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lysenfeu · 6 months

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Rinse & Repeat

Rating: Explicit 18+ Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader Word Count: 1.8k Prompt: Bath/shower

Summary: Frank comes home bloody and filthy from a rough night out and you can't help but clean him up. Content: Mentions of blood, Domestic fluff, Super soft Frank, Smut (F/M), Shower sex, Bareback (no condom), Creampie

A/N: Okay so I'm very new to the Punisher fandom but beefy dudes covered in blood with puppy dog eyes are my ultimate weakness sooo here we are.

[Read on A03] [Kinktober 2023 Masterlist]

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Frank always tried to be quiet when he was coming home from a job, never wanting to disturb you at the odd hours he found himself stumbling in. He carefully closed the front door and kicked off his boots, stepping down the hall to the living room. He was surprised to see you awake, curled up on the couch scrolling through your phone in the dimly lit room.

“What are you still doin’ up? It’s late.”

You sat up and blinked at the clock display on the device in your hand. He was right, it was very late at night, bordering on the early morning.

“No work tomorrow, wanted to wait up for you.”

You hopped off the couch and padded over to him in your bare feet. All you were wearing was one of Frank’s old T-shirts that barely hit mid-thigh, it was a warm night and you wanted to be comfy. He managed to appreciate the view of your exposed legs for a moment before you stood directly in front of him, looking him over carefully. He was filthy, covered in an assortment of smudges and stains. Gunpowder, grease, blood, dirt and who knows what else. Concern was etched on your face and he caught your gaze raking him over for injuries.

“‘M fine. None of the blood‘s mine.”

You sighed in relief and leaned up to kiss him but he pulled back ever so slightly. "Don't want to mess up that pretty face of yours, darlin'."

You hummed softly in disagreement. "Don't care."

His brow creased slightly but he didn't protest as you leaned in again and he let you press your lips against his. He kissed you gently, sliding an arm around your waist, not being able to resist tugging you in closer. Your chins bumped together and his nose rubbed against your cheek, when you finally pulled away there were smudges of blood and dirt on your face just like he warned.

You truly didn't care, you never minded the mess. That was part of why Frank loved you so much. He brought all this violence and filth home with him and you never flinched away from it. You knew who he was and what he did, and you loved him anyway. You dug bullets out of him with no protest, stitched and patched him up more times than he could count.

The night he came home to you cleaning his vest and touching up the paint on the skull was the moment he knew he could never let you go. He asked you to move in a week later and you'd been here ever since, by his side through thick and thin, taking care of him. He never thought he could feel like this again, so close to someone, after everything he’d been through. But the quiet moments of peace he’d found here with you had given him newfound hope for a future.

Frank was snapped out of his musings when you tugged on his hand.

"Shower time, let's go."

He nodded and let you lead him down the hall and into the bathroom. He stripped off his vest and ruined clothes as you started the water and got the temperature just right. When you were satisfied it was warm enough but not too hot, you pulled off the oversized tee you'd 'borrowed' and led him into the steaming spray with you.

You grabbed a clean washcloth and ran it under the heated stream of water. Turning to Frank, you started with his hands. He might have claimed to be fine but you had noticed the several split knuckles on each hand, giving you at least some indication of how his night had gone. He tensed as you dabbed at the raw skin and you slowed down, trying your best not to irritate the injury.

His eyes slowly fluttered shut as you wiped the damp fabric gently over his skin, the warm stream of water hitting his back combined with your gentle touch lulling him into a state of bliss. He felt all the tension ease out of him as you worked him over with swipes of the cloth, getting lost in the glide of your fingers against his bare skin as you moved all the way up his arms and across his chest.

You rinsed the cloth before getting on your tiptoes to reach up to Frank's face and continue your work. He ducked down closer to give you better access and placed his hands on your hips to steady you. This was your little ritual, every time you caught him coming home all bloodied up. You carefully washed away all of the evidence of the violence that followed him everywhere. He knew he'd never done anything in this life to deserve you, yet here you were. You'd somehow managed to mend his body, and his heart, with your tender, soft touches and endless affection. He waited patiently as you worked, rubbing his thumbs over your hips until the water was running completely clear at his feet.

"All done?"

You inspected him closely, swiping the washcloth one last time over his cheek until you were absolutely certain. "Mhm, all clean now."

"Good."

He stepped forward and crowded into your space, his hands shamelessly digging into your hips and tugging you against him. He leaned down and captured your lips, swallowing the gasp you let out as you felt his hardening cock pressing against your side. A burst of heat rushed through you, pooling between your legs. You’d been too caught up in washing him, you hadn’t paid close enough attention to what your touch was doing to him. He’d let you have your little ritual of taking care of him, but now it was time for him to take care of you.

His large hands slipped along your body, over your waist and down your hips, pausing briefly to squeeze your ass before coming to rest on the backs of your thighs. Planting his feet firmly on the bathtub floor, he hoisted you up and pressed you against the shower wall. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, arms flying around his neck to hold yourself up. You arched against him, pressing your tits into his firm chest as the cool tile touched your skin. He buried his face in your shoulder, pressing kisses up and down your neck.

You whined impatiently, needing more as you dragged your nails across his shoulders and back. He let out a low chuckle before looking into your eyes.

“Somethin’ you want, sweetheart?”

You huffed and pouted at him. “You know what I want!”

He laughed at you again, enjoying your big pleading stare and petulant expression. He leaned in close, gently bumping your nose with his. “Remind me.”

“Fraaank…”

“Come on, use your words.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stared him down.

“Fuck me, now.”

A satisfied grin split across Frank’s face at your demanding tone. “Attagirl.”

He pressed you harder into the wall, holding you steady while he lined up his now-fully hard cock at your entrance.

“Ready for me?”

You smiled sweetly, placated now that you were getting what you wanted. “Always.”

He slid inside slowly, letting you feel every single inch of him as he stretched you open. After a few moments, you’d adjusted to his size and wanted more.

“Harder, please.” You whispered in his ear before peppering kisses all over his cheek and jaw.

You didn’t need to ask him twice. Your dug your nails into his biceps as you did your best to hold on, helpless to do anything but accept the rapid, punishing pace of his hips snapping into yours. God, he always filled you impossibly deep, it was so easy to lose yourself in the steady rhythm of his body as he thrust harder and harder. A loud moan was forced out of your throat as Frank hit that sweet spot deep inside you and you couldn’t help but clench around him. He groaned into your shoulder, moving to nip along your neck as he refused to slow down. Your thighs started to shake around him as you lost yourself in the waves of pleasure, not able to hold back the whimpers any longer.

Having you like this, coming completely undone in his arms, this was what he lived for. Thinking of you waiting at home for him had gotten him through more nights than he’d care to admit. He’d fight and kill whoever he had to in order to make it back to you in one piece, knowing he could scoop you up and make you fall apart under him.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Just let go.”

He held you tight, pressing you hard against the shower wall as you finally tipped over the edge and screamed for him. He couldn’t hold out much longer, with your soaking pussy pulsing around his cock. After a few more haphazard pumps and he finally spilled inside you, his mind going blank for that blissful moment where he was surrounded by nothing but you.

He slowly eased you back down to the floor, making sure you were steady on your feet before letting go. He grabbed a clean washcloth and set about cleaning you up, the mirrored action of reciprocity not lost on either of you. Turning off the water, Frank stepped out first, quickly wrapping a towel around his waist before waiting for you to follow. He held out your favourite towel, the biggest and fuffiest one you owned. You giggled as he bundled you up, turning you into a plush cotton cloud. He started heading towards the bedroom but you reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him around to face you.

“Where do you think you’re going, mister? I have to wrap those knuckles before bed.”

Frank groaned and started to roll his eyes. “It’s nothin’, you don’t hav-”

He was cut off by your insistent tug on his hand and perfectly played pout. He groaned again, making a face but quietly presenting you with his hands nonetheless. You hummed in satisfaction and set about quickly wrapping clean bandages around the reddened, raw skin. Once you were finished, you slowly brought each hand up to your lips, one after the other, placing a small kiss over each and every bandaged knuckle before looking up with a small satisfied smile on your face.

“How’s that?”

He spent a long moment simply staring at you, fully absorbed in drinking you in, basking in the pure, unfiltered love practically radiating out of you. He bent down to kiss you softly, relishing in your warmth, before finally answering.

“Never been better.”

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A/N: This got sappy as hell and I am not sorry about it. Please let me know what you think!

#lysenfeu fics #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle smut #frank castle fanfic #kinktober 2023

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bellaxgiornata · 8 months

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Don't Walk Away [Part One]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Frank is a good man–you learned that the day he brought your dog Lucky into your life. The two of you soon began a relationship afterwards, one that was rather unconventional with how often Frank was always on the road. But one night when he's back, you're hit with the realization that you're in love with him. Noticing your nerves, Frank eventually pulls the truth out of you–and then you're left confused and heartbroken when you wake up to find him gone the next morning.

Warnings: 18+; Angst with a happy ending (in part two), emotional hurt/comfort, smut (in part two), love confession

Word Count: 5.7k

a/n: This was going to be a one part thing but I wanted to give this story everything I needed to which meant it was growing into something bigger. So there will be a part two coming that has the happy ending and smut. For now, this is angst. Enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Humming absently to yourself, you sealed the lid on the tupperware container of the leftover pasta you’d made for dinner. A crisp breeze made its way through the open windows in your kitchen, that comforting and familiar scent of autumn soon approaching wafting inside and filling your house. You loved this time of year when the nights finally cooled off and you didn’t have beads of sweat rolling down your back from the scorching heat of the day. There was something serene and calming about having your windows open at night, the sounds of the crickets outside a peaceful background to your evenings.

As you made your way over to the refrigerator, you heard the sound of a car rolling to a stop somewhere along the street out front, the noise louder than usual with your windows wide open. You saw Lucky raise her head from off the kitchen floor, perking up at the noise as you opened the refrigerator door and placed the container of leftover pasta inside. Lucky let out a soft whine from the floor next, your attention fully turning down towards your dog as you shut the fridge.

“It’s just a car, girl,” you told her. “Nothing to be worried about.”

Making your way towards your dishwasher, you pulled the door open and slid out the bottom rack. Turning, you began pulling the dirty pots and bowls out of the sink from this evening and setting them one by one inside of the dishwasher. The loud thud of a car door closing outside rang out through your kitchen and Lucky jumped up from the floor. You paused, half-bent over the dishwasher as your focus shifted to her. She was standing perfectly at attention facing the living room, her entire body absolutely still except for her cropped tail. It was doing that hopeful, eager wag she would get where her tail would wag exactly three times before it stopped for a couple of seconds only to wag three more times.

And she only ever acted like this when she noticed Frank was back.

“Is your daddy here?” you asked Lucky.

Her head turned back towards you, a happy glint in her eyes. You couldn’t contain your own excitement either, a large grin slipping onto your lips as you slid the dishrack back before closing the dishwasher door. Heading to the sink, you washed your hands, your smile only growing when you heard Lucky softly whining in barely contained joy.

By the time you were drying your hands on the kitchen towel, you heard a knock coming from the front door. Lucky bolted off towards it immediately, her excited barks loudly echoing through your previously quiet house. Making your way out of your kitchen and to the living room after her, you could hear Frank’s laughter coming through the open windows. The warm, resonate sound of it had you picking up your pace as you headed to the front door. It had been awhile since Frank had last stopped by and you'd certainly missed him.

Unlocking the door, you hurriedly pulled it open to reveal Frank Castle standing on your doorstep–or Pete Castiglione as everyone else in the world knew him as. But you had come to know him for exactly who he was shortly after the night you met him eight months ago now.

He was the one who’d brought Lucky into the animal hospital you’d been working at late at night. She’d been in terrible shape, barely holding on from the abuse she had clearly suffered from, and she had been covered in injuries from what appeared to be dog fights. He’d been in a panic about her, begging you to do whatever you could to save her that night when he’d barged in through the front doors carrying her limp body in his arms. Frank had barely left the animal hospital’s parking lot for the entire week she’d been in your care. He had always been checking in on her, asking if there was anything he could do.

It wasn’t long before you’d looked into who he was, curious about the man who cared so much about an abused dog that supposedly wasn’t his dog–and then you’d managed to uncover his past. You’d been a bit wary of him at first, but Frank had only ever been kind and respectful to you and your colleagues. It was clear he had a big heart judging by how much he cared for the dog he’d rescued and couldn’t seem to let go of. Though when she was finally ready to go home and recover, you’d expected he would want to take her with him, but he’d surprised you when he had told you that he couldn’t. He was apparently living on the road for now, traveling from state to state without a real home, trying to find where he belonged. He had stayed only long enough to make sure she was healed and safe before he left.

You had ended up taking her in and naming her Lucky–because she was lucky Frank had been the one to find her and rescue her that night. But you’d also referred to her as your good luck charm because two weeks later, Frank had returned to the animal hospital you worked at and was asking about her. When he learned you’d been the one to give her a home, he’d asked if he could see her again. It was Lucky who had ultimately brought you and Frank together; she was the reason the pair of you had eventually fallen into the unconventional relationship you’d had for months now while Frank continued to live his life on the road trying to find himself–though you always wondered if he was really just punishing himself.

Pulling the screen door open, Frank stepped inside with a broad smile spread wide across his face, his warm brown eyes focused on you. The sight of him had your heart feeling ready to burst, a large smile spreading onto your own lips in return. Lucky quickly began excitedly hopping around by Frank’s legs, demanding attention as happy barks flew out of her one after another. She only quieted when he'd finally tore his eyes from you and focused his attention on her.

“Hey girl,” Frank greeted Lucky. “You missed me, did ya?”

He took two steps inside before swiftly dropping down to his knees on the floor beside her. Lucky was quick to bombard him in a series of kisses straight away, only further encouraged by his large hands scratching behind her ears. Laughing lightly at the pair of them, you closed the front door and locked it before turning and leaning against it, watching the both of them with that smile lingering on your lips. Lucky’s entire lower half wiggled back and forth in delight as Frank continued to enthusiastically scratch behind her ears, muttering sweet words of praise to her. The reunions between the two of them had always went like this whenever Frank showed back up at your place, and it always warmed your heart to watch them together.

It was a few minutes before Lucky finally calmed, lowering to sit on her haunches in front of Frank with her tongue happily hanging out of her mouth looking as if she was smiling herself. Frank glanced up at you, one hand still absently petting Lucky as he directed that broad smile still on his face at you. The sight of it had your heart almost skipping a beat–it had been two weeks since you'd last had the opportunity to see that smile in person.

His attention not leaving you, he slipped his duffle bag from off his shoulder and dropped it to the floor by his feet. “How’s my favorite girl?” he asked.

“Feeling a little left out of this reunion,” you teased.

“Well I can’t have that now can I?” he mused.

He gave Lucky two more pats on her head before he rose back up to his feet, eyeing you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he slowly sauntered towards you. You quirked a brow at him, the corner of your lips curving even higher upwards. The moment he was within reach, his hands were on your hips. You could feel the warmth of them seeping past the thin fabric of your sweatpants, his fingers firmly gripping you in an almost possessive way. He stepped in closer to you, closing the distance between you both as his face hovered just before yours. Your own hands rose up, landing on his chest just over his dark jacket. Your eyes locked onto his brown ones, spotting that familiar light in them they always had when he was with you. Though every time he said goodbye to you before heading out to his truck, ready to get back on the road again, you swore you saw that light extinguish behind his eyes.

“What about you, beautiful?” Frank asked, his voice a gentle rumble in your ears as he cocked his head to the side. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you when you’re gone, Frank,” you assured him, hands snaking their way up his solid chest until you could wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him in closer to you. “And I’m always happy to see you.”

“Is that right?” he murmured.

Frank lowered his forehead to rest against yours, his eyes closing. Yours closed seconds later, your tongue slipping out to wet your lips in anticipation of your greeting from him. He was so close to you that his lips brushed yours when he spoke next.

“How much did ya miss me?” he asked.

Without hesitation, your arms pulled him in the rest of the way to you as you tilted your face up, capturing his lips with your own. It surprised you that his lips were always so soft every single time you kissed him because everything about Frank usually screamed the opposite of soft. And right now those lips of his were moving so deliberate and slow against yours over and over again, the feel of them finally back on yours making you suddenly breathless. You quickly found yourself getting lost in him, your body melting into his as he pressed you further back into the front door. The scent of leather and gasoline and smoke filled your nose as your mind went blank to everything else but him. Frank took another step into you, his hands sensually sliding their way down your hips and around towards your ass as he kissed you exactly like a man who'd been gone for two weeks would.

Kissing Frank for you was vastly different than kissing anyone else you ever had before. With Frank, every kiss and every touch from him always felt full of passion and something more . Something more than just lust and desire and the urge to scratch an itch. You’d never experienced that with anyone else but him, and you’d always been left wondering what that had meant.

When you felt Frank’s tongue drag its way along your lower lip so painfully slow and purposeful, you couldn't resist the faint moan that fell out of your mouth. Frank swallowed down the sound before he squeezed your ass in his large hands. Then he pulled away from you just a bit, chuckling at the whine you emitted in protest.

"Much as I'd love to continue this, beautiful," Frank murmured, pausing to place a sweet kiss back to your lips, "It's been hours since I ate. Been drivin' all day trying to get back to you before you went to bed. D’ya mind if we catch up while I eat?"

Your right hand withdrew from its place around his neck, gradually making its way towards his face where you began to affectionately stroke his stubbled cheek. Frank’s eyes crinkled at the corners as you did. It was a moment before you answered, just enjoying the slight rasp of his beard against your fingertips, content that he was here again. Though you loved the slightly outgrown beard he always showed up with, clearly not having had a chance to shave in a few days each time you saw him again.

"Only if you don't eat that packaged shit in your bag," you replied, gesturing your head at his duffle bag with a grimace. "I just finished dinner a bit ago, I can reheat you some of the pasta I made."

Frank's smile widened further, his hands gripping your ass firmly again. "You're too good to me, sweetheart," he told you.

"Well somebody needs to make sure you're eating more than tuna fish from a bag and beef jerky," you shot back, nails playfully scratching along his jawline. "I need to make sure you're not malnourished out there on the road."

"Oh do you now?" he asked, his hands releasing you.

"Mhmm,” you hummed out as Frank stepped back from you, a grin forming on his lips. “You make sure you take those dirty things off before you make yourself comfortable, though," you told him, gesturing a finger down at his black boots.

Frank's grin curled up even higher before he dipped his head once in a single nod. "Yes, ma'am."

You hummed out a pleased noise before turning and making your way back to the kitchen. It came as no surprise to you that Lucky didn't follow after you, choosing to stay behind with Frank as he gathered his bag and took his boots off.

Opening the refrigerator door, you pulled out the container of pasta you'd only minutes ago put away before setting it on the kitchen counter. Next you reached up into a cabinet, pulling down a bowl and then grabbing a fork from a nearby drawer. Afterwards, you began scooping a generous portion of food into the bowl–you knew damn well Frank ate like shit when he wasn't with you. You also knew he loved your cooking.

As you opened the microwave door, you heard Frank's tired feet shuffling their way towards the kitchen. By the time the pasta had begun reheating in the microwave, Frank was at your back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling the back of you into the front of him. He buried his face into your neck and you tilted your head, giving him easier access as your eyes fell closed. He nuzzled quietly against your skin for a moment, the scratch of his beard almost a tickle.

“Missed you,” he murmured into your neck.

Your hands landed on top of his arms where they were wrapped around your waist, a contented sigh slipping out of your lips. You missed him every single day he was gone, constantly checking your phone for a new text or a call or a voicemail from him. Always desperate for anything at all from him. For the past few months you’d found yourself wishing he’d just stay one of these days instead of always slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder in a few days’ time, carrying your heart off with him as he drove away in his truck.

“You know you don’t always have to leave,” you told him quietly.

Frank inhaled an audible, deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he expelled it roughly. He soon drew his face from your neck as his arms began to unwind themselves from around your waist. Your stomach nervously twisted in knots at the physical distance he was clearly creating.

You’d had this conversation with him two times before. The first time it was mostly one-sided with you doing most of the talking. The second time had resulted in a fight. Frank had gotten incredibly upset with you and you hadn’t exactly understood why before he’d grabbed his bag and disappeared. You thought that was the end of things until he’d called you a few hours later apologizing profusely. Though you didn’t see him for almost three weeks after that.

Before he could respond with anything, the microwave beeped loudly. The sound cut through the tension that had formed in the kitchen. Clearing your throat, you focused on grabbing the hot bowl from the microwave.

“Why don’t you get comfortable and I’ll grab you a beer?” you suggested, shooting him a strained smile over your shoulder.

For a moment Frank stood there silently just a foot behind you, an unreadable expression on his face. You could see the muscles jumping in his cheeks as he ground his teeth together–in anger or something else, you had no idea. It was a bit before he finally nodded, turning and shuffling his way towards your kitchen table. You watched him slide out a chair before sinking down into the seat. Lucky was at his side instantly, resting her head on his thigh.

With the steaming bowl of pasta in one hand, you made your way to the refrigerator and opened it. As you pulled out a beer for him, you could feel the weight of his stare on you.

“So what stories did you bring me back this time?” you asked him, trying to diffuse the tension as you shut the fridge door.

Almost instantly his face lit up with a smile, another one of his deep, rumbling laughs filling your kitchen. Your nerves quickly melted away at the sound as you headed over towards him, depositing the bowl of pasta and beer in front of him on the table.

“Oh I got plenty of stories, sweetheart,” Frank told you, straightening in his chair as he grabbed the fork, hungrily spearing a few noodles.

Pulling the chair out beside his, you settled down into it before resting an elbow on the table. With a bright smile back on your face, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand, listening intently as he began to animatedly fill you in on his past two weeks.

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Slowly waking, your eyelids fluttered open only to be met with the darkness of your bedroom. It took your brain a moment to register the warmth that was at your back, though you smiled in the darkness when you remembered Frank was curled up behind you with his large hand resting on your hip under the sheets.

The tension had quickly vanished between the pair of you while Frank had eaten and the two of you had caught up. Shortly afterwards, Frank had grabbed a shower while you’d been hurriedly closing up all of the windows in your house. Then you’d made your way to the bathroom and slipped out of your clothes, joining him under the warm spray where the two of you caught up with each other in another way.

Now he was fast asleep behind you wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers. His breathing filled your bedroom with each soft and rhythmic exhale from his mouth. You always missed having him in your bed whenever he was off on the road. It always felt too big and empty without him here sharing it with you.

That thought hit you hard right in the chest and you winced. It had been nearing a year of this long distance relationship with Frank now, and even though you’d been aware of his situation of being on the road when you’d started it with him, you’d recently come to feel differently about it. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust that he wasn’t with anyone else–though at first you’d wondered about that–but there was something there that you hadn’t been able to put your finger on before. Some other reason that his constant coming and going had started to feel different to you. That you’d stopped being so open to it.

You slipped a hand up out of the sheets, rubbing the heel of it against your eyes. That nagging feeling was back again. It was the same one that had you feeling restless and like there was something missing whenever you thought about Frank lately. With a sigh you shifted in the sheets, carefully trying to maneuver your way out of the bed and away from him without waking him up. Though you knew he was usually completely exhausted whenever he turned up on your doorstep and would sleep through just about anything.

Quietly you made your way down the side of your bed, sneaking past Lucky who was contentedly passed out in her dog bed, curled up in a tight ball. You continued to tiptoe towards the door, exiting your bedroom before continuing to make your way down the short hallway and into your kitchen. You could feel that nagging, unnamable feeling eating away at you again as you stopped beside the kitchen counter, reaching a hand up and opening a cabinet before pulling down a glass.

Silently you made your way over to the sink, filling the cup halfway with water before you turned, resting your back against the counter. You drew the glass to your lips, sipping on the cool liquid as your eyes focused on the dark hallway nearby. Despite the stillness of your house, if you listened closely, you could hear Frank’s even breaths drifting out of the bedroom. The sound of it brought a faint smile to your lips.

And that’s when it hit you.

Your hand tightened around the cold glass as the realization came crashing into you all at once, nearly drowning you in the revelation. You wondered how you’d been so blind to what had been right in front of you for so long.

You had fallen in love with Frank.

It had happened somewhere between all those phone calls and text messages you’d shared with him these past eight months, along with those impromptu camping trips he had brought you and Lucky with him on. Somewhere between the nights he’d cooked you dinner and taken you to bed, showing you just how much he’d missed you while he was gone. All those times he’d shown up on your doorstep–sometimes with a bouquet of flowers or with breakfast and coffees in hand–you’d fallen for him.

There was no denying it.

Though you immediately became terrified of the realization. You knew about Frank’s past. You knew he’d been married and he’d had two children. You knew that all three of them had been brutally murdered right in front of him. And you damn well knew he still thought about them everyday–he still had nightmares some nights when he was with you. Horrible ones that made you feel useless to help him in any other way besides offering him comfort as he wept into your shoulder in the middle of the night.

How the hell could you tell him you loved him? Did you even tell him that?

A nervous churning began in your stomach as your eyes dropped down to the almost empty glass in your trembling hand. You were in love with a man who wasn’t a physical constant in your life. Sure, Frank kept in touch with you on and off throughout the day every single day that he was gone, but he wasn’t here with you every day. And that’s what it was you’d found yourself wanting lately. But with what he’d lost and how he seemed to keep spending his days searching for something out there on the road, could he ever even be here with you?

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you turned and dumped out the last bit of water in the sink before setting the glass on the counter. With a quivering exhale, you wrapped your arms around yourself before quietly tiptoeing back to the bedroom. Though the moment you entered, Frank began to stir in the sheets. You stopped instantly at the foot of the bed when you saw his head rise from off the pillow, his brows furrowing together.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Frank’s groggy voice asked.

Nervously you tucked some hair behind your ear, continuing back towards your side of the bed. You shook your head as you pulled the sheets further back, aware of Frank’s eyes following you through the darkness.

“No,” you answered quietly. “Just needed a glass of water.”

You slipped back onto the mattress, laying on your back this time as you turned your head along the pillow. You sent Frank a tight smile as you pulled the sheets back over yourself. A moment later you felt his hand sliding its way carefully up your neck, coming to cradle the side of your face. He carefully drew it further towards his, his thumb absently stroking your cheekbone with such tenderness that your heart stuttered in your chest. You swallowed hard, that tight band of nerves that had formed at your recent revelation in the kitchen a minute ago twisting noticeably in your gut.

“You sure?” Frank asked.

Your brows twitched together briefly at his question. “Yeah, why?” you asked him cautiously.

“You seem…on edge,” Frank pointed out, his thumb still stroking your cheek. “Did I do somethin’?”

Instantly you shook your head, though your immediate denial only seemed to further pique his interest. He shifted on the mattress, drawing himself up onto an arm as he gazed down at you, brushing some hair from your face.

“What’s goin’ on.”

It wasn’t a question. You heard it in the tone of his voice, he knew something was wrong. Internally you cursed that Frank was such a perceptive man.

Swallowing hard, you shook your head again as your gaze dropped down to his bare chest. The marks from your nails were still visible along his skin in the dimly lit room and your cheeks heated at the memory of your time with him in the shower earlier. But that heat quickly gave way to your nerves under Frank’s heavy stare.

You knew Frank had only ever been with you after the passing of his wife. He had never let anyone else in–he had never even slept with anyone else besides you after Maria had passed. And he’d opened up to you about a lot of the pain he carried over these past few months, too. But what you didn’t know was how he would react to this thing between you both suddenly being something more than what it had been for the past eight months.

“Tell me,” Frank ordered.

“I just–”

You stopped, biting your bottom lip as those knots in your stomach from earlier twisted tighter and tighter. Fingers curling around the bedsheets, your eyes snapped shut. You weren’t sure if you could get the words out.

“You just what?” his gruff voice gently pressed.

Inhaling a trembling breath, you tried to find the courage to answer him. You knew he wouldn't drop this now. Maybe he’d surprise you–you hoped so–but if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to reciprocate your feelings. And you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that, either. Could Frank ever even love you? Maybe not now, but possibly someday? Would he ever even let himself feel that way for someone that wasn't Maria? You admittedly weren't sure about the answers to those questions, and you weren't certain Frank himself even had the answers. And that scared you now more than it ever had in the past.

“Talk to me,” Frank urged when you remained silent.

“I don’t–don’t exactly know how to say this,” you whispered, the words falling out of you in a rush. “I guess I never really let myself think about it before so I–I didn’t realize it until…just now. I mean, you’re always coming and going so I’ve never really–really let myself think about the possibility that I–” your voice broke off mid-sentence. Even you could hear the tremble in your words. Closing your eyes tighter, you tried to push the words out, unable to look him in the face as you bore your heart to him next. “I love you, Frank. And I–I don’t expect to hear you say that in return to me. But I–” you sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as you repeated the confession aloud to him, “–I love you.”

Silence met your ears. You felt the way Frank’s thumb paused its repetitive movements along your cheek as he stiffened beside you in the bed. You kept your eyes clamped closed, too afraid to see his reaction. But the longer the silence dragged on in the bedroom, the worse that feeling in your stomach grew. Maybe you should have lied and not said anything at all. Even if you didn’t expect to hear him say it in return, you still expected something .

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”

You were cut off by Frank’s hand on your cheek pulling you towards him before his mouth was suddenly on yours. You rolled over onto your side, your right hand snaking its way around his waist and up his back, fingers digging into his hard muscles. His hand held you to him, firm but gentle, as he kissed you with an intensity you’d never felt from him before. You’d barely had a chance to register much else before he sharply broke away from you.

Your eyes flew open at the abrupt end to that passionate kiss, confusion written all over your face. Though seconds later Frank was pressing his forehead to yours, his own eyes closed. He remained silent, not saying anything in return as his thumb began its affectionate path along your cheekbone again. For now, you took that as a positive response, one that briefly quelled the rising nerves in your stomach as you brushed your nose up against his.

Frank pulled away from you after a moment, his lips placing two long, lingering kisses along your forehead before he settled back on his pillow. His hand released your cheek to instead wrap around your waist, drawing you further into him. Easily obliging, you snuggled up against the front of him, relaxing into the heat and comfort of his body as your eyelids briefly lowered.

He may not have said it back, but you figured that kiss meant something good, at least. You figured you had tomorrow to talk to him about it all. You’d make sense of things then. For now, you just wanted to curl up against Frank and drift to sleep in the safety of his arms.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Lucky’s high-pitched whine met your ears first. You rolled over, burying your face into your pillow and trying to block out the sunlight seeping past your curtains and hitting the back of your eyelids. You groaned, throwing a hand out to your right and hoping to pull Frank closer to you–but your hand hit the cold mattress. Instantly your head rose from your pillow, your eyes blinking rapidly as they tried to adjust to the bright light in your room.

The space beside you was empty.

Frowning, you pushed yourself upright on the bed, your eyes surveying the bedroom. Lucky was sitting beside the bedroom door, her dark gray ears drooping as she ducked her head. She whined again as she looked back at you.

“Frank?” you called out.

When you didn’t get a response, you kicked the sheets off of yourself and hurriedly threw your legs over the side of your bed. Brows furrowing together in confusion, you stood up and made your way out of the bedroom and down the short hallway with Lucky following after you. Though you immediately came to a stop in the living room. Frank’s boots were missing from where he’d set them last night by the front door.

Your mouth went dry as your eyes flew to the couch next. His duffle bag wasn’t where he’d tossed it on the cushions before his shower last night, either. Your heart began to pound in your chest, the beating of it uneven and erratic.

“Frank?” you called out again.

No answer.

Lucky walked past you, making her way to your front window. She nuzzled the curtains out of her way as she looked outside. Feeling like you were moving in slow motion, you made your way to the window after her. Reaching a hand out, you pulled the dark blue curtains back.

Frank’s truck wasn’t parked out front where it had been last night.

A sharp gasp fell out of you, your hand dropping the curtain and flying up to cover your mouth as you stumbled a couple of steps backwards. You could feel the burn of tears building in your eyes, a tightness forming in your chest.

Frank was gone. He must’ve slipped out of bed sometime last night or early this morning and just left without a word. A strangled noise slid out from behind your hand at that thought and you pressed your lips firmly together, trying to keep from crying.

A desperate, hopeful thought ran through your mind next. Maybe he’d run out to grab breakfast and didn’t say anything because he thought he’d be back before you’d woken?

Hurrying back down the hallway towards your bedroom, you headed straight to your nightstand and practically ripped your phone from the charger. You unlocked it, noticing there weren’t any notifications from Frank. Opening up your contacts, you quickly found his name and dialed his number. You held the phone to your ear with bated breath.

Though it didn’t ring. Not even once. Instead, your call had gone straight to Frank’s automated voicemail.

Slowly you lowered the phone from your ear and down to your lap as you blankly sank down on the edge of your bed. Your finger ended the call as your vision began to blur from the tears quickly welling in your eyes. It wasn’t long before they began to spill forth, hot and wet as they raced down your cheeks. Lucky’s head gently lowered to your left knee as she softly whined again. Almost instantly you crumpled in half, throwing your arms around her neck as you sobbed into her fur.

Frank had left you. All because you’d gone and fallen in love with him.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle angst #frank castle #frank castle fanfic

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saintmurd0ck · 10 months

Text

all up in smoke

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

summary: based on the prompt: 'sit on my lap and let's smoke a joint'

warnings: alcohol, weed (rolling a joint, smoking, shotgunning), frank being a cute little whore, heavy petting/teasing but no sex, high epiphanies (mostly fluff!)

a/n: happy late birthday to the ever lovely @chelseasdagger , this one is for you babeyyyyy 💗

Home is a solace on your lips as you step inside, your keys joining the others in the bowl by the front door. Despite the events of your day, still fresh in your mind, you feel the knotted tension in your body begin to dissipate, the pressure easing in your temples. The few lights that have been left on are dimmed, filling the house with the kind of ambient coziness you’ve been longing for all day.

You round the corner, and there he is on the couch: feet kicked up on the coffee table, immersed in a hardcover book you swore he’d never touch. A pang of emotion stirs in your stomach — a cross between yearning and consolation; something you just can’t place, but are grateful for nevertheless.

“Hi, Frankie,” you smile, drawing the curtains open, letting the cool night air filter into the living room.

He lifts an eyebrow, glancing up at you from behind the book. “Hey, sweetheart. Long day?”

You stretch your arms over your head, nevermind that his voice stirs something in you, and set your bag up on the kitchen counter. “Mmhm. Glad to be home.”

Frank leans forwards, fingers closing around the drink he’s left on the coffee table. His eyes flick to yours as he takes a sip, caring not to break contact, before jerking his chin at the bottle of scotch next to your bag. “You want some of that?”

He points at you, clicking his tongue as you move to pick the bottle up. “Don’t move. Stay right there.” Setting his book aside, the pages splayed face-down onto the table, he makes his way over, utterly impervious to your flurried attempts in getting him to remain where he is.

“D’ya really think I’d let you pour your own drink?” Frank says, looking affronted, but a furtive smile spreads along his face as you shake your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let me take care of ‘ya,” he adds, delicately.

Carting you gently to the side, he digs around in the freezer, reaching for a couple of ice cubes that clink mellifluously in the glass. You watch intently as they bob in line with the whiskey streaming in, and then as he inspects the amber liquid closely, as if to examine its quality.

When he’s satisfied, he turns to you, and raises the rim of the glass to your mouth. “Here,” Frank murmurs, condensation collecting around his fingertips. “Drink up.”

You shudder as the whiskey cascades hotly through your veins — each note of pepper, caramel and nutmeg lingering on the surface of your tongue like molten honey. You swallow another mouthful before pushing the glass away, not taking your eyes off of him for a second as he sets it down.

Frank runs his tongue over his teeth, raking his eyes across your face. He focuses on a stray drop of whiskey at the corner of your mouth, using a knuckle to brush it away. Your heart thunders at his calloused touch; as he pauses to swipe his broad thumb over your bottom lip. There’s a faint throbbing within you — a wild drumbeat steering you towards nothing but desire — so you flick your tongue out, circling his fingertip, relishing in his taste of salt, earth and whiskey.

He lets out a soft groan, mumbling something that sounds like your name; maybe even a plea to slow down. You’re attentive, knowing he doesn’t want this night over yet, that he wants to wait before taking you to bed.

It’s a good thing then, that you have something planned.

You inch forwards, swallowing as Frank’s hand sweeps over the contours of your face, coming to rest at a spot near your ear. He tips your chin upwards, letting his ragged breathing fan over you. He stalls, allowing his dark eyes to bore into yours, and for a moment you forget where you are, the stressors of the day long gone.

All you know is him.

His beard prickles your skin as he captures your mouth with his own, but you lean into the kiss, savouring his ardent warmth. He moves with you, deepening the kiss as you slide a hand into his hair, curling your fingers at the nape. Your thighs squeeze together as he pivots you around, pushing you against the counter while his tongue melts against yours. Using his leg to knock your knees apart, you arch into his touch, gasping as the bulge in his jeans settles where you need him the most.

You won’t be able to stop if you don’t pull away now.

“Frank,” you whisper. “Frank.”

He looks at you, placing a small kiss to your jaw. “Mm?”

“Before… uh,” you start, lightheaded and fuzzy, unable to comprehend anything but the heady weight of the whiskey and the ache between your legs. “I've got something for us. A little surprise. And I think,” you indicate, wagging a finger from him to you, “we should save this for later.”

He arches his eyebrows, smiling inquisitively. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

You step aside to rummage through your bag, taking only a few seconds for you to find what it is you’re looking for. You hold up a clear plastic container, giving it a little shake in front of Frank’s face. His eyes widen in comprehension.

“God, I love you.”

“Hey,” you smirk, “not God. Just me.”

He chokes on his own laughter, draining the last of your whiskey. “You got it, sweet girl.”

You bite down on your growing smile. “Anyway, I was thinking the plan could go something like… get a little high, have some fun. You know what I mean, right?”

“S’that right?”

“We both deserve it.”

“You need some help with that?” he asks, pointing at the rolling papers you’ve set down on the counter.

“Nope. Walk away.”

You’re an image of rapt focus with your tongue between your teeth, cautiously grinding the weed before packing it into the rolling paper. You slip a filter on one end of the joint, and using your thumb and forefingers, you roll it into place. Bringing the free edge of rolling paper up to your mouth, you skirt your tongue along the narrow strip of glue, quickly moving to seal the joint.

You shoot Frank a resolute look of determination. “Not bad, huh?”

He folds his arms over his chest, leaning back into the couch. Almost hidden in the tangle of his beard, the corners of his mouth tick upwards. You can’t quite tell if he’s astonished, impressed, or a mixture of everything in between, but the expression on his face is a priceless ego boost. “Attagirl.”

“Mmhm,” you reply drily, admiring your handiwork from up close.

“Baby?” Frank calls, breaking your tethered focus. A glimmer of a smile in your periphery catches your eye.

“Yeah?”

There’s a sound of rustling fabric as Frank spreads his legs, motioning you over to him by patting his thigh. “C’mere.”

Your gaze softens at his request. “That sounds good, Frankie. Let me grab my lighter.”

“Got it right here,” Frank chuckles, holding it up and thumbing it open.

Twirling the joint in your fingers, you meander over to his spot on the couch, watching the tiny orange flame dance in his eyes as he holds down the lighter button.

He’s a solid comfort under you as you sit down on his lap, shuffling back until the side of your body is angled to his chest, using the armrest as additional support. His scent is a blissful, pacifying force – distilling in you where it matters.

Frank wrests the joint from your grip, assiduous in the way he places it between your lips, then as he lights it for you. The lit end glows as the papered edges begin to burn, flickering in its reflection in the window ahead. You take a drag, letting the smoke fill your mouth before inhaling it into your lungs. Maybe it’s in your head, but your body feels lighter already; even more so as you exhale.

The grey-tinged smoke remains opaque for only a second, vanishing into the air as soon as you pass the joint to Frank. You breathe out again, more deeply this time, allowing the grassy, herbal scent of the weed wash over you in waves of tranquil calm.

You cock your head to the side, studying the normally terse man before you leisurely smoking the joint, taking two drags instead of one. Gratitude forms a lump in your throat — nights like these are rare, and to see him so carefree, his mind unoccupied by the workings of the larger world, is a luxury you’ll never get tired of.

After tapping the gathering ashes into his empty whiskey glass, Frank hands the joint back to you, closing his eyes while he waits for your next pass. As the weed-induced euphoria starts to take effect, you wrench one of Frank’s hands from its spot on your thigh, interlacing your fingers together. You take your time in mapping his knuckles, tracing over every crease, scar and perfect imperfection.

You tap on Frank’s shoulder, wanting him as a credible witness for a successful smoke ring, but like all your past attempts, it morphs back into a cloud, hanging there in contempt.

He laughs softly, putting you right to shame with a series of flawless rings that fall forwards in an arc towards the coffee table.

You giggle, jabbing him in the chest with an expertly-placed elbow. “Don’t get too cocky now, Castle.”

His mouth quirks to the side. “Yeah? What are you gonna do, hm?”

“I’ll…” you search around the room for something to say. “I’ll withhold sex!”

He gasps, feigning an expression of outrageous offense. “That’s cruel, darlin’.”

Laughing, you reassure him you wouldn’t, really, but he takes the opportunity to soar through the cracks of your defense, hauling you backwards until his face is flush with the shell of your ear. “Really think you could resist it? Not havin' sex?”

The retorts crumble away as he tells you to ‘open up, sweetheart’, lifting the joint back to his lips. He breathes in deeply, turning his head to then exhale the smoke into your parted mouth. Your eyes roll back as he seals it with a kiss, and it catches you a little by surprise, but you run with it, inhaling as much as you can.

Not quite ready to let go of your earlier comments, Frank does it again, shotgunning into your mouth until you're left with nothing but a dreamy expression and no thoughts left in your mind.

You let out a contented sigh as the weed goes to your head, absentmindedly rubbing the spot where his beard scratched your lip.

Eyes drooping, Frank wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you as close as he can, trailing kisses along your shoulder blades, down your arm, whispering sweet nothings and notes of ‘I love you’ until you slacken in his grip. You touch your lips to his forehead, now resting in the crook of your neck, his steady breathing keeping you anchored to your reality.

The next hour passes by in a haze — you’re mildly aware that there was another joint rolled in that time, courtesy of Frank, probably, but your memory retains the best parts: the giddy, high epiphanies, the smoke-filled kisses, the long-drawn-out touches… the fact that his skin has never felt so soft.

Exceptionally and utterly stoned, you move, draping your legs over his lap, clinging onto his neck so you can bury your face in his shirt – so spaced out that you barely register him talking.

“...Who the fuck is “Drake” anyway?”

“What?!” you sputter, snickering as if it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. “He’s a rapper, Frankie.”

“He’s off limits, so don’t even try” — you stumble over your words — “enacting your justice or… whatever.”

Frank frowns at you, pressing his lips into a thin line.

And then he bursts into laughter. Unequivocal, heaving sobs of hysterical laughter. And it might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Enacting my justice? That what you think it is?” he howls, bringing his fist down onto the couch. “You really think I’ve got nothin’ better to do than hunt down rappers?!”

“A little bit,” you sniffle, wiping away the tears of joy streaming down your face. “You know who’d love this conversation?”

He shakes his head as you continue. “Micro.”

“Micro,” he nods, affirming your point. “Bet he’d know more about “Drake” than me.”

You chortle at his aggressive hand gestures. “You don’t need air-quotations every time you say Drake, you know.”

He waves a hand in the air. “Ahh, I know.”

“Frank Castle,” you say, kissing his cheek once, then twice, “I think this is the wisest you’ve ever been.”

“Oh, c’mon. Really?”

You gesture at the stub of your second joint, floating in the bottom of his whiskey glass. “Yep. You might have to do this more.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“Better me than what’s out there. Right, Frank?” you croon, batting your eyes at him.

“S’right, darlin’. That’s right.”

tags {x} @darlingshane @castlesnchurches @reborn-rekall @marvelswh0re @itwasthereaminuteago @simple-lovebot @chvoswxtch @pedrito-friskito @chellestrash @theradioactivespidergwen @twilightbarnes @splendiferous-bitch @bl4ckpr1ncess @kaybeeboop @kdogreads @swearwolf13 @rqgnarok @qu1etwolf @honeyedheartss @runa-falls @whistle1whistle @awkwardalie

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle smut #frank castle fluff #frank castle fanfic #the punisher #the punisher x reader #the punisher fanfic #frank castle fanfiction #x reader #rhi writes 💻#tw weed #cw drugs

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madschiavelique · 3 months

Text

⟢﹒𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡

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

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

⟢﹒ word count : 1,2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Seen Frank anywhere?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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flightlessangelwings · 4 months

Text

Eat Dessert First

Frank Castle x fem!reader

Word count- 1.3k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), fluff, oral (f receiving), established relationship, praise, pet names (baby, sweetheart), cockwarming, food mention, no use of y/n

Notes- This was supposed to be for wanksgiving (hence the food theme) but life got in the way so we're gonna say this is wanking in the new year instead lol! This was so fun to write! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that an turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post!

The intoxicating smells filled the air as you put the finishing touches on the meal you spent all afternoon on. You wanted to surprise Frank with something special, so while he was gone, you got to work. And as you placed the last dish on the table, you stood with your hand on your hips, a proud expression on your face.

“Oh yeah, Frank is going to love this,” you muttered out loud as you beamed.

Right on cue, the door opened and Frank called your name, “Baby, I’m home,” he called from the door as he kicked his shoes and jacket off, “Shit baby, something smells so fuckin’ good!”

“In here baby,” you replied as you leaned against the table.

The look on his face when he walked in made your heart skip a beat. Frank’s mouth dropped open as his eyes went wide. He stood in awe as his eyes scanned across the table, his mouth watered as the smells engulfed him. “Shit…” he murmured as his gaze turned to you as you stood next to your new pride and joy, “Baby…”

“You like it?” you asked in a low, seductive tone as you subtly shimmied your shoulders.

“Fuck baby,” Frank crossed the space in a flash, “You sure know how to treat a man,” his tone dropped as he gathered your in his arms, “It looks delicious,” he groaned in your ear.

You giggled as you savored the warmth of his embrace. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as Frank nibbled on your ear, then down your neck. A soft moan escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered shut and you clung to him while he licked and sucked at the sensitive spots on your neck, “Frank…”

“I can’t help it, baby,” he murmured as he pulled back to look you in the eyes, “It all looks so good,” he paused as he smirked devilishly, “But I think I want my dessert first.”

“Frank!” you yelped with a laugh before he closed the gap between your faces and took your lips with a heated kiss.

He swallowed the moan you let out as he immediately darted his tongue past your lips, tasting you. Frank bucked his hips against yours as he groaned into the kiss while his tongue explored your mouth. Heat rose in the room as he scooted you over to the table. Frank only broke away from the kiss to carefully move things out of the way, silently acknowledging how much time and care you put into everything and not wanting to mess anything up.

You watched as he hurriedly pushed a few plates out of the way, biting your lip in anticipation. Even as the smell of the food wafted in the air, you suddenly had something else on your mind- the same thing Frank had.

“Come here, baby,” Frank purred as he patted the table.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you sauntered closer, “You are ridiculous, you know that Frank Castle?”

Grabbing your hips and tugging at your clothes, Frank grinned, “You like it, baby.”

Your response came in a moan as you allowed Frank to strip you and guide you onto the table. Once you were seated and comfortable, he took your lips once more with a deep kiss, You arched your back into his broad body as you parted your legs to allow him to settle between them. Another moan slipped out when you felt how hard he was over his jeans.

“Frank…” you whispered as he started to kiss his way down your body.

“Lay back, sweetheart,” he groaned, “I’ve got you.”

Doing as you were told, you slowly laid back onto the table, and if it weren’t for Frank’s tongue grazing your nipple, you would have felt ridiculous. You let out a loud cry as his lips encased your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucked hard. Arching your back, you grabbed onto the edge of the table for support as he made his way to your other breast and gave it the same treatment.

Frank growled with need as he made his way down your body, kissing and nibbling every inch of you skin that he could reach until he knelt between your parted legs, “Fuck baby,” he breathed as he admired your dripping wet pussy, “Now this is a dessert.”

“Frank!” you burst into laughter for a moment before you dissolved into moans as he dove into your cunt.

He groaned into you as his large hands kneaded into the flesh of your thighs and his tongue ran up and down your folds. The taste of you always drove Frank wild, but today was special, as if the culinary masterpiece you made was reflected in your body. His head bobbed up and down as he explored every corner of you with his tongue.

“Fuck!” you cried out as your grip on the edge of the table tightened and your mind swam in pleasure, “Yes… Frank…”

Your moans went right to his cock and it twitched in his pants as Frank slurped loudly. Giving you pleasure truly gave him pleasure, and Frank loved nothing more than eating you out. At times, it was even more satisfying than fucking you. And Frank couldn’t break away from you once he started.

Obscene noises filled the room as Frank greedily lapped your pussy up to the soundtrack of your cries. He growled into you as his tongue flicked over your clit a few times before he wrapped his lips around it. Sucking hard, Frank savored the loud screams you let out. He sucked hard before he let go and ran his tongue down your cunt and darted it into your entrance a few times.

Your screams only grew louder and louder, and tears filled your eyes as you felt your body heat up. “Fuck… Frank…” you couldn’t form more than one coherent syllable as you swam in the pleasure that Frank’s tongue brought you.

He groaned into you, acknowledging what you were trying to tell him- he knew you were close. Frank darted his tongue in and out of you a few more times before he went back to your clit, flicking and sucking until you hit your peak.

You came with a loud scream of his name, and one of your hands flew to his scalp, pulling his hair hard as your legs shook around him. Tears fell from your eyes as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you, and Frank showed no sign of letting up. As you moaned and whimpered, a second climax hit right after your first, making you scream again.

It wasn’t until you whined that Frank finally let go of you, breaking away with a gasp as he took in air for the first time. His chin glistened with your release as he looked down at you, spread out and naked on the table. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths for a few moments before he spoke in a low, gravely tone, “Shit baby,” he growled, “I thought he food looked good, but you look fucking delicious.”

That made you open your eyes and you gave him a playfully pointed look before you let out a loud laugh, “You are ridiculous, Frank,” you repeated your sentiment from earlier.

He just let out a low rumble of laughter before he climbed over you to kiss you deeply. Both of you moaned into each other as the tastes on your tongues drove you wild. When Frank broke away, you stared into each others eyes, and time felt like it stopped. But, a stomach growl brought you both back to the present, and with a giggle, you said, “Let’s not let this get cold,” you murmured.

Frank nodded, feeling the pang of actual hunger as the smells hit him once more.

Feeling his hardness, you got an idea, and you cupped Frank’s face to bring him closer to yours again as you whispered, “How about I sit on your cock while we eat?”

The groan he let out went right to your pussy, “I fuckin’ love you, baby,” he kissed you once more.

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thelovelylolly · 4 months

Text

It Will Come Back

Summary: It can't be unlearned, I've known the warmth of your doorways... Warnings: mentions of injuries, blood, and violence, kinda hurt/comfort, reader is described as smaller/shorter than frank, let me know if i missed anything :) Word Count: ~1.9k Notes: first fic of 2024! first off, frank castle with a hozier song makes me go bonkers. second, my requests are open and my guidelines are in the pinned post so please send them in :)

You met Frank in a very unconventional way. You weren't able to sleep one night, your gut telling you something was going to happen, when he slumped against your window on the fire escape. You heard a thud and raced to your room, seeing a dark figure being lit only by the dim streetlights.

You considered the risk of letting him for a second, then crossed your room and opened the window. His body was limp, but he was awake as he fell back into your room. You tried your best to break his fall, but he was heavier than you anticipated. You both grunted as you pulled him all the way into your room and helped him into your nearby desk chair.

You gave him a once over as you closed your window, unsure if you were his saving grace or next victim. He was covered in blood, sweat, and bruises, so you guessed you were safe. He didn't seem as dangerous as he could be. You noticed his dark gaze and tensed body, even if he was injured. His nose stood out to you most, the one thing that made him seem familiar.

"Are you gonna just stand there and stare at me, or are you gonna help me?" He grumbled, groaning as he sat up more in his seat.

"Sorry," you replied softly. "What can I do?"

His gaze darted around your room, like he was trying to figure you out just from what you had in it. "You got a first-aid kit?"

You nodded and went to your bathroom, quickly returning with a first-aid kit in your hands. You turned the tall lamp next to your desk on before setting it down. Your turned back to him, getting a better look at him under the light. His dark hair matched his dark eyes and some of the dried blood on his face. He had some bruises already blooming on his face and a few cuts, nothing life threatening there.

You cleared your throat, stopping yourself from staring at him too long. You popped open the first-aid kit, hoping you had the things he needed. "Where are you hurt?"

"Got slashed pretty good on my left side," he answered, lifting his arm a bit to show you the cut in his clothes and skin.

You nodded and reached for the zipper on his black hoodie. "Can I take this off?"

"Mhm," he hummed.

You quickly unzipped it and pulled it off, careful not to irritate his cut or any other injuries he may have had. You dropped it onto the floor and grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting it up just enough to see the gash.

"Can you hold your shirt up for me?" You asked quietly. His hand replaced yours, holding his shirt up while you grabbed some of the gauze from the kit to press onto the bleeding cut. You used one of your hands to press the gauze and the other to grab the stitch kit you had inside the kit.

"Can I ask why you have a the stuff for stitches at the ready?" He asked as you got the needle and thread ready.

You laughed dryly. "Can I ask why you showed up at my window with a giant gash in your side and probably other injuries you're not gonna mention?"

"Fair," he replied, a tired smirk on his face.

"You want anything to numb the pain, or are you good? You seem like you've done this before," you said, surprised how easily you fell into this banter with him.

"I'm good, just do it," he grumbled.

You moved your gauze away, taking a deep breath to calm your shaky hands before starting his stitches. You heard every sharp inhale and long exhale as he took deep breaths to get through each stitch. His hand holding up his shirt gripped the fabric tightly, his knuckles turning white. You went as fast as you could without hurting him any further.

It felt like an hour, but in a few minutes, you were done. You tied the thread up and cut it, quickly placing the needle on your desk and grabbing more gauze to hold against it. You pressed the gauze with one hand again and grabbed gauze wrap with your other.

"Can you sit up please?" You asked, glancing up at him. He glanced down at you and held your gaze for a second before looking away and wordlessly sitting up.

You quickly wrapped the gauze wrap around his midsection and finished up, ignoring the way your face heated up when his gaze met yours. You grabbed the bloody gauze from earlier off the floor and put it with the needle you used before standing up.

"Anything else?"

He shook his head as he dropped his shirt back down. You quickly cleaned up the kit and tossed the used needle and gauze into your trashcan. You picked up his hoodie and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," you replied with a soft smile. "You wanna crash on my couch? I don't think you should go anywhere far in your, uh, condition."

He nodded quietly. You helped him up and led him into your living room, letting him put some weight onto you as he walked. You lowered him onto the couch and he sat down with a sigh. You went into your small kitchen and got him a glass of water and some painkillers, setting it on the coffee table after walking back.

"Can I get your name?" You asked, sitting in the chair across from him.

He popped the pills into his mouth and downed them with the water. "Frank," he answered, setting his now half-empty glass down.

"Like...Frank Castle?"

Frank's gaze jumped to you, eyes a bit wide with surprise.

"That's why you look so familiar. I've seen you on the news and in the papers," you quickly add.

"Ah, thought you'd freak out on me and call the police," he replied, leaning back on your plush couch.

"I think...I don't agree with your, um, methods, but you're cleaning up the streets. Making it a bit safer for people like me to walk home at night, y'know?"

"Glad you see it that way..." He trailed off, waiting for you to give him your name. You did, and he echoed you, almost like testing it out.

"Well, I'm going to try to get some rest," you said as you stood up with a smile. "I think you deserve some. Goodnight, Frank."

"G'night."

------

Since then, you let Frank into your apartment late a night to stitch him up and let him sleep. It wasn't anything more than that. Sure, you two bantered or talked about random subjects, but it was mainly to distract each other from the blood or wound. You were just there to help him, and you two never crossed the unspoken boundary you both had. You silently agreed to be acquaintances, maybe friends.

Then Frank started to cross that.

He started to drop by earlier in the evening, no bruises or blood on him. He'd just show up at the window he always came in, and of course, you'd let him in. You were confused why he would show up this early and not hurt like usual, but you found it nice that he was there without the need to be sewn back up.

He'd come in for a bit, you'd give him a drink or offer him dinner, and you two would talk. You'd spend a long time talking, or sometimes just enjoying each other's company, until it got dark enough and he left to do his job. Sometimes, he'd come back in the early morning hours to get patched up. Other times, he wouldn't show up until the next day when he'd stop by to spend time with you.

Soon enough, you saw a slightly deeper version of him rather than the surface level one you met. He still had some things covered up, but he had revealed enough to cause you to start falling for him. You wanted to stop yourself so you wouldn't make things complicated, but you knew if he wanted to, he'd leave and never look back.

That's what scared you. Your feelings would be one sided and once he figured it out, he'd stop coming by just to hang out with you and eventually, stop coming by for you to patch him up. You didn't want him to leave any time soon, but you knew it could easily happen.

"Hey, you okay? You zoned out there," Frank asked, gently putting his hand on your shoulder to bring you out of your thoughts.

You looked over at him, who was sitting on the other side of the couch as you. "Yeah, I'm good. Just a bit tired."

"I can go if-"

"No, no, stay," you quickly say, cutting him off. "I, uh, I like your company."

You watched his cheeks and the tips of his ears turn a little pinker as he looked away from you. He ran a hand over his face, like he was trying to rub the blush from it. You looked away from him, playing with the hem of your shirt. You thought you had crossed a line and made him uncomfortable.

"I'm gonna get some water," you said quietly before getting up from the couch and going to the kitchen.

You quickly grabbed a glass and filled it up with water. As you drank it, you thought you'd hear Frank's heavy footsteps head to your bedroom and the window open. You thought you'd hear the sounds of Hell's Kitchen flood in through the open window as he left. Instead, you heard his footsteps approach you slowly.

You finished your drink and put your glass in the sink before turning around to face him. He wasn't very close, but in your small kitchen, it felt closer than it was.

"Why do you come here even when your not hurt and you don't need anything?" You asked, breaking the silence between you two.

Frank sighed. "'Cause you're...you. I don't know, I'm not good with words. But ever since you started to help me out, I...I wanna keep coming back to you. I think I fell in love with you or something because you keep pulling me back here."

You smiled softly at his confession. "I think I fell in love with you, too. I was just scared you were gonna leave if I said anything."

He smiled back, stepping closer and closer to you. A comfortable silence fell between you two. One of Frank's hands fell to your waist and the other tilted your face up to look at him. Your hands naturally wrapped around his neck, holding him close. Your eyes darted to his lips before meeting his eyes.

You caught his gaze dipping down before meeting yours again. You started to lean in and Frank met you halfway. When his lips met yours, the months of banter and drinks and dinners together made sense. He had quietly been telling you he cared about you, maybe even loved you, for so long.

You melted into the kiss and his touch, pulling him as close as you could. It was sweet and slow. You could tell from the way he held you and kissed you just how much he wanted this kiss, how much he wanted you.

When you pulled away, you both stayed close to each other, leaning your foreheads against each other. He brushed his nose against yours as you both smiled.

"I'm not gonna leave you, sweetheart. I will come back."

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fanfic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher fanfic

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writing-for-marvel · 6 months

Text

These are all the fics I've read in October. Please go show all these amazing writers some much deserved love! Also please remember to read the warnings for each individual fic

🔥 - smut | 💗 - fluff |💧 - angst | 😈 - dark

Dividers by @saradika

Bucky Barnes

💧 Meant To Be (series) by @rosepetalsinwinter

🔥 Might Even Be by @slyyywriting

🔥 Lose Your Voice by @navybrat817

💗 Feelin’ Gourd by @jobean12-blog

💧💗🔥 Insatiable by @/jobean12-blog

💗 Rooted in Love by @/jobean12-blog

🔥 Cockwarming by @vellicore

💧💗 Clingy by @imtryingbuck

💗 A Written Notion by @sweetdreamsbuck

💧🔥 Wait For Hours by @notafunkiller

💧🔥 One Night With You Part 1 by @jtargaryen18

💗 What He Deserves by @hannibals-favourite-meal

💗 Personal Pillow by @mrsbarnesblog

💗 Hot Chocolate by @littleseasiren

💧💗 Who The Hell Is Daryl? By @lostgirlmuseum

💗 Firefighter Bucky taking you in after a fire at your apartment building by @espinosaurusrexex

💧💗 What If I Am Too Much? by @notafunkiller

😈🔥 Ace of Wands by @flordeamatista

Steve Rogers

🔥 Love Bites by @lunarbuck

🔥 Eyes on Me by @1-800-jjbarnes

💗 Back Rubs by @sapphire-rogers

🔥 Car Sex by @stuckymonkey

🔥 Carnival Fun by @notyetneedcoffee

💗🔥 I’ve still got a few rounds left in me by @thyme-in-a-bubble

💗 Stars and Stripes by @intrepidacious

🔥💗 Breathe Me by @fushic0re

💧 Say It Back by @fandoms-writings

💗 The Second Date by @crazyunsexycool

🔥💗 Overstimulation by @myfictionaldreams

💧💗 Imagine Steve coming to be with you by @imamotherfuckingstar-lord

Wanda Maximoff

🔥 Somnophilia by @sytoran

🔥 Thigh Riding by @/sytoran

💗 The Purrfect Pair by @astrorogers

Frank Castle

🔥😈 Sacrifice Yourself and Let Me Have What’s Left by @mrsmischief209

💧🔥 Complicated by @targaryenvampireslayer

💧💗 How To Say I Love You by @feelmyskinonyourskin

💗 Domestic Frank by @strawhbrrries

Sam Wilson

🔥 Phone Sex by @/lunarbuck

💧💗 Love Me, Too by @onceuponastory

💗🔥 Sugar Daddy!Sam by @fluffyprettykitty

Andy Barber

🔥 The Devil by @/flordeamatista

💗 CEO!Andy by @holacia3

💗 Your Age Is Showing by @worksby-d

Lee Bodecker

😈🔥 Save Your Tears by @/flordeamatista

😈 Lights Out by @/vellicore

Joel Miller

🔥 Thrills by @moonlight-prose

🔥 Can’t Keep My Hands to Myself by @/jobean12-blog

🔥💗 Joel is such a sap after sex by @inklore

💧💗 Roommate Joel Collection by @/holacia3

Multiple Characters

💧😈 Surrender by @/mrsmischief209

🔥 Double Penetration by @/lunarbuck [Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers]

😈🔥 The Magician by @/flordeamatista [Lloyd Hansen & Nick Fowler]

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privateanxieties · 7 months

Text

to the shadows, we return

Summary: When Frank goes to the woods of Kentucky in search of Gunner Henderson, you come along for the ride. And when the man you're looking for shoots an arrow at him, well— it isn't Frank that gets hit. Feelings ensue in the aftermath.

Words: 4.4K

Pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader (no y/n); hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst, blood and injury, near death experiences, whumptober 2023

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

You can tell the place is liable to be booby trapped all to hell before you've even gotten out of the van.

In a way, that's good. It means you're going to be of use and Frank didn't bring you here for nothing. In another, it's annoying, because you're going to be advancing at a snail's pace the whole way and the November sun is quick in its descent.

What you're here to provide is a one-woman navigation system, courtesy of your tactical training at Quantico. It's not that Frank didn't go through similar procedures; but he doesn't specialize in this type of operation, and he most definitely isn't used to extracting his way out of a predicament delicately. When it comes to these scenarios, he's the blunt object to your scalpel.

Gunner isn't someone you look forward to seeing again, but if you're to survive this whole ordeal, Frank needs to find answers. It sucks that this is what you're doing the first time you've left the bunker in weeks, but at this point you'll take a bear trap over listening to David Lieberman detailing any more Greek legends. Frank orders him to stay put— not that he'd have come with, anyway. Three's a crowd and all that. He seems content with his current level of involvement and you can't blame him for being reluctant to (very likely) get shot at. You're not very keen on it yourself, and knowing Gunner even as little as you do, it's something you worry about more than the traps themselves.

"Let's go before it gets any darker," you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. Frank nods, throwing another warning look at David.

The forest is barren this time of year, and an untrained eye might give into a false sense of security. Not a lot of places to hide traps, or at least not very well, a novice might think. Not the case. Gunner, from what you were able to intuit back in Kandahar, is the survivalist type. He's guaranteed to know his way around more than a few… creative snares.

It's not long into your trek inside the forest before you spot the black wire, but its placement is so obvious and exposed that it can't be more than an early-warning system for non-threats. No one looking for traps would trigger this one. It means you're getting close, but not quite close enough that you'd pose any real danger to his territory. Which means anything you encounter from now on will definitely try to take a finger with it. Though, if you're being honest— it's more like a limb or two.

Frank is quiet and cautious behind you, never closer than a three-step interval: the ideal distance for only one of you to get snared if you both happen upon a trap. It's a wonder he's letting you have the lead. If you've known Frank Castle to be anything, then that's a stubborn mule with absolutely no respect for safety. He'll take a bullet both out of stubbornness and sheer disregard for his life. He's old-fashioned like that. The fact that you're somewhat in charge in this particular instance means that he's laser-focused on getting to the bottom of Operation Cerberus. You know he wants the truth more than anything else. It's not just justice for what was done to his family, but for what he himself has done while on the covert task force.

Personally, your only goal is to avoid dying in the name of loose ends. It was somewhat of a miracle that you even survived the hit that made yours and Frank's paths cross again. Distantly, you think you can still feel the tingle in your knuckles from the right hook you served Carson Wolf. You appreciate Frank letting you have that after the fucker blew up your apartment.

Shaking off the chill of the biting November wind, you grit your teeth against the mounting stress of not having found any traps thus far. The place should be crawling with them, which means that if you don't see them, either you're not on the right path or Gunner's contraptions have been detected by others and swiftly removed. He could very well be dead out here and you'd have no idea. It's a grim thought; if that's the case, any information will have died with him.

"Over there," Frank calls in a hushed tone, stopping you in your tracks.

You follow his line of sight to a small shape in the middle distance, and even shielded by trees as it is, you can clearly distinguish the outline of a tiny cabin. Your first thought? You're uncomfortably close to it for no aggression to veer its head. You almost expect something to drop on both your heads from the clear skies, a cartoonish outcome if there ever was one. Before you can open your mouth and voice any of these concerns, however, Frank steps away from you.

"Hey—" you warn, tone sharp, but he only holds up a hand and motions for you to follow him.

You're forced to do so against your sharper instincts. Frank knows Gunner much better than you do. They were on the ground together in Afghanistan, while you did pre-mission recon under Cerberus. The only reason you ever talked to the guy was because you stuck your nose where it didn't belong. You looked for trouble and it found you, at the same time that you found unidentified crates of smuggled weapons, which was decidedly not how the military armed its personnel. Gunner was there. He'd already been onto something, and who knows what else he'd seen. Your piece of the puzzle might be nothing compared to his, and you desperately need it if you want your life back.

Frank, you've gathered, doesn't care much for his own. He moves through the woods carefully, though with an air of nonchalance that worries given the territory. Or maybe it's trust, you figure, because it doesn't take long for him to call out Gunner's name.

"Brother, I just wanna talk!"

The backpack is deposited on a pile of dry leaves, and you watch curiously as Frank also removes his weapon, placing it atop the bag. He motions for you to do the same, and the look you throw him is one of vehement defiance.

"No."

"He needs to see we don't want to hurt him," Frank argues.

"Then I'll wait over here," you return, a grim smile scrunching up your features.

It's not that you want to hurt Gunner, but you are not opposed to it whatsoever if that's the direction this will go.

"He'll think it's an ambush. C'mon, we—" he pauses, looking away and back at you with his mouth turned down. "We came this far. We need to talk to him. Leave the goddamn gun. He's got the advantage anyway," he pleads, though you sense an amount of command in that tone.

He's right that you're out here, exposed, while Gunner could shoot you both through the rickety door or one of the windows of the cabin. You're not comfortable being unarmed, though— you haven't been in years. Although, you suppose, some things are too great to get away from with just the use of a pistol. It sure as shit didn't help when you almost got blown all the way to hell four months ago. A deep sigh from Frank rattles your hesitation. The question in his eyes is tinged with desperation, and for a brief moment, he looks younger than you know he feels. He's not accustomed to asking people for anything, and the slightest doubt on the part of those he asks for help is enough to make him regret ever thinking of it in the first place.

You don't want him to doubt you. You also don't want to make him think you don't trust him, because you do. You woudn't have gotten this far with him and David if you didn't. Sure, you didn't seek them out; they found you and in the process saved your life. Back in the war, your unit relied on you before anyone else. The purpose of reconnaissance is simple: gather intel. Make sure that when you go in, you have a way out. You liked that job and you liked feeling unquestionably needed.

Despite recent revelations, the sting of what happened before you were abruptly sent home is still fresh somehow. It lingers on the surface of your days, waking or slumbering. For almost three years, you lived with the belief that you sent your unit into a death trap, and it took nearly dying for the record to be set straight. What happened in Kandahar, that last mission that killed more than half of the Cerberus unit— it wasn't on you. It wasn't on you, and yet guilt isn't easy to do away with.

It's the same kind of guilt you're witnessing in Frank right now, with his brows pulled so tight that a deep ridge has formed between them. He's restless and full of regret, and that's what makes your decision barrel into you. You simply don't want to add the fact of your company to that list for him. If you're going to be here, you might as well be the support he needs.

Nodding somewhat unconvincingly — because you're still dreading this — you copy his actions and discard your backpack and weapon next to his own, at once feeling more uneasy than you have in a long time. The gratitude you can sense in his relaxing posture is a little too much to bear, so you settle for diffusing the tension with a warning.

"If he shoots you, I will leave your ass here."

Frank bites back a reply you can guess almost word for word, but his face tells the story his lips won't: yeah, sure you will. It's comforting to know that he at least trusts you not to abandon him, at the same time that the thought feels heavy considering your history. You owe him in more than one regard, but that's not truly why you wouldn't leave him, even to save yourself. Frank is pretty much the only family you've got left. You didn't have many people in your life to begin with, and he's lost the most important ones to rogue government dealings. The only way you'll be removed from his side is if either he is dead or you are. It's funny, the way you grow attached to someone while living in a shithole bunker and hiding from men who want to kill you.

The sun inches lower as you approach the cabin, gaze firmly set on the windows. It's instinctive to watch them, though you aren't neglecting your surroundings either. Frank calls out towards the house again, taking cautious steps to close the distance. You follow in a mirror of your previous formation, no more than three steps behind him.

The place appears desolate, but the trail of smoke from a minuscule chimney is all the sign of life you need to confirm someone else's recent presence. You're now less than ten feet away from the door, and all of a sudden your muscles go stiff. You scan the trees around you for anything you might have missed, but they are free of threats and as barren as the furnishings you can glimpse inside the cabin when you turn to look over Frank's shoulder. The wet crunch of the leaves beneath your boots is dampened by Frank calling out again.

"C'mon Gunner, it's Frank!"

Once close enough, he takes a peek inside one of the smaller windows to the right, and you take your place at his side so that you both line the wall in the least vulnerable positions. Frank, however, is taking more chances than you think he ought to by looking so unabashedly through the windows on the left side.

"Gunner!"

"Hey—" you whisper, realizing immediately how stupid that is. It's not like you haven't announced your presence plenty. "Frank, get away from the goddamn windows."

"He's a good man. He's not going to shoot me. Right, Gunner?" he says in the same tone and volume, making you turn away so you can roll your eyes in privacy, knowing Frank has a bit of a sore spot for that. It's all you have time to do, anyway, because once you've widened your field of vision, you spot a shape that wasn't there just a minute ago.

It's funny how the body can respond to stimuli before the brain has even processed them, and it's even funnier how it chooses to do things without any input whatsoever from logic or reason. Self-preservation has no business here, is what your body seems to have decided is the working philosophy for today.

Consequently, you're pushing Frank down and out of the way before you even realize you've moved. The pain, for its part, is not without delay either. Your scream echoes through the woods and you register it as if it's not your own, but some distant sound — and then you're looking down at your shoulder and realizing exactly what hit you. It makes sense that it's a carbon arrow, you think, because anything else would've been snapped in two by the force of the compound bow now aimed at you both.

You cry out when Frank's arm winds around you and hauls you to your feet, dragging you behind the nearest wall and out of the line of fire, but not before another arrow embeds itself in the window frame next to his head. He sets you down with more care this time, and though you're a bit out of it, you don't miss the sheer emotion in his face. It goes hand in hand with the lightning-sharp pain filtering through your veins and making reason depart swiftly. It's why your fingers begin to grasp at the arrow's shaft, ready and willing to expel it from your body without hesitation. They're only stopped by Frank's own hand, gently but firmly guiding yours back down to rest on your stomach.

"Gunner, goddamn it—" Frank shouts, so close to you that you can feel the vibration of his rough tone. "You proud of yourself, huh? You just shot an unarmed woman!"

This time, the eye roll is in full view and you want him to see it.

And why is it that I'm unarmed, Frank?

You don't say that, though you want to. There's something in Frank's eyes that tells you his mental state right now is veering towards self-blame, and he's not the one responsible for this outcome. The guns, however— those are his fault.

You're both defenseless.

And just like that, you're suddenly scared. It doesn't creep up on you like usual, where you wait and wait until the signs are clear that the future will hold unpleasant things. This fear is cold and dense like the woods around you. The woods you might die in. A whimper flows past your lips as your eyes go wide.

Frank takes notice in an instant.

"Shh, hey— Look at me, right at me."

His palm has cupped the side of your face, warming it up against the surging chill of the forest and giving you something to fixate on to stave off the ensuing panic. It's too bad you close your eyes so you can fully focus on the texture of his skin, because the jolt that comes in response is none too gentle. Frank is shaking you awake.

"Hey! Don't you do that. You hear? Don't close your eyes. Keep 'em on me. Just focus on me, sweetheart."

You try for reassurance through touch, but this is a mistake, you soon realize. When your hand comes up to brush along Frank's cheek, it's with distant horror that you notice it's your right hand. You are moving your right hand, because that is the only one that you can move without blinding pain.

Which means the arrow has found a home in your left shoulder. Your left shoulder, not far above your heart.

"Frank—"

He can see you looking. He can probably see how terrified you've become.

And he, in turn, becomes terrifying.

The next time he calls out Gunner's name, you don't hear Frank Castle. You only witness his shadow being left behind as the Punisher comes forward. And then you get swallowed by your own shadows.

It's a silly little dream— of that, you're certain. But it doesn't mean you can't enjoy the brush of the soft blanket under you or the gentle carding of fingers through your hair.

The warmth of the air borders on unpleasant, and you might be sweating a little more than you'd want in this scenario, but overall you wouldn't trade it for the world, being here with him. Calm. Unhurried. Ignorant of all discomfort, even as your arm has gone numb from lying on your side, gazing at the fire. Well, maybe occasionally at the fire. Mostly, you're just looking at him.

Tracing the contours of his face with your eyes and wishing your fingers could follow, you take everything in as a light euphoria settles over you. His skin is lit up by the wash of warmth from the fire, each imperfection softened— or perhaps that's your eyes' doing, wistfully hooded and completely unashamed in their observation. It feels like gazing upon him for the first and last time, like you're only truly seeing him now that he might disappear. There's a weight in your chest, neither pleasant nor concerning.

Then, his lips are on your cheek and reality slips away. You forget that this is just a dream the moment his mouth trails over your jaw and down the column of your neck, and your eyes fall blissfully closed. He's touching you everywhere, the reassuring press of his body to yours further melting every muscle and easing every current of something like pain travelling through your chest and down your arm. Absent any willpower, you lose grasp of words that aren't his name and thoughts not curved around this moment. You're as relaxed as you can be.

That's when the screaming begins.

Curtis should really make some kind of declaration soon, or he's going to lose his goddamn mind.

He hasn't said anything the entire time he's been working and— Frank trusts him. He trusts Curt with his life. But it isn't his life on the line right now, and worst of all, it should've been. It should've been him taking that arrow to the chest and bearing it only an inch away from his heart. It should've been him, delirious with sepsis and burning from a killer fever. It always should've been just him in those woods. Only him.

It's his fault. It always is. People always die at his side or because of shit he's done. He always drags them to hell with him, and they never make the journey back together. Only he ever emerges from that blackened pit, crawling out on a bruised soul to fight another day, and the carnage left behind is made up of enemies and loved ones alike.

He's a fucking plague. He's—

"Frank. I need you to focus, brother."

His eyes are wide and gaze distant; he notices that immediately upon Curt's warning, but it's hard to bring his expression under control. It's equally hard to keep his eyes focused, because they will fix themselves upon the only thing in the room that matters and his thoughts will spiral soon thereafter.

Frank's never seen anyone look so frail. He's had comrades die out in the field. He's held onto Curt while the corpsman was in the worst pain of his life — his fucking fault, again — and he's witnessed the worst crimes of humanity against one another. He's perpetrated some of those crimes. Yet everything always happened in the blink of an eye. Everyone he's ever lost, he's lost quickly. In each of the worst moments he's ever lived through, there was none of this waiting, and the hands of the clock didn't spit and curse at him for daring to have hope.

She's been looking worse by the hour. Ever since Curt got here, the medic has had to restrain him from doing something stupid like calling an ambulance. It's a wonder Lieberman managed to make the tough decision and drive them all back here, instead of going to a hospital like Frank demanded. Threatened. Gently asked with his finger on the trigger.

But David was right— it would've been over for them all if they went to an ER. The people that want to kill them would encounter no problems taking out one of their targets while she's unconscious and defenseless in a hospital bed. Frank would be arrested, if not shot on sight. And David would soon follow after them both. So, they're here.

And Frank is still losing his mind as time drags forward and the blood keeps dripping. He keeps an eye on the line between her arm and Lieberman's, delivering the life-saving substance at a pace controlled by Curtis. David's a universal donor, a fact that almost makes Frank believe in some higher power. With odds this stacked against him, it's a miracle he gets this one kindness.

Don't let her die.

The thought startles him briefly, since he meant not to ask. The words manifested from seemingly nowhere, a little echo of them bouncing around his mind. Frank doesn't have any illusions of a higher power granting him leniency, even if one exited. If anything, his mere involvement here, the fact that he cares— might be enough to entice whoever's out there to just deal him another blow, no matter who gets swallowed up in the process.

Either God doesn't exist, or he does and is an asshole. No third way around it, in Frank's view.

An hour passes, then another. Lieberman is recovering on the cot at the edge of the bunker, now with almost a fifth less blood running through his veins. Frank says nothing about how if it was necessary, it could've been more than a fifth. Substantially more— all of it, even. He's not sure Curt would approve of this perspective… murdering a man with a family just so he doesn't lose his again. He'd do it. He would. He'd do anything, he decides on a quiet exhale.

When exactly his heart made the decision to latch on this tightly — both hands, it recalls — he isn't sure and he doesn't care. What's done is done, and boy was it done without his fucking approval. It terrifies more than comforts him, the fact that he is still able to feel like this after everything he's been through. It also frustrates him, despite his best efforts, because he can't seem to let it go. Part of him knows it's because he can't escape it or her, since they're in this together. There's nowhere for him to run, no place to crawl to and wait out these feelings; they're both stuck on the other side of lives they used to have, leaning on each other for support they never ever asked for.

And why in the goddamn hell did she—

A groan. Quiet, almost inaudible to anyone whose ears aren't listening for any sign of pain. His heart jumps, and he's on his feet in less than a second. On the other side of the room, Curt startles.

"Frank—"

He blinks down at her form, eyes flitting over the bandages and blood and fragile skin.

"Frank, come on—"

"Did you give her something?" he grunts, almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. It's rougher than even he is used to.

"What?" Curt asks, taking a few steps closer.

"For the pain. Did you give her anything for it?"

Curt's hesitation is all he needs to see red.

"Her body's working through a lot right now. Painkillers would get swallowed up by everything else running through her system, and we don't have morphine—"

Frank isn't too proud of the look he throws his friend.

"You should've told me. I would've gone—"

"I need you to calm down," Curtis tries, keeping calm for the both of them. Frank, however, isn't having it. He steps into the corpsman's space, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His voice bellows.

"And what does she need? Huh, Curt? If she needs drugs, you tell me. If she needs surgery, you tell me. If I have to take her to a real goddamn doctor, I'll do that! So what is it? What do I gotta do?!"

Frank's rage only ever takes on two forms: the destructive, when he's capable of leveling an entire enemy squadron by himself, and the stifling, when he feels as helpless as humanly possible and will try anything he can to take back control.

Curtis, for his part, doesn't give in to Frank's rage. He holds himself in that same dignified way, eyes too knowing and too kind for the words that were just thrown at him. He's seen Frank in worse states, but back then there was a war raging all around them. This bunker, though dark and decrepit and reeking of blood, is not a war zone; but Curt knows it makes little difference in his friend's mind. He understands. For hours now, Frank has been too close to reliving his worst fear, and his worst fear has always been losing those he loves. A sigh blows past Curt's lips, and then he takes a deep breath.

"Listen—"

"…s'ole."

Both their heads turn to look at the source of the faint sound, though only one of the men crosses the room in two seconds flat, argument completely forgotten. Frank leans over the makeshift bed, shoulders tense as she displays early signs of consciousness. It's like he's restless and rigid at the same time, his body a taut wire about to snap. Curt sighs again. Watching Frank like this isn't easy, but it's also not the worst thing in the world. If only it would get him to realize what everyone else is seeing, but Curt knows his friend is too stubborn for that.

"What is it?" Frank whispers, lightly caressing her cheek with a trembling finger.

Curt sees her lips move, but no sound comes out.

"C'mon sweetheart, what's wrong?"

It's almost sweet, in a way. If her state weren't so delicate, it would be almost endearing — the small touches, his protective stance over her form. The way Frank leans closer, making sure she doesn't have to strain in order to get her message across.

"… Asshole."

It's only quiet for a moment.

And then David laughs until Curtis is sure he hears something pop in the man's neck.

A/N: This was supposed to be a short and sweet oneshot. It was, of course, never going to be that. I felt bad abandoning it, though, so here you go. Not my best work, but I do love this idea. Let me know if you'd like an update from her perspective regarding what happens after! Thank you for reading and please know that I always love to read your comments.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle imagine #frank castle #the punisher x reader #frank castle fanfic

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mags-writes · 8 months

Text

Sunlight Masterlist

Summary: frank castle finds his match in a woman from another dimension

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical swearing, first time writing x reader, no use of y/n, no beta readers we die like ray nadeem

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

PROLOGUE (you are here)

PART I || frank comes to stay

PART II || frank helps out in the kitchen

PART III || frank offers his shoulder for you to cry on

PART IV || frank gives you a call

PART V || frank contemplates homicide

PART VI || frank gets his worldview changed

PART VII || frank gets some insight

PART VIII || frank comes over for dinner

One moment you were walking down the street arm in arm with Matt Murdock and the next you were shrouded in darkness, alone in the rain. A flash of light, like something from a camera, was the only indication you got that something was about to change.

You'd heard of things like this happening. Flashes of light and then a missing persons report. It was happening all over the world and no one, not even the Avengers, had an explanation to give. The only thought running through your mind, despite the rain seeping into your shoes, was poor Matt would have no idea what just happened.

Everything looked similar although, you suppose, Hells Kitchen could look like any city in the dark. You took deep and calming breaths, willing the panic to subside long enough to get yourself together. You squared your shoulders and started walking until you came across a street name that looked familiar. The second you did, everything clicked, you knew exactly where you were in Hell's Kitchen, all you needed to do was hang a right, and three blocks down would be Josies.

You walked through the door and there were your friends like nothing had happened at all. Matt, Foggy, and Karen sharing drinks and laughing at something Matt probably said. You sighed in relief. Maybe you got lucky? Maybe you just randomly blacked out?

"Matt! Guys!" You grabbed onto Matt's arm, nearly hanging off of him. "You are never going to believe this. One minute I'm walking down the street with Matt and next thing I know I'm getting soaked-"

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Matt put a reassuring hand over yours on his bicep, frowning kindly in your direction. Ma'am was the first clue that had you stiffening. Matt not looking at you was the next. Yes, the man was blind but you were his girl in the chair, the one in his ear, and his makeshift nurse before you called Clair for help. Matt always looked at you. "Do I know you?"

The world stopped spinning.

"Matthew. Michael. Murdock." You said with wide and unflinching eyes and your tone made him drop his hand. "I have known you since your eyes could spy on the women's boxing matches that your dad dragged us away from. I did not just walk, at the very least, four blocks in the pouring rain for you to call me ma'am. Take it back."

"Uh, I'm sorry," Foggy leaned forward holding his hand out like he was about to try and move you away.

"Franklin Percy Nelson! Don't fuck with me!" You hissed, stiffening up further and giving him a sidelong glare that had him recoiling.

"Hang on Foggy," Matt said, before putting his hand back over yours. "Explain what's happened."

So you did. From the moment you woke up to the moment you walked in through Josie's doors. Every painstaking detail, telling him about the missing people around the world and the very, very disgusting and specific coffee order he gets.

"She's telling the truth." Matt said, completely shocked. "I don't know how, but she is."

"Listen to this," Karen piped up, looking down at her phone. "There are several reports of doppelgangers showing up in homes with similar or near identical memories of Earth citizens. And even more reports of formerly dead citizens showing up at their old homes they used to live in."

"How have we not heard more about this?" Foggy asked, throwing his hands up. "This is right up our alley."

"Probably because anyone who ends up in New York is weird enough to just blend in." You answered sarcastically.

"She's got a point." Karen shrugged.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fic #frank castle fanfic #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #the punisher fic #the punisher fanfic #the punisher x reader

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bubuslutty · 1 year

Text

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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agirlcandream84 · 2 days

Text

Ok now wait a second, imagine if you have a friend staying with you in your shared apartment with Frank and it's been 4 days of no sex because you're in close quarters but it hits a boiling point and you find yourself stuffed with Frank, practically begging him for it because you were feeling so deprived and he's just letting you take as much as need with his thick hand clasped across your mouth to keep you quiet. Like 🫠🫠🫠

And it's not that Frank didn't want it as bad as you-- but he was in the Marines and learned to handle the deprivation for long stretches. But 4 days in and you're already suffering and he could practically see it on your face and if there's one thing he's gonna do it's make sure you're taken care of so he's fucking you with a sense of duty, making sure you come at least three times, all while hushing in your ear "ssssh ssshhh, sweetheart, gotta keep quiet for me yeah? doin' a good job baby. can you take a little more?", before he even considers finishing himself.

I'M DEAD.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fanfic #frank castle x you #frank castle smut #frank castle x y/n #frank castle fluff

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devils-dares · 1 year

Note

frank castle x reader with like a bakery au or where he always comes in just to see her

wordcount: 1004

i apologize for any editing errors, my brain is not working currently.

-----

“Black with room and a slice of toast?” You ask, cleaning out an espresso puck when you see Pete at the counter.

“You know it, sugar.”

“For here or to go?” You wipe your hands on your apron, punching in the items in the register.

“For here, favorite spot’s open.” He nods his head towards the small chair and table in the corner of the cafe, basked in golden morning sun.

“Alright, have a seat,” you smile at him, “I’ll bring it over.”

Readying his coffee and filling a cup with cream, you deliver everything to him. He looks up at you with wide soft eyes, muttering a “thanks, sugar.” before indulging himself.

It wasn’t a busy day, a Tuesday at 10am meant the morning rush had left and it was only retirees and people like Pete. You’d kept the counters clean and baked more treats, but there wasn’t much to do. You boxed a few to-go orders, only leaving the counter when someone wanted to have their coffee topped up.

Sooner or later, you find yourself and Pete alone in the cafe, life bustling outside the cafe doors. You hum along to the background music playing, and Pete scratches away at his journal. He stares out the window a few times, watching families with an almost heartbroken look in his eyes. You watch him for a while, and although he can feel your eyes on him, he lets you.

After he sits in the cafe for about two hours, he gets up with a sigh, wrapping up the leather-bound journal and tucking it into his pocket.

“I’ve gotta be on my way, sweetheart,” he calls out to you, “see you soon.”

“Wait!” You call out after him, “can you- can you take this? Just as a taste test, it’s a new recipe I’m working on and I need someone other than myself to tell me how it is.” He glances at you wearily but still takes the pastry bag. You watch him leave, sighing when he leaves. He was genuinely one of your favorite customers, he didn’t talk much but when he did, the two of you had amazing conversations about everything. You didn’t know much about him, only that he served as a marine and didn’t really have anyone else, other than a nice man named Curtis who came in maybe twice.

—--

A few days had passed before you saw him in the morning at opening time. He was the first customer, in fact, ordering his usual with the addition of the pastry you gave him the other day, “if you have it sweetheart.”

“I take it you enjoyed it?” He hums.

“Keep giving me treats like that and I'll be your taster forever.”

“Gotta come here every day then,” you tease, “constant feedback.”

He tenses at your words and you panic, thinking you overstepped or something, but he relaxes soon enough.

“I’ll see.” He says simply, and that was that. He takes a seat after paying and you deliver him his typical order, along with the pastry. He hums out a thanks and you leave him to himself.

The cycle continues, he sits quietly in his spot jotting in his journal while you tidy up the never ending mess. He takes his leave after a few hours, and you wave him off after giving him a new pastry to try, cleaning up his table when he leaves. You spot a napkin face-side-down on the table, sharpie ink bleeding through the thin sheet. You look around before flipping it over.

“So you don’t have to wait for my reviews.” It read, and under was his phone number scribbled into the napkin. You smiled, thinking you’ll wait until tonight to text him.

—--

“Hey Pete.” Frank’s phone dinged as he stitched himself up, glancing knife wound on his thigh. He cleaned himself up of blood and grime before responding to you.

“I was waiting for you to text me, sugar.” His teeth gritted almost immediately after sending the text, hoping he didn’t come off as too straightforward.

“Did you try the pastry I packed for you?” Your response read. He smiled.

“Eating it right now. It’s yummy.” He could hear your laugh, airy and full of light.

“Glad you like it, any criticism?” You ask.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta pack me more next time, sweetheart.”

“Will do.” The two of you ended up texting for hours about everything and anything and Frank realizes just how easy it is to talk to you. You two talk until Frank realizes the gaps between your texts are growing longer and longer, and Frank chuckles at you.

“Head to bed, sugar. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Promise, Pete?” His heart aches just a little when he hears his fake name.

“Of course.”

—--

Sure enough? He’s there when you walk to the door, bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” You joke, inserting your keys into the lock to open up the café.

“They’re uh- actually for you.” He hands the flowers to you.

“Oh! Thank you!” You take the flowers, grabbing a vase from behind the counter and placing the flowers in them, displaying them on the counter.

“Do you want to order anything?” You ask as he makes his way towards the counter.

“No.” He says simply, and he places his hands on your hips.

“This okay, sugar?” He asks, thumb rubbing light circles.

“Yeah.” He leans down, lips hovering right over yours, but he lets you make the final move to pull him in.

The kiss was short and sweet. His hands pulled your hips flush to his as your arms wound themselves around his neck.

“Pete…” your voice trails off.

“It’s Frank.”

“What?” You pull away.

“My name, it’s Frank. I don’t like people getting too close, but I’d break that rule for you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, you’re not as mysterious as my last boyfriend, he had a lot more secrets than that.”

“You’ve no idea, sugar.” He leans down to kiss you again.

#frank castle #frank castle fluff #frank castle drabble #frank castle fanfic #frank castle request #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x male!reader #frank castle x male reader #frank castle x gn!reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x female reader

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bellaxgiornata · 8 months

Text

You're Safe With Me [Chapter Three]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of chapters for You're Safe With Me here.]

Warnings: 18+; series contains violence, mentions of mass shootings, angst and comfort, slow burn romance, enemies to lovers, eventual smut

Word Count: 5.2k

a/n: Got another chapter written and edited literally all just today. Leaving you all on a bit of a cliffhanger but y'all get a bit more of the "relationship" between Frank and Reader here! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @lunaticgurly @allaboardthereadingrailroad @linamarr @hollandorks @sleeperthelazy @marcysbear @mattkinsella @mattmurdocksstarlight @xxdrixx @v4leoftears @aoi-targaryen @danzer8705 @anon-cat-posts @heimtathurs @kmc1989

The heavy, harsh thud of the van door slamming shut hit your ears, causing you to startle awake. Eyes flying open, you jolted on the uncomfortable van floor as your senses slowly began to return to you. But as you steadily came to, you realized Frank had left the van, no longer sitting in the driver's seat. You also became hyper-aware of the sharp pain in your wrists from where the zip ties had been digging into your skin for hours.

You weren't sure how long ago it had been since Frank had last taken them off of you–it wasn’t easy to see the clock on the dashboard from your vantage point on the floor in the back of the van–but the pair of you had been driving since he'd grabbed you at Ruby’s Diner this morning. Since then, Frank had only ever stopped to get gas or for the both of you to take the occasional bathroom break where he had a couple of times tossed a protein bar and a bottle of water at you afterwards. Both times he’d stood there, leaning against the back of the van eating his own snack in silence while you hungrily tore into the bar and gulped the water down, finishing both items quickly. Afterwards, he had immediately tied your hands back up despite your protests. He claimed he still wasn't sure if he trusted you not to run yet, though he at least hadn't put the duct tape back over your mouth. The threat of it alone had been enough to keep you quiet when you'd pestered him with a couple of questions only to be met with a threatening glare through the rear view mirror. So you'd remained silent for the entire drive, resigning yourself to listen to whatever country or rock music station he had playing on the radio as you'd drifted in and out of sleep.

But that bathroom break a while ago was the last time he'd removed the zip ties from you. Each time he had cut them from your wrists, he'd threatened to stop letting you free to use the bathroom if you made any attempt to run from him, and you honestly weren’t entirely sure if he was being serious or not. But you hadn't bothered with an attempt to escape from him since that first time you’d spotted him in the diner. Not just because you knew it was pointless to try, but because at that very first stop where he'd freed you to use the bathroom, you had questioned him for proof that Madani had sent him specifically to protect you the moment the duct tape had been removed from your mouth. Apparently eager to shut you up, he had called her and put her on speakerphone just long enough for her to confirm that Frank Castle was indeed your protection and that she trusted him with your life, but then he had conveniently hung up before you could tell her how he'd been treating you.

Awkwardly maneuvering along the floor of the van, you tried to push yourself into an upright position, wincing each time the plastic of your binds pressed into your already sensitive skin. Your entire left side ached horribly from the hours you’d been laying on the hard floor, jostled around repeatedly in the van as Frank drove. Shifting a little as you rested your back against the side of the van, you lifted up your sweatshirt with both hands, grimacing when you noticed the bruise beginning to steadily take shape on your hip. With a sigh you lowered your shirt, eyes darting towards the windshield at the front of the van. You spotted a couple of doors with numbers on them out front, also noticing that the sunlight outside was beginning to wane. Frank must’ve stopped at a motel then, calling it a day with driving.

A chill ran through you at the prospect of being alone in a room with him all night. You knew next to nothing about this man besides what he’d done and the fact that he was supposed to be in prison–though he’d told you himself when you’d questioned him about Frank Castle that he was presumed dead now. For a second time. Nevertheless, you knew he killed people. You’d heard all the stories about how he’d wiped out entire gangs to avenge the deaths of his wife and kids. And you’d also seen firsthand the callous way he’d treated you since you’d met him–tying you up and covering your mouth, threatening to let you piss yourself in the back of his van if you tried to run during those bathroom stops. What the hell would it be like sharing a room with him tonight? Surely he wouldn’t try anything with you, right? If Madani claimed she trusted him with your life, you didn’t think you’d need to worry about that with him.

But still, you worried. You didn’t know what the Punisher was really capable of or who he really was as a man other than violent and vengeful. He made you nervous and uncomfortable even if you’d tried to seem strong in front of him when you’d attempted to pry answers out of him earlier. But he had, after all, left you tied up in the back of his van all day. He couldn’t be that good of a man if he treated you like that. So who knew what the hell he was going to do to you when he had you alone in a motel room all night. And that only had your palms beginning to sweat as your heart thudded a little harder in your chest.

The back door of the van flew open and you gasped in surprise, your head whipping over your shoulder in the direction of it. Frank’s hardened face met yours as he opened the second door, but the moment he saw you shrink away from him on the floor his expression fell.

“I’m not goin’ to hurt you,” he said gruffly. “I got us a room for the night. Can’t drive anymore and I’m hoping I put enough distance between us and that stunt you pulled at the diner this morning.”

Your eyes narrowed back at him but you made no show of moving. Frank's frown deepened as he stared back at you.

"Look, you can either get out of there and come inside with me," he began, "or you can stay tied up in there all goddamn night. Choice is yours, Spunky."

"Don't call me that," you shot back.

The corner of Frank's lip twitched upwards in amusement. "I'm putting my ass on the line to keep you alive and you've been nothin’ but a pain in it, sweetheart," he replied, the term of endearment sounding condescending as it came from his mouth. "So I'm gonna call you whatever the hell I damn well want. Now you can either get out of there or I'm gonna leave you here all night. Then you really can piss yourself."

Jaw tightening, you began to awkwardly scoot your way along the floor of the van towards him, struggling as you attempted to use your bound hands. The zip ties only further bit into your wrists with the movement and you flinched, clamping your teeth firmer together at the sharp pain that shot through you. When you'd neared Frank at the back of the van, you saw him slip his pocket knife out of his jacket, the blade glinting in the dim light outside. Instantly you hesitated.

"Hands," he ordered.

Cautiously you held them out towards him, your eyes glued to the knife in his hand. He'd cut you out of the zip ties a few times today with that very knife, but everytime he had you couldn't help but fear he'd stab you with it afterwards.

His large hand reached out, grabbing onto one of your wrists with far more gentleness than you’d expected. His other hand ran the blade smoothly through the plastic, easily cutting it. You instantly withdrew your hands from his hold the second they were free, wrapping your arms nervously around yourself. Frank's eyes lingered on you as he closed his knife, his expression unreadable as he put it back into his jacket pocket.

"C'mon," he muttered. "We're room fourteen. I wanna get in and make sure no one followed us before we get too comfortable."

He stepped to the side, the back of the van wide open to you. You had every opportunity to bolt right now, to try to take your chance to run. Though there wasn't a single part of you that believed you could ever outrun this man. But as tempting as that thought was, you didn't know where you'd go. Frank had smashed your phone to bits on the side of the road once he had put a bit of distance between both of you and the diner where that waitress had called the police. He'd said he didn't want to risk anyone tracking you with it. So now you had no way to call for help–not that your dead phone would've been much help without a charger right now anyway. And the memory of those two men with guns that had showed up at your house was still very fresh in your mind. If more men like that showed up, you knew you wouldn't have any idea of what to do besides run. Eventually you knew that wouldn't be enough, either.

Unfortunately for you, you needed Frank Castle.

Reluctantly you slid the rest of your way to the edge of the van, nervously eyeing Frank who'd ducked his head, his own focus on his boots as he waited silently for you. You could see the muscle jumping in his cheek as he stood there, his shoulders tense. Hesitantly you lowered one foot and then the other to the pavement of the motel parking lot, your muscles stiff from lying down on your side all day. Gradually you rose to your feet beside him, hugging your arms even tighter around yourself. He turned towards you and you immediately took a step away from him, startled by his sudden movement. He'd paused, his hand hovering mid-reach towards your duffle bag in the back of the van as his eyes landed curiously on you at the movement. His brows faintly drew together, a crease forming between them.

"I told you I'm not gonna hurt you," he muttered, tone less harsh than you'd been used to hearing from him as he grabbed your bag.

"I don't know that," you countered.

Frank shouldered your bag, shutting one of the van's doors. You jumped at the loud noise, his eyes narrowing at you right before he slammed the other door closed next. He stood there for a moment, that unreadable expression still on his face as he watched you.

"That'd defeat the purpose of keeping you alive, wouldn't it?" he shot back. "So you can stop cowering away from me like I'm gonna put a bullet in your head when I'm the one trying to keep them out of your head, Spunky."

"Well you have a history of doing the opposite," you pointed out bitterly.

The muscles in his cheeks twitched again, his eyes hardening back at you. You saw the way his hand tightened around the strap of your duffle bag. Maybe you should have backed down because you could clearly tell your words were only riling him up, but you wanted to make sure that he knew that you knew who he was.

“I work in the news, I know all about what you did in New York,” you told him. “Punisher.”

Frank’s lips thinned out, his nostrils flaring back at you. “That ain’t my name. And if you keep runnin’ your ungrateful mouth like that, I’ll gladly be slappin’ more duct tape over it,” he growled back. “Now shut up and follow me before I decide your ass ain’t worth all this damn trouble.”

Without another word, Frank turned on his heel and made his way around the van. You hesitated a moment, your eyes darting to the road just past the parking lot when he disappeared from sight. After that comment, he probably would let you disappear on him, but the memory of that gun pointed at you through your bedroom window flashed through your mind and your eyes snapped shut. Inhaling a deep breath, you tried to prepare yourself for spending an evening alone with the Punisher in a motel room.

The thought of that sounded like a nightmare.

Exhaling the breath roughly, your shoulders dropped and you reluctantly began to trudge your way over to where Frank was currently twisting a key into the lock of room number fourteen. You spotted his large black bag over his other shoulder and you wondered what he kept inside of it besides zip ties and duct tape. Knowing him, probably guns.

As you approached him from behind, you watched as he swung the door open, pulling the key out of the lock before he looked over his shoulder. His dark eyes landed on you, following your steps as you neared. With a grunt, he gestured you into the room with a nod of his head. Biting down on your tongue, you slipped past him and inside of it.

Instantly you were hit with the smell of must and bleach and your nose scrunched up at the overpowering stench. As you quickly surveyed the room, taking a few steps inside, you noticed the wallpaper on the walls was outdated and peeling in a handful of places and there were water stains decorating the ceiling. But at least there were two queen sized beds because you did not want to share a bed with this man.

The sound of something softly thumping onto the bed caught your attention and you spun on the spot, arms still hugging yourself. Frank had tossed his large, black bag onto the bed closest to the window and the door. Your eyes followed his movements, watching as he tossed your bag onto the bed nearer to the bathroom next. At the sound of his voice, your attention returned to his yet again hard to read face.

“Go on and use the bathroom if you want,” he told you, making his way towards his bag and unzipping it.

He reached his hands inside and you shuffled two steps back instinctively, not sure what he was about to pull out. Your heart was fluttering like a caged bird before he stood upright, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a sandwich in his other. Your panic slowly began to subside at the sight of the innocent items he was holding. If he’d noticed the look of fear yet again on your face, he didn’t comment on it as he reached over and set the food on the end of your bed.

“Grabbed this at the gas station a few minutes ago,” he muttered, his attention back on his bag. “‘S’not much but we can get something on the road again later.”

Eyes lingering on him, you watched as he drew another sandwich from his bag, slowly beginning to unwrap it as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the bed. He turned, focusing on the window that faced the parking lot as he took a large bite out of the sandwich, chewing with his back facing you. You felt your stomach grumble at the prospect of food and your eyes dropped down to the sandwich on the end of your bed. Remembering his comment about you being ungrateful, you swallowed your pride.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Frank’s mouth visibly stopped chewing, his head turning just a fraction to the side at your words, though his attention remained fixed on the window. His imposing figure looked intimidating standing there, blocking your path to the door. Though you assumed it was more to put himself in the way of any danger coming inside trying to get to you which should have made you feel safe. But if you were being honest, Frank unsettled you. Him always being so difficult to read didn’t help, either. You didn’t remotely know what to make of him.

“I uh…I’m going to use the bathroom then,” you said awkwardly, wincing as you did.

He gave a single nod before he fully focused back on the window, finishing chewing the bite of his sandwich. You watched as he brought it back up to his mouth, tearing off another large bite.

Slowly you turned, moving cautiously towards the bathroom as if you were afraid he’d suddenly change his mind and tackle you to the floor for leaving the room. But he didn’t move in the slightest as you made your way into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind yourself.

You hurried and used the toilet, washing your hands and taking in the appearance of your worn and tired face in the mirror. As you dried your hands on the off-white towel, you spotted the angry discoloring of your skin along your wrists peeking out from beneath your sleeves. Fear and panic suddenly slammed hard into you like a crashing wave.

Eyes falling shut, your lips began to tremble as you felt the threat of tears burning at your eyes. You stumbled backwards a step, leaning up against the bathroom door as the weight of the past couple of days finally fully hit you in that moment. Your life was truly in danger and here you were in a shitty motel room with dead crickets lining the bathroom floor as you tried to fight down a panic attack. You were on the run with a mass murderer and ex-convict in the other room. One who kept you bound under the guise of keeping you safe. And you had no other choice but to accept that or risk being killed–or possibly worse.

Pressing the heels of your hands hard against your eyes, you tried to fight the tears back down and focus on your breathing. You didn’t want to cry and you certainly didn't want to have a panic attack, not right now and absolutely not with Frank in the other room. No doubt he’d hear you. You didn’t need to give him another thing to insult you about and throw in your face.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you tried to shove everything you were feeling all the way back down. You needed to get yourself under control and bottle this all deep down inside of you. Now was not the time to deal with this. You’d find another time to acknowledge your situation, but now was not it.

It took a few minutes of deep, focused breaths before you felt like you’d gotten a handle on yourself. Opening the bathroom door, you gradually made your way back over to the bed where Frank had set the food down for you. You sniffled lightly as you picked up the sandwich, peeling back the wrapper on it. Your eyes briefly shifted over to Frank’s back as you took a bite and chewed. He was still looking out the window, his back remaining towards you.

“Doesn’t look like anyone followed us so far,” Frank said, breaking the silence as if he knew you were looking at him.

You didn’t respond, not really sure what to even say to that. Instead, you ate your disappointing dinner in silence before drinking down half the bottle of water. As you’d risen to your feet to toss the empty sandwich wrapper in the garbage bin in the room, Frank finally turned around and focused on you. Nervously you tossed the wrapper away before turning and awkwardly settling back down onto your bed, timidly watching him in return. His hardened stare made you uncomfortable and your hands immediately began anxiously toying with the sleeves of your sweatshirt.

“Should probably sleep now,” Frank finally said. “We’ll be on the road before the sun’s up. Don’t wanna stay here too long.”

Nodding slowly, you muttered, “Okay.”

You watched as he stepped over to his duffle bag, digging around in it for a moment. When he withdrew his hand, your heart sank at the sight of what he was holding in it.

“Please, can we not do that again?” you asked him.

“Still don’t trust you won’t run on me,” he answered, making his way towards you with the zip ties. “And I can’t sleep if I think I’ll be wakin’ up to you gone and me having more work to do lookin’ for your ass in the morning, Spunky. So yeah, we’re doin’ this again. Hands.”

Your eyes dropped down to the ties, your wrists stinging and burning at the prospect of being bound in those plastic contraptions again. Shaking your head quickly, your pleading eyes darted back up to meet his own.

“Please,” you begged him. “I promise I won’t go anywhere. Just–just please don’t put me in those again.”

The corner of his lip visibly twitched, but his expression remained otherwise unchanged. “Hands,” he ordered again.

Eyelids slowly falling closed, you reluctantly held them out to him. As he secured the zip tie tightly around your wrists, you did your best to fight the quivering of your lips. You were not going to cry in front of him, no matter how much it hurt to have those back on you again. But instead of Frank walking away once he’d tightened them, you felt him draw your hands back up and over your head. Your eyes flew open, widening in surprise when you saw he was attaching them to the headboard with another zip tie.

“Are you kidding me?” you asked him in disbelief.

“Like I said, Spunky,” Frank replied, turning away from you and making his way to the lightswitch across the room. “I can’t sleep if I think I’ll have to wake up and chase down your ungrateful ass in the morning. So I’m makin’ sure I won’t have to.”

He flipped off the light before he headed over to the window, drawing the curtains closed. The room became almost pitch black, the only light in the room coming from the parking lot outside and sneaking in past the corners of the curtain.

“I can’t sleep like this!” you shot back.

“Then it’s a damn good thing you were sleepin’ all day in the van, isn’t it?” Frank countered.

“I’m not going to–”

“Pipe down,” Frank said firmly, cutting you off as you heard the mattress shift nearby, “or I’ll get the tape, too.”

You laid there, your hands raised above your head uncomfortably as your back rested against the headboard. Mouth gaping open in the dark in the direction of his bed, you couldn’t believe he’d done that. Though considering how he’d treated you all day, maybe you should’ve seen it coming. Anger shot through you, your lips curling back in a sneer as you readied yourself to lash out at him, but then your mouth snapped shut, immediately thinking better of it. You knew he’d just get the duct tape to shut you up and you didn’t want that, too. With an irritated huff you tried to situate yourself on the bed, seething in your anger as your head dropped back against the headboard.

“Good choice, sweetheart,” Frank’s voice sounded through the dark.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Frank’s eyelids abruptly flew open, his body strangely on alert. It took him a moment to adjust to the dim light in the motel room before his eyes darted to the old alarm clock on the nightstand between both of the beds, the digital numbers on the clock showing him it was just after two in the morning. He’d gotten a good few hours of sleep at least, but he hadn’t planned to wake up quite this early.

A soft noise nearby registered in his ears and Frank immediately stiffened along the mattress, his head shifting on the lumpy pillow so he could hear better. It sounded like it was coming from the bed in front of him where you were laying. His eyes narrowed as he listened closer. Only a couple of seconds later he heard it again; it was just a faint sound barely noticeable in the room, but Frank instantly knew exactly what it was. His eyelids slowly lowered, guilt hitting him hard in the chest. He could feel his heart twisting as the faint broken noise hit his ears again.

You were quietly crying on the bed next to his. He could tell by the soft, repeated sniffles and the uneven hitching of your breath. If Frank was being honest, he had felt like an asshole for how he’d treated you since he’d first met you, even if you were a pain in the ass. The terrified and judgemental looks he kept catching you shooting him that made him feel like a monster didn't help, either. They always made his skin crawl.

Though truthfully he couldn’t blame you for trying to run when he had abducted you from that diner yesterday morning. He knew what the media had said about him. Of course you’d be terrified of the Punisher coming after you, especially considering your current situation. Madani had warned him about you possibly being scared of him, too. She had told him that she hadn’t informed you about exactly who she’d sent to protect you; she had been afraid that you’d have never hung around the diner long enough to even meet with him if she had. And she'd stressed repeatedly how important your testimony with your evidence was to her case she was assembling, so she couldn't risk losing you or you getting killed by telling you exactly who was coming ahead of time and taking the chance that you'd run off.

Admittedly Frank hadn’t wanted to keep tying you up like this, but he also really didn’t trust that you weren’t going to run on him the first chance you got. And he really didn’t want to make more work for himself having to hunt you down because you did seem stubborn and foolish enough to bolt on him. You definitely seemed like you’d disappear and do something stupid and reckless that would end up getting you killed before he could stop that from happening. He wasn’t blind, either, though. He’d noticed the way those ties had been bruising your wrists and he’d felt disgusted with himself every time he bound you again. He knew it was hurting you, but he just told himself it was either that or a bullet in your head, and he’d much prefer the bruising on your wrists–at least that could heal.

But maybe he’d been too hard on you. He probably shouldn't have been so rough and distant with you right from the start if he didn’t want you to be afraid of him; especially since you knew the things he'd done. Maybe he should have started off trying to show you a bit of trust, and in turn maybe you’d have given him some. Maybe that was what he should try to do now.

Shifting on the bed, he drew himself up onto an elbow. He heard movement coming from your bed as he reached a hand out, turning on the bedside lamp. He saw you startle as light flooded the room, your head immediately turning away from him as if you were trying to hide your tears. It looked like you were attempting to dry your tears on the shoulder of your sweatshirt with the way your head was moving now. The sight of that only further stirred up the guilt inside of him.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice sounding loud as it broke through the silence. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve been goin’ through a lot and I haven’t exactly been easy on you.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped back.

Frank frowned, slowly sitting upright in the bed. “No, you’re not,” he replied. “Your wrists are bruised and you're uncomfortable. I’ll take the ties off and stop usin' them if you give me your word you won’t run. Deal?”

He heard you let out another sniffle, his frown only deepening at the sound. When you spoke, your voice had sounded so small that it had shame coiling in Frank’s gut, his fist curling around the stiff motel sheets.

“Deal.”

Releasing the sheets from his grip, Frank leaned over on the bed towards the place he had tossed his jacket earlier, fishing his hand into the pocket of it and pulling his knife out. He pushed the sheets back off of himself before he rose to his feet, noticing your watery gaze now on him. His teeth grit together at the sight of your red eyes and damp cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again. “I wasn’t–”

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he swore he heard a sound coming from outside. His head shifted over his shoulder as he tried to listen closer.

“What was–”

Frank held up a hand, cutting you off. He thought he picked up on the sound of a car door closing and muffled voices coming from the parking lot. It was entirely possible it was nothing but other innocent travelers on the road stopping for the night, but Frank highly doubted that. They had to be here for you.

Adrenaline shot through him immediately, his body ready to act. His attention abruptly returned to you, grabbing onto your hand carefully before slicing his knife through your bindings in one quick motion.

“Get under your bed and stay there,” Frank ordered you sharply, his eyes focused on yours. “Don’t come out until I tell you to, d'ya hear me? You stay there.”

He saw the way your eyes grew wide in fear, darting from him to the door and then back to him. But you were looking at him just as terrified as you were looking at who might be on the other side of that motel door, too. Frank tried his hardest not to let that fear you had of him affect him right now, but admittedly he'd felt something because of it. And it wasn't pleasant.

“Don’t be a pain in the ass right now, Spunky,” he spat gruffly. “Do what I said. Now .”

You scrambled off of the bed, eyes still wide in fright as you lowered down to your knees on the dirty motel floor.

“What’re you going to do?” you asked, hesitating as you eyed him fearfully.

Frank had already turned and begun digging through his duffle bag that he’d left at the foot of his bed. He was busy trying to decide which guns he’d need for this upcoming fight while trying to count the muffled voices outside. He didn't need this from you right now.

“You–you can’t just shoot people!” you whisper-yelled at him.

Frank shot you a hard look over his shoulder, his jaw set firm. “It’s us or them, sweetheart,” he snapped. “Now get under that goddamn bed before I make you get under that goddamn bed.”

He saw the look of terror cross your face at his threat before you nodded weakly, disappearing out of his sight and making your way under the bed. Frank didn’t have time to question why his stomach twisted in knots at that look on your face.

Right now, he had a job to do.

#frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle angst #frank castle fanfic #the punisher

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saintmurd0ck · 9 months

Text

i've got you, darlin'

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x afab!reader

summary: frank makes getting your period a little easier to bear

warnings: mentions of heavy periods (cramps, pain, body aches, but no bleeding), fluff and frank looking after you, protective frank!!!

a/n: for my sweet @chellestrash 💗 who deserves the world (and frank castle)

He knows, even before your eyes flutter closed and your grip tightens on the sheets. He knows, just from the way his name comes out in a hoarse whisper, more of a plea than a prayer.

Frank kneels onto the ground, his voice a gentle cadence in your ear. "That time again, huh?"

You swallow harshly, unable to stop the pained grimace distorting your face, at a loss of how else to say yes. It seems like a simple answer, a candid one, but it's a response you've come to loathe.

Because every month, not unlike clockwork, it's an age-old reply to the same question.

Your body starts to seize, despite the breathing exercises running rampant through your head — in through the nose for three, hold for four, out through the mouth for five — and the heavy blankets doing absolutely nothing to warm your frigid skin.

Ice and searing fire glitter in your veins, a complicated dance with no ending, not bothering to tiptoe around the white-hot knife twisting into your stomach.

"M'right here, sweetheart," Frank murmurs, at the ready, dropping Advil into your gnarled, outstretched hand, before lifting a glass of water to your lips.

He helps you upright, making sure the pills go down, watching your reaction to see if you need anything more.

Your eyes dart to the kitchen, a silent communicator of the one other thing that's missing, but Frank shakes his head, placing the heat pack across your abdomen in near-perfect synchronisation. "Already got it."

A meek "Thanks, Frankie" is all you manage amongst the bouts of blinding discomfort, more of a rasp than intended. Curling up into a ball, you bury your face into the pillows, doing your best to ground yourself, to let his scent settle over you in a wave of calm.

The mattress dips as Frank sits down next to you, dragging a soothing hand across your back, alternating his touch between long, languid strokes and featherlight circles.

"Honestly sweetheart," he muses, the hint of a smile flitting across his face, "you'd make a great Marine."

You blink at him, disconcerted.

He gestures towards you, chuckling. "I tell 'ya, the guys thought they were tough shit, but one week of this and they woulda been beggin' for mercy. You put 'em to shame."

You roll your eyes, mustering a weak smile. "Well it's not like I have a choice, do I?"

"Yeah? And? Ain’t makin’ me any less proud."

The next cramp snowballs into you before you have a chance to respond, impending fatigue crawling up your spine in lashes.

And then his hands are on you, his body sheltering yours, encasing you with every ounce of protective warmth he can muster. He holds you closely, nestling your head in the crook of his neck, letting his arms fall into place.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, into your hair. “I’ve got you, darlin’. I’ve got you.”

Sharpness turns to a throbbing, dull ache, though it reverberates in your bones, turning your muscles to jelly.

Still, you grasp at him, clutching him tighter, as if he’s the one thing in the world that could actually get you through this.

You suppress a bout of muted laughter. You’re always going to be the one getting yourself through this, no matter what, but…

At least Frank makes it more bearable.

“It’s going to be a long week,” you sigh, your words muffled against his chest.

And it’s true. You’re going to be here for a while.

But he’s got you.

And it’s gonna be okay.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #frank castle fluff #the punisher fluff #frank castle fanfic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher fanfic #the punisher fanfiction #tw periods #rhi writes 💻#x reader

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madschiavelique · 3 months

Text

⚝﹒𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬﹒⚝

⚝﹒author's note : just wanted to write a soft thing about frank meeting a dreamy reader and being in love

⚝﹒contents warning : mentions of blood, death (frank's past), mostly fluff though, afab reader, no use of y/n

⚝﹒word count : 1768

When you live in a world where nightmares haunt you, it’s hard to find the time to chase after your dreams.

They tormented Frank, these ghosts of the past. The dead, the deaths that piled up like an ugly heap, a scarlet stack of glassy eyes bleached white by the lack of a soul.

Their warm, sticky blood stuck to his fingers. No matter how many times he washed them, how hard he scrubbed his own skin, how hot he turned the water on; he would never feel clean.

All those times he came home, covered in the coppery smell of carmine liquid, he waited for the shower like a saving goddess. She would take him in her hot arms, the steam enveloping him in that reassuring mist like a mother's embrace.

The water cuddled him, caressing his body drop by drop, leaving a crimson river running down his skin and escaping into the black hole of the tub.

She reassured him, whispering in his ear the sweet words that could come from the pearls of purity and insouciance. But there were times where she'd come down on him like a storm.

And when he lay there, in his miserable bed, and the pouring rain came beating against the glass of his window, he couldn't sleep.

Because when you've learnt Morse code and used it enough times in your life to read it, write it, listen to it and understand it, even the rain screams at you to run.

He had lived a life, and he had taken more of them than he would live again later in the meanders of time. Would he ever find the strength to forgive himself? He had already found it, somewhere, somehow.

Would he ever find someone to forgive him?

This thought sometimes kept him awake. He usually came home exhausted, worn out by a day that had taken him through so many emotions and feelings that he wondered if that single day hadn't lasted a whole year.

Once he was clean, he'd collapse onto his bed and, far too tired to think, let himself drift off into the darkness of the night to the jars of stars that dreams shine in.

But nothing was bright. No lights, no candle with a flame the size of an almond barely illuminating you a room, not even a flickering firefly gently flying under the weight of its glow.

Nothing. The pitch black of the night, the black of his thoughts, the black of his title.

He was trying to rebuild his life, to leave all this evil behind, no matter how tenaciously it clung to him like his shadow.

Was it only his shadow, or was his reflection a part of the loathing ? Every vision he had of himself was distorted by the depth of his actions.

He had lost count of the times when facing his own gaze seemed harder than any fight, harder than being shouted at for something stupid, harder than staring into the sun for too long.

When other people's eyes met his, did they have any idea of the weight they carried? Of what those eyes had seen, of what those eyes had cried, of how those eyes turned all black and devoid of light when he clutched the grip of his guns.

Who would want to look into eyes as black as the room he went to bed in every night?

Life swept into his path the most pleasant devil he had ever met. His circle of friends gradually dwindled down to his own. But he didn't give himself any hope that it would last.

When you're used to losing, you expect everything to be taken from you without asking. You expect your hopes to melt away like snowflakes in the palm of your hand. But you'd have to believe that his heart was cold enough to prevent them from turning into tears from the heavens.

It was thanks to Matt that he had met you. It was no secret that Frank was an avid reader, as if reading what literature had to offer would revive the dead that the words on paper exposed to him.

So Matt had recommended a bookshop where, according to him, he could find a wide variety of books. At first Frank thought that the demon was sending him into a den of other fools who read the criminal and civil codes day and night as if their lives depended on it.

But the latter quickly confirmed that there would be someone there to help him. He didn't have much to lose, and when the time came to read a new book, he went there. He had no high expectations, it was a bookshop like any other.

There was nothing special about it. It had a window displaying the major releases of late, the familiar smell of book paper wafting through the air, and shelves full of intriguing covers.

But it had you.

Knees bent to the ground, arched towards the floor as you pointed to a page of a book a child was holding in his tiny hands, your eyes sparkling as you explained something he couldn't hear.

You hid your mouth for a moment, leaning over to whisper a secret to the child, and the little boy laughed softly as you lowered your fingers from your lips to let your smile shine through.

All the secrets in the world that interested him seemed to be held by you alone.

You straightened up, letting the child read quietly, turning to Frank with that same smile adoring your lips.

"May I help you?"

Frank had forgotten how to speak for a moment, but his wits quickly pushed him to start talking and not look like a moron with his mouth half-open in a fish-like fashion.

He told you what he liked, and with an unconscious charm that made him feel as if he were suffocating, you guided him to the first shelf, summarising the synopsis of a book for him with mad, bewitching simplicity.

Then, feigning dissatisfaction when you'd hit the nail on the head, he asked you if you had anything else to suggest.

Then came the second book, which he had already read. Then the next, which seemed too close to another. Then another. And then another. Until he couldn't come up with any more excuses he searched at every turn of shelves to hear you talk and spend any time in your presence.

When it came to the checkout and you handed him the book, your fingers touched for a moment as you wished him a good day.

He thought about it every evening that followed.

As the days passed, a rhythm settled in. He would finish a recommended book, come and see you, find premeditated ways of spending as much time as possible in the bookshop, and leave with another novel.

One day he plucked up the courage to buy you a coffee, and he thought his heart would burst when you accepted. Coffee led to lunch, lunch led to dinner, and dinner led to a bottle of wine at home.

And even when your flesh intertwined, your voices became whispers, and your lips kissed, he never had any doubts :

You were everything, and he was nothing.

He had lived with the idea of being nothing for a long time, had become accustomed to the thought, had become almost attached to it. Nothing is always alone, otherwise it wouldn't be nothing. So what was he now that he had a glimpse of you in his life?

It was one night, in his dark bedroom, as you sat on his bed facing him, that his thoughts glowed.

You had leaned over him and kissed his forehead so tenderly that he felt fragile beneath your fingers. You gazed into his eyes, as if no matter how deep they were, you weren't afraid of what you were about to find.

There was a moment of silence, a moment of darkness, a moment of nothing. Fear buzzed in his ears for the first time in a long time.

She won't choose me, because if I were in her place, I wouldn't choose myself. That's what he thought. He thought that you had seen in his eyes what people call "void", a farewell to every "goodbye", and that you were going to take time in the oceans to drown his despair.

He was petrified at the thought of you leaving. Until you told him:

"You've forgotten how to dream, haven't you ?" your whisper and your gaze came in a wave as your thumb stroked the frown of his forehead to loosen it, "It's been ripped away from you," you whispered as your eyes met Frank's. "Hasn't it ?"

And you... you looked at him as if there was something in him worth looking at.

You saw in him what he couldn't see anymore, half skinned like a piano key, between the living and the lived.

He took you in his arms, pressing your body against his as if you were the frailest thing he had ever seen, fearing that the smoothness of your soul would be pierced by the twisted peaks of the brambles around his heart.

Winter came, and you hadn't left.

The snowflakes fell in front of the car lights as if they lived only in the light. They fell to the ground like their only purpose in their infinitesimal lives was to simply lie on the ground and kiss it cold.

You looked up at the sky, it was night, and everything was full of thick clouds. They were all falling like the white feathers of a fallen angel, twirling in an incessant waltz until they grounded wherever the wind took them.

They were falling, and if Icarus had flown too close to the sun, then they had flown too close to the moon, and the latter, recognising them as no stars, blew them away to send them elsewhere.

And there you were right in front of him, in all that cold magic, reaching out with your gloved hand to pick up a little crystal star that you were looking at very carefully.

It was terrible that there wasn't enough time to take all the snowflakes one by one and look at them. Nature made such beautiful things that it seemed unfair not to be able to see them all.

You took his hand again to go home, and he prayed to anything that was still dear to him that you'd never fade.

And that night, his first dream was of you.

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