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itwasthereaminuteago · 2 years

Text

|| Bleeding Heart ||

Pairing: Frank Castle X female reader

Rating: E 18+

Tags/warnings: period pain, period sex, period hangups, unprotected sex, thigh riding, Frank's a big caring hunk of love.

A/n: I had already done a Matt 'period piece' so it was time for Frank, plus I'm very sore atm and need this 🥺

As he watched you get ready for work from the bed, it didn't take long for him to notice that something was wrong. Of course he knew you loved your sleep but the way you reluctantly dragged yourself from the covers and trudged between the bedroom and bathroom, he could see you were in pain from the way you carried your body. When you necked a couple of painkillers that just confirmed it.

"You're staying home today."

You turn around blearily, "wha?"

"Phone work and tell them you're not comin' in."

"I'm fine!" you protest, if slightly pathetically.

"No, you're stayin' here with me."

"Frank I can't just-"

You see the grit in his expression. "Do it or I'll do it for ya."

You roll your eyes and do as he asks, secretly relieved you could have some time to rest. Frank tells you to put your pyjamas back on. He throws back the covers and you crawl back into bed and lay on top of him, your thighs on either side of one of his, burrowing your head in the space between his neck and shoulder.

"Where are you hurtin'? Is your back sore baby?"

You hum and nod, melting into the big warm mass of his body as he starts gently rubbing and kneading his hands into your lower back, and its not long before you're dozing off in his arms.

You wake yourself with your own moan, suddenly very aware of hot, wet throbbing between your legs as your hips absently grind against something firm.

You crack open an eye and things start to come back into focus. Frank's looking down at you, a sly smirk on his lips.

"Nice dream, huh?" He teases. Your cheeks suddenly feel hot and you bury your face again so you don't have to look at him. You didn't really know why you felt embarrassed about it, he'd seen you a lot more desperate before, maybe it was just because you felt a bit more vulnerable on your period.

"Aw don't stop on my account. C'mon, I know it feels good." His huge hands press into your hips and encourage you to keep moving against his thigh and you can't suppress the little noise that escapes you as you let your body move for him, pressing up off your hands to sit up. '''sides, you told me orgasms were good for the pain, remember..." He coaxes you to continue chasing your sleepy high, one hand on your ass and the other sliding up underneath your shirt over your back.

You nod, "I did, they are... oh-" you start moving your hips faster and Frank keeps holding you steady against him. You can feel his cock pressing against the front of your hip and try sneaking a hand down to brush against him but he stops you.

"Nah, don't you worry bout me, you take what you need sweetheart. Be a good girl f'me."

As soon as he starts with the praise you are gone. You close your eyes as you move, drawing ever closer to release, your fingers curling around the sheets. Frank loves seeing you like this. If he could pinpoint what turns him on the most it would be this switch, the moment where you swung from feeling a little self conscious, to unabashedly taking control of your pleasure with both hands. You take hold of his arm, guiding his hand to your breasts for him to caress, squeeze and pinch. He touches his free hand to your neck, his thumb stroking along your jaw towards your chin. His cock twitches as he only barely has to brush over your lips for your mouth to drop open obediently and your tongue to flatten against it. Your lips close around his thumb and you suck between your rising moans. He feels you squeeze around his leg, your movements becomingly increasingly erratic as you crest. When he flexes his thigh muscles beneath you it's all over, shuddering, gasping and whining his name as your orgasm floods your body with endorphins and you feel the warm release of slick and blood as you ride his thigh, gradually slowing the roll of your hips and breathing heavily with the effort.

"So fuckin' beautiful," he muses, stroking his hands down your sides as you come back to him, your eyes dark with hunger as they meet his. As you lay off to the side of him, your hand creeps it's way up his thigh.

"You feel better? Can I do somethin' else for ya?" he asks, even though your arousal is still written all over your face as you nod. But even so, you look a bit unsure.

"I- will you-" you stutter, the words just won't come out. Frank has to say it for you.

"I'll fuck you baby, is that what you need, huh?"

You dip your head. Years of ingrained shame winning over something that should be perfectly natural - is perfectly natural.

"it's all... the blood and everything, you don't have to -"

He stops you right there, with lips soft on your forehead then on your own, his eyes kind. "D'ya think I care about the blood? Anyways, that's what we got a shower for." He gets up to retrieve an old towel from the laundry basket, spreading it on the bed. "Where d'ya want me angel?" he asks, peeling off his sweatpants.

You just stare at him for a beat, until your brain catches up with what he's doing.

"Don't care, just want you." you respond, base desire kicking in and mesmerised as ever as his cock springs up and smacks against his stomach.

He chuckles and pats the towel. "C'mon and lay down then pretty girl."

You shimmy off your ruined underwear leaving it on the floor before you lie down on the bed. You keep your knees pressed together and Frank runs his palm slow up and down the outside of your thigh reassuringly. "Hey now, you're not gonna be worried bout any of that in a minute," he leans forward kissing you deep, his talented tongue distracting you from any residual self-consciousness as he slips his hand between your legs to spread them apart and settle between them. "Let me take care of you." he says, sitting back to rub the head of his cock teasingly over your clit before he's pushing it down between your slick inner labia to press against your entrance.

"Frank!" you whine as he stays exactly where he is. Impatient and horny, you hook your leg and your arms around him taking him a little by surprise as you pull him sharply forward into you. Sometimes in your haze of lust you forget just how big he is, and this is one of those times. You cry out at the initial burn and Frank grits his teeth as your cunt squeezes him like a vice. It feels like you're splitting apart as his cock spears all the way inside, bumping against your cervix.

"Shit baby, fuck! Slow down..slow down." He's full of care and concern as he remains still until he feels you relax, and it makes your heart jump.

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair and he noses your cheek. "M'sorry, I know I'm greedy."

He shakes his head and smiles. "I just don't wanna hurt ya. You good?"

The discomfort quickly gives way to the warm, satisfying sensation of having him so very close to you. "Yea, I'm good," you answer, tilting your hips and moving slow, experimentally, letting go of a deep sigh as the long drag of his cock stokes the heat within you again. He takes over, so gentle with you this morning, he knows exactly what you crave when you're like this, sometimes knowing what you need even better than yourself. He's the full spectrum and it constantly has you pinching yourself to check you're not in a dream. He could rail you rough and raw on a rooftop without breaking a sweat, or be so intimate making love to you with such tenderness like he was now.

You reach up to kiss him as he rocks sweetly into you. "Did I tell you I love you?"

He smiles, "every day baby."

"Well, here it is again. I fucking love you."

He chuckles, tracing the side of your face with his fingers. "this you gettin' all soft on me?"

You give him an incredulous look, "I'm always soft on you Castle."

"Mm, I've got the scratches to prove that ain't so..." he grins as you playfully push at him. "I fuckin' love you too sweetheart."

He keeps up the fluid, languid roll of his hips, pushing little addictive gasps of pleasure from your throat. "Love you," he repeats, "so much." his softly whispered words only adding to the growing tendrils of bliss spreading their way throughout your body. The intensity of the feeling ramps up as he lifts your leg higher and drives deeper, you tilt your head back and close your eyes, exposing your neck for him to shower kisses along as he hits the perfect spot within you.

"mm yeah, oh there, oh fuck Frank, right there..."

"That feel good honey?"

"S'good, s'good!" you moan and not-so-silently pray that he never stops making you feel this way, feeling his smile against your skin and the promise that he'll do his best if you'll do the same.

You're asking him if he's close and the truth is he's losing his mind over how you feel. So hot, tight, and slicker than you've ever been but he just nods and tries to focus on you. He knows you're just teetering on the edge, arching and pushing up against his body and ready to come apart.

"mm Frank..."

"I've gotcha." he growls, the rhythm of his thrusts steady as his fingers slide down between you to your clit, circling tight and raking your moans higher. You pull him impossibly close and he feels you tense and coiled underneath him for an instant, your body taking everything he can give you, and then, the sweet release happens. And god damn, the sounds you make and the way your pussy clenches around him, you make him want to live in this moment for fucking ever as he groans and spills inside you. He doesn't quit until he's sure you've had enough, until the shivers of your pleasure start to fade and you're telling him okay, okay.

After a quick shower you're both back in bed, and there's nothing but the soft hush of your breathing for a long while. Then, the gentle sounds of his lips kissing every bit of you he can reach. And then, giggles that quickly rise to laughter as his scruffy stubble tickles against your sensitive skin.

"Feelin' any better doll?"

You're curled up with his arm draped over you, idly stroking your lower belly.

"So, so much."

"Alright. Gonna look after ya today, anything you need you just holler, I'll come runnin'."

He's always such a big soft puppy afterwards, and it makes your heart melt. You ruffle his damp hair and he retaliates by kissing you almost breathless.

"Can we have pancakes for breakfast, hm?" It's a pointless question as you already know the answer, but you love how his eyes light up when you mention it.

"Hell yeah, you know I ain't ever gonna say no to that." After one more kiss he's throwing the covers back and you're watching him walking about butt naked in the kitchen except for your waist apron, making coffee and mixing batter with a wink thrown your way.

"I fucking love you Frank."

"I fuckin' love you too."

Hi! If you enjoy my fics please consider reblogging, it means that others get to enjoy them too! I also love to hear if there's anything in particular you liked, please comment! Thank you so much for reading 💕

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fluff #period fic #the punisher x reader #the punisher smut #frank castle smut #the punisher fluff #frank castle x female reader #the punisher x female reader

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frankcastlescumslut · 9 months

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A House in Nebraska

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

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

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

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

next chapter

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

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

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

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

Ghosts. Distant memories. Everything was in Nebraska.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid, stupid girl.

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

Stupid, stupid girl.

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

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

Point. Shoot. Kill.

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

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

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

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

Point. Shoot. Kill.

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

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

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

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

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

Point. Shoot. Kill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Point. Shoot. Kill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave? What about Frank?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A caravan of fucking liars.

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

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

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

next chapter

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

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bubuslutty · 1 year

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Frankie loves his girl

pairing: Frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 843 words

tags: nsfw brain rot, p in v, male receiving, female receiving, size difference, stomach bulge, possessive frankie, obsessive frankie, he loves his girl very much, clothed sex, blowjobs, car sex, reader is mostly refered to as 'his girl' or pet names such as darling & angel, use of the words pussy and cock, Frank spits in her mouth heh & other nasty tags okay

warnings: under 18s pls dni, overuse of the word 'love', I wrote this on my phone so I'm sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my first language as well. also this is my first fic posted on tumblr. pls be nice :(

summary: Frank loves his girl very much. He loves her mind and heart, but also her cute ass and sweet pussy.

Frank's the type to live in a cottage, maybe in the woods, with his girl. He's the type of man that would wake up early, kiss his sleeping baby and go walk around the property, checking everything just to make sure nothing happened overnight.

Frank knows they're safe, he made sure of it, getting rid of anyone who'd hurt his girl and their peace.

But he still has to do it, his little daily morning walk, to ease his soul.

Yeah, he's protecting his girl, she's safe because of him, happy because of him, and that makes him unbelievably happy, knowing she can sleep as much as she can, without having to worry about a thing.

Oh, how much he loves his girl.

She's his girl. Even thinking about it gives him butterflies and a hard cock. She's his, and nothing has sounded so good before.

He loves her so so much. He loves her smart words, her creative mind and her heart.

He's so in love with how she speaks to him, how she isn't scared of teasing him, of playing with him and being a little bratty. She's so smart and fun and beautiful in every sense.

Frank loves her mouth, her plush lips and tongue, he loves that he gets to kiss her everyday, loves that he gets to spit in her mouth and watch her eyes get all glazed over.

Frank loves her hands, loves holding them and kissing them. He loves it when she gives him back scratches, when they're lounging on the couch. He loves her hands when they're wrapped around his hard cock. And Frank's big, he's big. And every time his angel has her hands around him, the size difference makes him breathless, makes him cum almost instantly.

He loves her soft skin, running his rough hands all over her soft body. Her breasts, stomach, back, ass, thighs, neck, everywhere. He's obsessed and starved every time he lays his eyes on her.

It's embarrassing really, how every time he looks at her, his body reminds him of the nights and days he spent between her legs, either dick, hand or face buried inside of her sweet pussy.

And she's so wet, always so wet for him. Her thighs sticky and her pussy dripping for him.

She doesn't even wear panties that much anymore when he's around. Sometimes it's thigh length summer dresses with cardigans, tight cropped shirts and short shorts that would expose the bottom of her ass when she stretches, barely decent enough to wear out in public.

All she wears is clothes that Frank can easily take off, slide his hands in to wander on her skin and grope her. And even if she wore something hard to take off, they both know he wouldn't hesitate to rip it off.

Fuck clothes, he wants to see his girl naked and pretty under him.

His girl is beautiful no matter what she wears or looks like. Frank loves her in anything and everything. But he does have preferences, after all, he's just a man.

He likes her in just one of his t-shirts, with absolutely nothing underneath. He loves her wrapped in his coat, wearing a stupidly tight t-shirt and shorts underneath. He likes seeing his girl show off her body for him. Especially when nobody else is around to look at what is his.

He loves fucking her while she's wearing one of those stupid tight white t-shirts she likes to wear, the cropped ones, that leave her stomach naked, with no bra underneath. Her sweat, and his sweat would make the fabric obscenely see through, making her nipples visible. And if he's feeling in a certain mood, he might just cum on her chest, over her t-shirt and on the lower half of her face while his girl is crying and cock drunk.

Frank loves shoving his hands in her shorts, through one of the leg holes, groping her ass and squeezing. You see, he's a possessive fucker and he likes to touch, a lot.

He loves feeling her shake and throb, clench and shiver. He likes to see her beg for his cock and try to swallow him while being all messy on his lap, his balls wet from her saliva. He loves it when she grinds her sweet little ass against his crotch, smiling coyly up at him. He loves folding her while he fucks her to the point of passing out, so hard that he'd be able to see her tummy bulge from the size of his cock.

He loves having her on his lap, in his truck, holding onto the hat he placed on her head while riding him, moaning and babbling nonsense while his cock is splitting her in half. Shorts thrown at the back and panties held in one of his hands.

Frank loves his girl and her sweet pussy very much. And he'd kill anyone with his bare hands if they try to take her away from him <3

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eddiesbug · 2 years

Text

eager [f.castle]

summary: you come home to your boyfriend hammered and clingy. secrets are revealed.

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

fandom: mcu

word count: 1347

warnings: reader throws up, literally all fluff n loving, frank being the bestest<33, touch starved reader, a little talk about reader punishing herself, frank uses all the good pet names😋 and he cooks!!

note: i’m back from being banned😭🤭 i had so much fun n i’m so proud of this so if anyone is mean I WILL CRY. and i’m sorry there’s no readmore line again but tumblr is all buggy and deleting bits every time i put one in:((

“Fr-Frankie!” Your voice slurs as you worm your way into Frank’s lap, your head lolling with the effects of the alcohol. Your mini dress rides up as you climb and he presses his fingers into the soft curve of your hip, drawing you in. You settle into him with a smile.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he chuckles. He didn’t know what exactly to expect when you came home hammered at 2am, but it wasn’t this. You’re not overly fond of affection at the best of times, pretty much avoiding contact altogether, so for you to be initiating this at all, zero coaxing involved, is strange.

“I missed you,” you giggle, craning into him as he pushes the hair from your sweaty face. A hum rips from your throat and you hook your arms underneath his on the sofa. He brushes his nose across your jaw.

“I missed you too, baby. You feelin’ alright?” he asks, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead; you’re hot to the touch. You nod, pressing your nose to the juncture of his neck and inhaling; you’re met with the scent of slight sweat and the last tinge of cologne from the previous day.

“So pretty…” you say, your hand reaching out to stroke Frank’s face in bewilderment.

“Hm?”

“You.”

“I’m pretty?” he laughs.

“The pr-pre-prettiest.” Your words start to merge into one and he shushes you, soft lips grazing your temple.

“My girl is prettier,” he answers, voice dripping with sincerity. You frown, head shooting up to meet his eyes.

“Who’s your girl?” you ask, the beginnings of tears getting stuck in your throat. In your inebriated state, you have honestly forgotten that Frank is your boyfriend. “I’m- I’m gonna f-fight her.”

“What’re you gonna cry for, baby? I’m talkin’ ‘bout you.” He keeps his tone light, cupping the back of your head with his calloused hand.

“Oh.”

“Silly thing. Why would I want anyone but you?”

“‘Cause I never wanna cuddle,” you pout. He shakes his head.

“I don’t care about that. Sure, it’s nice to cuddle, but I want you to be happy most of all.”

“Can I tell you a sec-secret?” you whisper, although it’s comically loud - almost louder than your normal speaking voice. You hiccup, pestering your way further into his lap.

“Yeah?”

“I always wanna cuddle.”

“That so?”

“Y-yeah. Scared you’ll get annoyed so I don’t say anythin’. Wait for you to ask.” His expression softens and he kisses your head. He never realised that you might be depriving yourself of touch to punish yourself, or worse, because you thought you’d be irritating him. He can’t get enough of you.

“Oh, baby. My baby.” Drawing you closer, his body engulfs yours completely; you mumble something halfheartedly, curling into him. Everything seems to shake ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly and you’re sure Frank doesn’t notice. He catches your expression, brow furrowing. His closeness has you breaking into a full body flush. “You’re shaking, darlin’.”

“Jus’ don’t let go of me,” you whisper, pressing your face to his chest.

“Alright, ‘ve got you.”

You stay like that for a while, cradled in his arms, eyes closed, until your stomach lurches uneasily. You blanch, dry heaving.

“Frankie…”

“Mm.”

“Gonna be sick.” You retch, trying to scramble free of Frank’s grasp and run to the bathroom. Instead, he lifts you with virtually no effort, sitting you in front of the toilet and gathering your hair at the nape of your neck just in time for you to start emptying your stomach contents. He soothes you with the softest voice, kissing the back of your neck and whispering encouraging words despite how disgusting you must look right now.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, “What a good girl.” Your eyes flutter closed and you slump against the toilet seat, breathing heavily. He immediately lifts you, flushing the vomit away and closing the seat; just that helps the nausea ebb away as the seconds pass. He perches you on the seat, wiping your sweaty face with a cold cloth and grabbing the toothbrush you keep at his apartment at all times. He spreads a little toothpaste over the bristles, parting your lips with his thumb and brushing them gently.

“Good girl, let’s rinse your mouth,” he coos; you oblige without thinking, letting him hold you up by the waist and wipe your face with a towel. Your body goes completely lax and he cushions your head with his shoulder, handling you as though you’ll break at any second.

“Love you,” you mumble, hooking your legs around his waist as he hoists you into his arms. He makes for the kitchen with you securely in his hold.

“I love you too. You feel a bit better now?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s get you some water and something to eat, pretty.”

“‘m not hungry!” you squeak, hiccuping drunkenly, although you’re considerably less plastered than when you got home.

“You don’t have to eat it, but it might help soak up some of the alcohol, alright?”

“‘kay…” you trail off, worrying your lip between your teeth.

“What you thinkin’ about, hm?”

“Nothin’.”

“I can hear the gears turning. C’mon, out with it.” He kneads your side with sympathetic fingers, squeezing and releasing, squeeze, release.

“‘s it okay if I wanna touch more? Like cuddle ‘nd hold your hand?” Your voice is a fragment of its usual volume and you wince, preparing yourself for the rejection before he even has time to react.

“How could I say no to that, hm?” The relief at his statement is palpable. “If you wanna hang onto me forever like a little koala bear, I wouldn’t say no to you. You know that, baby. I want you to have everythin’ you’ve ever wanted.”

“Jus’ want you,” you murmur, peppering a trail of kisses over his face and neck. “Love you so much.”

“C’mon, my pretty. Whatcha fancy to eat?” He smiles, setting you down on a stool, hands out to catch you should you wobble tipsily. Once he’s sure you’re steady, he moves to the fridge. “How about some eggs?” You shake your head, nose scrunched.

“They make me feel sicky.”

“Alright, darlin’. How about pasta?”

“Pasta sounds good, Frankie.”

“Pasta it is, baby.”

You admire him shamelessly as he busies himself with your meal, ogling his thick biceps and his sharp jawline. The black t-shirt he wears hugs him just right, exposing his muscular physique to you.

“You enjoying the show, darlin’?” he drawls amusedly, sending you a cheeky wink. You flush, averting your eyes.

“Sorry.”

“C’mere, pretty girl.” His arms open and you wobble off of the stool and into his embrace. The affection, still so abnormal to you, makes you tremble.

“I’ve gotcha, baby. Not lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

Finally, when he’s finished making the pasta, something you never thought someone would do for you, let alone at half past two in the morning, he sets it onto the table and sits down, inviting you into his lap. You clamber onto him, hands roaming his chest. You’re eager to feel his skin on yours, fingers splayed over his throat and under his t-shirt. This new found appreciation for his touch has made you greedy and Frank is in heaven.

“Should’a gotten you drunk sooner if I knew you’d be this needy, baby.” He beams at you, dotting kisses over the entire expanse of your face. With his free hand, he spears a piece of pasta with a fork and lifts it to your lips. “Here, darlin’.” You take it gratefully, humming.

“‘s good!”

“Attagirl.”

You eat in silence until you’re full, pushing the bowl away and curling your body into Frank’s.

“Sorry I kept you up.”

“I couldn’t sleep without my girl anyway.”

You giggle; the lilting sound compels Frank to kiss you, his lips melding against yours like a puzzle piece.

Before he can find it in himself to move you, you’re fast asleep against his shoulder, snoring softly with your arms underneath his t-shirt, cool against his warm skin. You cling to him even as you sleep soundly.

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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-ˋˏ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 ˎˊ-

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

pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader

word count: 6.2k

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

Send me an ask || Frank Castle Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Day 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand how you feel.”

“I was there not long ago.”

“I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

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

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

-✩-

Day 25

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

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

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

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

It’s too much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Pete.”

-✩-

Day 70

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-✩-

Day 140

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pete-“

“Frank.”

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

“My real name is Frank.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

-✩-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, no!”

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere.”

-✩-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There? S’That it? Yeah, that’s it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Do you think they’d approve?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so too.”

END

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

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

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amhrosina · 1 year

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Waltz of the Vigilantes (Frank Castle x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Frank is sort of unhinged in this one and reader is sort of into that. Let’s just say Frank is thinking with his other head for the majority of this fic. Also, if you’ve read The Punisher vs. The Cat, Mister (the cat) makes an appearance in this one. As always, a big thank you to @wheredidiputmyfish for beta reading and being so great! <3

Request: hi friend! can you do a frank x reader where she’s a vigilante and she’s all graceful and acrobatic and shit and they haven’t been together that long, so one day he’s over at her place and finds out she used to be a ballerina (he finds pictures or something)? can be smutty if you want to…

Summary: Frank and Reader can’t keep their hands off each other after a unique date night involving taking out mobsters, stealing booze, and taking body shots.

(Warnings: SMUTTTTTT, canonical frank stuff - i.e., guns, knives, physical fights, vigilante!reader, alcohol, body shots lol, reader’s cat is a cockblock, fingering, oral (fem receiving), p in v, dirty talk)

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Frank had suggested taking out a small group of mobsters together for date night, but it wasn’t wrestling a man twice your size to the ground as he repeatedly called you names and reached for his gun in the same breath. You’d had the element of surprise for about three seconds before the guy was shoving you back, and the only thing you could do to avoid losing your edge was use the momentum of his push to swing yourself onto his back. You wrapped your legs tightly around his neck, and he crumbled to the ground as you squeezed the life out of him with your thighs.

Gunshots echoed off the walls in the next room, and you looked up just in time to see Frank bash the gunman’s head into a shelf on the wall. He glanced in your direction, no doubt checking that you were okay, and grinned when he saw the position you were posed in. You were still kneeling over the man you’d just killed, panting like you’d just run a marathon. You couldn’t help it – the man had a shit ton of stamina, and you weren’t used to being so hands on during your patrols.

“Can you do that to me later?” Frank called, chuckling.

You couldn’t stop the smirk from appearing on your face. Even when he’s in the middle of beating mobsters to a pulp, he can’t keep his mind out of the gutter.

“Only if you’re good.” You teased, brushing your pants off as you stood. “Is that the last of ‘em?”

“Yeah,” Frank nodded his head toward the back exit, “Take what you want. I’ll keep watch.”

The den, which fronted as the back office of a laundromat, was littered with contraband. Guns, knives, drugs, imported alcohol, and medicine was scattered around the room, stacked in varying heights and covering most of the available surfaces. You weren’t particularly interested in any of the low-level things they were no doubt selling on the black market. You had plenty of your own guns and knives, and drugs weren’t your thing.

The poker game you’d interrupted was left half-played on the table, cards splayed along the green felt of the tabletop. You dragged your finger along the soft fabric, eyeing the stacks of poker chips in front of each chair. There was at least a quarter of a million dollars in each hand, but you knew none of the cash would be here. They may be idiots, but they weren’t that dumb.

You searched the overturned cards for a familiar face – one that would tell the police exactly who’d taken care of the pests of Hell’s Kitchen – and smiled when you found her: The Queen of Hearts. You slipped the playing card between the fingers of the man you’d killed and stuffed a single poker chip in your back pocket.

Soon, the public would know just how close they were living to a group of men who not only trafficked drugs and weapons, but also women, and the Queen of Hearts would be considered responsible for it. To the police, you were a menace without a conscience, but to the public, you were the only one protecting them from certain death.

When you joined Frank in the back alley, he looked you up and down, chuckled, and then looked you up and down again.

“You didn’t see anything you liked?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Eh, all I could find was this.”

You raised the bottle out in front of you, giggling. On your way out the door, you’d thanked whatever guardian angel was looking out for you, because there, ripe for the taking, was an unopened bottle of Patrón Platinum.

“D’ya wanna take shots of it off me when we get back to mine?” You winked, handing the bottle to Frank before stuffing your arms in your coat.

“Only if you’re good.” He smirked.

When you slid through the fire escape window of your apartment twenty minutes later, Frank was hot on your tail, pawing at the waistline of your pants. You turned, facing his broad shoulders and chest. He was so goddamn pretty, and you couldn’t help the broad strokes your hands made across his body. He smirked, lifting you onto the kitchen counter with ease, before pressing himself between your legs. His head was mere inches away from yours, and the urge to kiss him all over his pretty face became overwhelming.

Your ears perked up at the sound of the tequila bottle sliding across the granite countertop. You’d almost forgotten about your amazing find earlier.

“You mentioned body shots.” Frank smirked, brushing your lips with his. Not just a taunt, a dare, too.

“The shot glasses are in the cabinet behind me.”

You arched into his warmth as he reached above your head. The clink of two glasses being pinched together reverberated across the dim kitchen, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t have any limes.” You murmured, watching him twist the cap off the bottle. “I do have salt, though.”

You reached behind you, procuring a saltshaker as Frank huffed a laugh. He poured the clear liquid into the shot glasses while you readied your neck, and when he finally swiped his tongue across the line of salt on your throat, you choked out a moan of indescribable pleasure. Fire followed the wake of his tongue from your neck down to your pounding core, causing you to squirm against his hard body.

He tilted his head back, maintaining eye contact with you as he tipped the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes raked up his body, eyeing the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way he didn’t flinch even though you knew the liquid burned as it went down. His focus on you was primal, his eyes already darkening with lust. Your lips parted, breath hitching as he lifted the second glass up to your face. You gulped the liquid down greedily, doing your best to mimic his stoic reaction, but your nostrils burned, and you snorted out a giggle as you scrunched your face up.

Frank let out a loud laugh as you buried your face in your hands, embarrassed that you’d just snorted in his face. You could feel the heat in your cheeks rising and could almost guarantee that your face was stuck in an expression of horror.

“What a way to kill the mood.” You pointed out, giggling again. Frank patted your thighs in a reassuring gesture before gently pulling you down from the counter. Your cat, Mister, appeared in the doorway, trotting across the linoleum and meowing loudly as Frank did his best not to step on him.

“Shit,” you gasped, “I have to feed him.”

You gently pushed past Frank’s broad body and swooped Mister into your arms, cuddling him against your chest. Frank made a show of grabbing the bottle of tequila and saluting Mister as he made his way out of the kitchen and towards the door to your bedroom.

“Where are you going?” You quirked, raising an eyebrow at him as you filled the cat bowl with food.

“Only a coward can’t admit when they’ve lost.” Frank replied, matter-of-factly. His large frame disappeared through the door, and you rolled your eyes.

“Men are so sensitive, Mister.” You shook your head. He let out another loud meow between bites.

“Except for you, my sweet angel. You’re perfect.” You fluffed his fur and headed in the direction Frank went, ready to finish what you’d so embarrassingly interrupted earlier.

You found him sitting on the edge of your bed, hunched over a photo album that you’d been looking through earlier and forgotten to put away.

“You didn’t tell me you were a popular kid in high school.”

You cringed, reaching for the album, but Frank was faster and taller than you, so your efforts were futile. He held the album up in the air, laughing like a maniac.

“Or that you danced!”

“Frank!” You whined, standing on your toes.

“You were so young! When was this?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You groaned, jumping in the air, still unable to reach the album above you.

“Were you any good?” Frank swung around, turning from your reach and cradling the album in his arms. He turned to the next page where three, shiny first place ribbons were taped together above a photo of you holding a trophy almost as tall as you. His eyebrows shot up.

“You were good. You were really good.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, cringing at the thought of him seeing photos of you when you were younger. That felt like a lifetime ago, and the girl in those photographs felt like a completely different person.

“You got any videos?” Frank asked with a toothy smile.

You crossed your arms and huffed. “I most certainly do not.”

Frank’s grin widened. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes and held your hand out. He chuckled and placed the album in your arms before tapping the top of the album with his finger.

“I like learning things about you.” He paused before continuing. “Even if I have to accidentally snoop to find them out.”

“You do?” You could feel the heat returning to your cheeks. He always managed to make you feel like a bashful schoolgirl, even when he wasn’t trying to.

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head once in confirmation. He lowered himself onto your bed, and after a moment, added, “No wonder you’re so,” he paused, clearing his throat, “bendy.”

You grinned widely as he tried to subtly look you up and down. In a single sentence, he’d managed to heat the room up to 100 degrees, and suddenly the ache in your core was impossible to ignore. The heat in his gaze traveled over your body, lingering on the base of your hips, almost as if he could see how wet you were. It burned through you.

You lurched forward, straddling him so quickly that you heard his breath hitch in his throat. You brought your lips next to his ear, noting the way his skin broke out in goosebumps as you breathed on to his neck.

“You wanna know a secret?”

Frank’s hands made their way around your thighs, gripping them with brute strength as he tensed.

“Yeah, baby.” He murmured with a barely discernible nod.

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Frank’s entire being froze before a wide grin spread across his face.

“You took out a sector of the mob, choked a man out with your thighs, and you weren’t wearing any underwear the entire time? I don’t know if I should be horny or jealous.”

You smirked, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his throat. “Why not both?”

He grunted as you ground into him, and apparently decided he’d had enough, because in a swift, fluid motion, he flipped both of you over, placing you on your back as he inched his way down your body. He pulled the waistband of your pants down, revealing your unclothed pussy, and bit his bottom lip, groaning at the sight of it. He’d never get tired of seeing it – touching it – tasting it.

“Baby, you have no idea what you do to me.”

He looked at you with a mixture of awe and lust, and you instinctively spread your legs wider to give him easier access. He licked his lips, falling to his elbows and hovering so closely above you that you could feel the tickle of his breath against your clit.

He ran a finger through your slick folds, playing with the wetness that he found pooling there. When he lightly brushed over your clit, you couldn’t stop the yelp from coming out of your mouth. He huffed a breath, sending heat over your clit, which morphed your outburst into a sultry moan.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You were lying flat on your back, eyes rolling into the back of your head, and pointedly not looking at how incredibly hot he was with his head buried between your thighs, but you could hear the smirk in his voice as he teased you.

“Frank.” You whispered, lifting your hips closer to his lips.

“Yes, dove?” He played coy so prettily, especially as he pressed a gentle kiss to the apex of your core.

“T-touch me. Please.”

“All you had to do was ask, pretty girl.”

Before you could offer a retort to his incredulous sarcasm, his tongue was between your legs, and you couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone offer a verbal response. He mapped out your core with his tongue, circling your clit with an expertise that still surprised you, even though he’d proven to you many times how skilled he was with his mouth.

“Oh sh-shit, Frank,” you whined, arching your back.

He attacked your mound hungrily, like it was his last day on Earth, and you were his last meal. His tongue swiped over your entrance, coating his mouth with your intense wetness. He smiled as he prodded the hole with his tongue, determined to drink as much of you as he could.

“You want my fingers, baby?” He prompted, emphasizing his question with a subtle suck on your clit.

“Fuck yes, Frankie. Please.” You whined, tears pricking behind your tightly closed eyes. You were already so close. As soon as he pushed his fingers into you, you’d be-

You were clenching around his fingers before you could finish the thought, erupting into an intense orgasm that had you crying out. He pumped his fingers in and out of you while he sucked on your clit, drawing out the pleasure in your body. For a moment, you couldn’t figure out where your pleasure began and ended, only focused on the way Frank seemed to know exactly how to lengthen your orgasms beyond what you were used to.

It’d been that way since you’d slept with him the very first time, and you had half convinced yourself that it was a fluke until he did it again thirty minutes later. Frank was a talented man, and you probably didn’t even know the half of it yet.

“You always taste so good, baby.” He mumbled, still pumping his fingers in and out of you at a leisurely pace.

You were a panting, incoherent mess underneath him, and he loved it. He reveled in watching you come apart, and if he had it his way, he’d do it to you repeatedly, all day, every day of the week.

He continued pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, entranced by the slickness you’d spilled all over his fingers. The way your pussy fluttered around his hand, combined with the noises you were making as you inched closer to a second orgasm, were enough to bring a man to his knees.

“Frankie,” you cried, breathing erratically, “’m gonna cum.”

“Good, baby.” He breathed, beginning to arch his fingers towards the spot that would send you toppling over the edge. “Cum for me, sweet girl. Wanna feel it.”

The knot deep in your belly began to unravel at the sound of his gravelly voice commanding you to cum. When his fingertips brushed over the spot deep inside of you, you nearly screamed, completely falling apart underneath him. Your eyes rolled back as he finger-fucked you through the earth-shattering orgasm. Your legs, which he’d propped on his shoulders for easy access earlier, shook fiercely.

He pressed gentle kisses onto your calf and ankle as you slowly came back to Earth, a soothing gesture that grounded you more than he knew. When you were finally coherent enough to open your eyes, he slowly stood from his stooped position, lightly setting your legs on the mattress.

In a firm, but still somehow soft motion, he turned you on to your front, and you instinctively knew how to arrange yourself after that. Without prompting from him, you bent your knees underneath you, preening forward to rest your forehead on the mattress. You arched your back, clenching your toes in anticipation as he shuffled around the room.

The sound of the condom wrapper being split open made your pussy flutter in delight, and Frank chuckled as you subtly shook your hips in eagerness.

“Ready, sweet girl?” He asked, running his hands over your bare ass before lightly slapping it.

You had to stop yourself from mumbling the words ‘I was born ready’. You were, but it sounded desperate, and you couldn’t give him all the power here.

“Please, Frankie.” You mewled, slowly swaying your hips, “Please fuck me.”

He pressed into you, sliding until he was completely surrounded by your pussy. You both groaned in unison as he stretched you out, waiting until you pressed yourself back against him – your way of saying move.

He thrusted into you in a steady rhythm, drilling so deeply that you had to clench the comforter in your hands. Sex between the two of you had always felt right, like a deeper connection was being made every time you allowed vulnerability to squeeze its way into your relationship. It was a give and take, a push and a pull, a dance between two people who were so right for each other, even though they frequently did morally wrong things. You were convinced you’d never had proper sex until you met Frank, and he was more than happy to prove that to you.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He grunted, digging his fingers into your hips. “So. Fucking. Wet.”

He thrusted after each word to emphasize his statement. You preened at the animalistic pace he set. The air was filled with breathy moans and skin connecting with skin, interspersed with Frank’s quiet grunts as he pushed himself closer and closer to the edge.

When you arched your back even further, pushing your upper body into the mattress to give him even deeper access, his thrusts faltered. He paused for a moment, and then began thrusting into you harder and faster than before. It didn’t take long before he shuttered against you, cumming so hard that he nearly collapsed on top of you. He just barely had the wherewithal to catch himself, and he spent at least a minute and a half standing in that hunched position, panting over you.

When he pulled out, you shuttered, turning over so you could watch him walk to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He returned with a warm, damp washcloth, and you tried not to get caught staring at his god-like body as he moved toward you. Frank was a confident man, but the way you gazed at him sometimes made him nervous. You stared at him like he was your endgame, and while that idea actually tended to excite him, the way you drooled over him made his cock twitch, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to satiate your lust.

“Hell of a date night.” You breathed as he wiped you clean.

He grinned, tossing the towel in the hamper before flopping down onto his stomach, watching you with gleaming eyes. You met his gaze, turning your head so that your noses were inches apart.

“Thanks for the date, handsome.” You grinned.

“Anything for you, baby. Did you have fun?”

“Too much fun. I want to do it all over again.” You brought your finger up to his nose, lightly flicking it.

“Oh, I think that can be arranged, sweetheart.” He teased, matching your smile.

“You think so?”

“Definitely.” He smiled a genuine smile, and you melted.

So goddamn pretty.

Tag List:

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shaylixie · 2 years

Text

Come As You Are

Word Count: 3463

Genre: (Slight) Angst. Smut. Fluff.

Pairing: dbf!Frank Castle x fem!reader

Requested: No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is it-

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

Frank is there alright.

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

What the-

"Frank?" you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

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

"Please," he asks, interrupting your thoughts.

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

"Okay. But...okay."

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

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

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

Wide awake, you say, "Come in."

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

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

"Are you okay?" your dad finally asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You meet his gaze then.

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

"And what is 'everything'?"

Your dad sighs then.

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

"Can I even ask him?"

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

You both smile at that.

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

You grow warm at the thought.

"Does mom know?"

"She does."

Silence fills the room for a minute.

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

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

"And you?"

Your dad softens even more.

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, what's up?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay yeah, cool."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know. I'm sorry."

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

"Liar."

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

His face shifts for a fleeting second.

"No."

"Did you?"

He looks away.

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

"Don't call me kid."

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

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

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

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

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

"Then help me."

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

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

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

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

It was what was going through his head anyway.

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

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

He rests his forehead against yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frank goes quiet.

"It's happened before."

Silence.

"Oh."

He looks back at you then.

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

You smile, and peck him softly on the lips.

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

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

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

"Wait." You pull back.

Frank backs off instantly.

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

A smile crosses his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cum for me, y/n."

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

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

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

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

You swallow, wanting so desperately to return the favour.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Attagirl."

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

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

You roll your eyes.

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

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

"So don't."

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

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

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

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

"Okay."

He kisses you on the forehead.

"Good girl."

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

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

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

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

He hides his smile.

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

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

Your dad sighs.

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

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

"Yeah, I guess she is."

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

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

684 notes · View notes

devils-dares · 1 year

Note

📝 with Frank Castle and the sentence "I'm really glad I didn't shoot you."

"swear to god i will shoot to kill, asshole! come in this room if you feel like dying." you say, holding a gun in your hands. you don't ever do this, not in the slightest. shooting people? that's frank's forte.

"just me, darlin', just your frankie." he says, walking in with his hands in the air. you let out a breath, putting the gun down on the table next to you and walking over to him.

"let me see your hands," he asks, and you hold them out for him, "look at that! not even shakin'. proud of you." he drops your hands and pulls you in for a hug.

"i'm really glad i didn't shoot you." you say, and he laughs, lips pressed against your forehead.

"i'm glad too baby, i am."

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chellestrash · 2 years

Text

For you

Frank Castle x Female!Reader

summary: Frank decides to help with your period struggles.

warnings: 18+,smut, blood, period sex, swearing, stuff like that

word count: 2.2k

an: thank you @chelseasdagger for proofreading this one. i know its not everyone's cup of tea but some people said they'd want to read it so...im tagging them. @thelemonbandit @reborn-rekall @hellskitchens-whore @phoenixhalliwell @pnktreacle

“C'mere”

Frank mumbles as you climb into the bed to lay on top of him.

“That’s it, just relax.”

He spreads his arms open, and you push yourself up a bit more to then finally let your body fall onto his chest with a grunt.

“Attagirl.”

The deep, groggy whisper makes you smile against him, feeling his chest rumble with his words as you push your face into it in an attempt to hide from everything and everyone that isn’t Frank Castle.

“How is it?”

A loud sigh leaves your mouth; you're not annoyed or frustrated, definitely not with him, just tired, only tired…and in pain. You look up, his big, brown eyes staring right back at you, so gentle now, so different from the look he gives others. They move around your face, jumping from feature to feature as he tries to decide which part of you to focus on, squinting slightly as he attempts to read your expression.

“Could be worse.”

You mumble before dropping your head back down onto his chest.

“You sure?”

Frank asks, watching your face scrunch up in pain. Your eyes and lips shut tightly as you wait for another wave of cramps to let go before letting out a shaky breath.

“Could be worse, huh?”

He moves under you slightly, making sure to have your body laying down completely flat now. Your head resting on his chest, your arms wrapped around him, your body slumped between his legs.

“You're starting to sound like me, you know that?”

He points out, moving his hand down to your lower back, and you hum quietly in response. The weight and warmth of his big hand on top of you like that, making you slowly melt into his warm body even more. You reach back to move his palm a little lower, pushing it right to what felt like the center of the pain.

“Right here?”

He asks, slowly massaging the sore and painful area.

“Mhm.”

It is all you can really offer as a response when he pushes the hem of your shirt up to reach up under the fabric.

“That feels good, kid?”

You nod against his chest, warping your arms around his waist tighter, trying to somehow get yourself even closer to him than you already were.

“It helps.”

Your voice is quiet, barely audible now, but it's enough for him, it's enough of an affirmation, especial when he tilts his head to the side slightly and notices the small smile on your face.

“Good.”

Frank whispers, careful not to disturb you. It's bizarre to think how gentle he could be with you sometimes. How his eyes can look at you with so much worry and care, how his hands can bring you so much comfort, in contrast with the pain your own body puts you through. It's bizarre for him to think that his body can feel so safe to someone, especially to someone like you.

You lay in silence together, your eyes shut as you try to focus on the touch, the way his hand works the sore and hurting parts of your body. Your body slowly rising and falling with his every breath.

“You know what's also really good for cramps?”

You ask, breaking the silence without even lifting your head off of his chest.

“What is it? Tell me what you need.”

Frank turns his head to look back down at you.

“Cock.”

You lift your head up just in time to watch as he scoffs loudly, turning his face off to the side before smiling as he shakes his head at your answer.

"Jesus christ."

“What?!”

You make your question sound as if it was the most obvious thing to say.

“Cock?”

He watches your expression change, a small smile appearing on your face before you let out a little laugh.

“Oh come on, Castle, you know what I mean!"

Attempting to explain yourself, you start to think of an excuse before Frank breathes out a laugh at your focused expression. He rolls his eyes and pushes your head back down onto his chest.

“I know, I know what you mean.”

“Yeah?”

He shrugs when you look up at him.

“I know some things.”

“Well…”

You start, but he cuts you off, aware that he walked into that one.

“Yeah, yeah, you're so funny, kid.

“Thanks, I try.”

Frank shakes his head at the small smile you give him before pushing his hand down to rub against your back again.

“That what you want, huh? You sure you're feeling ‘cock’ right now?”

You tilt your head to look up at him again, your body resting on top of his, no space left between the two of you, before you raise your eyebrows at his question.

“Right now?”

A quick glance down between you and him.

“OH yeah, yeah I'm feeling it right now like... right this second I can feel it it's right-“

You reach down, aiming for the bulge in his pants, the one you’ve been feeling under you since you laid down on top of him. Frank lets out a grunt, his chest rumbles softly as it slips past his lips, his hand reaching to your wrist to stop you.

“Okay, okay kid, I got it,"

You breathe out a laugh and cross your arms on his chest to then rest your head on top of them.

“You think we could…we could do that?”

Frank frowns slightly.

"Do you want to?"

"Mhm."

“Then why not?”

“Just cause…you know it’s, I mean it's kinda gross-"

He cuts you off before you can finish.

“It's just blood, sweetheart.”

He shrugs, squinting his eyes slightly as he looks back at you.

“S’normal.”

The hand on your back slides lower and lower, unit it rests right at your ass.

“Besides.”

He continues.

“I'd say I'm used to dealing with blood. ‘S kinda…part of the job, you know?”

The way he tilts his head to the side slightly, smiling to make sure you know he's okay with this, makes you want to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

“’Mean…if you say so.”

You mumble quietly, and he scoffs softly at your attempt to downplay how much you actually want this. Wouldn’t be the first time you tried to make him seem like the desperate one.

“Mhm.”

His hands make their way to the sides of your torso, pushing up the fabric of your shirt as his fingers brush over your body, digging into your skin a bit harder right at your ribs when you move your hips slightly on top of him. Reaching up a little higher now, he helps you throw your arms around his neck, pulling you up on top of him, gesturing that he wants you closer, he needs you even closer to him. And as you look up at him, arms wrapped around him, body pressed against his, face only inches apart now, his lips finally find yours. You kiss back with a loud hum, longing for the feeling, trying to make it last as long as possible. His big hand is now on the side of your neck, two fingers resting against your jaw, as he holds you closer to him. The tension in your lower stomach slowly disappears as you make yourself focus on the feeling of his hands all over your body instead.

Pushing your hips down and against him, you feel both of his hands on your ass again. The bulge in his pants feels bigger now as he digs his fingers into your flesh, gripping onto your ass tightly.

“Shh shh shh.”

His whisper brushes right past your ear after you gasped before biting down on your lower lip. He spreads you open on top of him, quickly hooking his hand under your knee to throw your leg over his, before doing the same thing with the other. You slip your hand between the two of you, feeling his cock over the fabric for a moment before gripping him tightly.

“Shit.”

He half whispers, half grunts, pulling your hand away.

“Let me do it, kid.”

“But-“

“I got you, don’t worry.”

You try to protest, but he manages to successfully shut you up, brushing his fingers against your clit through the fabric of your panties. Your hips buck and push into him, grinding on top of his bulge, and your lips fall open when a quiet moan leaves your mouth. Biting your lip again, you let yourself relax completely, pushing your face into his neck, silently letting him know you agree to this being about and for you only.

“Attagirl.”

He whispers when you lift your hips slightly to help him slide the panties down and off your legs, only moments before he dips his hand down between your bodies to pull himself out as well.

He'd never admit that the small grunt you let out against his neck when you finally feel him made his cock twitch underneath you. Frank's hips push against you, lifting your body up before he pushes your ass back down on top of him, his cock brushing over your center, then again, and again and once more. You can't help the way you push up against him slightly, chasing the feeling.

“That’s good? Huh?”

Frank-“

You start.

“I know, I know, c'mere.”

He mumbles, his chest still rumbling with his deep voice every time he speaks.

Spreading your ass with his hands one more time, he finally pushes inside you. A grunt follows after his hips buck up, his cock slides inside you, and your fingers tug at the short hair on the back of his neck.

Frank thrusts into you, pushing his hips up and pulling your body down on his cock at the same time. The blood helps with the friction, making it easier for the both of you to move together, him inside you and you around him.

Your teeth brush against his neck as you feel yourself getting closer when he pushes his hand between your bodies to touch you right where you need him. His rough fingers work over you in small, circular motions, pushing a bit harder against your clit when he feels your stomach tense up a bit.

“Attagirl, that’s it, almost there, huh?”

He mumbles into your ear, and you hum against his skin in response. Your eyes close and lips part as you feel your body move on top of him from the deep thrusts. His fingers dig into your sides, his cock filling you up just how you like it.

“You almost there, sweetheart?”

He asks between the grunts, checking in on you, and you nod quickly.

“Almost, just-“

Grabbing his wrist to steady yourself, you grind into his palm, pushing your hips down on top of him.

“That’s how you want it?”

He doesn’t make you answer, doesn't wait for it, just tilts his hand up slightly so that your clit hits the hill of his palm when you push your hips forward, his other hand pushing your ass down to help you grind into him harder.

“Attagirl that’s it, that’s it, you can do it.”

His words echo in your head, repeating over and over every time you feel the drag when he slips almost entirely out of you before pushing back in so deep you can feel him hitting your cervix.

“Mmmm, Frankieee.”

You half whisper, half moan when you know you won't last much longer.

“Just do it, kid, do it now.”

You push your ass up before grinding your hips down into his big palm one more time. Your heart’s pounding in your chest, your legs are shaking, your stomach tenses up before it finally hits. He helps you move through it on top of him, wanting to make sure you ride the whole thing out, the sweet sounds of your pleasure leaving your lips right by his ear. He doesn't take long to follow; his muscles tense up after a couple more thrusts before he pushes deep inside you one more time before filling you up just like that.

“Thank you.”

Your voice breaks a little when you speak up, almost immediately after.

“Thank you, shit, you really didn't have to-“

“Shh shh shh just, let's just wait till you catch a breath, huh?”

His hand moves to your back to brush over your skin again, fingers moving softly on top of you. They help you steady your breathing, calm your body down at least a bit. You glance down between your bodies, lifting off of him slightly, just out of curiosity. The sight of blood covering his lower stomach makes you drop back onto him quickly.

“So you don’t mind that?”

You ask quietly, your finger tracing over his skin.

“Do you feel better? Does it hurt less?”

He answers with a question.

“Mhm.”

You nod and feel his arm wrapping tighter around you.

“Then I don’t.”

Frank leans down to kiss the top of your head.

“Well that’s good. Good to know for the future, you know?”

You glance up and he looks down at you.

“The future?”

“Yeah, you know, like…next time I'm on or…tomorrow… or…like an hour from now.”

You smile at the way he scoffs loudly, turning his head to the side before looking back at you with that little squint.

“You're just gonna hurt for a different reason then, kid”

He points out and you nod with a grin.

“That’s the plan, Castle, that’s the plan.”

#frank castle #the punisher #jon bernthal #frank castle x female reader #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher x female reader #frank castle smut #jon bernthal character

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itwasthereaminuteago · 1 year

Text

|| Tongue Tied ||

Frank Castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: lingerie, passion, striptease, tongue - these were the @bernthirst-events Sensual Saturday prompts I used for this one! Cunnilingus, fingering.

Frank snuck up from behind, sliding his hands around your waist over your shirt, which was actually his flannel, and placing a tender kiss at the small bit of exposed skin at your shoulder. You wanted to pinch yourself again, that he was here and you were safe.

"You want somethin', Mister?" you tease, knowing full well he'd love nothing more than to wind down from work with you, preferably in bed.

"Mm, I got some ideas…" he drawls into your skin, hands start wandering lower to get up under the shirt but you slink out of his hold and walk to the couch, pulling up your sweats a little.

"Sit." You tell him. He cocks an eyebrow and gives you a smirk but obeys all the same, getting comfortable on the cushions, legs spread wide as you stand in front of him just out of reach.

"I like this shirt," you muse as you play with the collar and pluck at the top button just above your chest. "feels good on my skin, smells just like you…"

Frank looks appreciatively at you. "Looks better on you too."

You make a show of undoing the top button, trailing your fingers down lower, slow, watching his focus sharpen on the action, his full attention on you as you toy with the next button at your breastbone. "I think you might just change your mind about that Frankie…"

You run your tongue along your lips as the next button slips free, the edge of your electric blue bra cup just peeking out from underneath as you keep on going.

Frank shifts slightly, eyes still fixed on you like a dog waiting for a command. "You're so goddamn gorgeous, you know that?"

You smile back at him, more and more of the bare skin of your chest and stomach being uncovered as you take your time, drawing your little striptease out. You turn away from him as the shirt finally hangs fully open, looking back over your shoulder as you shrug it off as slowly as you can bear. It crumples to the floor and you smirk as you hear him shifting again in his seat.

"Baby, I-"

He stops as you bend right over, hooking your fingers under the waistband of your sweatpants, peeling them off at a painfully slow pace down over your ass. The reveal of the matching bright blue satiny fabric of your panties has his mouth watering even more.

"Hm…"

You keep on going, pushing the sweats all the way down your legs until you're almost fully folded in half, wondering if he can see just how turned on you are through your underwear bent over like this.

"Fuck…" he growls as you slowly stand back up and step out of the puddled fabric, kicking it to one side and turning back around, sliding your hands up your body to cup your breasts through the bra.

"Mm, this feels nice on me too."

You almost laugh as Frank's mouth hangs open before he reaches for you, his big hands twitching, grabbing and wrapping around your wrists pulling you into his lap as he honey-drips the words you were waiting for.

"C'mere…"

You happily straddle his hips, almost purring as his warm hands roam over your upper body, exploring and smoothing over the soft satin of your new lingerie.

"Like it?" You inquire, nibbling at his thumb as his hand comes up to cradle the side of your face.

He tilts his head up, whispering his answer into your lips.

"You look good enough to eat." He says, kissing you with a passion that ignites the fire in your core. "And goddamn I am gonna fuckin' devour you, sweetheart…"

"Right answer." you breathe, closing your eyes as he dips his head to your chest and starts kissing over the swell of your breasts. Your hands wander down, stroking over the firm outline of his cock pressing against his jeans. He gladly lets you fondle and play while he mouths over the soft fabric of your bra cup, quickly bringing your nipple to a peak, but waves your hands away when you reach for his belt buckle.

"Nah nah, not just yet princess." He pulls your legs tightly around him and stands, easily holding and carrying you to the bedroom, littering your lips and upper body with hot kisses on the way until you squeal as he plops you down on the bed, prowling on top of you.

You arch your back, sighing with pleasure as he pulls the pretty satin and mesh cups down letting your tits spill out, pushing them up against his mouth, his hands gliding over your skin setting you ablaze as he sucks and nibbles.

There's no better sound than hearing you moan out his name in anticipation and need as he works his way down, his mouth following his hands, tongue out trailing wet and hot down the centerline of your body as you writhe at his touch. He loves having you like this, wants all of you at once, wants to breathe you in, feel you beneath him. He's aching to taste you.

You're expecting him to rip your panties right off but he just curls his fingers over the waistband and holds them there as his lips continue their journey down under your navel and over the thin fabric covering your pussy.

"Baby," he murmurs between kisses, his tongue laving over it, slowly dampening through your panties, "baby, baby…"

You smile but your frustration is building. "Aw c'mon Frankie, don't tease!"

He prods the tip of his tongue against you, rubbing at your sex and you wriggle in his grasp.

"Don't see why it's just you that gets to do all the teasin'," he moves back up your body to kiss the sweet spot just below your ear before the deep growl of his voice so close makes you shiver. "You know I like hearin' you beg…"

You guide him back to your lips momentarily and then push down by his shoulders. "Go on then, do your worst."

He grins and disappears back down between your legs, spreading them apart to place a slow trail of light kisses from the inside of your knee up to your inner thigh, avoiding where you really want him for what seems like hours. All the while his fingers occasionally brush the sensitive skin at the crease of your hip, and you feel the damp heat of his breath just above your covered core and you're squirming.

"Okay okay! Th-that's enough, please, need your mouth on me Frankie, now."

You gasp in relief as he finally slides your soaked panties down your legs. He hitches each one up over his shoulders as he shimmies up closer, splaying his huge hands over your hips to hold you in place. The first proper touch of his tongue on your bare pussy has you melting with a soft moan. He kitten licks between your folds, working his way up and teasing your aching clit with a slow purposeful swirl and suck making you groan and grind your hips against his mouth. He builds you up to the edge so fast it almost feels like whiplash when he suddenly stops.

"Taste so damn good princess," he tells you, his eyes blown almost black and the lower half of his face glistening with the sheen of you as he licks his lips.

"Frank please, please don't stop, don't stop-" you reach for him and he smiles before snaking out his tongue and flicking it over your clit hard, holding you down firm as you moan loud when he suckles and licks and fucks you with his mouth so good you think you're gonna black out.

"That's a good girl, such a fucking good girl f'me. You want my fingers too babygirl? Want me to fuck you with em?"

You keen at his praise, nodding, panting and moaning even louder as he soon slides two thick fingers into your velvet heat and starts massaging your pussy walls. You know he's grinning as you whimper and grip at the sheets, desperately bucking your hips into his hand as much as you can while his other hand is holding you down. His easy strength turns you on and the more you fight against him the firmer he is with you. You love it and he damn well knows, teasing you again with light soft kisses and gentle curls of his fingers holding you there when you want him to go hard.

"Shh, s'alright baby," he soothes as he starts fucking you faster and rubbing his thumb over your throbbing clit. "I know what you need."

He does, and he gives it to you, fucking his fingers in and out so hard you're almost ashamed of the slick, wet noises but it doesn't matter as they're soon drowned out by your cries as your orgasm swallows you up, blooming like an exploding flower of white hot bliss, pulsing through your body from the center of your core as you clench and flutter around him.

"Fuck princess, attagirl, that's it, cum f'me beautiful…" Frank watches you fall apart like it's the first time, he'll never get bored of it. It's so intense, wringing you out so completely that you have tears in your eyes just because of how good you feel.

You hum, starting to laugh as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm and Frank kisses you all the way back up to your lips and takes you in his arms.

"Fuck, you're so damn sexy when you do that."

You return his relaxed smile, running your hand lazily through his already messed up hair.

"Well, it wasn't all me. I had some help y'know."

"Anytime. Love to make you feel that way. And you can keep on wearin' my shirts if it's gonna wind up like this."

#Bernthirstpalooza #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle smut #the punisher smut #the punisher x female reader

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frankcastlescumslut · 8 months

Text

Ch. 2: Hard Times

pairing: frank castle x f!reader / platonic!amy bendix x f!reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: angst, language, hurt/comfort, implied loss of a sister (no details), descriptions of wounds, established relationship yet somehow it’s a slow burn

summary: He somehow reached across space and time to tell you the words you wished you had heard that night: you didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is on you. Frank had become a god, transcending the laws of physics to piece you together with sutures and sympathies.

A/N: I wrote this chapter based off of this song. loosely. sorry this isn’t the happiest of endings, I’m leaving it open ended in case I get the momentum to keep going (there is a potential plot).

[previous chapter]

I love your feedbacks and comments so much, thank you. reblogs help a lot as well <3

The stars looked like pin pricks against a dark sheet, so bright you had to squint to make sense of your surroundings, but there was nothing to make sense of. Just black asphalt laid out like a red carpet.

Your body ached and groaned as you stretched ever so slightly, and Frank pretended not to notice the way you winced when you pulled your shirt from your dried wound.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract you. “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’,” you yawned, checking the dashboard.

1:42am.

The last time you stopped was somewhere in Ohio at a run down 7-Eleven. Amy threatened to jump out of the van if she didn’t get a slurpee, but you couldn’t really blame her, it did sound good, so Frank was outnumbered like he usually was.

That was hours ago, though, and you found Amy curled against the duffle bags with a ring of blue food dye around her lips.

“How far are we?” You prodded.

“Few hours.”

“Oh.”

Frank was a man of few words when he first met you. It took him three days just to ask you for an extra blanket when he met you at that motel in Nebraska, though he chalked it up to his unnatural ability for needing something. Didn’t wanna bother you.

You were patient with him, never pressing him about the occasional bruise or poorly hidden glances, instead choosing to talk about how vending machine chips are basically just bags full of air and how mattress stores are money laundering operations—he laughed at that, fully and with his chest, and it was game over for you both.

Yet somehow you were sitting within a foot of each other and felt like strangers.

“Do you want me to drive?” You offered, daring to look at him. He looked worn, his eyes drooping with sleep.

“No,” he answered too quickly. “I’m okay.”

“Maybe we should stop somewhere?”

He was silent, unwilling to admit defeat. Stoic. Stubborn. A pain in the ass that kept you awake with a fevering bullet shaped gash in your side.

You would make yourself power through the pain if it meant he would be normal again—if he would even look at you for more than a second and without what you perceived as disdain. You would pretend that each day you had Amy didn’t feel like salt being shoved into your sister-sized wound. You would lie through your teeth and tell him that you were capable of keeping up, that this life was enough for you. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.

“We’ll stop at the next motel.” He looked over at you, his eyes trailing towards the rust colored stain on your shirt. Your cheeks burned underneath his gaze, and all you could do was nod in reply and watch the constellations blur.

“Wake up.” A breathy voice tickled your ear, causing you to jolt upright in your seat.

“Damn it!” You cursed before placing a palm against your sternum, ignoring the way the seatbelt burned against your exposed neck.

Amy was pleased by your reaction, carelessly falling back into her designated makeshift seat of a jacket tucked against the back of your chair. Frank didn’t crack a smile.

“Knock it off,” he warned, his eyes quickly darting towards the backseat.

“Oh come on,” Amy whined. “It was funny.”

“I actually disagree,” you chimed in, your heartbeat still racing.

“You’re no fun.” She pouted, slouching against the hard interior.

Frank would disagree, though. You were fun. Charismatic. Lighthearted.

He missed that version; the one where you existed alongside of him with ease, the one where you convinced him that joy existed and was accessible to people like him, to people like the both of you.

It felt foreign to him, the easiness of it all, but he gave up rejecting his need for self denial when he met you. Because you were fun.

“We’re stopping soon,” he cleared his throat and those distant memories of you, and you nodded with a “k.”

“I have to pee,” Amy broke her secret vow of silence, probably just to hear herself speak.

“Hold it,” you and Frank spoke in unison, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

You often wondered what he was like as a dad. If he was the silent and stern parent, always fussing with light fixtures and the underside of a truck. Maybe the kind that cared a lot about grades but even more about after school sports or school projects. Really, you think, he’s the kind of parent that just enjoys his children’s joy, never getting in the way of what was causing it— a winning soccer match, a new video game, a carousel. It didn’t matter anymore, anyways, and you were too scared to ask him about it.

So you didn’t, and you don’t. You never do, because you’re not really sure what you would say if he ever asked about your sister. Some things are better to be speculatory, you decided, until Amy came along.

She acted like a secret maneuver that would draw back the curtain on what Frank Castle was like as a father, and you seldom looked away.

“Sheesh,” she muttered, and you hid a smirk behind the palm of your hand.

It was silent for the next few miles, save the occasional clanging of weapons every time the van fell victim to a pothole. It was silent even as Frank drove past the first motel. Then the second one… and the third.

Amy eventually caught on, sitting on her knees and looking out the window like a dog with its ears flapping in the wind.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Frank was quiet, eyes still straight ahead, even as he pulled into the parking lot of a neon green Holiday Inn.

“A hotel!” Amy squealed, throwing herself in Frank’s general direction, ignorant to the way the car swerved due to her affections.

He watched you from above Amy’s head, thankful she was blocking the smirk on his face as your brows furrowed in his direction, silently asking are you sure?

He was sure. He had made up his mind hundreds of miles ago when he first saw the blood soaked cotton of your shirt, but he wouldn’t dare to tell you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Amy let out a sigh of relief, loud enough that it was dramatic even for her.

Frank was silent as he dug around in a back pocket before handing you a thick wad of cash. You failed to meet his eye as you accepted the offering, opting to nod with a tight lipped smile as a thank you.

“Get the biggest bed you can get!” Amy called out to you before the door swung shut in her face.

She pulled herself into the passenger seat and sat back with a huff and a genuine smile on her face. Finally, she thought.

Frank’s eyes were trained on the entrance of the hotel. He watched you pull your jacket across your body, attempting to hide your ghastly appearance, as you leaned against the counter. The woman at the front seemed reasonable, he assumed. You both smiled at one another, so things must be okay.

“Frank,” Amy attempted to disrupt his attention

“Not now.”

She watched the way he studied you, almost disgusted by the way he withheld his care and affection from you.

“Frank,” she tried again.

“What?” He snapped, finally meeting her gaze.

“You really need to fix whatever this,” she pointed a finger from his chest to the hotel lobby, “is. It’s a little ridiculous.”

“There’s nothing to fix.” He straightened ever so slightly.

“Bullshit.”

He was thankful she dropped the conversation when she did. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to admit there was a palpable tension, he just didn’t know how to fix it. He thought the hotel would be evident enough that he was sorry, but you pulled the door open a little too roughly for that to be the case.

“Here,” you handed him a rectangular card.

“Two keys?” Amy asked.

“That’s for your room. I got my own.”

“What?!” She scoffed and Frank clenched his jaw. “Are you serious?”

“I’m right next door.” You began to unload the van, carefully slinging a heavy bag around your good side. You tried your best to hide your inconspicuous smile, but it was harder the more you thought about the king sized bed assigned to you.

Amy and Frank trodden heavily behind you as you made your way through the empty lobby and towards the elevators, not without waving towards the kind faced woman at the front desk.

“You’re actually leaving me alone with him?“

“You'll be fine, Amy.” You rested your head against the back of the elevator wall, closing your eyes in surrender as the metal doors slid together.

“That’s not fair,” she whined; you half expected her to start stomping her feet.

“Life ain’t fair,” Frank finished the argument as the elevator came to a bumpy halt. You barely opened your eyes to glance at him, surprised at the way he nods, as if giving you permission to be alone.

You aren’t sure why you became shy and why your cheeks warmed. Maybe it was the way his eyes had softened ever so slightly, or maybe it was the gratification of him acknowledging you made a sound decision for once—that you were capable, even after your extreme fuck up just hours earlier. Either way, the softness lingered as you found your rooms.

The cool air hit Frank’s face as a pleasant surprise, though the cleanliness, the luxury, felt burdensome.

“You have to apologize.” Amy claimed her bed, minding the way her sneakers dirtied the white sheets.

“Yeah?” He huffed, remembering he should be offended by your lack of appreciation for the new scenery. “For what exactly?”

“You’re being a dick!” She exclaimed, slapping her hands against her crossed legs. “I’m serious, Frank. It’s my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” he sighed.

“Okay, great, then stop blaming her for it.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure.”

The hum of the air conditioning filled the room as Frank stood awkwardly, thrumming his fingers along his thigh while Amy pretended not to notice.

“‘I shouldn’t have left you alone, okay?” He leaned against an empty dresser, still unwilling to find comfort in the queen-sized mattress.

“She did what you couldn’t do,” Amy mumbled and he grit his jaw in response. “I was the one that called for pizza, okay? I wasn’t thinking. It was on me and I’m still alive, so go say you’re sorry.”

Being still was a foreign concept for Frank. He was constantly moving, hard wired for productivity and precision, scoffing at the mere idea of rest. His neurons exploded even in his sleep, unable to ignore the zap zap zap that kept him moving, kept him alert, kept him alive. It kept you alive.

He ran through the numerous possibilities and outcomes of apologizing to you in his overtired head, filtering through his own remorse and your indignation.

Fuck it, he decided, ending his marathon around the room.

“Don't call anyone. Don’t move from this bed. Don’t answer the phone and don’t answer the goddamn door,” he placed his hands on his hips, emphasizing his seriousness. “Understand?”

“Roger that.” Amy saluted him as he neared the door, unable to hide her smile. “Use protection!”

Just as his hand reached the handle, he paused. “What did you just say?” She audibly laughed at the mixture of disgust and genuine shock plastered against his face.

“Go kiss and make up!” She shooed him away, and she swore she saw him smile before he disappeared.

The bathroom mirror shook in a steady succession following the slams of heavy doors. It was constant, and you almost considered complaining before remembering that this was a luxury compared to your previous hideaways.

It wasn’t always so bad, though. Before Amy, it was exciting— like a cheap thrill that you hadn’t felt since you were 16, sneaking out of a bedroom window and choking down a stale cloud of smoke. There was a monumental lack of pessimism between you and Frank; he brought life back into you, and for once you didn’t feel guilty for living.

So you accepted the cheap motels and fried foods, never minding the greasy-lipped kisses. You welcomed the sun beaming on your bare feet when they laid across the dash as you drove nowhere. You loved the way your stomach felt full as you drank a beer, pretending you weren’t hiccuping while Frank sunk an 8 ball in a top right pocket. You loved the nights spent in a dirty dive bar where you didn’t have to think about who the fuck you were for at least a few hours. You loved it, and then he told you to run before bullets started flying.

The knock on the door was so faint you almost missed it over the sound of your cursing.

It was him—you knew it was him. He had an aura so thick it bled through walls.

“Y’gonna open the door?”

No.

Maybe.

The door opened with a metallic click, though you didn’t care to hold it open. He shoved himself inside, feeling like an intruder.

You studied your irritated wound in the mirror, continuing your attempts at cleaning and suturing it. The sting of the alcohol wipes hardly compared to the pair of eyes transfixed on the evidence of your failures.

“You okay?” What a stupid question.

“Fine.” What a stupid question.

Fine. It wasn’t a complete lie, though you avoided meeting his gaze at all costs. He could see right through you, hell, he could feel the resentment radiating off of you.

You didn’t have to distract yourself from the emotional distance; your attention was spent on unwrapping the much too small steri strip from its packaging to notice the way he awkwardly balanced his weight.

“Shit,” you cursed as the first suture folded over on itself.

“Do you need—“

“I got it.”

You really tried, but it was impossible to see the wound over the mound of your breast, and you could hardly twist your waist enough to get a decent angle. You decided to go in blind, completely embarrassed but unwilling to admit defeat.

The sticky strip landed incorrectly, directly atop of the ragged flesh, and you yelped as it adjusted.

“Let me get that,” he didn’t wait for your protest before inviting himself into the small bathroom.

“It’s fine, I got it,” your fingers shook as you attempted to pry the suture from your skin, salty tears splashing towards the floor.

You dropped your hand against your hip and audibly exhaled as he assessed the wound. He was hardly offended that you refused to look at him. Truth be told, he could hardly look at you without having his whole chest be filled with the weight of his own shortcomings.

He hated when you cried, especially at his own doing. You could blame it on that searing pain of torn flesh instead of the heavy burden of disappointing him, so you did. You pretended that the only pain you felt was the physical kind as you stood in front of him, half naked and bleeding, as he sat on the lip of the bathtub.

In any other situation you would have taken advantage of this position, cupping the back of his neck before sliding between his legs, waiting for him to pull you into his lap. But it’s different now, and you almost flinch as his calloused fingertips carefully brush your skin.

“You ready?” He asked, waiting for your permission before hurting you all over again.

You nod while stare at the ceiling, counting the porous tiles, bracing yourself for what is to come.

He tried to get the stitches and bandages ready as quickly as possible, prepping them on his knee as he gave the countdown. “One, two, three...”

“God damnit!”

The world became nothing but splotchy stars and radio static as your flesh ripped apart all over again, and you bit down on your knuckle, focusing on that dull ache that took your attention away from the way Frank was piecing you together again.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded muffled, his silhouette splotchy, but he held you together with nothing but cheap butterfly sutures and a half assed apology.

“I know,” was all you could muster out, breathing in that last bite of fight you had in you.

“Y’gonna stop poutin’ then?”

You jerked away from him, your nostrils flaring as you looked over his bent frame before turning on your heel, leaving him in that makeshift emergency room.

He almost regretted saying it, almost, but there was nothing worse for a man than putting himself out there and being disregarded, so he sat there, counting the bloody wash cloths and discarded bandages until he felt that familiar sense of carnal responsibility.

You were changing when he finally came about, his imaginary tail tucked between his legs. It felt wrong to look at you, to see the way your bare back curved and folded before disappearing beneath an oversized shirt—his oversized shirt.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you before, with your body on full display as he appreciated every inch with a soft brush of his lips. He had seen you, tasted you, held you, but this time it was different.

“Look,” he cleared his throat to signal his presence. “I’m sorry.”

“You done?” You ignored him as you pulled the starchy sheets back, but he wrapped a hand around your wrist, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey,” his eyes softened and voice dropped. “I mean it.”

There was an invisible argument happening as you both held onto the white sheet. You knew. He knew. Someone had to give in. Someone had to break first. Someone had to bare their soul and damnit were you tired of pretending.

“Well it don’t feel like it.” You gave in, and for a minute, you sounded as tired as you felt.

He ran a hand over his face with a sigh and you took the opportunity to sit on the first clean mattress you’d seen in months before bracing yourself against the sturdy headboard.

“Sometimes,” his hand twitched at his side as he contemplated his next sentence, “I look at her and all I see is my Lisa.” Your eyes shot towards his face at the mention of his daughter, and it was hard to ignore the painful knot in your stomach. “It’s like I’m losing her all over again and I—“

“Frank,” you leaned towards him, and the mattress sunk next to your feet.

“I just can’t do it again, y’know?” He looked at you, tears brimming on the waterline but never daring to spill. “I can’t do it again.”

“You won’t. You won’t do it again.”

You said it as if you were a god, fully capable of aligning the stars and galaxies and writing history. You said it as if you were able to predict the future—a future where Amy was safe in an undisclosed location and you and Frank were, well, somewhere.

He huffed at that, and rightfully so, though you tried to convince him anyways.

“I’m sorry,” you attempted to shift the blame, “I didn’t know that she ordered food, I should have paid attention. I should have known better, I should have—”

“Hey, hey, hey” he placed a hand on your leg. “Quit it.”

“I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t mean to mess up.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry, I tried,” you could feel the uncomfortable knot lodged in your throat but you couldn’t push it down. “I swear I tried.”

It was embarrassing the way the hot tears left patterns against your white cotton shirt as they fell. You weren’t really sure why you were crying or who you were crying for. Amy was still alive and tucked into a bed just behind another door, but your sister was somewhere else entirely.

“It’s not your fault,” Frank attempted to intervene, gently scooping you into his side. You let him, though not without feeling so incredibly selfish. He rubbed your arm, in a steady motion, squeezing lightly for his own emotional support. “I’m sorry for taking it out on you. I shouldn’t have left you guys alone. You shouldn’t have had to clean up my mess, okay?”

You nod into his chest, wishing his words didn’t feel like a cheaply made sympathy card.

“None of this is on you, you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.” He placed a kiss against your temple, and you folded into him even more.

He somehow reached across space and time to tell you the words you wished you had heard that night: you didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is on you. Frank had become a god, transcending the laws of physics to piece you together with sutures and sympathies.

It was quiet for a while save for the muffled lull of the obnoxiously cold air conditioning. You missed this—the feeling that life could go on, that you were enough for him, that the silence didn’t signal an impending doom.

“Stay,” you whispered.

“Hm?”

It was silent as you considered your next move—play dumb or give in, going belly up for a few more minutes of playing pretend.

“Can you stay?”

It was silent for another minute, but his breathing shifted and you held your breath.

“Sweetheart,”

“I know. I know she’s next door,” you tried to make his decision easier. “Can you just stay until I fall asleep?”

“Sure.”

It was less than convincing, but he kissed your neck before sliding himself down the mattress and pulling your body into his stomach.

You curled into yourself, hugging a pillow against your face before deciding it was too soft. This, you and Frank, felt too soft after a week of sleeping in different beds and communicating through glances and strategies to stay alive—to keep Amy alive. It was different. Too soft and still not enough.

He felt the emotional shift as your body tensed, snaking an arm beneath the crook of your neck before reaching for your empty hand. You followed directions without a second thought, intertwining fingers and limbs with a relaxed sigh before your world went dark.

He stayed, like he said he would, watching the numbers on the clock face ascend.

It was unfair to you, he thought, that he was splitting his attention between you and a young girl he barely knew. It was unfair that he had to uncurl himself from your body and walk next door to a bed that would be too cold, too empty, too soft and pretend that he didn’t just abandon you. It was unfair that he brought you along to something he wasn’t sure how to finish.

The bed dipped as he forced himself away from your warmth. He held his breath, silently praying you wouldn’t notice his absence. You looked calm for the first time in a long time, since before you both became honorary foster parents and ran from men that looked like they were on a pilgrimage. You looked so calm, and he tucked his invisible tail between his legs again while pressing a kiss to your shoulder, letting out a final sigh of resignation before disappearing behind a closed door.

You were too tired to move. Too tired to leave that spot that still smelled like him if you closed your eyes and inhaled. You knew he was leaving, only pretending as a courtesy to his feelings, though you couldn’t help but wish the metallic click of the door was a gun aimed directly at your chest.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle hurt/comfort #frank castle angst #frank castle slow burn #frank castle series #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher x female reader #the punisher angst #the punisher hurt/comfort

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bubuslutty · 10 months

Text

Skin & Bones

Frank Castle's masterlist

pairing: frank castle x skinny!fem reader (platonic or romantic? who knows)

word count: 1.5k

tags: fluff, 3rd person pov, she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as darling/Frank's darling, insecurities, body image, poc friendly, sfw

warnings: none

summary: Frank's darling is petite, skinny, scrawny, whatever you want to call her. Frank can easily break her in half if he wanted. She might be strong and incredibly intelligent, but nobody is absolutely safe from feeling insecure from time to time.

a/n: uhhh I wrote this cuz I was feeling insecure abt the way I looked, I don't feel that way a lot but sometimes I do and I hate it. and I just wanted to write Frank to provide some comfort to reader. that's all 💙

Everyone has insecurities. Some more than others. Some know how to cope with them, and others don't. And God help you if you were a woman born into this world, because every made up insecurity under the sun will be shoved down your throat, or they will try at least, to make you feel like shit and buy whatever product they're claiming will change your life and solve all of your problems.

Frank noticed a lot of things, and lately he's been noticing how his darling stares a bit too long at the women around them.

He hears her sigh once in a while when she's alone, and he watches how her smiles start to dim and how much quieter she becomes, lost in her thoughts.

He notices how her eyes sparkle and shine in admiration and awe when they're hanging out with Karen. And he sure does hear her ramble and talk about how beautiful and cool Karen is when they're in the car, on their way home.

But then she would lock herself in her room and he wouldn't hear a single sound from her, except when he knocks on her door to call her to come and eat.

His darling, so intelligent and pretty, who, in his eyes, belongs in a painting, hung in a Museum, rather than with him, stained with blood and dirt, the ghosts of every person he's killed attached to him like a disease.

And yet, here she is, helping him take out any scum they believed needed to be gone. She investigates, looks for clues, interrogates before he goes to interrogate whoever they're holding captive, hacks whatever needs to be hacked, orders new weapons and ammunition and is the face of their little weird twisted family. She's the one who speaks at the bank when they need to open another account under fake identities. She's the one who sweet talks them out of sticky situations without having him break someone's nose or windpipe. She's the one who negotiates for their benefit.

But she's also the one who's used as bait to catch killers with fetishes, predators and disgusting scums. She's the one who distracts and deceives while Frank is handing out tickets to the afterlife like free sweets behind her smile, staining the back of her legs and slim neck with fresh blood.

And when they're all done for the day, she helps stitch him up, helps clean up their equipment, cooks something to eat when she has a bit of energy, and on days she can't get herself to make anything, she orders them something nice to eat.

More often than not, they'll end up on the sofa, in fresh pajamas and eating while watching a random show, and then Frank would fall asleep and his head would roll to the side, resting on her shoulder. Darling would pet his dark short hair and slowly push his heavy head away, and try to wake him up so he'll sleep on his bed instead.

This is just a glimpse of what their life consists of, but let's all come back to the beginning; insecurities.

Frank's darling is petite, skinny, scrawny, whatever you want to call her. She's shorter than him, her arms are long and he can hold both of her wrists with one hand with ease, he could practically break her if he wanted.

On most days, she was comfortable in her skin, making peace with the fact that no matter what she ate, or how much she ate, her body remained the same. Sometimes she would bang her hip bone with a table and hiss, and sometimes she wouldn't be able to open things or support the weight of certain guns with one hand alone, and that was alright, because Frank was there to do it for her. There were many things Frank could do, but also a lot of things he couldn't do.

Frank would notice how annoyed she becomes when they're out shopping for clothes, and no pair of jeans would fit around her waist, infuriating her. But that was alright, he would grab her hand and walk straight to the next store, to get her a pair of jeans that would fit as intended.

Even bulletproof vests have to be tightened a lot, especially when she has to wear one, but no worries, Frank would be there to adjust the size for her when need be.

"Hey," Frank knocked on her bedroom's door, which was already wide open.

Darling looked up from her position on the bed, she was curled up in the middle against the headboard, wrapped in a blanket and hugging one of her pillows to her chest. And Frank could practically smell the upset oozing out of her.

"Frank?" She said in a quiet voice, smiling a bit.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Darling scooted a bit to the side and allowed Frank to sit next to her, making sure his boots didn't touch her clean bedsheets, staying on the ground.

"What's wrong?" He asked, not looking at her, instead at the random clothes and objects scattered around her room.

"Nothing really, just feeling a bit weird that's all." She shrugged, hugging her pillow closer to her chest.

"Hm, weird." Frank repeated, nodding once and scratching his chin.

"Yeah, just… feeling weird." She repeated, glancing at him.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" He offered, now properly turning his head to look straight at her, his eyes showing nothing but safety, Frank’s safe, he's safe-

Darling thought about it for a long time and nodded, pressing her body closer to his, trying to hide somehow. And he threw an arm over her shoulder, squeezing her tight against him.

"Do you– Do you think I'm pretty?" She whispered and Frank was a bit taken back.

"Of course," Frank said without hesitation.

Darling looked at him without saying anything, and sighed, "Are you saying that because you're a gentleman or do you really mean it? It's alright, I won't be offended if you don't think so, because I still will be more good looking than you, at least."

Frank cracked a smile and chuckled, "I'm being honest, I think you're very pretty, I won't lie to you."

"Okay," Darling whispered, nodding, "But do you think I'm too skinny?..."

Now, Frank frowned at that, "What's wrong with being skinny?"

"I don't know? Maybe because I'm not that strong, I'm not really– I'm not really curvy like most women and I don't know– Maybe I want to be a bit bigger?-" Darling rambled, avoiding eye contact with him and fiddling with her fingers.

"Beautiful, the way you look doesn't matter unless it affects your health, trust me." Frank said, cupping one of her cheeks and turning her face so he could make her look at him.

"I know, but sometimes I wished I had bigger hips, y'know? Maybe more fat under my skin, and maybe I wanted bigger boobs as well? I feel so much smaller and like- like puberty skipped me or something! And it's unfair! I want to look like other women as well-" Darling said, eyes shining with unshed tears as Frank watched her panic and hold her head in her hands as if that was an absolute catastrophe to have skinny hips and small boobs.

"Come on, stop with that bullshit." Frank gently scolded.

"You know it's true, Karen is so beautiful, she's so stunning and I look like a teenage boy." Darling said, now actually crying.

Frank's heart dropped a bit and he immediately collected her in his arms, rubbing her back in an attempt to sooth her.

"Let me tell you something, you're perfect just the way you are. Your body is constantly changing, you won't stay the same forever, you know that, right?" Frank said against her temple as she clutched tight onto his black t-shirt.

"I know, but it still makes me feel like shit sometimes. I know it's stupid-" She cried against his chest, feeling even worse because her periods are due in a couple of days. So she couldn't tell if she did really feel that insecure or if the feelings were amplified by hormones.

"It's not stupid. Everyone has shit they're insecure about, but you need to know that whatever you're insecure about is just a bunch of bullshit. Nobody cares if you're not curvy, if someone likes you, they'll like whatever you look like." Frank said, patting her back.

"But what if I don't find someone that'll like me because they think I'm too skinny?" Darling whispered.

"Now that's stupid." Frank scoffed, "You won't even speak to anyone who'll prioritize the way your body looks over what's in that brain, baby."

Frank's darling's crying was now reduced to small sniffles against his chest and she slowly looked up at him, wet eyelashes, runny nose and all.

"The only thing that I like about being skinny is that you can carry me like a suitcase so I don't have to walk." She said, shyly cracking a smile when Frank laughed, "Attagirl,"

"That's my girl, you're beautiful and smart, don't let anyone try to make you think otherwise, or I'll kidnap them and their kids." Frank said, making her burst out laughing.

"Not the kids!"

"Not the kids." Frank chuckled and placed a kiss to the crown of her head, smiling in her hair and vowing to punch anyone's esophagus if they ever made his girl feel insecure about her looks.

His darling might have bony arms, a tiny waist and a bit of the outline of her ribcage can be seen everytime she stretched. She can have bony hips and hit herself against tables once in a while, no flesh or meat cushioning her hipbone. But he doesn't give a shit what she looks like.

Because he knows how beautiful she looks when she's not looking at herself in a mirror or toying with her fingers and thinking about what ifs.

He loves that she can easily wrap herself around him, like a baby koala, with her long limbs, and sleep against him. He loves that she can practically fit in many tight places that he can't fit in, so that's more places to keep her safe when shit hits the fan.

He loves that many of her opponents underestimate what she can do, resulting more often that not, in their death.

He loves how different they are, yet so similar in certain things. They both want to get rid of shitty people the justice system struggles to hold accountable. They both share a drive to survive that is completely outmatched, he'll claw his way to hell and so will she.

Frank wishes that he could help her understand the way he sees her, but he doesn't think he's that good at expressing what he really means. So as long as she's fine by his side, so is he.

thank you for reading 💙

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yourloverfromthepast · 2 years

Text

Y/n: I think I'm gay

Y/n:

Y/n: Yeah, I am definitely gay

Frank: Uuuuhm...excuse me, kind of sad, confused and extremely worried boyfriend over here!

Y/n: Oh, no babe! I am so sorry, I didn't mean gay gay. I just think I'm bi

David: Stay the fuck away from Sarah

Y/n: I DIDN'T EVEN SAY ANYTHING-

194 notes · View notes

drstrangefictions · 2 years

Text

If I Could Get Rid Of You, I Would

Frank Castle & Female Reader

Word Count: 4K+

Spoilers: None

Basic Warnings + Trigger Warnings: Swearing. Does Frank need his own TW? Yes, but you also chose to read a Frank Castle fic so that's on you.

AO3: Link

Master List

She stood at the docks in Hell’s Kitchen with her arms dangling over the new rails. She breathed in the salty air and scrunched her nose—she hated the smell of salt water and the obstruction of view that the remaining boats cause. The ocean was supposed to be beautiful, not polluted and covered with metal. She hated being in the water and she hated being on the docks. She wouldn’t normally walk along the docks and find herself staring out at the water, but she roamed the docks only when a friend of fellow vigilante called her on her burner. It was also the only time she reentered Hell’s Kitchen as the thought of the city was enough to leave a bad taste in her mouth. She was called back to the city by a friend, a man who challenged the city and the police that were supposed to protect him. She looked down at the watch on her wrist and chuckled at his tardiness—something he never was. She fiddled with her gaiter mask and looked over her shoulder upon hearing a set of heavy footsteps.

“You’re late.” She looked over her shoulder.

He walked up to her, with his hands in the pockets of his coat and the hood from his hoodie covering his features. He scoffed at her accusation. “I’m right on time.”

She nodded slowly and pursed her lips. She looked back toward the water. “You are so full of shit.”

Frank glanced out toward the water and hesitated. “Don’t start that. Don’t you dare—.” He looked back over at the young vigilante and cut himself short.

“Honestly, Castle, I can start whatever I want. I can sound like and copy whoever I want, you know? I mean, hell, Karen has a point every time she gets upset with you for doing… you. The last time we all saw each other, together, she said you were crazy to be doing what you do. To continue this stressful, bloody life that you now live. She’s reluctantly helping you kill more people who may or may not deserve it. You’re also crazy to think that you’re saving her—us with this whole ‘You’re safer when I’m far away from you’ bullshit. She’s your friend—one of the few you have left—she helps you; she believes in what you could be if you just stop getting roped into trouble.” She exhaled sharply. “She’s a magnet, Castle, and you know that. You hang around here, around her, because you know that the minute you turn your back… it could be the end for her.” She pushed herself up; she held onto the railing with her hands, her mask was stuck between her hand and the rail. She kept her eyes on the calm water.

“I don’t need a lecture.” Frank said.

She nodded. “Let me finish that sentence for you. I’m aware that you don’t need a lecture from a kid that’s the age your daughter would be if she wasn’t dead.” She said firmly. She glanced at Frank with an unreadable expression. “I’m trying to make a point, to-to-to prove something to you. Your skull is probably a lot thicker than we realize; it must’ve slowed the bullet down enough to keep it from killing you permanently.” She released an airy laugh.

“Hey.”

“I haven’t seen or heard from you in months. I have Karen driving to my shitty little hovel in Midtown asking me what the fuck you’re doing as if you told me before you told her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her expression change so fast before I told her that you’ve been radio silent for a lot longer than I’m used to you being. I told her I honestly though they had you, whoever they may be this time; I thought you were finally dead and one day I’d wake up and see the news. It would be some bullshit about having the body on hand to prove that the ghost—the Punisher—can’t come back. They’d have to monitor the body to make sure that you couldn’t just get up and walk again.” She slid one foot back and bent her elbows, bringing her face closer to the railing and laughed at how absurd the situation was. She was arguing—trying to reason with the Punisher.

The Punisher was a killer, branded a terrorist, and he was also supposed to be dead this time. He hid under an alias because he survived, and they couldn’t prove that he was alive or dead because there was no body. He killed people—it was a revenge story; he was avenging his family; he was getting payback; he was giving them what they deserved. The Punisher could be reasoned with, but he would also return to the stressful life of playing God and deciding who could continue to live and who couldn’t based on his information about them. There was no slowing down or relaxing. Frankly, it didn’t much matter, he had no one to go home to (which was a blatant lie. She and Karen both cared for Frank, and he wanted nothing to do with it because he was afraid to care and lose again and again and pushing them away was the safest option. She looked up to Frank and Karen as her family—they were the most paternal and maternal figures she has ever had in her life. She would never admit to that because how and why would she? She was an orphan turned vigilante as her own revenge story, but she, like Frank, didn’t stop when the revenge story ended).

Frank put his hands up in front of him, palms facing her. “Slow down.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to slow down.” She pushed herself off the rail and faced Frank. “Don’t tell me to calm down either, I know that’s what you’re going to say next.” She stepped toward him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I like that about you, kid, no bullshit but I can never guess your next move. You keep me on my toes.” Frank glanced toward what he can assume was the car that she drove her—and no doubt that she stole it. He chuckled dryly.

She slapped her hands to her face and looked up. “Ugh!”

“Alright, alright.” Frank sighed. He glanced back toward the young vigilante. “Somebody else figured out that I’m alive and I’ve been working with him. The same people that killed my family, got him.” He looked down at the ground between them.

She dropped her hands to her sides and slumped her shoulders. “So, were you blackmailed into working with this guy or what?” She stared at Frank, dumbfounded. He wasn’t a team player, even she knew that, but to hear him admit that he was working with someone that wasn’t Karen was mind blowing. “So, say you keep working together, are you sure you trust this guy? Are you sure he’s not working for them to get to you and this whole thing he has going is a lie to trick you? Am I supposed to believe, with your casual and nonchalant attitude that you’re going to come out of this alright?” She straightened her posture and crossed her arms.

“You just enjoy jumping to conclusions. No, I wasn’t blackmailed into helping this guy. Believe it or not, I trust him. He pretended and continued to pretend to be dead to keep his family safe.” Frank put his hands in the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. He looked back toward the lone car in the parking lot. “Those people that got him, got him because he tried to do the right thing. Those people were already pissed off when I didn’t die the first time—.”

She snorted. “So now these bad guys have to deal with two ghosts?” She followed his gaze toward her car. “So, what? You’re going to go find them, with this guy, and go in all guns a’ blazin’ because they put together this whole Blacksmith thing to kill you at the park and disguised it as a drug operation with the D.A involved for shits and giggles? Do you really think that’s gonna go as well as you think?”

“Hit the nail on the head.” He glanced back at her. “Smart kid.”

“Look, I don’t know your friend, and right now I feel like I don’t know you. But I have this nagging feeling that maybe I should trust your friend because you trust him. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and trust him to keep you alive long enough for me to find you and kick your ass when your whole shitshow operation is over.” She looked back at Frank and a lopsided smile. “I won’t offer my help because I know you won’t take it. You’ll tell me to fuck right off or something like that because it’s ‘too dangerous for a child’, but you know where to find me and you need to make sure that your friend can find me too.” She drew her lips into a thin frown.

Frank smiled. “I’ll make sure he can contact you if that’ll make you feel better.”

She nodded. “It would, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded slightly.

She didn’t say anything else, she let the silence grow between them; it wasn’t the typical comfortable silence, it felt more like the silence where they both had something else to say and neither of them were willing to say anything else. The discomfort from the lack of further conversation mostly radiated from Frank, he even looked like he had more to say to her—standing with his hands still in his pockets, the slight sway of his body, and obviously trying to avoid looking at her.

Frank was a man of many things and being silent was often one of those things. He wasn’t exactly a conversationalist, but he did make conversation every now and again. Even without conversation, the silence was fine; she enjoyed his company and he enjoyed hers (but he would never admit it). It had always been like that between them for some reason, even when the first met shortly after he shot the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen in the head. Frank was also very much a violence magnet and a man covered in stories—most scars had one. He had a few to show that she technically saved his life at least once. Her work wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough to keep Frank from bleeding out and to send him back out to do what he did best—if it was good enough for her, it was good enough for him he told her. He tried to backtrack on all the times he encouraged her vigilante life after learning that she was only a teenager because she shouldn’t be running around in a mask, looking up to the Punisher, patrolling her city, and doing police work for the incompetent police force. He learned, through her, that she wasn’t the only teenager who put on a mask to do a better job at protecting other people than those who are paid to do it. And no matter how hard he tried to discourage what she did, she continued to do it and she started to help the Punisher after she admitted to killing her father for what he did to her and her mother—who succumbed to her injuries.

She swallowed hard. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” He spoke.

She nodded slightly. “Is there anything else that you want to say to me?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. She was fairly untrusting, she didn’t trust the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but something about the Punisher made her want to trust him. Maybe it was because he was blunt, to the point, honest, and made sure that everyone knew what he was about. Every time he said something, he proved it to be true—the Blacksmith was someone he knew, the D.A was involved, so on and so forth. To her and Karen, the man before her wasn’t crazy, a murderer, or a terrorist—Karen continues to say it—no, Frank Castle had a code: he wouldn’t lay a hand on anyone innocent, women, or children. Luckily, she was a woman and a child, not necessarily innocent though. Maybe Frank thought she had a point to what she did. The small number of people that she killed as part of her revenge story made sense, they all played a role in how she got to where she was today, she was right to do what she did. She thought the same of Frank: he was right to do what he did, all of those people played a role in the deaths of his wife and children, and they almost killed him.

Since she had known Frank, she began to see him as more than just the Punisher—he was just a man that was hurting, missing loved ones—she probably saw the same man that Karen saw and wanted to show New York (and the parts of the world that caught wind of the Frank Castle case). He was a father of two children that no longer breathe, he spoke so highly and lovingly of them, even when he talked about how much of a pain in the ass they were. He was a husband once, he talked about his wife so fondly, he spoke so highly of her as well. He held them a little to close, he told her once, and now they’re gone.

“Actually, there is.” Frank broke their silence.

“Okay?” She leaned forward, waiting for him to continue.

Frank swallowed hard and looked toward at water. “I was thinking.” He glanced back toward her. “Maybe if this goes the way I plan, you won’t have to keep living in the shithole.”

She shook her head slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I was thinking I could help you out. You’ve helped me a few times.”

“First, I kept you alive at least once. Second, that’s bullshit, Castle.” She spoke slowly.

Frank chuckled. “How so?”

She shrugged her shoulder and knitted her eyebrows together. She looked away from Frank, suddenly not knowing why it’s bullshit.

“No, don’t you shrug your shoulder at me. How is it bullshit?” He asked.

She leaned her head back and looked at the light polluted stars. She placed her hands on her hips and exhaled through her mouth. She scrunched her nose and kept quiet.

“Hey.” Frank said.

“I can only assume your kids loved to listen to you try to squeeze answers out of them when they didn’t want to answer you. Dad of the year, am I right?” She brought her head down and looked at Frank.

Frank inhaled and looked away from her. “My kids were respectful; they said please and thank you; they answered me when I asked questions, they were grateful.”

“Is there a reason you’re comparing me to your dead kids? Because if you really want a comparison, they’re dead and I’m not. You can’t bring them back and you can’t make me like them with all these stories and comparisons. I’m so sorry that your kids were so great and such angels. It kind of helps when you had a good dad and a good mom to make sure that you end up like that. I don’t have to remind you that I didn’t have that, right? I’m sure you remember exactly why this is my life.” She paused and stepped away from Frank. She furrowed her eyebrows and locked eyes with him. “To be honest, I think they’d hate what you’ve become and everything you’ve done to avenge their deaths. Is this the dad they want? Are you the man they remember? But at the same time, it doesn’t matter, right? Because they’re dead.”

Frank stared at her, saying nothing. He inhaled deeply and swallowed hard.

She looked down at the ground between them. “I’m sorry.” She took a few steps away from him. “Just forget it, alright. Forget it, all of it. I don’t want your friend to be able to find me, you’ll be fine with just the two of you.” She paused. “It was stupid to answer your call and meet you here, you just spew bullshit all the time.” She briskly walked toward her car. She pulled her gaiter mask over her head and wore it around her neck like a necklace. She pulled the car keys out of her back pocket and clicked the unlock button a few times too many. She jogged up to the car and fumbled getting inside and starting it up. She was rushing, trying to get away from whatever she many have unleased in the Punisher. He just stood there where she left him. From a distance he looked menacing as if she was next. She kept the windows up and didn’t take her sweet time turning the music on. She put the car in Drive and slammed her foot down on the gas pedal.

The young vigilante leaned up against the driver’s door of Frank (Pete)’s new truck. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the puddle surrounding her boots. She ignored her glum reflection and instead focused on the rain drops creating ripples in the large puddle. She listened to the sound of the rather large rain drops against the truck behind her and the ground below her. Within the sound of the rain, she heard a set of heavy footsteps head toward her general area—she could only assume that those footsteps belonged to Frank. The retired Punisher approached her from the dingy New York motel room; he stopped far enough away from her for her to be able to see his typical disappointed expression in the puddle she was standing in. She flicked her eyes up at him; he was simply standing in front of her with his hands in his zip-up hoodie pockets, one hand most likely had the keys to the truck. He had no bags with him, and she had already checked the bed of the truck, so he may not have been leaving New York just yet. But he might be going on to see some friends or just Karen before he leaves everything behind.

“Hey.” Frank pulled her from her thoughts.

She glanced up at Frank and hesitated. “Are you leaving already?” She asked.

She swallowed hard as she studied his still bruised face. His expression was less disappointed and more of a resting expression (which still looked disappointed in her opinion). He looked mean with the bruises still covering his face. With the torture he had endured, she was impressed that they didn’t need to reconstruct his face. Aside from the physical wounds that he still had to recover from, he had more emotional wounds to recover from. His long-time friend, his brother, his fellow marine Billy Russo was part of the whole operation that took Frank’s family away and he came after Frank as a personal attack. Frank stupidly let the asshole live. They told him that they weren’t sure if he could or would recover. She had her doubts about his vegetative state, he was very much like Frank—to her knowledge—and if Frank could bounce back from being dead, so could Billy Russo.

“I’m just asking.” She added.

Frank inhaled and looked down at the small puddle forming next to him. “I’d like to leave.”

She nodded slowly and bit her bottom lip nervously. “Yeah, you’d like to? That’s your answer?” She asked. “You know, I’d appreciate a better answer than that, honestly. I mean, Frank—or should I call you Pete now? I’m an orphan, you know this, and the number of people I have in my life is already very limited. I just want—need—to know if Pete is going to leave me hanging the way Frank always did. I just want to know if you’re going to still be there for me.” She spoke softly and sadly.

She knew, deep down, that Frank had no obligation to her. They had a deal after she stitched him up; because she technically saved him, he would do something for her. And he fulfilled his end of their little deal back when they made it. He recently said he would help her, and he didn’t have to, she knew that. She hoped, though, that he would get her out of the shithole that she sleeps in every now and again. She hoped he would help her one last time even if that meant that they had to make a new deal where she owed him something. She actually hoped he couldn’t leave her behind or forget about her.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He quickly glanced back at her and slightly tilted his head.

She shrugged her shoulders slightly and looked down at his boots. “I don’t know why you would, and I don’t know why you wouldn’t. Honestly, I figured that I offended you the last time we spoke. I-I left you there after I threw my tantrum. I even expected myself to throw the burner you gave me away, but I didn’t because I was hoping you’d call me back out to the docks to talk it out.” She paused for a moment. “I thought I pissed you off. And I really thought I did when you didn’t call me. I couldn’t even bring myself to call you to talk it out, you know? I was… I was scared.”

Frank nodded his head slightly and looked away from her. He furrowed his eyebrows and slightly shrugged his shoulders. “You were upset, and I got a little busy.” He spoke. “Russo’s still alive and if he ever wakes up, he better remember what he did. That guy I’ve been working with, Lieberman, he got his family back. I got a new life; some kind of debt owed.”

She nodded slowly; she licked her top lip then pursed her lips. “You know, the Lieberman guy called me. His name is David, in case you weren’t aware, and I thought that he was going to ask for my help. He just told me what happened, maybe because he assumed that you weren’t going to tell me. I mean, he was kind of right. You didn’t tell me; you didn’t even call me here. I found you because I wanted to.” She pressed her fingertips against the truck and pushed herself away from the driver’s door. She stepped away from the truck and stood inline with Frank; she glanced over at him. “And that’s the shit that pisses me off. It kind of feels like you’re holding back from telling me to fuck right out of your life. Am I right?”

Frank shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

“Okay. So, tell me how I’m wrong.” She demanded.

He flashed a wry smile. “Look, I said I was going to get you outta that shithole and I meant it, kid. I don’t care if you believe me. I was planning on heading out to Midtown today, but like you said, you found me.” He explained.

“Still not convinced that I’m wrong.” She crossed her arms and looked toward the shitty motel.

Frank chuckled dryly. “You are such a pain in the ass, you know that?”

She shook her head. “Unaware.”

He let out a deeper, airier laugh. “Kid, you have two options: I’m going to stick around until I get you somewhere stable or you come with me.”

She glanced over at Frank and raised an eyebrow. She studied his expression from her awkward angle; his expression was stoic, but that was normal for Frank, a smile, or any expression aside from stoic or melancholy would be out of the ordinary, but not unheard of. She has seen him smile fondly; she has heard him genuinely laugh too. She swallowed hard and looked away from Frank, changing her own expression to a stoic one to match Frank’s. As much as she wanted to give him a confused expression—in place of verbalizing her confusion—she didn’t. Her struggle mostly hidden by the angle Frank was looking at her. He only saw part of her face as they stood next to each other, and she was adamant about keeping her eyes glued to the motel in front of her. It was, however, clear that she stopped herself from speaking; she froze with her lips slightly parted.

Frank raised his eyebrows and waited for her response. He pulled his hands out of his pockets.

The young vigilante swallowed hard. Her eyes slowly shifted from the motel back to the asphalt parking lot beneath her feet. She knitted her eyebrows and focused on the rhythm of her breathing—unsteady, although normal for her when her youthful, teen worries and confusion begin to cloud her mind. However, this felt different from the typical worries from her adolescence; it felt daunting, and the weight of Frank’s options for her crept up next to her and towered over them both. Her heavy arms fell to her side, and she slowly peered opposite of where Frank was staring. Her eyes darted back toward the puddle behind her. The ripples from the raindrops began to slow down as her thoughts began to speed up. Frank offered her something: options. On one hand, she could take his offer about letting him help her get out of the shithole in Midtown by putting her somewhere more stable. There was a plan behind that one, but she didn’t know what it was. She was 16, she had two years until she was legally an adult and legally able to live on her own. What was Frank going to do? Find her a family that would only last two years? Fat chance. And there was a chance that it would be just as bad as living in an abandoned building and calling it home. The other option he gave her was going with him. But wouldn’t that be weird? A man and a random child moving out of New York together; or was he going to adopt her himself? Wait—no—Frank wouldn’t. She glanced forward with wide, unengaged eyes. Her heart pounded against her eardrums. She was stunned, the weight of needing to make a decision kept her from stepping away from the retired Punisher.

“Why would you offer to take me with you?” She broke their drawn-out silence with a shaky voice.

“It’s not an offer, it’s an option.” He corrected her.

She nodded slowly, feeling herself shake nervously. “So… you were serious, and I was a major asshole for no reason?” She asked. “Wait—don’t answer that!”

He leaned slightly to the side. “I wouldn’t say that you were an asshole for no reason. That’s just your personality and it’s also the reason all those bad things happened to you before you ended up alone.” He smirked.

“Cold, Castle, real cold.” She let out a dry laugh. She crossed her arms again and turned to face Frank. She smiled sadly at the supposedly retired Punisher.

He stepped toward her and put his arm around her shoulder; he spun her around so that she was facing the same direction that he was and kept his arm around her. “Not so fun when someone does it to you, is it?” He asked with a hint of mischief lingering in his voice.

She shook her head. “I get the point, asshole.”

He jokingly pressed his free hand against his chest. “Me? An asshole. You bet.” He smiled down at the young vigilante.

She flashed him a thin-lipped smile of her own.

“Still need to make a choice, kid.” He spoke.

She inhaled deeply and looked at the truck in front of them. She was silent for a moment, weighing the life-changing options he gave her one last time. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

He chuckled and pushed her toward the truck. “I guess so.

She smiled widely and ran around to the passenger side. The lock clicked and she threw the passenger door open and climbed in. “After we get my stuff, where are we going?”

“Back here to get my stuff.”

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chvoswxtch · 4 months

Text

teach me

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you want frank to teach you self defense, but it doesn't quite go the way you expected.

warnings: swearing, some angst, mentions of guns, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 8.3k

a/n: what better way to end this year and start the new one than with our favorite hot bodyguard. don't ask me how many times I watched that scene with him and amy. it was for science. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“You’re being a dick.”

“Hey, you said you wanted to learn.”

“You’re still being a dick.”

“Yeah yeah, you ain’t gettin’ no sympathy from me, sweetheart. Now c’mon, try again.”

It was a good thing the cabin was isolated in the middle of the woods, because if anyone had been looking in the living room window at that very moment, they would’ve definitely called the police in horror. Frank had a gun in his right hand that was trained on you, and while he wore a neutral expression on his face, your brows were furrowed in pure annoyance and there was a faint scowl on your lips.

Letting out a huff of irritation, you kept your eyes focused on the gun in Frank’s hand, getting back into somewhat of a fighting stance again. Clenching your hands open and closed a few times, your teeth sank down into your bottom lip before you suddenly rushed forward in an endeavor to take the gun out of his hand.

But just like he had done the past seven times you tried this, Frank easily managed to block your attempt. He grabbed your wrist in his free hand and spun you around swiftly, pulling you back firmly against his chest while a deep chuckle sounded right next to your ear.

“That was real cute.”

Letting go of you, Frank took a step back and lightly pressed at the back of your knee with the heel of his boot, sending you down to your knees below him. He decided to take it a step further and used the toe of his boot to gently shove at your ass, causing your hands to fly out to catch yourself, rendering you on all fours in front of him. Turning to narrow your eyes at him over your shoulder, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth let you know that was very intentional.

“You know, if you wanted me on my knees, all you had to do was ask.”

“That right?”

Grumbling a string of curses under your breath, you pushed yourself back up onto your feet and turned around to shoot a death glare in Frank’s direction. His plush lips instantly parted into a crooked grin while he looked at you, cocking his head to the side slightly while his eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Aw, what’s wrong baby, hm?”

“I already told you, you’re being a dick. You’re supposed to be teaching me-”

“Then why don’t you quit actin’ like you know everythin’ and start askin’ questions, yeah?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know what questions to ask? I asked you to teach me. Teach me means tell me what to do.”

“And when have you ever done what I told ya to?”

As you opened your mouth to protest, Frank arched one of his thick brows and shot you a pointed look, and your rebuttal quickly died on your tongue. You did have a history of ignoring his instructions completely and doing whatever you wanted anyway. With that in mind, you let out a deep exhale through your nose and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Okay, that’s…fair. But this is completely out of my area of expertise. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never even held a gun until four days ago. And for the record, when it comes to something serious, I do listen to you. This is serious, and I’m listening.”

Originally when you asked Frank to teach you self defense with a gun, he was completely against it. He made the argument that with him around, you wouldn’t have to worry about that, to which you reminded him of the incident where two people tried to kill you in your own home where you had nothing to protect yourself with and no knowledge of how to in the first place.

The two of you went back and forth about it for at least an hour. He made the case that it was a one time incident that would never happen again, and argued that nothing was ever going to happen to you in the first place anyway because he showed up to take care of it. You argued back that Frank wouldn’t be by your side twenty-four seven anymore and would eventually be assigned to someone else, possibly taking him far away for extended periods of time.

In the end, you wore him down like you usually did until he gave in and you got your way.

Frank took in the impatient and stubborn expression covering your features, the one he had become all too familiar with and grown to adore. You were a force to be reckoned with when you wanted something, just as much as he was. Even though he didn’t want you to ever have a reason to use a gun, he would rather know you were safe and could handle yourself in his absence if it came down to it.

“Alright, alright. Wipe that pout off your face and c’mere.”

Doing your best to conceal your tiny smile of victory, you went to stand in front of Frank, but he held his large hand out to stop you and motioned for you to move back a little.

“Keep your distance, okay? You don’t wanna be too close. Now, step one.”

Frank reached out to grab your wrist and brought your hand up towards the barrel of the gun, placing his large hand on top of your own and squeezing gently to signal for you to grab onto it. Once he felt your tight grip on the barrel, he slid his hand over to grab onto your forearm and pushed against it, which caused the gun in his right hand to shift directions. It was no longer aimed at you, but pointed at the wall to your left.

“You wanna take the gun offline, yeah? Look.”

Glancing up at him briefly, you nodded to show him that you were paying attention. When he pulled your arm back in the position it was before, aiming the gun at you once again, you quickly redirected your focus back to his large hands. To reiterate what he was trying to explain to you, Frank repeated his demonstration two more times to make sure you understood.

“Offline, right? Offline, right? And push hard, as hard as you can.”

While Frank’s eyes were locked on you as he demonstrated the first step, you were studying his movements, committing every detail to memory. It seemed simple enough in theory so far. Keep your distance, grab the barrel of the gun, and push it away from yourself hard. When he let go of your arm, you let go of the gun, and you looked up to see that Frank was already watching you.

“Show me.”

Without hesitating, you swiftly reached out to grab the barrel of the gun and forcefully pushed it to the left. Frank let you redirect it to a certain point, and then pushed back to hold the gun in place. His strength was something you couldn’t combat, and as you kept pushing at the barrel, his resistance made the gun almost wobble in your hands.

“Attagirl. Easy, easy. Relax.”

Frank reached out with his left hand and grabbed onto your wrist, gently squeezing it to steady your hand.

“Alright, now step two, you go for that wrist, yeah? You get control. Go.”

Immediately you reached out with your right hand to wrap your fingers around Frank’s wrist to grab onto it tightly. Giving a slight shake of his head, Frank pulled your hand off of his wrist and guided it underneath his wrist instead.

“Look, underneath, yeah? Underneath. Go for the joint. Joints are weakest.”

Everything Frank was showing you seemed so simple that it filled you with a false sense of confidence. With your right hand under his right wrist, you gripped onto the barrel tightly with your left hand and took a step back as you tried to tug it away, thinking it would spring loose. Frank let out a grunt of disapproval and pulled his right arm back, easily slipping the gun out of your grasp completely and causing you to stumble forward a bit. He had a somewhat stern look on his face as he wagged the gun in your direction twice.

“Easy, bang bang. Don’t ever pull a gun towards you. You push it away.”

Letting out a huff of annoyance as your previous overzealous confidence fizzled out, you looked up at Frank as he held his left hand out towards you to signal for you to stay in place. He wasn’t teasing you anymore like he had been earlier. This wasn't Frank that had made you strawberry pancakes and caressed your legs while they sat in his lap as the two of you shared breakfast this morning. This was Frank that nearly sent your ex to the morgue instead of prison. He was back in full protective bodyguard mode.

“Listen to me. Use your legs, get underneath, and twist. Don’t pull, twist. Yeah? C’mon, show me.”

Taking a deep breath, you gave a slight nod and went over the steps in your head. Grab the barrel of the gun, shove it away from yourself, slip your other hand under the wrist joint, and twist the gun away. Your lips faintly twitched as you silently recited the steps to yourself three times for good measure. Frank didn’t make a move to rush you. He kept his eyes on you and waited patiently until you were ready to give it a try.

Sucking in one more deep breath, your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you sprung into action. Taking a quick step forward, you reached out to tightly grab the barrel of the gun with your left hand, and while you pushed it away to the left, you simultaneously slipped your right hand under Frank’s wrist. Twisting the barrel of the gun forcefully to the right caused Frank’s wrist to twist with it until he was forced to let go, and in that short window of weakness you were able to pull the gun out of his hand with a hard step backwards.

Glancing down at the gun in your hands, your eyes went wide with surprise and your mouth hung open as you let out an incredulous laugh.

“Holy shit, that actually worked!”

Frank held his hands up like you had just made a touchdown, and he started to clap as a proud tooth bearing grin stretched over his lips.

“Look at that, huh? Who got a gun, huh?”

Looking up at Frank, your lips parted into a huge grin of your own while you held it up like a trophy and spoke in a proud voice.

“I have a gun.”

“Attagirl. You’re goddamn right you do. You did good, sweetheart. Real good. Feels good, yeah?”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you let out a soft laugh while admiring the gun in your hands. Well, more so admiring the fact that you were able to actually take it from Frank. The only reason you felt comfortable holding the gun right now was because Frank had shown you the clip was empty before he started demonstrating the basics earlier.

Pointing a loaded gun at Steven had been different. You were blinded in a fit of rage, not thinking clearly, but deep down you knew there was no way you would have actually pulled the trigger. However if you had been level headed, you probably wouldn’t have taken it from Billy, even if he offered.

“Yeah…yeah it does.”

And it did feel good. It made you feel strong…less helpless. Frank was giving you back a sense of safety and security that had been stolen from you when you were first threatened by the Defenders of Freedom. Even if you never used this lesson, and you genuinely hoped you wouldn’t have to, you felt a surge of confidence knowing that you were at least capable of protecting yourself in some capacity.

“Okay, step three.”

A pinch of confusion settled between your brows as you looked up at Frank when he mentioned a third step, and you noticed that he wasn’t smiling anymore. A grim look had settled over his features that sent a chill of unease down your spine.

“You just took a gun off someone that wanted to use it on you. What d’you do.”

The delight of pride had disappeared from his face and was swiftly replaced by a shadow of severity that was now coveting his sharp features, and the elated grin that was on your own lips had slowly fallen from grace. It was a rhetorical question you both knew the answer to, but you hadn’t factored in a third step. It hadn’t even crossed your mind, and Frank could see that in your eyes.

“You use it on them. Don’t matter who they are, you do not hesitate. You got that?”

Looking down at the gun in your hands, the weight of it was suddenly too heavy in your palms. Step three was a reminder that step one and two weren’t just to boost your confidence in protecting yourself; they were steps to defend yourself. Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head in silent understanding.

“Good. Show me.”

Frank’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a command, but it wasn’t a suggestion either. Placing both of your hands on the gun the way he had shown you to properly hold it, you took a deep breath, slowly raising it to aim in Frank’s direction. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that he knew the clip was empty, or that this most likely wasn’t the first time he had stared down the barrel of a gun, but he looked completely unphased. The canvas of his face was expressionless, but his eyes were what you had learned to read. Only right now, you couldn’t understand what they were trying to tell you.

The gun trembled slightly in your grasp, as if every cell in your body knew exactly how wrong it felt to point a gun at Frank, loaded or not. The self defense lesson you wanted for a possible yet highly improbable scenario had quickly become too heavy and realistic, and you were quickly regretting even asking for it.

“Show me.”

“I’m not doing that-”

“It ain’t loaded-”

“Frank, I don’t want to-”

“What’d I say, huh? I don’t care who it is, you do not hesitate. Ever. Now, show me you understand.”

Frank’s tone was a little more forceful, but the volume of it was still even and somewhat soft. You knew there were no repercussions if you didn’t pull the trigger. He had learned early on that he couldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to, and you trusted him enough to know that he would never try to force you. Frank never demanded anything of you, he always asked.

But you had asked for this, and he wanted you to follow through with it.

Clenching your jaw, you let out a shaky exhale through your nose, and you slowly squeezed the trigger like he had taught you to yesterday when you were out in the woods using cans as target practice. The click that sounded caused you to flinch, and it seemed to echo loudly in the living room. Frank on the other hand didn’t visibly react to it at all.

Without another word, you placed the gun down onto the coffee table a little too forcefully and headed towards the back door, wanting to put as much distance between it and yourself as possible. Frank caught your wrist before you could get too far and gently tugged you back towards himself.

“Hey-”

“I’m going for a walk.”

“No, you ain’t. You ain’t runnin’ away, you’re gonna stay here and talk to me. We ain’t doin’ that not communicatin’ shit. Why are you upset?”

“I told you I didn’t want to do that-”

“You asked me to teach you. I said no, but you kept on beggin’. What did you think this was gonna be, huh? You think you get a gun off someone, and it ends there? No. As soon as you get control and take it, you use it. No negotiatin’, no questionin’ it, you do it-”

“And what if I can’t, Frank?”

The distress in your voice made him pause and clench his jaw. He could see that you were visibly upset, and for a moment he wondered if he was being too hard on you. You said it yourself, this was not your area of expertise. It was his. Frank had years of professional training under his belt. Pulling a trigger was something he didn’t even have to think twice about. It was an automatic response. The aftermath of what followed didn’t even make him bat an eye. There were always casualties in war.

But you weren’t a soldier, and having to actually pull the trigger on someone would be something that haunted you for the rest of your life if it came down to it.

Letting out a deep exhale through his large nose, Frank stepped forward and wrapped one of his arms around your waist to pull you into his embrace while using his other hand to slip his fingers gently into your hair to brush it back before cradling your face in his right hand.

“Listen to me. If it comes down to you, or someone else, you do whatever you gotta do to save yourself, you got that?”

The rational part of your brain knew that Frank was right. If you had taken a gun from Cavella or Walker, you would’ve had to shoot them. There’s no way they wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to kill you if they had it. But the emotional part of your brain was struggling to figure out if you could handle the consequences of taking someone’s life, justified or not. Frank could see the internal conflict in your eyes, and he lightly brushed the calloused pad of his thumb along your cheekbone as the rough timbre of his voice broke the tense silence.

“Hey, no one’s sayin’ you gotta shoot ‘em point blank, alright? I’ve seen your aim, and it ain’t all that great anyway. You’d be lucky to scare ‘em off with firin’ a terrible shot just so you could get away.”

Rolling your eyes at his comment, you let out a dry laugh. As much as you wanted to be annoyed, he was right. You were terrible. You didn’t hit a single can yesterday, even at close range. You did manage to scare the shit out of some crows in a tree though.

“You are such an ass.”

The edge of Frank’s mouth twitched up into a light smirk while giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

“And you’re cute thinkin’ you could actually do some damage. I know a blind guy that can hit targets better than you. Look, you gotta stop gettin’ upset ‘bout things that might not even happen, alright? If it ever comes down to it, remember that you’re the one controllin’ the gun, yeah? It ain’t controllin’ you. Wherever you aim, the bullet’s gonna go. You can shoot ‘em in the leg, foot, shoulder, hell shoot ‘em in the dick for all I care. That’ll keep ‘em down for a while. You just promise me you’ll pull that trigger. You get ‘em down however you want, and then you get the hell outta there. That’s all you gotta do, yeah?”

Frank dipped his head to catch your eyes, staring intently into them. Letting out a deep breath, you bit down on your bottom lip and nodded while placing your hands on Frank’s biceps. You could do that. Injuring someone just to get away was a lot more manageable for your conscience. Frank lightly grasped your jaw in his large hand, his bottom three fingers wrapping around your throat while his index finger and thumb held your jaw. He tipped your head back so that you had no choice but to look up at him.

“Lemme hear you say it.”

Staring up into his warm brown eyes, you gazed up at him silently for a moment before speaking.

“No hesitating. I promise.”

“Attagirl. C’mere.”

Frank leaned in to capture your lips in a soft and sweet kiss. Sometimes it amazed you how easily he was able to talk you down from the ledge. Frank was a man of few words, but he somehow always knew exactly which ones to say to ease whatever anxieties were weighing on your mind. And the distraction of his plush lips against yours also certainly helped.

Ever since the other night by the fireplace, every kiss between the two of you that started out soft and sweet had a way of evolving into something more passionate and insatiable. Maybe it was the months of denying your feelings for one another, or maybe there was just some magnetic pull between your souls, but whatever it was, neither of you could get enough.

Before you could even register that you were moving, Frank was lifting you up by your hips and setting you down on the dining table, his hungry kisses leaving a searing path along your jawline and down the column of your neck.

“Did good today, sweetheart. Did real goddamn good, made me so proud.”

Frank’s gravely songs of praise in your ear only further ignited the flame of desire that was burning in your lower belly. Despite the warmth of his large palm touching your bare skin as he slipped it underneath your shirt to caress your lower back, a shiver teasingly tumbled down your spine from the contact.

“I had a good teacher.”

“Nah, I think you’re just a natural, baby.”

“I thought I had terrible aim?”

“Didn’t say you were perfect. Everybody’s got their strengths and weaknesses.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you could feel the rumble of Frank’s deep chuckle vibrating in his chest that was pressed against yours.

“Wow, you really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, Castle.”

Frank pulled back slightly to look down at you, his eyes traveling over your figure to drink in the sight of you sitting on the edge of the dining table before they slowly wandered back up to meet your gaze. He arched one of his thick brows as a smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Yours are currently danglin’, sweetheart.”

Before you could retort with a smartass comment of your own, Frank’s mouth was back on your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along your sensitive skin. Feeling his tongue gliding along your collarbone and giving it a delectable love bite, you closed your eyes and let your head fall back, granting Frank all the access he wanted to your skin.

The feeling of his lips on your neck was so heavenly you almost didn’t notice that he had popped the button on your jeans and tugged down your zipper until he was lifting you up slightly with one arm around your waist and pulling the denim down your hips with his free hand. As soon as your jeans were completely off, your own hands were reaching for Frank’s belt buckle, but he grasped your wrists and halted your attempt. A soft noise of protest quickly slipped past your lips.

“Frank-”

“Shh shh shh. Spread your legs for me, baby.”

A rush of heat pooled in your cheeks at his request, but you obliged immediately. Frank leaned in to kiss you deeply, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip and nipping at it softly while his thumbs hooked into the waistband of your panties and slipped them off too slowly for your liking. The sudden contact of the crisp autumn air coming in through the open windows hitting your slicked folds had you gasping, and Frank used that to his advantage by slipping his tongue into your mouth to caress your own sensually.

“Spread ‘em wider for me, sweetheart. C’mon.”

Frank’s deep voice was quiet, but it nestled in your ears as comfortably as it did between your thighs. He pulled you a little more towards the edge of the dining table, and when you spread your legs further for him, he sank down to his knees in front of you and let out a low groan of appreciation at the sight waiting for him.

“Attagirl, that’s it. God, look at you. You should see how fuckin’ pretty you look right now, baby.”

His large hands gripped onto your soft thighs, kneading and squeezing your flesh with his thick fingers. Frank didn’t waste a second before diving into your cunt face first. As soon as his warm and wet tongue began to strum your clit like chords to his favorite song, your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. He brought your legs over his broad shoulders, burying his face so deep into your core, you weren’t sure how he was breathing.

Your hand quickly found a fistful of his slightly grown out hair that you gripped onto to steady yourself, and when you gave it an experimental tug, the vibration of his groan against your clit had your thighs trembling more than any toy you had ever gotten for yourself before.

“Fuck…Frank…”

Frank let out a loud grunt as he pulled back for just a moment to stare at your glistening pussy almost in awe, his hooded eyes briefly meeting your own for a second before focusing back on the display of your desire for him.

“Taste so good sweetheart, so fuckin’ good. You got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

He dove right back in, this time slipping his tongue inside of you to explore while using his large nose to bump against your clit repeatedly. The stimulation had your back arching off the dining table and a loud moan echoed throughout the cabin. Tugging harder at his dark roots, you pushed your hips up against his face, desperately and greedily searching for more. None of your exes had ever eaten you out like this before. Most of them didn’t even know what the fuck they were doing, and the rest gave up after a few minutes because it “took too long”, but still expected you to suck them off until your jaw ached.

But Frank…God, Frank knew what he was doing. His thick fingers were digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, following your hips wherever they went. The groans that continued to vibrate against your clit not only turned you on because of their stimulation, but because you could tell that Frank was genuinely enjoying eating your pussy. The fact that he was getting just as much pleasure out of it as you were had you on the brink of an orgasm alone. Frank had a way of making every experience feel brand new, and it made you realize just how much you had been missing out on in your previous relationships.

That familiar bubbly feeling was building up inside of you, cresting slowly like a tidal wave ready to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting beach. Your breaths were coming out in short staccato variations, and at this point you were roughy tugging at Frank’s hair with both hands while essentially fucking his face. Not that he seemed to mind at all. If anything, it just seemed to make him more feral.

“Yesyesyesyes…please-fuck, Frank…I…I…”

Frank pulled you even closer towards the edge of the dining table to where your ass was basically hanging off of it, and the jolt of his large palm smacking against your ass was the only indication you got that he understood what you were trying to tell him.

You thought you had more time, but your climax suddenly crashed into you without further warning, and your hips were stuttering as Frank continued his incessant assault on your pussy with his tongue. It seemed like he didn’t want to let a drop of your essence go to waste, and while you appreciated his enthusiasm, the way he was flicking his tongue rapidly against your overstimulated clit was riding that very thin line between pain and pleasure, and you were weakly shoving at his broad shoulders.

“Okay okay okay…Frank…fuck, please! Just…give me a second, God-”

Frank dragged his tongue up your entire pussy from your entrance to your clit one last time before granting you mercy with a low growl. While you panted heavily laying back against the dining room table, he was pressing featherlight kisses to each of your inner thighs, but due to your body feeling like a live wire, they felt like faint shocks that had your body jolting every time his wet lips met your heated skin. He chuckled deeply watching you respond to his touch.

“You alright there, sweetheart?”

Lifting your hand, you gave him a weak thumbs up, and Frank just laughed even louder in amusement at that. The sound of his laughter combined with your own blissed out post orgasm state had a lazy grin stretching over your lips. You felt his large and rough hands slipping underneath your shirt, gently caressing your bare skin and grabbing your waist while he leaned over you, kissing your lips deeply. The taste of your own sweet tang on Frank’s tongue had your head spinning, and a soft hum sounded in the back of your throat. Even though you were still recovering from your first ever oral orgasm, the feeling of Frank’s hard cock straining against his jeans and rubbing against your inner thigh reignited your greed.

Brushing your hand slowly down his chest, you palmed him firmly through his jeans, and Frank let out a grunt while pushing himself further against your hand. He broke the kiss momentarily to nuzzle his large nose against your throat.

“If ya need a minute-”

“No. Now.”

While you unfastened his belt in record time, Frank placed his hands on the table on either side of your head and pulled back to look down at you with a soft chuckle at your impatience. He lightly cocked his head to the side, his brown eyes darkened with lust as they roamed over you shamelessly. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and a crooked smirk caressed his mouth.

“Anybody ever tell you what an impatient lil thing you are?”

A smirk of your own tugged across your lips while you slipped your hand into his jeans, stroking his thick cock through his briefs, earning a quiet grunt from Frank.

“Apart from you every day since we met? Maybe a few other people. Is my lack of patience really what you wanna talk about right now, big guy?”

The sultry tone of your voice did not go unnoticed by Frank, and in fact, it only made his cock swell even more in your welcoming hand. He slowly moved his hips back and forth as you teasingly stroked him and leaned down closer towards you, nuzzling his nose along your throat before whispering huskily into your ear.

“Got somethin’ better in mind.”

By the time Frank had carried you down the hall to the master bedroom, the two of you had left a trail of forgotten items of clothing strewn like breadcrumbs along the path from the kitchen. He let you push him back against the mattress and grabbed your hips to pull you on top of him, his lips moving in sync with your own, but when you felt the swollen head of his cock bump against your clit, you suddenly pressed your palms firmly against his chest and pulled back while breaking the kiss.

“Wait.”

Frank immediately paused, loosening his grip on your hips, his lust clouded eyes clearing a bit while searching your own and wandering over your figure for the source of the problem.

“What? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

The concern in his rough timbre combined with the worry in his soft brown eyes made your heart melt. A gentle smile covered your lips while you reached out to delicately hold his strong jaw in your hands, and you leaned in to kiss his lips softly.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t think it’s fair you get to have all the fun.”

Frank’s apprehension morphed into confusion, and a few creases nestled between his thick brows.

“Huh?”

Letting out a soft laugh at how adorable he looked when he was confused, you decided to explain with actions instead of words. When you moved backwards off his lap to settle between his legs, Frank raised himself up on his elbows, following you with his eyes as he watched you intently.

“What are you-holy shit.”

Frank’s jaw went slack the second you leaned in and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around it once before beginning to take a few inches into your mouth. Placing one of your hands on his left hip, you teasingly moved your lips up his length until he was out of your mouth with a satisfying pop. Pursing your lips, you let a string of glistening saliva slowly drop onto his tip and used your free hand to spread it down the rest of his thick cock for lubrication, and after wrapping your fingers around his girth, you began to twist your wrist up and down slowly.

You could feel how tense he was through your hold on his hip. Glancing up at him through your lashes, you noticed that he was staring directly at you, completely mesmerized, and was gripping onto the sheets so tightly you thought he might rip them. Moving your hand from his hip, you reached out to caress his hand, and he slowly loosened his grip, his knuckles no longer stark white. His plush lips were parted, and he was breathing hard, his thick brows knit in complete focus. You allowed him to slip out of your mouth for just a moment to smile softly up at Frank.

“Just relax.”

The sweet sound of your voice seemed to reach his ears, and after a few more moments of hesitation, Frank finally laid back against the mattress and let his head rest on the pillows. He moved the hand that was underneath yours to grab your wrist, turning your hand over so he could slot his fingers between yours to hold it. His other hand slowly came over to card his fingers through your hair before cradling the back of your head. Giving his hand that you were holding a light squeeze, you continued to hold eye contact with Frank while slowly sucking him off, using your hand that was around his base to work over what wouldn’t fit in your mouth.

The sound of his quiet grunts and low moans sent a thrill through you, and you wanted to know just how vocal he could get. Letting go of his hand, you placed both of your palms firmly on his hips and relaxed your jaw completely, taking his entire cock into your mouth until his tip hit the back of your throat. A guttural groan ripped from the depth of his chest and his lower abdomen instantly tensed up as he gripped onto your hair.

“Goddamn-fuck…fuck, sweetheart. Do…do that again. Please…please baby, do it again.”

Taking in a deep inhale through your nose, you prepared yourself to deepthroat Frank’s thick cock again, and this time you held him there until your eyes started to water. He let out a louder moan of your name, and that caused the throbbing between your thighs to evolve from dull to downright unbearable. You thought about sneaking your hand downwards to get a little relief, but Frank had been so unselfish when he ate you out, only focused on your pleasure, and he deserved that same treatment.

All of a sudden, Frank roughly tugged at your hair, and that made you moan around his cock. You heard him let out a quiet fuck under his breath in response. He gave your hair another tug to get your attention, and his cock slipped from your lips as you licked them and tried to catch your breath while staring at him, noticing that he had sat up.

“C’mere.”

He didn’t give you a chance to protest before he grabbed your throat and pulled you in close to kiss you fervently. Frank’s large and rough hands grabbed your hips and pulled you onto his lap again, and you let out a soft whine against his lips when the head of his cock rubbed against your sensitive clit.

“Frank, I didn’t get to finish-”

“As much as I’d love to come down that pretty throat, I need ya baby. Need ya now.”

Grabbing the base of his cock, Frank positioned himself perfectly with your entrance and pulled you down slowly, letting you feel every single inch of him. Your mouth hung open at the sensation, and your body instantly tensed up. You thought Frank had been deep the other night, but he was reaching an even greater depth inside of you right now if that was possible. There was a slight burn as your walls stretched to accommodate his size, but your brain barely even registered it, because Frank was slipping his tongue into your mouth and kissing you sensually as if he wanted to steal the very essence of life from your lungs.

Once he was fully nestled deep inside of you, a high pitched cry left your mouth, and he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly.

“Shh…s’alright. Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you clung to Frank as he wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist and held you tightly against his chest. Both of you sat there for a moment, your foreheads pressed together as you panted. He rubbed his large calloused hand up and down your spine soothingly, his teeth grazing along your ear lobe and biting down gently to distract you from any discomfort. Slowly, the tension in your body melted, and you gave an experimental roll of your hips that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“That’s it…attagirl. Take your time, sweetheart. M’right here. I got you.”

This felt right. It felt…perfect. Those three little words almost slipped out right there. Grabbing onto the back of his neck, you pulled Frank in for a passionate kiss, trying to pour every ounce of emotion you felt into it. He groaned quietly against your lips when your nails lightly scratched at the back of his head where his hair was shaved closely to his scalp. Moving your hips in slow circles, you grinded down onto Frank’s cock, and he flexed his hips upwards to match your rhythm. The other night by the fireplace had been the best experience of your life, but this…this was something you couldn’t put into words.

Placing your palms against Frank’s firm chest, you pressed lightly and he followed your silent instructions, allowing you to push him onto his back. His large hands gripped firmly onto your hips as he gazed up at you, and you kept your palms flat on his chest while slowly riding his cock. Neither of you could tear your eyes away from each other. The feeling of his warm hands leisurely moving up your bare skin made you shiver, and a soft gasp left your lips when he groped your breasts and squeezed gently. The calloused pad of his thumb gingerly brushing over your peaked nipple had you arching your back, pressing your chest further into his eager hands.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

The sincerity in Frank’s vulnerable whisper nearly brought tears to your eyes. He wasn’t saying it because he thought it was what you wanted to hear, he was saying it because he felt it, and he was making you feel it too. The way he was staring up at you like you were the only thing that mattered had your heart swelling inside your ribcage like a balloon about to burst. It had been a long time since you mattered to someone, and you felt lucky it was Frank. The look in his eyes was almost too much to handle.

Letting your head fall back, you closed your eyes for a moment as you writhed on top of Frank, getting completely lost in how good it felt to be connected to him in such a raw and intimate way. One of his hands traveled up from your breast towards your throat, and he wrapped his fingers tightly around it almost entirely, forcing you to face him again. He pulled you down over him so that your forehead was pressed to his, and the two of you stared deeply into each other's eyes.

“Frank-”

“I wanna see you. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come for me. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Being this close to him, you noticed for the first time that there were scattered flecks of honey in his deep brown eyes. They looked so warm and inviting, like two melted pools of chocolate you wanted to drown in. The eyes that could say so much with a single look. You thought you could see it…that flicker that he felt it too. You wanted to tell him so fucking badly, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment, and the way he was hitting that spongy spot inside of you that could cause supernovas to appear behind your eyelids was making it hard for you to speak at all.

Holding his face in your hand, your eyes drifted back and forth between his own as you stared down at him in complete devotion, your lips parted as you nodded your head frantically while short and breathy moans escaped you. Frank’s eyes were focused solely on you, one of his hands holding the back of your head while his other remained around your throat. It was getting harder and harder for you to keep your eyes open, but you didn’t want to miss a single second of this moment.

It was also getting harder and harder to not voice the sentiment that was overflowing from your ribcage.

“Frank…I…I-”

Frank cut off your words by capturing your lips in a heated kiss. The softness of his lips against yours, the heat of his bare skin pressed to your own, his thick fingers wrapped around your neck and tangled in your hair, his pubic bone rubbing just right against your clit…it was all too much. Breaking the kiss, you buried your face into the crook of his neck and let out a sharp cry of his name. Your nails raked harshly down his chest when your climax finally peaked, and a white hot cloud of hedonistic desire blinded your vision.

Your entire body seized up, and you could faintly hear Frank whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he gripped your hips and repeatedly thrust up into you, fucking you through your orgasm while barreling towards his own. The sensation of that alone was enough to nearly send you free falling into another. The intensity of your orgasm had rendered you an incoherent and moaning mess. Frank dug his fingers roughly into the flesh of your hips and came with a deep grunt that nearly sounded like a growl, letting out a loud groan of your name.

The room felt like a sauna. Your face felt overheated, and your hair was stuck to your cheeks and the back of your neck with sweat. Frank had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, hugging you against his chest. The feeling of his strong heartbeat thundering against your own chest kept you anchored to the moment while your body trembled with aftershocks. You couldn’t move, and you didn’t want to.

As soon as Frank made a move to sit up and pull out of you, a desperate and high pitched whine of protest fell from your lips while you gripped onto his shoulder and dug your nails into the muscle.

“No no no no no, please…don’t move.”

Frank instantly stilled, bringing one of his hands up to brush the sweaty hair stuck to your forehead and neck away. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead and gave your body a gentle squeeze in his strong arms.

“Okay, we don’t gotta move yet.”

Letting out a soft sigh of relief, you buried your face further into Frank’s neck, letting the comforting scent of his cologne calm you. He gently carded his thick fingers through your hair and kept holding you tightly to his chest while resting his head against your own.

“I just wanna stay like this for a while.”

“We can stay like this as long as you want, sweetheart.”

When you started to regain your senses, you started to wonder just how true that statement was.

How long could you and Frank stay like this before reality came knocking?

Your home wouldn’t always be a crime scene. Eventually the two of you would have to go back to work. Now that everything had changed between the two of you, what would a new normal look like? Frank’s job required him to be with someone constantly. What happens when he gets assigned to someone else? What if it’s another woman? Even though Frank was broody and unapproachable initially, you had still found him attractive, and all the time you spent together over the past few months led you right here to this moment.

What if that happened with someone else? What if the next woman he was assigned to found him just as attractive? What if she wanted him? You and Frank hadn’t really established what this was between the two of you. Were you together? Did he want to be together? Would he still want to be together if the next woman was prettier and less stubborn and actually-

“Quit it.”

The sound of his deep voice breaking through the silence interrupted your spiraling.

“What?”

“Whatever you’re overthinkin’ right now, let it go.”

Removing your face from the crook of Frank’s neck, you pulled back slightly to peer down at him in pure curiosity.

“How do you even-”

“I can practically hear the gears turnin’ in your head, sweetheart. You keep thinkin’ so hard, smoke’s gonna start comin’ out of your ears.”

Giving him a pointed look expressing you weren’t amused, he let out a quiet chuckle and gently brushed the calloused pad of his thumb along your cheekbone.

“C’mon, you ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout right now. Just relax, yeah?”

Letting out a soft sigh, you nodded and laid your head back against Frank’s shoulder, nuzzling your nose against his neck as he hugged onto you tightly. For a while, you two laid there wrapped up in one another, and you were able to let some of your anxieties go. The afterglow of your shared euphoria was peaceful, and you could’ve even fallen asleep at that moment, but something Frank said earlier suddenly popped back into your head.

“Hey Frank?”

“Hm?”

“Do you really know a blind guy that has a good aim with guns?”

Frank let out a quiet snicker at your question.

“He don’t use guns. He’s too…Catholic.”

That did nothing to answer your question and only fueled you with more inquiries.

“But…you said he could hit targets better than I could.”

Frank simply grunted in response. You stayed silent waiting for further explanation, but when one didn’t come, you continued your questions.

“How?”

“Hell if I know.”

Sitting up a little bit again, you stared down at Frank in complete puzzlement.

“But…he’s blind. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No it don’t.”

“So…he’s-”

“An asshole. Go to sleep.”

Letting out a soft laugh, your eyes widened slightly as you gently smacked his chest.

“Frank!”

“What? Cause he’s blind he can’t be an asshole?”

“Well…no. But…how does he do it?”

“You’ll have to ask ‘em yourself.”

“I thought Billy was your only friend.”

Frank pulled a look of faux offense at that, his thick brows knit as he let out a puff of air through his lips.

“Ouch. I got other friends, smartass. And I never said he was one. He’s more of a pain in my ass.”

Frank gently pinched your ass which made you squeal before erupting into a fit of laughter.

“Hey!”

A huge grin split across your lips as he suddenly flipped you both over, managing to keep himself nestled inside of you while he pinned you beneath his large body. As he leaned in to kiss your lips, you brought your index finger up and pressed it against his mouth.

“I’m not done. I have more questions.”

“Course you do.”

“I wanna know who this mystery blind man is with good aim, and your other friends that you suddenly have that you’ve kept from me. While you’re at it, is there anything else you’re hiding, Castle?”

While your question was intended to be teasing, a dark look flashed across Frank’s eyes, and it made your breath hitch in your throat. He stared down at you silently for a moment, and it made you wonder just how much more there was to Frank that you hadn’t uncovered yet. As soon as you removed your finger from his lips, Frank leaned in closer, caging you in with his large hands on either side of your head. As he loomed over you, he slowly thrust his hips against your own, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. His breath was warm against your lips while he nuzzled his large nose along your own, his rough voice coming out in a husky whisper.

“Think I liked you better when the only thing you could say was my name, sweetheart.”

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