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amhrosina · 1 year

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Touch Me (Frank Castle x f!Reader)

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A/N: Hi friends! I know I said I wanted to get this out by yesterday, but I ended up at my local(ish?) urgent care yesterday afternoon because ya girl has apparently been walking around with bronchitis for two weeks now. I’m on medicine, and I’ve been resting/editing this all day, but I could not for the life of me get this thing finished yesterday. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! It is literally porn with plot. P.S. - bearded Frank makes me go absolutely FERAL, and the gif I chose for today's fic makes me even MORE FERAL!!!!!!

Request: if requests are open, do you think you could write about Pete/ Frank still works at the construction site and reader is his girlfriend and she visits him for lunch at the construction site and the guys are astonished and you can come up with the rest if you would like.

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: When Frank’s coworkers notice you a little too much after you bring him his forgotten lunch, you want to remind him that he’s the only man for you, but Frank’s a generous lover, and you’re not leaving the truck until he’s made you come at least three times.

(Warnings: oh boy, smut, SMUT, did I mention smut??, porn with plot, v fingering, hand job sort of??, oral (fem receiving), p in v, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie lol, truck sex, soooo much kissing, protective Frank, you save the horse and ride the cowboy – know what I mean??, Frank talks you through it!!!!!, mentions of oral (male receiving), Frank is a consent king, Frank will be damned if anything bad happens to his baby girl!!!)

Frank eyed the clock, a nervous tick he’d developed over the last three hours as he waited for lunchtime to roll around. On any other day, lunch would’ve come and gone without a second thought from Frank, but not today. In his hurry to get to work this morning, he’d left the lunch you’d generously packed for him the night before. It was your fault, technically, but Frank was a gentleman, and gentlemen weren’t supposed to blame their girlfriends for forgotten lunches, especially when it was the incredible head you were giving him that made him late leaving this morning.

He'd gotten shit for it the minute he stepped on the site, barely getting a chance to pour his coffee before the guys were on his ass about his punch card. Frank brushed it off. It was all in good fun anyways, and he was the boss around here, so it didn’t really matter if he was late once in a blue moon. He didn’t divulge the reason for his tardiness, much more inclined to grunt a “fuck off” towards the guys and start his work for the day.

The nervousness set it when you called and told him you’d bring his lunch to him. The guys knew almost nothing about Frank’s personal life, which is what he preferred. They didn’t know anything about his past, and they certainly didn’t know about you. What he had going on before and after work hours was none of their business, you were none of their business, but that would change any minute.

“You got a hot date or something, man?” Antonio, one of the only guys Frank tolerated, asked as they moved a stack of wooden beams towards what would eventually become a master bedroom.

“What?” Frank lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at Antonio.

“You’ve checked the clock more in the last 25 minutes than I do on Friday afternoons. You expectin’ somethin’?”

Frank let out a nervous chuckle, which did little to subside Antonio’s curiosity. Instead, intense concern crossed Antonio’s face, and Frank sighed, shaking his head. His brain felt like it had been rewired, and he had no idea how to respond to Antonio’s question without causing more questions. He didn’t have a chance to respond, though, because the sound of clicking heels had caused heads to turn faster than Frank knew was possible.

Frank turned, relaxing when he spotted you. You smiled and waved, ignoring the men around you that were clearly enamored by your presence. Frank couldn’t blame them – you were beautiful – but that didn’t keep the bubble of anger from welling up inside his chest. You were his, and if he was going to make one thing clear to them today, it was that.

Frank marched up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your body into his chest. He pressed a sultry kiss to your lips, slipping his tongue in your mouth in his way of saying hello. When you pulled away, you were smiling, and Frank couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than that damned smile of yours.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He grinned, slightly ashamed that he’d let his jealousy get the best of him in front of the guys that worked for him. It was definitely unprofessional to make out with your significant other in the middle of an active construction site while the entirety of your team gawked at your display of affection, right?

“That’s lunch.” He called out, not taking his eyes off yours.

The guys filed out, some with smirks on their faces, others with nothing but food on their minds. Antonio was smiling when he walked past the both of you, wiggling his eyebrows at Frank. Frank rolled his eyes, trying to remind himself why he barely tolerated the kid.

“Speaking of lunch,” you smiled, eyes bright and adoring as you looked at Frank, “Where do you want to eat? I’m not sure I can handle the roof.”

You were all too aware of Frank’s frequent lunch spots. Sitting a the top of buildings that were half constructed, legs hanging over the edge, was Frank’s favorite way to spend lunch, much to your chagrin. You were terrified of heights and refused to even think about how dangerous Frank’s lunch activities were.

“You want to stay?” Frank asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course! As long as we’re not eating on the roof.” You pointed upwards for emphasis, shaking your head.

“I guess I could change up my lunch spot for the day.” Frank faked an exasperated sigh. “What about my truck?”

“Sounds good to me, babe.” You smiled, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the front of what would eventually be a nice house in a nice neighborhood outside of Brooklyn. A house that Frank wished he could afford to buy for you. Hell, he’d build you a house if he could afford the land to build it on. You didn’t mind the small apartment you and Frank shared, but Frank couldn’t help the incessant desire to spoil you.

It was a brisk 35 degrees outside, and you bundled into Frank’s side as he opened the passenger side door for you. Frank hustled to the other side of the truck, quickly shutting the door behind him and starting the truck. The heat blasting from the vents was a welcome warmth, and Frank couldn’t shake the tiny sliver of guilt that sliced through him when you began blowing in your hands to warm them up. If he’d just remembered the fucking lunch box, you wouldn’t be sitting in the cold right now.

“Damn, the heat works so well in here.” You observed, holding your hands in the path of the hot air.

“One of the perks of being the boss, I guess.” Frank shrugged. The truck was a necessary purchase, especially once Frank’s work picked up, but you still weren’t used to it. You’d spent so many years taking the subway to get places that having access to a vehicle was a foreign concept to you. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here just to bring me lunch.”

“Don’t apologize. I like to see what you’re working on. I wish you’d let me come by more often.��

“You’d be bored. It’s just a bunch of sweaty old guys hammering nails.”

“Sounds like a wet dream to me.” You smirked, clearly joking at Frank’s expense. “I didn’t realize I’d cause such a fuss by showing up.”

Frank shrugged. “If any of them say a single word about you after lunch, I’m gonna break their jaws.”

“Frank, baby, relax.” You ran your hand up his arm. “Even if they do say something, it’s probably just because they had no idea I even existed.”

“I don’t like them knowing about you. You’re mine.”

Frank was aware that what he was saying was insane, but he never cared much about his sanity when it came to protecting the woman he loved. He’d be damned if another person was taken from him, and if that made him crazy, then so be it. Frank Castle would take crazy over mourning any day of the week.

You crept closer to Frank, shifting so that you could lean your elbow against the back of the bench seat.

“Them knowing about me doesn’t change that I’m yours, Frankie.”

Frank grunted, annoyance running through his veins. He knew you were right, but the fact that the guys were probably running their mouths about his relationship with you right now was getting on his nerves. He didn’t want you anywhere near their fucked up thoughts.

“You’re so tense, Frankie.” You mumbled, eyeing the way Frank was clenching and unclenching his fist in an irregular pattern. “Let me help you.”

This got his attention. His head swiveled around, eyebrows raised, as he looked to you for confirmation on what you’d just said. You matched his expression, unwilling to move until he consented to your idea.

“Yeah? You wanna help me?” He asked, already leaning back to make room for you to climb onto his lap.

“You could eat your lunch instead.” You mumbled, “If that’s what you want.”

Frank slowly shook his head, watching the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

“No.”

“You’re not hungry?” You asked, inching closer to him.

“Oh, I’m hungry.” Frank conceded, “But I’d rather have you for lunch.”

This omission sent a spark through your body, and you lurched forward, swinging your leg over his hip to straddle him. You looked down at him, enjoying the way his face already seemed more relaxed than moments before. You pressed a soft kiss on the crease of his forehead, the one that always made an appearance when he was stressing about something, and watched as it smoothed itself out.

Frank tilted his chin up, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. His hand snaked up your back, curling his fingers in your hair and gently pulling on it, which elicited the most delicious gasp he’d ever heard slip from between your lips. He decided right then and there that if that sound was the last thing he ever heard, he’d die the happiest death a man could ask for.

He slammed his lips onto yours, unable to constrain himself any longer. His hands found themselves wrapped around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. You grinded yourself against him, moaning against Frank’s lips when you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against him again, letting out a devilish groan when the friction of the movement rubbed against your clit.

“Frank,” you moaned in between kisses, “touch me.”

It wasn’t just a desire to please you; it was a need. Frank was nothing if not generous, and the minute you started begging, he had already unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, shoving his hand down the front of your pants. Frank let out a loud groan when he realized how entirely soaked through your panties were, clenching the fingers that were fiddling with the waistband of your jeans.

You pushed your hips closer to his hand, dying to feel his fingers. The panting coming from the both of you had fogged up the windows of the truck, obstructing anyone’s view into the truck. The construction site was dead anyways, but at this point, you didn’t think you cared if someone could see in. You wanted Frank so badly that you had lost your ability to care about anything besides Frank’s fingers.

“Want me to touch you, baby?” Frank cooed, “Want me to make your pretty pussy feel good?”

Frank’s breath was hot on your neck, and you nearly came from his words alone.

“I’m supposed to be making you feel good.” You moaned, grinding your hips against Frank’s fingers again. Your actions completely juxtaposed your words, but you couldn’t help yourself. Frank was just so good at making you come.

“Making you feel good makes me feel good, sweetheart.” Frank pressed the pads of his fingers against the fabric of your panties, swirling them around in an achingly slow circle. A shiver worked its way up your spine, and you threw your head back, gasping with pleasure.

“Are you sure?” You panted, unsure if you could stand being clothed for another second.

Frank responded by swiping your underwear aside and running two fingers between the folds of your pussy. When his fingers finally covered your clit, you let out an agonizing moan. Frank resumed circling his fingers around your clit, but his pace was more urgent, like he wanted to see you get off on his fingers just as much as you wanted to come all over his hand.

Your legs began to shake, and you wrapped your arms around Frank’s neck, pulling him into a feverish kiss. His tongue dipped into your mouth, and you began to grind against his fingers in a rhythm that matched the pace of his hand. It was a flurry of passionate kisses and sinful moans as you came apart on Frank’s hand. You breathed through the orgasm as it crashed through you, slumping against Frank’s shoulder in exhaustion.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Frank pulled his hand away from your clit, wrapping his arms around you and flipping you over so that your back lied against the front seat of the truck, “You did so good.”

Frank hovered over you, pressing a soft kiss onto your nose before gently capturing your lips with his. You were still reeling from your orgasm, content to stay in this position forever, when Frank suddenly sat up. You blinked up at him, wondering if maybe his lunch was already over, but the way he began to pull your jeans down your hips told you he was nowhere near done with you.

You kicked your jeans and panties off, pussy clenching around nothing as the air hit your wet core. You spread your legs further, giving Frank a view of how easily he’d ruined you.

“Fuck baby,” Frank groaned, rubbing his thumb through the slickness that had begun running down your inner thighs, “This is the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

You moaned when he began playing with your clit again, overstimulated but too turned on to stop him.

“Can I taste you?” Frank asked, fully focused on how wet you were. His eyes were glazed over, pupils dilated with desire.

“You’re being too generous.” You sat up, resting on your elbows as he finally locked eyes with you.

“I want to.” He shrugged, already positioning his face near your core. He threw your legs over his shoulders and rested his hands on your stomach, glancing up at you to make sure he had your consent. You spread your legs wider, nodding.

“I need words, baby. Can I taste you?”

Frank’s hot breath coasted over your pussy as he spoke, and the dull throb of desire erupted into a full blown ache.

“Yes, God, please.” You whined.

When his tongue finally met your core, you threw your head back and moaned so loud you were sure the entire neighborhood heard it. Frank was astonishingly graceful at eating pussy, approaching it like it was a dance between his tongue and your clit. He knew exactly when to be gentle, when to roughen it up, and when you were seconds away from coming all over his tongue, he knew exactly how to suck on your clit so that you saw stars for hours afterwards.

Frank normally liked to take his time with this, coaxing multiple small orgasms out of you before finally letting you fall apart around his mouth, but today he was on a time crunch, and he wanted to make you come around his cock before his lunch break was over, too. So instead of going slow and steady, Frank dined on your pussy like a man starved. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, licking and sucking all throughout your core as you came closer and closer to your orgasm. He teased your entrance with his tongue, coasting over it every time he flattened his tongue against your folds.

“Oh shit, Frank.” You groaned, arching your back.

He hummed against your pussy, which had your legs shaking so aggressively that he had to clamp his hands over them to keep them from sliding off his shoulders. You were so close, and Frank knew it. He smirked against your core, trailing his tongue around your clit before slightly sucking. Your body felt like it was on fire, and when the crux of your orgasm finally hit you, you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing your legs into the sides of Frank’s head. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, and no matter how deeply you inhaled, you couldn’t quite catch your breath. The world around you faded, and the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of Frank’s hands gently caressing your thighs.

Frank crawled up your body, hovering over you as you came back to yourself. You hadn’t expected to come that hard, especially not in a cramped space like Frank’s car, but he always managed to surprise you.

You swallowed thickly, blinking up at his swollen and slick lips. He was always beautiful, you thought, but right now, you’d never seen anything as beautiful as him covered in your wetness. You leaned upwards, kissing him with every ounce of yourself that you could. The taste of you was still fresh on his tongue, and he groaned when you swiped your tongue against his, grinding against your unclothed pussy with his denim jeans.

The friction was overstimulating, but you wanted him deep inside you so badly that you began meeting his hips halfway, grinding against him so heavily that you were sure he’d have stains on the front of his jeans later. He shifted his weight onto one arm, reaching down and unbuckling his belt with one had. He was moving at a languid pace, and you couldn’t stop yourself from knocking his hand out of the way and unbuttoning his jeans. He chuckled when you undid his zipper in record time, forcing his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs.

“Someone’s eager to feel my cock, huh?” Frank cooed, brushing his nose against yours, “You want me to fuck you silly, sweetheart?”

You wrapped your hand around his achingly hard cock, pumping up and down as he teased you. The tip was already wet, drops of precum beading at the head.

“Can I ride you?” You asked, pushing his shoulders slightly.

He raised his eyebrows at your boldness. You were usually so eager to let him control the situation, but the look in your eyes when you spoke told a different story. You wanted to make him feel good, and you weren’t planning on letting him leave until that happened.

“Sometimes,” you started, sitting up and pushing Frank down into the seat underneath you, “I want to be the one to fuck you silly.”

You straddled Frank and lined him up with your entrance. You were not going to waste any more of his break not fucking him. Frank let out a stuttering moan as you lowered yourself onto him. When you were finally full of him, stretched out and pliant, you panted at the overwhelming feeling. No matter how many times Frank fucked you, it always took you a few moments to adjust to his size.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Frank leaned his head against the headrest, grabbing onto your hips in a brutal hold that you knew would bruise later.

You slowly began to rock against him, holding onto the seat behind him for leverage. You moaned when his cock pushed against the spot deep within you that drove you crazy, and couldn’t help the way your breath stuttered out of you. Frank angled his face towards yours, watching in awe as you panted over him, licking your lips and squeezing your eyes closed. He leaned toward you, nipping your jaw with his teeth in a teasing gesture. You ground down on him even harder, and he chuckled.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” Frank hummed, running his nose along the curve of your cheekbone. “Your pretty pussy drives me crazy sometimes.”

“Yeah?” You mumbled, picking up your rhythm as you grinded against him. You yelped when you felt his arm wrap around your waist, bucking up into you so hard that you swore you saw stars.

“Can’t think about anything else some days.” Frank nuzzled his cheek against yours, tightening his hold around you. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.”

You mewled at his praise, even though you had made it clear that you wanted to be the one making him feel good, not the other way around. You couldn’t help but mewl. He always knew what to say to make your chest warm and fuzzy, even when he was fucking up into you so hard that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week.

“C’mon baby girl,” Frank’s tone was low and delicious, and the tingle that worked its way up your spine told you exactly how much you liked the sound of it, “Give me one more, baby.”

“Frank, I-” You let out a guttural moan when you felt his fingers tracing a circle around your clit. Your legs began to shake again, and you knew you were seconds away from coming again. “I’m supposed to be making you feel good.” You finally panted, quickening your pace as you grinded against his cock and fingers.

“I want you to come on my cock, sweetheart.” Frank smirked as you squeezed around him, “That will make me feel good, baby. Can you do that for me, baby girl? Hmm? I know you can. Make me feel good, sweet girl. Come on my cock.”

Frank was talking you through it, and you could not fathom how incredibly hot it was. The intensity at which your orgasm hit you was earth-shattering, and if the neighborhood hadn’t heard you earlier, they certainly heard you this time. You rocked against Frank, whining and panting and doing everything in your power not to fall apart completely before he could reach his high as well.

“My good girl,” Frank wrapped both arms around your waist, pulling your chest against his so that he could kiss you all over your face, “You did so good, sweetheart.”

His praise made you whine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from slamming your lips into his, quickening your pace as you grinded against him. It was overstimulating, sure, but you couldn’t think of anything you wanted more than Frank coming deep inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Frank mumbled against your lips, tightening his arms around you, “’m gonna come.”

“Come in me,” you panted, squeezing around his cock.

“Yeah, baby? Want me to fill you up?” Frank was breathing so heavy against your ear that goosebumps littered down your back and shoulders. You dug your nails into his shoulders as he pounded up into you, and when he finally came, warm spurts of come coating your walls, you both slumped against each other, worn out and sweaty.

Frank’s heart was pounding in his chest, and you subconsciously tapped your finger against his neck in the same rhythm until it finally calmed down. You leaned back, glancing over Frank’s features. His eyes were closed, chin tilted upwards in a relaxed, casual position. The stress creases in his face were long gone, and he looked a decade younger than he did when you’d shown up earlier.

“Wish we could stay like this.” He mumbled, running his fingers along your thighs.

“Me too, Frankie.” You nodded, cupping his cheeks in your hands, and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “How much time until you have to go back?”

Frank slightly opened one of his eyes, checking the clock on the dash before closing it again. “Just enough time to drop you off at home and come back. The guys will appreciate the extended lunch.”

You shook your head. “I can get an uber or take the subway, Frank. You don’t have to drive me.”

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t drive my beautiful girlfriend home after she came all the way here to bring me lunch and make me feel good?”

“A normal one.” You snorted, rolling your eyes.

“Well then I guess I ain’t normal.” Frank smiled, leaning in to kiss you before tapping your thigh with his hand. “I hate to say it, but I can’t drive with you straddlin’ me like this.”

You lifted yourself off him, rolling over into the passenger seat. Your limbs still buzzed with pleasure, and it took you longer than you care to admit to find your panties and put them back on. You were pulling your jeans over your hips when Frank began to roll the windows down and wipe the windshield off. You and him had emitted enough fog that it was impossible to see out of any of the windows, let alone drive.

When the windows were finally cleared and Frank had texted Antonio to let him know he’d be a few minutes late getting back from lunch (Antonio’s only response was the winking emoji), Frank drove you back to the apartment you shared with him. He walked you to the door, kissed you goodbye, turned, then turned back to kiss you again.

“I left your lunch on the passenger seat, okay? It should still be warm with how hot the truck was earlier.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Frank grinned, pulling you in for a third goodbye kiss.

You finally pushed him off you, chuckling when he tried to chase your lips with his.

“Go to work, Frank. I’ll see you tonight.” You laughed as he rolled his eyes, giving you a final kiss before turning and jogging back to the truck. When you closed the door and locked it, you slumped towards the bedroom, the only thing on your mind being the nap you were about to take.

Frank ate his lunch on the drive back to the construction site, nearly getting choked up when he realized you had gotten him Lombardi’s pizza. You knew how much he loved it, and he vowed to show you how grateful he was when he returned home. When he made it back to the site, he was only half an hour late, but that didn’t stop the guys from joking with him about it.

“Twice in one day, boss? She worth it?”

“Must be. He doesn’t look half as grumpy as he usually does.”

Frank rolled his eyes, counting to ten as a way to manage his anger before outwardly responding.

“If any of you fuckers have anything else to say about her, I’ll bash your heads in with the sledgehammer. Got it?”

Frank glanced at the faces around him. So much for managing his anger. Antonio was the only one that didn’t look utterly terrified as they returned to work.

“So, boss.” Antonio started, smirking as he leaned against one of the structural beams.

“Don’t you start.” Frank pointed at him for emphasis, warning the kid away from any topics he may regret bringing up. He really wasn’t a bad kid, and he was one of the hardest workers Frank had encountered in the business, but he did not want to discuss his love life with his 22 year old employee.

“I was just going to ask how much plaster you think we’ll need for the bathroom.” Antonio pointed behind him with his thumb, gesturing towards the space that would soon be an ensuite.

“Sure you were.” Frank couldn’t wait to end the day and crawl into your loving arms, but he had a shit ton of work to do before then, and he would always be the last one on site for the evening.

Later that evening, after he’d finally trudged through the door, showered, and ravished you, you were caressing his chest as he pressed a kiss to your hair.

“So,” you murmured, “D’ya break any jaws after I left?”

“You’ll be happy to know that I didn’t break any jaws after you left.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What?” He asked.

“You mean to tell me that you didn’t lose your shit on anyone after I left today?”

“No,” he shook his head, “that’s not what I said. I definitely lost my shit, but I didn’t break anyone’s jaw.”

“Oh, that’s good.” You mumbled sarcastically, rolling your eyes and chuckling.

You nuzzled into his chest, relaxing as he enveloped you with warmth.

“I love you, sweet girl. I’m not ashamed of that. Hell, I’ll shout it from the rooftop if you want me to. I just don’t like people knowing my business. I want to keep you safe.”

“I know, Frankie. I’m not upset about it. I love you too.”

“You promise?”

“That I love you?” You smirked against his chest.

“No, smart ass. That you’re not upset.”

“I promise.” You grinned as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

-ˋˏ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 ˎˊ-

summary: Following the death of your husband, you find solace in a fellow widower.

pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: Angst: Grief. Loss of a loved one. Desecration of a grave (not done by main characters). Navigating feelings for someone following the death of your marriage partner. Very vague references to violence. Softest smut I could muster, P in V sex, unprotected sex (the pull out method is NOT safe, ya’ll!)

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Day 10

The condensation on the glass of the beer bottle in your hands grounds you to the grass beneath your legs. The green strands feel more like emerald blades against the soft skin of your calves, just as your clothes feel like sandpaper and the lukewarm alcohol that slides down your throat burns like lava against your lips. All the small, beautiful things you used to appreciate with him all feel tainted, curdled without him by your side.

You exhale shakily, tears welling up in your eyes as you reach across to trace the arch of the gravestone, your husband's name etched into the marbled stone with an engraver that had probably written out ten other names that same day- so impersonal. It’s cold to the touch despite the warm sunshine spilling onto your skin, and the edges of the engravings feel as though they leave papercuts, too sharp to replace the soft, gentle touch of your late husband.

A sob rips its way up your throat, and you find yourself having to step away. It’s too much, too overwhelming to sit beside the stone for too long. Loosely gripping the emerald green neck of the beer bottle, you stumble blindly towards the bench on the other side of the gravel footpath just beyond your husband's grave. You had noted it, and the man sat on the end of it when you walked into the cemetery.

The exhale you let out as you set yourself down on the wooden bench is shaky, and your eyes cast skyward at the beautiful azure while you attempt to collect yourself and cease the tears that stream down your cheeks. They accumulate in the hollow of your chin before dripping down your chest and soak into the fabric of your sweater, leaving wet stains that darken the material. Fumbling to wipe the tears from your skin before they can do any more damage, you note the man beside you doesn’t make an effort to bother you, opting to gaze at a stone to the left of him.

You’re thankful for his silence; it gives you a moment to clean up. It’s only when you stop sniffling helplessly that the man raises his head, bistered irises slowly drifting over your face. He’s rough around the edges, with deep-set eyes and high cheekbones. His lips are pretty, the lower smaller than the upper, which has a sharp Cupid’s bow. His nose looks as though it’s been broken too many times, and there are creases in his forehead that appear to be a permanent fixture thanks to several years of frowning.

His face is framed with stubble that reaches his cheekbones, and there are deep shadows under his eyes that emulate that of bruises with their deep purple colour. He looks tired. Grief-stricken.

Again, he graces you with silence and offers you a wordless nod of acknowledgement, of understanding. He doesn’t speak, but the simple act says so many things.

“I understand how you feel.”

“I was there not long ago.”

“I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

No matter how often people tried to soothe your anguish with words, they never managed to achieve in one hundred comments what this stranger had in a single, wordless gesture of compassion. So you nod back. A short, soft tilt of your chin downwards in appreciation. It’s enough for him, it seems, because his head turns back to the stone of his deceased loved one, lips turned downwards as he gazed resignedly at the marbled stone as if willing them back from the dead.

You join him in his grief, eyes cast back to your husband as you quietly plead to all the Gods above that he doesn’t leave you alone. You can’t be alone.

-✩-

Day 25

You see it before you even make it to the foot of your husband's grave. The green and brown shards of glass glistening in the sunlight amongst the brown soil that was yet to flourish new grass since his burial. You leisurely walk upticks to more of a jog as you approach, panic rising in your chest and tears stinging your eyes.

Frequenters of the graveyard had warned you of rowdy teenagers messing around and getting drunk around the site's perimeters. Maybe it was foolish to believe that people would be respectful even in a place as sacred as a graveyard, but the smashed bottles over your lover’s grave make you want to scream in dismay. Your chest heaves as the tears stream down your cheeks, choking on your sobs as you fall to your knees in the soil and begin to pick out the shards with your naked hands.

Clinking together as you gather the pieces in your palms, the fragments are sharp to the touch. There are tiny pieces that you need to pick out of the earth with your fingertips and large shivers that you manage to collect with relative ease. Still, you can barely see through the distortion of your tears as you work hard to make the grave presentable again.

“Ow-!” You cry out weakly, a fracture of glass slitting the skin of your middle finger across the knuckle. The frustration bubbles over, anguish crushing your chest as you drop the fragments again to hold the affected area. You can feel blood seeping down your wrist, smearing your palm.

It’s too much.

Ugly, wretched sobs wrack your body as you practically fold your body in half, clutching your bleeding hand to your chest and rocking back and forth. It’s so overwhelming, the torment of being alone, being without your husband who was always there to lift you up. He would be here with his arm around your shoulders now, telling you that it was going to be okay.

“Hey, hey hey, sh-sh-sh,” you hear a gruff voice sound behind you over the volume of your cries, hushing you in a gentle tone. It takes you a moment to respond, wiping your eyes with the back of your wrists before you look up, still struggling to swallow your tears. The mysterious stranger who had sat on the bench with you only a few days ago crouches on his heels beside you, dark eyes surveying the scene with a furious frown.

“Who did this?” He asks. His voice is coarse, rage laced between each word as he reaches across to pick up the glass you had dropped in your breakdown. He does it with little effort, as though the honed edges of the glass do little to pierce his thick, calloused palms—years of blistering, years of hard work layered between scarred skin.

Struggling to form the words on your quivering lips, you throw a half-hearted shrug his way, only for another heaving sob to break past your throat. You can’t see, but you hear the creak of his leather combat boots as he stands. The stranger is quick to cross the short space to the bin beside the bench you had met him on in order to discard the glass but immediately returns to his spot beside you.

He doesn’t try to rush your grief, to get you to relocate or even stand. The caring, albeit gruff-looking, stranger stays hunched beside you, just letting you know without contact or words that he is here for you. It takes you a good while to settle the heavy breathing, but when it finally stalls, you feel hollow, as though you’d cried out all your energy to water your husband's grave.

“M’gunna kill ‘em.” Despite the violent words, the tone is spoken softly but with conviction. You glance up, feeling your eyelids almost squeak with the effort it takes, finding his eyes searching the cemetery's edges in a crude investigation. It makes you laugh weakly, wiping the tear stains from your cheeks despite them beginning to dry in the open air.

“Don’t hassle yourself with stupid kids, please-“

“No. No, don’t you be worryin’. Alright? M’gunna make sure they don’t do this shit again,” he asserts himself with a stern point of his index finger, eyes set on your face with dogged determination. You swallow down the argument threatening to leave your lips, instead solemnly accepting this vigilante’s justice. He nods at your silence, taking it as the wordless go-ahead.

Standing again, he walks through the marbled headstones. His all-black outfit is stark against the bone colour of the grave markers, almost imposing.

“Please let me at least know your name?” You call to him, “So I can use it when I thank you!”

His footsteps hesitate in the neatly trimmed, glass-free grass, stalling slightly before jump-starting again. He doesn’t look back at you, instead opting to call over his shoulder. “‘S Pete.”

You remember it. Let the name play in your skull over and over in that gravelly voice so you couldn’t possibly forget it. Pete, Pete, Pete. When he approaches you days later as you readied to leave the car park with keys in hand, he informs you ‘they won’t be comin’ round here to bother you no more, got it?’ You manage to ignore the lingering thoughts of how he had managed to scare the teens from the area (given his bloody knuckles and busted lip, it didn’t take much to figure it out), instead choosing to focus on addressing him formally, with sincerity.

“Thank you, Pete.”

-✩-

Day 70

The rain beats violently down on the windscreen of your car as you pull into the cemetery car park, the water slipping down the glass, causing the landscape to ripple as you stop the wipers. The sky is black with thick clouds, and the water they drop pelts the car's roof so loudly that it drowns out the low-level noise of the radio.

When you park up, the ‘tik’ of the radio turning off when you shut down the car is so soft you’re almost certain you haven’t killed it in the din. Satisfied only by the dash light going dark, you sit back in your seat for a moment and just gaze out of the window in dismay. Maybe this was as close as you would get to your husband today. You’re almost sure he wouldn’t mind, not wanting you to catch a cold in this weather just to spend five minutes with him.

As you gaze out at the cemetery, watching the rain batter the cold headstone that marked your husband's final resting place, you almost miss the shadow of the darkly dressed man hunched over on the bench you frequented. He’s tall and broad, and you know almost immediately who it is without having seen him in nearly a month.

Sat out in the cold and wet, Pete hasn’t even bothered to bring a coat. With no hood to protect him from the elements, his hair is drenched through, and you swear you can see how red his nose is even from the car. Despite the discomfort he must be feeling, he sits forward on the bench, forearms braced on his knees and fingers interlocked as he watches the raindrops run down a gravestone.

You’d taken it upon yourself to bring the stone flowers when Frank was away. You had no doubt he was still visiting at some point during the day, but you thought it would be a nice thing to do, given he had helped you—hydrangeas, you chose, a symbol of gratitude. When you approached the stone on a day that was definitely sunnier than this, you had noted the engraving. “Precious are the memories of Maria Elizabeth Castle, devoted wife & mother.”

Perhaps it was presumptuous to feel as though you understood his pain, just as he had understood yours, but knowing he, too, had lost his partner made it feel as though your silent bond meant more than you had initially realised.

So despite your better judgement, you step out of the car and hop straight into a puddle, soaking through your sneakers. You don’t bother to complain, despite how it wets your socks and instantly freezes your toes, approaching Pete with your arms crossed over your chest to retain as much body heat as you can against the wild wind and freezing rain.

Since fighting with the rowdy teenagers, Pete had been lying extremely low. So low that even other frequenters of the cemetery claimed they hadn’t seen him in weeks. You had almost been concerned that something had happened to him, so to see him sitting on his side of the bench came as a relief to you. As you approach, he’s still yet to note your advancing footsteps over the racket of the rain against the gravel.

You can see him closer now. Water drips from his long lashes, mixing with the tears that have settled on his cheeks if his bloodshot eyes are anything to go by.

“Hard day?” You speak softly, snapping him out of his trance. His head twists sharply to look at you, eyes wild with survival before realising it’s you instead of some silly teen trying to pick a fight or something more sinister than that. You just give him a pitying look. He’s totally deserving of it; he looks like a drowned rat. Still, he casts your sympathy aside with a scowl, grumbling wordlessly.

“I get it,” you begin, moving to sit beside him as the rain finally starts to soak through your jacket and chill your body, “Big scary man doesn’t like to talk about how he’s feeling. But that’s not good for you, you know?”

You’re met with silence, his eyes sliding back over to his wife’s headstone. Pete looks devastatingly sad whenever he looks at it, like the weight of the stone crushes him despite the fact his humongous body could probably carry quadruple its size with little effort.

“… It’s okay to be hurting, Pete,” you murmur softly, and in return, you are gifted with the sound of him exhaling slowly, shakily, as if he was releasing some of the tremendous pressure he was carrying. It makes you smile, to see him make an effort for you.

“Something started it?” You ask in a hushed tone, loud enough to be heard over the clatter of gravel pieces tossed about by the heavy downpour. “Someone said something? Had a shitty shift at work?”

“Mmmh. I woke up, and she just… wasn’t there,” he said softly, exhaling again. It sends a devastating pang through your chest. You know that feeling well. Understand that sensation of still reaching across the mattress to feel your husband's warmth only to find cold, empty sheets instead. For the first week after his death, you opted to sleep on the couch in the living room just to avoid that torturous realisation every day. It was only recently you had managed a morning without crying.

You swallow back the tears that pinprick your eyes now, threatening to undo all your hard work. Tapping your toes against the gravel, you purse your lips as you consider a way to answer him that doesn’t sound condescending. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like a child.

“Have you spoken to anyone? A friend, family?”

“Got no family,” he admits, glancing over to the distant city lights of New York. “Got no friends. It’s just me.”

You didn’t find it hard to believe at all. Pete seemed like an entirely lonesome character, consistently appearing on his own, being the only one to ever visit Maria’s grave.

“You’ve got me,” you whisper to him quietly, and he looks to you now with those deep mahogany eyes, ebony lashes framing his brown irises so beautifully. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, shaking his head slightly before letting out another heavy sigh.

“C’mon. You’re gunna catch a death out here.”

“… Well, at least I’d belong,” you point to the gravestones carelessly.

Pete Laughs. A genuine laugh that makes your insides warm. It’s deep and chesty and makes your own lips pull into a smile of their own. You find that when you get into the car after saying goodbye, the cold isn’t as bothersome. You think about that laugh at night before you visit your husband in your dreams. Think about how the two of you can comfort each other without sharing words. It’s a strange bond you’re building, but you realise it’s making your trips to the cemetery a little less burdensome.

-✩-

Day 140

Twenty days. Pete is gone twenty days, the blackness of the night and the brightness of the day all blending together without him. You continue to visit Maria for him, laying flowers some days, always stroking her stone gently to let her know you were there for her. You would talk quietly to Maria, just as you did your husband, about how nice Pete was. How he always looked after you. You wondered if he looked after her this way too.

The day he returns, you’re utterly relieved. A desperate exhale escapes your lungs when you set eyes on him from inside your car. He’s sitting on his side of the bench still, gazing at Maria’s stone. A hoodie covers his hair and hides his eyes with the aid of a worn, black baseball cap, but it’s hard to confuse his abnormally large frame for anyone else.

Carrying your flowers from the car, you first visit your husband. Pete raises his head slightly as you approach, and you note a slight nod of acknowledgement despite not being able to see his face. He doesn't want to interrupt this special time. You both have this silent agreement, never wanting to bother Pete when he’s with Maria, and he grants you that same courtesy. You’re thankful for this. Thankful for him.

You lay the crystal-white lilies down across the grass. It had finally reached the height of the greenery surrounding his plot, covering the freshly dug grave. It’s less unseemly this way, but it reminds you of how long you’ve been without your husband, the love of your life. Stroking across his carved name and pressing a kiss to the curve of the stone, you hold onto these moments tightly, needing to feel close to him.

Finishing up after giving him an update on your day, you stand slowly, approaching Pete on the bench with a weak smile. You cry less with him here. He looked up at you through his long lashes, deep chocolate eyes taking in your expression. It’s only now you see the blue-purple bruises that cover his eye and cheekbone, the split in his brow.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” You gasp, sitting down quickly and taking in his mashed-up face.

“Ah, got jumped by those kids,” he shrugs off your concern, pointing to Maria’s grave in a quick bid to change the topic. “You’ve been looking after Maria while I’ve been gone-“

“No, seriously, are you okay?” You question him softly, eyes scanning his face. He looks like he’s been hit by a car, but Pete looks at you with a pointed expression.

“‘M fine.” His grumble does little to ease your concerns, but you’re kind enough to let him move the conversation along.

Sitting down beside him on the bench, you exhale a loud sigh of frustration. Pete watches you settle beside him, clearing his throat. “Thank you for looking after Maria.” He repeats himself, clearly wanting to make it known he appreciates your help.

“Mhmm. She needed somebody while you were away,” you smile weakly, taking in his pained expression. It was obvious Pete hated leaving Maria alone for weeks on end. He wanted to be with her frequently, just like you with your husband. “Where were you anyway?”

“Business trip,” he mumbles, brushing over his bruised knuckles with his fingertips. The blood blooms beneath the thin skin, deep crimson and violet framed in the yellow-green hue of a dying contusion. He looks exhausted. Whatever business meeting he had must have taken place in an MMA Octagon.

You sigh softly, plucking his paw from off his lap and taking it into your own hands. He’s massive compared to you, veins protruding from the back of his palms. You’re gentle when you massage the blotted skin, eyes flicking up to his face. Pete watches you closely, those brown eyes impossible to read when they settle on you.

“You need some time away from here,” you insist, standing up from the bench and pulling his large hand with you. “Let’s go get coffee.”

“Mhm- I don’t wanna be botherin’ you-“

“It’s no bother! Come on; it will keep me busy,” you insist, a gentle smile on your face in an attempt to coax him out of the depressive cocoon Pete consistently wraps himself in. Maybe you’re imagining things, but you can see the edge of his lips quirk upwards slightly, shaking his head as he stands too.

“Alright,” he agrees, much to your delight. So caught up in the idea that you could brighten his day a little, you forget to let go of his hand as you lead the way, leaving the cars at the cemetery. You’ve stopped at a road crossing halfway to the coffee shop when you realise you’re still grasping onto him, Pete seemingly not having it in himself to burst your little sunshine bubble and ask you to let go of him.

Over a few black coffees and lattes, the two of you have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around your deceased partners for the first time. It lasts for hours. Pete reveals himself as an ex-marine working in Kandahar in Afghanistan, informing you of his interests, like playing the acoustic guitar and reading. You find yourself taken aback, the two very ‘delicate’ interests a contradiction to his rugged persona.

The baseball cap on top of Pete’s head hides his eyes from the setting sunshine that pierces the window you’re sitting beside, but his smile almost seems to shine brighter. It’s infinitely warmer than that orange orb in the sky, simmering in your chest as you smile along with him. You hope you can keep him that happy, never wanting to see him as gloomy as you did that rainy day.

“Pete-“

“Frank.”

You pause, staring at him with an incredulous expression. He takes a sip of his black coffee, exhaling slowly with a ragged breath before looking at you through his long lashes as though he’s shielding himself from the fallout of your reaction.

“My real name is Frank.”

Licking your lips, you take a moment to allow the information to sink in. You’re unsure why he would hide this from you, shield his identity like this- but given his battered state whenever he returned from a ‘business meeting’, you could guess it was due to his line of work. It also informs you it’s better than to go prodding at him, trying to get answers. The less you knew, probably the better.

“Frank…” You correct yourself slowly, to which his eyes duck to the surface of the table as if he finds the grain in the oak wood oddly fascinating. “What d’ya say we head back to my place so I can offer you a drink that’s a little more satisfying?”

It’s your turn to catch him off guard now, his eyes snapping up quickly to process your expression- as if he thinks you’re lying. His mouth falls open to answer you, but no sound comes out, his brain running quicker than his lips can follow.

“There’s no pressure,” you inform him gently despite your heart rapping violently against your ribcage. You glance towards the clock that hangs from the wall opposite your table, “But the shop is closing soon, and I don’t really feel like ending our conversation here.”

Frank’s eyes flick to the wall and then back to you, nodding slightly as if to urge himself onward.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

-✩-

The bronze brandy you hold in a crystal glass blurs your vision as you listen to Frank talk about his time in the military while sitting cross-legged on your living room floor. He won’t tell you much, insisting upon not bringing the mood down with gruesome tales of IEDs and blue-on-blue fire. Instead, he offers you stories of his friends Curtis and Billy.

An ache settles in your tailbone where you're seated on the carpet, just across from your guests' boots. Frank has settled into an armchair, swirling his brandy in the glass that looks minute in his giant paws. You don’t have it in you to move to the sofa, wanting to be close to him and take in his finer details.

In the low light of the living room, you can’t help but get lost in the contours of his face. His misshapen nose, the length of his ebony eyelashes and the curve of his Cupid’s bow. At some point, you lose track of the conversation, caught up in the view of his pecs beneath the grey cotton of his T-shirt. It’s evident that Frank is huge, but in this overhead lighting you can see the shadows of his muscular body beneath the sofa material, and you can’t help how your mouth almost waters.

“You good?” Frank’s voice cuts through your needy haze, your eyes snapping up quickly to focus back on his face. He’s watching you with a raised eyebrow.

“Y-Yes! Yes, I’m fine, honestly!” You insist, embarrassment upheaving your intoxicated stomach as he nods slowly, obviously taking note of how you had been staring at him. He could read you like a book, and had been able to since the day he saw you crying in the cemetery with a beer in your hand. How many days, weeks, months has it been since then? He made the days move quicker, always looked forward to seeing him.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” He queries carefully, his eyes flitting to the picture frames that contain your happier memories of your deceased husband. It takes your drink-laden brain a moment to catch up to what he’s inferring.

“God, no!”

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m- tryna insert myself. I’m not tryna replace him-“

“Frank,” you plead, voice cracking on the single-syllable name like it’s a desperate lifeline. “I am so fucking lonely. I’m so empty.”

Fuck.

It slips out of you so easily in your distress, anguished by the idea he might walk out of the door and leave you to spend your evening alone. Your heart plummets into your stomach when you see his expression shift, a look of surprise settling into the fine lines on his face.

“Hey now,” he whispers when he sees tears welling in your eyes, his gruff voice husky with the low volume. Frank leans forward in the armchair, reaching down and hooking his hands under you. You’re too overwhelmed to fight off his embrace, and his firm hold pulls you to your feet and settles you on his lap.

It’s intimate. You can feel the warmth of his body through his layers of clothing, and his forehead runs hot when he presses it to yours. The brandy makes your skin prickle where he touches you, his breath tickling your face as he breathes slowly and calmly.

“Deep breaths in, go on. You’re fine, I promise.”

His words of encouragement settle your hiccups. Your sobs tearing at your throat, sink back into your chest, and you exhale shakily with him, following his rhythm.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, praising you for bringing yourself down from the emotional cliff you had just threatened to throw yourself off. “That’s good.”

You don’t know when it shifts. When the churning agony in the pit of your stomach twists into a warm buzz of something a little more addictive. His nose bumps yours as he holds you, forehead still pushed up against your own. His body dwarfs you, his palms on your hips smothering the flesh there. Your heart leaps.

When his lips brush yours, it’s not a kiss. It’s a whisper. It’s barely there, and it tickles your nerve endings. You whimper softly, your own lips parting as you feel his mouth skirt around yours, just barely teasing at the supple flesh.

Your breathing labours once more, but this time its breathy keens instead of the rattling sobs he’d just pushed aside. His fingers skirt up the hem of your sweater, his warm, calloused pads trailing the ridges of your spine and sparking a heavy need.

“Frank,” you whisper, and it edges on a whine. The rumbling response that rattles in his lungs has your heart lurching out of the cavity of your chest.

You expect a burst, a sudden lurch towards something more primal, but Frank’s hand slowly drags up your throat to hold underneath your jaw. His grip is gentle, feather-light as he slightly tilts your chin to press a fuller kiss to your mouth. It’s so soft, his hulking body so delicate with you as he pulls you into him ever so slightly.

Brandy burns on his lips, and you can taste it, smell it on his tongue. It’s fruity and sweet with notes of oak that match the scent of his cologne. You’re breathing into his mouth, disarmed by the tenderness he offers you and losing any and all hope of a confident persona.

Trembling, your hands lay limp on his chest, fingers balling around the black cotton T-shirt he wears. They’re pulling at the fabric, clinging onto literally anything they can find because you feel like you’re floating, the alcohol in your system burning up and being replaced by the far more intoxicating kisses.

“Y’okay?” He whispers to you, lips barely leaving yours as he does. You’re nodding because God knows you can’t string together a sentence right now.

You could cry. His scabbed knuckles reach up to brush at the skin of your cheek, and you feel an overwhelming surge of emotion. These hands, the same that evidently found violence a more persuasive argument, were so affectionate with you. It was as though Frank disarmed the fighter in him, turning on the safety and locking him in the back of his mind.

A part of you finds inspiration in his demobilisation, urging yourself to let go of the safety blanket you were clinging to. Your hands slip down his front, feeling the ridges and contours of his fit, muscular body through his shirt as it descends. It’s as though your body lights up when you push your fingers underneath the hem of the cotton, buzzing hot between your thighs with a feeling you’d long forgotten.

“Mhmm,” Frank hums softly against your mouth, feeling your palms explore the smooth skin and the rippling muscles beneath. Your hips lift slightly from his lap, moaning as something throbs through you. It’s sickly sweet and drips like honey, and you find yourself chasing the awakening of a side of you that had been neatly stored in a box and left at your husband's bedside.

“You don’t need to,” he mumbles, and he’s right. You don’t. But you’ve never wanted something as much as you want this, every atom, every proton, neutral and electron of your body vibrating with a panging ache

“I want to,” you reply, the words like cotton in your mouth as you watch his eyes flit across your face. He takes you in, drinks in your beauty and commits it all to memory in a way only a widower would- spurred by the underlying fear of waking tomorrow having forgotten the little details. How long your lashes are, how your lip quivers when he runs his palms up either side of your ribs. The look in your eyes when your eyes lock; that sheer drop hanging above a four-letter word that’s too early to say aloud yet settles between the moments of shared silence.

“C’mere.”

-✩-

Frank’s palm settles on your throat as he sinks into your heat, his fingers lightly pressing into the curve of your jaw on one side, his thumb on the other. He applies no pressure there and simply holds you as he whispers praise against the angle of your cheekbone.

You clasp his bare shoulders with trembling hands, moaning out his name as he slides into you ever so slowly. Ragged scars litter the skin of his shoulders- slash wounds and destruction left by bullets. You decorate them with little, red crescent indents, your nails digging into his skin as you bloom around his cock.

“Pretty Girl,” he mumbles softly, and you let out a slightly pained whine as you stretch to fit him, “I know, baby. I know. D’you need me to stop?”

Frank’s words are slurred together as he holds himself back, knuckles white as they grip the bed sheets. You shake your head quickly, horrified by the prospect.

“D-Don’t stop,” you wheeze, your cunt fluttering around him. The stretch is delicious, the mild pain arcing something hot up your spine.

The sinews in his jaw flex as he rolls his hips forward, rocking into you fully. His thighs settle against the curve of your ass, and he presses kiss after kiss to your temple as he peppers you in compliments.

“You’re so good, bein’ so good for me,”

“That’s it, Good Girl. Can feel you relaxin’ for me.”

“There? S’That it? Yeah, that’s it.”

Frank’s forearms settle on either side of your head, his palm resting on your crown to steady your body as he begins to thrust into you. You wail softly, back arching off the pillows as he slides out of you, and back in. He touches something inside you that makes your vision blur, fizzing like static.

Each time he works his way out of you, your cunt tightens around the head of his cock in a desperate attempt to keep him there- a subconscious fear that he’ll disappear beneath the earth too.

“I’m right here,” he breathes, one of his hands moving to the inside of your thigh to push your legs wider. When he slots his hips against yours again, his pubic bone grinds against your clit. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

You sob. Frank’s winding your arousal up and up, pulling it right until you feel it throbbing around the edges of your being. His fat cock-head pushes up against something that obliterates you, punching the air from your lungs and making you choke around his name.

“That’s it Darlin’… That’s it,” he coaxes you, slipping his ring finger over the hood of your clit and rubbing in tight little circles.

Blackness- you think. Or you’re so far gone that your mind can no longer process what you’re seeing. Your orgasm bears down on you with an intensity that has your thighs quaking around Frank’s hips, your toes curling and cramping as you wail his name.

The afterglow embers continue to smoulder hours after you settle into his arms. Frank lays on his side, tracing his fingers over the divot of your spine as you gaze up at him. He’s tired; you can see it in his half-lidded eyes, the edges of sleep creeping up on his mind.

His lips are kiss swollen, his shoulders red and littered with scratches you had no idea that you had inflicted upon him.

Despite your embarrassment, Frank had smiled when he saw them—made a joke that you’d added to his collection of scars.

Though sleep also threatens to pull you under, your eyes are naturally drawn to the golden necklace that hangs from Frank’s neck. A golden wedding band hangs from the chain, glinting warmly under the low lighting of the lamp settled on the bedside table. You reach for it, tracing the circumference with the pad of your thumb.

Frank pauses for a moment, watching your mind work behind your eyes as you fall into the depths of your brain. It’s a sobering moment, knowing Maria and your husband hang over you both- feeling their loss once more. You don’t hide your thoughts from Frank for long, looking up at him through your lashes and holding your breath.

“… Do you think they’d approve?”

The man settled under the covers beside you doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turns his palm over, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone. You melt for him, leaning into his affections as you wrap your hand around his wrist. His pulse thrums in his veins beneath the thin skin, and it’s beautiful, a perfect tempo.

“I think they’d approve of whatever made us happy.”

Happy. You’d forgotten what happiness was, how it felt and tasted following the death of your husband. It evaded your every attempt to grasp at it. Only now did you rediscover the elusive state of mind. It was different to what you remember, almost foreign.

It felt like body-warmed bed covers. Like wet sneakers and cuts on beer bottle glass. It tastes like brandy and smells like coffee shops. It looked like Frank.

You release the breath you’d trapped in your throat, feeling the weight of grief shift ever so slightly from your shoulders.

“I think so too.”

END

authors note: I began this fic in July of 2022. It’s been sat in my WIPs folder all this time, and I finally managed to find a way to finish it. I don’t feel like it’s perfect, but I do love it very much. I hope you do too.

🏷️ Tags: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @pedrosprincess @inklore

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untoldshortsofthefandoms · 1 year

Text

Dull Dates

Request: from an anno from a long time

Prompts: “Can you zip up my dress?”

Word Count: 3785

Warnings: blood, some wounds. lots of sexual tension. bunch of fluff.

Author’s Note: Hello beautiful humans!! I apologize for taking years to come back to writing, but I had a lot going on between college and personal life, but I’m happy to back reading and writing again. I still had my old taglist, I thought it would be best to not tag you, let me know if want to be tagged or added back. Gif is not mine

Dull Dates

God was this date boring, you thought to yourself as you sipped on the glass of wine. Does he ever stop talking about himself? You thought as you nodded your head. You were on a date with the hottest E.R. doctor at Bellevue but god was he dull. You were an E.R. nurse there and you heard how all the other nurses drolled over him, you personally didn’t see it the way they did. Yeah, he was cute but not droll-worthy. Faking a smile and giggle at his joke as you rolled your eyes hoping this so-called date would come to an end soon. Your phone buzzed on the table, you glanced down and saw his name flash across the screen.

Your heartbeat skipped a beat and quickly clearing your throat your gained Robert’s attention. “Excuse me, Robert but I have to go. Emergency.” You stated shaking your phone in your hand.

Robert pulled his phone out, “I didn’t get a call from work though…” his voice trailed off, confused.

“Not a medical emergency Robert…” you paused for a beat, thinking of an excuse “ a family one. I have to go.”

“At least let me take you home.”

“No,” you responded a bit too quickly. “ I’ll be okay. Thank you though.” you recovered, with a smile. You grabbed your jacket, quickly gave Robert a kiss on the cheek, and left the restaurant.

You began the twenty-minute walk back to your apartment when it began to rain. Of course, it would start to rain as you were making your way home. You picked up your pace not because of the rain, but because of what you knew would be waiting at your apartment door when you arrived. A bloody injured Frank Castle. Time always matted when it came to Frank Castle, especially if he was bleeding. You leaned against a lamp post as you slipped off your heels and began to run to your apartment. This was not how you pictured your night going, running barefoot through New York City in the rain was not the first thing you thought of when you got dressed for your date tonight. You took the back allies and side streets to get to your apartment building, that twenty-minute walk was cut down to eleven minutes. You walked up the flights of stairs to get to your apartment, your breathing was hard and heavy. Your lungs and legs felt like they were on fire. But you finally reached your floor, you walked down the hallway to notice the hooded figure leaning against your door. The huffing and puffing of your breathing alerted the figure of your presence. The water was dripping off you onto the floor as you walked over to your apartment door.

The figure shifted to the right to let you open the door, “You know between you and work I don’t have a social life.”

The figure let out a low chuckle that turned into a groan of pain. “What did you do this time Frank?” you asked opening the door and letting you both inside.

Frank waddled into your apartment and across to the dining table, where he hopped up and laid down. You never had anything on that table due to amount of times Frank visited, it turned into a permeant surgical table. You walked in, closing and locking the door behind you. You walked straight into the small bathroom in your apartment to grab your first aid medical bag. You tossed your heels back toward the front door as you made your way over to Frank. You dropped the bag on the breakfast cart you had and tied your wet hair back into a ponytail.

“So what do I get to patch up today, Frank?” you asked trying to get him to talk.

Frank gave you a side grin, “Stab wound and a few bullet holes.”

“Oh so the usual, will you ever stop getting hurt?” you asked as you pulled a pair of gloves out of the bag.

“Only when you stop going out on dates with people who don’t deserve you,” he responded quickly like it bothered him you went on dates.

Your eyes rolled on their own as a smile tugged on your lips and your cheeks began to feel warm. You turned around to face the man laying on your dining table, scissors in hand and gloves on.

A mischievous smirk played on your lips, “You know the deal, Frank.”

“Do you have to cut my shirt off?” he groaned, even though it sounded more like a whine.

“It’s either I cut it off or rip it off.”

“You know I’d love it if you ripped it off, just as long as I get to rip that dress off you later,” Frank said in a husky voice as he gave you a wink.

“You know, if I’d known any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.” You said smiling, as you cut up the center of his black shirt. You carefully and slowly opened his shirt to reveal the stab wound to his lower abdomen and a gunshot wound on his right shoulder. You looked over the rest of his upper half not seeing anything else.

“You know we should get an x-ray for that shoulder, could have bone damage” you stated.

“It didn’t go that far in, you just have to pull the bullet out and you know how I feel about doctors.”

“Yeah I know, and yet here you are getting stitched up by a nurse…” you said raising an eyebrow up at him, as you began to clean up the stab wound. It looked worse than it really was, blood tends to make things look worse than they are. The blood around the wound was cleaned off, then you moved to clean the actual wound. You pressed the cotton pad with alcohol on the wound. Frank’s muscles tensed when the pad touched the wound.

“I’m sorry” you whispered softly, “you know I have to.” You continued to clean it up even more gently than before. His eyes stayed shut as he hissed in pain, “I know” his voice strained out softly.

You hated seeing his face distort in pain, but you had to continue to patch him up. You had finished up with the two little stitches the stab wound needed when you covered it in gauze and tape. Next on the list of patchwork was that bullet hole in his shoulder, you took a deep breath going to the kitchen for a wooden spoon that you knew you’d need.

You went to the other side of the table, and up near his shoulder so you could work. You held out the wooden spoon in front of his face, “Here bite down on this” you spoke.

“I’d much rather bite you,” he said with a smirk. The pain he previously felt was no longer evident on his face.

“Just bite the spoon. I don’t want the neighbors to hear you scream just yet,” you replied with a wink.

Frank raised his eyebrow up and gave you a side grin. He made eye contact with you as he bit down on the handle of the wooden spoon. You give a slight eye roll, grabbing your phone for added light. You held tweezers in one hand and your phone in the other with the flashlight on. You tried looking into the hole first with the light in hopes of noticing a glint of the bullet, but no luck. You had to go in blind. You gently as possible insert the tweezers and carefully begin to move them around in hopes of finding the bullet. You look over at Frank and see the pain written across his features, but he isn’t making much noise. You know he is doing his best to remain still so you can work. You finally feel a bit of resistance and you heard a light clint of metal against metal. “Found it” you whispered gently.

You used the tweezers to grab the bullet and began to slowly pull it back out the same way it went in, trying not to damage any more tissue or muscle. The bullet was out, and both you and Frank let out a breath that you both seemed to have been holding. Frank’s jaw tighten back up knowing what was coming next. You showed the light over the hole one last time, making sure there weren’t any fragments of the bullet left lodged in. The bullet seemed in tack though.

“You ready?” you asked grabbing the alcohol and taking a deep breath.

Clenched jaw, eyes screwed shut Frank nodded his head. You poured some alcohol from the bottle into the hole with a grimace expression as the muffled screams of Frank escaped his lips. You glanced over at him, your eyes full of sympathy for the man in front of you. You hated doing this to him, causing him pain but you had to in order to patch him up. You then began to stitch up the hole. Frank’s breathing went back to normal as he pulled the wooden spoon from his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke just above a whisper.

“Why you sorry sweetheart?”

“Cause I’m causing you pain,” your voice replied gently, “and not even the fun kind” you added with a smirk.

Frank let out an exhausted chuckle, “On the contrary there sweetheart, I don’t like it too rough. For example, you in that dress you have on…” he pauses. “I wouldn’t rip it off you…” Frank swallows the lump that sat in his throat. “No, no. I’d take my time. I’d kiss up your arm, across your neck then down across your collarbones all while my hands traveled from your hips up your back to that zipper…” he paused again, as he turned to face you. Your cheeks had turned a shade of red, your hands slightly shook as your heartbeat continued to increase and now you felt a pit in your stomach.

Frank watched your reaction carefully, he noticed the shaky hands and uneven breathing pattern. He knew his words had an effect on you, but he decided that he should let you work. “But I’ll let you finish that story,” he said with a side wink.

You cleared your throat trying to gain back your focus to finish up that last stitch. Then you bandaged up his shoulder. You helped Frank sit back up and you looked him in the eye, “Anything else you need?”

“Yeah… you,” he said casually.

“Besides me, any other injuries?” you asked with a smirk.

“Can you check to see if this bullet grazed my leg or not?” he knew it was just a graze but he wanted to spend more time with you.

“Sure but you know that means I cut your pants,” you stated using your fingers to make a cutting motion.

“Can’t you just take them off instead darling?” Frank pleaded, not wanting to have his pants cut up.

“Alright fine, off the table.”

You helped Frank slip off the table carefully to not rip open any of the stitches you just did. You bit your lip at the man standing in front of you, giving your head a quick shake to focus back on the task. Your hands went towards his waistband with a slight shake in them. You fumbled with the belt and button of his jeans, not due to lack of experience, no it was because it was Frank. After successfully unzipping his pants, you slowly pulled them down. Frank watched your every move carefully, it had been a long time since someone undressed him, let alone someone who looked like you. He did his best to keep his thoughts from traveling, trying not to picture you pinned beneath him on the table he was leaning against. He looked up at the ceiling trying to clear his head, as his pants reached his ankles.

You spoke up, trying not to look up at him now that you were on your knees in front of him, “Whereabouts?”

“Outer right thigh area,” he said monotoned.

“I’m gonna have to move your boxers up.”

“I know,” he gulped.

You took the edge of his boxers in your hand, as you gently pulled it away from his thigh and began to push up. You notice a little blood in the curve of his thigh muscle. Upon further inspection, it seemed to just have been a graze from the bullet. You cleaned up the area and added a small bandage.

“There…” you said clearing your throat, “all done. Unless there is anything else that needs my attention.” You got back to your feet, chest to chest with Frank, giving him a smile.

“Nothing sweetheart,” he said making eye contact and then shifting his gaze down to your lips before bringing it back to your eyes.

Frank thought about what it would be like to kiss you, to undress you the way you did him gently. To have his fingertips brush against your soft skin, just like your soft fingers did; to tell you what he was doing just like you. He found it comforting when you told him what you needed to do, making sure he was okay with everything that was happening. He wished to give you that same comfort. You leaned away from him, as you began to clean up the trash.

You made it into the kitchen where you dropped all the trash into the can as you pulled the used gloves off dropping them in too. You washed up as Frank carefully pulled his pants back on. You turned around to face a shirtless Frank, with his pants hanging loosely around his waist. You watched him, he had always caught you off guard. The beautifully sculpted muscles he had made him look like a Greek god. The scruffy beard that hugged his strong jawline. He was your definition of hot. You tried to not stare too long but Frank noticed as he finished pulling his belt through the last loop, he gave you a smile. He walked over to you, you blinked repeatedly then quickly dropped your face to look towards your kitchen floor. His boots came into your vision, as he placed a fingertip under your chin lifting your face to look up at him. His eyes traveled around your face before landing on your lips, he leaned down towards you slowly. His breath felt warm against your face, and you panicked.

You turned your face out of his path, “Can you unzip me?” you asked, trying to act like you didn’t notice how close you two were to kissing.

He cleared his throat, regathering his thoughts, “Sure.”

Frank brushed your ponytail off to one shoulder as he began to unzip your dress painfully slow. His eyes followed the zipper down your back, stopping just above your hips. He brought his hands back up to the base of your neck to undo the clip. He leaned over your right shoulder, as his hands slid down your arms and gently snaked around your waist.

“Done,” he whispered softly into your ear.

Your heart was pounding hard against your breastbone. You turned your face to meet his, your eyes connected. “Thanks…” you whispered softly. You felt his warm breath fan against your lips. Your eyes drifted down towards his soft-looking lips, then back up to his inviting eyes. You felt the want in the pit of your stomach to lean in and kiss him, but you turned out of his grasp. You looked away and started towards your bedroom.

“I’m gonna change and head to bed.” you said trying to keep a steady voice, “You can stay on the couch if you’d like.”

“I think I’ll head out,” Frank replied in a hardened voice as if he was trying to hold himself together.

You stopped in your tracks at the difference in his voice, you turned back to him. You did your best not to let your voice falter, “Okay, if you need anything you know how to find me.”

Frank turned to look at you when he heard the pads of your feet stop. He looked at you for what felt like forever to him. He watched your lips pull into a soft smile. He simply nodded his head, not trusting his voice anymore. He grabbed his jacket from the table and walked out the door. You watched him, hearing the slight slam of your apartment door.

You continued to walk into your bedroom, slowly closing the door behind you. Back pushed up against the door, you did your best to regain control of your unsteady heartbeat and uneven breathing. Your eyes closed, as images of what just happened swiped through like a movie. You and Frank always teased and flirted while you patched him up, that was nothing new. Your reactions to his flirtatious comments and mannerisms were nothing you weren’t used to. It was how close you two were to kissing, that was new, and new was a bit scary but this was Frank, he made things easy. A long exhale brought you back to reality, you slipped your hand through your tied-back hair. You dropped the dress that had once covered your body to the floor. You slipped into the bathroom and took a warm shower after stepping into a freezing one to clear your thoughts. You got changed into something comfortable for bed, before slipping off to sleep.

The week had gone by with no new visits from Frank, no new text messages, no nothing from the man. But unsurprisingly Robert had asked you out again stating he wanted to finish the date you two started the other night. You had accepted his offer, simply to be kind and in the hope to get the thoughts of Frank out of your mind. Also if you spent the night with Robert it meant you didn’t have to spend it alone with your thoughts.

You were getting ready for the evening, soft music playing through your bedroom. You slipped into a curve-hugging black dress that stopped just above your knee. The sheer black top covered the deep v cut in the solid black material, the sheer also covered the exposed back of the dress. You were reaching for the zipper when a loud knock came on your door. You held the front of the dress against your body as you made your way to the door. The metal of the door handle felt cool as you opened it to come face to face with Frank.

Frank’s eyes widened at you in the dress, he felt his hand ball into a fist as he thought of everyone who get to see you in that dress. He let his eyes wander across your figure, and that dress hugged every inch it covered. He felt his heart stop and start as he tried to pull his eyes up to yours. He closed his eyes for a moment before looking into your eyes.

“Hey Frank,” you said timidly, as you felt slightly self-conscious under his stare.

“Hi sweetheart,” Frank said softly.

“Anything wrong soldier?” you asked trying to gain back the normal confidence you have with him.

“Uhh… nothing physically,” he responded, “Can I come in?”

“Sure” you stepped to the side opening the door more, allowing Frank to slip inside.

As he walked by, you caught the smell of gunpowder, gun oil, and something you couldn’t pinpoint but it was all Frank Castle. You closed the door behind him, as he now stood in the middle of your living space.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not really,” you replied walking past him towards your bedroom, “just getting ready for a date.”

Frank’s eyes followed you to your bedroom, where your voice sang out from. He cleared his throat, “Lucky guy.”

“Yeah, I guess but he is very dull, sadly.”

“Then why go out on a second date?” he questioned as he leaned against your bedroom door frame.

“Cause the first one was interrupted by someone…” you trailed off, glancing over at Frank. He looked really good, leaning against your door frame. Frank was droll-worthy in your personal opinion.

Frank pretended to be shocked, “Who? Me?” he pushed off the door frame walking towards you, “And here I thought I saved you from a dull date.” He said finally towering over you.

You looked up at him with a smile, “You did, but I do owe him a full date to at least try to be less dull than that first one.”

Frank looked down at you, directly into your eyes. “And when do I get my date with you?” he asked softly.

You brought your bottom lip in between your teeth biting down before you felt a wave of shyness rush over you as you looked down towards the ground. You quickly looked back at him with the heat on your cheeks burning your skin, as you looked back into his eyes, “Are you asking me out on a date Frank?”

“Maybe.”

You turned around facing away from him, you gathered your hair to one side, “Can you zip up my dress for me?”

You felt his left hand gently grab your hip as he pulled the zipper up. His warm grip left, leaving your hip cold against the air of your room. His hands found their way to the base of your neck where the clip of the dress was, securing it into place. He let his hands travel across your shoulders, down your arms leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You felt his warm body pressed up against you, as his hot breath brushed next to your right ear. His husky voice spoke softly, almost like music into your ear, “Done.”

He stepped away from you, his warmth leaving with him. You turned to face him again.

“You look beautiful,” he breathed out, “Have fun tonight. I’ll try to stay out of trouble.”

He gave you his signature smirk, which he reserved only for you. He turned and walked out of your bedroom leaving you to finish getting ready for a date with someone who wasn’t him.

“Frank,” you called out to him.

He stopped in his tracks, “Yeah?”

“Thank you, and don’t change your plans tonight for me,” you spoke, “I’m sure I can find a different date some other night,” you flirted.

Frank’s back was still towards you, so you didn’t get to see the smile that graced his lips as he walked out of your apartment.

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Taglist:

@uselsshuman

#frank castle #the punisher #the punisher oneshot #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle x gender neutral reader #punisher #marvel #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #jon bernthal

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mlmxreader · 1 year

Text

Rumble | Frank Castle x m!reader

anonymous asked: Frank castle with you're not invincible

summary: Frank lives for the nights when he gets to see the man he loves and misses so much when he can't be there.

tws: swearing

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

The calmness of night was surely something to behold; twinkling champagne stars that faded the closer they got to the city, the hustle and bustle of people going to and from work muffled and quiet, the lick of the street lamps so far away that it gave the sky an almost golden hue. Life in the middle of the city never suited you anyway.

Your roommate was out for the night, going on some stupid mission or another with some cunts you didn't think twice about; he was hardly there anymore anyway, you were basically just his housekeeper. But you didn't mind, you quite liked being alone and you quite liked the odd visits from Frank Castle anyway; your lovely Frank.

He would swing by when he had the time, always so happy to drink your coffee and eat your bread; he would scoff the whole lot down without a second thought, like he hadn't eaten right in days. He would spend hours sitting on your sofa to catch his breath and to actually sit back for once; he would be glad of the company when you sat near him to read or watch the television, although he never said it.

But it was the nights that he loved most. Frank lived for the nights, cuddled up in bed with you as some old metal song played on the speaker you kept on the windowsill; listening more to your breathing than anything else, crushing himself into your back and burying his face against the back of your neck as much as he could. He adored the nights. Frank would happily live forever in those nights, bathing in the tenderness and drowning in the kindness of those wee hours.

Tonight was no different, though. You were snuggled up in bed, listening to old Cannibal Corpse songs and slowly starting to close your eyes as you began to drift off; the back door was locked, but you took the key out on purpose, knowing that Frank would likely have his copy and would use it if he needed. Or Zemo, if he miraculously came back to where he actually lived.

The door unlocked, and you grumbled as you dared to sit upright, listening out for footsteps that soon came; in just a few seconds, there was a knock at the door, followed by a deep and rumbling voice.

"Mister (y/l/n)? Your six o'clock."

You looked over, meeting Frank's big brown eyes, and you laughed softly as you shook your head. "C'mon, big boy."

He took off his shoes, dumped his jacket on the door, and started to undo his belt; bit by bit, his clothes were dumped here and there where he always chucked them, and with just his boxers on, he finally crashed into the bed. A harsh sigh escaped the back of his throat, and he grumbled quietly.

"Sorry 'm late, baby."

You shook your head, squirming into his embrace as you sighed and held onto him tightly; 'Bloody Chunks' by Cannibal Corpse was playing as you laced your hand in his hair and gently carded through it. Frank wasted no time, leaning into the touch as he hummed ever so quietly along to the song; he always liked that you had music playing, always liked that it was some sort of heavy metal and that it was actually something decent.

The radio never played anything decent.

"Don't worry about it," you mumbled. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "Only bruises this time."

You nodded, throwing a leg over him as you pulled on the duvet; Frank started to close his eyes, head tipping back as he pressed himself into the pillows. Your smell had infected them, sweet scent of coconut and black pepper hitting him like the softest freight train; he always missed your scent when he was forced to stay in motels or crash on a friend's sofa for the night.

Your scent, your music, your breathing and your body on his; he always missed it so much, he couldn't deny that he always missed it when he was forced to be somewhere else; when he was forced to be away from you, Frank always missed you the way that the stars missed the sky when the street lamps took over, the way the foxes missed the dirt when roads were laid over it.

Black pepper and coconut. He turned over, pressing his face against the pillow as you wriggled further down the bed so that you could press your face to his chest without needing to put yourself in some squashed and uncomfortable position that would hurt your neck in the morning; he laid his arm over you, a small smile coming to his face as he swallowed thickly and let himself go limp.

If he was honest, Frank was more than glad that the only bruises he had were small, just little bits here and there that sporadically littered his skin; he could get comfortable this time, with no broken bones and no gashes or slashes in his skin that were harsh and deep, he could actually relax. Besides, he felt more relaxed now that he knew you were safe and protected from the likes of Billy Russo now that he was there with you. If nothing else, Frank knew he could keep you safe.

He couldn't say the same for your roommate, he fucking hated that prick; he said he would protect you, as your best friend, but was never actually at home to do so. Frank despised him for that, for leaving you all alone when there were evils in the world that no one had seen or heard of; leaving you all alone when there were things that no man should know of. Frank fucking despised Zemo for leaving you in the cold.

But at least now, Frank could sleep peacefully knowing that someone was with you, and he was glad that it was him and not some idiot who didn't know what he was doing; he shifted his hips, a soft rumble of thunder slipping from his lips as he pulled you that little bit closer. His hand slipped from between your shoulders to your lower back, and he slowly dipped his hand under your shirt.

Warm skin met his cold fingertips, and he smiled when you shivered and flinched at the contact.

"Am I too cold?"

"A little," you breathed out. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

Frank nodded, letting out a quiet yawn. "'M fine."

"Frank..." you huffed. "Please, you're not invincible."

"I'm fine," he yawned. "Just bruises... missed you a lot, too..."

You didn't want to believe him, but you were far too aware that Frank would be honest with you no matter what; so you sighed, and snuggled and squirmed into his embrace as much as you could.

"Keep cuddling, and I'll fall asleep," Frank warned.

"So will I," you laughed softly. "You wanna call a truce?"

"No."

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years

Text

Imagine Billy calming you down after a nightmare.

[check out the 500 followers special!]

Author's note: I just want a cuddle tbh

3:00 AM

Billy has a light sleep. Long, anxious nights spent in foxholes could do that to anyone. So it doesn't take much for him to wake up when you begin to stir frantically, your muscles contorting in erratic spasms.

His initial instinct is to reach for the gun under his pillow, already looking around the room for any sign of an intruder, but his hand quickly retreats when Billy sees you thrashing next to him, eyes squeezed shut. Your forehead is peppered with small droplets of sweat, some of which have been captured in the crease of your eyebrows as your features are stuck in a pained frown.

It's just a nightmare, not someone coming at you. In a way, he feels relieved: you are safe. He lets out a sigh and reaches to tangle you in his arms.

Billy wraps his arms tightly around you. Your face is shoved into his chest as he rests his chin on the top of your hand. His iron hold is effectively limiting your fearful thrashes, forcing your panicking body to calm down. The sound of Billy's steady heartbeat is now haunting your dreams too.

"It's just a dream, princess," his voice is groggy. "You're okay, I gotcha."

His fingers are mindlessly brushing against your skin, gently caressing your arms and back as he places a few soft kisses on the top of your head.

Your breath is becoming steady, returning to the calm shallowness that befits a restful sleep. Voluntarily or not, you nuzzle your face further into his toned chest, grabbing at the comfort he's offering. Billy remains awake for a little while, still caressing your warm skin, just to make sure you really are alright.

Odd cars and motorbikes are passing your window, heading for destinations known only to them. The sunrise is still a few hours away.

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strawhbrrries · 7 months

Note

domestic frank seeing his girl after she’s just come back from a girls night out and she’s a little tipsy and giggly rambling about how much she loves him and how happy she is with him whilst he’s trying to help her get ready for bed :’)

screaming and crying and throwing up, im so glad someone else had these thoughts <3 lots of sweet frankie under the cut!!!!

You weren’t sure who called him or when he showed up, but god he smelled good. He big, strong arms supporting about ninety percent of your weight as he walked the two of you from the car and into the house.

“Frankie!! You smell so good.” Your words were soon followed by a hiccup and some other things neither of you could quite understand.

“C’mon baby, in the house.” Is all he responded, lifting you up the stairs of the porch and avoiding any falling that may have occurred if he let you climb them yourself.

He took your purse and any other accessory he could find and set it on the kitchen counter, grabbing a glass of water and a small snack to help counter, what he was sure was, an empty stomach.

“Missed you so much.” You slurred, clumsily taking off your shoes and smiling up at him proudly when you didn’t fall in the process.

“I missed you too, come drink this water for me, okay?” Frank motioned for you to come over, the space between you and the island counter wasn’t that far so he trusted you enough to make it over there.

“M’kay.”

He stood there and watched you drink the entire glass and eat the entire snack he set out, making sure you swallowed it all and didn’t choke, he felt like a father. He loved you too much to risk you choking on a fucking cracker because you forgot how to swallow, in your inebriated state.

When he had gotten the phone call from you about how much you loved him and how glad you were to have him, he knew it was time to pick you up. He knew how much you loved girls night but at some point, your old man, had enough and wanted you back.

“Let’s go get changed for bed, you need to take your meds too.” He grabbed your hand softly and led you to the bedroom, yet again supporting most of your weight but he didn’t mind.

“Can we have sex?” You blurted out, slapping your hand over your mouth and bursting into a fit of giggles. “That was supposed to stay in my head.”

He smiled softly at you and sat you down on the bed, placing a kiss on your forehead before changing you into your pajamas for the night. He disappears momentarily before coming back with a paper cup of water and your nightly meds, taking the cup away once you had taken the meds.

“C’mere funny girl, let’s rest.” He climbed into the bed and pulled you into his chest, rubbing your arm softly as a way to coax you into sleeping.

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bianquitasunderworld · 7 months

Note

I’m obsessedddd with the idea of sub!frank. Like that man was a soldier and he follows karen like a lost puppy. Maybe not all the time, but yk that man likes to be told what to do

Submissive Solider

Warnings: smut, talks of sex.

Parings: Frank Castle x Reader

A/N: This is more of a thought/blurb? Omg I’m sorry I got carried away, this man just does things to me. Also does anyone know how you get one of these thin border/divider things, i’ve been looking for one in pink and I just can’t find one. ⬇️ 😭

This man absolutely follows his partner around like a lost puppy everywhere, everywhere.

Don’t get me wrong, Frank loves being dominant, loves taking control of you, mind and body, but there are days where he just needs to take a break, days where he doesn’t want to think for himself.

On those days he starts arguments, and has an attitude until you decide you’ve had it with his behavior, with him. Some days Frank puts up a fight, he’ll be bratty, he’s giving you lip until you fight him into submission which is difficult. But on those days where he just gives in. No arguments, no talking back. Those are the days where you know he’s having a really rough time.

Frank is willingly to do anything on those days, he’ll listen and do as told, he’ll beg. He’ll get on his knees while looking up at you, kissing your thighs, pleading for even just a look at your chest or under your skirt.

He’s so shameless when he’s in a submissive headspace, he loves doing anything in his power to please you. Frank adores your whimpers, moans and whines, any noises that escape your lips from his doing is music to his ears.

Now I don’t think he’s the type to call you mommy in bed…but there has definitely been times where the word is on the tip of his tongue. There has been times where you just make him feel soo good and he just wants to groan ‘Mommy.’

I feel like he’s definitely more of the ma’am type, I don know if he’d be the type to say any other titles than Mommy and Ma’am.

One night though, one night when Frank is so tired, so, so tired and just needs a break, he’ll come home and find you cooking in the kitchen or reading some book he recommend and he just gives you ‘that’ look with his stupidly beautiful eyes.

You don’t have to ask any questions before you’re taking off your shirt and laying in bed, letting him suck your tits. He just lays there with you caressing his head, running your nails against his scalp comforting him to the best of your ability. Kissing his head while he runs his hand down your hips. He groans as soon as he wraps his mouth around your tit, sucking and groaning.

He treats this moment as if it’s something he never wants to forget, as if he never wants to leave it. Now, it happens when you have to pull him off for a second. He just so needy for you, he needs you. Frank groans ‘Mommy’ his voice is deep, it’s clear he’s desperate. He looks up at you. His eyes starring into your soul begging for more.

God the things it does to you just hearing it leave his mouth, God you didn’t even realize you liked that until it left his mouth, Franks mouth. You just have to give in, you have to. He’s your solider, ‘The Punisher.’ For the first time he’s begging you for something and you just have to give in, just have to let him have it.

This will usually always leads to passionate sex with soft caresses followed by ‘I love you’s’ and ‘So good Frankie.’

#frank castle smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #frank castle #frank castle fic #frank castle oneshot #smutty thoughts #Bianquitas smutty thots #the punisher x reader #the punisher smut #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher x you #jon bernthal smut

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madschiavelique · 3 months

Text

⟢﹒𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡

⟢﹒ summary : your boyfriend’s too pretty for you to sit correctly at your friends’ party, thankfully his fingers are here to help you

⟢﹒ contents warnings : SMUT, afab reader, fingering, overstimulation, semi-public, praise, no use of y/n

⟢﹒ word count : 1,2k

⟢﹒ note : hehe this thought has been lingering in my silly brain for a bit, had exposed it to besties @sunflowersandsapphires and @gracethyomen and chose to write a lil something sooo here we are

"Frank...," a sigh laced with a moan left your lips, "please-"

Your sentence was interrupted as his fingers worked themselves into you to perfection, arching your back as your head rolled back on his shoulder.

Two - that's how many orgasms he'd managed to give you in record time with just the help of his fingers. While one hand was busy satisfying the warmth of your needy cunt, the other grasping the full flesh of your breast freed from your tank top pulled up over your chest, his lips were whispering the sweetest torments.

"I thought that's what you were craving," his lips stretched as his warm breath spread over the skin of your shoulder. "Ain't that what ya wanted sweetheart?" he questioned as he came to place a kiss behind your ear.

The overstimulation was beginning to permeate your whole body, everything tingled you, nearing the painful point. Your hips moved to lift you up so your body didn't feel like it was about to explode, but his hand let go of your nipple to hold you firmly in place by the hip.

Another complaint escaped your lips as your eyebrows tilted back begging for mercy. His nose pressed against your jaw, his low, warm sneer landing on the inflamed skin of your cheek.

"Couldn't even wait for us to be out of here, huh?" his hand moved your hips closer to his lap as a curve of his fingers inside you made you jolt.

Your thighs pressed together as if this gesture would stop Frank from continuing. Your teeth sank into the tender skin of your lip, trying in vain to hold back the sounds Frank was creating from your body.

You were at a party with friends, with enough guests that if you both slipped away no one would be looking for you. Good laughs, chatting about everything and nothing, and just what was shaping up to be an excellent evening.

But it was hard to stay put when your boyfriend was like this: his shirt sleeves rolled up, listening to other people's discussions with his arms folded, a grin on his face as he laughed at a friend's joke.

Every time he turned his back in your direction, you couldn't help watching him, noticing how the fabric of his shirt seemed to clench against his muscles. And the way his broad shoulders shrugged slightly as he answered questions from the guests.

And his fingers, curling around his beer, his digits brushing the mouth of the bottle as his lips placed a thirsty kiss on it.

No, you couldn't have waited, you couldn't have lasted for very long.

"Want me to stop?" he asked as his hand gripped your hip and slid down to your navel, pressing into the hollow.

Lightning flashed through your thighs, making them tremble as your whining became less muffled. He pressed against the spongy spot, making you see stars in a way that was as cruel as it was life-saving.

Your lower belly felt like a hot summer's day, and you struggled to hold on as one of your hands clutched the sheets of the bed you were sitting on and the other gripped Frank's thigh.

Your mind was all fuzzy, and yet wide awake: enough to tell you that you didn't want him to stop.

He was kissing the corner of your jaw, "My baby couldn't wait for me," he whispered, "M'gonna give her what she wants."

His hand moved up your belly, taking hold of one of your tits again and resuming the movements of his fingers within you in a slow, delicious rhythm.

But he stopped for a moment, tilting his head to one side and staring at the door facing you. Lost in the euphoria of your body's sensations and the sudden halt to his movements, you let out a moan, your lips forming in a small pout as you managed to breathe and realign your senses for that brief moment.

Gently, his lips brushed your lobe as he whispered "Gotta be real quiet for me little one, hm?"

It was when the shadow of your thought rose above the bright light of your pleasure for a moment that you realised: someone was close. The panic didn't even have time to grip your guts before Frank's fingers resumed their torment.

You leaned forward as you tried with all the composure you had left to be silent. But his hand on your breast climbed to your shoulder to pull you back against him until your back was against his chest.

"Seen Frank anywhere?"

Your eyes rested on the slit of light just below the door that contrasted with the half-light of the room, fearful of shadows on the other side.

But Frank's lips pulled you back to him as he kissed your neck, exhaling against your skin and letting the wetness of his kisses turn icy hot under his breath.

"Don't know," a second voice replied, "him and his girl haven't been down in a while."

His palm pressed against your clit and you took a jerky breath, Frank's hand immediately coming to rest over your mouth without ever stopping.

You felt yourself getting closer, felt the knot in your stomach tighten as the seconds ticked by, as Frank's fingers continued to build the ecstasy, as you felt yourself losing all control.

"Maybe they went to sleep, both seemed a bit tired."

Your heart pounded in your ears as the voices got closer. Tired wasn't really the term you would've used, pretending was more of the sort. It was important that it didn't look too obvious, that the way you were pulling Frank's hand towards the upstairs rooms didn't give the impression that you were in high school and taking your boyfriend back to your room away from the eyes of your parents.

You bit your cheek, trying to restrict the moans rising from your throat by any means possible, letting your body gently vibrate to his every move like a guitar string vibrating every time it was plucked and its music had to sound at all costs.

And you felt it rising to complete intensity, your back arching wildly but Frank's grip holding you in place as everything shattered. Waves of electricity were crashing in your body like the angriest waves an enraged sea could ever send. Your thighs were shaking so hard you thought that at any moment your body would burst into a thousand pieces of embers.

Your body jolted violently in silence as Frank continued his movements, slowing them down little by little as you were coming down from your high.

"Let them sleep, we'll see them in the morning."

When they were far away enough, Frank removed his hand from your mouth and simply let it slide until it gripped your jaw and turned you towards him softly.

You felt yourself floating, your eyes half-closed as your body slowly came down from its emotions. You still twitched a little as Frank smiled, clearly proud of the state he'd put you in. All dumb-fucked, just from his fingers : he could get drunk on that sight of you.

Then he came and kissed your temple gently, a low chuckle vibrating in his throat, "That's my girl."

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dreamcatcher92 · 3 months

Text

Hide & Seek

Summary: You want to play a little game with your boyfriend.

Warnings: Smut, language, 18+ minors do not enter, dom/sub, use of calling Billy “sir”

You couldn’t help but giggle while you hid under the big four post bed that you and Billy shared. You wanted to play a little game of hide and seek with Billy. You loved role playing and messing around when it came to sexy times with your hunk of a man.

Today, you decided to hide underneath the bed and wait for him to come strolling in from a long day at work. Your panties get more and more soaked the more you imagine the things you would do to him and the things you want him to do to you. You are madly in love with Billy and he feels the same about you.

Suddenly, you’re ripped from your daydreaming when you hear the front door open and shut. Billy walks in and peels off his black coat and hangs it on the coat hook by the front door. He can tell that it’s eerily quiet.

“Babe?” He calls out.

Silence is all he is met with, but he knows you’re home. Your stuff is here, so he knows now that you want to play. He smiles.

You cover your mouth and giggle as silently as possible. You can hear him walking around, but suddenly, complete and utter silence. Then, he grabs you by your ankles and pulls you out from under the bed. You let out a squeal.

You laugh and turn over on your back to look up at him, “Hi Billy.”

Without saying a word, he leans down and picks you up off the floor. He doesn’t give you a chance to move or say anything before he’s laying deep passionate kisses on you and taking your clothes off. You don’t fight him and just let him do whatever he wants to you. You’re his.

“Lay down.” He says sternly as he leans back from a kiss.

“Yes, sir.” You say with a menacing grin.

Slowly, you laid down on your back and Billy quickly undressed himself. You didn’t have much time before he was on top of you because once you called him sir, it was on. It was like fuel being poured onto a fire.

You wrapped your legs around Billy as he lay on top of you leaning on his forearms that lay on either side of your head. He begins to give you soft gentle kisses on your mouth. You moan into his kisses and run your fingers through his thick dark hair.

He begins kissing his way down your neck, down your stomach, and then without warning, he’s eating your wet pussy. You toss your head back in pleasure and grab ahold of the bed sheets for dear life. It doesn’t take you long before you’re cumming in his mouth. Billy knows exactly how to get you off within minutes, which makes him even harder and his cock is aching to fuck you.

He gets up on his knees between your legs and positions his hard cock dripping with precum against your soaked entrance. As he pushes inside you, you let out a loud moan from how good he feels filling you completely. As he fucks you, you scratch red marks and welts into his back.

“Faster! Ah! Harder Billy!” You scream out as you begin to inch closer and closer to orgasming once more.

“Fuck baby!” Billy grunts as he thrusts hard and fast into your cunt.

Billy reaches down and presses his thumb to your clit and begins to rub circles. Almost immediately, you're thrown over the edge. You clench down and cum hard around his cock.

“Billy!”

“That’s it baby, there’s my good girl.” He says continuing his pace until he cums and fills you up.

After he finishes, he rides out the high for a few more moments before he falls to the bed beside you. He pulls you to his chest and kisses your forehead. You look up at him breathing heavily and smile.

“I love you Billy.”

“Love you too beautiful.”

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo smut #the punisher #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes smut #billy russo fanfic #fanfic #smut #smut fanfiction #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x reader #ben barnes x reader #benbarnesedit #oneshot

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dumblilb · 6 months

Text

Me @ Ellie Williams

#ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams oneshot #ellie williams angst #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #phoebe bridgers #graceland too #punisher phoebe bridgers #boygenius #julien baker #lucy dacus

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amhrosina · 1 year

Note

short fic about reader comforting frank after he fails to save a girl who looks like reader!!!!!!!!!!! ANGST PLEASEEEEE (and also smut is okay with me if you want to)

Safe and Sound

(Frank Castle x f!Reader)

a/n: y'all i based this off of safe and sound by taylor swift so uhhh angst ahead

warnings: angsty as hell, canon typical frank stuff - violence, blood, etc., smut but with decorum!!!!, lmfao they do it on the kitchen floor where is said decorum???, anyways some religious imagery, frank just loves reader so much, reader sort of worships frank (who wouldn't??))

I remember tears streaming down your face when I said, "I'll never let you go"

When all those shadows almost killed your light

I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone"

But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down

You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now

Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

It was all very simple, really, when it came to Frank. The shrill of your phone in the middle of the night, tearing out of your rumpled sheets, rubbing the blur out of your half-lidded eyes and running, running, to his apartment, which was only four blocks from yours. It was so, so simple. He needed you, so you would be there.

He was covered in blood, hunched over the kitchen sink, heaving into the drain when you found him. A mixture of blood, sweat, and tears fell from his ghostly pale face onto the counter, staining it crimson. You froze, only for a moment, only to assess the carnage in front of you, and lunged toward him, pressing cool hands to his searing skin.

He trembled against you, clutching at your body, your skin, anything that was an extension of you with blood coated hands. His legs gave out, a muffled sob leaving his throat as his knees slammed into the tile.

“Frank, baby, what happened?” You gasped, cradling his head against your stomach.

In a quick movement born of a desperate desire to touch you, his hands ran the length of your body, cupping the back of your knees and tugging, sending you crashing against him on the floor. Your knees straddled either side of his legs, and he used his leverage to crush your body against his in a bear hug.

“Frankie, are you okay?” You murmured, running a soothing hand through his hair and down the back of his neck.

He tightened his hold on you, pulling you impossibly closer to him. A shuddering breath released through his clenched teeth before he finally looked up at you. Your stomach dropped at the sight. The warmth that usually coated his gaze was nowhere to be found. When you looked at him, you weren’t face to face with your Frank. Staring back at you was the cold, dead eyes of the punisher.

And yet, the longer you looked, the more you could see the cracks in his façade - the ones he tried so hard to bury when he left the apartment at night. A mixture of fear and relief stirred in his dark eyes, and all at once you felt both exposed and comforted under his gaze.

“Talk to me.” You softly encouraged, cradling your hands around his jaw.

“She looked like you.” He mumbled, searching for the remnants of himself in your gaze.

“Who did, baby?” You pressed him further.

“They had a woman,” he swallowed thickly, “She was half dead when I got there. I couldn’t get to her in time.” He shook his head, briefly closing his eyes. “She looked like you, and I lost it. I tore them to shreds with my bare hands.”

He began to tremble again, and you watched as his eyes grew watery. You didn’t gawk, or scoff, or push away from him like many people would if they knew the brutality his hands were capable of inflicting on others. You didn’t move at all, becoming the steady rock that he so desperately needed tonight. You would not balk at his rage. You would not falter in the face of carnage.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it being you.” His voice cracked, and the ghost of a tear slid down his cheek. “I would burn the world if it were you.” He growled, a hint of his fury slipping through his tone. His grip on you tightened as the memories of the night resurfaced.

“It wasn’t me, baby.” You breathed, running a thumb over the stubble that had built up on his face. “I’m right here. I’m safe.” His arms reflexively tightened around your waist at the word ‘safe’, as though he had to remind himself that you were physically in his arms, the safest place in the world for you. “I’m safe with you.” You murmured, ghosting a kiss over his swollen cheekbone.

He snaked a hand up your spine, wrapping his hand around the back of your head. For a moment, the world ceased to exist. It was just you and Frank, wrapped in each other, soaked in the consequences of his perilous night. A single tear slid down his cheek. He broke the spell between you by pulling your lips down to his in a feverish kiss. His tongue scraped against your lips, a question and a desperate plead.

“Need you, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. And that was all it took.

You opened yourself to him, grinding down into his lap with a ferocity only reserved for wild, untethered nights like this one. He tugged at your shirt, nearly tearing it off your torso, and groaned when your nipples perked at the cool air. His hands roamed the length of your body, and something about his gentle pushes and pulls as he explored your skin told you it was not just out of carnal lust, but out of a desire to touch every living aspect of you. A gentle reminder that you were, in fact, safe and in his arms.

“So soft, sweetheart.” he breathed, pressing a line of kisses down your jawline and onto your neck. “Can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“‘m all yours, Frankie.” You arched into his touch, a breathy moan snaking its way out of your mouth and into the world around you. He tugged your pants down as you fumbled with his belt, and even though he was still mostly dressed, and your pants were sitting at a wild angle on your shins, the spark that he had ignited forced you to sink down onto him, grunting through the stretch and leaning into his chest like the devout do when they pray.

You excused the lewdness of your thoughts, though you also felt like they perfectly described the relationship between the two of you. Frank Castle was your God, and you would worship him like this for the rest of your life.

It didn’t matter that it was three in the morning, or that Frank’s demons were spectating this joining, or that Frank’s kitchen was covered in blood. All that mattered in that moment was the way your skin felt against Frank’s. The way you moved as a unit, seducing the pleasure out of each other slowly. The way you uncoiled around him, exploding in a desperate prayer to be full of him him him. The way his low, rough moans sparked another explosion as he answered your prayers a few minutes later.

Sweat clung to both of your foreheads, and even though there were far more comfortable positions that you could switch to, you and Frank didn’t move as your gazes met – the helpless love and worship so plain and obvious in your eyes. Your bodies remained joined for a long while, breaths and heartrates returning to normal.

When you finally moved, it was only to stumble into the shower, scrubbing the crimson stained skin until it was rubbed raw, but clean. You both fell into Frank’s bed, the late hour and chaos of the night finally catching up with your antics. He pulled you against him and pressed a warm kiss to your forehead as he wrapped his arms around you. You had told him once that this position made you feel invincible because you knew it was the safest place on earth, and he hadn’t forgotten it.

“No one can hurt you.” He promised, the ghost of the whisper carrying from his lips to the shell of your ear. “You’re safe here, with me.”

And you always would be.

Tag List:

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spcewild · 2 months

Text

My Missing Piece

Pairing: Frank Castle x (gn!) Reader

Warnings: angst -> fluff, topics of death, violence, corny fluff, pet names, profanities, etc.

Summary: After Frank Castle's supposed 'death' , you were heartbroken. But what happens if the dead man of your heart shows up at your doorstep?

Song: j's lullaby - Delaney Bailey

Word count: 952 words 5,147 characters

You laid on your side, watching the TV screen as your tears glossed over your lashes, making your vision blurry. You brought a hand up to your mouth to stifle a small cry that left your lips. Ever since that day, the one where you lost the man that grasped at your heart and held it in a harsh grip and never let go - you had been lost. Heartbroken. It never felt the same. You hoped that one day, you would wake up and find him in bed next to you, but you knew that would never happen.

...

Meanwhile, Frank did everything he could to hold himself back from seeing you. He was a new man now, he had a new life. He had to move on. But he couldn't. He knew as much. It didn't take the man much to give in and try to see you, the first thing he could. So it was decided. He would see you once more, and then that's that. That would be it. But once he was in front of you, suddenly all those feelings came rushing back, that dreading and desperate feeling to reach out and hold you in his arms. To hold you tight and protect you from everything else in this miserable shitty world.

...

Your hand gripped the handle of your front door, a steady knock being the only thing that brought you over here. Your fingers collected together to twist at the knob, swinging the wooden door open and immediately dropping your hand to your side, your eyes widening. Whether it was in horror, disbelief, or defiance, you were unsure. Maybe all. Frank Castle. The man said to be dead, the man that your heart longed for, was on your doorstep. A hood over his head, with his hands in the hoodie pockets. As you opened the door, his head lifted up, his eyes locking with yours as if you two had first seen each other for the first time again. Everything had slowed down in your head, and in reality for you. You were brought back by Frank clearing his throat.

"Hey."

That simple word was what made everything process and click in your head, tears immediately fogging up in your eyes, your voice slightly shaky as you spoke,

"Frank?"

He stepped further inside, allowing him to do so as you closed the door, leaning your back against it as you stared up at the man in sheer disbelief, tears still fighting at your bottom lashes.

"Yeah... it's - it's me."

Hearing his voice again made a rush of emotions fly through you, pain, relief, desperation. You threw your arms around him immediately, your head getting pushed into the fabric of his hoodie, tears starting at a more rapid pace now, pouring from your eyes, wetting the grey fabric your head was buried in.

Frank welcomed all of it, his hands slowly holding around your waist and back, pulling you closer, the feeling of your arms around his neck being exactly what he longed for, his face now taking its turn to bury into your neck. His hand occasionally came up and combed through your hair, his head hesitantly pulling away before pressing a ever so gentle kiss to your forehead before retreating back to your neck. Meanwhile, your arms clung around his shoulders tightly, afraid he would disappear if you let go for even a second, your fingers digging into the hood that now laid on the back of his neck.

"I thought you were dead.."

Your voice whispered from behind his ear, so soft it almost passed right by him. He shifted slightly but didn't let go of you. And you didn't let go of him.

"I know."

He spoke simply, in his gruff and low voice, muffled slightly by your neck, of which his face was buried in.

"I know, sweetheart."

His spoke once more, now more gentle, his brows furrowing slightly as his eyes closed. Your sobs only slowed down half an hour after, you had now shifted to your couch, where Frank simply held you in his arms, your arms wrapped around his torso as the side of your head laid on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as if it was an ambiance you could listen to all day.

"Where have you been, Frank?"

Your voice finally spoke, so quiet and muffled by his hoodie that you laid your head on. He smelled like rum and cheap cologne. And you loved it - missed it even. You waited for a minute, long silence being met with your question before you heard a sigh heave from his chest.

"Hiding. Starting a new life."

"Without me?"

He went silent. You could hear his heart stutter, and a small breath of air escaped his lips. You knew he didn't mean to do so. You weren't that blind. But being in his life put you at risk. You knew that too, but you didn't care. You were brought back to reality when hearing his voice start, brass at first, then turning soft.

"No, not without you. Even if I tried, I couldn't live without you, darlin' "

Your lips curled into a smile when hearing this, feeling Frank's hand rub up and down your back, his fingers gentle on your back. His voice usually sounding like gravel to others, sounded like sweet honey to you. Right then and there, at that moment. You knew this man was meant for you, and you were meant for him. Even if it meant facing over millions of fucking cops, getting shot over and over, getting beat, anything. You would do it, and all over again just to be with him. Just to have him hold you like this forever.

And something told you he would do the same just for you.

------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm super proud of this piece, and I hope you all enjoy it! I updated my masterlist just a little and will now be doing The Punisher requests!

Happy Valentines Day! <3

REQUESTS: OPEN

#fanfic #headcanon #oneshot #writers on tumblr #x reader #spotify #the punisher x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher #frank castle x reader #frank castle #some fluff #fluff #angst with comfort #angst with a happy ending #angst

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untoldshortsofthefandoms · 1 year

Note

Hey love, can you write a frank castle imagine with the line “can you zip up my dress for me?” :) maybe where she is a doctor who takes care of him after his punisher duties and he finally asks her out, but there is a lot of sexual tension between them and it ends in fluff. Thank you doll!!!

I found it in my inbox!! woohooo!!!

I did it btw, it's called Dull Dates

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #jon bernthal #the punisher #punisher #the punisher oneshot

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mlmxreader · 2 years

Text

Aches & Pains | Frank Castle x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Frank castle and the prompt “Could you rub my neck? It’s sore as anything” please

summary: Frank knows exactly how to help with your aches and pains.

tws: swearing, mentions of pain

word count: 666

The base of your neck felt sore and achy as you let yourself into Frank’s shitty apartment, kicking your shoes off and grumbling as you searched for somewhere to sit down, eventually settling on the bed and closing your eyes as you tried to ignore the dull pain; you had been without back or neck support all day, and you were starting to feel the consequences of it as you rubbed at the sore spot, licking your lips and wishing that you had his calloused hands to sort it out for you. You needed his hands to work the pain out of your flesh, and as you tried to ignore it even more by scrolling on your phone, you couldn’t deny that you wished he would hurry up with whatever he was doing; as your boyfriend, Frank had come to expect you asking for neck massages, as well as back massages, and was more than happy to provide them, and fuck, he was good at it, too. A little bit too good for it to not be suspicious, if you were honest. It didn’t help that you were exhausted, either, having spent the day sat staring at a screen, you were fucking tired. You needed Frank.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long until he came home, shaking his boots off at the door before grumbling softly with surprise at how the door was unlocked, a smile coming to his face when he saw you sitting on the bed; he tilted his head to the side, watching you for a moment before he hummed quietly and made his way over, kneeling between your legs and taking in the fact that you were there, in that moment, that you were with him and he could actually sit down with you for a little while.

“Frank, baby, could you rub my neck? It’s sore as anything,” you whined, shaking your head. Frank thought you looked tired, like you had been up for a few hours too long and like you were experiencing a bit of an ache - although nothing out of the usual that you often experienced, nothing he didn’t know how to handle at least.

“Sure,” he grumbled, kneeling on the other side of the bed and letting you press your back against him, giving his hands free roam of your body. Gently, he started to work your neck, and by the way that you moaned softly, he knew that he was already doing quite a good job with his handiwork. “This okay?”

You nodded, closing your eyes and relaxing against him as he continued to rub your neck, knowing to go down to the base and to work harder there, his fingertips calloused but so easily getting out all the built up bullshit that rested beneath your skin; when you sighed quietly, he smiled, knowing that he was definitely doing a good job. He liked to give you little massages here and there, he knew that you appreciated them and… well, it was just a bit of normalcy that he loved to indulge himself in.

“Oh, it’s better than okay,” you hummed. “How the fuck did you get so good at this?”

Frank didn’t have the heart to explain if he was honest, biting at his bottom lip as he cleared his throat. “I guess I’ve just got a talent for knowin’ how to give massages.”

“You should’ve been a masseuse,” you chuckled. “Fuck, right there!”

He worked his fingers a little harder against your flesh, trusting you to tell him if it was too much or if it was hurting, but when you let out another soft moan, he knew that his work was very much paying off; to know that he could soothe your pains and aches within seconds always made him smile, and he was always grateful for the chance to touch you.

“I love you,” you whispered when he was done, turning around and gently kissing the tip of his nose. “Really, Frank, I do.”

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buckysdolls · 1 year

Text

Shooting Star

Damian Priest Oneshot

TW: Language nothing major tbh

Summary: Priest adores you basically. Feeling deflated after your first match back from an ACL injury, Priest comforts you and confesses the feelings he has for you.

A/N: Thank you to one of you wonderful anonymous readers (you know who you are... I hope) who gave me the backstory to this oneshot :)

Two years of your emotions being tossed about like a pancake but it would all be worth it for this moment. Two years of preparing your body to be the best it could be to be able to step back into the ring and do the thing you love most. The two years had been difficult, there were times when the loneliness consumed you, you were used to the social aspect of being a part of the WWE, the constant hustle and bustle and quick pace of moving from one place to the next. Being constantly surrounded by lots of people, many of those you considered your best friends. Thankfully the performance centre was only a few blocks away and you could rely on that place to cheer you up.

The moment your hometown crowd would go absolutely mental and pop for you, would remind you of why you loved wrestling and that no injury will ever stop you from performing for crowds who loved the business just as much as you did. You stood in the gorilla watching the current match whilst stretching.

"I'd notice the shape of that ass anywhere…" You smiled to yourself whilst rolling your eyes, you turned around and placed your hands on your hips to see Priest approaching you. Priest always knew how to make you smile, his playful mannerisms and sparkling sense of humour was why he was one of your closest friends in the locker room.

"Hey Priest" You flung your arms over his neck as he bent down to hug you, he squeezed you tight as if to tell you he was so happy to have you back. Priest was good to you, he visited you on his days off whilst you were out with your injury, making sure you didn't spiral into a pit of darkness. He mainly helped you at the gym rehabbing the injury and then watched a movie with you before he had to leave, but the few hours he did give you were priceless.

"How's the ACL feeling?" You hopped onto one of the production boxes, taking a seat and Priest rested his hands either side of you on the box. You rubbed it, and gently swung it back and forth as much as you could without kicking Priest as he was leaning so close to you.

"Feels good… I think. I never really got to say thank you for visiting me all the time" You grinned.

"Are you kidding? you thanked me every like two seconds I was with you" Priest replied.

"Yeah I meant like I never got to show how thankful I was by doing something for you"

Now you meant this in the most innocent way… Priest was the one to make this flirty.

"Yeah? Well I know a few ways you can thank me.." trying to be witty Priest wore a smug smile.

"I wonder what those could be…" You bit your lip trying to play innocent in all this but you both knew exactly what you wanted from each other.

"I could show you…" Priest said as he leaned forward towards you, his hands now gliding up your thighs, you could feel in your stomach the metaphorical flips people always talked about.

Once his hand had danced along your thighs he stopped on your lower back and pushed you into him so your legs wrapped around his lower midsection. The whole time he never once looked away from your face, you'd expected him to be smirking assuming he was just being cheeky in his actions but the look he was giving you was a serious one.

"I could get used to this." Priest's low voice whimpered as he leant his forehead on yours, he closed his eyes enjoying being close to you.

"Used to what?" Your voice was just as quiet and soft.

"Being close to you" You hummed at his words.

You watched as his eyesight fluttered from your own eyes to your lips, a small, rough groan escaped his lips as they were inches away from settling on yours.

"Y/N" You heard Liv call out to you and break the tension between you and Priest.

"Shit!" Priest mumbled as his head fell away from yours, his dreads falling in front of his face. He backed up from you as he flipped the dread over his face to make room for Liv. You leapt down from the box to embrace Liv.

"It's so good to have you back"

Priest watched from behind as Liv dragged you away to hair and make-up for a girly catch up. You looked back at Priest who was watching you, looking deflated, shaking his head. You mouthed the word "sorry" to him and shrugged your shoulders with a cheeky smile. You were happy to tease him and keep him waiting even though you desperately wanted that kiss.

Priest had waited for the perfect moment to finally kiss you, he had planned it for so long in his head. He wanted to do it before your match to give you that extra boost of confidence. Yet here he was being cockblocked by Liv.

"Thanks for cockblocking Liv" Damian called out causing you and Liv to burst out laughing.

"You're so welcome Priest!" Liv responded through her fit of laughter.

Although you had adrenaline coursing through your veins and you were so grateful for the warm response your hometown gave you, you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in yourself, there were a few spots that you messed up, they were not major or noticeable but you knew about them. As you came through the backstage curtain you were hit with a wave of cheers and applause from the roster, you pulled the fakest smile you could to act like you were okay. Priest sensed that you weren't as happy as he thought you might have been, he could see the worry in the shimmers of your eyes, clearly tears that wanted to flow free. Priest pushed through to the front and engulfed you in a hug, his hand guiding your head cradling into his chest, where you finally felt comfortable to cry and wrap your arms around his waist. And if anyone asked why you were crying you'd tell them they were happy tears!

As Priest ushered you to a quiet corner of the arena you didn't need to say anything to him, just his touch and company was enough to calm your whimpers and tears.

"What happened mi amor?" Priest asked as he crouched down in front of you and gently pushed stands of your hair behind your ears.

"I missed so many steps out there. I messed up” You radiated defeat and felt as if all the confidence you ever owned had been winded out of you. Your eyes were glued to the floor and your voice sounded deflated, not like your usual gleeful self.

"Ring rust happens babe. You’ve just come back from a major injury, nobody noticed it. You only noticed because you were the one performing the spots" He tried to reassure you by stroking his thumb on your cheek.

“Look at me” Priest now had your head in his hands, rummaging the hair away from your face so he could clearly appreciate the beauty in your face and also encourage you to look at him. You admired the sparkle his eyes exhibited and gave a feeble smile in an attempt to please him..

“You are fucking talented, okay?The crowd was so pumped to see you. I look at you in the ring, out of the ring and I think… you are fucking incredible.” All of a sudden he was pulling your face towards him, and this time there was a connection between the lips. A lustful and needy connection. Without removing your lips from each other, Priest had managed to manoeuvre your bodies so he was now seated and had you sitting on him, legs either side of his body. In desperation to be closer to him your hands got lost and tangled in his dreads whilst his hands were jelled to your hips encouraging you to grind against him. Purely pausing for breath you pulled away letting your hands rest on the pecs of his chest, you looked down at Priest who was grinning at you causing you to blush. It was quiet for a few seconds before Priest opened his mouth to speak.

“I’ve waited a long time to do that.”

“How long?”

“That information is confidential” A finger rose to his lips as if to keep a secret. The air filled with silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, it felt natural like you and Damian had done this a million times over... The smile hadn’t left Damian’s lips; he was just there goofily grinning like he’d accomplished something he was proud of.

“What are you smiling at?” You questioned letting your head dangle in an attempt to hide the rosy cheeks.

“The most beautiful girl I ever seen” You watched as Priest’s eyes glanced over the body that sat on him, he hummed to himself admiring the work of art that you were.

“I bet you say that to all the girls?”

“Only …the… ones… I’m in… love… with” Priest leant forward into your neck planting sweet, soft kisses in between each word.

“Shit” You’d never really paid attention to a heartbeat before… but the heartbeat that thumped through your chest in that moment of declaration was the equivalent of a magical shooting star bursting through the air.

“In love?”

“I ain’t shy about it. I want to be the one you turn to when you’re feeling low and think you're the worst wrestler ever…” You quickly interrupted him, squinting your eyebrows at his exaggeration.

“Er, I didn’t quite say that” Your eyes glaring into his trying not to smile as you were trying to be serious… trying being the keyword and instantly cracking a smile after a mere second of seriousness.

“Yeah well I know that’s what you were thinking.I’m going to continue professing my love for you now is that alright?”

You chuckled into the smile already on your face and nodded your head in agreement to let him carry on.

“I want to ride your highs with you and enjoy every moment that you’re happy. Your joy and light makes me feel something. Something which I never thought I could.”

You had no words for Priest, it was as if your mouth was made of the same stuff as a desert, your lack of words was your sign to speak with actions instead of words and so you kissed him. It was a deep, slow and powerful kiss as you gripped onto the side of his neck and his hands on your back pushing you against him so he could feel you physically. It was a kiss that spoke a thousand and one words to Damian, that you felt the same way as him, and that was love. That was all he needed to confirm everything he’d hoped for.

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