you would pledge your loyalty to a man like him. To a life like this.

a/n: hey! I’ve been sitting on this idea for months and finally ready to work on it :) this will definitely be a two-parter(maybe more), but I’m selfishly enjoying this little AU loosely following season 2!!!!

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comments/reblogs/likes are so appreciated, I love to hear your thoughts <3

“So… how did you guys meet?” “Stay still.” The strong stench of rubbing alcohol burned your nostrils as you leaned over, her foot tapping mindlessly beneath her crossed legs. “You didn’t answer my question.” “Amy,” you interrupted, her blue eyes baring right back into yours. “If you want me to paint your nails, sit still.” She huffed at that. You were used to it by now, never taking her attitude personally because being sixteen was hard enough, so you paid no mind. It was almost reminiscent, a painful familiarity with the way she embodied your sister, but you chose to forget the feeling like your life depended on it. In a way, it did.

Her nail disappeared beneath a glossy black polish, the surrounding skin also falling victim to an unsteady hand. She let out a sigh and continued to count the number of stripes on her socks.

“We met in Nebraska.” “Nebraska?” She sounded disgusted, and the small room filled with laughter. “What the hell is in Nebraska?” “Absolutely nothing.”

Ghosts. Distant memories. Everything was in Nebraska.

It’s where he found you, hiding as some housekeeper in a shitty motel. You were both running from things neither of you cared to talk about while sober, so you didn’t, but he kept looking for reasons to come back.

He blamed it on the esteemed breakfast, a vending machine honeybun, but you saw through him like he was an apparition haunting your strained heartstrings.

Come with me, he asked. Where to? You didn’t really care.

You were in too deep by the time you made it to Michigan—you both were, and yet neither one of you would admit it. There was something sacred about the secrecy and inability to label what you both knew was love, or something like that; it was too precious, and you avoided any chance at jinxing it.

“But you two are together, though, right?” Amy was obsessed with knowing everything. You think it’s her way of pretending that everything was fine. Fine.

“No.” “Oh.” She straightened a bit, and you didn’t miss the way her brows furrowed. “That disappoint you?” “A little.” “Good,” you smirked. “You’re too nosey.” “I call it a healthy amount of curious.” Her back hunched again, and she watched the way your eyebrows scrunched over her fingers. “You guys are shit at hiding it, anyway.” You chuckled at that, manually manipulating her hand to inspect your work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh come on,” she says matter-of-factly. “You guys fuck.” “Amy!” You could feel your eyes bulging from their sockets. “I knew it!” She clapped her hands before jumping from the mattress. “You don’t know anything.” “Oh come on,” she searched your face, expecting to find any confirmation to her assumptions, instead finding your lack of eye contact disappointing. “Not even once?” “No,” you lied. “Happy?” “Not really.”

The mattress failed to hide the sound of her disappointment as she threw her body onto the spare bed. You allowed yourself to find amusement in her attitude long enough to sift through a dirty duffel bag, keeping your mind occupied with something other than Frank’s absence.

Gaining Amy meant losing Frank. Hour by hour, piece by piece, chunk of flesh by chunk of flesh. The waiting never grew easier, but you adjusted, just like you always do, ending up in motels that smelled like damp polyester and cigarettes.

“I’m starving,” she groaned, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’ll get something soon.” Your stomach gurgled in agreement.

Static crackled throughout the room, momentarily stunning you, before being replaced by a weather report.

High of 89 today with an 80 percent chance of rain, folks! Grab an umbrella and stay dry!

You laughed to yourself at that—stay dry—like you ever left those shitty rooms.

It was bittersweet with Amy. You missed the sun. You missed the late night diner runs. You missed waking up to forehead kisses and soft touches. You missed the easiness of it all, pretending to be two normal people that had two normal lives, and now you were confined to a room that reeked of nail polish and gunpowder. A prisoner and caretaker.

“What do you want for dinner?” you asked, attempting to lighten the mood. “Huh?” “Dinner,” you stated. “I’ll go when—“ A knock at the door ended your conversation. “Amy,” you locked eyes with her, “get in the closet.” Your voice dropped to a whisper as you pointed the gun towards the door. “No, it’s fine!“ She practically leapt from the cheap mattress. “Closet. Now.” Your arm aches almost as much as your stomach as Amy reaches for the door handle. She was so far away, it seemed, and your legs felt cemented to the floor. “I ordered food,” she smiled, opening the door to reveal a woman holding a box. “See?”

It felt like you were staring at one of your polaroids; Amy looked pleased, beaming at you with a sense of accomplishment that she got dinner. That she could do things. That she didn’t need your help—Frank’s help. Her smile was radiant, and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for her.

“You can keep the change,” Amy offered the woman a handful of cash before turning to you with that same naivety.

Stupid, stupid girl.

You knew it was coming, and yet your stomach still dropped when her smile faded and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Amy’s lips moved frantically, but you were too focused on the way the woman’s gun left imprints against her temple.

Stupid, stupid girl.

The woman looked satisfied, puffing out her broad chest while Amy tried to talk her way out of it. “Kid,” you commanded her attention, ignoring the way you could hear Frank’s voice in the back of your head. She stared back at you, tears welling in her eyes, and you hoped to God that she would understand what you meant as you meticulously cocked your head towards the closet.

The stranger wasn’t an idiot, and she shuffled backwards, somehow digging the gun further into Amy’s head. “If you try anything funny—“

Point. Shoot. Kill.

Amy flinched as warm blood decorated her cheeks like a crimson blush.

You wish you could embrace her and muster out a lie—that it’s all over, that everything is okay now, that things can go back to normal, but you can’t, so you pull her into the room. “Closet, now.”

She listened, for once, ducking her head and hurrying to the small space Frank had designated as hers. A part of you selfishly wished she had fought back against your order. Maybe then things would feel normal, and you could pretend that the brain matter surrounding the door frame was some maximalist’s creative direction. Maybe then you could imagine that the body below you was just a rolled up carpet that was being discarded because it was too much of an eyesore for the motel regulars.

You pretended, ignoring the corpse’s vacant gaze as you patted its body, shoving any remaining bits of your humanity down as you pocketed a wallet and fully loaded gun.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

It was one of the first lessons you had learned while on your own, and one that Frank never let you forget. He was right, unfortunately, and heavy footsteps reiterated the importance of the mantra as they approached your temporary home.

There weren’t many places for you to hide, but you made it work, you had to. The bathroom was small and smelled like mildew, but you couldn’t care about the dangers of black mold when you had a target on your back. The gun felt lighter in your hand this time, and your posture felt natural as you crouched against the bathroom wall.

Time didn’t exist in moments like this. The moments where the world sounded like warm, rushing blood and high pitched screeching. Moments where you become reduced to your primal state, clenching jaw and eyes blown wide as they study the mirrored motel room. Moments where you held your breath, watching and waiting in anticipation of who would barge into your temporary sanctuary, noting the constant footsteps..

The footsteps never stopped, not even as they stepped over the limp body and pooled blood. You foolishly hoped you would have been met with the familiar darkened gaze, that he would lift you by your shoulders and tell you that you did good, but the man that barged into the room was ruthless. Cold-blooded.

His gun was already drawn, spraying the mattresses and walls with bullets and fury, sending drywall crumbling and flaking onto your head and shoulders.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

You inhaled, not even considering it could be the last time your lungs expanded to its full capacity, before glancing in the mirror a final time.

You looked like a version of yourself you had buried long ago—a version that hadn’t emerged since you had left home. It was reminiscent of something you fought to avoid, but you couldn’t run this time, not as the pang of gunshots echoed throughout the motel room.

He moved quickly, and you wondered if he was trained on the same basis: shoot first, ask later. He wasn’t the first one you had encountered, trigger-happy and determined, and you knew they always ran out of bullets quicker than they should.

Your golden opportunity sounded like a few seconds of silence followed by a huff of air leaving your lips before you reached around the corner, catching the man off guard as you unleashed three rounds towards his rigid frame.

“God damnit!” he shouted as a bullet ripped through the meat of his thigh.

His eyes were black, rolling into the sockets like a blood hungry shark, and you genuinely thought his teeth would crumble under the pressure of his clenched jaw.

The bathroom was no solace; you were cornered, backed into a cage like an animal waiting for its turn to be brought to the slaughterhouse. Surrendering wasn’t an option. It didn’t exist for people like the one hunting you—for people like Frank.

The thought of Frank coming back to your makeshift home, littered with blood and bodies, made your stomach churn. It meant you failed, that you weren’t capable of keeping up with him, and it was embarrassing. You failed him; you failed Amy, and you failed yourself once again, though that mattered little anymore.

Your golden moment was quickly interrupted by the sound of grunting and a continuous stream of popping inching towards your hiding place. The wall exploded and ceramic tile flew towards your face before you realized what was happening, and you instinctively receded towards the small spot between the toilet and cabinet.

“Come on out, honey,” he called. “Can’t hide forever!”

You could tell he was hovering outside the remnants of the doorframe, probably waiting for you to crawl out so he could pretend to be merciful by putting a bullet in your head, but his labored breathing told you everything he wasn’t. Your guess was a severed artery, and although he should be down by now, you learned to never underestimate a man with nothing left to lose and steadied your gun on the edge of the counter.

“Just tell me where the girl is and we can figure this out like adults!” “Like adults?” You called out, scanning the bathroom for anything that could help your situation. “Sure,” he huffed out. “We can play house after this. What do you say?”

The toe of his boot peeked around the corner, and your body moved before your mind could catch up.

The man let out a guttural scream and folded in half, instinctively grabbing his bleeding foot. You wasted no time yanking the cheap plastic shower curtain from its holdings before leaping towards the assailant.

He looked like a beached shark, thrashing beneath the fogging curtain, but felt more like a mechanical bull as you held onto him with your thighs, tightening your grip around the curtain.

It happened quickly. So quickly that you hadn’t registered the throbbing pain in the base of your skull as you crashed into the already crumbling drywall. You weren’t sure how he stood, how he gained enough momentum to fling you off of him, but your mind and body remained disconnected as he towered over you.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” the man coughed, failing to cover his mouth. “Where’s the girl?”

This wasn’t supposed to be the end. This was humiliating, and yet there you were, blinking away stars and choking on dust. You attempted to sit up straight, regaining your dignity, before your knuckles hit the familiar carbon steel.

There was only one shot, and you prayed Amy had made it out and ran as far away from you as she could—this wasn’t a place for young girls, yet you felt small enough in that moment. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

He fell with a great thud, nearly landing on top of you. His mouth and eyes were still open, completely unsuspecting of his demise, and you were hypnotized by the crimson dripping from the bullet-sized hole in his forehead.

It was seamless, and you think Frank would have been proud had he walked in through the blown out door, but he doesn’t. Nobody was coming.

“He talked too much.” Her voice startled you, and you instinctively reached for the gun. “Whoa,” she warned, “it’s okay, it’s just me.” She showed her palms, emerging fully from the small closet.

“Amy,” you whispered, afraid that she was just an apparition.

“You okay?” She knew it was a stupid question the second it left her mouth, but she asked anyway—she at least meant it.

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing yourself to your feet. “We have to leave.”

“Leave? What about Frank?”

You had already limped across the room, adding the new guns and wallets to the duffel bag, and didn’t need to see the confusion on her face to know she was skeptical of your plan. “He’ll find us,” you tried to believe yourself, but you knew he would understand.

You’d had this conversation before; if anything were to happen to him, you and Amy were to find a Madani somewhere in New York. It was a 10 hour drive, but you were confident you could make it in six if you left now.

The room felt smaller with two bodies and crumbled drywall littering the floor. You could ignore the claustrophobic feel, but Amy stood frozen in place, studying the tread marked puddle of blood beneath her feet.

“Hey,” you started, “look at me. Look at me, Amy.”

She was pale, her eyes sunken into their sockets. It was impossible to make sense of how she looked so young, yet so hardened at that moment, but there wasn’t enough time to wonder. “Amy, we have to go, okay?” Her cheeks were soft beneath your palms. You tried to pull her from her trance, begging her to come back to the shitty motel room of death, but she stayed tucked away in the safest corner of her mind.

“You’re bleeding,” she muttered. “What?” “Bleeding. You’re bleeding.”

Her eyes led a trail to the soft curve of your waist. Your shirt stuck to your skin with an uncomfortable warmth, and you pretended it didn’t ache when you placed a few fingers over the gash.

You wanted to laugh at the irony, deluding yourself with a false sense of accomplishment. It was always too good to be true, and you were reminded of the cruel fact that things could always be worse as the sound of heavy footsteps pulled you from the pain. Amy ran towards the familiar hiding spot without being told, and your heart broke into smaller pieces.

It was getting old, the pointing and shooting and killing. It was getting old, and you were tired of calling the shots—you were tired of waiting for Frank to come back.

Fuck him. Fuck him for leaving you. Fuck him for leaving Amy. Fuck him for making you add two more heads to your roster.

Your arm ached as you leveled the gun, and you let out a sharp cry as your skin pulled in separate directions, the cotton of your shirt peeling from the wet wound. It was a matter of seconds before you would claim your next victim, but all you felt was the burning rage towards the man that left you in this position. It was automatic at this point; all you saw was a threat, so you acted, unloading rounds until all that remained was a busted door frame and tear stains against your grimy cheeks.

“Shit,” he whispered, not even acknowledging the body that he stepped over. “No no no, what happened?” He strung a hand behind your neck, forcing you to watch the way his eyes scanned your face. He meant well, you think, but you couldn’t look at him, especially as he thumbed through the tears that escaped your waterline. “Where’s the kid?”

God damn him. “Closet,” you choked out.

He was gone as quickly as he came, and your knees took the brute of the fall with a thud, masking the sound of the closet doors falling as Frank ripped them from the hinges. The stars in your eyes glistened, your peripheral shrinking, and you weren’t even sure if he was real. If he had actually come back, if he had actually left you on the floor, face to face with your bloody work.

“You okay, kid?” He crouched to her level, but she quickly uncurled herself, practically jumping from the small space to push past Frank and joined you on the damp carpet. “Are you okay?” she asked, her brows furrowing as she studied your face. “I’m fine," you whispered, bracing yourself against the mattress to hoist yourself to your feet. Frank hovered, like he usually did, unsure of his place between the two of you. His anger was palpable, and you made yourself as small as possible, limping towards the disheveled duffle bags. He watched you, noting the way you winced with each step. It killed him, knowing that his shit would eventually catch up to you, too, but he gulped it down, turning his attention towards Amy.

“I’m sorry,” Frank started, grabbing Amy’s shoulders before bending to her level. “I’m sorry this happened. I shouldn’t have left.” “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Seriously. It could’ve been worse.” “Yeah, you coulda been killed. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Alone. The bile rose from your stomach and burned the lining of your throat at the indirect insult.

“I wasn’t alone,” Amy snapped at Frank before sinking into the mattress. “Look, this is all my fault. I was the one that ordered food, she didn’t know.” It was humiliating having Amy come to your defense like that, even though she was right. Frank’s stare burned, and your feet involuntarily took you to the destroyed bathroom to escape his attention. “What?” He spat. “I mean, really. I probably would have died but she handled them.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “It was actually kinda cool.” “There’s nothin’ cool about this,” Frank hissed. “C’est la vie, I guess.” “C’mon,” he ordered. “Pack up.” “Everything’s already ready.” She motioned towards the perfectly lined duffle bags that you had assembled.

He didn’t have much to say. He was almost relieved at the fact that you were ready to leave him. You could make it on your own, he knew that much. You were strong enough, but a part of him wished you didn’t have to be—that you didn’t have to deal with his shit.

Amy watched as he shifted his weight outside the bathroom door, his fingers flexing and clenching in anticipation.

His heart broke as he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the busted mirror, your head hanging low as you sat on the edge of the bathtub.

He was afraid of you. Afraid that you had made up your mind and had enough of him, that this was the final straw. But the worst thing, he decided, was the possibility that this, that he, was enough for you—that you would pledge your loyalty to a man like him. To a life like this.

“Time to go,” he finally knocked against the remaining wall. You were quick to listen, pretending that you hadn’t been crying, and you pushed past him. The carpet squelched beneath your stride, and you ignored it long enough to pull Amy into your chest, focusing on the sweet smell of her shampoo. She stayed there for what seemed like forever until she became cognizant of her flickering facade. “You okay?” you whispered, nodding your head as if you could somehow convince her she was. She followed suit, swallowing down any trace of emotion that threatened to spill over, but her eyes betrayed her. Frank had seen enough.

It was too much—too much of a reminder that he had failed again, that his perpetual failings would always result in the loss of a life. Your commitment to Amy’s safety was evident; it was a continuation of what you couldn’t give your sister, and he was ashamed that he brought you back to the place where he met you. “Let’s go,” he cleared his throat. You listened, as you always do, breaking your moment of respite with Amy to shove two heavy duffle bugs over your shoulder, not caring to look behind you as you head towards a bulky van. Amy watched you disappear, shuffling her feet in frustration. “You really should take it easy on her.” Frank said nothing, instead sifting through the empty pockets of corpses. “Hey,” she kicked the limp hand, forcing Frank to stop his search. “I mean it. Lighten up.” “You done?” He stood, completely towering over Amy. His jaw clenched against his will, yet she held his gaze. “Be nice.”

“Time to go.” He didn’t wait for her, so she watched her footing as she tiptoed over the broken bodies.

She lingered in the doorframe, committing the bloodbath to memory. It was fucked that she had to—that the motel room reeked of blood and guts instead nail polish remover and pizza. But that’s how these things went, and you watched from the safety of the van as she slammed the door shut on that dirty fucking room.

You pretended that her clumpy mascara was still intact as she climbed in the van's backseat. She pretended you didn’t jump at the sound of Frank slamming his door closed as he slid into his seat. He pretended that this wasn’t his karmic debt catching up to him.

A caravan of fucking liars.

“Where are we going?” Amy broke the uncomfortable silence, and you held your breath. “New York,” he said with a sigh.

New York, a Madani, and a caravan of liars.

There was a poetic moment of silence and anticipation, and then the engine roared to life.

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#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle angst #frank castle series #frank castle hurt/comfort #the punisher #the punisher x female reader #the punisher series #the punisher angst #amy bendix

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chrisevansredbelt · 2 years

Note

could you write a frank castle x reader where the reader and frank are out together being badass and fighting people and the reader get shot (non fatal like the shoulder got clipped or something) and on their way back home they get unto an argument with grand about something so they refuse to admit they get hurt and ask him for help so they just go to bed with the injury and somehow frank finds out and gets all pissy and fixes reader up and he gets mad they didn't tell him but then comfort

Keep You Safe

pairing: frank castle x reader

warnings: mmmm bit of mean frank, angry frank, asshole frank. he says a mean thing. reader gets hurt. guns and knives. mention of osama bin laden

summary: refer to request.

a/n: I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH IM SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO. but omg this like idea had me like crying and blushing. thank u for requesting it!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

Oh.

He has a kid. A child.

You unknowingly release your finger off of the trigger that had not yet been pressed, lowering the gun as you stared at the mans tattoo on his chest. It peeked through his black wife beater, but it was clear enough as he held his hands up in surrender.

A tattoo of a child. A child that’s probably at home, tucked away in bed right now, wondering where his dad is. And by tomorrow will probably ask his mother why he hasn’t come home yet and as the day goes on, wonder if he ever will. And when he finds out, he’ll be crushed. And he’ll grow up without a father figure and-

“Shoot him, Y/N!” You’re broken out of your thoughts by an agitated Frank.

You look up at Frank, where he stands atop the metal staircase, having just killed the last backup man that accompanied the one you needed to shoot. The one you begged Frank to let you kill.

In your moment of distraction, looking up at a very frustrated Frank, your guy charged at you. You barely had a moment to react as he easily snatched your gun out of your weak hand, twisting your arm in the process and holding you against him.

Your back was against his front as he caged you in with his bicep, your own gun pointed at your head as he pressed a knife to your throat- one that he had pulled out of his pants in his stride towards you.

Frank was quick to act then, practically teleporting as he jumped from the staircase he was on before the guy could react quick enough to kill you.

His fear of Frank was evident as he dropped all efforts to harm you and instead run away from Frank. You slipped out of his grip, but not without getting deeply cut by his knife that had flailed in the air.

“Ah-“ You fell to the ground, the deep pain and burn of the cut against your shoulder literally menacing.

Frank payed you no mind once you were somewhat safe and at least out of the man’s hold, tunnel vision on his target as he held his own gun up and shot numerous rounds.

A loud thud sounds and some gutteral groaning. As you look over to where Frank stands, you see a helpless body at his feet. He fires a few more rounds into the body, not that it makes any difference, but Frank was mad.

You stand from the ground, regaining your footage as you inspect your wounded arm. Blood quickly starts to stain your sleeve, and the fabric almost inserts itself into the cut everytime you move, so you make a mental note not to move so much until you can be patched up.

“Hurry up.” Frank mutters behind you, stepping over the body carelessly and not bothering to spare you another glance. But you don’t push your luck. You follow suit, picking up your discarded gun from the floor and trailing close (but not obnoxiously close to make him angrier).

The fresh air is nice once you reach it. But it does little to soothe your nerves as you can only watch Frank’s tense back staunch towards the van.

David’s stupid smiling face makes you feel a little better though.

As you’re smiling softly at David through the window of the car, Frank roughly opens the van door and steps aside. As he turns to you, he snatches the gun out of your hand, “Get in.” He orders.

You keep your head down, at this point trying not to cry as both the pain of your cut and the pain of Frank’s demeanour puts you on complete edge. You know you messed up. You know how badly Frank wanted this man dead. But it was just a mistake. You probably would’ve shot him if he didn’t charge at you the way he did.

You take a seat, sitting as close as possible to the door- as if to get away from Frank. He slams the van door closed and heads for the passenger seat, sitting beside David as he starts up the car.

David senses the tension as he side-eyes Frank, so he makes no effort to ask any questions as he begins the drive back home.

You lean your head against the cold window of the car, shutting your eyes as you literally feel the anger continue to radiate off of Frank’s body.

You feel you should explain yourself. Maybe he didn’t know the real reason why you didn’t initially go through with shooting him. Maybe he just thought you were backing out because you were too scared to shoot him- but that was not the case at all.

You open and close your mouth a number of times, going to speak but losing the words as Frank locked jaw sticks out. You bite your lip and fiddle your fingers, sighing briefly before finally saying, “He had a kid.” It was a weak explanation, your voice quivering halfway through as his ears perked up.

There’s a beat and you swallow a breath, awaiting his response.

He shakes his head and you know you’re done for, “You mean a tattoo of his kid- a bad one at that.” He scoffs. Ah, so he saw the tattoo. “That kid probably wants nothin’ to do with him anyways. Probably wanted him dead just as much as I did.” He spits, words laced with anger as he speaks them, ��A fuckin’ kid.”

You huff to yourself, just wishing he would hear you out, “It’s just that- he’s probably wondering where he is right now or what time he’ll come home-”

“Doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!” He yells, catching you by surprise, and David too from the way he flinches slightly, “You wanted to kill him- and you didn’t. And you almost got hurt because of it.” ... Almost? Did he not see your arm?

“Okay, well I’m sorry for having a little sympathy for a fatherless child.” You boldly reply, getting loud yourself but immediately regretting it as he scoffs again, much louder this time. He then turns in his seat to face you and you immediately cower.

“Okay, so if you had Osama Bin Laden sitting in fronta’ you, and he showed you a picture of some kid-“

“Stop.” You plead, avoiding his gaze and trying to look out the window- but his stare was just so menacing and taunting. And you wanted to avoid an argument- if that were even possible at this point.

“No, tell me, would you shoot him?” He relents.

“Obviously I would fucking shoot him, Frank. This is different-“

“It’s really not.” He shakes his head, turning back around after rolling his eyes from seeing the tears escape your eyes, “Whatever. From now on, I don’t want your help.”

Your head whips up at that, brows knit together and hurt evident across your face tenfold. Frank has to hold back from turning around… knowing well that if he saw the look on your face right now, he’d regret everything- not that he already does.

“Frank, it was one time-“

“I got a fucking headache, alright? So just drop it.” He says, almost uncontrollably.

You want to argue further. You want to scream and kick until Frank realises it was just a little mistake… the guy died in the end anyway so what does it really matter?

But your throat is practically closing up. It feels so tight as you try and hold back your cries and whimpers. The pain in your arm feels like it’s only intensifying. And you also hate that you’ve put poor David in this situation.

You would’ve asked Frank to help you with your arm when you got home, but now you don’t think he would even want to help- since you know, he doesn’t want yours.

So you keep your mouth shut and your head down, wiping a stray tear every so often as you get closer and closer to home.

As soon as David parks the car, you get out. You couldn’t bare being in that tense silence any longer.

Thanks to David’s technology and whatever gadget he installed on the door, it unlocks for you without you needing a key and you enter without looking back.

You make your way straight to the bathroom so that you can wash up and go to bed before having to make any other interaction with Frank.

Frank sighs as he watches your clearly kicked form disappear into the warehouse without a second look back.

He knew he fucked up. Knew it the second the words were coming out of his mouth. But he was too big headed to apologise in the moment, so he kept going. And maybe he was projecting the anger towards himself for saying such nasty things further onto you and it was just this never ending cycle from there.

Frank turns his head to the side, looking over at a very awkward David who doesn’t know what to do, “Was I a little too harsh?”

“A little?” David huffs, but nervously. Even though he had your back in this predicament, he was still scared of Frank (at some times).

“Fuck.” Frank sighs again, throwing. his head back against his head rest, “I was just- frustrated.” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to make some sense or explanation of his behaviour, “And I do have a headache.”

Its silent for a moment as Frank waits for David’s input- though he doubts he’s going to have much useful advice for him.

“So this is kind of like a… like a trouble in paradise kinda thing for you.” Point proven.

Frank looks at David’s totally serious face with a raised brow before just nodding, “Yeah, totally.”

You had showered carefully, so as to not disturb your wound. You dressed it up in some left over bandages you found under the sink but you don’t think it really did you much justice.

But the shower felt nice. Because for a few minutes, you forgot all about Frank and what he said to you and just basked in the warm water washing away all the dirt and gravel and guilt on your body.

When you exited the bathroom, you were glad to see that Frank had not yet entered the bedroom. He would have still been helping David de-organise the van and all of their equipment. And now he was probably cleaning his guns and knives to buy himself some more time away from you. That would make sense.

So, you do him a big fat favour and go to bed. That way, you’re asleep and unresponsive and thus, don't have to engage in any further argument.

Since Frank sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door, you turn on your side with your back facing it. It works out in your favour anyway because that way, your wound isn’t being pressed against or anything.

However, because you’re stubborn, you lightly place the blanket over your bandage to hide it from Frank.

The dim lamp on your bedside does little to illuminate the room, but does the job- whilst keeping it dark enough to allow you to close your eyes and slowly lull yourself to sleep.

You’re half asleep by the time you hear Frank enter the bedroom.

Surprisingly, he makes some effort to be quiet. He took his boots off at the door, then went to the bathroom to shower himself. He didn’t even slam any doors.

You then began to fall back asleep, but since Frank was never one for long showers- the max amount of time he would spend in a shower probably like 2 minutes- it wasn't long until your eyes were wincing opening again at the sound of Frank emerging from the bathroom.

His footsteps come to a halt by the bed, but he doesn't sit. Which confuses you for a moment, trying to wonder what it was he was doing.

Frank stared down at you with his brows knit together so hard you would’ve berated him for giving himself a permanent wrinkle in his forehead. His eyes were trained on your arm, the stupid lamp making him squint to see the white bandage wrapped around your arm.

He pulls the blanket down a little further, further than it already was slipping off your body and internally gasps at the sight of deep red blood slowly spilling out of it and onto the bandage.

A sting courses through your arm, followed closely by the compression of a large hand wrapping around it, “Ow-“ You open your arms, being forcibly pulled back for Frank to worriedly inspect your arm.

You watch over him nervously as he holds your arm a little more delicately now, unravelling the bandage. It stings a little as the bits of dried blood hang on to the bandage and tug on your skin as he takes out off.

“When did this happen?” He asks stupidly. Look, you would’ve been a little flattered that he was taking care of you right now, but his vibe was off as his face stared down at the wound in... disgust? Berating you for being so stupid?

“When do you think?” You reply, wincing as he continues to twist and pull on your arm. He purses his lips a little, then sighs before leaving the bedroom.

You’re left sitting on the bed, bloody bandage beside you and your stinging arm by your side. You feel the place where Frank’s hand once was, frowning uncontrollably as you reminisce on his warmth.

He comes back with the first aid kit in hand and your heart swoons at the fact that he does, in fact, want to help you.

He resumes his position on the bed, opening up the kit and gathering the required stuff. When you see him reach for the alcohol, you inhale a quick breath of fear, causing Frank to look up at you.

“It’ll be over soon,” He reassures, applying the antiseptic to a cotton pad.

You subconsciously fist the blanket pooled over your lap in preparation for the alcohol to come into contact with your skin. Frank holds your arm gently and presses the wipe to your cut.

“Fuck!” You cry, instinctively moving away from Franks touch but he keeps you in place.

“Sorry.” You exhale deeply as he removes the wipe, but your eyes widen as he grabs another wipe and places more of the liquid onto the cotton, “Just one last time,” He reassures, catching your dreaded glance. You can’t help the tears as the sting feels like it's coursing through your body. When Frank presses the second cotton to your skin, you can’t help the sob that leaves your lip and Frank winces at the sound, “I’m sorry, baby.”

For, there’s nothing Frank hates more than the sound of you crying. Especially when he’s the cause of it. He’s been the cause of it quite a few times, and he hates himself every time. Just like he does now.

He holds the cotton to the wound, and with his free hand, he wipes the tears from your face. You let him, which is a good sign in and of itself. You’re not as mad at him as you could be.

He discards the cotton pads into a pile on the bedside table before pulling out a proper role of bandage and gently wrapping it around your arm.

You remain silent, tears drying but still small sobs and sniffles every so often.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frank asks as he clasps the bandage securely.

You avoid his gaze, mumbling as you shrug, “Didn’t think you’d want to help.”

Frank sighs to himself then, processing your words.

God, he was an ass. He was such a fucking dick to you that you thought he wouldn’t care that you’re practically bleeding out and possibly would have needed an amputation if it was any worse... Maybe that was dramatic but it wasn’t not possible!

Frank tentatively interlocks his hand with yours, waiting for you to pull back and slap him across the face, but you don’t, “No matter how… angry I am at you, I always want you to be okay.” He starts and you chew on your bottom lip softly as you take in his words, “You’re still my girl, it’s my job to keep you safe.” He brings a hand up to wipe away the last remaining tear, before pulling your head against his chest and kissing into your hair, “I’m sorry I yelled.”

You look up at him from your position against his warm, firm chest, observing the sincerity on his face and in his apology, “Sorry I ruined the mission.”

He shakes his head without a moment's hesitation, “It’s fine, I shot him anyway. That’s all that matters.” He shrugs and you nod.

Squeezing his hand, you purse your lips as you continue to look up at him, debating with yourself whether you should ask the question or not, “So, do you still not want me to come with you anymore?”

He huffs, smiling softly as he holds you closer, “You can come.” He nods, and you mirror his smile, “But I’ll be on your ass until you make your next kill.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

#frank castle #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle angst #frank castle fluff #frank castle x y/n #the punisher #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #the punisher imagine #the punisher fluff #the punisher angst

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saintmurd0ck · 10 months

Text

if the tide takes california

masterlist

pairing: frank castle + mentions of reader

summary: frank spends time contemplating if he's deserving of your love

warnings: angst, hurt (with comfort), mentions of grief and loss, frank being a little sad

a/n: i wrote this in one cathartic hour, please cry with me. ok love you

song pairing: til forever falls apart (ashe ft finneas)

And that's a wrap! Thank you for tuning in today to 6NEWS Radio, late night edition. The time is currently 9 PM and we hope you have a good night, wherever you are.

"Damn interference," Frank mutters. He grits his teeth, cursing as he bends forwards to twist the volume knob down. He knows he should be minutely grateful for any service at all, considering that he's out in the middle of nowhere, forty miles from the nearest backwater town, but his tolerance still wanes to a sliver.

Sighing, Frank goes to rub his temples, remembering why it is he has the radio on in the first place. It's because he'd rather the distraction than to be alone with his thoughts.

For now.

Pushing the reminder aside, he tightens his grip on the pair of binoculars in his lap, bringing them up to his eyes. He's done a good job choosing this location. From where he is, the van is completely hidden --- concealed in a copse of trees right opposite the compound. It's a cloudless, starry night; beautiful, if it weren't for the assholes across the way. He'd run out of fingers before he'd get halfway through the gang leader's rap sheet.

He's been casing them for a week. And very soon --- Frank glances at the time on his phone --- the lights would turn on, girls and gang members arriving in hordes, and maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get to meet the head of this operation. Then, they'd have a little exchange, man-to-man.

That, of course, involves Frank being the only one of them to get out of the compound alive.

He inhales sharply, licking his lips as he continues to survey the area.

When he measures the situation in his head, taking every decision and every course of action required to execute his plan, it's simple. Easy. It's all he knows, and it makes sense.

So why is it so difficult when it comes to you?

Frank scoffs at himself, as if to say, "No, not again." Not tonight. There's a dangerous edge to his behaviour, one he continues to sharpen with every passing minute he's in this van. He purses his lips, casting aside the hollowness in his chest, the void worming its way into his heart.

The radio crackles, and a small noise sounds from the back of his throat. Thank fuck it's music now playing. He couldn't bear a single second more of that aimless, idiotic talk show.

There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalls that anger, the sheer turmoil within, just from listening to those people talk. He digs his boots into the footwell, his knuckles going white as the radio presenter's voice echoes in his head. He narrows his eyes, because how can people be so… carefree? How could they laugh about concert tickets and the best pie in town and harmless pranks when he has to do this?

He could've turned the radio off, and let silence fill the cracks in his environment, but some small part of him wanted to listen. Not just for a desperate glimpse into a "normal" life, but at the sweet, gut-wrenching agony it caused --- knowing he can't be a part of it, and pain is a healthy reminder he's alive.

It's a fair assumption to say that most people would run from his burden, or at least try to bury it with the rest of their closeted skeletons, but Frank can't. And he never will.

Because he can't count on anyone else. If it isn't for him, then the scum of the earth walk free.

Emotions are messy. Futile. At least guns served a purpose, no matter what that asshole in red told him. It was uncomplicated this way --- put one bad guy down, then the next. Put 'em where they belong, and they wouldn't reoffend.

Sometimes, Frank feels almost insulted that no-one sees it this way.

He puts the binoculars down, wringing his hands as he checks the time again. He allows himself to breathe in deeply, to fill his lungs with air, before turning up the volume on the radio. It's crackly, but better than before, and instead of overlapping voices, it's a mindless, endless drone of music.

He's not fussed about what comes on, as long as he can concentrate on the mission. At the end of the day, that's all that matters. Or so he convinces himself.

He rubs his eyes, listening to the words of the next song. He doesn't care for the melody, or that the singer has the kind of voice that'd smooth over the bumps in his soul, but something about the lyrics perks his ears.

…Dreaming in a world that we both know is out of our control

A muscle feathers in his jaw as he contemplates turning the radio off completely, but he stays his hand. He can't tell if it's a matter of internal torture again --- a yearning for something he, as the Punisher, could never have --- or that just this once, it's a song worth listening to.

But if shit hits the fan we're not alone, 'cause you've got me and you know That I've got you and I know

The thought of you hits him like a blow to the stomach, a twisting, red-hot knife in the embers of his fury.

If he's right about emotions, then why does your presence make him feel whole? Why is he thinking about you, three states away, before another life-threatening mission?

Frank grimaces, feeling his face contort into something that'd scare him if he looked in a mirror. He knows what he'll see, and it won't just be the husk of the man he used to be. He doesn't know if he could stand to see himself longing for yet another person who'd be better off without him.

If the tide takes California, I'm so glad I got to hold 'ya And if the sky falls from heaven above, oh, I know I had the best time falling into love

He swallows, blowing out a shaky breath, not knowing what to do next.

But it seems that you do.

'Your voice was the only thing that got me out of bed today.'

Frank looks down at your text, torment lining every heartbeat.

'Please come back to me.'

He keeps staring, frozen in place, unsure if he's worthy of your concern. Of your love.

His shoulders tense at the image of you, staying up late with him on your mind. These are feelings he's associated with danger, with grief and loss, and he's unsure if he'd be willing to go through it again. Frank hasn't allowed himself to feel in years, and for so long, he's been better off being that way.

We've been living on a fault line, and for a while, you were all mine I've spent a lifetime giving you my heart, I swear that I'll be yours forever 'Til forever falls apart

"'Til forever falls apart," Frank murmurs to himself, thinking back to the last time he made that commitment to someone, just before his world imploded before his eyes.

"Stupid fuckin' song," he says, shaking his head, but he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

He opens your messages, feeling his gaze tentatively soften, and taps on your contact information. He's presented with options to reply, to call you, or to delete your number and move on, just so he can spare one more innocent soul.

His finger hovers over the screen, hesitating, and his eyes glaze over, trancelike from the song.

His instincts scream that it's a mistake to get involved, but maybe, just this once…

You pick up after the first ring, a sudden flood of relief calming your firing nerves.

Frank clears his throat. "Your voice is the only thing gettin' me through today."

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle angst #frank castle fanfic #the punisher #the punisher x reader #the punisher fanfic #the punisher angst #x reader #rhi writes 💻

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buckyhoney · 2 years

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲'𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this idea came from an ask i got that was just so good i couldn't help but write a little something for it! this does have major dom/sub-elements- this might get another part because daddy frank makes me wanna whore out lmao

inspired by this ask

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: daddy!frank castle x sub!reader

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝! 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, fingering, innocence kink, daddy kink, praise kink, sorry for any missed typos!

You wanted to say it, but you didn't mean to say it. It just... slipped out.

He comes to a hault, still holding your legs wide open. It was as if someone sucked all the air out of the room. Your heart is pounding against your chest and the heat of embarrassment spreads throughout your body.

You killed the moment, you thought, waiting for something to happen.

Frank's eyes go dark and his head spins with all the new ideas coming to mind. His cock ached inside his briefs at the soft- "Please, daddy!" that managed to escape your throat. He wanted needed to hear you say it again.

"What did you call me?" The rasp in his voice grew thicker and darker, watching your face wince.

"... daddy..." It was even softer than the last time.

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Oh, he loved how small you sounded- how innocent you became. He found it- the thing that makes you feel tiny and submissive.

Frank yanked your hips down to meet his throbbing, clothed cock. He leans down, lips pressing against yours harshly. It's impatient and needy; he grinds himself against your cunt.

His lips trail to your jaw, his hand holding it still.

"Say it again." His voice is all you can hear.

"Daddy-" He practically moans into your ear.

"That's what we're doing now, huh? You're gonna be my baby girl-" Arousal is leaking out of you, coating your folds and seeping through the fabric of his briefs.

You whimper a pathetic 'yes', and nod frantically.

"You're gonna let daddy take care of you?" Frank curses under his breath, feeling the heartbeat against his cock.

"Gonna be daddy's favorite girl?" Your brain is foggy, and all you can do is nod.

Frank's fingers slide down the side of your body, stopping right above your clit. You whine, hiding your face in his shoulder.

"Already so responsive," His fingers dip between your folds.

He moans at how slick and sensitive you are. Frank teases your clit, circling it with his finger- watching you squrim and buck your hips. You whine once more.

"You're so impatient, little one. We're gonna have to work on that." He coos, slipping two fingers inside you.

Your cunt pulsates around him, clenching his fingers and your eyes squeeze shut. Frank chuckles as he flutters his fingers into your g-spot.

"S'good, daddy, m'fingers feel so good-" The words are strung together, but Frank still hears it.

Daddy.

"That's right, daddy's making you feel this good." He continues to thrust his fingers inside you, warming and stretching you out.

Pleasure overwhelms your body; it's a new sensation you've never felt with him before- it was better than anything either of you has felt before.

With his other hand, he pulls his cock free. It's slick with precum and begging to feel you. Frank moans when he pulls his fingers out of you.

You pout, whining at the loss of pleasure.

"You'll cum soon, little one, don't worry." Arousal is dripping from his fingers, and he brings them to your lips.

"Open up, princess." The simple instruction had your thighs squeezing together.

You part your lips, and Frank slowly pushes his two long fingers inside. Moaning around them, you hallow your cheeks- sucking off all your juices. Frank's mouth parts while he watches you suck on his fingers. He pushes further inside, and you eagerly take them with ease.

He had unlocked a level of you that he's never seen. The obedient, eager to please, submissive side of you that he has quickly become addicted to.

"You really are daddy's girl, aren’t you?"

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shaylixie · 2 years

Text

Come As You Are

Word Count: 3463

Genre: (Slight) Angst. Smut. Fluff.

Pairing: dbf!Frank Castle x fem!reader

Requested: No.

Summary: You and Frank have been seeing each other for a while, but you finally find out who Frank Castle really is...accidentally.

Warnings / Contains: Smut; blood. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

A/N: I'm a sucker for dbf!Frank so I thought I'd give it a whirl :)) I do plan on writing for this more, so keep a look out if you enjoy it. This is only the beginning. ;)) ✌🏼 Feedback welcome.

Your earphones blare in your ears as you stare up at your ceiling; the only sliver of light coming in through your window.

You hadn't seen Frank for days. Or heard from him. You pick your phone up, disappointed but not surprised when you see no reply yet again. It was worrying you. He hadn't shown up at your place (or rather your parent's place) like he usually did, seeing as though he's your dad's best friend. His house has been awfully empty too...not even a light switched on.

You know something is up. Not just because he was trailing hot kisses down your neck and making you cum on his cock not so long ago; but also because whenever you ask your dad, he avoids the question.

He doesn't know about you and Frank. Obviously. Well, no one knows really. It seemed to happen so fast...but you both felt it building up over time. You started noticing each other more. Glances across the room. Sitting next to each other on the couch. Flirting without thinking any time you were alone, and then stopping abruptly whenever someone came in. You started hugging Frank as a greeting and he started calling you "princess" again...which he hadn't done for a while. Now you're in college, and things seem to be different. Way different. One day your parents left you alone to go on a trip, leaving Frank to check in on you, and the next day you were tangled together in your bed, with him running his fingers up and down your bare back. The tension broke. Ever since then, you and Frank have been seeing each other regularly. In secret. It's not quite exclusive to sex, but it's not quite a relationship either. It's more of a "we have sex and don't see anyone else and have a ton of soft, intimate moments together but don't admit our real feelings out loud and certainly don't label it and most definitely do not tell anyone" kind of...thing. You don't mind.

But sometimes it got difficult. Like now. You couldn't express your worry to anyone without coming across as suspicious. And you couldn't confront your dad about his evasiveness without coming off too strongly.

So you stay there. Lying down. Staring at the ceiling.

That is until you're finally falling asleep in the wee hours of the morning when you hear a noise downstairs, followed by your parents' door opening, closing, and then two voices. Male voices.

Is it-

You practically jump out of bed and rush halfway down the stairs, before slowing your pace. And then stopping dead.

Frank is there alright.

But he's hurt and covered in blood and...and your dad is just looking at him as though this is normal.

What the-

"Frank?" you whisper.

The two heads whip towards you, and Frank's face falters for a split second. You would have missed it if you weren't staring right at him, eyes wide.

"What the hell...what happened to you?" you ask, voice trembling and laced with shock.

He glances away from you, only to look back momentarily and then ultimately turn away.

You approach slowly on socked feet, before being intercepted by your dad.

"Everything's okay, sweetheart. Okay? Go back to bed." He plants a soft kiss on your head.

Your eyes still don't leave Frank, who's avoiding your gaze.

"But-"

"I know...I know. I'll explain later. But I need you to go upstairs now, okay? I've got this."

You meet your dad's gaze for the first time, seeing the worry in his eyes. But you realise that it's for you. Apparently seeing your best friend bruised and covered head to toe in blood isn't as concerning as you thought it'd be. Or maybe he's just used to it? But why-

"Please," he asks, interrupting your thoughts.

You look at Frank again, or rather his back, and swallow.

"Okay. But...okay."

You force yourself to retreat, and walk back to your room rather dazed.

As if you're going to get any sleep now.

Your thoughts have been racing non stop in every direction for about half an hour when you hear a knock at your door.

Wide awake, you say, "Come in."

Your dad peeks his head through, and then quietly sits on the edge of your bed.

You'd think something like that would take a lot longer than 30 minutes, and it just reinforces the idea that maybe this isn't new to them. Whatever "this" is.

"Are you okay?" your dad finally asks.

"You're asking me if I'M okay?"

He lets out a small chuckle, confusing you all the more.

"Well, I'm okay...and it may not have looked like it, but Frank is okay too."

"How do you know? He's covered in blood and bruises and what if he needs medical help and what did he even do to get like that and how are you so calm about this? I don't...I don't understand," you finish tearily.

Your thoughts over the past half an hour have plagued you to the point of thinking about every possible scenario, and you're too scared to mention half of them.

Your dad must see something in your face because he holds your arm gently and says, "Frank isn't a bad man."

You meet his gaze then.

He continues. "Well...I guess 'bad' is relative here. Some people may think he is. Some people may not. Not many agree with him. But he's not evil. He's complicated, but he's a good man. He does everything with good intentions."

"And what is 'everything'?"

Your dad sighs then.

"I can't answer that question for you, sweetheart." At the look on your face, he adds, "It's not my place. Only Frank can do that."

"Can I even ask him?"

He thinks for a second. "I want to say no, because you'll always be my little girl and there's some things I'll always want to protect you from...even if it's just the knowledge of it. But unfortunately you're all grown up now, and I'm afraid I can't stop you even if I wanted to."

You both smile at that.

"I don't know if Frank will tell you though," he admits. "He's just as protective over you as I am...hell, maybe even more."

You grow warm at the thought.

"Does mom know?"

"She does."

Silence fills the room for a minute.

"But he's...okay?" you finally ask.

"He is. Whatever it is that he's doing...he's built for it better than anyone else. That you can believe. Frank has always been able to handle himself. You don't have to worry about that."

"And you?"

Your dad softens even more.

"You don't ever have to worry about me. Okay? Just know that everything is alright...despite what it may have looked like."

You nod, feeling a lot better knowing that things are okay...enough. You'll ask Frank for the truth when you see him again. But for now, you're just glad everyone is safe. You hope.

Your dad kisses you on the cheek and bids you goodnight. When the door closes behind him, you pick up your phone and call Frank...just to make sure. The call cuts about three rings in. Declined. You try to ignore the hurt you feel and instead let sleep slowly take over.

You don't see Frank for about two days after that. Except it's not like before. This time, his lights come on. His house isn't as ghostly. Your dad goes over there now, instead of Frank coming by as usual. You can't help but think that maybe it's because of you...but the thought doesn't make sense. Why would Frank avoid you now? He must know that your dad spoke to you...but you suppose it didn't matter, seeing as though all you got from his end was silence. You didn't want to admit it, but it hurt. More than it probably should have.

Shoving the thoughts aside, you make your way downstairs intent on getting some breakfast. You find your parents in the kitchen, seemingly preparing things.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Morning!" your mom replies. "We're just doing some last minute prep for tonight."

"What do you mean? What's tonight?"

"We're having some friends over, remember?" your dad answers for her. "We made you some breakfast - it's on the table."

"Oh, thanks." You make your way to the table. "I don't really."

"Oh, well...we must've forgotten to mention it," your mom says. "It's just a casual get-together. Thought we'd put that fire pit outside to use."

You nod your head and continue eating, wondering about one thing but not wanting to ask the question. When you finish, you stand up to wash your dishes, listening to your parents buzz about the kitchen.

"Can I help?" you offer once you're done.

"I have a few more dishes to prepare...could you start on those?" your mom asks, handing you the recipe book.

"Okay yeah, cool."

"Careful," your dad teases. "She'll burn down the kitchen with us in it. Maybe on purpose."

You let out a highly sarcastic laugh, and then try to hide your smile. Somehow, your dad's cheesy teasing still made you smile. It's just better to not let him know that.

You work peacefully in the kitchen for a while, with one of your favourite albums playing in the background. Taking your time, you finish off just as the guests are almost to arrive. You don't feel as rushed as you usually would though. Looking at your silent phone, you come to the conclusion that the only person that really matters to you isn't going to show. So you go back to your room and start a new episode, knowing your parents' friends won't mind if you come down a little later.

Two episodes later, you realise you haven't greeted anyone yet...and also you ran out of snacks. Putting the remote aside, you walk out your room and down the stairs. Music is playing outside and you hear laughter accompanied by chatter - your parents' voices standing out the most. You step into the silent kitchen and open the cupboard, perusing the shelves for your next craving.

"There's real food outside, you know."

You spin around at the familiar gruff voice, taken by surprise, not knowing what to say. Frank is leaning casually against the door frame.

"I saw you through the window. Thought I'd come say hi," he fills the silence.

You nod your head slightly, hesitating. "Yeah...you haven't really done that lately."

You turn back around, bringing your attention back to the shelves. Or trying to.

Frank sighs, followed by the sound of his boots crossing the floor. He stops behind you.

"I know. I'm sorry."

You don't turn around. "It's okay."

"Liar."

Your turn to sigh. "I just don't see why you've been avoiding me, Frank." You turn around to face him. "Did I do something?" you ask softly.

His face shifts for a fleeting second.

"No."

"Did you?"

He looks away.

"There are things that you don't know about me, kid."

"Don't call me kid."

He laughs, or rather blows air out of his nose, then his smile disappears just as quickly.

"And I know that," you continue. "My dad told me. Well...he didn't tell me anything. Just that I should ask you. But he told me enough for me to know that there's something you're keeping from me."

"I'm keeping a lot of things from you," Frank replies. The response stings, but he follows it up with, "I care about you way too much to put you in harm's way."

"See...that's what I don't get. What do you even mean by that? You show up covered in blood, with bruises all over your face, and then you say you don't want to put me in harm's way. I don't understand, Frank. I want you to help me to but I...I don't," you sigh.

"I want to help you to understand too," he says quietly but earnestly.

"Then help me."

He glances hesistantly at you, before moving upstairs. You follow him into your bedroom and close the door behind you. He sits on the chair by your desk and you sit on the edge of your bed, waiting.

He rubs his face, and then the truth starts coming out. You listen to each and every word. When he finishes, he just sits there...waiting for your response.

It's a lot to take in. You stay silent for a while, letting it all sink in. Ruminating on his words...his actions. Connecting the dots between all the things Frank did since you knew him that didn't make sense, and the truth that now does. Despite what he's just told you and the millions of things it's made you feel, you feel a sense of relief and peace...you feel like you finally know Frank Castle.

It's this thought that brings you back to reality, and you look up to see Frank still waiting. He looks nervous and pained, as though he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to end...whatever this is. To tell him he's a horrible man and that you can't believe you ever let him touch you; that you can't believe your dad would ever see any kind of good in him let alone allow him around you; that he makes you sick and you never want to see him again.

It was what was going through his head anyway.

You stand up instead and walk over to him, gently sitting on his lap and winding your arms around his neck. He breathes out in relief, blinking rapidly, and wraps one arm around your waist while resting the other on your lap.

Planting a soft kiss on his forehead, you say, "You're a good man, Frank Castle."

He rests his forehead against yours.

After a minute, you begin to talk to him, keeping the conversation in a comfortable place for Frank. Despite it being somewhat quick, by the end of it, he's feeling lighter and more relieved than he's felt in a long time. He finally feels seen.

He tilts his head up to kiss you; a sweet kiss.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you. I didn't know what you thought of me, and I didn't want you knowing the truth to put you in any kind of danger..."

"What made you tell me?" you ask, now curious.

"I wanted you to know who I am. The real me. I have for a while now but..." He trails off. "I figured it was safe to tell you since nobody knows, and we're never seen together. Nobody would think to hurt you."

"You think they would try if they found out?"

Frank goes quiet.

"It's happened before."

Silence.

"Oh."

He looks back at you then.

"I won't ever let anything happen to you, you hear me? No matter what, I won't ever let a single person even get near enough to lay a finger on you."

You smile, and peck him softly on the lips.

"I know. I'm not scared anyway," you whisper.

"You don't have to be," he says, capturing your lips once more.

This time, he doesn't pull back. His kiss becomes deeper and you moan at the feeling that you've missed so much. He smirks against you and swipes his tongue across your lip, a silent plea to open. You submit. Your tongues twist together slowly as Frank moves his hand up your thigh. He plays with your waistband and you feel him harden beneath you.

"Wait." You pull back.

Frank backs off instantly.

"My parents...and everyone...we can't do anything here."

A smile crosses his face.

"I told your dad that I'd be up here talking to you...said it might be a while. He agreed; said you'll probably have a lot of questions...and that I should take my time." He smirks. "Wouldn't be right to go against his words, now would it, princess?"

You grin in response, and he picks you up and sits you on the desk, pulling you to the edge. You lift your hips up for Frank to take your shorts off, along with your panties. He kneels down and lifts your legs onto his shoulders, pulling you towards him. His tongue dips into the pool between your thighs and you let out a gasp, tightening your grip in his hair. He breathes out a laugh and the warm sensation has you pushing your hips forward.

"I missed this pretty little pussy of mine so much, baby."

He swipes his tongue slowly through your folds, savouring the taste of your juices, before devouring you with his whole mouth. He laps up your slickness and then wraps his lips around your clit. You moan his name, struggling to keep it quiet, and he swirls his tongue around your clit and flicks over it in response. You grind desperately against his face and feel him smile against you.

"I left you hanging for that long, huh? Gotta make it up to my girl then..."

He starts going harder and faster than before, his tongue writing volumes on your slick, aching clit. He dips his fingers inside you, and starts curling them up against your weak spot. You clench around him and he muffles out a groan. You feel yourself getting wetter and starting to unravel. When Frank hears the familiar quickening of your breath and sees how your head falls back, he says the one thing that always takes you over the edge.

"Cum for me, y/n."

The command in his voice does exactly what he knew it would, making you spill all over his face. He guides you through your high and laps up every single drop as you come down. When he's done licking you clean and you feel more grounded again, he stands up.

"Oh my God, Frank...your face."

Your cum is spread around his mouth, leaking and making a mess. He steps towards you and grips your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up.

"Don't ever apologise for this. You understand, sweetheart?"

You swallow, wanting so desperately to return the favour.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Attagirl."

He bends down to kiss you deeply, messing your mouth up too, and then disappears into the en suite bathroom. You hear the tap running, and when he comes out, his face is clean and dry.

"Now go clean yourself up and come outside. It's rude to ignore guests," he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes.

He gives you a stern look back and you stand up, ready to do as he said. Pleased, he pulls you into him and kisses you again. Longer this time. And again. And again. He breaks the kiss, still holding you tightly against him.

"If I don't go now, I don't think I'll ever leave," he whispers.

"So don't."

He chuckles. "What, you wanna get caught now, princess?"

"If it means I can stand here and kiss you more, I don't care."

So he kisses you more. Then after a minute, whispers, "I'll see you downstairs, okay?"

You sigh, but know you have to let him go back now.

"Okay."

He kisses you on the forehead.

"Good girl."

You watch as he leaves, and then go to clean yourself up just as the door closes.

Frank walks back outside, only to be intercepted by your dad, who pulls him aside.

"That took longer than I thought..." he says. "She have a lot of questions? How'd she take it?"

Frank hides his relief. "A lot of questions. I told her everything. Everything important, anyway. It was a lot to take in, but she's good now. I think I made her feel better. A lot better."

He hides his smile.

"That's great! I was worried about her for a second there....I think I would have kept her in the dark about this for a lot longer if I could have."

You come outside then, and smile in the direction of your dad and Frank. They smile back, the latter more than the former. You walk over to the guests, who are now getting up to hug you.

Your dad sighs.

"I guess my little girl is all grown up now, huh?"

Frank pats him on the back and brings him closer, both of them watching you.

"Yeah, I guess she is."

They walk back and your dad brings you into a playful hug, eliciting a bunch of "awwww"s and a "daddy's girl", which you all laugh at...and you cringe at, making everyone laugh more.

Frank pulls up a chair for you and grabs your favourite drink, popping the cap off. You smile, touched that he noticed, and settle down next to him...the both of you feeling closer to each other than you ever have before.

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thelovelylolly · 1 year

Note

Hii, first of all congrats with ur followers, ur blog is awesome and u r so underrated! I was wondering if you could maybe do a frank castle x lil sister reader where frank after the accident with his family told her he didnt want her to have anything to do with her too "keep her safe" because we all know how he is like that. And then later on he finds out she became damn good navy pilot but got in a plane crash?

Sorry if this is too much lol ofcourse only write if you feel comfortable doing so :))

Fly Away

Summary : You brother, your best friend, pushes you way after losing his wife and kids to "keep you safe". But the next time Frank sees you, he may be too late. Warnings : you already know its angst time baby, mentions of death, mention of near-death experience, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries, plane crash, platonic frank x reader! Notes : hi! thank you for the kind words and the request! i hope you enjoy it <3 (also sorry for taking so long to write and post this, ive been feeling under the weather for a few days but im feeling a bit better now!)

"You can't keep doing this, Frank! You can't keep pushing me away!"

You and Frank had been arguing with each other for at least an hour now. It had been a few months since he had lost his wife and kids, the funeral only being a week or so ago. He slowly drifted away from you in that time, trying to push you further and further away. As his only family left, you stayed by him through it all. You didn't want him to grieve by himself, you didn't want him to be alone.

"You don't understand," Frank grumbled in reply.

"I don't understand?! Tell me what I don't understand!"

"I've been fighting a war for years now and I come back to my family, to my wife, only for them to be taken away from me! I just got them back and now, they're gone! Every night, I have nightmares and now it's not just from those nights overseas. It's from that day at the park...the day I lost everything."

"But you didn't lost everything, Frank-"

"I did! I did lose everything that day! They were my everything. Maria, Lisa, and Frankie were my everything! They were my family, my life. They were the reason I fought for this country."

"So, what? A-am I nothing to you?" You asked, tears starting to sting your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of your brother, but he just brushed you off like you were nothing. Like you were by his side through everything, through thick and thin.

"You know I don't mean it like that-"

"No, I know exactly what you mean. You don't want me here, you want me to leave you alone. Since you clearly don't care about me, I guess I'll be going."

You grabbed your bag and started towards the door. You knew Frank wanted to say something, but he just wouldn't. You stopped in front of the door, looking back at him.

"Maria was my sister. Lisa and Frankie were my niece and nephew. I loved them. They were my family, too. You weren't the only person who lost family that day."

With that, you left, slamming the door behind you. Frank stood still, holding back tears until your car drove off. Then, he broke down. He sat down on the couch and sobs racked his body. He shouldn't have said those things to you. You stayed by his side through everything and all he wanted to do was push you away, to keep you safe.

Frank got want he wanted and his house had never felt lonelier.

One year. One entire year passed since Frank heard from you. He was too busy seeking revenge for his family to try to contact you and if he did, it may put you in danger. Once he discovered what had really happened that day at the park and got the justice he wanted, Frank went underground.

He thought that was it. He would live with the nightmares of war and losing his family. He would live with the regret of pushing you away.

Until he saw a news story. 'TOP NAVY PILOT NEARLY KILLED IN CRASH.'

Frank thought it was nothing, but then he read the pilot's name. Your name. Frank immediately wanted to find you, to see you and apologize. He wanted to fix things before it was too late, but no one could reach him. He wasn't Frank Castle anymore.

So, he called in a favor from Madani. She helped him the best she could. She found the hospital you were at, scheduled a visit for him with his fake name, and made sure it would be private.

The day of the visit, Frank had drove to the hospital but hesitated going in. What if you didn't want to see him? Were you even conscious? How bad were your injuries? The thought of you laying limp in a hospital bed broke his heart. Maybe it was a bad idea to come-

No, he was your brother. He was the last of your family. He was going to see you.

Frank got out of the car and walked into the hospital, keeping his head low as he approached the front desk. The sweet lady at the front desk told him where your room was and he thanked her before going through the sterile halls.

He stopped in front of your door, your name being written on a small board in dry erase marker. No one else was in the hallway, but Frank could hear the hum of nurses and machines just around the corner. He kept looking at the room number and your name, like he was unsure if it was the right room.

Finally, Frank took a deep breath and pushed the door open. He braced himself for the worst. There you were, laying in a hospital bed with wires and tubes attached to you. You were looking out the window, at the sky. When the door shut, you finally looked over.

Your soft smile faltered when you saw Frank. You could already feel tears pooling in your eyes and your bottom lip begin to quiver. It took him a whole year and a near death experience to find you, but he was here now.

"Frank," you said softly, trying to smile through your tears.

Frank smiled back and quickly crossed the room to be at your side. He pulled up a chair and took your hand in his, running his thumb over the back of your hand.

"W-what are you doing here?" You asked, using your other hand to try to wipe away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks.

"I'm here to see you, I...I saw what happened and I was so scared that I would lose you. I-I needed to see you before it was too late," he answered, tearing up himself.

"I was scared I wasn't going to s-see you again, Frank. I thought I was going to d-die and never get to apologize."

"Apologize? Why would you have to apologize? I was the one acting like a jerk."

"I treated you unfairly, Frank. You were grieving and I wanted to be there, but you didn't need me there all the time. I should've just left you alone-"

"No. I should've let you stayed with me, I-I was being stubborn and I wish I didn't push you away. I regret that everyday."

You took a shaky breath and squeezed Frank's hand. "I wish I found you sooner. I missed you so much, Frank."

"I missed you, too."

He leaned forward and brushed a loose piece of hair out of your face and wiped some of the stray tears away. He then sat back in his chair, his hand still in yours. "So, flying, huh?"

You laughed. "Top of my class."

Frank stayed there for hours, holding your hand and talking to you. He missed this.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #platonic frank castle x reader #frank castle x sister!reader #frank castle fanfic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher fanfic #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #frank castle angst #the punisher angst

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bxwitched · 2 years

Text

Healing Hands

Warnings: 18+ only. Descriptions of blood and injuries, angst, hurt, comfort.

Character Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: You clean Frank up after a hard night.

A/N: Comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

It's late when he comes home to you, you know that it's him from his walk and the way that his heavy boots thud dully against your hallway floor. He swears lowly as he works on getting them off, his gruff voice echoing in the silence of your apartment.

You frown when you hear his footsteps drift further away from your door. Usually, he would sneak into your darkened bedroom, strip off his dirty clothes and climb into bed behind you. He would hold you against his strong body tightly, relishing in the warmth of you against him.

You slip out of bed and throw on an oversized shirt, a black long sleeve of Frank's that you'd stolen long ago. You shiver as the cold air hits your bare legs, goosebumps raising on the soft flesh as you venture out into the hallway, listening for the sound of him.

You come to a stop outside of the bathroom and your brow furrows as you hear a low grunt. You've seen Frank in all sorts of states and you know that it shouldn't shock you anymore but your heart still wrenches at the thought of him being hurt.

You swallow as you twist the doorknob and push the door open, you fully expect to see cuts and bruises but the sight that you're met with truly upsets you.

He's shirtless and covered in blood, crimson rivulets run down from a gash on the side of his head and paint his jaw, neck and chest in red. There's a glint of something metal in his arm and blood seeps from the wound, staining the length of his arm and hand.

He's stopped moving where he stands against the sink, a ruined rag clutched in his fist and the faucet still running. He can't meet your eyes, instead he's looking down at the floor, feeling guilty that you've caught him in such a state.

"Frank-" The crack in your voice is heartbreaking and tears well in the corners of your pretty eyes, his chest aches and he swallows thickly when he sees the concern in them, the worry that he's caused you.

You move towards him slowly and your eyes scan across his skin, cataloguing every scrape, cut and bruise that mars his flesh. Your hands move of their own accord and settle on his jaw as you gently turn his head from side to side, the skin covering his cheekbone is swollen and red and you know that it'll be black and blue in the morning.

You pull your hands away and although he instantly misses the feeling of your touch he cringes when he sees that the evidence of his sins has transferred onto your delicate skin.

"Let me clean you up." It's not a question and he acknowledges the pleading look in your eyes as you guide him backwards towards the closed lid of the toilet.

He sits down and watches as you move around the small bathroom, first collecting the first aid kit from under the sink and then a couple of old towels from the cupboard in the corner. You wet one of the towels under the stream of water, switching it off before returning to his side and pressing the warm cloth to his skin.

You dab carefully at the mix of dried and fresh blood, taking extra care around the bruising on his face and the gash along his scalp. Frank's heavy gaze is fixed on you the whole time.

"Why're you so good to me, huh?" His jaw is set but you can see the vulnerability hiding behind his dark eyes. You hand stills against the side of his face and you tremble slightly as he snakes one of his large ones around the back of your thigh, his grip is firm but not strong enough to be uncomfortable. He's using you to ground himself, you think.

"You know why." You smile softly as your empty hand slips to his neck and your fingers trace along the line of his jaw, playing with the hint of stubble there.

"Need to hear you say it, sweetheart." He shifts pensively and his fingers press more insistently into your skin.

"I love you, Frank." His throat bobs and his eyes cast downwards, he doesn't say it back, you know that he can't. You can see the war raging behind the glassy orbs but you don't comment on it, instead choosing to carry on your work in silence.

He lets you patch him up, only letting out a grunt or hiss when you clean some of his deeper cuts with the hydrogen peroxide. You falter when you reach the piece of shrapnel that's sticking out of his tricep, it's lodged deep into the muscle but thankfully the bleeding has since stopped.

"You gotta take it out." You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod and sink to your knees in front of him. You flash him a reassuring look as he steels himself for the pain but your smile doesn't quite meet your eyes.

"Deep breaths for me, honey." You count to two and then pull sharply, freeing the shard of metal from his flesh and pulling a growl from Frank. You know that you've completed the task with as much care as possible but the thought that you've hurt him still makes you wince.

"I'm sorry." His hand grips the underside of your chin and he tilts your gaze up to his, his face is stern but he's not angry, you know that this is his way of showing that he cares.

"You don't ever gotta be sorry, you hear me?" You nod once and slip your hand over his wrist, your thumb strokes lightly over his pulse point and you watch as his face softens.

He looks weary, exhausted as his shoulders sag downwards and it's then that you notice the dark circles forming under his eyes. You work on closing and bandaging the site quickly before wiping away any remaining blood.

Frank stands in front of the mirror as you tidy everything away and clean off the sink, he hums satisfactorily, examining the neat stitches in the reflection.

"Let's get you to bed, handsome." You press a lingering kiss to his lips and take his hand in yours, leading him out of the bathroom and back down the hall, towards your shared bedroom.

You climb onto the bed and guide him down as well, you both settle onto your backs and you pull the sheets up around both of your bodies. Frank's uninjured arm slides around your waist and he pulls you in close, your bodies press together tightly and his solid frame visibly relaxes when he feels your soft skin under his rough hands.

You tense and raise up slightly, worried to put weight on him in fear of causing him any more pain.

"Frank, I don't want to hurt you." He grunts and moves his large hand to your back, he presses down gently, urging you back down onto his firm chest.

"Need you."

Frank Castle is not a man of many words, you know that this is how he shows his feelings, he speaks through his actions, through touch and you can never deny him.

His lips press against the top of your head and you find yourself drifting off quickly, falling asleep as you listen to the steady beat of his strong heart.

You don't hear Frank when he finally says it back, his lips brushing against your hairline and his voice shaky, barely a whisper over the silence.

"I love you."

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goldustwomun · 2 years

Text

post break-up sex (f.c.)

pairing: frank castle x ex! reader

summary: “post break-up sex to help you forget your ex.” only, does it count if the person you’re about to fuck is the very person you’re trying to forget?

warnings: smut; oral (f receiving); handjob (m receiving, obviously); kissy kissy; angst; no backstory what so ever; an ending you’ll probably hate but <3

wc: 2.9k+

note: if i read another word of plato or sophocles or any other dead white guy, i will actually collapse into a puddle of tears; anyway, i’ve wanted to write this for SO LONG but literally had zero energy, and i don’t even know if it’s that good but here it is :))

You hadn’t seen Frank in months, but he still lingered in the darker parts of your mind, in the forefront of memories, some happy and others not as much, in stolen moments between blood and battles, in the pitch black of the night when he had a few hours of reprieve and wanted to spend them with you.

You hadn’t seen Frank in months, but he was ringing your doorbell like a mad man, the incessant buzzing waking you up from the kind of restless sleep you’d been plagued with for who knows how long (months, probably, about as long as you hadn’t seen him).

“Who is it?” you questioned into the static, each crackle like a gunshot amongst the silence on the other end.

You could easily place the heavy inhale, even with the altered modulation of the intercoms speaker.

“It’s Frank,” he said, nothing more nor less. Not an explanation, an argument. Not even a please, sweetheart, let me up.

And the fact killed you, almost as much as losing him the first time. Because he knew you’d let him in again. He didn’t need to offer up any sort of excuse, not with you and what the two of you had been through.

Still, your breath caught in your throat, stuck amongst words like no or leave or anything else that could cut this interaction short, save you some face and dignity. But you already knew none of that mattered when it came to him, not when he could be hurt or upset or all fucking alone.

If he felt anything close to what you had, have been, you’d let him up in a heartbeat.

Your finger hovered over the buzzer, on a precipice or a mountaintop where the road behind was entirely clear, one you could easily turn back to and forget what lies ahead.

And then you remember it’s him, and no matter the storm lurking, you swallow your dread and push forward because he’d do– he’d done the same for you.

“One sec,” you answered weakly.

It didn’t take long for him to climb the three flights of stairs to your apartment, and you stood in front of the door, still in your lame excuse of sleep attire– a too-big t-shirt with KISS on the front, their painted faces cracked and faded from having worn it far too often, and a once-soft robe you had shrugged on when the cold leaking into your bedroom had turned your fingers purple.

His heavy knock echoed in your ears, and you wondered what would happen if you simply ignored it, convinced yourself it was a dream (or a nightmare) and that you should go back to bed, pretend none of it had happened before it was too late.

Minutes passed and the world was still around you. He hadn’t knocked again and that sudden, sobering feeling– like a bucket of ice over your head– washed over you, panicked he had left and was, once more, slipping out of your grasp.

You stumbled forward in your haste to not let him leave, not this time, thick socks sliding against the wood, and when the door swung open, you froze at the sight ahead.

Frank was in the only colour you’d ever known him to wear, all black and stretched annoyingly tight over his broad shoulders. His clothes were seemingly in order, but his sweat-soaked hair, the bruise along his jaw and the thin slice down his bottom lip told you he’d come from ‘work’.

“Hi,” he rumbled, voice deep and soothing in a way you hadn’t realised you’d missed so intensely until you’d heard it again. It was like burnt sugar and liquid gold and whiskey. It was Frank and your chest heaved in pain and exhaustion and love.

“Hi,” you parroted, breathless, unsure of what to do with yourself, if he was here because he left something (he hadn’t, he was meticulous about not leaving any trace of himself in your apartment, in your life), if he needed help. Or maybe, stupidly, naively, you hoped, if he missed you.

“Can I come in?” he asked, again, no further explanation for his presence.

You answered by stepping back, opening the door farther for him to slip through. It shut with a soft click once he was inside and your hands shook, almost imperceptibly, as you turned the lock and slid the deadbolt in place.

Almost imperceptibly because before you had a chance to turn around, Frank’s own, large, hand, bruised knuckles and all, slid over yours, holding it in place so the tremors stopped. You were afraid to turn around, afraid if he saw the look in your eyes– of yearning and desire and an infatuation you still hadn’t been able to shake– that he’d run for the hills all over again.

But you didn’t have a choice in the matter when he then turned you himself, running his calloused fingers up the blanket-soft arms of your robe until they rested at the space between your shoulders and neck. He kneaded, delicate in a way that would have the rest of the world doing a double-take.

Is that Frank Castle, all soft and gentle and not at all the lean, mean, killing machine he shares with everyone else?

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, meaning almost hidden by the roughness in his voice, like he hadn’t used it or that word in a long time, maybe in months. “Look at me, please.”

It wasn’t often he said please, and like you’d already deduced, you were a coward, but a coward in love. And when the man you love, likely the only man you’ll ever love, says please, all you can do is obey and pray the hurt isn’t so bad this time around.

So you tilted your chin up, face hard with a wobbling confidence. You knew he could see through it, but you tried anyway. His hands moved up as well, thumbs tracing along the column of your throat before tracing circles into your cheeks, palms lining your face and fingers tucked tightly behind your ears.

You were immovable and the rational part of your brain urged you, screamed, shouted, hollered with hopeless desperation– move, leave, hide under your bed if you have to, because Frank Castle doesn’t only have your skull in the palm of his hands, but your heart and body and soul and–

“Frank,” you said finally, his name in your mouth like a kick to his gut. Because he almost flinched away, almost let go, but your hands went to circle his wrist, holding him to you. He started this, so he had to follow through, you reasoned.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” and he moved closer, defiantly, crowding you up against the cold plane of your front door. He moved and moved until his forehead knocked against yours, until you were breathing the same air into your lungs, breathing each other in and savouring the intimacy of being so impossibly close again.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he repeated, like he was trying to convince himself of the fact. “But you– fuck, I can’t get you out of my head, and it’s driving me crazy.”

You tried shaking your head as much as you could considering his grip on you, and when you spoke, it came out harder than you’d expected, more mean and biting and cruel, a ghost of his own voice that night he left. “That’s your own fault, Frank. I didn’t make you leave, you chose to.”

And then he was shaking his head as well, breathing so hard his whole body moved with every inhale and exhale, shifting forward so his mouth was pressed against the tops of your cheeks, speaking the words into your skin because maybe you’ll hear him better, understand him a little more.

“No, no, I had to– I fucking had to, you know what they would have done to you.” He spoke raggedly, broken, no trace of the unflinching man you’d loved. “but now, I just– I can’t–”

He convulsed, choked, crumbled in on himself, and you did what you had to do.

Before you could let him finish, before he spiralled into a mess of consonants and vowels and said something he’d come to regret later, you closed your eyes, opened your mouth, pressed a kiss to his jaw that had him slowing down until he came to a halting stop.

He moved back until his face came into view, and then he was surging forward as well, though this time aiming for his mouth on yours.

“I’m sorry,” he urged into your mouth, shoving his body into yours, wonky nose squished into your skin, paw-like hands pushed under your robe, under your shirt, until skin met skin and you melted in his hold like you’d done millions of times before. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“I know,” was all you could manage, too busy devouring and being devoured as he tugged on your chin, letting the tip of his tongue slide across your bottom lip before delving deeper. “Fuck– Frank, I know.”

You skimmed his lip, pressing hard on the cut there as the taste of crimson and iron filled your tastebuds, and he, Frank, bucked up into you, the already hard length of him pressed right where you needed him but with too many layers for it to mean anything.

“I’ve been thinking of this, of you,” and his mouth trailed wet kisses down your throat, across your collarbones, greedy hands rucking your shirt up until he fell to his knees, the image of obedience though with a sinister flicker in his dark eyes that told you he was going to take what he wanted, what he was owed, what was his.

And, of course, you were his. You always would be.

He mouthed into the exposed expanse of your tummy, taking extra care with the softer parts of your body as he grabbed and grabbed and grabbed. Your fingers slipped through his short strands, searching for something to hold onto before you settled on the doorknob digging into your side from how you were pressed, hard, into the door.

Karen had said something about how important a rebound is after a serious, long term relationship– “Post break-up sex to help you forget your ex.” Only, you think you’ve gone about it the wrong way, especially when Frank lifted your leg, easily hooking your thigh onto his muscled shoulder.

Does it still count if the person you’re about to fuck is the very person you’re trying to forget?

You didn’t have time to mull over the question. His gaze never left yours, piercing and prodding that innermost part of you, and all you could do was return the stare, watch with an open mouth as he bit into the fleshy part of your thigh, struggle to squirm against him as he held you still with that effortless strength that had you swooning, even now.

“Gonna eat this pretty cunt of yours now, okay, sweetheart?” he asked, or said, you weren’t sure.

But it didn’t matter, not when the hand not acting like a vice around your leg moved to rip the thin material of your underwear away from your body. You nodded helplessly, failing to form words as he gave you that look, the one that left you flushed and stupid and trembling in his wake.

“Please, Frank,” you whimpered, falling back into old habits as you uselessly dug your blunt nails into the back of his head. He refused to move, too busy fixated on your writhing form.

“Frankie,” you tried, pleading with him to do something, anything.

The nickname must have hit the right button in that strange mind of his because he wasted not even a heartbeat before he rushed forward, nose pressed against the throbbing bud of your clit as his tongue dove straight between your folds, lapping messily at the slick already gathered there.

“Holy– fucking– fuck!” you heaved, body rolling as you grinded into his mouth, forcing him closer, closer, closer. Because nothing was enough, not when it was Frank and his dangerous mouth and searching tongue and hungry eyes you couldn’t avoid.

“Your gushing, honey–” he teased, not needing to see his mouth to know he was smirking into your pussy. “Fucking creaming all over my tongue.” And your eyes seemed to roll back as he moved to suck harshly on your clit, finger coming up to slide into your quivering hole, scissoring in and out before another joined.

“I– it’s too much– Frankie–” You weren’t sure what you were begging for anymore, but he seemed to know as he pistoned his fingers harder, deeper, curling up against that spongy spot that had your legs buckling, and his arm snapped against your waist before you could fall any further.

He continued his merciless onslaught, alternating between his fingers and tongue and you saw stars when his nose dug into your clit, the bundle of nerves sparking with every accidental brush or press.

You fell apart what felt like seconds later, hands held to the back of his head, pressing him further into you that you didn’t even care if he could breathe or not.

It was only when your eyes flickered open that you looked down through bleary eyes, heart and head pounding, and you noticed his cock in his hand, zipper undone and fist pumping over himself as he cleaned up the mess you’d made between your thighs.

“Jesus, Frank– I can’t– I’m so–” and it was his turn to cut you off because he slid off the floor easily, and kissed the words straight out of your mouth. You moaned at the taste of yourself invading your mouth, something sweet but salty and addictive when it was his mouth that was on yours.

“Can I, honey?” he asked, terribly polite. The way he looked at you, like you were some Goddess or deity or, at the very least, an angel sent to ruin him and only him– you nodded frantically, delicate hand joining him as you tugged on his pulsing cock.

Frank’s mouth fell open, head tipped back, fists slamming against the door hard enough you worried it would fall straight off the hinges.

“Can’t do this to me, sweetheart,” he begged, and you couldn’t stop, not when he was groaning into your hair and falling apart in your hands. “I’ll cum if you keep going.”

“That’s the point, Frankie,” you teased, mimicking his blissed out look through hooded eyes.

“Fucking– shit– no, not like this.” He pushed his mouth into yours, smoothly sliding a hand around your wrists and pinning them above your head. “Not gonna cum in your hands when your cunt is right there.”

You were flushed from everything, the touches and kisses and looks. But the way he spoke, with words you didn’t dare repeat and a deepness that rivalled even the Marianas Trench– you chased after his mouth as his free hand lined the head of his prick, purple and leaking, up to your entrance, before he slammed in, barely taking half of him until tears sprung to your eyes.

“Feels so good, sweets, so fucking good,” he said into your mouth, pulling your leg up to hook around his hip, and your only response was garbled half-words mixed with moans and whines. “Fucking made for me.”

“Yours, Frank,” you managed, as the rest of him slid into you, pulling you up onto the tips of your toes with every snap of his hips. And he kissed your tears away, lips blazing fires into your skin. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Good,” was all he returned, voice raspy and too focused on the pull and push of his hips, the squeezing of your walls around him, you and your splotchy face and tear-stained cheeks and– fuck, you were perfect.

The sloppy tip of his cock hits something inside of you, something that has you keening and doubling over, Frank’s chest the only thing holding you up as you collapse into him. He finally released your hands and they instantly curled around his neck, pulling him in as you buried your face into his shoulder, teeth and nails digging into the wet material of his shirt.

“I’m gonna cum, Frank, I’m gonna–” and your hips jerked up voluntarily, his fingers rubbing tight circles into your clit. The heat built up, hot flashes of white against the lids of your eyes, and you were right there, on the edge of it.

“Please, honey, please,” he grumbled into your ear, hot breath ghosting the shell of it.

You thought that was it, he’d keep pounding into you, whispering every erotic thought that came to his mind, feeding that ego of his that told him you were his, his, his.

And then he said it, and you were a goner, falling under as your release washed over you, body quaking to your very bones.

“I love you, you have to know, I’ll always love you.”

You were silent after, and he stopped his movements, just held you tight like he was afraid you’d melt right out of his embrace. After a stilted push on his shoulders, he backed away, slipping out as he tucked himself back into his briefs, pulling his pants up.

You watched, wordless, tugging on the hem of your t-shirt. But no matter what, it did nothing to hide the yawning chasm that had appeared between the two of you.

You shivered, looking anywhere but at him, blinking away tears you refused to shed while he was still standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” and you opened the door for him.

“I know,” but he was already gone.

reblogs + comments are much appreciated <3

#frank castle #my writing #post break-up sex #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher #the punisher smut #frank castle angst #the punisher angst #nmcu #jon bernthal

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blackbat05 · 10 months

Text

Don't be scared

Frank Castle x Female Reader

Plot: Escaping from the memories of you proves to be especially difficult when a core memory is forged on a vehicle that transcends international waters.

Genre: PG-13, Angst

A/N: Finally got down to binge-watching <The Punisher> on my break and got inspiration from being literally on a plane ride that was one of the most bumpy ones that I ever had. Hope you enjoy it! Reblogs appreciated💜

Frank Castle picks up his bag, towering over most passengers. But he keeps his head down not wanting to attract any unwanted attention.

Stuffing his passport back into the bag, he slings it over his shoulder, searching for his seat. Frank sees a young woman sitting at the window seat, staring absentmindedly at the ground staff moving luggage into the plane. Good. She doesn't seem to be the nosy type.

He takes his seat, allowing other passengers to get settled in. The boarding process goes smoothly and the plane starts to prepare for takeoff. The safety briefing that no one pays attention to finishes swiftly and the engines begin to whir to life. Frank finally relaxes and he decides to try and catch some shut eye.

Even if it may be riddled with nightmares.

Frank doesn't know how long the plane had been in the air until he's rudely awake by a harsh jerk. Turbulence.

He's about to go back to his fueled nightmares when he sees the woman holding the armrest in a death grip. She's trying to regulate her breathing and her left ring finger taps irregularly.

He has religiously followed his rules of not engaging with any civilians but curse his need to help others. Frank's about to decide against breaking his rules when the woman addresses him first.

"I'm sorry but do you think I could take that paper bag if you don't need it?"

Frank realizes that you're talking about the barf bag that is slotted into the pocket of every seat. It hits him how the woman remains polite despite looking on the verge of a breakdown. Ah, screw this.

"Be my guest. But do you mind if I help you? You seem a little sick." He hopes he hasn't offended her. The woman gives a weak smile. "You're an observant one. I have a fear of flying."

Frank notices that the woman looks at him for a while as if waiting for him to mock her. "Don't worry about it. It's perfectly normal. I've seen plenty of guys struggling with heights let alone jumping out of a plane."

She takes some time to process this. "You're military."

"Marines." Frank should have had the alarm ringing in his head but he sees the woman visibly relaxing. "We all have different ways to take control of that fear. You want to know what I do?"

Frank leans in, directing her to face the magnificent view of the clouds, the wing of the plane in sight. "Tell me five things that you see. You name one thing and you take a deep breath right after."

She bravely nods and her eyes roam around.

"All I see is just clouds but... that one looks like it has wings."

Frank nods his head, silently encouraging her to continue.

"The sky is so blue... pastel blue. They look like the paint that they sell at the local bookstore. It looks like another plane just flew past not too long ago judging by the straight line that looks out of place if you ask me-ah!"

The plane shakes as it passes through another cloud.

"Hey, don't give up on me. You still have two more." Frank urges. She slowly opens her eyes and takes a deep breath like he instructed.

"I think I can see an island but it's blocked by the clouds. Come to think of it... I never noticed how they look so much like cotton candy."

The plane starts to make its descent and the Captain announces that they are almost at the end of the journey.

"Feeling better?"

The woman smiles and she turns around, nose almost brushing against Frank who had yet to move back into his seat. "Much. Thank you. I'll definitely remember what you've taught me. Control the fear and don't let it control you."

"Glad I could help."

Frank is about to settle in to prepare for landing when she asks the dreaded question.

"I'm not usually the nosy type but I would love to know the name of the stranger who helped me with my decade-long fear of flying." The look on her face was almost pleading. It was difficult to fight against. So he does.

"Pete."

But you see, it never ends there.

***

"Safe travels Frank." Curtis brings him in for a hug. "Call me if you need anything."

Frank returns the hug and heads for the departure gate. He tunes out the thousands of passengers fighting to get to their assigned gate and in no time he finds his own.

He checks his ticket again, 29F. The very same. Frank sits down and he doesn’t bother to make space for the incoming passenger who would be sitting beside him because it would be empty. Frank made sure of it with the help of David.

The plane races on the runway and it ascends into the clouds. The light for the seatbelts turns off and passengers start to unbuckle their seatbelts. Frank moves too but to the window seat.

"I have to do this Frank. Remember? Not to let my fear rule me."

"Breaking news, a UN plane delivering supplies to the Western region of Qurac exploded yesterday evening. The situation is developing but it is presumed that all personnel are dead."

Frank takes a heavy breath.

"I could come with you. We always did work well as a team."

Frank chuckles, looking at the Liberman family standing behind David. "Nah, I'm good. Besides, Sarah will cut your balls off if you pull another stunt again."

David breaks into a snort. "Very funny." He pauses, looking visibly uncomfortable. "Don't do anything stupid."

"No promises."

The plane shakes and Frank sees a little girl in the other aisle squeezing her eyes shut as her mother holds her hand. He turns away, facing the clouds once more.

He wonders if the plane goes any higher, would he be able to see her? He can't imagine how the fear had gripped her at the last moment, leaving her trapped like a rat in a cage.

No, she wouldn't have. She would have been brave up till the very end. Atta girl. He wants to hug her so badly. He's so close but yet he can never close the gap.

The plane starts to descend, announcing its arrival. Frank takes a look at the photo of his last moment with her - a simple ice cream date at a park. Bringing it to his lips, he makes a promise that he'll come for you soon.

But first, he'll make a trip to hell.

For they will pay.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle angst #frank castle #the punisher angst #the punisher x reader #netflix the punisher #frank castle x female reader

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amhrosina · 1 year

Text

Good Girls Get Rewarded

Summary: Frank gets tired of you running your mouth and decides to remind you who's in charge. Smutty antics follow.

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.5k (holy shit!!!!)

masterlist // join my taglist

a/n: im not ashamed to admit that this fic is the only thing i thought about for three days straight. please enjoy. it is an absolute smut-fest!

warnings: buckle the fuck up bitches, cursing (obvi), all porn no plot, oral (male & fem receiving), fingering, pet names!!!!!, p in v sex, praise kink, size kink a little??, frank is so mean at first lmfao, lots of teasing, spanking, frank gets called sir a lot lmfao, reader is a brat, physical violence (this does not transfer to the smut!!!), i am probably forgetting so many pls let me know what i need to add!

“How’d you get this number?”

Frank’s familiar rasp was even more apparent over the phone, a tingling revelation that sent a shiver up your spine. He was in a sour mood, and you were itching for a fight. It was the perfect way to end your evening.

“Oh, c’mon, Frankie. You know I can get whatever I want whenever I want.”

“How could I forget you’re such a spoiled princess, huh? The fuck you want, princess?”

He spat the last word at you as if it were an insult. Good. He was angry, too.

“Did I catch you at a bad time? I was just admiring these pretty curtains. They designer?”

Annoyed resolve rang through in Frank’s tone as he replied. “You know I don’t know what you’re talking about. You gonna make me ask?”

“Sure, honey. I think you’ll want to know the answer.”

You smirked, eyes roaming the living room you were currently standing in the middle of. If only Frank could see you now.

He huffed. “What curtains?”

“These blue ones in your living room. Did you pick them out, or was it that Karen Page with her over-eagerness to please you?”

“You leave her the fuck out of this.” He paused, and you smirked at yourself in the mirror as the realization of what you’d said was processed fully by Frank. “You’re in my fuckin’ house? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He was already moving. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear the hitches in his breath as he barreled his way across Hell’s Kitchen, you’d know he was coming. Your plan was working. You were ecstatic.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?”

“Clever.” You hummed, running your tongue over your teeth. Since you’d first met Frank, he’d managed to throw a cat pun in your direction during every interaction you’d had. He claimed it was because the newspapers were calling you the Black Cat, but you thought it probably had something to do with the latex suit you wore. He never could keep his eyes off the curve of your hips. “Lazy, but clever, I suppose. I’ll allow it, considering the spontaneity of this phone call.”

“How kind of you.” Frank spat, and you resisted the urge to giggle over the phone. He had to be getting close, now. He’d come bursting through the door at any second. Your muscles were giddy with the thought of finally being challenged.

“You know I love chatting with you, darling, but I’ve got to run. I have a thing. Ta-ta!”

You hung up the phone, placing it on the counter and angling yourself so that you could see the front door. You weren’t exactly sure how angry he’d be that you broke into his house, but you wanted to at least seem like you had the upper hand when he charged through the door. You waited, anticipation building until you could no longer stay still. You began to pace, nervous and giddy at the same time, and of course, if you’d just been a little more patient and quiet, you probably would’ve heard the creak of the window opening behind you.

You didn’t realize Frank Castle was standing directly behind you until you backed into him. Your heart thundered in your chest, realizing exactly who was behind you and how he’d managed to perfectly out-do you in your own plan. The hands around your throat shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“It’s fuckin’ rude to break into people’s houses, princess.”

He pulled your body fully against his, attempting to wrap his arm around your neck from behind to pull you into a chokehold. You were a tricky little kitten, though, and you slipped out of his grasp almost as easily as you’d waltzed through his door earlier. Maybe he let you out. Maybe he was curious about your unprompted visit, too.

“You’re one to talk. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to grab a lady like that?”

He snorted. “Lady? Someone confuse you with someone less bitchy?”

“I’ll have you know, I am perfectly fucking civil to most people.” You assured him, jutting your chin out in defiance.

“We really doing this?” He ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw. You eyed the movement and shrugged.

“Eat your fuckin’ heart out, honey.”

You both lunged for each other, your leg rising to connect with his stomach before his fist could connect with your face. He sprang back, unharmed but winded, and caught your leg before it could connect with his chest. You were suddenly on your back, having been thrown off balance by Frank, who was pushing most of his weight down on your hips to keep you from thrashing beneath him.

“You’re rusty, kid.” His eyes were bright and fiery, a combination you’d grown accustomed to during these bouts. You brought your forehead to his chin in a headbutt that would’ve knocked anyone else out completely. Frank, unfortunately, was just dazed for a moment, blinking the confusion out of his eyes before you could make much leeway against his ridiculously strong hold on your hips.

You were, however, able to wiggle one of your legs out from underneath him, giving you the perfect opportunity to pull Frank into an armbar.

“You’re old.” You smirked. Old or not, the best thing about fighting Frank was how incredibly resilient he was. No matter who ended up on top at the end of the night, your pent-up energy was always spent.

He resisted the pull into your hold, though the only other direction for him to go was on top of you. Your breath rushed out of you as he landed directly on top of your lungs, your grip on his arm loosening enough for him to roll away from you.

“Real cute, princess. You break into my house, and now you’re trying to what? Hurt me?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as you coughed and remained on his kitchen floor. He really had landed hard, but you were playing the long game. “Good fucking luck. I’m not an idiot, in case you were wondering. You can stop the act.”

“You sure about that?” You rolled to your feet, pulling your hands into fists and holding them up to block your face. He rolled his eyes again, and even though he looked relaxed - unready, even - he caught your fist before it could connect with his jaw.

“You learn that on TV, princess?”

Your brow furrowed in anger. He was annoyingly good at reading your body language now.

“Actually,” you smiled up at him, face so close to his chest that you could nearly feel his thundering heartbeat, “I learned it from your mom.” You punctuated your insult with a swift knee to Frank’s groin. “I win.”

He hunched forward and you let him fall to his knees on the linoleum flooring. It was a low blow, but you weren’t in the mood to fight fair. He never did, anyway. You pushed yourself onto the counter, watching him breathe through the worst of the pain. You were an asshole, sure, but you weren’t the type to kick a man when he was down.

“You’re a fucking menace.” He grunted, nostrils flaring with anger when he took in your relaxed posture on the counter.

“Oh, please, Frank. It’s not like you fuckin’ use the thing.” You rolled your eyes, flipping your hand through the air in the universal sign for “whatever”.

His gaze shifted from anger to something you couldn’t quite place. You’d seen the look on his face before, but you’d never been able to figure out exactly what he was thinking during those moments. He tilted his head and rose to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on your face. Predator stalking prey. Goosebumps broke out on your skin.

“What was that, princess?” He stalked closer to you, and you were suddenly very aware how cornered you were in this position. To make a hasty escape you’d somehow have to catapult yourself over Frank’s shoulder or burst through what you guessed was a solid block of drywall beside you.

You swallowed thickly. “I said, it’s not like you use the thing.”

Frank’s eyes were bright with delight. Coupled with the teasing smile on his face and the slight tilt of his head, you were a little frightened.

“And you’d know that, how?” He taunted, stepping closer to you. He was in your space now, close enough to touch.

“I know a lot of things, Frankie.” You desperately grasped at the semblance of control you had left. “I know where you live, I know what you order every morning from that diner around the corner, and I know for sure that you. Don’t. Fuck.”

“Oh yeah?” Frank was leaning on the counter now, hands pressed into the granite on either side of your hips. “You think I can’t handle myself in bed, princess? Wanna try it out for yourself?”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

You didn’t know why you’d said it, or where it came from. Frank Castle was not the man to play games with, especially not these types of games. In actuality, you had no idea who the man was fucking or how often it was happening. You hadn’t expected him to rise to the challenge when you’d teased him about it.

“Is that right, princess?” His eyes gleamed with desire, and you finally realized what the look on his face meant. “Wanna bet?”

He pressed himself fully against you, the hardness of him apparent through his jeans. Your breath hitched against the column of your throat, and you swallowed thickly. You couldn’t deny the steady pounding between your legs, and you slightly widened your legs to allow him more room.

“Yes or no, princess? Wanna learn a thing or two?” His lips ghosted over yours, tongue darting out to lightly lick your top lip in a teasing, playful motion.

Your expectations for the night had been drastically different than this. You’d planned on a physical fight, maybe a black eye or two, and a slew of insults that you’d giggle about until you saw him again. You had not been expecting…this. Whatever this is. They probably existed, but you couldn’t think of a single reason why this might be a bad idea, so you leaned into the feeling that had been steadily growing in your core, and slammed your lips against his.

He groaned, immediately plunging his tongue into your mouth in a desperate, aching kiss. Your teeth clashed against his, but neither of you seemed to notice.

“Fuck, princess.” He mumbled against your lips, angling your chin so that he could pepper kisses down your jaw and onto your throat. You panted, pawing at his shoulders as he nipped the sensitive skin below your ear. “You gonna be good for me?”

“I’m not good for anyone.” You tried and failed to sound feisty. Instead, it came out in a mixture of a whine and a moan.

“You can be good for me, kitten. I won’t tell anyone.” His hands ghosted over the bottom of your shirt, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He didn’t lift it up yet, and he probably wouldn’t, you realized, until you offered him some kind of consent.

“Only if you ask nicely.” You teased, brushing your lips over his jaw.

He snorted. “That ain’t happenin’.”

A feline grin made its way across your face. “I know.”

He gripped your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up at him as he leaned in close and whispered, “You’re going to be good for me, you fucking brat. Don’t make me say it again.”

Warm delight flooded your stomach, and even though it went against what you believed in, you nodded. You couldn’t think of a single thing you would rather be doing.

“Good girls get rewarded, kitten.” He adjusted his grip on your jaw, sliding his fingers further down your neck. He toyed with the hem of your shirt again, tugging it slightly so that you arched into his chest. “Can I take this off, sweet girl, hmm?” He hummed, running his tongue across your bottom lip.

You nodded again, and the hand around your neck flexed with displeasure.

“I kiss you for thirty seconds and your big mouth suddenly knows how to shut up?” He pinched your hip, eliciting a yelp from your unassuming mouth.

“Fuck yo-”

“Careful.” He warned, arching an eyebrow at you. “Use your words, kitten. I know you know how to be sweet. Be sweet to me.” His lips ghosted over yours, breath fanning across your flushed cheeks. “Can. I. Take. This. Off?” He punctuated each word with a slight squeeze of his hand, still wrapped around your throat.

“Yes.” You breathed, dipping your chin in a single nod.

“Yes…?” He cooed, close enough for you to see the amusement glittering in his eyes. The fucker was enjoying this entirely too much. Still, your core hadn’t stopped pounding since he’d cornered you, and you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t incredibly turned on by this, by him. You gave in to his question, as much as it hurt your stubborn heart to do so.

“Yes, sir.” You clenched your teeth around the word ‘sir’.

“See? That wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Or should I call you master? Or daddy? Or maybe punisher? You gonna punish me, dadd-”

His hand clamped over your mouth, cutting you off before you could continue.

“Shut the fuck up. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You’re such a fucking brat.” He pulled your hips flush against his, and you bit your lip to stifle the moan making its way up your throat. He leaned in, centimeters away from your lips as he whispered, “You want to be punished, kitten, hmm? I can do that.”

You were suddenly pulled off the counter and roughly thrown over Frank’s shoulder. The swiftness in his movements made you yelp, anger coursing through your blood at his man-handling.

“Fuck you, Frank.” You gritted your teeth.

His only response was a swift slap to your backside, which was nestled directly over his shoulder.

“You can’t just throw me around like a doll!” You protested, though you did nothing to try and wiggle your way out of his grasp. The man-handling was making you a little hot and bothered, but you wouldn’t be admitting that anytime soon.

“Oh yeah? Watch me.” He grunted as he threw you down on his bed, grasping your legs and pulling you down the mattress until he was towering over you again. He brushed your hair out of your face, a gentle gesture that juxtaposed the usual ferocity of your meetings. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, and before you could think twice about it, you opened your mouth and began sucking on it. A grunt, a smirk, the subtle desire lurking behind his intense gaze - all of it was incredibly sensual. “Should’ve known the sweetness wouldn’t last. You’re a brat, through and through, kitten.” You replaced the sweet caress of your tongue around his finger with your teeth, softly biting down on the tip of his thumb in response.

“I like it though.” He mumbled quietly, more to himself than to you. His gaze coasted down your body, catching on the swell of your breasts and the curve of your hips. He looked back at you, having come to a silent decision. “I’m gonna give you another chance, kitten. Does that sound okay, baby, hmm? I want to make you feel good, alright? All you have to do is be good. That’s it. Can you do that for me? Can you be good for me?”

You blinked up at him, his frame so wide above you that it was almost sinful.

“I can be good for you.” You responded slowly, relinquishing your hold on his thumb. He quirked an eyebrow at you, and you quickly added, “I can be good for you, sir.”

His cheeks widened into a smirk.

“You’re already doing so well, sweetheart.” He praised, running his hands along your sides until they met the bottom of your shirt. You arched into him as he pulled the fabric over your head, relishing the gentleness of his touch while simultaneously missing the roughness from before.

He slid the tip of his tongue from your navel to the valley between your breasts, tugging on the thin material of your bra with his teeth. His breath fanned across your chest, bringing a renewed sense of urgency to your aching core.

“Frank.” You whined, pawing at his shoulders and attempting to pull him fully against you. He barely budged, instead choosing to narrow his focus onto your pebbled nipples.

“What is it, kitten, hmm?” He pressed a soft kiss to your nipple. It was through your bra, but it might as well have been to your bare breast, because the rippling heat that washed through your body elicited a breathy moan from your throat.

“I need- I mean, I want- Can you-” The warmth from his mouth around your nipple was scrambling your brain, and you couldn’t begin to function as his fingers began sliding your pants down your legs.

“You need somethin’, sweetheart?” He was teasing you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stay silent about it.

“Quit teasing me.” You whined, and his hands halted midway down your thighs.

“You think you have any control over this right now?” He chuckled, yanking your pants down your legs in one swift motion. “I haven’t forgotten how bratty you were earlier. You keep this up and you’ll be lucky if I let you come at all, sweetheart, and it’d do you good to remember that.”

Desire sparked deep in your core at his tone, and a devilish smile made its way to your face. He eyed you warily.

“Don’t do whatever you’re thinking about doing.” He warned, returning his attention to your breasts. “Behave. Can you do that for me?”

“Can you?”

The words were out before you could stop yourself. It was just so easy to talk back to him. He brought his teeth down around your nipple, biting hard enough to bruise.

“Brat.” He grunted, pushing himself off the bed completely. You whined at the loss of contact, but it quickly turned into a moan when Frank’s rough hands flipped you onto your stomach and slapped your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“You’ll learn to be good.” One hand held your squirming form beneath him while the other came down in another harsh slap. “I’ll fuckin’ teach you if I have to.”

You moaned, louder and louder with every slap. Sure, you were a menace to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen and, likely, Frank Castle, but you never knew being bad could feel this good. Frank hoisted you up against him, roughly pressing your back into his chest.

“You’ll submit.” He whispered, nipping at the exposed skin on your neck. “I’ll make you. I dare you to try and stop me.”

He shoved you off of him, pulling his shirt over his head as you flopped down on the mattress. You tried to crawl further up the bed, but his hand clamped around your ankle and tugged you onto your stomach again. The position gave him a perfect view of your clothed cunt, which was thoroughly soaked in its current state.

“This underwear is pretty, baby.” He mumbled, running his fingers over the damp cotton. You squirmed beneath his touch, moaning as his fingers brushed against the part of you that needed him the most. “You wear these just for me?”

“Yes, sir.” You breathed, arching your back even more to give him a better view.

“Turn over, baby.” He instructed, gently prodding at your hips. You flipped over, splaying yourself out beneath his standing form, panting. “You’re good when you want something, aren’t you?”

“Who says I want something?”

Jesus. Christ. You really couldn’t help yourself. You sighed in disbelief at your own attitude. At this rate, he’d never let you come.

“Watch it.” He brought his hand down, slapping your clothed cunt in warning. You felt yourself clench around nothing, dying to be touched by him again. “You look delicious like this, kitten. I’m dying for a taste.”

His eyes flicked up to yours in question. Even after everything, he still wanted your consent before he crossed the next line. You nodded, and then winced as his eyebrows shot into his hairline and he brought his hand down in a harsh slap, connecting with your pussy again. “Words.”

“Yes. Yes, please, sir. Please taste me.” You corrected yourself, widening your legs.

“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” He sank to his knees, grinning. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, which surely would’ve gotten you another punishment, and tried to relax against the mattress.

“Look how pretty you are when you’re behaving.” He hummed, breath fanning over the soaked fabric. You whined as your pussy fluttered at his praise. He pressed a soft kiss to your mound, still refusing to remove the fabric simply because he knew it was driving you crazy. “You like it when I compliment you, kitten? Look at how wet you are, and I haven’t even touched you.”

“Yes, sir.” You breathed, swallowing hard. You were so turned on it was starting to hurt, but you knew if you complained he would stretch the process out even further. Instead, you leaned into the praise and hoped he’d give in soon. “I’m being good, right, sir?” You asked, legs trembling with anticipation. He kissed your mound again, eliciting a groan from deep within you.

“Yes, kitten.” He smiled against your pussy. “And good girls get rewarded. Right, baby? Hmm?”

You moaned loudly as he hummed against your wet core. “Yes! Yes, please.” You nearly screamed out.

And finally, finally, he pulled your panties down your legs, discarding them in his back pocket. He briefly sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, taking in the sight before him. You were glistening with wetness - so turned on from his words alone that you could quench his thirst for a year with the amount of arousal leaking from your cunt. He grunted, slowly remembering the game he was supposed to be playing with you.

And you tensed, noticing all of this. You may not know a lot about a lot of things, but you knew Frank Castle, and you knew how to read him. You knew exactly what he’d been thinking. For a second, you had forgotten that this was all one giant game to him. He didn’t miss the way your demeanor changed. His eyes slid to yours in question.

“What is it, honey?” He asked, voice still dripping with lust but also with genuine concern.

“I just-” You struggled to find the words, and then tried to sweep the entire interaction under the rug. You wanted his tongue on you, now. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Lying ain’t something good girls do.” He arched an eyebrow at you. You whined, pressing your head into the mattress.

“Is this a one time thing for you?” You asked, refusing to meet his eyes as you did so. It would be pretty embarrassing to be sent home in your current state - needy and wet - but not the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. You would not torture yourself by watching his eyes go from lusty to their usual cold demeanor.

“What do you mean?” He asked, running his thumbs over your hip bones.

“I mean,” you huffed, sitting up on your elbows and forcing yourself to look at him, “Will you call me after this?”

Frank’s face morphed into an understanding smirk. “Are you asking me to?”

You glared at him. He pinched your sides again. You rolled your eyes. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll call.” He said, and then his tongue was swiping through your folds, and you couldn’t do anything but flop back onto the mattress again and groan.

He lapped up the arousal that had been leaking out of you since he’d arrived earlier before focusing his efforts on your clit. His tongue drew figure-eights around your clit, sending shocking waves of pleasure through your body, and when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, you were sure you’d died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck, princess, you’re so pretty.” Frank mumbled against your clit, sending a new spark of pleasure through you. “It pisses me off how pretty you are.”

“Please don’t stop.” You begged, legs shaking as you wrapped them around his head. His hand, which had been trailing closer and closer to your entrance, finally found its home, buried deep in your pussy. He pumped two fingers in and out of you, all the while sucking on your clit and going back and forth between praising and degrading you. You weren’t sure which direction was up.

“You just show up looking like a fucking goddess,” he punctuated the word with a harsh suck to your clit, “and expect me not to fuck you, princess? You’re begging to be fucked in those tight pants.”

He pumped his fingers faster and harder, sucking at your clit with more ferocity than you thought he was capable of. You were sobbing now, so close to the edge that you couldn’t stop the tears flowing down your temples and onto the comforter beneath you.

“You’re such a fucking brat sometimes, fuck.” He grunted. “But you’re so god damn pretty when you misbehave. You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

“Frankie.” You sobbed, moaning as he sucked on your clit again.

“You wanna come, baby, hmm?” He cooed. “Only good girls get to come, kitten. You think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes! Yes, sir!” You practically screamed it, your entire body shaking with anticipation of your release. “Please let me come, sir.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely, honey.” He shrugged before attacking your clit with his tongue again.

You erupted beneath him, coming so hard your vision blacked out. You could vaguely feel Frank holding your hips in place, but your body was mostly one spark of pleasure after another. Your heart thundered in your chest, mimicking the pounding in your core. Frank squeezed your thighs hard enough to bruise, lapping up every drop of your release, but you were so far gone you barely registered it.

You eventually returned to your body - sweaty, panting, and thoroughly taken care of. Frank was smirking, pressing soft kisses into your skin.

“See what happens when you’re not a brat?” He teased, kissing the valley between your breasts. “Good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been so good for me, kitten.”

“What’s my reward?” You gasped, still a bit hazy from your orgasm.

“What do you want it to be?” He nipped at your jaw, trading between soft kisses and little bites that were sure to leave marks.

“I want to-”

His phone began ringing in his pocket, a sharp and alarming ring that startled both of you out of your hazes. He reached into his pocket and cringed when he saw who it was.

“Who is it?” You asked, curious.

He flipped the phone around for you to see, and you immediately tensed up. Motherfucking Karen Page was calling Frank, and he looked like he wanted to answer it. Your haze was gone now - long gone - and you suddenly felt like crying.

“Answer it.” You taunted, though you thought you might really start to cry if he did.

“I don’t think I’m going to.” He responded, watching you carefully.

“No, really,” you said, attempting to sit up, “She might need saving, again.”

It was a low blow, and you both knew it. It wasn’t Karen’s fault that she wasn’t skilled in hand-t0-hand combat. There was a pattern, though, and no matter how many times she got herself into trouble, Frank and/or Matt were always there to save her.

“Watch your mouth.” He blocked your attempt to sit up, shifting his weight so that he was fully hovering over you. He silenced his phone and slid it into his pocket. “You’re being a brat again.”

Hot, shameful tears welled in your eyes.

“I’m not trying to be one. This is my personality.”

“Crying after the most mind blowing orgasm you’ve ever had?”

“No.” You mumbled, though you couldn’t stop the sneaking smile from forming on your face.

“You’re pretty when you smile.” He said, peppering kisses along your jaw.

“Careful, Frank.” You murmured. “It almost sounds like you care.”

He nipped at your neck, an already sensitive area, and you groaned against him.

“I do.” He said genuinely, pulling back to make eye contact with you. “But don’t you worry your pretty little head about that right now, princess. You’re about to be so cockdrunk that you won’t be able to see straight for a week.” Your pussy clenched as he grinded against you, the denim of his jeans rubbing against your sensitive clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your stomach for what felt like the millionth time that night.

“What about my reward?” You hummed, wiping stray tears away. “I still get that, right?”

“How could I forget?” He mumbled, nipping at the marked skin around your breasts. “Princess wants her reward. What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want to suck your cock.” You said, straight-faced and innocent, blinking up at him with such softness that he looked on the verge of tears. “Sorry.” You mumbled, correcting yourself before he could, “I want to suck your cock, sir.”

“You’re a fucking angel.” He grunted, pushing himself off the bed and into a standing position again. You followed, reaching for his jeans. He grabbed your hands, briefly stopping them from tearing his jeans off.

“Are you sure you want this, princess? A reward is supposed to be about you.”

You sort of liked the way he called you princess now. Before, when it had been fist fights and anger, it sounded like an insult. But now, the gentle cadence he said it with made your heart clench in your chest.

“I want to.” You nodded, and smiled up at him. “Can I, please?”

He undid his belt with one hand, bringing the other up to cradle your jaw. His hand was massive on your face and neck, a reminder of how insanely large the man standing in front of you was.

“When you look at me like that,” he started, biting his lower lip and slightly shaking his head, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was saying, “I forget how fucking bratty you are. I just want to corrupt the innocent little smile of yours.”

“I come pre-corrupted.” You grinned, the feline smile returning to your face as you looked up at him. “But you’re more than welcome to try.”

You tugged at his boxers, revealing his achingly hard cock. Sucking in a breath, you tried to imagine all of it fitting inside you as he stepped out of the boxers. Your mouth watered when he stroked himself a few times, smearing the precum across the tip of his dick.

“You realize I can’t let another man touch you after this, right?” He asked, eyeing the way your tongue slid across your bottom lip. He shrugged. “You’ll never want another man, anyways.”

“You sound so sure of that.” You murmured, not fully comprehending the words coming out of your mouth. You flicked your eyes up, briefly meeting his gaze before returning to the matter at hand.

“That sort of sounds like that attitude that keeps getting you in trouble, princess.” He raised his eyebrows at you. You quickly rewound the conversation, blinking out of your cock-drunk haze.

“No. No, sir.” You shook your head, desperate to get your mouth on him. “Can I? Please?”

“That’s what I thought, baby.” He murmured, tucking your hair behind your ears. His hands traveled around your head, pulling your hair into a ponytail at the base of your neck. You slid off the end of the bed, sinking to your knees in front of him. “Go ahead, sweet girl.”

You wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and kissed the tip. He let out a slow breath as you grew bolder with your mouth. His salty pre-cum smeared across your lips, and you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging your tongue through it. He groaned, tightening his hold on your hair.

“I want you to fuck my throat, sir.” You murmured, looking up at him.

“You keep looking at me like that, I ain’t fuckin’ anything. Those fuckin’ eyes of yours are gonna be the death of me.”

“Didn’t realize you were so quick to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” He warned, arching an eyebrow at you. You grinned, stifling a giggle before wrapping your lips around him again. You pushed your head further and further down his cock, hollowing your cheeks and sucking as you went. When your nose brushed against his pubic bone, he let out a stunted moan, slightly thrusting into your throat.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you bobbed your head up and down with more fervor, begging him to fuck your mouth harder and faster.

“You look, fuck-” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, which spurred your movements on even more. “You look fucking amazing like this, princess.”

You hummed with acknowledgment, hoping it was enough for him to keep thrusting into your throat. Tears freely streamed down your cheeks, surely smudging the eye makeup you’d put on before you left your apartment earlier that night, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Frank Castle was sliding his dick down your throat, and you were so turned on you could probably come just thinking about it.

Frank suddenly pulled out of your mouth, a trail of spit connecting your lips to him as he panted. “‘m gonna come if you keep doing that.” He explained when he noticed your furrowed eyebrows.

“Want it.” You breathed, reaching for him again. He instead pulled you to your feet in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Another time, princess. The first time you make me come, I want it to be in your sweet little pussy.” He winked. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed how good you’re being.”

He pulled you into a kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth. You groaned at both the praise and the intensity in which he kissed you. Both set your insides on fire. He led you backwards until your legs hit the bed, and you couldn't help but nip at his bottom lip when he tried to pull his head back.

“Good girls don’t do that.” He smirked, pushing you lightly so that you’d flop onto the bed again. He ran a hand over your cheek, smudging your makeup even more before running two fingers along your bottom lip. You caught on, slowly wrapping your lips around his fingers and lightly sucking. “You’re not good, though, are you, princess?”

You shook your head. His eyes had darkened again, sending a familiar pounding to your core. Your legs trembled as he began to inch his fingers in and out of your mouth.

“You can be.” His voice had lowered considerably, barely above a raspy whisper. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, princess. I won’t tell anyone.”

You whimpered, sliding your tongue around his fingers. Your skin was on fire, and the longer he stood there staring at you with those lusty eyes, the wetter you became.

“Can I fuck you now, princess?” He asked, transfixed on the fingers he was sliding in and out of your mouth. “You gonna be a good girl and let me ruin you?”

He pulled his fingers from between your lips, gripping your jaw tightly. He watched you, waiting for a response. You almost nodded, making the same mistake you’d made countless times already, but caught yourself at the last second.

“Yes.” You said, swallowing. “Yes, sir.”

“Lay back, princess. I’ll take good care of you.”

You laid back and widened your legs for him, noticing the twinkle in his eyes as you complied with his demand. If you were in your right mind, you might’ve said something witty or bratty to him about it, but he was towering over you, cock hard and ready to fuck you into oblivion, and you wanted him so badly. You groaned when he began running his fingers through your slick folds, already trembling.

“This all for me?” He asked, circling your clit once, twice.

You nodded, forgetting yourself for a moment, and yelped when his hand smacked your bare pussy. It didn’t hurt. In fact, you felt your pussy spasm in response, but you’d been so lost in how great his touch felt that you hadn’t realized you’d broken a rule.

“This all for me?” He asked again, rubbing your clit roughly with the heel of his hand.

“Yes! Yes, sir!” You whimpered, legs trembling when you felt the heavy weight of his cock resting on your pussy. He used it to slap the slickness a few times, eliciting a whine from deep in your chest. If he didn’t fuck you soon, you might actually die.

“Who does this belong to, baby? Whose sweet pussy is this?” He asked, smacking your pussy with his cock again.

You froze, knowing the answer he was looking for, but wondering if you wanted to lower yourself to that level. It was vulnerable to give yourself over to Frank this way, but it also wasn’t as terrifying as you thought it would be.

“Say it.” He encouraged, sliding his cock through your slick folds. “Submit, princess. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Is that a promise?” You taunted, trying not to groan at the friction against your clit.

“Quit being a fucking brat.” He grunted, lining himself up with your entrance. “Say it.”

“Yours. It’s yours, sir.” You whispered, and he buried himself deep inside you.

All the gentleness you’d experienced leading up to that moment was gone, and you couldn’t do anything but cling to Frank’s shoulders as he obliterated you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, sweetheart.” He hovered over you, kissing, sucking, and nipping at every inch of skin he could reach. He was marking you everywhere - you didn’t miss the implications of that - and barreling into you over and over again.

“Say it again, baby.” He whimpered in your ear, the closest you’d ever come to hearing Frank beg. “Who does this sweet pussy belong to?”

“You, sir. It’s all yours.” You replied instantly, whining as he angled himself and pistoned deeper into you. You could barely think straight, only aware of where your skin ended and Frank’s began. “Fuck, Frank. Sir. I’m fu-” You panted, whimpering, “I’m close. ‘m gonna-”

“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart.” He murmured, ghosting his lips over your jaw as he pressed kisses to and nipped at your throat. “Cock drunk and needy. You’re so fucking pretty.”

“Sir, can I-” You shuttered when you felt his hand on your clit again, teasing it with rough, slow circles. “Oh, fuck.”

“You’ve got such a dirty mouth, baby.” He grinned, skimming his teeth along your jawline. “You drive me fucking crazy.” He punctuated the word ‘crazy’ with a deep thrust, pressing against the spongy spot deep inside you that would send you reeling. You whined, squeezing your eyes shut as you trembled around him. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, a sight he never wanted to stop seeing.

“You wanna come, princess?” He cooed, biting the sensitive skin on your throat and kissing the sting away.

“Please.” You gasped. It was the only thing you were capable of saying. You barely registered that you’d forgotten to call him sir, but he was so transfixed with the sounds you were making that he didn’t mention it.

“Princess gets what princess wants.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you and holding you steady as he pistoned into you at an indescribable pace. You fell apart beneath him for the second time that night, arching and panting and whining as you fluttered around him. He attacked your throat, jaw, and lips with kisses, licking and nipping at your skin.

“That’s it, baby.” He talked you through the overwhelming pleasure, holding you tightly against his chest as he continued to thrust into you. “You were such a good girl, honey. You did so good.”

You whined, fluttering around him at the praise. “I want another reward.”

In any other circumstance, your demand would’ve pissed Frank off, but you just looked so pretty underneath him. “Oh, is that so?” He asked, eyebrows raising. Amusement rang in his tone, and it emboldened you to keep speaking.

“Yeah.” You gulped, still shaking from your orgasm. “I already know what I want.”

“You’re sounding more and more like the brat I just fucked silly.” He said, gently thrusting into you. “Spit it out, baby. What do you want?”

You swallowed, smiling a little. “I want you to fill me up, sir.”

He paused, pressing his forehead to your shoulder and huffing a laugh. His warm breath sent goosebumps skittering across your skin. “You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, kissing you sweetly.

“I was good, wasn’t I?” You feigned innocence, knowing it would send him closer to his relief. “And good girls get rewarded?”

“Yeah, baby.” He nodded, picking up the pace of his thrusts again. “Good girls get rewarded, and you were the best girl, baby.” He leaned into your hold, lips ghosting over the crest of your ear as he whispered, “I’m gonna fill you up, baby, and you’re going to walk around dripping into your pretty little panties all day tomorrow.”

You eagerly nodded, agreeing with him, and whimpered when he began thrusting into you at a relentless pace. You arched into him, nipping at his throat hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re perfect, baby.” He breathed. “Even when you’re being a brat. Wouldn’t have you any other way.”

His thrusts grew sloppier, his breaths coming in short, stunted grunts as he finally let himself go. His heart thundered in his chest, and you clung to him, kissing across the broad expanse of his body until he nearly fell on top of you in trembles.

You cradled his head against your chest, breathing in unison with him. At some point, his arms had wound around you, which meant you were now wrapped in each other’s arms, limbs tangled together as both of you came down from your highs.

“Holy shit.” Frank said, chuckling. “That is not what I was expecting when you called.”

“You gonna kick me out now?” You asked, half-joking. He tensed against you, lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Don’t be a brat.” He nipped at your skin. “I’m not kicking you out, unless you want to leave.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, sighing deeply. “Of course I want you to stay. I’m a fuckin’ gentleman, kitten.”

You scoffed, though you could feel yourself hiding a smile. “Whoever told you that clearly hasn’t heard you in the bedroom.”

He scoffed in mock-offense. “Are you saying you didn’t have a perfectly nice time just now?”

“I did.” You grinned. “I’m…sorry I said you weren’t good in the sack.”

He looked up, stunned. “Did the Black Cat just apologize? To me?”

You rolled your eyes, huffing. “Yeah, but no one would believe you if you told them.”

“I’m not sure that’s enough, princess.”

You scoffed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think you need to admit to me that I’m incredible in bed and that you were wrong.” He was grinning so wide you had to resist the urge to punch him in his stupid, handsome mouth.

“I’m not doing that.” You shook your head, stifling a laugh.

“Do it.” He murmured, nodding.

“I refuse.”

“Please?”

“Absolutely not.”

You were both grinning at each other now.

“You’re such a brat.” He said.

“That’s what got us into this mess.” You countered.

“Just say it, princess. For me?” He pleaded. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“Fine.” You gave in, rolling your eyes. “Frank Castle, you’re a sex God!”

He chuckled, pulling you tightly into his chest.

“Good girl.” He praised, kissing you softly.

“Do I get a reward?” You arched an eyebrow at him, smirking.

He smirked back, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Oh yeah, princess. Good girls get rewarded, remember?”

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fluffyprettykitty · 2 years

Text

Material Of Dreams

Pairing: Frank Castle x reader (no other specifications or gender)

Word Count: 1450 words

Outline: What happens when an abundance of love becomes a burden and a curse? Frank loses what was already lost.

Warnings: Heavy Angst. Character Death. Religious imagery/ spiritual reader. Blood mention, mild violence, alcohol mention, cigarettes, gun mention, swearing.

Author’s Note: Wanted to dawdle in more serious themes, and more linear storytelling, wrote this back in January and it went through many changes. Is truly a passion project by this point.

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics // banners by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist ・❥・Frank Castle Masterlist

Humans are fickle.

So vulnerable.

So easy to break.

One moment you are breathing, the next your heartbeat is gone, your blood spilling out on the road.

Truth is that any person could never find a body of water, any place, to live inside. Humans are floating amongst the sparkling stars and the depths of the abyss. We are nothing but citizens of the far end. Born at the end of the world. Right at the edge. The years are resembling floating sheets. ‘I want to make the time stop.Put those years out like cigarettes.’ he had said a cigarette falling off his lips one Friday night not too many moons ago.

You and him were one. But you started as two souls that couldn’t find shelter, stranger forces forcibly pushed them away from each other. A bullet straight in the gut and you fell down on the concrete ground. No words were spoken, no cries of agony. No time to mourn. You were no more.

Why must everything hurt so much?

A blur of vision.

“We were bigger than gods.”

“Gods can’t like mortals.”

You got lost one night like a primal nymph. Couldn’t wander any more. You needed to save the world. Couldn't let anyone get hurt. That's what you get for wanting to be the hero. Never thought it could be this bad. You were the huntress doing the hunting as the mystery unravels itself. The stars were falling into the mud reflecting back into your eyes. The weather is dark and windy. Dark clouds were chasing two shadows, who could run faster?

“Maybe the wind will take us away to another place.”

“Maybe a place where we could live together. “

A reassuring smile, a squeeze of the hand. Together.

Yet the oil is burning at both ends. Try to save the world, try to save the world. We try to live through the journey, but the journey is sweeping right by us. This night is forever cold and hurting, freezing you up all your insides. The pile of blood is getting bigger.

How much blood can a human spill?

+++

Frank shuts his eyes close. Waking up in the middle of the night became a habit for him. Maybe that was your fault, only showing up like a nymph inside his dream. Always inside a dream.

Your obsession with God. He scoffs at the thought. You were supposed to build a house together but you became a god instead. The fucking irony of it all.

He saw you walking around the house wearing your soft smile, your footsteps quiet but determined. Until a sudden light glows inside you and burns you up. Out of this world.

Where did you go?

Every day he woke up with the same wish, the same tender promise.

Will you come back when it grows darker?

“Please let the dream become reality this time.”

Sometimes he wishes he could pray, other times he wishes he could punch a god in the face. One thing remains still, his dreams kept you closer. Closer to him, alive in his sleep.

Only there can he see you, your glowing love touching his soul with your wings. When the morning comes you will be gone, lifeless again. The bitter reality.

What an odd circumstance. Empty room, empty soul, and no one can hear his voice whisper “it was nothing but a dream”. Defeated, he places the palms of his hands on his face sighing deeply, begging the sky not to rise again.

“But isn’t that why the world was made, my dear? Just so you and I could meet each other?”

Your voice echoes in his head, you were always the poet.

You were the one who believed in fairytales, in god and all the saints and all magic. Isn’t god magic? That’s the argument he always liked to make.

“The world was created just for us.”

A short world. A bitter world. But it was the world you shared.

A repeated motion.

Brightening up his life with just your existence, your warm smile, and the echo of your laugh. He could hold you and feel alive. He could hold your hand and have his heart beat faster.

What remains now? Nothing but dust. And memories, humans thrive on memories. Latching on to them for dear life.

The sun is rising again and loneliness is growing stronger. What good is a human on its own?

“Stay with me a little longer, stay, I want to tell you something. “

Can you? Can you stay a little longer?

“You were born for me, that’s why the world was made. “

He squeezes your hand and then he turns it around and places a soft kiss on the top.

“Our stories were foretold.”

Guess this one ends in tragedy. Imagine ever living a story that doesn’t end in tragedy. Are humans tragic? Is the world nothing but a big dramatic play?

Moonlight nights fueled passionate kisses. Once upon a time, hand in hand. You and him, him and you. Material of dreams.

+++

“I am writing to you again out of pure need and it is five am again and the only thing that remains is always you. What am I supposed to do with all these other people and with their theatrical speeches? There’s nothing but paper idols, they could never compare to the realness of you. That’s why we have to love each other. Love me, as much as you can whenever you can. The world is a shitty place. You are the only one who can brighten it up.”

One of the many letters he had sent you many moons ago, your most prized possession. He loved writing you letters while you were on your different hunting sprees. No phone call could ever do that.

He’s looking at himself in the mirror. Inside it, he’s looking at someone almost familiar, and maybe if he shaves his beard he will recognize the face. The ugliness shakes him to the core. Maybe the ugly will go away when he shaves and washes his face. How long has it been since he last touched his own face?

Your blood was still on his clothes. His breath stinks of the cigarettes he smoked, brain going rotten by all the useless things. To his left on the wall there’s your picture. He looks at the picture frame of you and his heart almost starts again.

It feels like murder because it was a murder. Was the bullet meant for him? Or maybe it wasn’t. He can’t remember anymore. He can’t remember anymore. He got his revenge and yet nothing moved on. He Is getting hazy becoming a ghost with all these memories.

+++

“This isn’t love, this is only fear.”

Silver tears falling from your eyes, crumpled clothes in a small bag.

“This is not love that we are living and is a miracle if we manage to survive it.”

It wasn’t always perfect, was it?

Does it matter now that you are his ghost?

But you loved him here, here in your little corner. The house that you built together. Where are you now that he is searching for you. Angel wings have long engulfed you. In what port, which train station could he be searching for you? Where is he supposed to lay his body at? He needs to find you, to be near you. A miracle.

“Nobody stayed with you for longer.”

Your words felt like a dagger in his heart. You were cold long before you became a ghost.

You loved him here with the moons and the rain and the sun. Here where he had been waiting so long to relax and to rest. He loved how you smiled when you woke up. He never thought you would forget him. Forget it all. That’s what he thought.

Did you forget it? Would you have come back?

“My sweet darling, wherever you are, wherever you will be, don’t ask about me. I loved you here, but now this place is gone, please, don’t ask about me anymore.”

Your epilogue to him not so many nights ago. So why did you show up that night in that dark-lit alley to protect him if you didn’t love him?

Up the stairs, many moons ago, you were walking with beer bottles intertwined around your fingers. He was waiting for you and he was listening to the door, listening for your footsteps, hoping you would come around. You opened the door and walked inside but he wasn’t the one sitting on the bed.

Maybe that’s why you ended up bleeding red.

Guilt leads to death.

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frankcastlescumslut · 8 months

Text

Ch. 2: Hard Times

pairing: frank castle x f!reader / platonic!amy bendix x f!reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: angst, language, hurt/comfort, implied loss of a sister (no details), descriptions of wounds, established relationship yet somehow it’s a slow burn

summary: He somehow reached across space and time to tell you the words you wished you had heard that night: you didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is on you. Frank had become a god, transcending the laws of physics to piece you together with sutures and sympathies.

A/N: I wrote this chapter based off of this song. loosely. sorry this isn’t the happiest of endings, I’m leaving it open ended in case I get the momentum to keep going (there is a potential plot).

[previous chapter]

I love your feedbacks and comments so much, thank you. reblogs help a lot as well <3

The stars looked like pin pricks against a dark sheet, so bright you had to squint to make sense of your surroundings, but there was nothing to make sense of. Just black asphalt laid out like a red carpet.

Your body ached and groaned as you stretched ever so slightly, and Frank pretended not to notice the way you winced when you pulled your shirt from your dried wound.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract you. “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’,” you yawned, checking the dashboard.

1:42am.

The last time you stopped was somewhere in Ohio at a run down 7-Eleven. Amy threatened to jump out of the van if she didn’t get a slurpee, but you couldn’t really blame her, it did sound good, so Frank was outnumbered like he usually was.

That was hours ago, though, and you found Amy curled against the duffle bags with a ring of blue food dye around her lips.

“How far are we?” You prodded.

“Few hours.”

“Oh.”

Frank was a man of few words when he first met you. It took him three days just to ask you for an extra blanket when he met you at that motel in Nebraska, though he chalked it up to his unnatural ability for needing something. Didn’t wanna bother you.

You were patient with him, never pressing him about the occasional bruise or poorly hidden glances, instead choosing to talk about how vending machine chips are basically just bags full of air and how mattress stores are money laundering operations—he laughed at that, fully and with his chest, and it was game over for you both.

Yet somehow you were sitting within a foot of each other and felt like strangers.

“Do you want me to drive?” You offered, daring to look at him. He looked worn, his eyes drooping with sleep.

“No,” he answered too quickly. “I’m okay.”

“Maybe we should stop somewhere?”

He was silent, unwilling to admit defeat. Stoic. Stubborn. A pain in the ass that kept you awake with a fevering bullet shaped gash in your side.

You would make yourself power through the pain if it meant he would be normal again—if he would even look at you for more than a second and without what you perceived as disdain. You would pretend that each day you had Amy didn’t feel like salt being shoved into your sister-sized wound. You would lie through your teeth and tell him that you were capable of keeping up, that this life was enough for you. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.

“We’ll stop at the next motel.” He looked over at you, his eyes trailing towards the rust colored stain on your shirt. Your cheeks burned underneath his gaze, and all you could do was nod in reply and watch the constellations blur.

“Wake up.” A breathy voice tickled your ear, causing you to jolt upright in your seat.

“Damn it!” You cursed before placing a palm against your sternum, ignoring the way the seatbelt burned against your exposed neck.

Amy was pleased by your reaction, carelessly falling back into her designated makeshift seat of a jacket tucked against the back of your chair. Frank didn’t crack a smile.

“Knock it off,” he warned, his eyes quickly darting towards the backseat.

“Oh come on,” Amy whined. “It was funny.”

“I actually disagree,” you chimed in, your heartbeat still racing.

“You’re no fun.” She pouted, slouching against the hard interior.

Frank would disagree, though. You were fun. Charismatic. Lighthearted.

He missed that version; the one where you existed alongside of him with ease, the one where you convinced him that joy existed and was accessible to people like him, to people like the both of you.

It felt foreign to him, the easiness of it all, but he gave up rejecting his need for self denial when he met you. Because you were fun.

“We’re stopping soon,” he cleared his throat and those distant memories of you, and you nodded with a “k.”

“I have to pee,” Amy broke her secret vow of silence, probably just to hear herself speak.

“Hold it,” you and Frank spoke in unison, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

You often wondered what he was like as a dad. If he was the silent and stern parent, always fussing with light fixtures and the underside of a truck. Maybe the kind that cared a lot about grades but even more about after school sports or school projects. Really, you think, he’s the kind of parent that just enjoys his children’s joy, never getting in the way of what was causing it— a winning soccer match, a new video game, a carousel. It didn’t matter anymore, anyways, and you were too scared to ask him about it.

So you didn’t, and you don’t. You never do, because you’re not really sure what you would say if he ever asked about your sister. Some things are better to be speculatory, you decided, until Amy came along.

She acted like a secret maneuver that would draw back the curtain on what Frank Castle was like as a father, and you seldom looked away.

“Sheesh,” she muttered, and you hid a smirk behind the palm of your hand.

It was silent for the next few miles, save the occasional clanging of weapons every time the van fell victim to a pothole. It was silent even as Frank drove past the first motel. Then the second one… and the third.

Amy eventually caught on, sitting on her knees and looking out the window like a dog with its ears flapping in the wind.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Frank was quiet, eyes still straight ahead, even as he pulled into the parking lot of a neon green Holiday Inn.

“A hotel!” Amy squealed, throwing herself in Frank’s general direction, ignorant to the way the car swerved due to her affections.

He watched you from above Amy’s head, thankful she was blocking the smirk on his face as your brows furrowed in his direction, silently asking are you sure?

He was sure. He had made up his mind hundreds of miles ago when he first saw the blood soaked cotton of your shirt, but he wouldn’t dare to tell you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Amy let out a sigh of relief, loud enough that it was dramatic even for her.

Frank was silent as he dug around in a back pocket before handing you a thick wad of cash. You failed to meet his eye as you accepted the offering, opting to nod with a tight lipped smile as a thank you.

“Get the biggest bed you can get!” Amy called out to you before the door swung shut in her face.

She pulled herself into the passenger seat and sat back with a huff and a genuine smile on her face. Finally, she thought.

Frank’s eyes were trained on the entrance of the hotel. He watched you pull your jacket across your body, attempting to hide your ghastly appearance, as you leaned against the counter. The woman at the front seemed reasonable, he assumed. You both smiled at one another, so things must be okay.

“Frank,” Amy attempted to disrupt his attention

“Not now.”

She watched the way he studied you, almost disgusted by the way he withheld his care and affection from you.

“Frank,” she tried again.

“What?” He snapped, finally meeting her gaze.

“You really need to fix whatever this,” she pointed a finger from his chest to the hotel lobby, “is. It’s a little ridiculous.”

“There’s nothing to fix.” He straightened ever so slightly.

“Bullshit.”

He was thankful she dropped the conversation when she did. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to admit there was a palpable tension, he just didn’t know how to fix it. He thought the hotel would be evident enough that he was sorry, but you pulled the door open a little too roughly for that to be the case.

“Here,” you handed him a rectangular card.

“Two keys?” Amy asked.

“That’s for your room. I got my own.”

“What?!” She scoffed and Frank clenched his jaw. “Are you serious?”

“I’m right next door.” You began to unload the van, carefully slinging a heavy bag around your good side. You tried your best to hide your inconspicuous smile, but it was harder the more you thought about the king sized bed assigned to you.

Amy and Frank trodden heavily behind you as you made your way through the empty lobby and towards the elevators, not without waving towards the kind faced woman at the front desk.

“You’re actually leaving me alone with him?“

“You'll be fine, Amy.” You rested your head against the back of the elevator wall, closing your eyes in surrender as the metal doors slid together.

“That’s not fair,” she whined; you half expected her to start stomping her feet.

“Life ain’t fair,” Frank finished the argument as the elevator came to a bumpy halt. You barely opened your eyes to glance at him, surprised at the way he nods, as if giving you permission to be alone.

You aren’t sure why you became shy and why your cheeks warmed. Maybe it was the way his eyes had softened ever so slightly, or maybe it was the gratification of him acknowledging you made a sound decision for once—that you were capable, even after your extreme fuck up just hours earlier. Either way, the softness lingered as you found your rooms.

The cool air hit Frank’s face as a pleasant surprise, though the cleanliness, the luxury, felt burdensome.

“You have to apologize.” Amy claimed her bed, minding the way her sneakers dirtied the white sheets.

“Yeah?” He huffed, remembering he should be offended by your lack of appreciation for the new scenery. “For what exactly?”

“You’re being a dick!” She exclaimed, slapping her hands against her crossed legs. “I’m serious, Frank. It’s my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” he sighed.

“Okay, great, then stop blaming her for it.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure.”

The hum of the air conditioning filled the room as Frank stood awkwardly, thrumming his fingers along his thigh while Amy pretended not to notice.

“‘I shouldn’t have left you alone, okay?” He leaned against an empty dresser, still unwilling to find comfort in the queen-sized mattress.

“She did what you couldn’t do,” Amy mumbled and he grit his jaw in response. “I was the one that called for pizza, okay? I wasn’t thinking. It was on me and I’m still alive, so go say you’re sorry.”

Being still was a foreign concept for Frank. He was constantly moving, hard wired for productivity and precision, scoffing at the mere idea of rest. His neurons exploded even in his sleep, unable to ignore the zap zap zap that kept him moving, kept him alert, kept him alive. It kept you alive.

He ran through the numerous possibilities and outcomes of apologizing to you in his overtired head, filtering through his own remorse and your indignation.

Fuck it, he decided, ending his marathon around the room.

“Don't call anyone. Don’t move from this bed. Don’t answer the phone and don’t answer the goddamn door,” he placed his hands on his hips, emphasizing his seriousness. “Understand?”

“Roger that.” Amy saluted him as he neared the door, unable to hide her smile. “Use protection!”

Just as his hand reached the handle, he paused. “What did you just say?” She audibly laughed at the mixture of disgust and genuine shock plastered against his face.

“Go kiss and make up!” She shooed him away, and she swore she saw him smile before he disappeared.

The bathroom mirror shook in a steady succession following the slams of heavy doors. It was constant, and you almost considered complaining before remembering that this was a luxury compared to your previous hideaways.

It wasn’t always so bad, though. Before Amy, it was exciting— like a cheap thrill that you hadn’t felt since you were 16, sneaking out of a bedroom window and choking down a stale cloud of smoke. There was a monumental lack of pessimism between you and Frank; he brought life back into you, and for once you didn’t feel guilty for living.

So you accepted the cheap motels and fried foods, never minding the greasy-lipped kisses. You welcomed the sun beaming on your bare feet when they laid across the dash as you drove nowhere. You loved the way your stomach felt full as you drank a beer, pretending you weren’t hiccuping while Frank sunk an 8 ball in a top right pocket. You loved the nights spent in a dirty dive bar where you didn’t have to think about who the fuck you were for at least a few hours. You loved it, and then he told you to run before bullets started flying.

The knock on the door was so faint you almost missed it over the sound of your cursing.

It was him—you knew it was him. He had an aura so thick it bled through walls.

“Y’gonna open the door?”

No.

Maybe.

The door opened with a metallic click, though you didn’t care to hold it open. He shoved himself inside, feeling like an intruder.

You studied your irritated wound in the mirror, continuing your attempts at cleaning and suturing it. The sting of the alcohol wipes hardly compared to the pair of eyes transfixed on the evidence of your failures.

“You okay?” What a stupid question.

“Fine.” What a stupid question.

Fine. It wasn’t a complete lie, though you avoided meeting his gaze at all costs. He could see right through you, hell, he could feel the resentment radiating off of you.

You didn’t have to distract yourself from the emotional distance; your attention was spent on unwrapping the much too small steri strip from its packaging to notice the way he awkwardly balanced his weight.

“Shit,” you cursed as the first suture folded over on itself.

“Do you need—“

“I got it.”

You really tried, but it was impossible to see the wound over the mound of your breast, and you could hardly twist your waist enough to get a decent angle. You decided to go in blind, completely embarrassed but unwilling to admit defeat.

The sticky strip landed incorrectly, directly atop of the ragged flesh, and you yelped as it adjusted.

“Let me get that,” he didn’t wait for your protest before inviting himself into the small bathroom.

“It’s fine, I got it,” your fingers shook as you attempted to pry the suture from your skin, salty tears splashing towards the floor.

You dropped your hand against your hip and audibly exhaled as he assessed the wound. He was hardly offended that you refused to look at him. Truth be told, he could hardly look at you without having his whole chest be filled with the weight of his own shortcomings.

He hated when you cried, especially at his own doing. You could blame it on that searing pain of torn flesh instead of the heavy burden of disappointing him, so you did. You pretended that the only pain you felt was the physical kind as you stood in front of him, half naked and bleeding, as he sat on the lip of the bathtub.

In any other situation you would have taken advantage of this position, cupping the back of his neck before sliding between his legs, waiting for him to pull you into his lap. But it’s different now, and you almost flinch as his calloused fingertips carefully brush your skin.

“You ready?” He asked, waiting for your permission before hurting you all over again.

You nod while stare at the ceiling, counting the porous tiles, bracing yourself for what is to come.

He tried to get the stitches and bandages ready as quickly as possible, prepping them on his knee as he gave the countdown. “One, two, three...”

“God damnit!”

The world became nothing but splotchy stars and radio static as your flesh ripped apart all over again, and you bit down on your knuckle, focusing on that dull ache that took your attention away from the way Frank was piecing you together again.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded muffled, his silhouette splotchy, but he held you together with nothing but cheap butterfly sutures and a half assed apology.

“I know,” was all you could muster out, breathing in that last bite of fight you had in you.

“Y’gonna stop poutin’ then?”

You jerked away from him, your nostrils flaring as you looked over his bent frame before turning on your heel, leaving him in that makeshift emergency room.

He almost regretted saying it, almost, but there was nothing worse for a man than putting himself out there and being disregarded, so he sat there, counting the bloody wash cloths and discarded bandages until he felt that familiar sense of carnal responsibility.

You were changing when he finally came about, his imaginary tail tucked between his legs. It felt wrong to look at you, to see the way your bare back curved and folded before disappearing beneath an oversized shirt—his oversized shirt.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you before, with your body on full display as he appreciated every inch with a soft brush of his lips. He had seen you, tasted you, held you, but this time it was different.

“Look,” he cleared his throat to signal his presence. “I’m sorry.”

“You done?” You ignored him as you pulled the starchy sheets back, but he wrapped a hand around your wrist, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey,” his eyes softened and voice dropped. “I mean it.”

There was an invisible argument happening as you both held onto the white sheet. You knew. He knew. Someone had to give in. Someone had to break first. Someone had to bare their soul and damnit were you tired of pretending.

“Well it don’t feel like it.” You gave in, and for a minute, you sounded as tired as you felt.

He ran a hand over his face with a sigh and you took the opportunity to sit on the first clean mattress you’d seen in months before bracing yourself against the sturdy headboard.

“Sometimes,” his hand twitched at his side as he contemplated his next sentence, “I look at her and all I see is my Lisa.” Your eyes shot towards his face at the mention of his daughter, and it was hard to ignore the painful knot in your stomach. “It’s like I’m losing her all over again and I—“

“Frank,” you leaned towards him, and the mattress sunk next to your feet.

“I just can’t do it again, y’know?” He looked at you, tears brimming on the waterline but never daring to spill. “I can’t do it again.”

“You won’t. You won’t do it again.”

You said it as if you were a god, fully capable of aligning the stars and galaxies and writing history. You said it as if you were able to predict the future—a future where Amy was safe in an undisclosed location and you and Frank were, well, somewhere.

He huffed at that, and rightfully so, though you tried to convince him anyways.

“I’m sorry,” you attempted to shift the blame, “I didn’t know that she ordered food, I should have paid attention. I should have known better, I should have—”

“Hey, hey, hey” he placed a hand on your leg. “Quit it.”

“I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t mean to mess up.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry, I tried,” you could feel the uncomfortable knot lodged in your throat but you couldn’t push it down. “I swear I tried.”

It was embarrassing the way the hot tears left patterns against your white cotton shirt as they fell. You weren’t really sure why you were crying or who you were crying for. Amy was still alive and tucked into a bed just behind another door, but your sister was somewhere else entirely.

“It’s not your fault,” Frank attempted to intervene, gently scooping you into his side. You let him, though not without feeling so incredibly selfish. He rubbed your arm, in a steady motion, squeezing lightly for his own emotional support. “I’m sorry for taking it out on you. I shouldn’t have left you guys alone. You shouldn’t have had to clean up my mess, okay?”

You nod into his chest, wishing his words didn’t feel like a cheaply made sympathy card.

“None of this is on you, you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.” He placed a kiss against your temple, and you folded into him even more.

He somehow reached across space and time to tell you the words you wished you had heard that night: you didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is on you. Frank had become a god, transcending the laws of physics to piece you together with sutures and sympathies.

It was quiet for a while save for the muffled lull of the obnoxiously cold air conditioning. You missed this—the feeling that life could go on, that you were enough for him, that the silence didn’t signal an impending doom.

“Stay,” you whispered.

“Hm?”

It was silent as you considered your next move—play dumb or give in, going belly up for a few more minutes of playing pretend.

“Can you stay?”

It was silent for another minute, but his breathing shifted and you held your breath.

“Sweetheart,”

“I know. I know she’s next door,” you tried to make his decision easier. “Can you just stay until I fall asleep?”

“Sure.”

It was less than convincing, but he kissed your neck before sliding himself down the mattress and pulling your body into his stomach.

You curled into yourself, hugging a pillow against your face before deciding it was too soft. This, you and Frank, felt too soft after a week of sleeping in different beds and communicating through glances and strategies to stay alive—to keep Amy alive. It was different. Too soft and still not enough.

He felt the emotional shift as your body tensed, snaking an arm beneath the crook of your neck before reaching for your empty hand. You followed directions without a second thought, intertwining fingers and limbs with a relaxed sigh before your world went dark.

He stayed, like he said he would, watching the numbers on the clock face ascend.

It was unfair to you, he thought, that he was splitting his attention between you and a young girl he barely knew. It was unfair that he had to uncurl himself from your body and walk next door to a bed that would be too cold, too empty, too soft and pretend that he didn’t just abandon you. It was unfair that he brought you along to something he wasn’t sure how to finish.

The bed dipped as he forced himself away from your warmth. He held his breath, silently praying you wouldn’t notice his absence. You looked calm for the first time in a long time, since before you both became honorary foster parents and ran from men that looked like they were on a pilgrimage. You looked so calm, and he tucked his invisible tail between his legs again while pressing a kiss to your shoulder, letting out a final sigh of resignation before disappearing behind a closed door.

You were too tired to move. Too tired to leave that spot that still smelled like him if you closed your eyes and inhaled. You knew he was leaving, only pretending as a courtesy to his feelings, though you couldn’t help but wish the metallic click of the door was a gun aimed directly at your chest.

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