📣 REQUESTS are open | I’m always happy to receive requests and do my best to get to as many as I can. However, it’s not possible for me to answer every one. Apologies if I don’t manage to get to yours and thank you for reading <3. Note: My thoughts on Jon Bernthal’s political and personal beliefs.
FRANK CASTLE
One-Shot: Where There is Light, Back to You, Breakable Goods (Part 2 here), Without You, Please Baby
Drabbles: How Frank Would Handle You Getting Overstimulated, How Frank Would React to Bruising You, How Frank Would React to You Not Resting When You Should, How Frank Would React to Scaring the Shit Out of You, How Frank Would Respond to You Being Jealous of Karen, Boyfriend!Frank x Reader During a Heat Wave, Angsty!Frank x Self Sabotaging!Reader, Frank Decides To See How any Times You Can Cum, Riptide: Frank Saves You At The Beach, Frank X Emotionally Insecure Reader, Frank X Shy!Reader Smut (soft dom), Frank Discovers the Power of Praise, Frank Castle x Small-chested Reader, Let Frankie Fix It, Your Ex Attacks and Frank Avenges, Frank x Big-Chested Reader, Thigh-Riding Frank Castle, Frank x Pregnant Reader, Punisher!Frank x Reader, Giving Frank a Blowjob, Frank Gets Consent and It’s Hot as Hell, Frank x Anxious!Reader, Frank Catches Deep Feelings, Frank x Reader with Asthma, When YOU dom Frank (briefly), Frank x Reader Breakup, Frank takes care of you when you have a sunburn, Frank Treats Your Heat Exhaustion, When Billy Flirts With You, When You Self Isolate, Frank Uses a Wand on You, Frank Gets Jealous, Shower Sex With Frank, Frank Finds Your Smutty Books, Making Frank Feel Flustered, A Quickie In The Car with Frank, When Frank Likes It Rough, When You Wrestle with Frank, When Frank Hurts You During Sex, Frank When You Have an Allergy Attack, Frank Proves He Can Lift You, Frank When You’ve Had a Bad Day, More Sex Pollen, Frank When You Have a Panic Attack, Frank and Periods, Phone Sex with Frank, Frank and You Have a Fight (angst), More Frank and Squirting, Frank Helps Your Zoomies, You Pack Frank’s Lunches, Frank Protects You From Himself, When You Get Frank’s Initials Tattooed, Frank x Bingeing!Reader, Car Sex with Frank, Frank Reacts When You Cry During Sex, When You Get In a Bar Fight, Waking Frank Up With Head, When Frank Castle Cries, Frank Fucks You Back to Sleep, Frank x Virgin!Reader, Frank Fucks You to Sleep, Acts of Service!Reader, Period Sex with Frank, Stitched Up, When Frank Gets Too Bossy, Feral Angsty Sex with Frank. Feeling Frank Deep in Your Belly, When You Hump Frank in Your Sleep, Frank comforts you through trauma
Boyfriend!Frank: The First Time Frank Chokes You, Boyfriend!Frank Goes Feral at Your New Perfume (smut), When Frank Goes Too Hard in the Bedroom (smut, angst), Boyfriend!Frank is Not Pleased With Your Choice to Diet, Times When Boyfriend!Frank Has Been Mad At You, Boyfriend!Frank When You’re on Your Period, Boyfriend!Frank and Goth!Reader, SoftDom!Frank, Boyfriend!Frank Reacts to You Ex Contacting You, Boyfriend!Frank x Clumsy!Reader, Boyfriend!Frank x Dieting!Reader Who Passes Out, Boyfriend!Frank x Concussed Reader, Boyfriend!Frank x WFH Sick Reader, Boyfriend!Frank Is Constantly Picking You Up, Boyfriend!Frank Takes Care of Your Mosquito Bites, More Frank x Clumsy Reader, Frank x OCD!Reader, Frank x PMS Reader, Frank x Austic!Reader, Frank x Birthday Reader, Frank x Pierced Reader, Frank Tames a Brat, Frank x Overworked Reader, Frank Helps You Shave, Frank Comforts You During a Storm, Frank in Public, Frank Teaches You To Drive, Frank Does Aftercare, Frank When You Forget To Eat, MORE Frank x PMS Reader, Frank x Depressed Reader, Frank Has Decided You Can’t Lift Heavy Things, Boyfriend!Frank Discovers Your Speeding Ticket, Frank x Carsick Reader, Frank When You’ve Been Crying About Work, Celebrating Frank’s Birthday, Reverse Cowgirl with Frank, Frank x Chronic Pain!Reader, Frank x Feisty but Shy!Reader, Frank is a Grump When You Have Your Period, You Use the Safe Word With Frank, When Your Try to Fake an Orgasm, When Frank Sleeps on the Couch, Frank x Birthday!Reader, Frank x Emotional!Reader, Frank Talks You Through It, When Frank Gets Rough (non-HC), Prone Position with Frank, Frank When Your Mom Calls You Fat (angst, smut)
Neighbor!Frank: Neighbor!Frank Saves the Day , Neighbor!Frank is a Daddy When You Come Home Drunk, PART TWO: Neighbor!Frank is a Daddy When You Come Home Drunk, Neighbor!Frank Ties Your Shoe and It’s Hot, Neighbor!Frank Bails You Out of Jail, Neigbor!Frank When There’s An Apartment Fire, When you tell Neighbor!Frank “I’m so fucking horny”, Neighbor!Frank When You Can’t Sleep, Neighbor!Frank Likes You Soft, Frank Comforts You During a Storm, Neighbor!Frank When You Hurt Yourself, When You Make Neighbor!Frank Dinner, Neighbor!Frank Watches You Go On a Date, Neighbor!Frank Sees Through Your Window, Frank Teaches You to Parallel Park, The Scream (angtsy), A Smudge (angst), Neighbor!Frank Meet-Cute, Two Taps, When you send Neighbor!Frank Nudes (Unsend fic), When You Call Neighbor!Frank Drunk, When Neighbor!Frank Thinks You’re in Trouble, When you cry during sex, When you slip in the shower, When your boyfriend hits you, When your date stands you up, The Gray Expanse (when you make Frank cry), Neighbor!Frank Yearning For You
Daddy!Frank: When You Get Jealous, Daddy!Frank Edges His Girl, Daddy!Frank Makes you Bleed, Daddy!Frank x Hypersexual Reader, Daddy!Frank at the Nail Salon, Daddy!Frank Headcanons, Daddy!Frank x Perv/Hypersexual Reader, Daddy!Frank Adjusts Your Attitude (Spanking), When You Call Frank Papa, When Daddy!Frank Makes You Squirt, Face Taps with Daddy!Frank, Daddy!Frank x Anxious!Reader, Daddy!Frank Goes Slow Because He’s So Big, Face Fucking with Frank, Pillow Humping With Daddy!Frank, Car Sex with Daddy!Frank
Ex!Frank: Ex!Frank Has Had Enough of Your Antics, Ex!Frank Still Takes Care of You, Ex!Frank Holds You Accountable, You Pay Ex!Frank and Unexpected Visit, Ex!Frank Makes You Feel Better, Believe Me (angst,smut), Frank Grovels for Forgiveness (subby Frank)
Headcanons: Boyfriend!Frank, More Boyfriend!Frank, Even more Boyfriend Frank Headcanons, Impossibly More Boyfriend!Frank Headcanons, Somehow more Boyfriend!Frank Headcanons, Yes, More Headcanons, Boyfriend!Frank Intimacy Headcanons, How Boyfriend!Frank Nurses You Back to Health, Boyfriend Frank x Injured!Reader, Boyfriend!Frank Will Take Care of It, Frank and Body Image Headcanons, Frank Size Kink Headcanons, Frank Apologizing Headcanons, Frank x Plus Size Reader, Breeding Kink Frank, Obsessed!Reader Headcanons, More Size Kink Headcanons, Frank at the Airport, Frank If You Have Body Dysmorphia, Franks Versions When You Have PMS, Feral Frank Headcanons, Old Fashioned Headcanons, Frank x Hypersexual!Reader Headcanons, Frank x Perv!Reader, Frank x Princess!reader Headcanons, Frank Hand Headcanons, More Feral Frank Headcanons, How Frank Helps You Fall Asleep, Daddy!Frank Headcanons, Old Man Frank Castle Headcanons, More Size Kink Headcanons, Frank Castle C*** Headcanons, Frank Castle Anal Headcanons, More Frank Castle Headcanons, Frank Castle When You’re Home Alone, Giving Frank Head Headcanons, Oral Fixation Headcanons, Frank Babying You Headcanons, “Perverted” Frank Headcanons
Bare with me ya'll-- I'm working on a few other creative projects and my inspiration is running low for writing. Rest assured I will be horny again someday but for now, I'm laying low until I get the itch.
I love your writing so much 🥺 thanks for all you do . Can I request: how would Frank handle reader on her period? … and maybe… reader who gets horny on her period
You're so so sweet, it means so much to hear this. I'm so glad you like reading my work.
Boyfriend!Frank When You Have Your Period
Frank is certainly to type to be tuned in to your cycle not because he's tracking it or something but because he's incredibly tuned into your energy and your needs and it's an easy assessment for him to make. And while he would never chalk up your emotions to "female problems," he does allow you some grace when you're feeling short-tempered considering he knows he can be a grump from time to time too.
"Com'ere sweetheart, lemme rub your feet," is a common refrain after you've slumped through the front door, plopped onto the sofa and let out a long, extended whine. He tugs your feet onto his lap and his strong hands work through strains and tension and knots you didn't know existed until you're so relaxed you feel like you took an edible. Your eyes are closed and you've got a dopey smile on your face and he just chuckles before patting your thigh and adding "alright, what's my girl want for dinner?"
Frank knows your primary concern is comfort when it's that time of the month so he's got a freshly laundered pair of sweats and your favorite one of his old hoodies folded and ready on the bed. He's gotta haul you off the couch himself and deposit you in the bedroom as you clutch your abdomen and croak "my utteerruuss" while he presses a kiss to your temples and huffs into your ear "I know babydoll, I know. Let's get you comfy." He tugs the shirt off your head and you hold onto his shoulders while he shimmies your pants off and the sweats on. You plop your arms around his neck to kiss him in thanks and he gingerly unclasps your bra while his arms are around you, planting a kiss on your forehead and then tugging the hoodie up and over your shoulders and zipping it up.
After DoorDashing your favorite Thai food and catching up on Vanderpump Rules, Frank starts running a hot bath and he even drops in some epsom salts and a bath bomb (please imagine Frank googling "how to make a nice bath" earlier that day. actually please imagine Frank googling anything). Just as he helped you into the comfy clothes, he helps you out of them and you slip into the tub and your eyes practically roll back in your head. Before he leaves you alone in the tub for a quiet soak, he hands you two pills and an icy cold seltzer and tells you "Got 'em from Curtis-- he said these are the good stuff." and you don't ask questions. Sure enough, in 30 minutes you feel no pain from the neck down for the first time all day.
You're clean, you're relaxed and you climb into bed, quickly snuggling up to Frank's big spoon. Despite being relaxed, you struggle to fall asleep, fidgeting and readjusted and the fact is.... you're horny. It makes no damn sense that your body could feel so bad and yet you always felt feral on the first 1-2 days of your period. Some past boyfriends always made you feel ashamed for wanting sex during your period so you don't even considering voicing it to Frank. But as we know, the man can read you like a book at this point so after a minute you feel him tug your back flush against his front, his arm pinning the length of your body to him and he whispers "Relax f'me doll" into your ear. He takes your leg to drape over his hip and slips his hand into the waistband of your pants, his fingers quickly finding your nub swollen and your folds already drenched. It only takes him two minutes of massaging and circling your needy pearl before you're whimpering and trembling at his hand and he's murmuring "attagirl" as you cum. You're nearly asleep by the time he's done but you feel the steely press of his cock against your back and make to reach behind to free it, feeling obligated to return the favor. He only pushes your hand away and says "Sleep sweetheart," knowing you were near unconscious as it was.
The next morning you're awoken with a cramp tearing through you, the delicious relief of Curtis' pain meds fully worn away and your whimpering awakens Frank. Again he tugs you close, his hand landing on the swell of your uterus and he starts soft circles on your skin, instructing you to "breathe babydoll" and you obey, his rhythm slowly soothing away the cramp. Relaxed again, you tug Frank's hand lower to your waistband again, a timid "please" while shame prickled through you at the request. Frank makes quick work of massaging your needy nub but this time he tugs your pajamas off the swell of your ass and you feel his hardness press against your entrance. You make to stop him "Frank you don't have to, it'll be a mess" but he just shushes you with a chuckle like "I can handle a little blood sweetheart," before the sheer size of him slowly presses into you. He's gentle and rhythmic, making sure he did all the work, grunting as he bottoms out in you and slowly presses back in over and over until he feels your walls clamp and flutter.
Listen I'd be looking forward to my period if it were like this lol.
how would Frank react to reader getting her period in the middle of the night and ruining the bedsheets? I need to know (btw ur my fav author and make me smile hope u had a wonderful day<3)
I actually suspect he'd handle it exactly the way my (now) husband handled it when I DESTROYED a HOTEL BED in LAS VEGAS llmmaaaoooo.
I think in general, anything period-related Frank is going to be literally so chill with. You're all worried he's gonna be grossed out as if the man has seen blood from every part of the human body before.
Frank and Periods
Your period is 3 days early and way heavier than normal, effectively destroying the bedsheets as you sleep. Mercifully, your cramps are nonexistent, which is why your period actually doesn't wake you up, Frank does.
He's kissing your forehead as you're splayed across his chest, gently pivoting your body so that he can free himself to get you a washcloth. You feel him leave, whining and mumbling "Frankie," and he crouches beside the bed, keeping his voice low and his tone soft, saying "Gonna get you cleaned up honey, just relax."
He leaves for the bathroom and you make yourself sit up, rubbing at your eyes as the hall light flicks on. That's when you notice it, the crimson red stain blooming from your sleep shorts and along your inner thighs, coating your bed beneath you.
"Oh my god," you mutter, scooching up the bed an inch as you make sense of it, "oh no," you whimper.
Frank is already back beside you in the bedroom, the sound of the bathtub running down the hall. He's got a warm washcloth in his hand as he sits beside you on the bed.
"Hey hey, it's alright sweetheart. Gonna get it all cleaned up ok? Lemme get some off here and then I want you to sit in the bath while I fix the bed alright?" he coos, already at work swiping your inner thighs with the warm cloth.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry Frank," you mumble, still half-asleep as your brain catches up.
"Don't even think about it --I don't wanna hear apologies babydoll. I mean it," he says, meeting your eye. "Can't control this stuff alright? Happens sometimes," he says as he returns to cleaning you.
When he's deemed you decently cleaned he sends you off to the bathtub for a few minutes while he freshens the bed, stripping the sheets and fitting it with a new set, leaving a fresh pair of pajamas on your pillow.
He finds you in the tub to help you out, offering his hands for balance and drying you off, his strong hands gliding up and down your arms, then your hips, then your legs, shimmying your body with the towel. When he's done, he gives you a moment of privacy to use whatever products you need. You find him in the bedroom again, a glass of water and advil in hand as he holds them out to you.
"Take this babygirl and get your pajamas on," he says, handing over the medicine and kissing your head again. You comply, feeling infinitely better at the sensation of clean pajamas in clean sheets.
Frank climbs in beside you and you lay facing away from him, giving him space after needing to deal with your mess but he's having none of it, tugging you into his big spoon and murmuring, "Nice try, gotta try harder than that to get rid of me."
One thing tho -- Frank doesn't just tolerate, he enjoys period sex. You're skittish about it at first, certain he'd be turned off by the gore of it all but of course Frank isn't a phased a bit.
He wants you comfortable though so he keeps the lights low (normally he wants to see every goddamn thing) because he knows you're a bit more relaxed that way and he lays down a towel and keeps another nearby, occasionally wiping himself clean so you didn't catch a glimpse and get self-conscious.
He loved that it made him slow down, be tender. Sometimes he needed the reminder. He knew you were achey-- your cramps clawing at your belly and your breasts swollen and sensitive. And he made himself handle you accordingly-- all soft touches and quiet murmurs and gentle movements. He instructed you to "lie still sweetheart, I'll do the lifting" and he meant it. Any angle he took you he made sure to move you there himself, adjusting your limbs carefully and asking "this alright baby? Not hurtin' are you?"
He was careful not to go as deep as usual, grinding his jaw from the restraint. You had mentioned once that the fullness felt nice, the gentle pressure of him against your walls easing the constant ache below your waist and he took the note, going slow and positioning you so that the angle felt just a bit tighter. Sometimes even pausing in place, stretching you full and rubbing your back, asking "Feels nice like this babygirl?"
When you came, he hunched over you, his length still buried deep and he cradled your head so that the spasms weren't so taxing on you, cooing "That's it sweetheart, feelin' better?" as you whimpered beneath him.
When he was done, his aftercare was unmatched, wiping you clean with a warm cloth before you were allowed to leave the bed. He let you tend to your needs in the bathroom while he changed the sheets and made you climb right back in the bed, heating pad already warming and raspberry leaf tea brewing. He tended to you with a softness usually reserved for sickly women in Victorian novels-- offering you clean pajamas and spoon-feeding you hot soup. You felt silly, the whole thing felt silly, and when you expressed it to Frank he only winked and said "Nothin's too silly when it comes to my girl"
I would absolutely love to get some writing done but my PMS ain't helping things so bear with me for a bit my dears. I've learned not to force these things so I'll write as soon as I've got that spark.
Hello!! we have my mom staying with us after a minor op and she's been here for a week so far. It's going well, and I love my mom but me and my partner don't have a huge apartment and he's struggling 🫣😂😂 what ur take on Frank in this situation pleeeease
omg Frank is a PERFECT buffer in these situations, I just know it. I've always said Frank is a charmer with parents, especially moms. He knows how to deflect attention off of you so artfully that it should be studied. His man objective is two things: Keep the peace between you and your mom and make sure you have some private time and space.
So he's making sure that your mom has what she needs before she even needs to ask. She's all stocked up on meds and water and pillows and the TV remote. And then he's sending you on some fake quick errands to get you out of the house now and then. He "needs" shaving cream. He's "craving" a hot dog from the bodega thats further away. And he's stuffing cash in your hand and giving you a wink and whispering for you to bring your book and go to the coffee shop instead. I think he'd also book you a hotel room for a night and lie to your mom and saying you were staying at a friend's place. And then Frank would dutifully plop down one the chair next to your mom for the evening and watch whatever movie she wanted.
Now he'd be struggling in the sex department because he, unfortunately, is a gentleman and probably wouldn't have sex while your mom is in the apartment but he would sneak out after your mom fell asleep to meet you at the hotel room. No mmaaayyybbeee there's a time where he got a peak of your tits when your robe gaped open and he was so miserable and desperate that he'd close the bedroom door, put a hand over your mouth and fuck you against the wall for a quickie. He'd feel so bad gagging you like that though so he'd really be cooing with the praise "Fuck I'm so sorry sweetheart, actin' like an animal like this. Gonna make it up you to you ok baby? Gonna take my time between your legs when he have the place to ourselves again. Can you just take me like this right now? Thaaaat's it little mama, feelin' how tight it is now yeah? S'alright, you can cum if you need to baby, I'll keep you quiet."
brat tamer frank (sexual and non sexual) im SWOONING!!! or maybe im just a freak
Oh yeah, that's the good stuff in my opinion. I yearn to be an insufferable brat and then put in my place lol.
Frank is always pulling the move where's stopping everything he's doing until he has your undivided attention. Even if it's something you.... really want him to keep doing. You could whine and whimper all you want but until you're looking and listening, he's not moving again. He's stretching you to the hilt, completely still inside you and saying "Eyes. C'mon mama. Eyes on me or we stop, understood?"
If you're being rude to him or someone else because you're hungry or tired sometimes he'll pause for a sec and fix his eyes on you and say "Wanna give that another try sweetheart?" and if you still persist he'll say "You sure about that doll?"
But, he's also quick to get soft when the indiscretion has been settled. So maybe you were a hangry brat for a bit but he got you lunch and you were back to yourself so he'd kiss your forehead and say "Did a good job on your lunch sweetheart. Gotta listen to me next time though alright? When I say it's time for a snack, it's cuz I know ya' need one baby."
He keeps it discreet in public but he still does it. If you're on some bullshit, he just puts a firm, anchoring hand on your low back and your shoulders always stiffen just a hair because you know what's coming and he hunches over so he can talk directly into your ear and says something like "Don't like the attitude I'm seein' babygirl so let's cut that out understand?" and then immediately stands back up to his full height and drops the hand.
Sometimes he makes you apologize, but never to him. If you were uncharacteristically rude to a barista or had an argument with your sister, after all was said and done he'd say "Think it's time for an apology now yeah?" and you'd offer one up quick to him but he'd stop you with "Nah, not for me babygirl. I don't need sorries sweetheart. You and i will sort that out together later. Want you to apologize to your sister"
Now Frank does use sex for taming too. So if you'd just been a real brat all day long, Frank would sorta just let it all play out because he had every intention of settling things later. He's just the picture of endless patience as you complain or boss him all day but when you get to the bedroom? Frank is sorta relentless. He doesn't do it by withholding (he's never withholding in that regardless), he does it with overstimulation. He's demanding. "I don't think we're done here yet babygirl," as he's flipping you over and drawing another orgasm out. You'e shaking and quivering, barely holding your body up on your hands and knees and Frank just splays a big hand on your bare back and rubs soft circles as he says "Gonna give you minute doll. You need a pillow sweetheart? We've got more to do." He's not rough, per se-- just relentless with every next move mapped out. Eventually you'd sort of deliriously start apologizing, unprompted. This is the signal to Frank that you're getting the breakdown you needed so he turns gentle quickly, "Sssh ssshh, it's feelin' good now sweetheart? Attagirl, ain't gotta talk alright? Need me to ease up a little baby? Let's get you more comfortable."
i work at a little farm and in our area where we are located there has been a rise of theft. sometimes i am there alone and today it has really put me on edge to the point of tears. thinking of frank is my only comfort to go back tomorrow
oh no!!! Ugh that's so scary. I hope everything is ok.
Good lord Frank would ream the hell out of the owners for letting you (or ANY woman who works there) be there alone IN GENERAL, let alone when the area has been having theft issues. This isn't even a situation when Frank would wait for you in the car, Frank is just parking his ass right next to you for the whole shift. And if some women is on the shift following yours, Frank is making sure she's got someone who can sit with her. It's a stranger to Frank but you come out from the bathroom on your way to leave and Frank is saying to her "Ok and you called them? And they're on the way now? Alright me and my girl are gonna wait the 20 minutes with you alright?" Like Frank doesn't fuck around with that kind of negligence.
hi bbg!! for the man who wants nothing (as in, physical gifts) what do you think frank would like for christmas, birthdays, etc.?
This is SO hard. Because he legit wants nothing. I truly do think that Frank would be the most grateful for quality time. So maybe you plan a weekend off work, with no phones, out in a cabin, with books and a fire and, explicitly, with a lot of sex. That's a part of the deal. I think it would truly be Frank's favorite type of gift.
Like he just wants you all to himself with no one or nothing stealing away bits of your attention. And that's hard in day to day life so if you promised him total seclusion and basically let him "be in charge" of you? Like -- he gets to pick out you do or don't wear, he decides bedtime, he decides activities, he decides meals. You really just relinquish it all over to him to make the weekend of his dreams, he'd be GIDDY. He'd also definitely make you sit on a boat at dawn while he fishes but he'd be sure to wrap you up in blankets with a thermos of coffee first.
And girl the way this would UNLOCK some new level of soft dom behavior?! Like he's obviously gonna want you in a bra and panties the whole weekend and so if you tried to get bashful about it or something he'd be purring "Eh eh, my weekend isn't sweetheart? Don't wanna break my heart do you? Gonna be a good girl and listen like you promised baby?" as he's holding your chin and making you look him in the eye. Or if you don't finish a meal after a long session in the bedroom he'd be all "C'mon doll, know you need more than that. Gotta be starvin' after all that. Can you be good for me and finish your steak?" I mean, you DID give the man permission to be in charge.
And of course, the man knows your boundaries and would still respect if you said no to something. It's just the gesture that the weekend is about HIM and HIS pleasure.
hi could you mayhaps do a reader with POTS? or anything where the reader gets lightheaded and dizzy easy? like maybe reader keeps trying to do a simple task or chore but after they’re just super burnt out. (when i bend down or even lean my head back it gets the WORST) so i can see frank SENSING when i start to bend down and him immediately getting up to catch me just in case i pass out
i can also see him standing on business when someone has something to say about what reader goes through or how they’re just lazy… dreamy sigh
who is doing thinks around the house? is there any gender role in this relationships? maybe the girl is cooking, frank is doing everything else?
I think Frank would want it whatever way YOU wanted it--- within reason. If you were like "I love cooking and it relaxes me and I want to make dinner every night," he'd happily eat every meal and gush that it was perfect and ask you to make his favorite and pull up a chair in the kitchen to watch and talk while you cooked. But if you said "I just love taking out the trash," (lol) Frank would be like "Ain't lettin' you do that, sorry sweetheart."
Cleaning the bathroom? Nah, Frank's not about to have you touching toilets.
Making the bed? Sure, if you get to it, but Frank is usually faster.
Dusting? He does love watching you listen to music and bop around with the little feather wand but then after your asleep he dusts "for real" because he's particular.
Mopping? Never you. He's gonna have you lifting a heavy bucket of water? Be real. You're on the couch with your feet up while the floor dries.
Vacuuming? Sure, he doesn't have an objection but he does objectively do it better than you because his carpet lines are CRISP.
Dishes? No, that's messy and gross and you've got your pretty dress/pajamas/ratty tshirt/etc on.
So Frank believes in some gender roles but really only the ones that benefit you lol. Basically, you are a princess angel and Frank wants you to do what you love and pretty much not a moment of something you don't love. Frank needs something to care for. Caring for you and making the house or apartment a place you're happy in is very fulfilling for him.
summary : you're untouched, inexperienced, and completely wrong for a man like Frank Castle. Which is exactly why he can’t stay away from you.
word count : 7.6 k
warnings : buckle up bc this is a long one - smut, minors DNI, 18 +, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap that shi up), popping of one's cherry, mentions of blood, soft but not really!frank, implied age gap, inexperienced reader, praise kink, size kink, canon-typical mentions of violence, explicit language
a/n: yall come up with the shit i wouldn't even think abt (like this here) but im always so glad to write it !!! my requests are open to any and all characters, so keep em comin' - as usual, not proofread !
Karen introduced you to Frank Castle on a Tuesday, and afterward you blamed her for it constantly. At first, he was just the terrifying guy who showed up at her apartment bleeding half to death and refusing medical help like it was a personality trait. You thought he was rude. He thought you talked too much. Karen thought you were both idiots almost immediately.
But then Frank kept showing up. Always with some excuse. Information for Matt. Coffee for Karen. Food nobody asked for. And somehow he always lingered longer when you were there too. You fell for him slowly.
In stupid little pieces.
The way he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. The way he automatically walked closest to the street at night. The way his giant terrifying self softened every time you laughed at one of his dry muttered jokes like he couldn’t help it.
And Frank— God.
Frank fell hard.
Karen noticed first.
“You’re staring again,” she told him one night while you sat on the floor stealing fries from the takeout container in your lap.
“I ain’t starin’.”
“You absolutely are." Frank looked at you like you were something dangerous in the best possible way. Like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure he was allowed to. That was the thing about him. He never pushed.
Not once.
You dated other guys before Frank. Plenty. But they always got impatient eventually. Always acted like sex was some finish line they deserved to cross if they waited long enough. So you kept saying no. And after enough bad experiences, the fear just… stayed. Frank never made you feel guilty for it. The two of you became disgustingly affectionate anyway. Constantly touching. Your legs over his lap on the couch. His hand at your back guiding you through crowds. Falling asleep tangled together during movies. Stealing his shirts. Sitting between his knees while he cleaned guns and listening to him grumble about your taste in music. But every time things almost turned sexual, panic crept in. And every single time, Frank stopped immediately. One night he walked you home and looked at your mouth long enough to make your knees weak.
“If I kiss you,” he asked quietly, “you tellin’ me to stop?” You panicked. And Frank stepped back instantly like your comfort mattered more than breathing. That was probably when you realized you loved him. Not because he wanted you. Because he didn’t need anything from you to stay.
----------
You stand in the bedroom, pacing back and forth, chewing on your thumb.
God, you feel so stupid.
Your heart is pounding hard enough to make your ribs ache. You’ve faced armed men before. You’ve patched bullet wounds with shaking hands. You’ve stared down monsters and lived through it. And somehow this is worse. Because this is Frank.
Frank, who kisses your shoulder every morning without fail.
Frank, who drapes himself over you on the couch like a weighted blanket because he knows you secretly love it.
Frank, who always reaches for your hand first in crowded places.
Frank, who has spent months loving you with his entire body while carefully avoiding the one line you kept drawing between you.
Not because you hated touch.
God, no.
You’re practically glued to him half the time. You sit in his lap while he cleans guns. Fall asleep with your face in his neck. Steal his shirts and crawl into his arms every night like it’s instinct. And the need that crawls inside your skin when you see him shirtless, or doing anything with his hands- god. It's insatiable.
But sex— Sex always felt different to you.
Too vulnerable.
Too permanent.
Too much.
And every guy before Frank eventually got tired of waiting. Some were patient at first. Most pretended to be. Then came the guilt trips. The sighs. The passive-aggressive comments. The inevitable: What, you don’t trust me?
And eventually, somehow, time just… kept passing. Until suddenly you were here.
A grown virgin.
In Frank’s apartment.
In Frank’s clothes.
Hopelessly in love with a man who has never once made you feel bad for being scared. Which honestly makes this so much harder. You stop pacing long enough to stare at yourself in the mirror.
“You are a grown woman,” you mutter weakly. The reflection looks unconvinced. From the living room, you hear the low murmur of the TV and the faint clink of a beer bottle against the coffee table. Frank’s home from a job. Showered already. Clean black t-shirt. Gray sweats hanging low on his hips. You know because you’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying not to think about it. You squeeze your eyes shut.
Fuck it.
Before you can lose your nerve, you walk out into the living room. Frank’s sprawled on the couch, one arm stretched across the back cushions, beer balanced against his stomach while some old war documentary drones quietly from the television. The second he sees you hovering there, he frowns slightly.
“You alright, baby?” he asks. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Frank immediately sits up straighter.
“That bad, huh?” You blurt it before you lose your nerve.
“Frank, I want to have sex with you.” Frank spits beer all over himself. You jump backward as he starts choking violently.
“Jesus Christ—”
“Oh my God.” He’s coughing hard enough his face turns red.
“Sorry-shit-” Frank wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at you like you just confessed to arson. “You—what?” Your face burns.
“Well now I regret bringin’ it up.”
“No, hold on.” He sets the beer down carefully like sudden movements might scare you off. “What?” You groan and cover your face.
“This is humiliating.”
“Sweetheart.” His voice softens immediately. “C’mere.” You shake your head aggressively.
“No, because now you’re gonna look at me weird.”
“I have literally never looked at you weird a day in my life.”
“You absolutely have.”
“Okay, fair. But not for this.” You peek at him through your fingers. Frank still looks stunned. Not upset. Not uncomfortable. Just deeply confused. “You wanna…” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “With me?”
“Frank, there are no other people in this apartment.”
“That ain’t what I mean.” You know that. Your stomach twists violently. Frank studies you carefully now, all teasing gone.
“I thought you didn’t want that stuff,” he says gently. “And I was okay with that.”
“I do want it.”
“Then why’ve you looked ready to bolt every time things got heated?” Your face gets hotter.
“Because I’ve never done it before.” Silence. Frank blinks once.
“…done what before?” You stare at the floor.
“Any of it.” Another beat. Then:
“…Baby.” You want the earth to swallow you whole.
“I’m a virgin, okay? I've never been kissed, never been touched by anyone except myself. ” you blurt out finally. “And before you make a face about it—”
“I ain’t makin’ a face.”
“You are internally.”
“I’m really not.” You risk a glance up. He genuinely isn’t. He just looks… shocked.
“You never—?”
“No.”
“And nobody ever—?”
“No.” Frank leans back slowly against the couch cushions like he just got hit with something.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know. God, i'm so fucking embarassing.”
“No, sweetheart, I just—” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I thought maybe you just weren’t comfortable with physical intimacy.” You snort nervously.
“I’m literally attached to your spine twenty-four hours a day.”
“That’s true.”
“I love physical stuff.” Your voice gets smaller. “I just… wanted my first time to actually mean something.” Frank goes very still at that. “And all the guys before you kept acting like they deserved it eventually because they waited long enough.” You shrug tightly. “So I kept saying no.” Something ugly flashes across Frank’s face. Not at you. Never at you. At them.
“I’m gonna need names,” he mutters darkly. Despite everything, you laugh.
“No, you absolutely do not.”
“They sound annoyin’.”
“They were.” A silence settles between you. Not awkward. Just… full. Frank looks at you for a long second, something almost painful softening his face.
“You know I’d wait forever, right?” he says quietly. Your chest aches instantly.
“I know.”
“And I mean forever.”
“I know.”
“You don’t gotta prove anythin’ to me.” Your throat tightens.
“That’s kinda the problem,” you admit softly. Frank frowns slightly.
“What d’you mean?”
You stare down at your hands.
“I mean…” God. “I’m not doing this because I feel pressured.” Your voice gets quieter. “I’m doing it because I’m in love with you and I trust you and I think about you constantly.” Frank exhales sharply.
“You gotta stop sayin’ stuff like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tryin’ real hard to keep actin’ normal.” Your stomach flips. You walk closer to him, just so he can drag you to stand between his legs, his hands on your waist. You force yourself to keep talking before fear catches up again.
“I think about you kissing me,” you admit quietly. “And touching me.” Your face burns hotter. “And I think about your hands a lot, which honestly feels medically concerning at this point.” Frank makes a strangled sound. You look up just in time to see him drag a hand over his face.
“Sweetheart,” he rasps.
“And I know I’m late to all this and weird about it and probably overthinking everything—”
“Hey.” His voice cuts through immediately. Firm. “None of that.” You stop. Frank leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours with that terrifying intensity he gets when he means something completely. “There is nothin’ wrong with you.” Emotion punches straight through your chest. He softens instantly seeing your face change.
“C’mere,” he says quietly. This time, you go immediately. Frank catches you the second you lean into him, pulling you straight into his lap like it’s instinct. His arms wrap around your waist automatically, warm and solid and safe, and you bury your face in his neck with a shaky breath.
“There she is,” he murmurs softly against your hair. You cling harder.
“I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
“You still want me?” Frank actually leans back enough to look offended.
“Baby, I have wanted you since the second you yelled at me in Karen’s kitchen for bleeding on her floor.” A startled laugh escapes you.
“You remember that?”
“You threatened me with a mop.”
“You were bleeding everywhere.”
“And I still thought you were cute.” You groan into his shoulder.
“This is awful.”
“No,” he says softly, one hand sliding up your back. “This is you trustin’ me.” His thumb strokes slowly along your spine.
“You sure about this?” he asks quietly. You nod against him.
“Yeah.”
“And if you change your mind at any point?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“And then we stop."
“Yes.” Frank studies your face carefully for another second. Then his hand slides gently into your hair.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly. Your heart practically stops. You nod once.
“Yeah.” Frank closes the distance so gently you almost don’t feel it at first—just the soft, rough drag of his thumb along your jaw, then his lips, warm and chapped, brushing yours. It’s not the kind of kiss you expected from Frank. You were bracing for a car wreck, something bruising and violent, the way he is on a job. But it’s nothing like that. He kisses you so slow, so careful, like you might shatter.
You don’t shatter. Not exactly. But the sensation is so intense you feel yourself splitting open from the inside out. His hand cups the back of your head, steadying you.
He pulls back barely an inch.
“You okay?” Voice low, hoarse.
You nod, but it’s not enough, so you push forward, mouth crashing into his, desperate for the centrifugal force he’s been holding back. He lets you, lets you climb messily into his lap, lets you fist your hands in his shirt. And when your tongue nudges against his, Frank gives a little grunt and opens for you, just a hair, just enough. Every nerve in your body catches fire. You’d thought, maybe, that the first time would feel awkward. Like taking a test you never studied for. But Frank makes it easy. He keeps checking in with you, saying your name between kisses, grounding you with his hands, never letting you get lost in the panic of it. At some point, you realize you’re straddling his thighs and he’s got one palm splayed wide over your lower back, the other bracing your jaw, like he’s afraid you’ll tip out of gravity if he ever lets go.
“You still good?” he rasps.
“Yes,” you say, and it comes out as a gasp. You’re trembling. Not with fear—the opposite. You want to crawl out of your skin. Frank’s hands are on your hips now, then under your shirt,dragging slow up your ribs. He keeps it gentle, keeps it steady, like he’s reading your mind. When his thumb sweeps over one nipple, you arch so hard you nearly headbutt him. He huffs a tiny laugh, then grins, wide and wolfish.
“Sensitive?”
“Shut up.” He does, at least for a second. His mouth finds your neck, then your collarbone, then the top of your breast. He peppers all of it with slow, open-mouthed kisses that threaten to melt your brain. He lifts the hoodie up and off in one slow motion, and you almost laugh at yourself for being nervous; it’s just Frank, looking at you like he’s been starving and you’re the only meal he’s ever wanted.
“Christ,” he says, low and reverent, and runs a thumb just under the swell of your breast, gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll spook. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters, and the words go straight to your cunt. You whine, grinding down against him on instinct, and he groans, hands darting out to steady you. He kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you part for him. You feel his hands everywhere—your back, your hips, your thighs—steadying you, coaxing you closer. His touch is a little rough around the edges, always bordering on too much, but never quite crossing the line. He’s so careful with you it almost breaks your heart. He pulls back long enough to look you up and down, like he’s memorizing you. There’s a heat in his eyes that makes you shiver, but it’s the possessiveness that really undoes you. Like he can’t believe you’re letting him see you like this.
“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, low and rough, and you nearly combust. You can’t stop touching him—his shoulders, his jaw, the back of his neck. He likes it, you can tell, because he keeps pressing you closer, like he wants to crawl inside your skin.
“Can I touch you?” you whisper. You don’t even recognize your own voice, breathy and shaking. Frank’s face goes soft, like you just handed him a live wire and told him to hold it for you.
“Baby, you can do whatever you want to me.” He grins, then kisses you again, slow and deep, while guiding your hands under his shirt. You run your fingers over his chest, all scars and muscle and heat. His skin is hot to the touch, the steady beat of his heart pounding under your palms. You dig your nails in, just a little, and Frank makes a sound that’s half-growl, half-moan, like he’s straining not to just take you apart right there.
“You good?” he asks again, voice ragged. You nod, then remember to say it:
“Yeah. Yes. I’m good—you’re…” You can’t finish the sentence, so you just kiss him again. It feels less scary now, more inevitable, like gravity. He lets you push him back against the couch, your thighs tight around his waist. His hands slip from your ribs to your ass, squeezing gently, like he’s testing how much you can take. You whimper, hips jerking forward, rubbing against the hard line of him through his sweats. Frank curses, low and frantic, and you get drunk on the sound.
“Shit, sweetheart,” he pants. “Gotta slow down or I’m gonna blow it before we even start.”
“Don’t slow down,” you say. “I want—” You don’t know how to finish the sentence. Frank does it for you.
“You want me?” He’s grinning, but his eyes are almost desperate.
“Yes,” you say. “Frank, I want you.” Something in him snaps. He reaches down, clearing his throat as he taps your thighs.
“Sit up, baby.” He hums. You lean forward, sitting up on your knees. His hands are slow and careful as they pull down your shorts, and you bite your bottom lip as he softly coaxes it off your legs. Your wet cunt soaks through your panties, and when you sit back down on his sweatpants, that extra barrier of tissue removed makes the strain in his pants much bigger against you. He’s hard as hell now, and you can feel the heat of him even through his boxers. Your thighs tremble. The air in the apartment seems thinner, more electric. Frank’s hands run reverently up your thighs, slow, no rush, but the tension in his arms says he’s holding himself back. It makes you feel powerful. It makes you feel safe.
“Gonna take these off, sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb sliding under the band of your panties. He’s watching your face, checking for panic. There isn’t any. Not anymore. You nod, and he peels them down, slow, exposing you inch by inch. When the fabric finally drags off your ankles, you’re left straddling his lap, bare except for your tank top, skin goosepimpled and desperate. Frank’s hands splay wide over the soft meat of your ass, kneading you, warm and solid. He guides you forward, grinding you down against the bulge of his cock, and you gasp. The friction’s almost too much. Not enough. You can feel yourself slick up, can see it glistening on his gray sweats when you grind on him again.
“Fuck, look at you,” Frank rasps, voice tight. “So fuckin’ wet, baby.”
Your face should be burning, but you just want more. You want him everywhere. You want to come apart all over him. It makes you brave.
“Can I see you?” you whisper, hands curling under the hem of his shirt. Frank doesn’t answer. He just lifts his arms, lets you peel the shirt up and off, revealing the wild scar-mapped planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle , the old bullet wound you once stitched shut with trembling hands. You run your fingertips over every inch, tracing him like you’re memorizing a map you’ll never get to visit again. He shivers under your touch.
“God,” you murmur, awe in your voice. He grins, lopsided and a little shy, and pulls you in for another kiss. This one’s dirtier—the way his tongue drags over yours, the way his hands squeeze your waist, the press of his cock as he grinds up into you. He’s leaking through his boxers now, hot and slick, and you rub yourself shamelessly against it, chasing the friction. Frank groans, deep and desperate.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he breathes. “We got time.” You don’t know how you’ll survive it. He nudges your thighs apart, makes a show of looking down at the space between your bodies. All his focus is on you: on your bare knees bracketing his hips, the hungry, worshipful way your chest rises and falls with each shaky breath. It’s more than he deserves, and he wants to say something gentle to you, but all that comes out is a low,
“Fuck, baby. You’re drivin’ me crazy.” You laugh, but it’s nervous, hands trembling a little as you brace them on his shoulders. Frank has to slow down, to make sure his hands are steady as he slides them up and down your sides. You’re soaking wet—so wet the slick’s already darkened the front of his sweats, and his cock is straining, thick and angry, beneath the fabric. The look on your face terrifies and thrills him, like you’re balancing right on the edge of a rooftop, dizzy from the height and the want. He wants to say something to make it easier.
“Hey. We can stop anytime, you hear me?” He cups your face in one big hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. You nod, but the motion’s a little frantic, like you’re trying to prove you’re not scared. He’s never seen anyone so fucking brave.
“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, voice shaking, “I just—” You squeeze your eyes shut, like you’re embarrassed. Your hands dig into his shoulders. “Frank, I don’t know what to do.” He nods, softly guiding your hands down to his sweats. He kisses your temple.
“Take these off.” Your hands fumble at the waistband, palms slick, vision swimming with nerves and need. You hook your fingers under the elastic and pull, unsure, but he lifts his hips to help and the gray cotton peels away easy as a wish. His cock springs free, heavy, flushed, the head slicked already, and you stare, breath burning in your throat.
He’s… god, he’s big.
You don’t even have enough data points to compare, but your brain still tries, and it short-circuits. Frank watches you with a patience that’s almost predatory, like he’s holding himself together with staples and baling wire. His hand covers yours, guiding it, and you curl your fingers delicately around the shaft. He hisses, jaw clenched, and the muscles in his thighs jump against your knees. Your thumb drags along the vein, and god, it’s hot, how responsive he is. How it makes him shudder.
“You’re a quick study,” Frank murmurs, voice gone low and rough. “Jesus.” He slides his hand up your thigh, kneading gently, and then reaches between them, thumb brushing over you where you’re soaked and swollen. The touch is electric, makes you jerk forward, grinding against his cock. The head bumps you clit, and you whimper, dizzy with it. He holds you by the hip, steadying, anchoring.
“You want to keep going, baby?” You nod, frantic and eager. He grins, but there’s an edge to it; it looks like he might snap in half from wanting her. You bite your bottom lip, face flushed. Frank’s watching your face hard.
“Hey. You okay?” You nod, eyes never leaving him. He’s so solid. So alive. The kind of body that absorbs bullets and wins bar fights and breaks things for a living. You want it inside you. That realization hits so hard it makes you whimper. Frank bites the inside of his cheek, hand gentle as it cups your jaw, pulling you back to him for a kiss. “Don’t gotta do anything you don’t want,” he rumbles. “Just say the word.” You shake your head.
“I want to. I just…” The words get stuck in your throat, so you scrape them out: “I don’t want to be bad at it.” Frank actually laughs, low, delighted.
“You’re not gonna be bad at anything, baby. Not with me.” He pulls you in and the kiss goes molten, needier, his hands anchoring your hips and rocking you down against his cock, bare now, the heat and velvet of it dizzying between your legs. He groans into your mouth, one hand finding your thigh and urging it higher, opening you more. The stretch is intense but perfect; you want to be wrecked by him, want to feel it for days. He strokes his thumb up and down your thigh and says, almost reverent,
“You’re dripping.” You hide your face in his neck, mortified, but his hand finds your hair and tugs you back, just a little, so you have to look at him. “Nothin’ to be nervous about,” he says softly. “This is supposed to feel good, sweetheart. Let me make it good for you.” You nod, not trusting your voice. Frank sucks in a harsh breath and lines himself up, guiding the head of his cock through your slick folds, rubbing slow circles right at your entrance. You see stars. Every part of you is wound so tight you feel like a strummed string.
“Gonna go slow, okay?” he murmurs. He’s all gentleness, which would piss you off if you weren’t so desperate for it. His cock pushes in, just the tip at first, and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders for something to hold. There’s an ache, deep and unfamiliar, but it’s not bad. Not really. Frank watches your face, waiting for a flinch, for a stop, but you just nod and grind down, needing more. He exhales sharp, lets you take him another inch. Then another.
“There you go,” he says, voice a rumble in your chest, “you’re doing so good—shit, better than good, you’re doing fuckin’ amazing.” The pain is blinding. Stars explode behind your eyes, your eyes clenched shut. You’re clinging to him, shaking, every muscle locked up with that dizzying, too-much pressure. Your nails dig into his shoulders so hard he thinks he’ll feel them for days. The pain-pleasure blend is exquisite. Frank moves slow, gives you time, lets you adjust, but it’s still a stretch—he’s not small, and your body’s never done this before. He cups the back of your neck, thumb stroking over the spot just under your ear.
“Breathe, baby. That’s it. You’re doin’ perfect. All you gotta do is breathe for me.” You nod, jaw clenched, and force yourself to inhale. The ache eases a little, edges softening, and then you’re not so much impaled as full.
So, so full.
Like Frank is the only thing holding you to the world now, insides stretched almost to breaking, but in a way that makes you feel alive and forged. He’s not moving, just letting you get used to it. You try to shift, testing the fit, and holy shit, it’s… you have no words. It’s everything. His patience is infuriating and tender at once.
“Hurts?” he asks, all concern and hands.
“Yeah. But… not bad.” You burrow against him, seeking his pulse with your lips, needing the distraction. “Just—give me a second.” He does. He’d sit here all night if you needed, hold you open and safe, and never ask for more than you could give. But it doesn’t take long.
You’re greedy beneath the nerves, hips rolling forward for more before you’re halfway ready. Frank groans, the sound vibrating through her whole body, and drops his head back against the couch. His hands find your waist, bracing you, guiding every tentative movement. He’s letting you control this, but he’s not shy about what he wants, either; he helps you set a rhythm, each grind down taking him deeper, your slickness making it easier with every slow, careful stroke. Frank’s hands steady your hips, anchoring you to him, and every measured inch you take feels like the world dividing into before and after. Your thighs tremble, every muscle in yout legs a live wire; your knees dig into the worn cushion, and you’tr sure there will be bruises tomorrow, bruises shaped like Frank’s hands and your own hunger. You can’t imagine anything more perfect.
It’s all so much. Too much, and not enough. Every time you rocks your hips down, he lets you take what you want, but the stretch is so heavy it’s almost dizzying. Your breath comes out in little, shaky bursts, and your hands scrabble for purchase—his shoulders, the rough line of his jaw, the knotted muscle of his biceps. He likes that, you can tell by the way his whole body goes taut when she squeezes. You lose yourself in the mess of it, in the heat pressed chest-to-chest, in the pulse of his cock inside you, in the rasp of his voice when he says your name. You’re barely moving, just grinding yourself down, but it’s everything. Every inch you take feels like a little victory. Frank’s patience is a living thing, the tension in his arms shaking by the second, and the only way he lets it show is the bite of his fingers into you skin and the scruff of his jaw brushing you cheek.
“Attagirl,” he rumbles, voice shredded. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good.” You whimper, overwhelmed. The pain’s still there, but smaller now, a bright spot eclipsed by the full, shuddering pleasure carving up your spine. You shift your hips forward again and the angle changes and—oh—your thighs lock up with the shock of it. You gasp, head falling forward onto his shoulder, hair falling between your faces. Frank groans, arms squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe, and the sound is so raw, so animal, you want to cry. You try to move, to find a rhythm, but it’s awkward at first, your body still learning the mechanics. Frank seems to sense it, thumbs stroking slow circles into your hip bones, talking you through it with broken little instructions.
“Just like that,” he says, his hand guiding the small of your back. “Easy, sweetheart. Let me help you.” He moves with you, not against, and suddenly it clicks, your hips rolling forward and up, down, forward and up, and his cock—God, it’s so deep—rubs along something inside you that makes your whole body lock up. You cry out, surprised. Frank’s teeth find your shoulder, biting down just enough to ground you, and then he’s kissing the spot, like an apology.
“Good?” he grits out, barely holding on. You nod, but it’s not enough, so you rock down harder, desperate for more. The friction is brutal, the stretch never-ending, and you want it to last forever and end now, all at once. You grab his face in both hands and kisses him, messy, desperate, Your tears breaking loose and trailing down your nose onto his face. Frank's breath hitches, and for a second, you think you've broken him. His whole body goes rigid under you, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, like he's trying to crawl inside you through your mouth. One of his hands slides up your back, fisting in your hair, holding you in place while the other grips your hip, guiding you into a rhythm that's less tentative and more purposeful.
"Fuck, baby," he pants against your lips. You try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob. You're overwhelmed—by the sensation, by the emotion, by the sheer Frankness of it all. He's everywhere. His scent, his taste, the feel of his scarred skin under your hands, the sound of his ragged breathing in your ear. It's a sensory overload that threatens to short-circuit your brain.
"Frank," you whimper, burying your face in his neck again. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can," he growls, cutting you off. He shifts his hips, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, slow and deliberate. The drag of him against your inner walls is exquisite, a perfect, friction-filled agony that makes your toes curl. "Feel that? That's you takin' me. That's you, sweetheart. All you." You nod, but it's a frantic, desperate motion. You're chasing something, a feeling building deep in your belly, a coil of heat that gets tighter with every thrust. Frank seems to sense it, his movements becoming a little more forceful, a little more confident. He's still letting you set the pace, but he's not just a passive participant anymore. He's an active force, a storm you're willingly riding.
"God, you're tight," he grits out, his voice strained. "So fuckin' tight for me. Squeezin' me so good." His words are filthy, but his tone is reverent, and the combination is heady. It makes you feel powerful, desired, like you're the only thing in the world that matters. You rock your hips faster, matching his rhythm, the awkwardness of before replaced by a desperate, primal need. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a vulgar, beautiful symphony that's all yours. Frank's hands are everywhere now—one gripping your ass, the other sliding up your back to trace the line of your spine. He's mapping you, claiming you, and you've never felt more seen. Your head falls back and Frank lets out a low guttural groan, his hands squeezing your waist to help you grind against you harder.
The new angle is a revelation. It’s like he’s found a secret switch inside you, one you didn’t even know existed. The head of his cock drags against a spot so sensitive, so electric, that a sharp cry tears from your throat. Your back arches, a deep, involuntary curve that presses your breasts against his chest, and your hands fly from his shoulders to tangle in his hair, holding on for dear life.
“Jesus,” Frank grunts, his voice a raw, ragged thing. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and intense, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face. “Right there, huh? Found it.” He doesn’t sound surprised. He sounds like a hunter who’s finally cornered his prey. He does it again, a deliberate, grinding roll of his hips that sends a shockwave of pure, unadulterated bliss through your entire system.
Your answer is a broken moan, your hips moving on their own now, chasing that feeling, chasing him. The rhythm is frantic, messy, desperate. You’re no longer thinking, no longer worrying about being good at it or doing it right. You’re just feeling. Every nerve ending is on fire, every muscle in your body strung tight as a bowstring. The coil in your belly is winding tighter and tighter, a hot, heavy pressure that promises an explosion.
“Frank, Frank, Frank,” you chant his name like a prayer, a mantra, the only word your brain can still form. It’s a plea and a praise all at once.
“I got you, baby,” he growls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of letting you lead. His hands are bruising on your hips now, his grip the only thing keeping you grounded as you start to lose yourself to the sensation. Your thighs are trembling, your whole body on fire as your hands slide up to tangle in his hair.
You've only ever come on your own fingers.
This.. This feels different.
The pressure building in your stomach is tighter, more feral.
It’s not a wave you can ride out. It’s a dam breaking. A fault line splitting open. The pressure in your stomach doesn't just crest; it detonates. A sharp, guttural cry is ripped from your throat as your entire body seizes, your back bowing so violently you’re surprised you don’t snap in two. Your inner walls clamp down on him, a rhythmic, pulsing grip that you have no control over, and the world dissolves into a blinding, white-hot static of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Your eyes go wide, at the feeling, thinking something is wrong.
"Oh my god, Frank- I - I might- I don't-"
"No, no, baby, hey, look at me." Frank's voice cuts through your panic, rough with his own impending release but sharp with command. His hands leave your hips, one flying up to cup your jaw, forcing your wide, terrified eyes to meet his. "It's not wrong. You're not wrong. You're just feelin' it. Let it happen. That's it, that's the good part." His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, a frantic, grounding motion.
"Don't fight it. Jesus Christ, don't you fuckin' fight it, just let go." Frank’s name is a shattered gasp on your lips as you shatter, your nails digging into his scalp, your body convulsing with the force of it. It’s endless, a series of crippling, ecstatic spasms that wrack you from the inside out, leaving you a trembling, boneless mess in his arms.
“Fuck,” Frank snarls, the sound torn from his own chest as your orgasm drags him over the edge with you. The tight, milking grip of your cunt is too much, a final, perfect torment. He buries himself to the hilt with a hoarse, desperate groan, his hips jerking as he pours himself into you. You feel the hot, pulsing rush of his release, a deep, primal claiming that seems to go on forever, his body shuddering against yours with the force of it. For a long, stretched-out moment, you’re both frozen, locked together in the eye of the storm. The only sounds are the frantic, ragged pulls of your breaths and the frantic hammering of his heart against your ribs. You’re limp, a dead weight in his lap, every muscle liquefied, your brain a blissful, static-filled void. You’ve never felt so completely wrecked. So completely whole.
Your entire body is spasming in his grip.
Frank’s breathing is still ragged against your throat, his arms locked around you like if he loosens his grip for even a second you’ll disappear. Your whole body trembles uncontrollably, tiny aftershocks rippling through your thighs and stomach, and he notices every single one.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice wrecked soft now. “Easy, sweetheart. I got you.” His palm slides up and down your spine slowly, grounding you back into your body piece by piece. You’re still shaking so hard your teeth almost chatter. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this exposed before. Not physically.
Emotionally.
Frank presses a kiss to your damp temple, then another to your cheek, slower this time. Careful. Like he’s trying to soothe the very nerves he just set on fire.
“You okay?” he asks again quietly. You nod weakly against his shoulder.
“I think my soul left my body.” That earns a rough little laugh out of him. The sound vibrates warm against your skin.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Mine too.” Your muscles finally start unlocking enough for you to realize how boneless you’ve gone in his lap. Frank shifts carefully beneath you with a low grunt, one hand rubbing your thigh.
“C’mere,” he says softly. “Lemme clean you up.” You make a tiny noise of protest when he helps lift you off him. The sudden emptiness makes you whine before you can stop yourself, legs trembling violently the second your knees touch the mattress. Frank freezes like the sound nearly killed him.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasps. You bury your burning face in his shoulder immediately.
“Don’t.”
“No, sweetheart, you don’t get it,” he says, sounding half tortured. “You keep makin’ noises like that and I’m gonna need another minute.”
“You are such a pig,” you mumble.
“Correct.” You hear the smile in his voice. Then he reaches for the discarded t-shirt on the floor beside the couch, gentle again as he wipes carefully between your thighs. You hiss softly at the sensitivity, instinctively trying to squirm away.
“I know,” he murmurs immediately. “I know. Sorry, baby.” The nickname settles warm in your chest now instead of frightening you. Frank glances down as he cleans you up. Then pauses. You notice the tiny streak of red a second later. Your stomach drops.
“Oh my God.” Frank looks up instantly.
“What?”
“There’s blood.” Panic climbs your throat so fast it makes your voice pitchy. “Frank, there’s— I—did I start my period? Oh my God, am I bleeding? Did something tear?” Your breathing starts speeding up again immediately. “Jesus Christ, am I dying?” For one single second he just stares at you. Then a startled laugh bursts out of him. Not mocking. Just genuinely caught off guard.
“Baby,” he says gently, trying very hard not to smile now. “You are not dyin’.” You blink at him, horrified.
“There’s blood!”
“Yeah.” He brushes his thumb soothingly against your knee. “That can happen your first time.” You stare.
“…what?” His expression softens instantly at your confusion.
“You were a virgin,” he says carefully. “Little bleeding’s normal sometimes. Especially ‘cause I got carried away.” Guilt flickers briefly across his face at that last part. “You ain’t hurt bad. Promise.” Your entire body floods with relief so intense you nearly flop sideways.
“Oh my God.” Frank finally chuckles properly now, rubbing a hand down his face. You hide your face against his shoulder with a groan of humiliation while Frank keeps quietly laughing above you, warm chest rumbling beneath your cheek.
“Don’t make fun of me,” you mutter.
“I ain’t makin’ fun.” Another tiny laugh immediately betrays him. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“You’re awful.”
“Mm.” His hand slides lazily up and down your thigh. “Still alive though, right?” You smack weakly at his chest. Frank catches your wrist easily, bringing your knuckles to his mouth for one absentminded kiss before helping tug your shirt back down properly over your stomach. The tenderness of it nearly kills you more than the sex did. You let him guide you sideways across his lap once you’re dressed again, your legs draped over the couch cushions while he settles back with a long exhale. His fingers trace idle circles against the soft skin just above your knee, grounding and warm. The apartment feels different now.
Quieter. Softer. Like something huge shifted without either of you knowing how to name it yet. You stare at the wall for a long second before mumbling:
“I really thought I was bleeding internally.” That gets another laugh out of him, fuller this time. He drops his head briefly against yours.
“Baby, you work in medicine.”
“Not vagina medicine. And my parents never really taught me this stuff. They assumed Karen would.” Frank barks out an actual laugh at that, shoulders shaking beneath you. You can’t help smiling a little yourself.
“Fair point,” he admits. Silence settles again after that. Comfortable this time. His fingers never stop moving against your leg. Then quieter:
“You okay?” he asks again. Not physically. Everything. The emotion in his voice catches you off guard. You tilt your head enough to look up at him. Frank’s eyes are already on you, darker now without all the urgency from before. There’s still heat there, sure—but underneath it is something almost nervous. Like he’s waiting for you to regret this.
Regret him.
Your chest aches suddenly.
“I’m okay,” you say softly. His whole body loosens at that. Tiny. Almost invisible. But you feel it. Frank swallows once, gaze dropping briefly to where his hand rests on your thigh.
“I know tonight was a lot,” he says carefully. “And I know I probably shoulda slowed down more—”
“You did slow down.” His eyes flick back to yours.
“You were scared.”
“I was nervous,” you correct quietly. “Not scared of you.” That one lands somewhere deep. You see it happen in real time. Frank goes still. Your fingers slide up over the back of his hand, threading through his.
“I trusted you,” you admit. He stares at you like the words physically hurt him. Then he leans down and presses his forehead against yours, eyes closing.
“Christ,” he whispers roughly. One of his arms tightens around your waist. Not possessive. Protective. Careful with you in a way nobody ever has been before. “You got no idea what that means to me,” he says softly. Your face falls and you reach up, wincing at the pull in your legs. You reach up, wincing slightly as your body reminds you it’s still catching up to everything that just happened. Frank notices immediately—of course he does.
“Hey,” he says softly, catching your wrist before you can push yourself too far. “Easy. Don’t go doin’ that.”
“I’m fine,” you insist automatically. Frank gives you a look that says he does not believe a single word of that.
"Sweetheart, you just impaled yourself on my dick for your first time. I have reason to worry."
You freeze.
Then slowly turn your head to look at him.
“…you’re going to make me die of embarrassment after I survived everything else?”
Frank doesn’t even pretend to feel bad.
A faint, crooked grin tugs at his mouth. “Seems fair.”
You groan and drop your forehead against his chest, fully intending to disappear into him as a person.
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling under you, and his hand immediately comes up to your hair—slower now, soothing instead of teasing.
“Hey,” he says again, softer. “I’m not makin’ fun of you.”
“Yes you are.”
“A little,” he admits.
You make a small, muffled sound of protest. Frank presses a kiss into the top of your head like he’s apologizing anyway.
"Y'know what this means, right baby ?" He asks, his hand trailing up and down your side.
"No. Enlighten me." He squeezes you into him as he leans over and reaches for his beer. He sits back down, groaning as he takes a sip and presses the cold bottle to the back of your neck.
"You're never fuckin' gettin' rid of me. I was your first time." He says. You roll your eyes.
"Oh, shut up, Frank." He laughs.
"No, no, i'm serious. I should get like.. a certificate. Frame it and put it up on the wall where everyone can see when they walk in-"
"Oh my god, Frank."
"—'Certificate of Deflowering: Awarded to Frank Castle for Services Rendered Above and Beyond the Call of Duty.'" You can't help it, a snort of laughter escapes you muffled against his chest. The cold bottle against your neck is a shock, but a pleasant one, grounding you in the ridiculous, wonderful reality of the moment.
"Oh my God," you groan, lifting your head just enough to glare at him. "You are the worst human being I have ever met."
"Yep," he says, popping the 'p' with absolute relish. He takes another swig of his beer, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "And the man who just took your virginity on a couch that's probably seen at least three separate gunfights. So, you know. We all have our complexities."
Had a fun realization this morning and I’d love your thoughts!
So I just broke my ankle, right? And I was with a friend who’s a PA and former EMT, and he’s had it drilled into him a thousand times never to say “it’s going to be okay” or anything like that. And after I broke my ankle, I was in so much pain and shock, I was sweating and hyperventilating and throwing up and fighting as hard as I could not to pass out bc my throat was closing up. And ngl, I was pretty scared. And I was glad I had him there with me! But I teased him later that throughout the whole ordeal, he never once told me like “hey it’s gonna be okay” 😂 zero comfort skills
And what’s funny is that I usually hate when people say that to me because i don’t believe them! Like, so much is out of our control, and what little is within our control - who’s going to make sure it’s ok??? Not you, bc I’m the competent one here and I’m incapacitated. And tbh I was scared of passing out because idk what’s going to happen to me once that happens, I lose control and who can I trust to make sure it’s going to be ok? Even with my friend who’s a medical professional, I wasn’t sure it was going to be okay even if he told me so.
And then I realized - Frank is the exception to that rule. It doesn’t matter how much of a shit show situation is going on, if Frank says it’s going to be okay, it will. Because he is going to make it okay.
And that’s just really nice, you know? 🥰
Girl, I HATE that this happened to you. My god it sounds like a horrific ordeal but I'm so so glad your friend was with you.
Also, this is SO RELATABLE but I'm almost the opposite where I simply need someone, anyone, to tell me it's gonna be ok and I'm like "GREAT, PHEW." And especially if my husband says it? I'm like 😎. Pure delusion! lol
But Frank is the ULTIMATE. Because yes, he's like the singular person that will MAKE IT TRUE by brute force, if need be. It's why he's the ultimate comfort character. It's sort of impossible not to believe it.
It's a lot of "Hey-- what'd I say? Said it was gonna be ok, didn't I? Said I was gonna fix it?" Like ok yes sir, sorry, my bad. He has such certainty that not believing it would be the unreasonable option.
And he's sorta like a thermostat in that way. You ask him "It's gonna be ok right?" and Frank doesn't flinch, doesn't sweat, doesn't blink. He just pulls you to his chest, kisses your head and says "It's gonna be ok sweetheart. I ain't worried about that."
first of all, i adore all of your work!!! the way that you write for frank is just so so so perfect i love it and i think ive read through your entire masterlist probably 4 separate times
second, frank with a girl on antidepressants that are causing anorgasmia? i've been taking an SSRI for over half my life at this point, and the mental health effects are great, but anorgasmia is sooo frustrating!!! for me, it really ebbs and flows, so one day sex can be amazing and satisfying, and the next i’m totally unable to cum despite every variable being perfect. i just know frankie would be so sweet and understanding with all that☹️
UGH I'm so sorry-- that has to be so frustrating.
Honestly, I know I write a lot about Frank being very laser-focused on your pleasure but I think that 1) that is not exclusive to orgasms and 2) it's really more about feeling deeply connected.
The good news is, Frank is never gonna take it personally if you can't get there. He's really not a petulant manchild about that stuff. He's gonna always try his best, of course, but he's watching and listening to your cues. If it's taking longer than usual or you seem to be getting frustrated with yourself, he's redirecting you to slooooooow it down. Maybe he pivots the both of you so he can spoon you, saying "S'alright sweetheart. We're feelin' good together yeah?" while he's still inside you and using a free hand to just relax your body with long, ticklish drags of his fingers all across your skin. He's resetting the pace. He's redefining the objective for the night and he becomes more focused on you feeling relaxed and connected rather than reaching climax. The thing about Frank though, he's a partner in the truest sense so if he thought tonight wasn't your night, well then it wouldn't be his night either. He's not gonna "take" from you in that way if he can't give as much in return. But I truly think he's so stealthy about it all that you don't even realize that he never finished either?
I also think he'd always be looking for new ways to give you sensory pleasure like baths together or massaging you in earnest or cuddling with more clothes off.
And he's definitely not indulging in any bad self talk about it. You learn real quick that saying "I'm sorry" mid-act is off-limits. He's like "I'm naked with the most beautiful fuckin' woman on the planet. What would you be feelin' sorry about sweetheart?" Or if you get frustrated and say "I hate this stupid medicine" after trying to cum for the last 45 minutes, Frank is just effortlessly pivoting your bodies so that he's against the headboard and you're in his lap and he's kissing your nose and brushing the hair out of your face and saying "The medicine is keepin' that beautiful brain o' yours healthy alright? I ain't afraid of a lil hard sometimes doll. Gotta earn my keep."
