Angel

*~ Hii, I’m Angel ~* 22, she/her weirdly obsessed with fictional characters Angel_777 on c.ai

[dirtylittlediary]

property of frank - frank castle

pairing : frank castle x f!reader

summary : do you like my new panties ?

word count : 7.3 k

warnings : smut, p in v, feral!frank, possessive!frank, unprotected sex, established relationship, MDNI, praise kink, size difference/kink and idk if im missing anything

a/n : not proofread !! based on this rq (jack abbot fic and other frank fic coming soon i promise)

Frank notices things.

That’s the problem.

Tiny things. Stupid things. The way your breathing changes when you’re nervous. When you switch shampoos. Which floorboard creaks under your left foot versus your right. Nothing gets past him for very long. Which is exactly why hiding the underwear had become weirdly stressful.

In your defense, they’d been funny when Karen showed them to you.

Tiny little black lace things with white lettering stretched across the back: PROPERTY OF A U.S. MARINE

You’d laughed so hard you bought them immediately. Then immediately realized showing them to Frank Castle might actually kill you on the spot.

Because Frank was… Frank.

Intense on a regular Tuesday. So you hid them in the back of your drawer and tried to forget they existed.

Which worked.

Until tonight. You shuffle into the kitchen, wearing one of Frank’s old shirts and absolutely nothing else except the stupid underwear currently stretched over your hips. The door to the apartment opens, and your head snaps over to the sound.

Frank had been gone all day, and all you'd been doing is wandering around the apartment, eating food and watching shows.

Frank shuts the apartment door behind him with a tired exhale, keys jingling softly in his hand. He looks exhausted. Scruffy. Henley stretched tight across his shoulders, sleeves shoved up his forearms, rain still clinging damply to the collar of his jacket. Then he hears you padding into the kitchen. And everything about him changes instantly.

Softens.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs automatically. You smile without thinking about it, leaning against the counter.

“You were gone forever.”

“Yeah?” Frank drops his duffel near the door and starts toeing his boots off. “Miss me?”

“No,” you say immediately.

“Liar.” He sounds amused already. Comfortable. Safe. And for one stupid second you completely forget what you’re wearing. Frank rounds the corner into the kitchen, shrugging his jacket off one shoulder while he talks.

“Traffic was a nightmare an’ Micro wouldn’t stop—” He stops. Mid sentence. Your stomach drops instantly. Because Frank Castle notices things. And right now his eyes are fixed directly on you. More specifically— On the fact that his old shirt barely covers the black lace stretched over your hips.

Oh no.

Oh no.

You straighten so fast you nearly slam the cabinet shut on your fingers. Frank doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Then very carefully sets his coat down.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. You can already hear the grin in his voice. Heat floods your entire body.

“It’s not—”

“The hell am I lookin’ at right now?”

“It was a joke.”

“A joke,” he repeats faintly. You refuse to turn around fully now because you can physically feel his eyes burning holes through the back of the shirt.

“Karen made me buy them.”

“Uh huh.”

“She said it would be funny.”

“Mm.” Frank leans back against the front door slowly. “Think Karen might be the smartest woman alive.”

“Oh my God.” The laugh in his chest is deep and dangerous now.

“C’mere.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No, absolutely not.” You hear his boots thud against the floor. Panic. Actual panic. You make it exactly two steps before Frank catches you around the waist from behind, hauling you back against him with a startled squeak.

“Frank!”

“What?” He sounds deeply amused now. “M’just tryin’ t’read.”

“You already read it!”

“Wanna make sure I got it right.” You’re mortified. Frank buries his face briefly against your neck, shoulders shaking once with laughter before he presses a kiss just below your ear.

“You been hidin’ these from me?”

“Yes because I enjoy living.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You’re being weird already.”

“Weird?” He sounds genuinely offended. “Sweetheart, my girl walks around my apartment wearin’ lace underwear claimin’ she belongs t’me an’ I’m supposed t’be normal about it?” Your face burns hotter.

"Technically, it says I belong to a U.S Marine. Maybe this is about Curtis." Frank goes completely silent behind you. Not joking anymore. Not laughing.

Just… silent. Then very slowly, his arms tighten around your waist.

“…Curtis,” he repeats flatly. You bite your lip immediately because there it is. That tone.

“Oh my God, Frank, I’m kidding.”

“Yeah?” His mouth brushes your ear, but there’s a new edge to him now. “Funny joke, sweetheart. Real funny.” You squirm a little in his grip, mostly because you can feel the shift in him physically now. Bigger somehow. Warmer. Possessive in that dangerous quiet way Frank gets.

“You know Curtis is basically my brother.”

“Mhm.”

“He literally gives me life advice.”

“Uh huh.”Frank’s jaw flexes against your temple. “Still don’t wanna hear you wearin’ his Marine underwear.” You burst out laughing.

“They are not his underwear!”

“Then why’s his name comin’ outta your mouth while you got that thing on?”

“Because you’re jealous.” Frank scoffs like you’ve deeply insulted him.

“M’not jealous’a Curtis.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I sound like a man hearin’ his girl say another guy’s name while she’s half naked in his kitchen.” His hand slides lower on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“And I gotta tell you,” he mutters near your throat, “not my favorite experience.” Heat flashes through you instantly.

“You’re insane.”

“You keep sayin’ that like it’s new information.” You grin despite yourself, leaning back into him just enough to be annoying.

“Well maybe Curtis would appreciate the humor.” Big mistake. Frank’s grip clamps down hard enough to pull a startled squeak from you.

“Alright,” he says calmly. Too calmly. “Now you’re bein’ disrespectful.”

“Oh my God—”

“Nah, sweetheart, don’t ‘oh my God’ me.” He turns you in his arms abruptly until your back hits the counter and he’s crowding into your space completely. “You think I’m gonna stand here listenin’ to you talk about another Marine while you got ‘property of a U.S. Marine’ written across your ass?” You are laughing too hard to be properly intimidated, which only seems to annoy him more.

“There she is,” he mutters darkly when you giggle again. “Thinkin’ this’s funny.”

“It is funny.”

“Mm.” His eyes drag down your body slowly. “Not t’me.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Baby, I came home exhausted an’ found my girlfriend wearin’ lingerie apparently dedicated t’the Marine Corps. I’m reactin’ appropriately.”

“It’s not lingerie!” Frank just looks at the lace. Then looks back at you.

“…You wanna rethink that statement?” Your face burns hotter. Frank notices instantly, because of course he does. His expression softens for exactly half a second before the possessive streak comes roaring right back. “Lemme ask you somethin’.” His hands settle on either side of your hips. “You buy these thinkin’ about me?” You hesitate just long enough to doom yourself. Frank’s eyes narrow immediately.

“…Sweetheart.”

“I mean— maybe a little?”

“A little.”

“Well Karen showed them to me and I just thought—”

“You thought what?” He steps closer. “Thought your boyfriend might lose his damn mind seein’ you in ‘em?” Your silence is answer enough. Frank actually groans.

“Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“You knew exactly what you were doin’.” He shakes his head slowly like he’s genuinely overwhelmed. “Walkin’ around my apartment in my shirt wearin’ those little things—”

“You didn’t even notice at first!”

“Sweetheart, I noticed the second you turned around.” His hand slides over the curve of your waist again. “Been tryin’ not t’tackle you into the couch since.” You laugh softly, but it catches when his gaze drops again. Slower this time.Not playful anymore. Possessive. Hungry. Frank exhales once through his nose before looking back up at you.

“C’mere,” he murmurs.

“I’m already here.”

“Closer.”

“There’s literally nowhere else t’go.”

“Smart mouth too,” he mutters, clearly suffering. Then his hands are suddenly under your thighs, hauling you up onto his shoulder like a bag of potatoes

“Frank!”

“What?”He grips onto your thigh. “Tryin’ t’figure out where t’put my name since apparently the Marines are handin’ claims out now.” His hand comes down smacking on your ass cheek as he marches to the bedroom, giving your ass an appreciative squeeze.

You shriek through laughter as he carries you down the hallway upside down, your hair hanging everywhere while Frank’s big hand stays locked around the back of your thigh like you might somehow escape.

“Frank Castle, put me down!”

“Nope.”

“You are so dramatic!”

“You brought Curtis into this.” He smacks your ass again through the lace, less hard this time, more possessive than punishing. “Actions got consequences, sweetheart.”

“You’re acting like I cheated on you with the United States military.” Frank snorts darkly.

“Might honestly be easier t’process.”

“Oh my God.”

“You think m’jokin’?” He shoulders open the bedroom door and tosses you onto the mattress with enough care to prove he absolutely notices every bruise you’ve ever had and enough force to make you bounce once with a squeal. Frank follows immediately. Big body caging yours into the bed, knees nudging between your thighs while he stares down at you like he genuinely cannot believe this is his life right now. His shirt hangs off one shoulder now from all the wrestling around.His hair’s a mess. His jaw rough with scruff. And his eyes— God.

His eyes are locked on the lace peeking beneath the hem of his shirt like he’s seconds away from losing every remaining shred of self-control.

“You think this’s cute?” he asks quietly. Your smile wobbles immediately under the weight of that look.

“…Maybe?” Frank exhales slowly through his nose.

“Sweetheart.” His hand drags up your calf. “I walked in dead tired, ready t’eat leftovers an’ pass out.” Higher. Over your knee. “Now m’lookin’ at my girl laid out in my bed wearin’ panties claimin’ she belongs t’a Marine—”

“Technically—”

“Careful.” His palm slides firmly over your thigh. “You are one Curtis joke away from me losin’ all patience.” That only makes you grin wider.

“You’re sooo jealous.” Frank leans down until his mouth is hovering right over yours.

“Damn right I’m jealous.” Honest. Immediate. “That’s my girl.” His thumb hooks lightly under the waistband at your hip. “Mine t’come home to. Mine t’take care of.” Another inch closer. “Mine t’look this pretty for.” Your breath catches embarrassingly hard.Frank notices instantly. He grins.

"Now. I'm thinking..." His hands drift up your shirt, fingers grazing at your ribs. "We tattoo "Property of Frank" right on your tits." He hums, grinning to himself.

Frank’s grin turns positively wicked at the way your entire face heats up.

“Oh, there it is,” he murmurs, voice rough with amusement. “That look right there. Knew y’weren’t nearly as brave as you were actin’ five minutes ago.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, trying to shove at his shoulders. “You cannot tattoo your name on me.”

“Can’t I?” His hands keep sliding beneath the oversized shirt, palms warm against your bare skin. “Feel like I got a pretty strong legal argument after tonight.”

“You’re insane.”

“Nah.” He dips lower, mouth brushing your jaw. “M’just territorial.” You snort, but it comes out shaky because Frank is looking at you like he wants to crawl under your skin and stay there. His thumb traces lazy circles high on your thigh while the other hand spreads across your stomach possessively.

“Besides,” he says thoughtfully, “might save us from future confusion.”

“There is no confusion.”

“Oh? Coulda fooled me.” His mouth twitches. “Thought maybe my girlfriend was out here secretly enlistin’.”

You laugh again, softer this time. “You’re never letting the Curtis thing go, huh?”

“Absolutely not.” Frank kisses the corner of your mouth once. “Got me all worked up picturin’ you prancin’ around thinkin’ about another Marine.”

“I was not thinking about Curtis!”

“Mhm.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Sweetheart.” He finally kisses you properly this time, slow and deep and still grinning into it a little. “You brought him up three separate times.”

“That was because your face got all—” You wave vaguely near his head. “Broody.”

“Broody,” he repeats flatly.

“Yeah. Like a caveman.” Frank huffs out a laugh against your mouth.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m hilarious actually.”

“You’re trouble.” His nose nudges yours. “An’ you know exactly what you’re doin’ t’me right now.” Your stomach flips hard at the honesty in his voice. Because underneath all the teasing, Frank really does look wrecked over this. Not angry. Not actually jealous of Curtis. Just deeply affected by the sight of you in his clothes and lace and his name—well, almost his name—stretched over your skin.

“You really like them that much?” you ask quietly. Frank just stares at you for a second like the answer should be obvious.

“Sweetheart,” he says finally, rough and sincere, “I like every damn thing you do.” His hand squeezes your hip. “But you wear somethin’ like this waitin’ for me t’come home?” He shakes his head slowly. “That does somethin’ t’a man.” Your chest goes warm and melty all at once. Then his eyes drift downward again. And darken.

“You know what’s really killin’ me?” he murmurs.

“What?”

“The fact that you put these on knowin’ I’d lose my mind.” His fingers hook under the waistband lightly, teasing. “That means somewhere in that pretty little head’a yours, you wanted this reaction.” You bite your lip.

Frank notices immediately. Of course he does.

“Knew it.” he says softly, sounding unbearably smug now.

“Maybe I was curious,” you mumble.

“Curious.” He repeats it like he’s savoring the word. “Baby, you nearly gave me a coronary at the front door.” You laugh into his shoulder when he ducks his head against your neck again, but the sound cuts off into a squeak when his teeth graze lightly beneath your ear.

“Frank—”

“M’thinkin’,” he says casually, kissing down your throat, “next time you decide t’play games with me, you oughta give a man some warning.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“So I can come home faster.” His hand slides down the back of your thigh, hiking your leg higher around his waist. “Nearly broke three traffic laws gettin’ here an’ I didn’t even know I had this waitin’ for me.” He mouths the words against your skin, then bites—delicate, but just shy of gentle. You clench your jaw, breath tripping.

“Frank,” you say, but it’s just your voice—weak, a noise, not even an instruction.

“Yeah?” He kisses lower, hand tracing your thigh to the bare skin beneath the lace. “Gimme a minute.” He takes his time, all that giant energy wound tight, holding you in place with just a grip on your hip and his body heavy over yours. He’s talking himself down. Or maybe amping himself up. You’ve never been able to tell where the line is for Frank, whether the need to possess or protect is stronger. Right now, he looks at you like you’re both a dare and a daredevil’s only lifeline.

“My girl,” he says it like a prayer—to the ceiling, to the gods, to you, and then it’s less a statement than a need. He strips the shirt, your shirt, his shirt, over your head, leaving you in nothing but the lace. His hands run up your ribs, palms hot, reverent. Then he sits back on his knees, just looking down at you like he’s making a memory.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, half to himself. Runs a hand over his face. “Look at you. You like these, sweetheart?” You nod, a laugh bubbling through you because it’s all so fucking absurd, him looming over you, genuinely lost for words. He’s never lost for words. Frank slips both hands beneath your knees, spreading your legs wide around him. “You wanna see what you do to me?” he asks, voice low and all gravel. He makes you look. Glances down at himself, straining against the fly of his jeans, impossible to miss. Your mouth goes dry. He’s still in his goddamn jeans. Frank leans in, bracing his arms either side of your head, his body never fully on you but pressing, pressing, hot and solid. His lips land on your jaw, a string of kisses trailing down the line of your throat. One hand comes up and grips your chin, making you meet his gaze.

“Should make you apologize,” he murmurs. “But I like this better.” Then he bites your jaw, hard enough that you gasp. He grins again, wolfish and all teeth. “There she is.” He’s not really rough. He’s never rough, not really, but the threat of it—God, it’s right there under his skin. He’s holding back because you want him, but you want all of him. You reach up, grab at his biceps.

“Frank.”

“Yeah, honey?”

“You gonna make me beg?” You mutter. His chest collapses and he breathes out a heavy breath, before he’s tearing his own shirt over his head and fumbling at his zipper. You can’t help it. Watching him strip down, all muscle and tension and scar tissue and long lines mapped in angry pink and raised white, you ache for him. All of him. You reach for his face, thread your fingers through the too-long hair at his crown, and pull him in for a kiss—messy, uneven, neither of you caring about rhythm or finesse, just the raw hunger of two people who’ve worked up an appetite. Frank’s teeth knock against yours; you gasp into his mouth and he swallows every sound. His hips slot into the cradle of yours, denim dragging at your bare thighs, the rough seam scratching just where it makes you wild. You want the friction, want the weight. You grind up into him, whimpering when he groans, and he laughs, low and hot, so openly fond it makes you dizzy.

“Look at you,” he says, even as his mouth tracks hot along your jaw and across your cheek. “Little thing’s gonna eat me alive.” He’s got your wrists in one big hand now, pinned above your head, while the other works at the fly of his jeans with the kind of intent you’d expect from someone disassembling a rifle. You giggle despite the thrum between your legs.

“Frank.” You drag his name out, making it a complaint and a need at once. “C’mon. Hurry up.” His mouth ghosts over your ear, voice gone all smoke and grit:

“You wanna take it that bad, baby?” You nod, and he just about loses it. The rough sound in his throat vibrates all the way through you. He sits back, freeing your wrists, and yanks his jeans and boxers down his thighs. He’s so heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip and bouncing against his stomach when he finally gets himself free. You blink up at him, jaw loose, and he grins like he’s caught you in something dirty, which, okay, he has. Frank fits on the bed over you like it was built for him, like the frame would snap backwards if he ever left it for good. He takes hold of the waistband at your hip and tugs gently, once, then stops. Raises an eyebrow, waiting for your okay. You nod again, breathless with it. He slides the underwear down, slow, savoring every inch of skin he reveals.

“Gonna frame these,” he mutters when they’re off, tossing them over his shoulder. “Maybe hang ‘em up in the fuckin’ living room.” You yelp, half-mortified and half aroused beyond reason. Then he settles between your legs, broad hands bracketing your thighs.

“Spread for me,” he instructs, soft but firm, and you do, like you’d part for him even if the world was ending. Frank’s big hand glides up, palm hot, thumb brushing over your folds. You clamp down on a gasp, arching into the touch—he’s not teasing this time, just wetting his finger, checking how ready you are. And you are. You so fucking are. He hums, pleased—almost proud—at the slick mess he’s worked from you.

“Always so ready for me.” He hums. He dips his fingers inside of you, retreats them wet and slick, and spreads that slickness over his tip. You whine, head dipping back, thighs clenching around his waist as your back arches impatiently. You nudge your hips forward, chasing the stretch that brings you to tears, your own hands coming up to grab at your breasts. Frank notices the way your fingers tighten on your own breasts, the way your back bows, and his gaze goes molten, hungry and impossibly tender all at once. He strokes himself once, twice, and lines up, the head of his cock rubbing slick against your entrance. The pressure makes you gasp—he’s never small but never feels as big as he does when he takes his goddamn time. He leans in, bracketing your head with his arms, caging you in, his nose skimming your jaw.

“Relax, baby,” he rasps. “S’okay. I’ve got you.” The head pushes in, just the first inch, heat and stretch and the mind-numbing promise of more. Your hips twitch involuntarily, trying to chase him, but he just shushes you in that quiet, lethal way, threading a hand through your hair.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, rolling his hips to press deeper, notching into you a little at a time. “You take me so good. Always do.” He’s right, but Christ, it never gets easier—or better—than the way he fills you: deliberate and slow, like he wants to feel the split-second every time you open up and let him in. You choke on his name—fuck, it’s almost too much, burning through you, but you don’t want to stop. You want the ache. You want his fucking claim written all down your insides. Tears prick at your eyes, and Frank notices that, too, thumb coming up to wipe the corner of your eye before you even realize it’s wet.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, voice all rough edges. “You got it, baby. C’mon, breathe for me. That’s it.” He bottoms out, hips flush against you, and you freeze—in awe, in relief, in the perfect tension of having all of him, every inch, inside you. Frank is breathing hard above you, holding himself still like he’s barely holding onto control.

“You okay?” he checks, and you nod—or try to nod, but it comes out more of a whimper. “Goddamn,” Frank breathes, “you’re so fuckin’ tight.” He tries to pull out a little, but your legs lock him in place. He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head, sweat beading at his brow.

“Greedy,” he mock-scolds, but his voice sounds so proud you could cry. “Somebody miss me that much, huh?”

“I hate you,” you manage, but it’s weak, almost laughing. He bites your neck, quick and claiming, and pulls out just enough to make your vision blur—then thrusts back in, hard. You see stars. Claw at his shoulders, his arms, anything. He’s huge and deep and the friction is insane, and Frank sets a pace that’s… not brutal, but relentless, like he’s working out all that Marine discipline and rage on your body in the best way possible. His hand tucks behind your knee and pushes, folding you in half so your legs cant go up even higher, the angle obscene and perfect.

“There we go,” he growls. “That’s better, hmm ?” You nod, almost going cross-eyed, a satisfied and pained moan rumbling in your chest. You nod, almost going cross-eyed, a satisfied and pained moan rumbling in your chest. He maneuvers you, never breaking rhythm, never letting you breathe without him filling you, folding your knees over his shoulders and pinning you deeper, tighter, until you’re positive you’ll crack in half and maybe you want to. There’s nothing but him, the press and grind, Frank’s hands gripping your thighs so hard you’ll be wearing fingerprints for days. You can’t find the air to tell him how good it is—how full, how perfect—so you just lie there helpless, whimpering, clinging to the arms that cage you in. He’s not even really fucking you anymore, just rolling his hips, tip grinding against the spot inside you that turns your vision white and nerves to static. He takes your jaw in one hand, thumb rough along your cheek, and yanks your gaze up—

“Right here, sweetheart, eyes on me.” The voice is a command. The look is worshipful, like he’d burn the city to keep you in his bed, making these sounds, shivering underneath him. “Wanna see you,” he says, and the knot in your stomach twists tighter as he drives in, over and over, keeping you right on the precipice and not letting up. It’s not enough. He knows it. He fucks you open until you’re shaking, until the words finally force themselves past your teeth, high and needy,

“Frank, please—“ He groans through gritted teeth, squeezing your jaw with a gentleness that barely masks the tremor in his hand.

“That’s it, baby, know you can take it. Fuck—good girl, you make me so proud.” He’s talking you through it, every filthy word a benediction, tethering you to the world as your back bows, your body coiling with the force of sensation. “You love it, don’t you?” he whispers, softer, railing you through the high while his free hand strokes your thigh, gentle, coaxing, grounding. “Love bein’ split open for me.”

“Yes, yes— Frank, fuck—“ He kisses you sloppily, misses your mouth entirely the first time and you’re both giggling and then gasping and then a long, ragged moan is vibrating your bodies together. You’re clenching down so hard his rhythm stutters.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna— that’s it, c’mon.” You whine, back arching, and he pins your thighs closer to his chest before leaning forward slightly, bending your legs forward and deepening the angle and stretch. It nearly knocks what little breath you had left right out of your lungs. The stretch is obscene, like you’re being folded in half and stuffed full all the way to the back of your throat. You see white. Black. Like lightning behind your eyes.

“Shit, that’s good, huh?” Frank’s voice, gone low and frayed, like he can almost feel what you’re feeling. “You love that, baby? Lemme hear you say it.” You can only mewl in response, legs trembling where he’s got you pinned. You try to say

“Frank, God, please,” but it’s all vowels, nothing but begging sounds. He just grins, smug and barely holding onto his own composure. The angle has him punching so deep it’s like you were made just to take this, just for him.

“Can’t even talk, huh?” he says, not so much a taunt as a prayer—a note of awe soaked in filth. “Strong girl, takin’ me like this. Fuck, you’re perfect.” There’s nothing to do but lock your ankles behind his shoulder blades and take it, his cock dragging raw and hot everywhere inside. Your brain fuzzes out, turns down to a tunnel, and all the world is Frank Castle splitting you open and grinding you right up into the heavens. He lets go of your jaw, bringing that hand down to bracket your hips, and for a second he just holds there, not moving, just pressed in to the hilt. You’re both shuddering in the negative space, struggling to survive the stretch and the pressure and the intimacy of it.

“You okay?” he asks, breath barely more than a scrape. You nod vigorously, wrap your arms around his neck so you can cling even tighter. He starts thrusting again, shallow but relentless, the kind of steady, claiming rhythm that’s all about wringing every sound out of you. Every time he bottoms out, your vision pulses with stars.

“Doin’ so good,” he whispers, “so fuckin’ good for me.” You bury your face in his neck, whimpering, biting at the sweat on his shoulder because it’s the only thing that might keep you from coming apart completely. Frank laughs raggedly, but you can feel how close he is too. Every muscle strung tight, every thrust more frantic.

“That’s my girl,” he coaxes. “Such a tight fit, holy shit.” His voice almost breaks. “How’m I ever supposed to go back to normal pussy after this, huh?” You snort, delirious, because the only normal you’ve ever known is Frank Castle making you feel like you could take on the world—or beg for mercy. He keeps your thighs stacked high, and the change in leverage wrings a sob from you, your entire body going tense and hot.

“Frank— too much—” you gasp, but he just hushes you.

“Shh. Can take it, I know you can. You’re my good girl, always take it. Remember that last time? How you said it never hurt so fuckin’ good?” He’s right. You can feel every inch, every ridge. You reach for him, grab the back of his neck, haul him down so his chest is flush to yours despite your legs still hanging on his shoulders. It should crush you but it only makes you burn hotter. Frank’s mouth is hot and wet across your shoulder, biting down until you whimper. Then he licks the mark, soothing it, mumbling sweet, molten filth against your skin. “

That’s it, sweetheart. Take it. Make it yours. Fuckin’ mine, all mine.” You drag your nails down his back—he hisses—and clench down, and the look on his face is nothing short of worship. He pistons his hips, no longer in control, chasing both your pleasure and something only he seems to recognize in you. The arch of your back. The break in your voice. He shoves his forearm under your shoulders, props you up and angles for that spot again, and again, and you’re crying—real tears, overwhelmed, ecstatic, unable to process how much you want this, want him, want to belong.

“Frank,” you manage, but it sounds like a sob. He softens at the sound. Slows, grinds instead. Kisses your hairline, then your brow. “You with me?” he asks, frantic and gentle at once. You nod, mess of tears and saliva and sweat, and whisper,

“Please, keep going—don’t stop.”

“That’s my girl,” Frank praises, and you feel the words all the way into your bones. He presses a hand to your stomach, palming the bulge his cock makes inside you. Your eyes go wide, and he notices, the sight making him falter, nearly lose it.

“Jesus, honey—you feel that?” You nod, delirious, and he shakes his head, reverent. “You like the stretch, baby?”

You lose track, right about then, of which one of you is shaking harder. Your thighs have started to ache where he’s holding you pinned, but the ache is nothing compared to the blinding, mindless fullness riding up your center of gravity and ringing every goddamn nerve you’ve got. He watches you closely, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing, and his thumb never leaves your cheek, tracing the wet there before he wipes his own brow and laughs—a jagged, breathless thing.

“You’re a fuckin’ menace,” he chokes out, then shoves himself deeper, if that’s even possible. “Look at that. Stuffed so full you’re gonna be ruined for anyone else.” He seems to like the sound of that, and even though your brain’s fried, the words shoot straight to your core. “You love it, don’t you? Too much cock for a little thing like you.” It’s obscene but you love it, you need it, and he can see it etched across your face—how you nod, how you cling, how you clamp down even tighter. He grunts, involuntary, and you feel a drop of sweat hit your chest where he starts to really work for it. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s it—take it, honey, take all of it.” His body is so big above you, bracing, arms locked and trembling, eyes wild and locked to yours. You can’t blink. You want to see him watching you open for him. He folds you further, legs bent up by your ears, the angle insane, like he wants to see if you’ll crack in half. The stretch is dizzying—you’d beg for mercy if you didn’t want it so much, if the pain and the pleasure didn’t blur so beautifully. Frank holds you down, keeps you right at the edge, lets go of nothing. He drives it in, slow and grinding, almost tender even as the force knocks words out of you.

“That’s my girl, look at you fuckin’ take it. Jesus.” Your breath goes to pieces. You’re beyond words, just fluttering cries and helpless grabs at his sweat-slicked arms—God, his arms, the same ones that have hurt people, protected you, now pinning you like you’re the only fucking thing he wants in the world. He leans down, mouth at your ear, panting:

“You gotta tell me if you want me to stop, baby. You just say it and—” You shake your head, frantic.

“Don’t—don’t stop—please, keep—” And you gasp, entire body clenching up at the new angle, the way his cock catches right there, that spot that makes every atom in you disintegrate. He laughs, but it’s a wounded, worshipful sound. He’s proud, like he’s never going to let you forget just how well you take him. His hands splay over your lower back, anchoring you, and it’s like his entire body is an engine, keeping you together even as he tries to rip you apart.You can barely move, pinned and doubled in half, the mattress arching sweat-slick under your shoulders. He is breathing hard, like he’s had to rip through a concrete wall. Still, the rhythm doesn’t waver: thick, careful thrusts, the slide so tight that every withdrawal almost takes the breath from your lungs. He rolls his hips hard and the pressure spikes—so deep it hurts, in the best fucking way. You aren’t making sounds anymore. It’s just crying out, jaw slack, fingers locked in his hair, greedy, desperate to keep him right there. Frank wipes the snot and tears off your face with brutal gentleness, then kisses the wetness from your cheeks, whispering nonsense as if every syllable is a crucible.

“S’good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you’re doing so fuckin’ good, proud of you, Jesus Christ—” He ruts in like he could leave a blueprint, like you’d split around him and never fully close again. You want that, far more than you should. The ache is in every joint now, the burn so bright it’s almost clean. You want to be fucking ruined. You want to wake up tomorrow with Frank’s handprint on your thigh, the pulse between your legs echoing his name. You want to sob, or scream, or both, but it doesn’t matter because Frank’s got you bracketed so tight to the mattress you can’t do anything except take him—take all of him—and isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that exactly it? He’s got your hands pinned above your head, fingers laced so tight your knuckles are going numb, but you can’t stop squeezing back. The angle has you nearly folded double, knees pinned up by your ears, and every thrust sends a hot, bright shock up your spine. The room ripples at the edges. You lose sight of anything but him. The world condenses to sweat and heat and his voice, ground down to a whisky-edged rasp, talking you through the whiteout:

“So good for me,” “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” “Taking it like no one else ever has.” You’re shivering, burning, unable to remember what it was like not to be stretched around the impossible heft of him or pinned under the fierce, unrelenting weight of his need. You try to make a noise—a complaint, a curse, something—but it comes out as a hiccup, pathetic and hungry, and Frank’s laugh splits open in your ear, wild and beautiful. You taste sweat on your tongue and the peppery, ozone crunch in your lungs as the world narrows, narrows, until the only thing left is him and the burn and your name, again and again, wrecked on his lips:

“That’s right, baby. Let me hear you.” He pumps into you, never faltering, each drag making you splinter and cling harder to his hands. You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, the ache a living, pulsing thing, alive and loud and fuck, it’s so much—too much—and yet. You want more. You want everything. He’s so careful and so fucking brutal all at once, talking you through every inch, every new stretch, watching your face when he rocks in deep and groaning, almost in pain with how good it is. He says your name, sometimes slow and reverent, sometimes a growl behind his teeth. Says you’re a fucking angel. Says you’re going to break him, fuck him up for life. He doesn’t stop, not for one goddamn second. You don’t realize you’re crying until salt stings your lips and Frank is licking it away, tongue darting over your cheek and jaw, then sucking on your neck, marking you up as if he can’t stand the thought of you belonging to anyone but him.

You lose track of time, of what hurts and what feels good, of whether the nails digging into his arms are yours or his. Just this relentless, beautiful stretch that crowds out every thought except the next, the next, the next. Frank finally lets your hands free, and you grab for him, clinging to his shoulder, fingers buried in his hair, yanking him down so you can babble, mouth pressed to his ear:

“Yours—yours—never stop, Frank—” His pace stutters, hips jackhammering forward and then grinding in, and suddenly it’s like the world snaps in two. Pleasure detonates up your spine like gunfire, like someone just set off a flashbang right behind your eyes. Your body wrenches, curls, the muscles in your thighs quaking where he’s got you folded almost in half. You grab at his shoulders, his hair, wild for something to anchor you down, to keep from shaking straight out of your own skin. Frank rides it out, making these shivery little noises between his teeth—half cursing, half worship—while his hands press down on your waist, pinning you to the bed like you might float away if he let up. You don’t even hear yourself come, just the way the world blanks out for a long, impossible second, then snaps back in all color and sweat and the taste of his shoulder between your teeth. You’re still shaking, locked tight around him, when he finally lets up on your thighs and lets them fall. Your knees are jelly, numb and useless. You can’t remember your own name, but it’s there in his mouth, a shaking

“Attagirl, that’s it, fuck—“ as he pulses inside you, hard and greedy and so deep it almost hurts again, new. He clings to you, weight trapping you perfectly, chest pushing you down into the mattress as he spends himself inside, like he’s afraid if he lets go you’ll disappear. His breath is heavy, hot against your hairline; sweat from both of you pools where your bodies meet, your skin stuck to his like glue. The slow, shuddery grind of his last thrusts, more soothing than sex at this point, keep you pinned under the haze until the aftershocks shiver out and your body finally, finally, remembers how to breathe. He holds still. Just for a second. The world is silent except for the wet, needy sound of you breathing. His hands cup your jaw, as if you’re breakable. You try to laugh, but it comes out raw, almost a whimper, and his lips find yours, feather-light this time.

Frank’s whole body softens the second he hears that sound.

That tiny, wrecked little whimper against his mouth.

Immediately, the intensity drains out of him—not gone completely, never gone completely with Frank—but gentled down into something warm and careful and devastatingly tender. He kisses you again, slower this time, lips lingering like he’s apologizing for every rough thrust and thanking you for taking them all at once.

“Hey,” he murmurs quietly. “Hey, c’mere.” You’re already there. Boneless beneath him, shaking in little aftershocks while he brushes damp hair away from your forehead with surprising delicacy for someone built like a tank. His thumb strokes over your cheek again, wiping away tears you hadn’t even realized were still there.

“You with me, sweetheart?” You nod weakly. “Words, baby.”

“M’here,” you mumble. Your voice sounds wrecked. Frank’s expression immediately goes soft around the edges.

“There’s my girl.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Did so good for me.” The praise hits embarrassingly hard after everything. Your eyes flutter shut for a second, and Frank notices immediately.

“Tired?”

“A little.”

“Yeah.” He exhales softly, still hovering over you like he’s reluctant to put any real weight down. “I know, baby.” Very carefully, he eases himself off you with a low groan, one hand braced on the mattress while the other stays on your hip the whole time. Protective. Grounding. The second he pulls away, you whine quietly at the sudden emptiness, and Frank actually huffs a tired laugh.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters fondly. “Can’t even make it five seconds without me, huh?” You crack one eye open.

“You literally folded me in half.”

“And you loved it.”

“…Maybe.”

“Knew it.” You try to kick him weakly. Frank catches your ankle immediately, grinning down at you before pressing a kiss to the inside of your calf. Then his expression shifts again when he notices the way your thighs tremble afterward. Instant concern.

“Hey.” His palm smooths up your leg gently. “Too much?”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, s’good.”

“You sure?” You nod. Frank studies your face for another long second anyway, because Frank notices things. Then apparently satisfied, he leans down and presses one more soft kiss to your forehead before climbing off the bed completely. The absence of his body heat is immediate. You make a pathetic noise before you can stop yourself. Frank pauses halfway to the bathroom doorway and looks back at you with the most smug expression you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, now y’want me back.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s what I thought.” You hear water running a second later. Drawers opening. Frank moving around the bathroom with the same quiet heaviness he does everything with. A minute later he comes back carrying a damp washcloth and your favorite oversized sleep shorts tossed over one shoulder. Your chest squeezes stupidly hard at the sight. Because this is Frank too.

Not just rough hands and filthy teasing and possessive growling against your skin. This. The care afterward. The way he always checks. Always notices. He sits beside you on the mattress, expression softer now, and nudges your thigh apart carefully.

“S'cold,” he warns. You hiss when the washcloth touches sensitive skin. Frank immediately slows down. “Sorry, honey.”

“It’s okay.” His jaw tightens a little anyway, like he’s annoyed at himself for not somehow preventing basic friction from existing. You watch him quietly while he cleans you up with absurd gentleness for a man who looks like he fistfights walls recreationally.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs without looking up.

“You’re pretty.” Frank snorts.

“Sweetheart, I look homeless.”

“You look hot.”

“That’s because you got problems.” You laugh tiredly, and the sound makes his mouth twitch. Once he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and helps pull the shorts carefully up your legs before immediately tugging you into his lap like it’s instinct. Your entire body melts against him. Frank leans back against the headboard with you sprawled bonelessly across his chest, one massive hand rubbing slow circles against your spine underneath one of his old shirts he’d pulled back onto you. For a while, neither of you says anything. Just breathing. His fingers comb lazily through your hair while your cheek rests over his heartbeat. Then:

“…Still thinkin’ about Curtis?” he asks casually. You choke laughing.

“Frank.”

“What?”

“You are unbelievable.”

“M’serious.” He sounds deeply offended. “Need t’know if I gotta fight him now.”

“You are not fighting Curtis because I wore novelty underwear.” Frank hums thoughtfully.

“Maybe just a little fight.”

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He kisses the top of your head. “Still your favorite Marine though.” You tilt your head back just enough to look at him.

“Debatable.” Frank stares at you for one long second. Then abruptly rolls you beneath him again with a growl while you shriek laughing.

“Wrong answer.”

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[fewerstars]

just let me help

| summary: frank can't sleep so he shows up at your door, but he realises you need him much more than he needs you and basically you cry in his lap and then he comforts you and…. yeahh

I authors note: first piece I'm sharing guys, I hope yall like it because I’ll be honest this whole thing is just Frank talking you through it while he fucks you because he knows you need it.

I content: fem reader, smut, p in v, sad!reader, comfort, praise kink, crying!reader, selfless!frank, pet names, sitting on lap, body worship, talking you through it, thigh riding, angst, frank only has a soft spot for you, frank comforts reader, gentle!frank, lowkey yearning!frank

I word count: 6.7k

It's past midnight, and you're wandering around the kitchen, cleaning up after a long day, your long, soft hair flowing down your shoulders as you stand on your tiptoes to open a cabinet. It seems like the world just has it in for you lately, everything's going wrong, and on top of that, you don't have anyone to talk to.

Well, there's Frank. There's always Frank. It's like he can sense when somethings wrong. At times, he knows you better than you know yourself. But Frank's- well... Frank? Yes, he's there for you but he's never there. Not physically. No, he's always caught up in a fight, always saving someone or hurting himself.

You shake your head, drying your hands on a towel lying on the counter. It's not fair for you to expect anything from him. It's not like he's yours?

There's a knock at the door. You raise your head suddenly, someone's at the door? Confused, you walk towards it, moonlight lighting up the dark hallway of your house through the glass panes on the door. You open it, looking up, and of course it's him. The same comforting, distant man you can't stop thinking about.

"Frank?" you furrow your brows softly, you didn't expect it to genuinely be him at the door. The cold breeze brushed your bare arms as you stand at the door in your shorts and camisole. His eyes flicker up and down, taking your presence in. He doesn't say anything. Still, you're a kind woman, you're understanding, and so without questioning anything you tell him softly, "Come in" with a gentle nod of your head towards inside your house. You gesture him inside, shutting the door with a click behind you. He walks in with his broad figure, hands in his pocket awkwardly as if you're the one who's showed up to his house in the middle of the night. He's looking at the floor like a child being scolded and so you ask him, "Hey, is everything okay?"

He looks up slowly at your kind face, he doesn't want to disappoint you- or for you to think less of him. "I uh-just, couldn't sleep" he finally mutters, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "Just- wanted to hear your voice I guess." His voice is low, it's as if he hasn't spoken to anyone for a while. You watch him understandingly, not an ounce of judgement in your face, and you just nod. "Come. Sit down for a bit" you tell him, walking towards your couch, your own arms crossed, a natural sort of defence mechanism- though of course, Frank has never hurt you. He'd never dare lay a hand on you.

He sits down on the couch, the whole thing moving slightly lower with his weight. You hover near him, still stood up. "Want something to drink?" you ask him softly, and he shakes his head. Leaning back on the couch, he says softly, "Nah, 's alright, just came to see you."

Of course he says that. And of course your stomach starts doing fucking backflips. You shake your head, walking into the kitchen anyway. He sits there alone for a moment, eyes following you, watching as you work your way through the kitchen like an angel, skin as soft as snow, biting your lip in concentration.

You come back with two glasses and some whiskey, placing them down with a clink. His puppy dog eyes follow your slender fingers as you let go of the glasses. They continue scanning over your body as you finally take a seat opposite him, pressing one of your knees to your chest and resting your chin there. You sigh softly as you watch him.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" you ask softly, watching him carefully.He throws his shoulders up softly, shrugging. It's not the first time he's done something like this. For years it's been obvious to you that he has a soft spot for you, but no action has ever been taken. And you curse yourself endlessly for it, but you feel something for him too-even though you can't tell what exactly. He shakes his head, grunting, "It doesn't matter, I'm used to it".

You continue watching him. Something about his presence as a whole just has a hold on you. You want to be there for him- to help him. So you ask him the only sensible thing in your head, "You wanna talk about it?" He watches you through half lidded eyes, shaking his head silently as he leans forward a little, his forearms on his legs, "Already said, just needed to see you."

You don't know what to do but nod. You breathe out a soft, "Okay" and sit there, still hugging your knee on your seat like a worried child. The truth is you're tired. Tired of begging, of trying to be there for people who clearly don't want you. Tired of being rejected and never understood. Your eyes start to wander around your living room, the warm glow from your fireplace lighting everything up, including Frank's eyes.

He tilts his head the slightest, watching your every move and of course, he knows somethings wrong. You continue sitting there, wondering what to say or what to do. You get chills from the way you can tell he's watching you closely. So why won't he just fucking say something? It's not like he has any trouble in the female department?

Except he doesn't want anyone who isn't you. Most people are shit scared of him, they think he's about to snap any moment. But not you. No, you see him for who he really is. A man in pain, who's always making mistakes to just help what he thinks is right. And you, you're kind and gentle and smart- everything that's the opposite of the world he knows.

After a few minutes of quiet besides the soft crackling of the fire, he chooses to break the silence. He can't watch you just sitting here, disassociating from everything. You're still hugging your knee, sitting in that position on the couch. Finally, he murmurs softly, "What's goin’ on?" And without really moving, your eyes flick to him and you shrug your shoulders. His heart patters softly at your dismissive tone.

He can't sit here and watch you suffer silently. Especially since you would never do that either. He frowns softly and rumbles out, "Hey, talk to me." And as if a light switch suddenly flicks in your head, you gain awareness and turn your head to him. Not entirely convincingly you tell him, "I'm okay, really." and drop your knee from beneath your chin, your feet both on the floor awkwardly.

You realise he's here because he was upset and so you look back up and ask him, "Tell me what's up then, why couldn't you sleep?" He watched you like you just spoke some foreign language and mutters, "That's not fair." You just stare at him confused.

God, why is he like this?

For some reason you're already infuriated, anger bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out. "What do you mean that's not fair? You show up to my door past midnight and you won't even tell me what's wrong?" you spit out. Frank frowns, he hates seeing you like this, hates that he's caused you to feel like this. You see his face soften and instantly feel bad. That's the kind of effect he has on you. So you breathe out, "Look I'm sorry- I've just had a shit day." Which is a lie of course, every day is shit. Everyday that you go on, unsure of your feelings towards Frank, unsure of what you want.

He blinks slowly, giving you space, letting you get your feelings out. “Don't be sorry," he says gruff but softly, shaking his head. A quiet moment passes and he says "C'mere," gesturing to the empty space beside him. Hesitantly you get up, trudging towards him like a dog with a tail between its legs. You sit down next to him, embarrassed now that you raised your voice at him. And the worst thing is that he stayed calm, he let you yell at him. Because that's the kind of man Frank is.

You stare ahead at the floor, Frank looking at nothing but you. His eyes trace over your face, your soft hair- that little figure of yours that's so angry inside, your chest going up and down softly as you breathe. He hesitates, then parts his lips slightly and whispers, "Talk to me." You look up slowly, turning your head to face his weathered face which is full of concern for you, and you protest, "This isn't about me- you're the one who's upset."

Frank lets out a soft breath. "God you're stubborn" he huffs, and you can tell he’s genuinely annoyed. You don't say anything back and he continues watching you. "Just let me be here for you." he whispers, almost begging, like he needs to help you. Like he can't live knowing you're upset. You shake your head, voice shaking as you say, "For Christ's sake Frank, I don't need your help- I don't need you." Except you do. Your eyes begin to glisten as you ramble, threatening to start spilling tears and Frank frowns, repeating, "Hey hey, shhh" as he gently moves his calloused hand onto your forearm.

You shake your head, fighting back tears and trying to get out of his reach, "I'm fine- go away, I'm fine." You pull your arm away, voice quaking. The same way he let you shout at him, he's letting you use physical force on him. You keep spitting out that you're fine-you don't need anyone or anything, and all the while, Franks hand gently moves to the side of your face, holding it in his palm. You croak out once more with glistening eyes, "I'm fine" and then break down at his soft touch.

Tears run down your face as you shake your head, trying to stop crying. Frank watches you heartbroken, his brows are furrowed and it looks like he's only a few moments away from crying too. "Oh poor baby" he whispers, pulling you close to him, his big arms wrapping around you warmly. "Let it out, I'm here" he says, voice barely above a whisper. He wants to protect you from everything, from everything that hurts you, but he can't, and that's what bothers him. He needs you to need him.

You try wiping your tears with the back of your hand, but they continue streaming down your face. You make the mistake of looking up at Frank because as you lift your head slowly- your, big sad doe eyes break him. A soft gasp leaves his lips and he whispers, "Oh, sweet girl," as if he's in pain watching you cry. Effortlessly he pulls you onto his lap, his big hands wrapping around you as if he can shield you from the world. He tilts back his head to get a better look at you, leaning back on the couch and adjusting you to make sure you're comfy. "I know you’re hurtin’, just let it out" he breathes.

His broad chest presses against yours as he holds you, one hand on your back, the other caressing your hair. You cry your endless tears and he gently lifts your head with his hand beneath your chin. "I'm here, just talk to me, please." he says softly, eyebrows knitted together in concern. Eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears you stutter, "God I'm just so alone. I'm so alone Frank- I don't have anyone." He looks like a sad little puppy at hearing that.

"That's not true baby, you have me" he frowns, tilting his head to get a better look at you, resting his hand on the side of your face. His other hand runs up and down your back soothingly, and you nuzzle your face into his hand. But he’s not yours, you remember. "Don't call me that Frank" you cry, pulling your head back and shaking it.

God, his heart aches watching you cry.

He watches your quivering lip, waiting for you to explain, and you glare at him, your words drowning in tears. At last, your voice breaks when you say, "Not when I'm not yours."

Oh.

He shakes his head silently, sitting up a little more and adjusting you in his lap. "Don't say that." he whispers, taken aback and heartbroken. “Just- don’t-” he mutters, unsure of what to say. He wants to be yours. God knows he does. But it's not that easy, he can't bring you into his life, because he knows that anyone he loves gets hurt.

He moves his palm across both sides of your face gently, wiping off the tears that are leaving salty, hot trails on your skin. Your voice breaks, barely holding together as you try to speak. "Frank," you cry shakily, your breath catching in broken, wet gasps. He barely blinks, just taking in this sight of you- broken and defeated. "Yeah i know, I'm here."

He doesn't bother wiping away the tears that soak his collar, he just needs to be there for you. As he holds you close and roams his hands up and down your back, you hiccup a little, your violent sobs much less now. "That's it, you're okay" he whispers sweetly, his touch gentle and caring. You sniffle in his chest as he reassures you, your stomach fluttering. Oh how you hate the way he makes you feel, as if you're not in control of your own body.

"Frank," you whisper again, breathlessly, the only remnants of your crying being your puffy eyes. "Yeah sweet girl? talk to me" he murmurs, moving a strand of hair that's stuck on your wet face behind your ear. You don't say anything, just let yourself melt back into him, your face in the crook of his neck, legs on either side of him. He lets his hands fall to your sides again, but lower this time- on your hips. He holds them with both hands, as if you'd disappear if he let go.

Your lips part slightly at his touch, you’re aching all over for him. Franks big hands stay there carefully, burning through the fabric of your shorts. Gently he rubs your sides and your breath hitches. Of course, any noise that slips out of your mouth almost kills him. His brows are furrowed as he tries to absorb every reaction you’re giving him. He needs to make you feel good. So, he takes your little gasps as a sign that it’s okay, and gently trails a hand lower, till it meets your thigh. As if his life purpose is to make you feel good, he applies a little more pressure to his touch, watching your face carefully, waiting for another reaction. Waiting for a sign that you want this too.

"This okay sweet girl?" he asks, hands tracing over your thighs reverently. You whine "mhm", leaning back into him. His lips part in awe at your little noises- he needs to hear more. You gasp softly at his hands kneading your hips then moving to your thighs. "Frankk" you whine desperately, core pressing into him a little. This is what you meant, how you can't control yourself when you're with him. He nods understandingly, whispering with his rich voice, "What is it sweet girl?”

Your head lolls to the side, brain turning into mush as your core heats up on his lap. As if doesn’t already make you lose control of your own body- he’s whispering these sweet names in your ear. You can't help it, but your hips rock forward ever so slightly, trying to satisfy that blooming need between your aching thighs.

The moment your hips move, his breath hitches. His entire body goes still as he feels that tiny movement against his lap. He senses your need, and it sends a bolt of desire through him. But he doesn't rush. Instead, his hands stay still for a second on your thighs, then slowly slide up to press against the curve of your waist. The gentle pressure of his palms keeps you right there in his arms, needy and warm. Then his voice drops lower and he whispers against your ear breathily, "Attagirl, let me know how you feel, okay?”

His sweetness is making you melt, and all of your senses are being blinded by pure need right now. You whimper desperately, almost panting as you buck your hips again and Frank says softly, “Take what you need.” You let out a small moan at that, and he realises just how much you need him. You grind your hips against his a few more times, needing to soothe the white hot ache between your legs, but nothings working and you’re getting frustrated. Your eyes begin to water again, but out of desperation now, not sadness. You throw your arms behind his neck, looking for something to hold onto and keep bucking your hips onto his, desperate for anything that will give you friction.

“Frankie,” you moan helplessly, frustrated at yourself, at not being able to feel good. He watches you reverently, as if you’re an angel on his lap, rough hands still moving gently on your sides. “I know baby, dyou need my help?” he coaxes, slipping a hand near the edge of the waistband of your shorts. When he calls you baby again, your heart clenches. He doesn't want to push, or overstep with someone as sweet as you. You lifts your head just slightly, eyes glassy and vulnerable and then nod, slow and shy, but honest, “Please, I need you”. Your eyes start watering again with need, you’ve never felt so alone- so desperate for Frank to just take care you.

“Hey, hey don’t cry doll” he coos, frowning as you pout sadly. You stare into his solemn eyes, desperately waiting for him to take action, but instead, he softly presses his forehead to yours. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” he whispers, his tone as sweet as honey. He moves his head back a little, enough to see you clearly and wipes away another one of your tears with his thumb. “You’re my girl and I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” he reassures as his hand creeps beneath your waistband now.

Of course- he’s still a gentleman with morals and so he asks with the utmost respect, “Can I take these off?” as his fingers creep under your sleep shorts, brushing past the soft lace of your panties. You all but moan, “Yes- please” in desperation, and that’s enough for him. He instructs you firmly, “Lift your hips f’me,” and carefully holds you up with one arm, the other one working at your waist, pulling your shorts down your thighs. “Can I take these off too?” he checks, his pointer finger hooked under the soft lace. You nod your head urgently and with that, the scraps of fabric are at your ankles, then discarded on the floor. He has a job to do.

His breath gets lost in his throat, mouth almost watering at the sight of you, but he tries to be as respectful as possible. “There you go doll, what else dyou need?” he asks adoringly, his hand moving to hold the back of your neck. He stares at your face, all sweet and vulnerable, and has a violent urge to kiss those soft pink lips of yours. You part your mouth to speak, but before any words can come out, Frank leans forward, and presses his lips to yours with such care, you’d think you’re made of glass.

You don’t remember your eyes shutting, just him pulling back tenderly from the kiss and your eyes opening to see his. Like you’re the most valuable thing ever, he leans back in and places a kiss beneath your ear. You gasp as he peppers your neck with soft kisses that eventually turn into hot, desperate ones when he can’t control himself. He nibbles at your neck, leaving little marks, then soothes the pain with his tongue, licking at your neck like he’s never felt a woman this sweet before. “You taste so sweet,” he groans, and the heat between your thighs aches as you sit bare on his clothed lap. Your cunt is dripping at the thought of him inside you. His fingers, his dick- anything as long as he’s in you.

You press your hips down on his lap urgently, marking his jeans with a visible wet patch where you’re sat on his thigh. Desperately you start rocking your hips back and forth, searching for the friction you so badly need. Frank groans in awe at how beautiful you are when you’re in need, and he groans, “That’s it, get yourself off on my thigh baby,” as he busies himself with kissing your neck. His hands scramble at the lace of your pyjama top, itching to pull it off. His eyes flick to your scrunched up face as you chase your pleasure, the fabric rubbing on your clit deliciously, and since you don’t protest, he helps you out of your thin top. Hastily, his manly hands search for the clasp of your bra on your back, and with a click, that’s also off and thrown to the floor.

His hands are urgently on your back, covered by your flowing hair as he runs them over your skin desperately. His eyes scan over your angelic body, skin soft and so so beautiful. He has to stop himself from kissing every square inch of your body, but he can’t help himself entirely, so he presses his face between the valley of your breasts and inhales, trying impossibly to be closer to you. Both his arms are wrapped around you protectively, helping you move back and forth to chase your high as he inhales that warm, sweet scent of your skin. He moves his head back to meet yours and pants, “That’s it dollface, keep going f’me.” You let out a lewd moan, signalling how close you are to him and he mewls softly, his dick bulging in his jeans as you ride his thigh. “That’s my girl, you’re almost there.” he praises as you continue writhing back and forth.

Your breathing’s irregular and your vision is blurry from pleasure, and fuck you’ve never needed him so badly. You squirm, so close yet so far, but when his stubble brushes your breast as his lips clasp around your nipple, you’re gone. An obscene moan leaves your mouth as you quiver on his thigh, legs twitching, mouth wide open- and then you can hear Frank praising, “There she is, that’s a good girl.” as you come down from your orgasm, his mouth still pressed to your tit as he holds your body to his. “You’re so beautiful sweetheart,” he pants, relieved that you feel good, ignoring the bulging ache in his jeans. You sigh tiredly, chest heaving as you come down from your high. “mmm thank you Frank,” you murmur, hair stuck to your forehead, eyes puffy from crying, and he answers, “Anything for you doll.”

You watch his broad figure beneath you, and find it amazing how someone this manly can be so soft with you. You love it about him. As you watch him pant selflessly, not wanting to take anything from you, you almost lunge at him. Quickly, you connect your soft lips to his own, wanting to taste his mouth properly now. His tongue slides between your mouth, your lips clashing as you try desperately to feel eachother even closer. You kiss the corner of his mouth, licking at his stubble, imagining how it’d feel between your thighs- how his warm tongue would work between your folds as you moaned, pushing his head lower in desperation. Frantically, you lean back and moan, “I need you Frankie,” as you move your hands over his shirt, on his chest. It’s not like he isn’t yearning to have you too, because he is. There’s nothing more he needs right now than to feel you sucking him in, to feel your walls flutter around him as you cum for the second time, but he needs to hear you say it.

“Use your words sweetheart, what dyou need?” he coos softly, like he’s talking to a child, rubbing your inner thighs. You fall into him, soft tits pressing into his chest as you whine. “I need you inside me- please.” you beg, and he purrs admiringly, pressing gentle kisses to the underside of your breast. “Is that it baby? You need me to take you?” he coaxes, hand cupping your breast, covering it entirely. He kneads it carefully and you moan, barely able to get out an “uh huh” at his touch. “Good girl, that wasn’t that hard was it?” he teases, tapping you on the side of your thighs, signalling for you to lift them.

As you hold your hips in the air, he undoes his belt, pulls down the zipper of his jeans and swiftly tugs them off. He nudges your hips back down and the soft flesh of your ass meets his muscly thighs again, but without clothes between you this time. Need overflows your senses and you moan as his glistening dick hits the sensitive skin of your thigh. You claw at his shirt, and the side of his mouth lifts into a smirk as he pulls it over his head effortlessly. “You’re so needy ain’t ya sweet girl?” he coos, massaging your hips, moving his hands to the roundness of your ass. “Fuck- so soft” he groans, eyes closing for a second to compose himself.

“Please, Frankiee” you wail, pressing your tits to his broad chest, your nipples like mountain peaks. “Shhh, I know” he murmurs, leaning forward and flicking his tongue under your ear. “I’m gonna take care of my girl.” he whispers into your neck, and that makes you swoon. His chunky fingers trail down between your thighs, and he runs his middle finger through your slick folds, holding it up as a string of wetness hangs from it. “Oh, you’re dripping baby,” he coos with adoration, “Don’t even need my fingers”.

He moves back, cupping your cheek with one calloused hand, the other reaching for his aching dick. He pumps it a few times, face scrunching up in desperation to enter you. His eyes flicker to yours hopelessly and his voice cracks as he says, “Let me make love to you sweetheart.” You nod, a painful need blooming in your body, your heart aching at his softness. As needy as ever, he moves your hips with care, nudging your dripping entrance with his swollen tip. You gasp at the contact, needing more, although he hasn’t even had the chance to enter you fully yet. He groans, eyes closing as he bites his lip, pushing himself deeper inside you. “Oh god- you’re so tight f’me,” he shudders, stretching you out painfully as his breath hitches.

So gently, he pushes your hips down until you sink on him fully, and he bottoms out in you with a shuddering groan. “Ahh fuck, is this okay sweetie, does it feel good?” he asks, considerate of you. You nod rapidly, eyebrows furrowed in despair, needing him to move. You moan, hips twitching, desperate for some friction. “Frankie I need you to fuck me,” you moan, hands on his chest. He growls at the way you say that, hands holding your hips as he whispers “Shit, I know baby- I’m gonna take care of this pussy so well.” You can feel yourself getting even wetter around him, if that’s even possible. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he reassures, pressing another wet kiss to the line of your jaw.

Slowly but surely, he does start moving. He lets out deep groans as he holds your waist, grinding you on his lap. You can’t wait, you start urging your hips back and forth faster and he tuts at you, whispering dirtily, “Oh, I didn’t know my girl was so needy f’me.” But he understands you need it- need him, and so he starts to buck his hips faster for you. He wraps his arms around you like a human shield, and with his hold on you, starts lifting you. You moan, not wanting to leave, you haven’t even had anything near enough and you can already feel his thick cock sliding out of you. But as you’re about to protest, he quickly slams you back down with urgency. A vulgar noise leaves your mouth as your skin slaps back down onto his. He groans, desperate to make you feel good, he wants to be here for you. He needs to show you you’re not alone, show you that he lov-

You gasp, head thrown back in ecstasy, you can’t think about anything but his arms around you, his breathy whispering into your ear. “Frank,” you cry, emotions pouring out of you. He’s like heaven, he’s your heaven. He feels like home, gives you stability, makes you want to live, to start a family even. You wanna be his, to give him everything and love him till you’re dead. You moan as your tits bounce up and down; Frank worshipping your body, unable to say anything with how pussy drunk he is.

He groans as you clench around him, coating him with slick as you move up and down. He feels different when he’s with you. He feels capable of- change? Capable of being soft and sweet unlike how life has treated him the last few years. He wants to love you forever. At every sound of your skin slapping, a different stage of your lives flashes past his eyes. Watching you walk down the aisle with tears in his eyes. Moving into your first home together. Remodelling your kitchen as you laugh, faces covered in paint. Having a baby together.

“I-” Frank gasps, the words he wants to say sticking his mouth together. “Fuck,” he groans, so close to the edge, “baby- fuck, I love you.” Your arms are around his neck while he makes love to you, desperately holding onto him. You’re scared you’ll drown if you let go, especially when those words leave his mouth. Your heart stops, your eyes glisten and you whine out, “I love you too Frank.” He presses gentle kisses to your neck once you say that, scared that he’ll start crying if he looks at you. He holds onto you like you’re his anchor, and finally, tilts your head so his eyes can meet yours.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he whispers emotionally, voice breaking. “You’re my whole life baby” he tells you, every word leaving his mouth dripping with love. He helps you lay on your back on the sofa, still connected with you at the core and continues making love to you. With every thrust of his hips you moan into his neck. He pants in your ear as his chest hovers over you, and he mutters sweet nothings into your ear incoherently. You can tell he’s close because he’s not making sense anymore. “Fuck- I’m so lucky to have you baby,” he grunts, jaw clenching together as he stutters, “mm I’m so close.” Your legs are stiff too, and you realise you need to cum again. Frank sees it too and like the gentleman he is, he makes you his priority. “Oh babydoll,” he coos, moving a hand from your side to the sensitive skin between your legs. He smiles endearingly and says, “Let me see that pretty face,” as he tilts his head.

You meet his gaze, but you’re in despair, needing release. He slips his middle finger just below your dripping folds, feeling his dick slide in and out of your drenched pussy. “I’m g’na make you feel so good.” he utters, pulling his hand away from where you’re connected. Your stomach flips when he brings it to his face, spits into it and lowers it back down to your throbbing cunt. He wipes the glob onto your clit, looking up to see your screwed up face. “You okay sweet girl?” he pants and you nod urgently, trying to urge yourself closer to him as his dick tortures your gummy walls. His saliva drips down your pussy as he checks on you, but once you nod, his hand is right back to work. He moves his thumb over to your sensitive nub and starts rubbing gently.

You shudder, pleasure overflowing out of your body as he rubs your clit, his length still dragging in and out of you. You move your hands onto his back, desperate for something to hold onto, to anchor you. Frank shudders at you clawing at his back- your grasp is so desperate, it makes him feel cherished in a way he's never known. Your breath hitches as your mouth falls open, and Frank starts talking you through it, knowing you’ll fall apart any minute. “That’s it, I’m right here, let go,” he encourages while he continues rubbing quick circles. Your moans become increasingly louder, your breathing irregular and you’re on the verge of coming undone. Franks groans at the sweet sounds you make, struggling but managing to get out the words- “Fuck- I’m g’na cum.”

He hasn’t made a fuss about himself, hasn’t been doing this to make himself feel good. Never- you’re always his first priority, and tonight was about making you feel good. About showing you that you’re not alone- no, you’re cherished and loved by so many people. By him. He groans in short gasps, his breathing uneven as he reaches the edge. “Frankie- I’m so close” you whine, your hands trailing down to the nape of his neck. Your fingers are slipping through his short hair as he moans, both of you looking like a desperate, sweating mess. His cock keeps drilling into you and finally you shriek, hips bucking and thighs shaking as you come apart around his dick.

As your head falls to the side while your drenched pussy convulses around him, he groans into your hair, asking for permission as if you’re his goddess. “Doll, I’m so- mph, fuck- I’m right there,” he starts, unable to get a whole sentence out straight. “Please- umph- please let me fill you up.” he stutters, throbbing as his thrusts become sloppy. You breathe out, “Please,” into his neck and with a vulgar groan, his hips stutter and you shudder at a warmth filling you up.

There’s something about you that makes him want to be good. As he holds you like there’s no tomorrow while his hips twitch into yours, filling you, he realises how much he needs you. You’re his angel, his salvation- and there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you. Not a single thing, just so he could see you smile, see you feel good. “You’re okay baby, I’m here.” he groans in ragged breaths. He caresses your tits as you both come down from your high, both of you trembling messes. Your breathing steadies slightly as he kisses you, shows you how much he cares. His spend seeps out of your pussy, which is stuffed entirely, and dribbles down his length. Franks eyes trail to where you’re connected, and with a raspy voice he says, “You look so beautiful like this baby.” The corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiles softly, rubbing soft circles on your cheek with his thumb. He adores you with his whole heart. He’s in no rush to go or to leave you. Instead, he holds your warm body close, and skims his mouth up and down your neck. Not kissing, not licking, just letting his lip brush over your skin.

He links an arm beneath you, pulling you off your back to sit up straight and straddle him again, still keeping you plugged with his length, all while his rough hands move to your hair and he runs his fingers through the soft, silkiness of it. “You did so good f’me doll, so good” he purrs, nudging his nose against your jaw, “My good girl.” God, everything he does is so intimate, so sensual. Doing this; for Frank anyways, isn’t about fucking. He wants to make love to you. He wants you to feel comfortable enough to fall apart right there in his lap. And fortunately, he succeeded at that, which means you did feel cherished. “Feel okay sweetheart?” he asks, holding you head with his large hand, the other running along your jawline. You nod sheepishly, cheeks flushed as he smiles at you.

“Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about baby.” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You love this about him, the fact that he’s actually taking care of you. “Feel better baby?” he asks, brushing his thumb beneath your eye, as if to catch a tear but you’re not crying. “Mhm, so full.” you whine, glancing down and he nudges your head back up, desperate to see your perfect face. “That right?” he smiles teasingly. “My girl feels all filled up?”. Your cheeks flush pink and he watches you lovingly.

“That’s how I wanna see you baby. Not sad, not talking down on yourself”. He watched you thoughtfully, tone a little more serious then before and you nod. “Okay?” he asks, and you nod, a small smile on your lips, “okay.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead as you close your eyes, and whispers, “Good girl”. As your heart flips, he leans back and says, “Let me help you clean up baby”, rubbing a hand over your thigh. You nod, knowing he’s gonna have to pull out, and after a few more gentle kisses, he helps you onto your back again, his calloused hand over your stomach as he says, “okay, you ready?” You bite your lip, nodding and he starts to pull out- a grimace on his face. As his dick pulls out with a wet pop, his load oozes out of your hole and onto the couch. “You did so good baby, I’m so proud of my girl.” he says in his raspy voice, moving away from between your legs, standing up. He watches your perfect figure lying back on the couch, and tells you, “I’ll be right back.” before walking out of the living room.

He comes back after a few moments, holding one of your shirts, a glass of water and a cloth. You smile in awe, heart aching at his attempt to give you aftercare. He leans down, sitting on his knees on the cold floor, setting the glass of water onto the coffee table with a clink. “Can I help baby?” he asks softly, holding up the cloth. You smile giddily and say, “Yes, please”, and then his paws are on your legs again and he whispers, “Spread your legs f’me sweetheart”. If he hadn’t already just fucked the life out of you, you would’ve been needy again, but instead you open your legs for him, revealing your glistening cunt. He raises the damp cloth, moving it between your thighs and starts gently rubbing at your pussy. “There you go” he whispers, one hand pushing your thigh down to have access while the other holds the cloth. Carefully he cleans you up, electricity running through you when the cloth rubs on your sensitive nub. He places the cloth to the side, not breaking eye contact as he presses the softest kiss to your clit. You shudder, still having aftershocks from your second orgasm.

“Thank you,” you whisper and smiles, placing his hands on knees, and getting up. He moves back onto the couch, pulling you close to his side and tells you, “Lift your arms for me”. You do as he says, and ever so softly, he pulls a clean shirt over your head, gently pulling your arms through the sleeves. He kisses your forehead and wraps an arm around your waist, breathing softly into your hair. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth and he whispers your name sweetly, before breathing out, “I love you”. You nuzzle your face into him as he holds you and you tell him, “I love you too.” His manly hands stroke your hair as you cuddle and he sighs in content. Somehow, he managed to change your night that started out with tears and despair into a night filled with love.

“I’m sorry you felt alone baby. But just know I’m here for you now. I’m yours, and I’d do anything and everything for you.” You listen to his deep rich voice as he holds you, trusting his every word. “Oh Frank,” you whisper, closing your eyes against him. He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against your bare shoulder.

“I’m never going anywhere again baby. You’re my life.”

[soopertiddies]

Pookie doesn't like my outfit :(

[m-e-i-n-a-r-t]

i made a sequel

[arugullla]

i like Hans’ battle outfit

decided to color that one sketch i posted on ig stories the other day

[medieval-bohemia-corner]

Last playthrough I didn't search for Ranyek, since the moment I stepped into the shit Henry complained it was gross and he sounded so miserable I took pity on him... this time there was no pity.

And I loved the magical realism of the shit monster:

(I know it could be some insect or some shit, but I'd rather think of it as the shit monster)

In general I love how disgusted and horrified Henry is throughout the whole wading through shit bit. The thing is, we know (it's mentioned in Aquarius in KCD1 and various points in KCD2) that handling and dealing shit/latrines is seen like something that would taint you forever, just like handling corpses.

Now, we know Henry is shockingly uncaring about social standards of the time when it comes to handling things seen as unclean — excrements or dead bodies. So most of his complaints are about the shit being gross and something being inside it — very reasonable concerns. He isn't concerned someone would see him or what it would do to his honor, that is, he is only concerned if one person saw him:

Henry doesn't care about the social repercussions of this, or anyone other than Hans seeing him. He mutters it to himself. Literally, Hans Capon on his mind 24/7, but it is interesting that Henry is concerned with keeping some face in front of Hans.

I mean, Henry saw Hans covered in shit and did not judge him for it. Hans saw Henry at his literal worse by this point, multiple times, at Bozhena's, when he just arrived at Rattay after Skalitz, etc. But Henry still cares about appearing presentable and not in a situation he considers embarrassing in front of Hans. Henry cares a lot about how Hans sees him. I think Henry wants to be the version of himself that he thinks Hans sees. I don't know, it was such a small line he has as I force him to wade through shit to look for a bow.

Also, as I left, a women walked by and complained Henry stinks asking something like "Where did you roll about?"

And I had the option to either "explain" or "retort" and I was annoyed, so I told Henry to retort. I did not expect him to say this:

Like, omg, Henry, that is not what I thought you'd say...

[anamnesus]

Nightfall

Uncropped: blue or twitter

"If I don't die tomorrow I'll come and see you, baby Through all the pain and sorrow Only you can save me"

Song

[simplyastra]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭

SUMMARY: Theo Nott didn’t fall in love loudly. It happened in quiet corridors, in soft laughter, in the way she saw things no one else did — including him Based off of this request

Theodore Nott first noticed you one night after curfew. He was wandering an empty corridor, shadows stretching long under flickering torchlight, when he paused at the sound of soft voices.

There, sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor, was you — a Ravenclaw girl he didn’t recognize. Hovering in front of you, unusually calm, was Peeves.

The poltergeist — the same one who terrorized students with crude jokes and flying ink pots — was chatting with you like an old friend. You listened intently, nodding with genuine interest, offering a small laugh at something he said.

“That’s not very fair...chaos is supposed to feel like laughter, not loneliness.” You said gently, and Theodore's heart skipped a beat at the sound of you voice.

Then he shook his head slightly. Either you were incredibly foolish or extraordinary to have befriended Peeves. He lingered a moment longer before slipping away, intrigued despite himself.

After that, he began to see you everywhere.

In the Great Hall, you sat with Luna Lovegood, both of you lost in quiet conversation, occasionally including Neville Longbottom. You were a Ravenclaw, clearly — bright eyes, thoughtful expressions.

In classes, his gaze kept drifting to you. You were kind to everyone, even the house-elves you thanked by name. When you made a minor mistake in Potions, even Snape hesitated from his usual cruelty, muttering a correction before turning his ire on Potter instead.

Theo found himself watching more openly.

One afternoon, he slipped into the Forbidden Forest for a smoke. There you were again — feeding a Thestral with such gentle affection it looked like a pet. The creature nuzzled your hand, and you glowed with quiet joy, cooing softly to a small baby Thestral nearby.

Theo realized with a dull thud in his chest that you could see them. You had watched someone die.

His jaw tightened slightly — not in anger, but something quieter he didn’t recognize.

He hesitated, then stepped forward, crushing the cigarette under his boot.

“You know, there’s a high chance that one might bite you.”

You turned at his voice, blinking once. Theo wondered if he looked too intimidating in the dappled light, but you simply smiled and turned back to the creature.

“Only if I give it a reason to.” Your voice was soft, warm.

Theo watched, silent, “They only look frightening if you don’t listen properly,” you said softly. “Most things do.”

Curfew was approaching, so you walked back together. Theo brought up the Peeves incident.

You laughed lightly, a sound that caught him off guard — softer than he expected, and for some reason, he didn’t want it to stop.

“Peeves can be a great conversationalist when you treat him like a person instead of a pest.”

Theo had a hard time believing that, but he didn’t argue. As you both talked, Theo noticed how you got distracted mid-sentence, watching the way the wind moved the trees, then smiled like you remembered what you were saying.

Over the following days, you grew closer. You asked him whimsical, random questions — about the color of thoughts, or whether ghosts dreamed — that he secretly adored. “Do you think memories weigh something?” you had asked him once. “Sometimes mine feel heavy.” He had no idea how to respond to that, wondering if his memories ever felt heavy.

You made wishes on shooting stars, on a single eyelash that rested on your cheek, when the clock hit a certain time. You lived like tomorrow wouldn't come, you made him happier, he realized. When he was with you, he'd find that your energy and your happiness were contagious. He discovered you were incredibly smart, nearly matching him in Dark Arts theory and spellwork, though your kindness made your approach gentler.

One clear night on the Astronomy Tower, you mapped constellations, brow furrowed in concentration. Theo had stopped smoking around you weeks ago; it was worth it.

He leaned against the parapet. “You're quieter than usual. What do you want to tell me?" You asked, catching him off guard as you glanced at him.

He exhaled sharply, unsure whether to tell you. “I can see Thestrals because, well, I saw my mother...” His fingers curled slightly against the cold stone, like he needed something to ground him.

You paused, lowering your hand. Your gaze softened with understanding.

“That must be painful to carry.”

A moment of silence passed as you looked out at the Black Lake. Then you shifted closer, your shoulder brushing his.

“My dad was an Auror,” you said softly. “When I was just a baby, Death Eaters came. I saw him pass away from the top of the stairs and could do nothing about it.”

You exhaled. “Some pains can’t be forgotten. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to carry them.”

It hit Theo harder than anything had in years. Everyone else told him to let go. You told him it was alright to hold on.

He wanted to kiss you right then, he wanted to hold you close and never let you go.

He didn’t do any of that.

He simply croaked, “Okay,” and stared at the lake with you.

A week later, Theo was heading back from the library when he heard voices in an empty corridor after curfew.

A Ravenclaw boy stood mockingly in front of you, arms crossed.

“I hid Lovegood’s things again. What are you going to do about it?”

You glared, voice steady. “It wasn’t nice. And it’s not funny to keep doing that to her.”

The boy scoffed and stepped closer, lifting his hand toward your face.

Theo was already moving, expression settling into the stoic mask he wore for everyone outside his circle.

The boy noticed him and stepped back quickly, glancing between you.

“Problem?” Theo asked calmly.

The boy faltered, stepping back as he looked between you and Theo.

You didn’t miss a beat. “Where did you hide Luna’s things?”

With Theo there, the boy muttered they were in a broom closet in the Charms corridor before hurrying off.

“You looked really serious just now. Kind of intimidating, actually.”

Theo wanted to stay annoyed at the boy, but your smile made the corner of his mouth lift despite himself.

You walked to the broom closet. You emerged with Luna’s shoes, a hairbrush, and a few odd-looking necklaces. While walking back, you paused mid-step, watching dust float in the torchlight like it meant something important, and Theodore found his gaze travelling there too.

When you reached the Ravenclaw common room, he didn’t leave.

His hand found the back of your head, gentle but certain. He stepped closer, gaze flickering between your eyes like he was searching — like he wasn’t entirely sure this was real, or that you wouldn’t disappear if he got too close.

His breath hitched, subtle but there.

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away.

Instead, you rose onto your toes — since he was much taller — and met him halfway.

The kiss was soft, warm, and perfect.

As Theo walked back to the Slytherin common room alone, he couldn’t stop the stupid smile spreading across his face, his ears red.

I have no idea if I pulled 'whimsy' off in the right way, praying that I did lol<3 To the anon who asked for this, I hope you like it!

[glendylucas]

CW : Mild Violences, Blood, Super Long Post

"For Whom the Sun Sets"

Galehout DLC First Main Quest

This is the "cutscene" that will play on Second Day, at 07.00

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

Hans in game journal, second day

Henry in game journal, second day

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

"For Whom the Sun Sets" Questline

Galehout DLC First Main Quest

Henry was taken by Erik, and Hans have three and half day to find him before Erik executes Henry.

TLDR

Play as Hans Capon! You have three and half days to track down Erik, defeat him and save Henry! Every few hours, you'll get a cutscene of what Erik does to Henry. You probably don't want to see that, so you better track them quick! The longer it takes, the harder Henry’s escape segments later because his debuffs make him unable to use weapon, unable to run and wobble more. If Hans can't find Henry on third day, Hans must save him directly on fourth day before 12:00. Henry's playable part is skipped (he couldn't make his escape) Fail to find or save Henry in time, its game over: Erik executes Henry.

Failed Ending / Game over screen:

The texts will slightly differently depend on how player relationship with Hans (romantic/platonic)

Platonic

Romantic

More Details below

So, the quest will go into something like this:

Hans Sequences

To be able to find Henry and Erik on FIRST DAY (achievement):

Hans and Sam must choose to FOLLOW the mercenary group right after they leave camp, without calling reinforcements.

This leads to a tracking and investigation sequence until their location is found.

The downside of this path is Hans has Extreme Fatigue Debuff from being held hostage for days. His vitality is reduced to half during this day, and he has no heavy armor.

Direct combat with the group is strongly discouraged (2 vs 25). Stealth is the intended approach.

After finding their camp, then Hans must sneak inside the fort → steal the key → reach the dungeon → defeat Erik (which is very difficult fight) and save Henry.

Sneak inside will be challenging because the fort are swarming with guards and Hans outfit currently didn't help him with the sneaking situation.

Hans also don't have Masterstrike yet, making battle with mercenaries and Erik later more difficult.

But if Hans by miracle can do that, Henry can be saved faster and this quest ends early!

Hans, Sam and Henry then must escape from the fort. Quest ending after they leave the fort parameter with their horses.

This path will lead to First Day Rescue Ending (Ending 1)

(If Sam dies in your playthrough, his role will be replaced by Father Godwin)

If Hans choose to CALL THE REINFORCEMENT, storm will erase the mercenaries track, make it impossible to track them directly.

Then the quest involving meeting several people and asking here and there, doing this and that. Hans has multiple way and places to track Erik.

This choice is longer and laborious, but the upside of this is Hans and Sam got more people now (Godwin, Zizka, Dry Devil, Kubyenka, Janosh, and 12 additional Mercenaries) so instead of sneak around they can directly raid the fort.

Defeating Erik also become easier since Hans is not debuffed and can prepare for proper armor.

Hans can also learn Masterstrike from Dry Devil before progressing to fort raid, making battle with Erik far easier.

Erik's fort is located outside of Kuttenberg map so player can't cheat their way directly there (well, except you mod this of course lol)

After Hans gathers the right intel, before the fort raid sequences, gameplay will switch to Henry, giving Henry chance to escape by himself. The gameplay will back to Hans if somehow Henry failed to escape. More of this in Henry Sequences

During Fort Attack, your focus is to break through their defenses. Stay with the group make it easier but it will take some time.

Loot the dungeon key from the soldier near the dungeon.

After you find Henry, cutscene will play. Now you need to defeat Erik in duel.

Defeating Erik will end the quest

This path will lead to Fort Raid Ending (Ending 2)

-----------

Henry Sequences

This Henry playable sequences only available if these two conditions meet:

Hans choose to CALL THE REINFORCEMENT on FIRST DAY

Hans able to track Erik during SECOND or THIRD DAY. During FOURTH DAY Henry won't be able to escape by himself anymore.

His sequences will be focused on escaping the fort and mercenaries' camp.

The quest will go down like this :

Debuff

Henry has Tortured Debuff during this sequence which halve most of his stats (Vitality, Agility, Strength, Thievery). Henry will also suffer from Tiredness and Hungry in extreme level.

If Its Third Day, Henry's Tortured debuff has additional effects which cause his stamina decreased drastically, making him unable to run, and combat almost impossible (he runs out stamina from only one attack/defense)

This debuff cannot be removed but can be ease with any potions that increased Vitality/Agility/Strength/Thievery and removed Tiredness/Hunger. In Third Day, Henry's Buck Blood at least gives him ability to attack/defense three times instead of one.

If you try to remove the debuff by consuming too many potions, Henry will throw up and removing all the effects.

Guides

If It's Second Day, Henry must find a wire and scrap iron in the interrogation room then craft a lockpick (skill check, need Craftsmanship 25 and Survivability 25 (without debuff))

If skill check failed, Henry can't escape by himself, he has no choice but to wait someone to save him and the gameplay back to Hans

If It's Third Day, Henry will instantly have 10 lockpick from the needles Erik used to torture him.

Regardless, use the picklock to unlock the two shackle (Medium) and the door (Hard) using the picklocks. You'll find it harder than usual because of the Debuff he suffers but you have ten chances so DONT MESS IT UP

If he can't free himself out from the room and spend all the picklocks, gameplay will back to Hans.

After Henry free from the room, kill the sleeping guards, then Henry must take back his belongings.

Henry's belongings are in Medium locked chest outside the interrogation room. But in case Henry messed up and spend all the 10 lockpick he has; the key was in the room opposite of the room Henry is now.

After retrieving your belongings, Henry will relearn new but old receipt: Lazarus Potion. Now with Henry's level, Lazarus can fill your health to max in 1 minutes.

With Lazarus and Painkiller, Henry could now stand and numb his pain temporary at least until morning. He now must steal the horse and sneak out from the fort and escapes.

If you are overloading / overencumber right now, you must leave with whatever you can bring since Henry is not in his best condition. Any items that you left can be retrieved back by Hans later in the story progression.

Engaging combat is NOT ADVISED because of Henry's condition and enemy number. But it's advised to STOLE a food, since Erik didn't give Henry any food during his imprisonment (and most food in your inventory will be rot already today by default).

You can steal the mercenary's armor there and with the closed visor, no one will recognized Henry, making sneaking out from there easier.

If it's third day and fighting enemy is unavoidable, the ONLY way to defeat enemy is with Masterstrike since the debuff make Henry lose all his stamina instantly if he attacks or defend, and his stamina recover longer.

During this quest Henry's Masterstrike is guarantee 1 hit kill, but it will take 20 seconds for him to be able to use it again. This is a reason fighting more than 1 enemy at once is death wish.

If enemy find Henry and defeat him in combat, Henry will be locked back in the dungeon and gameplay switches back to Hans.

After Henry escaped with horse, you'll get short cutscene, then it goes to chasing sequences.

Hold on for 3 minutes until Hans arrives and enjoy the cutscene

You will now control Hans, Defeat Erik and the quest will end

This path will lead to In Wilderness Ending (Ending 3)

The quest has 4 ending:

Ending 1: Day 1 Rescue (Hans Ending) Ending 2: Fort raid (Hans Ending) Ending 3: In wilderness (Henry Ending)

And fourth ending where Henry was executed and Hans couldn't bear the guilt in game over screen

This quest also has different version for Ending 2 to 4, depends of how your relationship with Hans ended in your game (Platonic/Romantic), more onto that later.

Another Notes:

Yes this is just me being halu, let me be and play along lol.

[playpausephoto]

[mamalazzer]

A quick compilation of Henry's pep talks to Hans. I love how Hans is vulnerable enough to tell Henry his insecurities and Henry is always there to reassure him.

It's why they work as a couple so much - they literally make each other stronger. Hans has never had anyone in his corner like Henry, who is so earnest and open and genuinely has full faith in him. And Henry has someone to fight for, believe in, after losing everything in Skalitz.

Just.... sigh. Them.

Source: My full video of all Henry/Hans Dialogue Choices in KCD

[nitaelwy]

Begging

Hans held himself back, though every fiber of his body wanted the opposite.

Henry knelt before him, close enough that Hans could feel his breath against his skin. Close enough that one more moment would carry them both across that boundary which had long existed only in Hans’ mind.

His fingers rested at Henry’s neck, slowly brushing through the dark hair, gliding to his cheek, as if he needed to make sure this man was truly here. That he was truly looking at him with that open, loyal gaze capable of tearing down every defense.

With his other hand, Hans moved across Henry’s chest. Not hurriedly, but searchingly, as if he wanted to understand every detail. The warmth. The strength. The soft hair beneath his fingers. The living pulse beneath the skin. Every touch was more dangerous than a sword.

He wanted to kiss him. God, how badly he wanted to.

But there was that old voice. The voice of duty and expectation. The voice that had told him for years what he was meant to be. That men like him were allowed to take, but never to feel. That desire was permitted, but devotion meant weakness.

Henry lifted his chin slightly, as if he could see every one of those thoughts.

“Hans,” he said softly.

Only his name. Nothing more.

And yet there was more permission in it than in a hundred vows.

Hans’ thumb brushed over the corner of Henry’s mouth. His gaze lingered on those lips, then returned to the eyes that neither pushed nor demanded. They only waited. Patient. Certain.

“If I begin this,” Hans murmured hoarsely, “I do not know if I will be able to stop.”

Henry’s mouth curved into a small, warm smile.

“Then don’t stop.”

Something inside Hans broke apart in silence.

He leaned forward, slowly at first, as if giving himself one final chance to flee. But when their lips finally met, there was no caution left. Only the end of all restraint.

Henry answered him at once, gentle and resolute, as if he had always known this was exactly what Hans needed.

[rennerei]

more kcd sketches 🧍friends I am going Through it

[medieval-bohemia-corner]

Enneleyn approved of my wedding fit:

So, it's to the wedding. Again.

And I actually have a bunch of notes about the wedding since I was walking around eavesdropping on conversations.

I love catching NPCs gossiping about Henry:

2. Didn't catch a screenshot but there was an affair going on upstairs where you find Hans and Enneleyn later between a guard and a married woman.

3. Ennaleyn is flirting with Hans when you listen on their conversation before talking to them, and it doesn't seem like he paid her, so good for Hans I guess. (Though, his competition was Ulrich, so...)

4. Olda is in a rush cause he wants to get to Zizka and his buddies the whole wedding:

5. Olda (and his father) are not the only ones in on it in Semine:

Olda even tells him to watch out for Ulrich:

6. I found out how Hans made it into the wedding - he lied:

Lmao. Very convincing, my lord.

7. Svatya, Vitek, and Vuytek are literal little children (especially when drunk):

Vuytek went through a best freind breakup right before finding Henry with Agnes.

Also I found this hilarious, thank you Svatya:

But, the fact these 3 act like such children compared to Henry is kinda sad actually. Like, they are, essentially, Henry and the lads from Skalitz pre-horrors. They are friends, they are silly, they are stupid... but they were allowed to stay that way.

Jan Semine says Svatya is Henry's age, ergo his friends are likely the same age as well, and yet, Vostatek says this:

Vitek and Henry aren't far in age, but Henry has already killed and is already involved and mature enough and capable enough that Vostatek feels he can ask him for advice, while seeing his own son, who is, lets say, max 2 years younger than Henry, as too young to handle it.

(To me, Hans and Henry are 18-19, because they are very much "late teens" in the first game, but this is true even if their 20 since there isn't that much of a difference except vibes)

Unrelated, but I love that Svatya calls Henry handsome, he is 🙂‍↕️

Also, my Henry wedding fit for this playthrough:

(It's pretty similar to the last one cause I like this green coat) The flower crown doesn't match the colors but it's fine.

[rennerei]

reaching into my medieval romance simulator sketchbook and grabbing a handful

[formallery]

touch you softly | 1k

about: you and steve are having a small problem, at least, he thinks there’s a problem

c.w. talks of sex but nothing graphic/nsfw, steve and reader are technically naked during the convo but nothing happens, not smut but emotional porn ig, this is self indulgent because i’m a huge crybaby

a/n: haven’t written in two weeks but i was possessed by the spirit of steve lover boy harrington and had to write this, divider from @/cursed-carmine like usual

You cried the first time you and Steve had sex. Steve didn’t know it was possible to experience fear on that level.

He thought everything was perfect. You were perfect. Absolutely beautiful splayed out underneath him. He had his fingers laced with yours and there was a constant stream of breathless praises leaving his lips.

It wasn’t even about not wanting to screw things up with you, he thought to treat you like anything less would be a disgrace to himself.

He thought he did everything right. A perfect balance of leaving you with the wind knocked out of your lungs but a warm feeling in your heart. All culminated with the gentle brush of his lips on your shoulder. Not even a kiss, just him desperate to graze your skin.

Instead he saw tears in your eyes.

He panicked, a flurry of questions leaving his lips. Did he hurt you? Did you not like it? Should he leave?

At his last questions your grip on his hand tightened so firmly you could’ve cut off circulation. You insisted you were fine, just overwhelmed.

You let go of his hand to feebly wipe your eyes and he reached out to push your hands away and collect the dampness on his thumb. It had the opposite effect and only made your tears worse.

It made the pit in his stomach worse too.

Eventually after many assurances after your part, he let it go. Most of his sexual experiences were casual hookups, a long term relationship is different, it’s intimate. Maybe crying is a normal reaction the first time.

Except it’s not the first time, it’s every time. It doesn’t matter the situation, at some point something he does will set you off.

A kiss on the forehead if he notices you’re nervous. A damp washcloth between your thighs after you’re done. A murmured “you’re beautiful” against your inner thigh.

You brush it off every time with the same excuse of being overwhelmed. It works the first few times, then it starts to eat away at him.

He knows he’s not hurting you, but over time he can’t help but wonder if he is. It’s not a logical thought but it lives in his mind regardless. He hates seeing you cry and the idea of him being the cause makes his chest ache in a way he hasn’t experienced before.

It’s not a feeling he enjoys, so one night, sprawled in the glow of the moon from the window, he asks you.

He’s got your back pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around you. His face buried in the crook where your neck meets your shoulder so he can press featherlight kisses. After a few he can feel the tell tale signs of the tears in your eyes. The sniffle and the tension in your shoulders.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin.

“Yeah?” you whisper back, your hand is clasped over his around your stomach, thumbing his knuckles in an absentminded manner.

He swallows thickly and presses another kiss to your skin to give him time to think. It’s a dastardly mistake because you sniffle again, meaning that just made you cry more.

He’s got an awful case of foot in mouth syndrome and he started talking without even thinking about how he wanted to broach the topic. Instead he gently turns you around so he can wipe your tears.

“Oh sweet thing,” he croons, and there’s a quiver in your lip that makes his heart ache. “Why?”

“It’s just a lot,” you whisper in response, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

“You… you say that every time” he murmurs, hesitation laced in every syllable. “Is it, always, a lot?”

You pause, taking in the unsaid words. You open your mouth and close it and he waits. He’d wait until the sun comes up and goes back down.

“You just… you treat me really good,” you whisper and it’s not the response he’s expecting.

“Of course I do,” he replies and tries to lighten the mood, “that’s my job.”

It does the opposite, his words always seem to do that, and more tears spill from your eyes.

“Hey hey,” he fusses, wiping your lash line with his thumb and your face ducks into his chest. “That was supposed to make you giggle, good boyfriends don’t make their girl cry”

“You’re just—“ you choke out into his chest. “You’re so sweet and it’s so overwhelming.”

He falters, the soft words he had on the tip of his tongue evaporating. This whole time he thought you were being overwhelmed was the sex. That you were tired or just got overwhelmed with the pleasure easily.

He had never considered this was even in the realm of possibilities.

“So these are….” he smoothes down your hair while he tries to think. “These are happy tears?”

You nod into his chest and he can feel the dampness of your tears on his bare skin.

“Oh my sweet girl,” he murmurs, lifting your face up so he can kiss your tears and the rest of your face. It makes you cry harder but for once your tears don’t make his chest hurt, so he doesn’t let up.

“It’s stupid,” you sniffle, finally having calmed down after a few minutes. “I’m crying because my boyfriend loves me.”

“You,” he kisses your forehead and murmurs his next words against your skin. “Are not stupid, you are the most precious thing I’ve ever seen.”

You don’t move away or protest so he takes it as a sign to keep going.

“My sweet girl,” he whispers. “Just needs someone to love on her.”

“You don’t think I’m stupid or needy or something?” you sniffle in a wobbly voice.

“I could never,” he kisses your forehead again.

It’s the truth, you could cry every time and he’ll wipe your tears away. He’ll kiss your head and tell you how much he loves you because he does. You’re the most important thing he has and like hell is gonna take it for granted.

[frostedpinkdoll]

☆ asking your sweet boyfriend to be rough with you in bed for the first time

"Steve," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, hand sliding up his arm to grip his bicep. "I... I want you to be rough with me tonight. Like, really rough. I've been thinking about it a lot."

His brow furrows, a flicker of surprise crossing his handsome face. Steve's always been gentle, treating you like something precious—kisses soft, thrusts measured, always checking in. He shifts closer, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Rough? Baby, you sure? I don't wanna hurt you. You're... you're everything to me."

You nod, biting your lip, heat pooling low in your belly at the thought. "I'm sure. I trust you. I want to feel you lose control, pin me down, fuck me hard. Please? Just this once—show me how it feels when you let go."

Steve's breath hitches, his eyes darkening as he searches your face. A slow, hungry smile tugs at his lips, and he leans in, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss that starts tender but quickly turns possessive, his tongue sweeping against yours. "Fuck, okay," he murmurs against your lips, voice roughening. "If that's what you want. But you tell me if it's too much, alright? Say the word, and I stop."

"I will," you promise, your hands roaming his back, nails digging in just enough to urge him on. He growls low in his throat, flipping you onto your back in one swift move, his body covering yours. His weight pins you to the mattress, solid and unyielding, and you gasp at the sudden dominance, thighs parting instinctively to cradle his hips.

Steve's hands are everywhere—gripping your wrists and stretching them above your head, holding them in one large palm while his free hand trails down your side, squeezing your breast roughly. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you arch beneath him with a whimper. "Like this?" he asks, voice husky, eyes locked on yours. "Want me to make you beg for it?"

"Yes," you moan, squirming under his hold. "God, Steve, more. Hurt me a little—I can take it."

He hesitates for a split second, then his grip tightens on your wrists, the slight sting sending sparks through you. His mouth descends on your neck, teeth grazing your skin before he bites down—not hard enough to bruise badly, but enough to make you cry out, the pain blooming into sharp pleasure. "You're so fucking hot like this," he breathes, sucking a mark into your pulse point. "All needy for me to wreck you."

You buck your hips up, feeling his hard cock press against your thigh through his boxers, thick and insistent. "Please, Steve—fuck me. I need your cock inside me, rough and deep."

With a ragged groan, he releases your wrists to shove his boxers down, his length springing free, flushed and leaking pre-cum. He yanks your panties aside, fingers delving between your folds to find you soaked. "Shit, you're dripping," he says, circling your clit with his thumb before plunging two fingers inside, curling them hard against your walls. You clench around him, keening as he pumps roughly, his palm slapping against your mound with each thrust.

"That's it, take it," he urges, his free hand wrapping around your throat—not squeezing yet, just holding, the threat of it making your pulse race. "Gonna fuck this pretty pussy until you can't walk straight. You want that, don't you? My sweet girl begging for my cock to ruin her."

"Yes, yes—do it," you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets as his fingers twist inside you, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. He withdraws them abruptly, leaving you empty and whining, and notches his cock at your entrance, the broad head teasing your clit.

Steve thrusts in without warning, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal snap of his hips. You cry out, the stretch burning deliciously as he fills you completely, no slow build-up this time. He doesn't give you a moment to adjust, pulling back only to slam forward again, setting a punishing rhythm that has the headboard thumping against the wall.

"Fuck, so tight," he grunts, his hand tightening on your throat now, applying just enough pressure to make your head swim. "Taking me so well, baby. Look at you—spread out for me, letting me pound this cunt."

You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. Each thrust jolts through you, his cock dragging against your inner walls, hitting deep and relentless. "Harder," you plead, voice breaking. "Spank me, Steve—make it hurt."

His eyes flash with raw desire, and he shifts, one hand coming down on your thigh with a sharp smack that stings, leaving a imprint. You yelp, the pain igniting fresh heat between your legs, and he does it again, harder, as he drives into you. "Like that?" he pants, sweat beading on his forehead, hair falling into his eyes. "My dirty girl, getting off on the pain. Gonna mark you up everywhere."

"Oh god, yes—don't stop," you sob, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming intensity. His pace quickens, hips snapping with bruising force, the hand on your throat squeezing in time with his thrusts. You feel yourself tightening, the coil in your belly winding impossibly tight.

Steve leans down, capturing your lips in a messy, biting kiss, teeth clashing as he growls into your mouth. "Cum for me, baby. Squeeze my cock—milk me dry." His other hand slips between you, fingers rubbing your clit in rough circles, and it's too much—the roughness, the dominance from your usually sweet boyfriend.

You shatter with a scream, walls fluttering around him as orgasm rips through you, waves of pleasure crashing hard. Steve follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural moan, hot cum flooding you in thick spurts. He collapses over you, still thrusting shallowly through the aftershocks, his hand loosening on your throat to stroke your hair instead.

"Holy shit," he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your skin, the tenderness returning as you both catch your breath. "You okay? Was that... what you wanted?"

You smile weakly, limbs heavy and sated, pulling him closer. "Perfect. So perfect, Steve. Thank you."

He grins, nuzzling your neck. "Anytime, baby. But next time? Maybe a little warning so I can prepare to lose my mind over you."