I wanna ride Frank's big muscular thighs so fucking bad. I'm begging.
honestly me too.
tags: frank castle, manhandling, thigh grinding, thigh riding, breading, creampie, p in v, intimate photos, intimate videos, forced orgasm, overstimulation.
The rain had been lashing against the bedroom window since dawn, a relentless, soothing patter that kept the rest of the world at bay. For once, you had the day off. No deadlines, no errands—just a rare, empty stretch of hours spent huddled beneath the heavy duvet, hiding from the damp chill that had seeped into the apartment. But by mid-afternoon, the cozy isolation had morphed into a restless, quiet boredom. You’d already scrolled through mindless television, tidied up the kitchen, and stared at the ceiling until your eyes went heavy. The apartment was too quiet. Too empty.
To kill the dragging hours, you decided to play a dangerous game.
You slid out of the warm covers, the drafty air of the bedroom making your skin instantly break out in goosebumps as you walked over to the closet. From the very back drawer, you pulled out his absolute favorite—a delicate, sheer lace set that left very little to the imagination. You took your time putting it on, smoothing the dark lace over your hips and taking those extra little steps to get all pretty for him, doing whatever made you feel the most beautiful and desirable.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, you adjusted the thin straps. The sheer fabric did nothing to block the chill of the room, your nipples already puckering against the thin lace, but the sight of yourself dressed up just for him made a familiar, tight warmth coil in your stomach.
The trouble was, you had no idea when he’d actually be home. Sometimes Frank was gone for days, sometimes weeks, banging at your door at ungodly hours of the night. But he had promised he would make it back to you tonight. And Frank Castle was, if nothing else, a man of his word.
Back in bed, you let out a long, heavy sigh, staring up at the plaster ceiling as the minutes ticked by. Then, a wicked, reckless thought drifted into your mind.
Your eyes darted to the bedside table drawer. Inside sat a cheap, plastic burner phone—strictly designated for emergencies only. Frank had given it to you with a laundry list of paranoid, military-grade warnings. Only use it if someone is following you. Only use it if you're in danger.
But as you shivered under the sheets, staring at the empty space beside you, it certainly felt like an emergency. You were dying of boredom. More importantly, you were freezing, and the thought of his thick, burning-hot hands sliding over your bare skin felt like a matter of life and death.
You debated with yourself for a long moment, biting your lip. Was it worth the inevitable, grumbled lecture about operational security and keeping off-the-grid lines clear?
Yes. Absolutely.
With a small, breathless smile, you grabbed the burner phone. The screen lit up, casting a hazy, blue-white glow over your skin in the dim afternoon light.
Click. Click. Click.
You took your time, shifting on the soft sheets to find the most devastating angles. You arched your back, emphasizing the soft curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, and the dark lace straining against your chest. With practiced caution, you carefully cropped out your face and any identifying details of the room—even in your mischief, you remembered his rules.
You selected the three best shots. Your finger hovered over the send button for a single, heart-stopping second before you tapped the screen.
I miss you so bad and I'm so cold :(
For a minute, there was only the sound of the rain. Then, the cheap plastic phone suddenly violently vibrated in your palm, the screen flashing with an incoming call. Your heart leaped into your throat.
You slid the receiver open, pressing it to your ear.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, sweetheart?"
The voice was a low, dangerous rumble, vibrating with a rough, quiet gravel that made your thighs instantly press together. He sounded breathless, his deep tone laced with a mixture of sheer frustration and immediate, heavy arousal.
"I miss you so much," you whined softly, rolling onto your back and stretching out against the pillows, letting your voice carry all the needy, shivering longing you felt. "Please come home."
"Baby girl..." Frank let out a rough, ragged breath, the audio crackling slightly. You could hear the distant, wet hiss of tires on asphalt on his end—he was already driving. "You know what that phone is for. It's for emergencies only—"
"I know," you cut him off, your voice dropping to a soft, teasing whisper. "But I told you. It is an emergency. I'm freezing, Frank. I need you."
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line, thick with his internal battle. Finally, a deep, defeated sigh carried through the speaker.
"See you in five."
The line went dead, leaving only the quiet hum of the empty room and the frantic, racing beat of your own heart.
You decided to fuel the fire just a little more in the agonizingly short time it took for him to get home. Five minutes wasn’t long, but it was long enough to drive him completely out of his mind.
Shifting to the center of the mattress, you pulled a plush pillow beneath you, straddling it as you stared down at the burner phone in your hand. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, a thrill of nerves washing over you as you debated whether the sheer heat of his reaction would be worth the inevitable punishment later.
"Fuck it..." you muttered quietly to yourself.
You hit record. The screen cast a soft, hazy glow down over your skin as you began to move, dragging yourself slowly back and forth against the soft fabric. The friction was an instant, heavy ache, a perfect pressure that had you losing your breath within seconds. It didn’t take long for the quiet room to fill with the sound of your own soft whimpers, his name slipping past your lips as the pleasure began to coil tight and heavy in your stomach.
You held the phone steady, angling it down to capture the beautiful, undone mess you were making of yourself. The camera caught the rhythmic shift of your waist, the breathless heave of your chest, and the undeniable evidence of how badly you wanted him left behind on the fabric.
Without even stopping your movements, your trembling fingers hit send.
The text bubble marked it as Read almost immediately. A typing bubble appeared—fracturing the silence—before disappearing just as fast. He was losing his temper. You could feel it through the screen. Thrilled by the danger, you sent another short clip, and then another, filling the forbidden texting history with a flurry of your own unravelling pleasure.
SLAM.
The sudden, violent echo of the apartment’s front door clattering open and throwing itself shut sent a sharp jolt of pure dread straight down your spine. Your phone slipped from your hand, clattering onto the mattress.
Did I push him too far?
Heavy, wet footsteps thudded down the hallway, fast, trailing directly toward the bedroom.
Before you could even scramble off the bed, the door was shoved open with a heavy thud. You froze, caught completely bare, still helplessly straddled over the pillow with quick, ragged breaths heaving from your chest.
Frank stood in the frame, looking absolutely monstrous. His hand gripped the edge of the door, his forearm veins bulging and his knuckles white. He was soaked from the storm, smelling of cold rain and asphalt, his massive chest heaving beneath the heavy, black tactical vest. His dark eyes locked onto you, burning with a terrifying, a bubbling hunger that told you exactly how much trouble you were in.
Frank slowly stepped inside the room, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached behind himself to push the door shut. The click of the latch sounded incredibly loud in the quiet room.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, baby girl?" he grumbled.
His deep voice was rough, vibrating with a dark, dangerous edge as he closed the distance, stopping right at the edge of the mattress. You froze beneath his intense gaze, your heart hammering against your ribs. He ran a heavy hand through his damp hair, shaking off the stray droplets of rain onto the floor behind him.
"Sending me those pictures..." he muttered, his jaw clenching as his eyes swept over your body in the lace. "And those videos. Jesus... do you have any idea what you've done to me?"
The raw confession sent a delicious thrill straight through you. You watched, breathless, as he unclutched his tactical vest, letting the heavy, armored plate hit the floor with a dull, echoing thud. He stood there in just his tight black t-shirt, his broad shoulders and tensed muscles looking impossibly large in the dim light of your bedroom.
"You know that phone is for emergencies only. To keep you safe," he started, his protective instincts trying to fight the sheer, unbridled arousal rolling off him. But as his eyes drifted down to where you were still trembling on the mattress, he let out a rough, defeated sound. "Fuck... look at you."
He cut his own lecture short. Kneeling onto the edge of the mattress, he reached out a massive, warm hand. The contrast was instant and staggering as he trailed the back of his knuckles slowly down your chest, over the racing beat of your heart, and down the flat of your stomach. His dark eyes followed the movement carefully.
"Y-you're not mad... right?" you whispered, your voice trembling as you helplessly leaned your body into his touch.
Frank didn't answer. Instead, his gaze darkened. He slowly shifted, turning to sit heavily on the very edge of the mattress, his boots planted firmly on the floor. He patted his strong, solid thigh expectantly, waiting for you to move.
You didn't make him ask twice.
You hesitantly crawled over to him on all fours, the lace shifting against your skin. Reaching the edge of the bed, you draped your arms over his broad shoulder, lingering for a breathless beat as his hand slid slowly down your spine, his palm heavy and warm as it cupped the curve of your hip. He gripped your thigh, stabilizing you with a firm, possessive squeeze, guiding you as you swung your leg over.
You sank down heavily, planting the soaked lace directly over his solid thigh, straddling his leg as the heat of his body burned right through the thin lace of your underwear.
The relief was instant, the hard muscles of his thigh pressed against you. You let out a soft, broken whimper, desperate for more, but it’s not enough. You carefully wrap your arms around his neck, opening your vulnerability to him while his watchful eyes scan over your body like an art piece. You try to rock your hips forward, feeling needy and desperate for the sensation again, and you begin moving—letting out quiet moans, carefully moving inch by inch, slowly.
The feeling is quickly cut off only three strokes in.
Suddenly, Frank’s massive hands clamp down on your waist . His fingertips reach almost to connect, his thick fingers curling to dig into the soft flesh and completely locking you in place. You jolt slightly, your breath hitching in your throat as the pleasurable feeling is effortlessly halted. You try to shift again a desperate, needy tilt of your pelvis but he doesn't budge, his hands just tightening further to an almost painful degree.
"Frankie..." you whine, your voice cracking with sheer frustration as you look up at him, your eyes wide and pleading. "Please. Let me move."
Frank tilts his head back to look at you entirely devoid of mercy.
"It’s not gonna be that easy, baby girl," Frank rumbles, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You clearly can't listen to simple instructions, so I'm gonna have to teach you so your pretty lil' head can understand."
He flexes his leg muscles tightly beneath you, sending a ripple of euphoria through your body, making you shiver.
"Sending me all those videos. Making a mess of yourself on my pillow," he murmurs. He leans down, layering small kisses into your sensitive skin while not letting you move an inch, the tortuous wait for pleasure only making the knot in your stomach sink deeper. "We are on my time now, doll face, and I plan on making you wait as long as I please," his voice vibrates against the thin skin of your neck.
He loses his grip with one hand, cupping onto your chest gently, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple repeatedly and making you squirm. Your hips instinctively buck forward, desperate for your release, making you moan and tilt your head back.
His hand snaps right back to your hip, locking you back in place.
"No," he snaps. "You belong to me and you've been greedy. You will not move unless I let you." His voice is a low growl of possessiveness that makes your heart race. "You will stay," he orders.
He lets that one hand go back to fondling you, his fingers gliding between your tits, rubbing against the sensitive spots making you moan and dig your nails into his neck.
"Please, I'm sorry Frank... I'm so sorry," you whine, trying to keep yourself from moving.
He carelessly chuckles, continuing to toy with you without looking away from your plump breasts. His hand trails down, fingers delicately running over the soft skin of your stomach. He hooks two fingers round the waistband of your underwear, sliding them back and forth from hip to hip.
"So pretty..." he whispers.
Both his hands let go and move up to grab your tits, pushing them together as he moves his mouth to kiss along the top of your bra line, hooking his lips onto the mesh-covered flesh of your nipple. The noise of your shaking moans is the only thing breaking the heavy silence of the intimate moment.
He slides his hands back down to your hips, looking at you again.
"Go ahead. I wanna watch you," he grumbles, leaning back on his hands.
You don't move, just giving him a sad, puppy-eyed, guilty look.
"The cute looks aren't gonna work on me, sweetheart. Is your head that empty already? Get movin'," he orders.
You plant your hands onto his chest to balance yourself and cautiously start grinding against his thigh. Your skin feels so sensitive, your voice so shaky, pushing past the overstimulating feeling of the movement as you get back into the rhythm.
He watched intensely, his eyes never wavering, his hands gripping back onto your skin. The continuous pattern of friction pushed you closer to your orgasm, slowly making you unravel in his arms.
"Frank... I'm—ughh, so close... mmhh—" you moaned quietly.
"Such a good girl. Keep going," his soft words only hardened the tension.
Your once quiet moans got louder and louder as you got closer, your nails digging into the flesh of his neck as you started to cum, your legs trembling helplessly against the hard muscle of his thigh.
"Fuck—fuck, oh my god," you whimpered, feeling the familiar, fuzzy feeling of euphoria run through your brain.
"Good girl. That was so good..." he muttered, soft praises spilling from his lips.
You slid your head into the crook of his neck, searching for warmth as you slowed down your rocking, your body shaking with a dull ache but the rest didn't last. Suddenly, his huge hands clamped down tight, and he started pulling and pushing your hips, forcing them right back into motion.
"W-what? Frank, what a-ughh... what are you doing?" you asked, a sharp, almost painful shiver of intense pleasure surging from the hyper-sensitive spot between your legs.
"I didn't say you could stop, sweet girl," he growled, his huge hands forcing more friction.
You let out a broken, high-pitched gasp, your fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders as your raw, overstimulated skin rubbed against the heavy denim of his thigh again. Every single slide felt twice as intense now, the pleasure bordering on absolute agony as he ruthlessly dragged your hips back and forth, refusing to let you cool down.
"Frank, please—it’s too much, I can’t—" you sobbed out against his neck, your hips trying to lift, trying to escape the blistering heat of his leg but his hands were unmovable anchors on your waist, grinding you right back down. His own breathing was finally turning ragged, a heavy, hot hiss against your ear.
"You wanted to grind on something so badly, sweetheart," he growled, the vibration of his deep voice rattling straight through your sensitive bones. "So do it. Work for it."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please—"
"Quiet," he ordered, his thumbs digging into your hips as he forced your pelvis into a faster, harder rhythm. "You didn't want to wait for me. You wanted to be a greedy little girl and take care of it yourself. So now you’re gonna stay right here until I say you’re done."
He didn't just force you through a second collapse—he kept you pinned there for a third, and a fourth, ruthlessly driving you over the edge until your body didn't even know how to process the pleasure anymore. Your responses stripped down to pure, primal instinct. The coherent thoughts in your head completely dissolved, replaced by a hazy, white-hot fog of pure sensation.
You weren't even forming words anymore, just crying out in breathless, broken whimpers, your face buried in his neck as tears of sheer overstimulation slipped down your cheeks. Your legs were shaking so violently they could barely grip his sides, completely spent, but Frank kept the friction going, relentless and unbothered by your begging. You were entirely undone, a shivering, soaking mess ruined on his leg.
Only when your body went completely lax against him, your chest heaving in ragged, desperate gasps and your eyes staring blindly at the wall, did Frank finally slow the movement.
He let out a low, dark growl of satisfaction, his hands sliding from your waist down to cup your bare, trembling thighs. He squeezed the soft flesh tightly, feeling the aftershocks still rippling through you.
"Look at you," he muttered, his voice thick with a heavy, dangerous heat as he surveyed the absolute disaster he’d made of you. "Completely blanked out. Can you even hear me, baby girl?"
Frank didn't wait for your sluggish brain to process his words.
In one swift, effortless motion, his massive hands gripped your waist and lifted you completely off his lap. Before you could even gasp, he threw you forward onto the mattress. You landed heavily on your hands and knees, your limbs so weak and overstimulated that you collapsed slightly into the plush quilt before scrambling to hold yourself up on all fours.
"Frank..." you whimpered, your voice entirely ruined, your head hanging low as you shook from head to toe. Your vision was still hazy, your thoughts completely scattered into white noise.
Behind you, the mattress dipped violently under his massive weight as he crawled up over you. The heavy, dark heat of his body shadowed yours completely, trapping you beneath him. One of his large hands slammed down onto the small of your back, pinning your spine down and forcing your arch deep, while his other hand reached down to ruthlessly hook into the waistband of your soaked underwear.
With a single, sharp jerk, he pulled the delicate lace down to shackle round your knees, exposing you fully to the cool air of the bedroom for only a fraction of a second.
"Open for me," he growled against your ear, his voice a dark, feral command that vibrated right through your skull.
He didn't give you a chance to answer. Grabbing your hip to lock your pelvis back into place, Frank drove himself into you in one heavy, unyielding thrust that stole the remaining air right out of your lungs.
The impact of that first, heavy thrust shattered whatever tiny fragments of thought you had left. You let out a high, broken cry, your elbows buckling as your forehead pressed into the mattress, your fingers clutching blindly at the sheets to keep from collapsing entirely.
Frank didn’t let up. He didn’t give you a single second to adjust to the overwhelming fullness before he pulled back and drove into you again, establishing a brutal rhythm of him pounding into you.
It was relentless. Every time he slammed forward, his heavy chest crashed against your back, the rough fabric of his t-shirt scraping against your bare skin, pinning you beneath his massive weight before he pulled away just to do it again. He was completely primal now, all the restraint he’d used to torment you earlier burning up in a furious, driving heat.
"Frank—ah!—Frankie, please," you wept into the quilt, the words losing all meaning, slipping out as mindless, rhythmic whimpers that timed perfectly with the heavy thud of his hips against yours.
Your raw, hyper-sensitive skin was entirely overwhelmed. Every single stroke reawakened the fading aftershocks of your previous orgasms, dragging you right back up to a sharp, exhausting peak without ever letting you drop. It was pure overstimulation. Your thighs shook so violently you could barely keep your knees planted, your body helplessly rocking under the sheer force of his power.
Frank’s hand remained flat and heavy on the small of your back, a crushing anchor that forced your hips to stay high, taking the full depth of his thick cock. Above you, his breathing was a series of dark, ragged grunts, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck were strained to a cord.
"Look at you," he growled, his deep voice vibrating right down your spine as his pace turned faster, harder, completely unbothered by your mindless begging. "Told you... you belong to me. Every single bit."
You couldn't answer. You couldn't even nod. Your eyes were squeezed shut against the white-hot haze behind your eyelids, your mouth hanging open in silent, breathless gasps as the rhythm completely consumed you, tuning the whole world out until there was nothing left but the sound of the rain outside and the absolute wreck he was making of you.
The unyielding, heavy rhythm continued to drive the remaining breath right out of you, the relentless friction pulling you further and further out to sea until your mind completely gave up trying to keep track of the shore.
Frank’s grip on your hips tightened to a bruising degree, his knuckles locking white against your skin as his own pace fractured, turning fast, heavy, and desperate. Above you, his breathing hitched into a sharp, ragged catch, the deep growl tearing from his throat vibrating right down into your spine. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving violently against your back as he drove himself into you one last time pushing deep, locking his pelvis tight against yours as his body racked with a heavy, shuddering release this warm white cum coating your walls.
You let out a long, broken whine, your body completely collapsing onto the mattress as the final, overstimulating wave of aftershocks left you entirely breathless, your fingers weakly uncurling from the bedsheets.
For a long, quiet minute, the only sound in the dim bedroom was the heavy patter of the rain outside and the synchronized, ragged sound of your heaving chests. Frank stayed heavy over you, letting his breathing slowly match yours, his heartbeat a frantic, thudding rhythm against your bare back.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled away. The mattress shifted as he rolled onto his back, immediately reaching out with a massive arm to hook around your waist and pull your limp, trembling body flush against his chest.
"Come here," he muttered, his voice incredibly deep and thick with exhaustion.
You didn't have the strength to move your own limbs, but you didn't have to. He pulled you into his arms trapping the immediate, comforting warmth inside and shielding you from the cold damp of the room. You instinctively tucked your face right into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of cold rain, asphalt, and the distinct, comforting heat of his skin.
Frank let out a soft, long breath, a heavy hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. His long fingers began gently combing through your tangled hair, his touch surprisingly soft and steady after the absolute storm he’d just put you through.
"Look at you," he murmured against your forehead, his thumb lightly stroking back and forth across your cheekbone to dry a stray, overstimulated tear. "Still shaking."
"M'sorry," you whispered into his collarbone, your voice completely hoarse and barely audible.
Frank let out a low, quiet chuckle that vibrated right through his chest, his large hand sliding down to rub large, soothing circles into the small of your back, easing the ache in your muscles.
"Yeah, I know, baby girl," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss right into your hairline. "You're a menace. But you're my menace. Go to sleep."
You let your eyes finally squeeze shut, completely safe and entirely warm, slipping fast into a deep, dreamless sleep under the steady, protective weight of his hand petting your hair.
I want frank to fuck my brains away like I really want him to make me stupid. could you write some dumbification with the punisher to fuil my obsession. 🤤🤤🤤
dumbification is my favourite makes me fucking drool so of course I have to post this.
tags: frank castle, dumbification, daddy kink, praise, semi? public sex, mentions of toxicity/ not from frank, overstimulation, essentially strangers.
The hum of the industrial refrigerator is the only thing keeping you company—a low, vibrating drone that seems to rattle right through the soles of your worn-out heels.
It’s 3:14 AM. The air inside the diner is freezing, the ancient heating unit overhead doing nothing but blowing a thin, lukewarm draft that dies before it ever reaches the floor. You shiver, pulling the sleeves of your stained shirt over your hands, your knuckles raw and red from the ice-cold dishwater.
Every muscle in your body aches with a deep, heavy exhaustion. Your lower back throbs from hours of pacing the greasy, stained linoleum. Your eyes burn, feeling like someone rubbed sand into them. You’ve been on your feet since yesterday afternoon, and the night shift has a way of stretching time until minutes feel like hours.
Under the harsh, flickering buzz of the yellowing fluorescent lights, the diner has a way of looking abandoned. The cheap vinyl booths are cracked, casting long, distorted shadows across the empty tables.
It’s mostly quiet, save for the sparse, depressing clientele of the dead-of-night crowd. Over in the corner booth, a tired trucker stares blankly into a mug of lukewarm, burnt coffee, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the highway was crushing him. A few stools down at the counter, a guy in a grease-stained jacket slowly traces the rim of his glass, looking like he has nowhere else in the world to go, letting the smoke of his cigarette glide into the air and cling to the damp, cold windows.
You sigh, the sound lost in the vast, empty space of the restaurant. You grab a damp rag to wipe down the counter for the hundredth time, your movements slow and robotic. The smell of old grease, stale tobacco clinging to the curtains, and the sharp bite of cheap bleach fills your nose.
You hate this uniform. You hate these stupid shoes that dig into the soles of your feet like nails. Your stupid manager constantly demands you look "pretty" for the customers even though he almost never actually shows up unless it's to complain about your "shitty service"—like that’s the issue, and not the fact that this place has an ecosystem of mold growing in almost every room. You're expected to work the night shift on your own for the third week in a row and run around after the losers that come in here night after night with a smile.
A sharp ding rings through the room, making you look up toward the door from the counter you are dragging your cloth against.
A man steps in, letting the door slam shut behind him. He walks over to the counter and sits on a stool, keeping his head down and resting his heavy arms on the worn laminate.
"Can I get anything for you, sir?" you ask quietly, not wanting to disturb him more than necessary.
His broad shoulders tense, his large hands balling into fists. "Coffee, black," he grunts.
You nod politely and head into the back to brew a fresh pot. The machine starts buzzing loudly, sending vibrations through the floor. Then, it starts gargling. With a sudden, loud bang, a plume of gray smoke rises from the lid.
"Shit... shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" you curse, hitting the side of the metal machine.
You stand there, glaring at this sad excuse for electronics, and let out a defeated sigh. How are you going to explain this to the grumpy men sitting just behind the wall? Stepping out of the kitchen, your hands tremble slightly with a nervous hope that they won't kick your head in.
"I'm really sorry, guys. Erm... the coffee machine just bro—"
Before you can even finish your sentence, the tired trucker stands up, scowling, and storms out into the freezing night.
"—broke," you finish, your voice trailing off. You look at the man in the grease-stained jacket, then back to the tall newcomer. "However... if either of you wanna take a crack at fixing it... go ahead, I guess. I'll put some coffee on the stove, but it'll take... longer."
You scuff the linoleum with the front of your heel, the silence echoing through the room. Unsurprisingly, the man in the grease-stained jacket slides off his stool and slips out too, leaving his glass behind.
You turn back and head into the kitchen. Your hands are shaking slightly from the anxiety of the night. Lighting a match, you chuck it onto the stove and place a metal pot on top.
then, you hear the sound of the kitchen doors swinging open behind you, forcing you to turn away from the warmth of the newly lit fire.
You turn around, half-expecting the guy in the grease-stained jacket to have changed his mind, but instead, it’s the tall newcomer.
Up close, he is even more massive than he looked from across the counter. He has to duck his head slightly to clear the low-hanging doorframe of the kitchen, his broad shoulders practically filling the narrow, fluorescent-lit space. He’s wearing a heavy, dark jacket, and his face is partially shadowed by the brim of his cap.
You grip the handle of the cold metal pot a little tighter, suddenly realizing how small you are compared to him. "Oh," you breathe, your voice a little raspy from the cold. "You... actually want to take a look at it?"
The man stops a few feet away, keeping his hands in his pockets. He looks at the smoking, ruined coffee machine, then slowly looks over at you.
When he raises his head, the harsh kitchen light catches his face. He looks rugged, with a heavy five o'clock shadow and a faint, faded scar near his temple. He looks like a man who has seen his fair share of rough nights. But as his dark eyes lock onto yours, his hard expression softens slightly. There’s a sudden quiet in the air as he watches you intensely, his eyes slowly gliding down your body.
"Said you needed a hand," he grunts. His voice is a deep, rough gravelly rumble, but he speaks so quietly it's almost a whisper. "Used to do some mechanical work. Simple enough to check the heating element."
"Right. Yeah. Thanks," you mumble, slowly letting go of the pot and pouring the coffee grounds into the water. The rich scent of dark roast slowly begins to fill the damp, cold air.
"This place is a dump," Frank grunts from below, the clinking of metal tools echoing in the quiet room. "Manager ought to be shot for letting a lady work in a freezer like this."
A dry, bitter laugh escapes your chest before you can stop it. "Tell me about it. My manager doesn't care. He's probably asleep in his warm bed right now. Meanwhile, I've got to stand here in these..." You stop yourself, looking down at your cheap, stupid heels that are currently throbbing with a dull ache.
Frank pauses his work. He slowly stands back up, holding a dusty screwdriver. His eyes immediately trail down to your feet, then back up to your face. The furrow in his brow deepens, looking almost angry—but it's a protective, possessive kind of anger.
"He makes you wear those?" Frank asks, his voice dropping an octave, a dangerous edge sliding into his tone. "To run around on greasy floors for eight hours?"
"Yeah," you sigh, leaning your hip against the counter, suddenly feeling the weight of your exhaustion crushing you. "Says it makes the diner look 'pretty.' Says customers like it."
Frank lets out a low noise of disgust. He steps closer, closing the distance between you until you can smell the faint scent of rain, leather, and cheap cologne on him. He towers over you, but his hands remain gentle as he gestures toward the prep chair where his jacket is.
"Sit down," he says softly.
"I have to watch the stove—"
"I'll watch the stove," Frank interrupts, his dark eyes glaring at you intensely, practically demanding you to let him help. "Please, sweetheart. Sit. Let me look at the machine, and you rest your feet."
The word sweetheart rolls off his tongue so naturally it makes a strange, fluttering sensation spark in your stomach. You look at his huge, intimidating frame, deciding to let him help.
Slowly, hesitatingly, you walk over to the chair and sit down with a loud sigh. "I'm not supposed to be sitting on company time. My manager watches the camera to make sure I'm not slacking. He's probably gonna kill me for this," you say, resting your elbow on the metal counter and letting your head sink into the palm of your hand.
His eyes drift up to the flickering camera, the air going thick for a moment. Without a word, he walks over and jams the metallic end of the screwdriver directly into the glass dome. It shatters with a sharp crack, and he shoves the broken casing to the side, letting it flop uselessly to face the top of a cabinet.
"Let's see him try," he grumbles.
He walks back over and kneels in front of the broken machine again, the fabric of his shirt stretching tight across his massive shoulders as he goes to work. The steady, rhythmic clink-clink of metal tools and the hum of the blue flame on the stove are the only sounds in the cramped kitchen.
"So, you got a name?" you ask quietly.
"Frank," he responds bluntly still clattering away with the mashine.
From your chair, you have no choice but to watch him. The heat from his discarded jacket draped over your lap is heavy and warm. Between that deep warmth and the exhaustion dragging at your limbs, your brain starts to slow down, your eyes fluttering closed every so often.
"So," you murmur, your voice sounding small even to your own ears. "You always go around fixing coffee machines for strangers at three in the morning?"
Frank pauses. He slowly turns his head, looking at you over his shoulder. Up close, his dark eyes are incredibly intense, heavy-lidded and tracking the way you're slumped in the chair.
"Only for pretty girls who look like they're about to collapse," he murmurs with a raspy chuckle.
Your cheeks instantly flare with heat. Normally, a comment like that from a strange man in a dark diner would make your guard go up. But under his heavy, unblinking gaze, your mind just... stumbles. Pretty girl. The words ring in your ears, feeling strangely heavy. You try to think of a witty, sarcastic comeback—something to show him you aren't that easy—but your brain feels like it's trying to run through wet cement.
"I'm not... I'm not that pretty," you mumble, the defense weak and childish.
Frank stops working entirely. He lays the screwdriver down with a quiet clatter and stands up. He towers over you, his massive frame completely cutting off the light from the stove. The sheer size of him is overwhelming, making you feel incredibly delicate, tiny, and fragile sitting in that metal chair.
He steps closer, until the tips of his heavy boots are almost touching the heels of your stupid, painful shoes.
"Yes, you are," he rumbles, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register that seems to vibrate right through your skin. "Don't say things like that about yourself. You're so pretty, sweetheart... even covered in dishwater and grease."
Your breath catches in your throat. You stare up at him, your mouth parting slightly. The room suddenly feels incredibly hot. The steam from the boiling pot on the stove is rising, wrapping around you, making the air thick and heavy. Or maybe it’s just him. He is so big. So warm.
But the closeness doesn't last for long. He turns away, going back to silently working on the machine. You trail off in thought, hypnotized, watching the muscles in his broad back stretch while he works. You stretch out and yawn, hearing the water suddenly bubble over. You start to stand to turn off the heat, but a heavy voice cuts through the steam.
"No. Sit," he demands, dropping the screwdriver on the floor beside him and quickly standing. "I said I got it, understand?"
He grumbles, sliding in between you and the stove. His large back completely blocks the flame from you, and a sudden draft of cold hits your face at the loss of the fire. The click of the stove turning off and the clank of the coffee pot leaving the burner are dulled by the wall of muscle only inches from your face.
He shuffles past you, grabbing two ceramic mugs from the rack, and places them down, filling each with the boiling coffee.
"You take milk?" he questions quietly, placing the pot on the hot plate.
"You're the customer, I should be doing this stuff," you say with a weak giggle, feeling your skin flush from his sheer presence and his quiet, commanding kindness.
You don't think you've ever met a man like this before. Most customers in this dump would slap you on the ass as you walked past, or shout at you for not cooking them a huge meal even though the kitchen closed at 9:00 PM. But Frank... something about him makes you completely relax. The radiating warmth of his body, the way he speaks to you with such calm confidence—it makes all the walls you spent years building up simply crumble.
It’s slightly scary, how vulnerable you feel. Your body is too tired to run, your brain too fixated on the way his fingers move, the way his muscles tense, the way his scent has completely filled the small room to even care. You can feel yourself already weakening, your mind slowing down, getting comfortable.
"Milk, yes or no?" he asks again, placing the mugs down in front of you.
The sharp clink of the ceramic hitting the metal counter snaps you out of your daze.
"B-black's... fine..." Your words are slow, dragged out.
His warm, heavy hand gently touches your cheek. "You're cold. Drink up while it's still hot," he says, looking intensely into your eyes.
Your lips part slightly, your breath quickening. The dry, rough feel of his calloused thumb against your cold, sensitive skin sends a sharp, tingling jolt straight down your spine. Your eyes flutter, a soft, helpless whimper escaping your throat before you can catch it.
Your brain completely glitches. The thought of your manager, the cameras, the freezing diner—it all just dissolves, leaving nothing but the heavy sensation of his hand on your skin.
"You're shakin'," he observes, his voice thick and possessive. His thumb strokes your cheekbone again, and you find yourself leaning your head into his touch, your mind going completely quiet. There is a silence for what seems like forever, nothing but the warmth of his touch swimming through your mind.
"So soft. Just a sweet, pretty little thing, aren't you?" he says quietly.
You realize he can probably see exactly how much you're enjoying this, but you don't think you care all that much anymore. You nod slowly, looking him in the eyes, letting your mouth fall slightly more open. His thumb, which had been sliding against your cheek, glides further across to brush the corner of your lips.
"You like that, hmm? Open your mouth for me a bit more, sweetheart," he says, moving even closer until the tips of his heavy boots align with your heels. His hand shifts, cupping your jaw firmly while his thumb slides across your lower lip.
"Sss-bbs-sw...?" you babble, letting out a few small, helpless noises. You aren't quite sure of your own words anymore as your mouth falls open naturally.
"Such a good girl for me. Let me take care of you, okay? Do you understand, sweetheart?" he says, a dark, pleased smile spreading across his lips.
He pushes the tip of his thumb into your mouth, pressing it against your tongue, slowly swiping the saliva that has built up there.
"Close," he orders, his gentle voice drawing out the word.
You let your lips lock around his thumb, the swirling saliva being played with, pushing the last remaining thoughts right out of your head. You gently start to suck, the taste of metal and salt filling your mouth.
"Oh, sweetheart... you're doing so good. I didn't even have to ask," he smirks. His free hand gently plays with your hair, twirling the strands around his thick, scarred fingers.
With a slow, deliberate pull, he tugs his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop, letting a thin string of saliva drip down your chin. He carefully wipes the wetness from your face with the back of his hand.
"Fuck, baby doll. I didn't think this is what would be happening tonight."
His hand pushes through your hair, angling your head up so you have no choice but to look at him. Heat rushes through your body, pooling into a pit of desperation in your stomach. He carefully grips your waist, his strength effortless as he lifts you to sit on the prep table, making you much easier to access.
His large hands move back to your face, cupping the sides of your head, completely framing your face.
"So pretty... so, so pretty... You want me to touch you? You want that, baby girl?"
His face is so close to yours that his breath hot on your lips makes your entire body flutter. You nod. It's barely a movement, but a nod nonetheless.
"You seemed so confident earlier," he whispers, a teasing rumble in his chest. "Where's all that gone, mhm? Not a single thought behind those eyes now."
He slides his hand down, moving under your crumpled skirt. You let out a high, needy whine as his thick fingers press against your underwear, instantly finding the wet patch that is growing by the second.
"I wanna keep you, sweet girl... look after you. Let your pretty moans be the only thing I hear when I get home. You want that? Let Daddy take care of you."
You lean back slightly, pushing your weight helplessly against his hand, nodding over and over. You find yourself grinding against the tough pads of his fingers, getting entirely too needy, too desperate.
His other hand moves to your collar, slowly undoing the top few buttons of your shirt to reveal your bra.
"Oh, princess. That looks so pretty."
He leans down, his lips grazing small, warm kisses across your sensitive skin.
"Pl-ppp-pllleee~ mhhhh....~ mhhh," a litter of pathetic, broken whines leaves your mouth, taunting him, begging him for more.
Just as you start to find a rhythm, pushing your weight against his palm, the heat vanishes. Frank pulls his hand back, leaving you completely exposed to the freezing kitchen air. You whimper, a cold shiver racking your body as the damp draft hits your wet underwear. You reach for him, your clumsy hands clutching at his chest, but he gently pins your wrists to the metal table.
"Nooo~" you cry out, tears filling your eyes, the words coming out way more pathetic than intended.
"No? Oh, so you can speak. You gotta be patient for me, sweet girl," he mocks.
You wriggle against his restraint. "Come on, baby doll, you gotta talk for me. I need to know this is what you want. Tell me what you want me to do to you." His voice is low, but his tone is sickly sweet. You whine again, this time in frustration, a single tear rolling down your cheek, pouting like it'll change his mind.
He pulls both your wrists together gently to hold them with one hand, reaching with the other to wipe the tear away.
"Don't cry, baby, it's okay... I'll take care of you. I just need you to tell me what you want," he comforts, letting go of you again, this time releasing your arms too.
He moves back, grabbing your ankle and slowly sliding the cheap heel from your foot, then doing it again with the other, leaving you in your socks as the worn footwear clatters to the floor.
"That feel better?" he asks, sliding his hands up and down the bottoms of your feet, then up the back of your aching calves.
You let out a sigh of relief, feeling the pain dulling. Your brain is so fogged up you struggle to remember why they were hurting in the first place. You try telling him what you want, the muscles in your mouth feeling useless, the words coming out as pathetic noises.
"P-please mo—ugh, more." The words come out stretched and muffled.
He wraps his hand around your jaw, squishing your cheeks. "You want more, sweetheart? Tell me what you want. Use your words."
You try. You really try. "P-pl... p-pleee..."
"Please what, baby girl?" he coos, his other hand gently tracing the thick of your inner thigh. "Pretty girls ask nicely. What do you want Daddy to do?"
Your mind is totally blank. The only thing in your head is the warmth of his skin and the desperate throb between your thighs. You can't think of the word. You just whine, shaking your head.
"Well, I can't help you then... can I?" he chuckles, the skin around his eyes crinkling.
You try scooting yourself toward the edge of the table, desperate for the feeling to return, desperate for him to bury his cock inside of you.
"Please, f-fuck m-me, please, please," you whine, finally managing to get the words out.
He smiles. "See, baby doll? All you had to do is ask."
He slides your underwear down, unhooking it from one leg and letting it dangle from one foot. He pulls you forward enough to let you lie back, your hair pillowing your head against the counter. He pushes your skirt up, crumbling it around your waist.
"...Such a pretty pussy. If you hadn't asked so nicely, I’d devour you right on this table, sweetheart," he groans, letting his thick fingers explore you, making you shiver and whimper.
Suddenly, his head snaps up toward the swinging doors. His arms bracket your head on the table in a protective, commanding stance. He leans down real close, his hot breath brushing your ear.
"Shhh... shh, baby girl. Someone just walked in."
You hear his words, but they don't quite register. Your brain is too busy spiraling, the cold kitchen air making your sensitive skin break out in goosebumps. You just watch, dazed, as he disappears through the swinging doors.
There’s a brief mumble of voices on the other side of the wall. A harsh, low rumble from Frank, followed by the sound of the front door chime ringing again as the customer quickly thinks better of it and leaves.
Just as quickly as he disappeared, Frank strides back into the kitchen. He is aggressively pulling his belt off with a metallic clank, his zipper trailing down.
"Asshole..." he grunts, his jaw clenched in pure, protective anger. "If those are the kinds of dudes you have to deal with every night, I swear to God I'm never letting you step foot in this dump again."
His quiet ranting phases out as he steps between your thighs. Your brain completely blocks out his words, focusing entirely on the excruciatingly hot sensation of his thick tip rubbing up and down your entrance.
Your desperate, needy whines instantly snap him out of his anger. His eyes trail over your flushed, helpless face, and his expression softens completely. His free hand slides up under your shirt, his warm palm rubbing your tummy softly to soothe your shaking body.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Daddy got a bit angry for a second there," he whispers, his voice thick. "Back to your pretty face. How's that feel?"
You can't even answer. You just beg, repeating "please" over and over because it’s the only word your melted brain can conjure.
He slides inside you. It’s an incredibly tight, heavy fit, and you can feel your body stretching to accommodate him. Slowly, he slips almost all the way back out, leaving only the leaking tip inside before bucking deep into you again. His pace is steady and demanding, his large hands wrapping securely under your hips to hold you in place as he drives you against the metal table.
Your hands reach up, grabbing onto his thick biceps, your fingernails digging into his skin as you try to anchor yourself. You whimper and moan, filling the gaps in the quiet kitchen with pathetic, slurred pleases, completely desperate for your orgasm.
He keeps fucking into you, grunting and groaning as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
"You wanna cum, sweet thing?" he asks, watching your eyes roll back.
You nod frantically. "Please... please... ughhh, please, please... mhhhggmmm..."
You can't focus. The feeling of him pushing in and out of you has rendered your mind entirely useless. You are right on the cliff. Your moans get louder, echoing in the empty diner, your legs trembling helplessly against his sides.
"Fuck... you look so pretty like this," he groans.
His words are the final thread snapping, tumbling you over the edge into a crashing, blinding orgasm. You twitch and shake beneath him, your mind completely white. He keeps fucking you right through your climax, his own breath catching as he follows you over, groaning loud as he buries himself as deep as he can go and fills you.
Your head is completely empty. The room is spinning in your dazed, overstimulated state.
Frank rests his forehead against yours for a moment, catching his breath, before slowly pulling out. You let out a weak whimper at the loss of him.
"You did so well for me, sweetheart," he whispers, kissing your sweaty forehead. He pulls up his jeans and fastens his belt, his eyes never leaving you.
He looks down at your ruined, stained uniform, then at the cheap, painful heels sitting abandoned on the floor. His eyes darken with a quiet resolve.
"You wanna leave this place?" he asks, his voice quiet but intense.
You nod breathlessly, completely incapable of making a decision for yourself.
"Good girl." Gently, he unbuttons your uniform shirt himself, sliding it off your arms with tender care. He grabs a clean paper towel from the dispenser to gently wipe you down, keeping you comfortable, before chucking the ruined shirt and those stupid, painful heels directly into the trash bin.
He wraps his massive, warm jacket around your bare shoulders, zipping it up so it covers your body almost completely like a giant blanket. He scoops you up into his arms, lifting your weight effortlessly against his chest.
You let your heavy head sink into his shoulder, closing your eyes as he carries his pretty, silent doll out of the freezing diner and into the night.
stalker frank?!? something about him following me trying to keep me safe makes me drool. maybe some kinda confrontation? i love reading your stuff I've basically read all your most recent fics after finding one the other day!!!!!
ughhhh I love this so much and thank you for reading my stuff I really appreciate the kind words. sorry this took so long to come out ive been kinda sick for a few days.
Fear has been resting deep in your bones for months, just enough to make your heart pound on occasion, just enough to wake you up with sweat pooling on your skin. The feeling of being watched has followed you like a shadow. At first, you thought nothing of it just a passing chill you shook away. But every so often, you notice things that make you feel crazy. A window is open that you swore you closed. A few pairs of underwear suddenly go missing from your drawer.
Then came the night that almost broke you.
A man approached you in the dark on your way home from work, pulling a weapon and dragging you into a pitch black alleyway. You handed over your wallet, thinking that was all he wanted. You were wrong. When he demanded you take your clothes off, you tried to push back, sobbing out a never ending refusals. But quicker than your brain can process, the man drops to the floor.
A tall, broad figure stands over him, his face masked by the shadows of the night. A baseball cap and a heavy jacket only add to his mysterious silhouette.
"Run," he gruffs.
You take your chance. You run and you don't stop until your knees buckle onto the cold linoleum floor of your tiny apartment. You sob, letting tears roll off your face onto the ground. Your heartbeat rings loudly in your ears, the silence of your studio broken only by the wind pushing its way through the room.
You freeze. You look up.
Your window is wide open. You walk over and slam it shut, the clatter shaking the thin walls. Your eyes dart to the bed crammed against the drywall. My bed is going to be freezing, you think, trembling. I swear I closed that window. I need to call my landlord.
Slowly, your breathing slows as you curl under your heavy quilt, letting the weight wrap around you like a shield.
The next morning, you go to head out for work and stop dead in your tracks. Your wallet is sitting on the counter. It's right where you always leave it, next to your keys and phone.
You blink, trying to understand what you are seeing. Your eyes and legs still sting from the terror of the night before.
"I don't understand," you whisper to the empty room.
Before you can think, your phone starts ringing its your boss. Realizing you are late, you rush to get ready and head out to the coffee bar where you work.
You get home slightly earlier than usual after a slow shift. The cold air flows in from the front door as you step inside, letting your heavy bag slide against the wall.
Your breath instantly hitches.
A tall man is standing by your window. He isn't looking at you, his body rigid, one heavy boot propped up on the sill. Slowly, he raises his arms to show his hands are empty. But as he does, something slips from his pocket.
You stand there in sheer shock. Your gun is buried deep at the bottom of the handbag you just dropped by the door.
"I'm armed! Make—make one move and I'll shoot! Who are you?" you shout, trying to sound intimidating despite the tremor in your voice.
The man doesn't respond. He slowly steps down, his boot hitting the floor with an echoing thump. Your eyes trail down to where his shoe landed, and your stomach drops.
It’s a pair of your underwear. The ones you wore yesterday. This creep took them right out of your laundry basket.
"I have a gun in my right trouser pocket," the man mumbles, clearly still under the belief that you are holding a weapon.
Steeling your nerves, you step forward, reach into his pocket, and pull out his pistol. You immediately back away, pointing it straight at his back.
"Turn around, creep. You got any more of my underwear stuffed in your pockets?" you yell.
He complies, turning around slowly to let the dim light hit his face.
Your breath catches. He is massive, rugged, and intimidatingly built but looking at him, your survival instinct clashes with a sudden, confusing rush of heat. His face is hard, looking almost angry, but when his dark eyes meet yours, the sheer intensity melts into a vulnerable, aching softness. It’s a terrifying contrast .this dangerous, brutal-looking man looking at you like he's completely at your mercy.
"You know, you could have been less sloppy," you say, feeling a sudden surge of confidence with the heavy pistol in your hands. "Then I wouldn't have had a hunch that someone was stalking me. I mean, come on. Leaving the windows open? Stealing my underwear? Boot prints on my floor? The smell of cologne in my bed?"
"Giving you back your wallet?" he adds, a small, gravelly laugh escaping his chest, though his eyes never leave yours.
"Dude. Who are you and why are you stalking me?" you step closer, the adrenaline making you bold. "I could call the police right now and have you arrested in five minutes."
"Then why haven't you?" He lets out a heavy sigh. "Frank. My name is Frank."
Your blood runs cold. "Castle? The serial killer? Oh my god."
Panic overrides your brain. You squat down frantically, searching through your dropped bag for your phone.
he moves. Frank lunges, his huge hand slamming down to push the gun from your grip. BANG. The weapon goes off, a bullet tearing into the wall. The deafening sound of it hitting the floor feels even louder than the gunshot itself.
Before you can scream, he pins you against the wall. One large hand clamps over your mouth, his massive body towering over you, his heavy weight pressing you flat. his chest so wide it entirely blocks your view of the room. You didn't realize just how big he was until he was this close, his body completely shadowing yours.
But as you look up, your chest heaving in panic, his eyes are locked onto yours. They aren't the cold, dead eyes of a killer. They are wide, desperate, and filled with a raw, pleading desperation, it completely disarms you.
"Don't scream, okay, sweetheart?" he whispers, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, but incredibly soft. He uses his free hand to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
You nod quickly. Slowly, his hand slides away from your mouth.
"My neighbors would have heard the shot," you beg, tears finally spilling over, a thick knot in your throat making you stutter. "The police will be here soon. The station is only a block away. Please don't kill me. Just leave. I'll pretend I never saw a thing. Please, please."
He leans closer, his huge, calloused hand moving to cup your jaw, his thumb gently rubbing your wet cheek.
"Kill you? No, no, sweetheart. I'd never hurt you. I didn't come here to hurt you." His face is so close you can feel the warmth of his breath, the rich scent of black coffee filling the space between you.
"Why?" you sob. "I don't understand. Why have you been following me?"
"Because I love you," he replies. That soft, puppy dog look returns to his eyes a gaze so full of desperate devotion it makes you forget for a second that he's a hunted man. "I can't be away from you."he whines
A loud, violent banging at the door cuts the moment short.
"Police! Open up!"
Frank’s eyes dart toward the door, his muscles tensing. He looks back at you, pleading. "Darlin', please. Just give me a chance to explain," he whispers, slowly letting you go.
You wipe your face, taking a deep breath to shake off the paralyzing anxiety. Your brain is working at a mile a minute.
"Get in the closet. Quickly," you whisper.
You wait until he slips inside, then call out, "Just a minute!"
You open the front door just a crack, looking at the two officers standing in the hall.
"Are you okay, miss? We got a distress call from your neighbor. Heard gunshots," the shorter officer says, his hand resting casually on his utility belt.
"Yes, officers, I'm okay," you say, forcing your voice to sound steady and confident. "I was moving my gun from my purse to my storage locker when I tripped and dropped it, making it go off. I can get you my registration papers if you'd like."
They ask to come in and check. You agree, asking for a quick moment. Rushing over , you quickly swap Frank's heavy gun into your purse, grabbing your own gun and its paperwork. You lay them out on the kitchen counter and let the officers inside.
They review the papers and ask a few routine questions. The moments tick by painfully slow.
"All looks good. Just make sure to be more careful in the future," the taller officer says as they finally turn to leave. "Oh, and be careful leaving that window open. Frank Castle was rumored to be in this area not long ago. Left a body for us to find in an alleyway."
Your body goes entirely stiff, your breath catching in your throat. You nod politely and close the door, locking it securely behind them.
Once their footsteps fade down the hall, the closet door clicks open. Frank climbs out.
"Quick thinking, sweetheart," he says softly, looking at you in shock "I'm surprised you thought of something that fast."
Your fear turns into a sharp spike of anger. You grab your gun off the counter, march right up to him, and press the barrel directly to his forehead.
"Y-you killed someone," you stammer, your hands shaking. "You're the man who saved me the other night from that creep?"
"Whoa, whoa. Calm down, darlin'," Frank says, not flinching at the cold metal against his skin.
"That man had three past rape charges on his record. And those are just the ones he got caught for. He's got two other dead bodies rotting in the alleyways from before you." He talks about it so casually, like killing a man is as normal as breathing, but his voice remains gentle with you. "I did it to protect you. You wanna know what he said to me after you started runnin'? He said we could have shared if I had just asked. That's the kind of sick fuck who put his grubby hands on you."
His fists tighten and his brow furrows, his massive chest heaving as he relives the anger of that night. You slowly lower the gun.
"That doesn't excuse the fact that you've been stalking me and stealing my things," you say, your voice losing its edge.
Frank slowly drops to his knees.
He reaches out to touch your legs, his hands hesitating less than an inch from your skin. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and glassy with a desperate, pleading vulnerability. It’s almost painful to see a man of his size look so small, so entirely broken down at your feet.
"I'm so sorry, baby. I really am," he whines, his rough, gravelly voice cracking as his hands finally clasp against your thighs, his palms sliding up and down the backs of your legs. "I couldn't let you get hurt. I wanted to take care of you. I've seen the creeps that come into your shop. The way they drool and stare... it sickens me."
"Stop calling me baby, darlin', and sweetheart," you snap, though your heart is hammering against your ribs. "I'm none of those things to you. I don't even know you."
Frank presses his forehead against your knees, letting out a heavy, shaky breath. "You don't remember?"
"Remember what?"
"I came into your coffee shop three months ago," he whispers against your skin. "We talked. You talked to me like a person. A normal person. In that moment, seeing the smile on your face... I knew I needed you. I didn't sleep for two days. I couldn't stop thinking about you."
Something about the raw desperation in his rough voice, the warm air of his breath against your legs as he practically clings to you, makes your knees weak.
"I still don't trust you," you say, stepping back out of his touch. "But we can talk."
You walk over to the kitchen counter, placing the gun down, and turn on the coffee machine. "Black, if I remember right?" you mumble.
Frank's face lights up instantly, a soft grin breaking through his hardened features. He quickly stands and moves to sit at your small table. "Yeah."
You brew two cups and carry them over, sitting opposite him.
"Now look at me carefully," you demand, keeping your voice steady. "I didn't kill you because I'm interested in what you have to say. But you make one wrong move, and I will scream and try my hardest to put a bullet between your eyes. I don't care how scary people think you are. I want to live, and I intend to. Do you understand?"
He nods, taking a slow sip. His hands look absolutely massive wrapped around the ceramic mug, covered in scars and thick veins that trail up his muscular arms. You find yourself staring, a sudden rush of heat flooding your chest.
Nervous and hyper aware under his intense gaze, looking down to avoid his eyes. Sitting across from the punisher in your dingy apartment is a dangerous, thrilling rush.
"Start talking," you command.
"What do you wanna know?" he asks with a soft chuckle.
"everything, about you, your life and why exactly your so obsessed with me." there was a silence for a moment then the sound of him gulping down to the bottom of the cup. you take his cup back over to the counter to refill it and he starts retelling his story, all of it from start to finish.
while he does so you fill his cup and take it back to him sitting back down opposite him sipping at your own cup watching his lips move, watching the way his muscles tighten and retract as he moves and speaks and listening to the rough deepness of his voice. you phase in and out of understanding of his words getting distracted every so often. "so what do you think of me, am I what you expected? did you think about what would happen if you got caught? " you ask swirling the residue of coffee in the bottom of your cup.
Slowly, his massive hand reaches across the table, covering yours. His eyes hold a deep, consuming desperation, practically begging you to understand him.
"You're everything I thought and more," he whispers. "Being this close to you finally..." He stretches his legs out, his trouser leg brushing intimately against your shin. "God, I never want it to end. And... yeah, I thought about getting caught. I fantasized about it every day. I just... fuck, I didn't know how to speak to you."
You let out a soft, nervous laugh. "You could have started with coffee."
He looks away, a rare touch of embarrassment softening his rugged face.
"I want my underwear back. And the polaroids you stole from my dresser," you say, sliding your hand back and standing up to put the cups in the sink.
Frank nods, standing up slowly and stepping closer to you. "If you want me to leave and never come back... I will. I swear I'll never step foot in here again." His eyes are wide, waiting for your judgment.
The silence between you lingers.
He slowly turns toward the door.
"No," you say, a smirk tugging at your lips as you look back at him. "Actually, I don't think I want that."
Frank pauses, then slowly sits back down, his eyes locked on you. You walk up behind his chair, letting your fingers trail lightly over his broad, massive shoulders.
"You're actually quite attractive," you murmur. "When I heard about you on the news, I imagined... I don't know. Someone scarier looking, I guess."
"You seemed to think I was pretty scary when I first got in here," he chuckles, looking up at you with those soft, dark eyes.
"Any man who breaks into my apartment is going to look scary at first," you laugh, rolling your eyes.
Frank stands up, turning to face you. His large hands slide carefully, hesitantly, around your waist, pulling you against the solid wall of his chest. "So... what does this mean?"
You shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer. "What do you want it to mean?"
He stares down at you, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.
"What? Do you wanna kiss me?" you whisper, leaning in close. "You could ask. Or you could just do it. Seems to be your way of doing things anyway."
He doesn't wait. Frank leans down and catches your lips in a deep, primal kiss that makes your stomach completely flip. His fingers tighten around your waist, pulling your body flush against his broad chest. When you finally separate, a thin string of saliva connects your mouths.
"If I lift you right now, are you gonna try and kill me?" he asks huskily.
You shake your head. "I think we're a bit past that."
He kisses you again, effortlessly lifting you off your feet. He carries you over to the bed tucked in the corner, sitting on the edge with you securely in his lap, his hand sliding down to cup your ass.
"Is this... mhh, okay?" he murmurs against your lips, reluctant to lose contact for even a second.
You nod, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it up over his head, letting it drop to the floor. Your hands wander across his bare chest. Your eyes follow, taking in his pale skin. Like his arms, his chest is a map of thick, jagged scars.
Gently, you push him back onto the bed, staying seated in his lap. He crosses his arms behind his head, resting on your soft sheets, his heavy muscles flexing under your gaze.
"You like?" he asks with a grin.
You nod, practically drooling at the sight. Beneath your skirt, you can feel him hardening beneath you. Frank's hands move to the buttons of your shirt, his touch surprisingly delicate.
"Mind if I take a look?" he asks.
You shake your head, looking away as a blush creeps up your neck. He carefully undoes the buttons, his calloused hands resting flat against your soft waist.
"God, you're so beautiful, sweetheart," he breathes. Then he hesitates, looking up at you like a scolded dog. "Shit, wait... is that okay?"
"It's okay," you smile, easing his worry. "You can call me whatever you want. You're already in my bed."
With a relieved sigh, he continues to murmur soft compliments, his hands tracing your skin. You reach behind your back and unclasp your bra, letting it drop. Frank sits up instantly, his erection pressing hard against your underwear.
"Can I?" he pleads.
You nod. His face dives down, his lips kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin of your chest. When his mouth latches onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around it, a loud moan escapes you, shivers shooting down your spine. he quickly moves to plant you underneath him your cold back hitting the soft sheets of the bed.
He slowly works his way down your body. His hands slide to your skirt, undoing the zipper and sliding the fabric down, leaving you in just your underwear, socks, and shoes. He steps off the bed for a brief second to pull off your shoes and socks, then kisses his way from your ankles all the way up your inner thighs.
Kneeling on the floor beside the bed, he wraps his arms around your thighs, pressing his face against you.
"Please... can I have it?" he begs, his hot breath soaking through the damp fabric of your underwear.
"Have what? You need to be specific, Frank."
"Please, can I fuck you? Can I have you? I need to touch you."
"yes" you nod trying to hide your nerves.
The word makes his eyes darken with pure hunger. He slides your underwear off and dives between your legs.
The wet, messy sounds of his mouth against you fill the small studio. He knows exactly where to lick, where to suck, and how to use his tongue to send you into pure ecstasy. it was amazing, tears prick your eyes from the pleasure building in your body your nipples hardening in desperation to be touched. he lifts his hand and switches to letting his thumb rub circles against your sensitive cunt.
he asks if he can slide some fingers inside claiming he doesn't want to hurt you to which you agree, you mind loosing thoughts as he spoke getting lost in the feeling. he slides at first one finger his middle letting it slide all the way in till it hit the knuckle and sliding it back out letting his ring finger join it on the second way in.
his fingers are thick, larger than your own feeling them stretch you with each pass. his mouth latches back around the sensitive skin while he pumps his fingers in and out of you. you feel your orgasm building rapidly the heavy pit in your stomach feeling heavier by the second your legs are shaking while you look down at him his eyes locked onto yours.
"fuck frank I'm so close." you cry out feeling your orgasm start to take over, your moans getting louder and your breath getting quicker. he pulls his mouth away switching back to his thumb. his fingers from the other hand still curling deep inside of you. "go on sweetheart, cum for me, please." watching you shake, the slushing sound of his fingers getting louder. you cum, your body twitching and shaking and you squirt out onto the palm of his hand. "yes, that's a good girl, such a good girl, keep going." he coakses feeling you tighten around his didgets. he pulls his fingers out shaking off the majority of the liquid onto the floor beside him and licking and sucking of the rest.
"are you ready for me?" he asks, standing up to strip away his remaining clothes.
"Yes," you whisper, your eyes widening.
He is huge, making you wonder how it'll fit, its slightly longer than average but its ridiculously thick.
precun glints at the tip of his shaft.
"I'm gonna go slow. Let me know if you want me to stop," he promises, helping you move to the centre of the bed. climbing over you and positioning himself.
He lines up, rubbing his tip against your wet entrance before slowly, inch by inch, sinking all the way inside. You stretch to accommodate his girth, a slight sting quickly giving way to an incredible, deep ache.
"Is that okay?" he whispers, kissing your forehead.
You nod breathlessly. Frank begins to move, his slow, heavy thrusts hitting exactly where you need them. He groans quiet praises into your ear, completely shattering your thoughts. He lifts your legs, pushing them down towards your chest to open you up even further, driving in deep.
The friction pushes you right back to the edge. You can't handle the intensity, screaming as you cum again around him, but he doesn't stop. He keeps fucking you through your climax, his grunts getting louder and rougher as he quickens the pace, bringing you to orgasm multiple more times only breaking your mind further. occasionally switching positions but staying as close to you as he can, at this point you are a soaked mess, bearly able to talk.
he finally starts getting close, pulling you onto his lap , letting out grunts and hitting deep inside harder and harder. "your doing such a good job for me, ugh- fuck just- ughh~ just keep taking it, yeah just like that- fuck im so close." he moans his hands gripping around your waist pulling you up and down on it. he cums, the thick hot liquid shooting up into you, his cock burys itself deep inside of you not letting a drop escape. you fall forwards your head resting on his chest trying to catch you breath. "stay for the rest of the night... im gonna need someone to help me outta bed in the morning."
hiiii!! could I request matt and Frank using the reader together. ignore if u dont like this.
I love this idea but I feel like i didn't do it justice, I was struggling with the set up and the reader kinda has a moment that comes across as a "cringe pick me" but its very brief. this took hours to write and this is the best I think im gonna get. I hope you like it.
tags: MMF, 3way, p in v, p in a, double penitration is almost every way possible, rough top!matt murdock, soft top!frank castle, biting, cream pie, arguments.
is is kinda sloppily written please just trust that it gets better the further in you get.
Having Frank and Matt in the same room was a recipe for disaster, but every time you watched them interact, your brain went into overtime. There was something undeniably attractive about watching them square off—arguing back and forth, shoving each other around, and the low, rough grunts they let out whenever a blow actually landed.
"Guys, can we stop? We're here for a reason!" you yelled, trying to quiet them down enough to focus on why you had gathered in the first place.
Naturally, there was no stopping them once they started butting heads. The only reason any of you were here was to devise a plan. So far, the only progress was a rolled-out piece of paper on the table, its edges slowly curling inward as if trying to escape the noise, surrounded by a few weapons and half-dried-out pens. Frank’s underground bunker wasn't terrible to look at, but it wasn't nearly enough to distract you from the two massive men currently trying to choke each other out.
Your chair scraped loudly across the floor as you stood up and marched toward them. Using the bulk of your own body weight, you barged directly between their broadly built bodies.
"I'm serious. We only have forty-eight hours to plan, get what we need, and—"
Your voice trailed off as you suddenly registered the heavy, suffocating tension of being sandwiched between two large, bloody and bruised men. There was a complicated history between the two of them but there was also an equally long, tangled history between you and both of them. A heavy, unnatural silence fell over the room ,especially strange coming from two men who normally never shut up.
"She's right, Frank. We don't have time for this," Matt agreed. His voice rumbled from right behind you, his breath gently blowing the hair at the top of your head.
Frank gently gripped your shoulders, attempting to steer you out of the crossfire. "Come on, darlin', this isn't your fight to have."
"Darlin'? Her fight?" Matt grumbled, slapping Frank's hand away from your shoulder. "Don't tell me a man like you has a soft spot."
"Why are you so defensive, Red? Hmm? She get you going?" Frank taunted, casually pushing you aside to seize the collar of Matt's shirt.
Just like that, they were bickering again, but this time the argument was about you—turning into some strange, possessive dick-measuring contest. It had been years since you and Matt had slept together, and you had genuinely assumed he was over it. Frank, however, was a slightly different story. You had stumbled into his bed a few times after a long night of drinking. A moment of weakness, you had told yourself the first time but then it happened again... and again... and again.
At this point, you weren't sure if they even cared, or if they were just looking for an excuse to tear into each other.
"Whatever. I'm leaving," you announced, turning toward the heavy bunker door.
"No, stay! Please..." Matt yelled.
You jumped slightly at the volume of his voice, though it softened the instant he heard your heart rate spike.
"Don't speak to her like that," Frank snapped, forcefully shoving Matt back against the concrete wall.
"Shit! Dude, what, are you guys a thing now?" Matt asked, groaning from the impact.
"It was a moment of weakness..." you mumbled defensively.
Frank turned his dark gaze toward you. "Oh yeah, sweetheart? Was it a moment of weakness last night? Or the night before, or any of the times before that?"
The shouting match erupted all over again, growing even more intense. You started to zone out, staring blankly at the moisture dripping down the window. Your brief moment of dissociation was shattered by a sudden rush of intense body heat on either side of you, followed by the confusing sensation of lips pressing against your skin at the same time. They were still growling arguments at one another, their mouths never leaving your flesh.
"Guys, what the fuck is going on? We have work to do!" you shouted, trying to shove them away.
Instead, they only held you tighter, their thick arms tangling around your body to pull you flush against them. Matt began kissing and biting hungrily at your neck, his hands snaking down to your hips, greedily tugging at your trousers and gripping your ass. On your other side, Frank targeted your chest, ripping your shirt open down the front to expose your bra before latching his mouth onto your skin, sucking dark bruises onto your tits.
A breathless moan escaped your lips. Your underwear and bra were fully exposed to two hungry men who looked ready to devour you.
"Y-you fucking perverts—oh god," you gasped, your sentences broken up by helpless whimpers.
You had thought about a scenario like this before, but it had always been a wild fantasy, you never actually expected it to happen. The two best men you had ever slept with, taking turns on you. Every single second of it was completely overriding your brain, forcing you to focus entirely on the buzzing thrill rushing through your body.
Frank’s arms suddenly hooked beneath your legs, hoisting you up against his chest. As he carried you toward the center of the room, Matt swept his arm across the table, sending the maps, guns, knifes and pens crashing to the floor to clear a space. Frank set you down on the scratched metal surface, surprisingly delicate with his movements.
"Come on, princess, lift your hips for me, please," Frank whispered. His voice was so unexpectedly soft that you complied without a second thought.
He slid your underwear down your legs, letting the cool bunker air hit your quickly soaking skin. Matt gently unhooked your bra, sliding the straps off your shoulders as you lay back against the table.
Looking up, you watched both men, sweat already pooling on their foreheads, as they hastily unbuckled their belts and kicked their trousers to the floor. Frank leaned down, pressing hot, lingering kisses across your stomach while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
"Tell me, darlin', is this okay? Is this what you want?" he murmured, just as the heavy clink of Matt’s belt hit the floor.
You nodded, your head rolling back, completely dazed and desperate for their touch.
"I'm going to assume that was a yes, based on the fact that you haven't tried to kill me yet," Matt smirked. Matt was the rougher, more impatient one of the two, preferring to get straight to the point.
"Still thinking about it, Red," Frank rumbled, his fist slamming onto the table right next to your thigh, his gaze never wavering.
Their boxers dropped, revealing their cocks. Matt lined himself up with your mouth, sliding inside with ease, not giving you a single second to prepare. Below, Frank squatted down between your thighs, his tongue immediately lapping up your wetness while his hand stroked himself out of sight.
Matt began to pick up the pace, using your mouth exactly how he wanted, letting out low, heavy grunts as saliva began to spill from the corner of your lips. Frank suddenly stood up, lining his hips up with your cunt and sliding himself smoothly inside you.
"Oh, sweet girl, you feel so good," he groaned.
Your mind raced with pure pleasure as he filled you completely, the thick tip pushing deep against your inner walls. You could feel your orgasm building rapidly, your thighs trembling as your breathless moans sent physical vibrations straight through Matt.
"Go on, cum, you slut. Cum while we ruin you," Matt mocked roughly, pulling his cock from your mouth just so he could hear your noises clearly.
Your climax hit hard and stretched out long, making you shake and writhe helplessly against the cold metal.
"That's a good girl, such a good girl," Frank praised, his large hand sliding up and down the tensing, spasming muscles of your stomach.
"Lift her up," Matt snapped suddenly.
"Fuck off, assho—" Frank started.
"Don't start again! Just let me enjoy this," you cut them off sharply, stopping the fight before it could even begin.
Frank lifted your torso, and your arms instinctively wrapped around his broad shoulders, your face burying into the crook of his neck. Matt moved in right behind you, his large hands gripping your hips so tightly his fingertips dug into your skin. He lined himself up with your tight, untouched hole and pushed himself inside in one firm stroke, making you gasp loudly.
"Don't you fucking hurt her, or I'll kill you," Frank grunted, his pace picking up as he continued to drive into you, holding you securely.
"I'll be gentle, Castle, don't you worry," Matt answered, his voice strained.
They both began to move in a brutal, heavy rhythm. You could feel the thin barrier of skin between your two openings being frictioned from both sides by their shifting shafts.
"Fuck, I can't... it's too much—god, it's too much," you moaned, leaning your head back against Matt's neck, your nails digging deep into his skin. Your movement arched your chest forward, giving Frank total access to continue marking your skin with his mouth.
You could feel them both getting dangerously close, their bodies tensing up as their groans grew louder and their legs began to tremble.
"No, no, wait... both. I want both. Please, put them in together," you begged desperately.
They seemed to get the message, both pulling a brief face of reluctant, unapproving understanding. They pulled out completely, letting the heavy mix of precum and your own release drip down onto the floor. quickly, they lined their shafts up together at the entrance of your soaked, aching pussy and pushed in at the exact same time.
You felt a massive, intense stretch that made you sting, but they held completely still to let your body adjust, both of them peppering your face and shoulders with kisses while they waited for your approval.
You finally gave a tight nod. Together, they began pumping in and out of you at different, overlapping paces, gradually getting quicker and heavier. You felt your final, shattering orgasm rip through you just as they both reached their limits, releasing their loads deep inside you until it filled you completely, gushing out and spilling onto the floor. They buried themselves as deep as possible, holding the stretch to prove a silent point to one another, before finally pulling out.
Matt stumbled backward into a nearby chair, his chest heaving violently as he tried to catch his breath. Frank followed him, sitting down in the chair right next to him while keeping you securely tucked in his lap.
The heavy, ragged sound of breathing was the only noise left in the bunker.
I know this is VERY out of character for him but I don't think I've seen anyone do it yet but gunplay with Frank? I don't care about the scenario be as crazy as you want with it.
I struggled a little bit with this one so there's quite a bit of rambling at the start sorry. I'm not sure if I like how this turned out but I hope u do.♡
this specific story has a much darker tone, so I wanna be clear and remind you to please read the tags.
tags: gun play, knife play, violence, toxic relationship, abusive power difference in relationship, mentions of blood, a lot of crying, throat bulging, degrading, VERY OOC FRANK, reader believes they are in danger.
You and Frank had a rocky relationship. It definitely could be worse, but also definitely could be better. Somehow, no matter how fucked up or terrible it got, you guys managed to fuck it out.
The both of you were about an hour into a quickly escalating fight. Multiple things had already been thrown, glass had been smashed, but it had come down to a face-off for who was going to push it that bit further.
"Don't you fucking speak to me like that, you dickhead," you yelled across the room after listening to him shout, the kitchen table the only thing keeping you from killing each other.
"Fuck this," you mumbled to yourself as you turned to leave the apartment.
"Don't you dare—don't you even dare." He came storming towards you, grabbing your shoulder roughly and slamming your back against the front door. He held you there, explaining how you just didn't understand his methods and that what he does is important. His hand moved to your throat, not grabbing it enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place.
In the corner of your eye, you noticed the shining silver of his pistol on the small table next to the door. You grabbed it, pointing it straight down towards his junk.
"Wanna keep screaming at me still, or have you had a sudden change of heart?" you said, your hand trembling with your finger on the trigger.
His hands moved away from you as he took two steps backwards. "On your knees, Frank, I'm not messing around."
In reality, you had never even held a gun before, never mind being confident enough to shoot it. He complied, sinking down to his knees, looking up at you with those eyes. You weren't quite sure what exactly the look he was giving you meant. You moved slightly closer, your arm clearly shaking, the gun now pointing toward the floor.
In the second it took for you to blink, he grabbed you, turning you around, pulling the gun from your hands and turning it on you. He pressed it to your temple while his other hand held tightly to your throat.
"Now listen to me, darlin'. I know that you don't have a clue what you're playin' at, but I'm sure as hell about to teach you a fuckin' lesson," he said, pushing the harsh metal into your skin. "Move over there."
You swallowed hard, eyes wide, nodding in agreement as he walked you over towards the kitchen counter where you were both standing just a few minutes ago.
"It's your turn to kneel now, darlin', so start movin'," he dictated.
He watched you move down, hands held up above your head, a smirk on his face. He kept the gun pointed at you as you heard the sound of his heavy boots stomp in a circle to meet your eyes. You looked up at him slowly, eyes filled with tears.
"Y-you wouldn't actually kill me, w-would you?" you stuttered out, your heart feeling like it was beating out of your chest.
"No, doll face, I'm not gonna kill you. But I'm gonna make you regret pullin' this out on me," he said, unbuckling his thick, heavy belt. The clattering of the buckle making you shudder.
You watched his pants drop and him pull down his boxers to reveal his thick cock, something about it making your mouth fill with saliva instinctively, like he'd trained you.
"Suck it," he ordered, grabbing a fistful of hair and pressing the gun back to your head.
Your mouth opened, letting the end of your tongue poke out from your lips, looking up expectantly. He pushed it into your mouth, forcing it as deep as he could, making you gag. He held your head there, watching your eyes water before pulling you back off, watching you cough, not waiting long before doing it again and again. He moved quicker with each stroke, letting out grunts with each thrust.
He finally stopped for a moment, letting you breathe, drool rolling from his cock and your chin.
"Are you learning yet? Or is your brain already turning to mush?" he said slowly, as if you were stupid, sliding his thumb across your chin.
He wasn't done with you yet, not even close. He grabbed you, slinging you across his shoulder, and placed you on your back with your head tilted slightly off the edge of the table.
"Open up," he demanded. "I said open up. Are you fucking stupid?" he repeated, pressing the gun against your throat, encouraging you to do so.
He slid back in, watching your throat intently, watching the bulge of his cock go up and down your throat.
"See, it's not that hard to listen. That's such a good girl for me, taking my cock down your throat." His free hand moved to your throat, rubbing his thumb against the bulge, using your throat like it was his toy. "You're such a dumb whore. Look at you, I can see the wetness seepin' through your underwear," he said belittlingly.
"Fuck, princess, your throat is so tight. Why don't I do this to you more often?" he said, finally sliding out of you and letting you breathe. He grabbed your hair, forcing you to sit upright facing him.
"Please, Frank, I'm sorry. I'll never do it again, I've learned my lesson," you begged, tears running down your face.
"I'm not fuckin' finished with you yet, am I? Clearly you haven't learned because you can't listen to me properly. Get on all fours on the table and bend forward. I want to see how wet you actually are." The gun was still pointed at you, his eyes filled with a lust you had never seen before. It was a look that made your stomach sink.
You did as he asked, your lacy underwear facing towards him like you were being served to him on a platter. You heard a thunk of the gun hitting the table, but you didn't dare move a muscle. You heard a rustling of him searching his pockets, and then silence.
Your heart was beating so loudly you worried he could hear your fear. A sudden, cold tinge of pain struck your right thigh, making you squeak. It was his pocket blade, the very tip being lightly pulled across the plump skin of your thigh.
"You know what to say if you can't handle this, doll, but I don't think you will because I can see the enjoyment soaking through your panties."
He was right. You were enjoying this sick game he was playing with you, seeing how far he could push you before you broke. The blade slid across your thighs so, so lightly—enough to sting, but not enough to draw blood. He grabbed your hair with a sudden movement, pulling your ear close.
"I could cut you up right here on this table and you'd let me, wouldn't you?" His words were so sick, but the way they came out of his mouth only makes you want him more.
You gave a pathetic nod before he let go, letting you fall back toward where you once were. You resumed the position you were in beforehand and let him continue.
The knife moved underneath the fabric of your underwear and, with a quick slice, cut through them, exposing you. The knife dragged down your thigh again, this time a quick, controlled movement—enough to hurt, slicing a thin line into your leg and letting a small amount of blood drip down. This made you yell in pain and jerk forward.
"Silly girl, you should stay still when I'm playing with you. And hush, you don't want anyone coming to ruin our fun, do you?" he said in a sickly sweet tone.
The knife joined the gun on the table with a clink. He leaned forward, his heavy breaths against your skin. His tongue connected with the wound, sliding all the way up it, licking it all up. He moved himself back and reached towards your aching cunt, using both his thumbs to spread it open, watching the wetness leak out.
He carefully lifted the gun with his other hand on your hip and lined it up with your entrance, sliding the cold metal up and down, soaking it. He gently pushed it inside, making you squirm and moan.
"Please, Frank, I've learned my lesson. You could kill me," you cried out, feeling him fuck you with it, whimpering with every insertion.
His thumb moved to your clit, circling it over and over, building up an orgasm.
"Beg. Beg for forgiveness. I mean really beg, cuz' your life is in my hands," he demanded.
Which you did. You cried and begged while he pushed you to your orgasm. He watched in such perversion as the muscles tensed and spasmed around the glimmering metal, and then he pulled it out.
He pulled you off the table and forced your weak legs to hold you up. You leaned forward against the table, trying to stay standing. He pushed his thick cock inside of you before you could even adjust to the dizziness of standing. He fucked you hard, biting at your skin, pulling your hair, and holding you incredibly tight.
He quietly finished inside you and sat you back on the table.
"You—you could have killed me!" you shouted with a cock-drunken slur to your voice.
He lifted the gun up and held it in front of you. "The safety was on and the mag was empty. I'm not stupid enough to have let you grab it if I had even a thought you could actually do anything with it."
soft sex with daredevil?!? maybe he is wounded, just got back from a fight and he is all whiny and aching.
yes yes I love this so much!!
tags: matt murdock, pinv, no protection, cream pie, mentions of blood (at the start), arguments, smut with fluff, porn... with plot?, man without fear era, injury, semi already established relationship.
not sure if I missed any tags let me know if u notice any.
You had known Matt since college—I mean, it was an on-and-off type of situation. You had found out about his secret "hobby" one night when he stumbled into your apartment, the rain hammering against your window. He showed up bleeding and desperate for help.
This had become a routine. Late at night, he'd come crawling through your window or banging on your door when a fight had gone south. Tonight seemed different, though. I mean, sure, he was definitely hurt. His blood dripped from your window sill where he slid through, and there was a pool of rain on your carpet.
Your keys jingled in your hand as you opened your door, the mess becoming apparent the second you entered.
"God, Matt, I just had this cleaned," you whined into the room.
A soft chuckle came from your couch. "I'm sorry, sweet girl. I'll make sure it's cleaned for you. Desperate times and all that." He sat up with a grunt, hand to his chest.
You locked your door, moving towards the first aid kit that was kept on standby after one too many times of using your good alcohol to clean out his wounds. You crouched down next to the sofa and started lifting his shirt to get a better look.
"Whoa, whoa, what's the rush, hmm?" he asked, his hand meeting yours, his body arching forward to lean his face close to yours. "No small talk? I love our conversations," he said softly, his hand moving up the side of your face, smearing blood from his hands on your cheek.
"I'm tired, Matt. We do this little song and dance every week. I'm starting to believe you are letting them hit you just so you can slide in here and bleed on my floors," you said with an honest sigh.
He scoffed, moving back down to the sofa, letting you start to clear away the blood. The silence was long and awkward, nothing but the occasional sound of sirens passing.
Suddenly, his breath hitched and a long whine of pain rang across the room—drawn-out cursing as his body stretched, trying to stop the pain.
"Stay still," you warned, wiping away the blood trailing from his ribs, down his abs, to his hips. You carefully slid a needle through the skin, starting to close the wound.
His hand wrapped around the muscle of your arm gently. "Please, sweetheart, talk to me," he begged.
You started mumbling something to him about work stress, some crazy dude showing up in the cafe you work at. The wounds finally closed up, letting you bandage them. He slowly sat up with a grunt, thanking you with a smile.
Your eyes scanned over his chest, looking over the scars and bruising for any other open areas.
"You know I can feel you watching me," he said with a smugness in his voice.
"I'm trying to make sure you don't die," you muttered with an eye roll.
You moved away from the sofa to the sink, wiping away the blood from your hands and face. You unbuttoned your blouse slightly, enough to reveal your chest, trying to cool off. You felt his warm body press against your back, his hands wrapping around your waist, and one hand traveling up to your chest.
"Mmmh, I thought you were mad at me for a second, but one more move and this would slide right off," he said, his fingers traveling into the top of your bra, touching the soft skin.
"It's not for you, asshole. It's hot in here and I want to sleep," you hissed, moving away from him. "You come over, bleed on my floor, my bed, my sofa, my walls, everywhere. We fuck, you leave. Same every time. I'm tired, Matt."
He moved in close, pushing the hair from in front of your face slowly. You knew he could hear your heart pounding in anger; you knew he could feel the sweat pooling on your skin.
"I'm sorry, I really am. I'm just trying to keep this city safe. A good work-life balance has never exactly been my forte," he whispered, moving close to your neck, his lip brushing against the skin. Soft kisses trailed up your neck, his hands meeting your waist again.
Tears pricked your eyes. It hurt because you cared so deeply about him, but every time you felt yourself relaxing around him, he disappeared without a trace.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to feel every inch of your skin. I want you, but..." he trailed off in guilt.
"But the city is more important. I get it," you snapped. You pulled him closer to you, inches away from his lips. "If this is a game to you, leave now and never come back. But if this is what you want, kiss me right n—"
His lips met yours before you could even finish your sentence. Desperate, hungry—like he was searching for that piece of love in you, the bit that lets him stay. His hands moved to your clothes, undoing the rest of the buttons, moving the fabric from your skin.
You both moved towards your bedroom, lips still intertwined. Greedy hands explored each other's skin like it was still the first time. Your fingers traveled across the ripples of scars on his skin, the strained muscles in his back. Your back hit the wall of your bedroom, the damp coldness of it sending ripples of goosebumps across your body.
His lips left yours, letting you catch your breath. His mouth traveled down your neck and onto your chest. He pulled on the straps of your bra, letting them slip off your shoulders, reaching around to undo it. The fabric slumped onto the floor around your feet.
His tongue slid across your breast, hitting the hard nub of your nipple. His mouth latched around it, his tongue swirling around it. The saliva was warm and stringed between you and his mouth as he moved to the other side.
His hands moved to the backs of your thighs and pulled you up into his arms.
"Matt, you're gonna hurt yourself picking me up," you whined.
The fabric of his mask rubbed against your skin while his mouth still sucked on your nipples. He didn't respond, lost in his excitement. You could feel his bulge against your underwear. Your skirt was ridden up against the fat of your thigh, the tight fabric digging into your skin.
Your head hit your pillow. You watched him pull off his shoes and undo his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor. A loud creak echoed through the room as he climbed onto the bed, his hands pushing your skirt up, letting the fabric ripple and crease around your waist. His fingers hooked around your underwear, pulling them to the side, exposing your cunt to the cold wind flowing through the room.
The feeling didn't last long, though. His mouth connected with it before your mind could process. A loud moan escaped your mouth. His tongue slid up and down, making sloppy noises, swirling around and around your clit, building up a tension that made your legs shake.
"Fuck—Matt, honey, that feels amazing," you moaned, your nails digging into the pillows surrounding your head.
"You think you're ready for me, hmm?" he mumbled.
"Y-yes, yes," you yelled, your voice shaking. "You need to be careful—I—fuck, I don't want you to hurt yourself."
He moved himself up, propping himself above you, his muscular arm against the headboard. He pulled down his boxers, his length bouncing down, precum sliding down the tip, dripping from it onto the bedsheets. He leaned down, his face close to yours again, lining himself up.
"Wait—take off the mask. I want to look at you."
He usually left it on in times like this. Maybe it was so he could slip away back into the night; maybe it was his way of keeping his cards close to his chest, keeping his distance, making sure you didn't get too attached to him being around.
He did take it off this time, sliding the black fabric from his face. Bruising covered his upper face—dark purple bruises and swelling circled around his eyes and nose.
"Oh, Matt..." your fingers traced them.
"What, am I really that bad-looking?" he said with a soft laugh.
You scoffed in response. "No, of course not... I just... didn't realize... Who? Who would do this?" your voice was hushed.
He leaned back closer, planting soft kisses on your face. "That doesn't matter, sweetheart. It's unimportant right now. All I care about right now... is you." His voice was so calm, so soft it melted away at your worry.
His tip slid across your entrance, his wetness mixing with yours between your legs. "So soft, so warm... shit—please, sweetheart. Can I? God, please," he begged, soft whines between his words.
You agreed, your fingers sliding through his damp hair. You felt him push into you, filling the aching space. Your face turned flush, lewd noises filling the room.
He moved slow at first, very, very slow, like he was trying to explore every inch of you in a way he hadn't before. He'd normally rush, be rough with you, never whimper, never speak—just grunts. This felt different. His soft whines and whimpers, his voice so desperate like a man who was starving.
His hips started bucking back and forth quickly, his hand sliding into yours, holding you closely, kissing your skin between praises. "Oh, my sweet girl—you're taking me so well. You feel so good."
You were so close to coming, your body feeling like it was vibrating, a veil of euphoria covering your body.
"Matt—please, I'm so close."
You felt your body tip over the edge, your orgasm rippling through your body.
"That's such a good girl. Yes—yes, sweetheart, let it out," he praised, his breath quickening, making him pant.
His orgasm followed close behind, his heat coating your insides, the warmth only extending your climax.
After catching your breath, he tumbled off, lying next to you. His body moved as close as he could, his arms wrapping around your waist, his stubble-covered jaw hiding itself in the crook of your neck.
Hii! Saw your requests are open I'd like to request Eddie and reader getting stupidly high together and you can decide how it goes!
omg ok ok love this.
tags: fem reader, eddie, fuffy at times ,drug missuse, smoking, pinv sex, minor knife play mention, tummy bulge mention, messy sex.
it was such a boring night in hawkins, there had been a continuous rattling of rain on the roof of the trailer all day. tape after tape going in and out of the player quietly playing Metallica on repeat.
eddie had been lieing on the bed dozing in and out of sleep almost all day and you had been sat upright back against the headboard reading through the pile on comics that Eddie had stacked next to the bed that had been slowly gathering dust.
you let out a loud huff in boredom placing down the comic you had just finished on the top of the pile. you slide off the side of the bed and walk through the trailer to grab some water. glass in hand u walk towards the window taking in the view of the rain watching it splash against the window. your mind fighting to find something to do.
your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Eddie walking into the room with a loud yawn, his shirt lifting as he stretched. he always looks cutest like this, messy bed hair, quieter than usual theres always a softness to his presents. he walks up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist holding you close leaving gentle kisses down your neck and shoulder. you both stand there for a moment not knowing what else to do because in reality there was nothing you could do.
"I'm gonna have a smoke" he says letting go of you, grabbing his kit from the kitchen side, the sudden lack of body heat making you shiver. "could you roll me one please?" you ask. "of course princess " he replies already rolling a joint between his fingers looking at you as he runs his tongue across the paper. he hands the first one to you and starts rolling one for himself.
once he finishes he slides the end into his mouth and pushes his hair from his face. the door opens with a loud creek and a slam as the door connects with the wall. he pulls a chair towards the door sitting resting his feet against the doorframe small specals of rain hit his legs and socks. the flick of the lighter followed by the blaze draw your eyes toward him.
he looks hot usually but you are one of very few people who get to see him like this maybe the only person. when hes not being overly performative or trying hard to look like he doesn't care. he looks relaxed, his stomach peaking from under his t-shirt, his boxers fitting in all the right places, his semi muscular legs stretched out. he was fully dressed at one point in the day he had ran out to make a quick deal in the early hours of the morning but as the day had progressed he had been getting slowly less and lesser clothed.
his arm lent against the chair his head resting ontop of it. his face mostly covered by his hair as he smokes away. you light your own walking over to his side his arm moving from supporting his head to wrap around your hips his head resting on your thigh.
"you know i have something we could try." he mumbles "oh yeah?" you reply willing to do anything to escape the boredom. he stands suddenly walking over to the metal lunchbox on the counter digging through it looking for something. you steal his seat letting the small tingles of your high waft over you.
"I've had it for a while never tried it before but it could kill some time." he says holding 2 small pills in his hand. you take it examining it. it's small pink with a heart on it with a kind of chalk texture. "you want to try it?" he asks. you nod taking it quickly following it with the water u placed on the side. he follows right behind you taking it too.
some time had passed and the weed you had smoked was long gone from your systems. you are back on the bed waiting to feel something. "eddie how long is it supposed to take to kick in." you ask your head relaxed in his bicep his warmth surroundings you. "not long" he mutters not moving much.
not much longer later you feel a sudden rush of warmth hit your body making you feel uncomfortable. you stand pushing open the window in Eddie's room hoping to cool down you pace back and forth for a while trying to let the cool air hit you. Eddie sits up in the bed watching you pace. his face flushed and teeth chattering slightly while small beads of sweat run down his forehead. he slides his shirt off hoping to cool of himself.
he seems slightly nervous making small talk every so often. "my sweet girl, come sit down you will wear yourself out." he says his chest raising quicker than normal. you do sit but move around the bed for a while trying to find a comfortable position. he softly runs his fingers through your hair distracting you from the fuzzy feeling in your chest. giving you soft praises every so often. "shh~ your such a good girl" " your doing so good for me."
that feeling of warmth slowly drains away from your body leaving you tingly. you move up next to Eddie getting as close as possible. you feel strange like if he's not super close to you you might cry. you run your fingers up and down his chest feeling small sparks and tingles on your finger tips. his skin is slightly damp from sweat not that it's bothering you but you seem to notice it more. you notice the small freckles dotted across his body you notice small scars you had never seen before. his hands move through your hair while your doing this shooting strings of tingles down your spine.
a small moan escapes his lips your fingers had explored further down his body sliding up and down his now hard cock through the fabric of his boxers. his hands start explore your skin with an interest moving round your sensitive body making you shake. "i love you so much." you whimper as he leans in to kiss you. one of his hands hand made it's way under your t-shirt and to your breast the other reaching down to your underwear. leaving you breathless and moaning into his mouth. you and slid his underwear down at this point pumping his cock with your hand feeling pools of pre cum gathering at the dip between your thumb and pointer. "please Eddie please i want to feel you please i need to be close." you whimper looking into his eyes his pupils blown to cover the colour of his eyes.
he pulls you onto his lap his cock resting against his tummy leaving a trail of glossy mess at the tip. he reaches over to the side table grabbing his pocket knife flicking it to a short pointy one with a clink noise. he carefully holds the knife against your skin moving it down towards the hip of your underwear ripping straight through it. he moves it again to align with the fabric against your aching cunt. the knife slides behind the fabric the cold of the metal against the pouch above your pussy makes you shiver. with a careful swift move he rips through it again he grabs the remaining fabric pulling it from your body leaving you exposed. placing the knife back where it was.
he lifts your hips sliding his cock deep inside of you with a squelching noise. you see the outline of him inside of you pocking from your tummy. "holy shit." he says running his finger around the outline, the sensation making both of you twitch.
holding you tightly he begins lifting and slamming you back down on his cock watching the outline moving. he pulls your top fully off to get a better view.
a mess from both of u gather around his base leading to it being super noisy. you both are in complete ecstasy. it seems to go on forever, the sensation of him fucking you bringing you to orgasm multiple times. you can't tell if Eddie already game or not he just keep going. you could periodically feel him release into you but you are never sure if he's done yet. he continues using you as a human fleshlight until he is done muttering praise to you over and over as he does.
time seemed to not exist anymore you couldn't tell if it had been minutes, hours, days even but it felt amazing.
this edit ... omg him as a faceless character ugh. also his hands are all i ever think about also also this is the exact reason why all pics of him i use dont have his face in, his vibe is so peak that way.
you sit on Eddie's bed watching the time tick by longer and longer. you knew exactly where he was and what he was doing not that it made it better. it always felt awkward waiting around at his house. even tho his uncle was working a night shift it felt strange being in his home without him. you had been hanging out with him most of the morning but you both knew he had hellfire that afternoon but this was ridiculous. he said he'd be back at 11 but it was now almost 1am. he was always slightly longer than he said he would be but 2 hours? you had considered just going home but Eddie had left the door unlocked, taking his key with him. in your impatients you had paced the trailer several times, listened to almost all the tapes he had strewn across his draws and smoked half a pack of cigarettes. u had rummaged through his draws finding notebooks filled with songs, bags of weed, and the dirty Polaroids you had taken together. you decided to smoke some of the weed hoping you would calm down before he got home.
the clock had just hit 1:30 am when you see a truck pull in. it was Eddie's uncles truck they shared. you was sat in the doorway resting your feet on the step of the trailer joint in hand looking pissed. Eddie almost instantly jumps out jogging over to u. "im so sorry sweetheart it went on for way longer than planned I didn't realise the time." he says as he almost reaches the door. you dont even look at him just put the joint out in the ashtray standing up and walking inside. he follows you inside profusely apologising. you play on the tape in the player then start grabbing your stuff from the floor.
"no no baby where are u going?" he says with pleading eyes trying to take the clothes from your hands. "home" you say snatching the clothes back from him giving him a cold look. "im sorry ok?" he begs. "yeah same as you have been the past god how many times. you leave me alone for hours with nothing to do and im fuckin sick of it! you take longer and longer to get home. im not doing this anymore." you yell putting the last few things in your bag. you sit on the edge of the bed trying to pull on your boots but he kneels down by your feet trying to stop you. "would you fuck off?" you say shooting him another look. you give up and just sling the boots over your shoulders by the laces and grab your bag walking through the trailer and down the step barefoot.
you start walking away when you hear him come up behind you and he grabs your shoulder turning you around. "look i said I'm sorry, can we please talk this out? " he pleads. "you wanna talk? fine let's talk." you say dropping your stuff to the floor. "you abandon me in your house for hours every few nights just to play some stupid game. then walk in the door and expect me to be perfectly fine with it. I dont mind u playing your games but why invite me to stay if your not going to be there? im not one of your toys u can just play with when you feel like it!" you yell tears streaming down your frozen cheeks.
"it's not a stupid game and I told you I didn't mean to be late!" he yells back. this just fules your anger further making it finally bubble over causing the fight get worse going back and forth both getting angrier at each other.
you cut through the argument landing a slap across his cheek. leaving a sudden silence in the air that seems to drag on for ages. "im- im sorry." you say quietly.
he abruptly grabs you slinging you over his shoulder, grabbing your bag and shoes carrying you back to the trailer slamming the door behind him. he throws you onto the bed not looking at you. you try and read his expression but you can't tell what is going through his head. he throws your stuff back on the floor. he squats down at the end of the bed and grabs your legs pulling your hips to the edge of the bed.
you sit up looking at him. "again." he orders. leaving u shocked. "what?" you ask confused. "again." he repeats in that same tone. you just look at him for a moment. "come on princess your not stupid I know you can follow an order I'm not repeating myself anymore." he says in such an mocking time it makes u twitch in anger. you land another slap on his cheek slightly harder than before leaving a small red mark on his cheek. "see wasn't that hard was it?" he says in that mocking tone. "you feel better now? " he says looking deep into your eyes like he's searching for the answer. you nod slightly, still thrown off by his sudden shift in tone.
he once again grabs you lifting you into his arms moving round to the side of the bed sitting down with you in his lap. "let's talk it out sweetheart, while I make it up to you." he says softly, pushing your hair from your face. the pressure of his thigh between your legs and his hand softly drifting through your hair distracts you from your anger. you move your hips slightly feeling a sensation flow through your body. "aw sweetheart does that feel nice?" he says holding your hip with one hand and gently stroking your hoar with the other. "come on baby talk to me, ill fix it i promise." he says smoothly.
you begin slowly explaining as your hips rock back and forth against his leg. "I'm genuinely so sorry sweetheart it really am, if you want i can bring you with me? I don't mean for it to run over time so much we just get so into it but I promise even if you don't wanna come ill make sure to be back on time." he says planting a kiss on your forehead. you nod "I'd like that- mmhh~ I'd like to come play with y- fuck- you guys." you say letting out moans between. "are we ok now?" he asks. you nod before dropping your head into his chest feeling yourself getting closer and closer to cumming. "just let it out sweetheart." he whispers leaving kisses along your neck. you feel yourself start to cum the rush feeling amazing. your fingers tangle in his hair pulling it slightly.
I really want a desperate eddie. constantly grabbing and needing to touch the reader. not wanting to wait at all. (if u dont want to thats ok)
ughhhh I love this so much! just wanna add my asks are still very much open so keep them coming!
tags: femreader, Eddie munson, pinv, rough sex, gag, hair pulling, public sex, groaping, unprotected
eddie can never keep his hands off you constantly grabbing at you, reaching under your clothes and pulling you into side rooms to pound you stupid. no matter where you are he wants you, that dark look crossing his face leaving you squirming in excitement wondering what he is going to do with you.
on this particular day he was more impatient and desperate than usual you had been sat watching a movie in the cinema, it was some horror movie that had been released recently but you couldn't pay attention to anything happening.
after sitting down in your seats and getting comfortable watching the opening scenes you feel the sensation of cold metal sliding against your leg followed by the tips of fingers dragging up and down your inner thigh. you feel your face flush trying to concentrate on the screen. the sensation flows further and further up your leg until it reaches under your dress the tip of his finger gently graising against the soft fabric of your underwear. your eyes shoot over to Eddie's face he looks relaxed, bored even, resting his head on his hand his eyes carefully flowing across the screen as if he wasn't currently teasing you. luckily the cinema is mostly empty only a few couples scattered across the rows of seats. you feel a mixture of feelings pumping through your body, excitement, nervousness and a desperate need for him to ruin you. his fingers had started pressing against you a more intentional touch, you know its not long before he's balls deep in you but you decide to play his game and completely ignore him. you focus yourself back on the screen. trying desperately to zone out the feeling of him rubbing you through your underwear.
after a while you notice his eyes darting over to u every so often. his fingers abruptly slide past the fabric wall the sudden move making you jump and let out a small noise. you settle back into your seat trying to play it off as the haunting creature on the screen making you jump. his fingers push against your hole not quite sliding in but enough for your body to tense up and your hand to grip tightly to the cheap squeaky fabric of the cinema. "what's wrong sweetheart, to scary for ya'?" he says looking into your eyes that had slightly glassed over.
"eddie please" you quietly whimper against his ear. his deminor seems to change his fist clenching and his breath getting heavy. his thick fingers suddenly push past your folds hitting deep inside of you. you can see his cock pushing against his pants twitching routinely causing his zipper to jump.
"fuck it" he mumbles as he slides out of u leaving you feeling empty. he quickly licks of his fingers and grabs your hand pulling you out of your seat. he drags you past the doors of the show room passing making out couples on the way. he pushes the bathroom door open pulling you in your eyes suddenly assaulted by the florescent light making u squint. his lips attaching to the skin of your neck and chest before you adjust to the light. grabbing your hips pulling you towards the door of the stall. the door slams behind you, the cold of the door connecting with your back.
"I cant wait any longer baby, i- I cant, fuck I need you now" he says between his mouth tasting and biting at your sensitive skin, his hands push your bra and dress exposing your chest his lips exploring the hardening skin on your nipple. he grabs your hips to turn you around pulling your underwear down and off your legs. he stuffs the underwear into your mouth causing you to gag slightly. you let out some small whines muffled by the make shift gag as you feel his tip push into you. his hands reach round you roughly grabbing at your tits swirling his fingers around your nipples his hands grabbing so tight it almost hurts. "fuck princess you feel so good." he says as quietly as he can through grunts. one of his hand reaches down to play with your clit making your eyes roll back in pleasure still feeling his cock pounding in and out of you at a harsh pace. the hand once on ur tit moves to your hair tangling his fingers in it pulling your head back. "let me look at that pretty face of yours princess." you can feel him getting closer and closer to coming his hips slamming repetitivly against u. you feel weak from your own orgasm creeping up on you. "fuck!" he grunts releasing himself into you filling you up. while your own orgasm drags on longer than expected leaving u twitching. he slowly pulls out letting the cum spill out of you, being so gentle helping you clean yourself up.
Here are a bunch of Eddie x reader ideas for you :)
Eddie and reader both “die” in the upside down and become vampires and have crazy super powered sex
Eddie wants to watch Steve fuck you or the other way around
Eddie takes the reader to a sex club
Eddie and reader know Steve wants to join them so they make a sex tape and give it to him or maybe watch it with him
Steve throws a house party and Eddie x reader sneak to the side of the house and fuck maybe people hear / see them
I decided to do the last one I hope it's good I'm like super rusty lol .
the continueos thud of music and ramblings of chatter had drowned out most of the night. it had felt like the night was skipping through time trying to ignore the repetitive thud in your head between conversations with strangers, the feeling of aching caused by the alcohol in your body. you decide to trail outside to light a smoke, fumbling with your pack dropping it as it slides from your cold tingling fingers. you stand there for a moment feeling the nights wind brush against your cheek debating whether it's worth reaching for it in your semi-drunk state. your thought is interrupted by the sound of leather rubbing against itself and the body heat of someone knocking into u.
"Shit!... sorry lemme grab that for u." echos through your head as you watch a tall man bend down and grab the back from by your feet. you feel yourself snap out of the daze you had fallen into when a pair of dark eyes connect with your own. "you good?" he says brushing your hair from your face the warmth of his hands feeling nice against your frosted skin. you nod finally blinking back to reanimation "yeah... a bit drunk and cold." you say taking the pack from his hands. his eyes follow your hand as your fingers slide into the pack and bring the cigarette to your mouth. "you got a light?" you mumble patting your pockets trying to feel around for your own. "course princess" he says holding up his lighter to light your cigarette. you smile at him in thanks finally letting your eyes trail over the man infront of you. you recognize him it's eddie he was in a few of your classes last summer. you always thought he was cute but it never went further than passive conversation. he seemed a lot more confident after some drinks the conversation flows more naturally and less rushed. you talk back and forth a bit eventually leaning against the wall for stability chatting about the party ongoing just behind the wall. "steves house is a lot bigger than I imagined" you say with a laugh. "not big enough tho," eddie adds "almost every room ive walked into there's people fuckin or something." you both laugh and let the silence settle for a moment as smoke surrounds both of you.
"ive always thought u was cute" you blurt out swirling what's left of your drink refusing to look at him. "and I dont know if it's this beer or something but you look even better tonight. " you continue with a nervous laugh. your brain is trying to set off alarm bells that you just confessed to him but the warm swirl of alcohol surrounds your thoughts. he moves i front of you gently moving your chin towards him " oh yeah?" he asks the smell of alcohol and his cologne taking hold of your senses. you feel your heart pounding against your chest as you nod. he leans in closer to you leaning against the wall behind you only centimeters apart. "just kiss me " you whisper "you sure?" he asks dragging out each word. you wrap your arm around his neck pulling him into a kiss. his hands drop to your waist holding you close to the warmth of his chest. as you both fall deeper and deeper into the kiss the bottle from between your fingers slides and hits the floor causing a small spill that spreads into a puddle around Eddie's shoes but neither of you care. you pull away looking into his eyes "it's to open here"
you say as you grab his hand and pull him round the corner of a wall where it's darker and almost instantly your lips recollide as he pushes you against the wall his hands slide down to between your legs and up your dress gently feeling the wetness building against your underwear while your tongues fight against each other. he suddenly pulls away from you and orders you to turn around helping you by guiding your hips. he slides his hands down back between your legs pushing your underwear to the side and begins rubbing the tips of his fingers against your aching hole and down against your clit and back up again making you moan. you feel his hand move up to your mouth to cover it. his fingers abruptly slide in down to his rings that feel cold against your cunt. "fuck" you mumble from behind his hand as your feel him curling his fingers in and out of your pussy, making you moan each time he hits deep inside. your brain fogs with ideas of someone hearing or seeing you with the constant reminder of the wind against you bear ass and legs.
just as abruptly as he slid in he pulls them back out pushing his fingers into his mouth tasting the sweetness of your wetness. he reaches down and fumbled with his belt with a loud jingle. he presses the tip of his thick cock against your entrance rubbing it teasing you. "please Eddie hurry what if someone sees" you say leaning your hands against the wall. he moves his mouth against your neck leaving kisses "fuck princess I love it when you beg" he whines into your ear with a heavy desperate tone in his voice. "please Eddie please " you repeat pushing your warmth over the tip getting desperate. it slides in stretching you out, making you shudder with pressure. his groans fill the air as he starts moving in and out of you letting the wetness spill out of u leaving no space inside of you. his hand reaches round your neck choking u keeping you semi quiet while he grits his teeth trying to hold on his own grunts. clearly it's not quite enough as you hear footsteps shuffle by the back door.
Eddie hears it too and leans over you shadowing you in darkness his cock still stuffed deep inside of you. "holy shit didn't mean to interrupt!" a dude yells standing by the corner looking down the pathway towards you both. "f-fuck off !" you blurt out with a cock drunken slur. " shiiiiiiit sorry ill go" the person says in a wobbly tone as they turn on there heals back towards the door. "omg i cant believe that just happened " you whisper face flushed with embarrassment. he quietly shushes you as his hips start rocking into you again "w-mmmh fuck what if we get caught ag- oh again. " you moan. "we just need to be quick sweetheart, shhh it's ok your taking it so good, just relax." he says his hand wrapping back around your throat. you can feel your legs weakening and your organs gets closer and closer feelings him slamming into you faster and faster. "e-eddie im gonna cum, please im so close." you whimper as you push over the edge and your soaked cunt starts squeezing the cum out of him. he lets out a few loud grunts before he fills you with his cum feeling it spill from the sides of your hole. he pulls out watching his cum spill out of you with such a sick perversion it causes your skin to flush with warm embarrassment. you push yourself up against your weak legs as you re adjust your underwear. "come on lets get out of here, I dont think that guy recognised us but someone else probably will." he says grabbing you gently to check your ok. you nod as u take his hand and slide out the side gate entrance.
summary: You make Bucky regret ever suggesting that your arrangement is 'just sex' by flirting with other men. He makes you regret ever flirting with other men by giving you a bit of well-earned discipline.
warnings: 18+ mdni!!, smut with a sprinkling of plot, spanking, fingering, unprotected p in v, dumbification, creampie, condescending!bucky, bigdick!bucky, tummy bulge, general filth and debauchery, kinda dubcon but more like undernegotiated kink, no daddy kink but do not be fooled bc this whole thing reeks of daddy issues (see: title), jealousy, use of petnames (doll, sweetheart, baby etc.), implied age gap, bucky calls reader kid, no use of y/n, jealousy, cursing, mention of alcohol, slightest bit of angst if you squint hard, situationship to relationship pipeline
a/n: so. sat down in front of a blank google doc to write a 800-900 word drabble based on this ask. blacked out. snapped out of it and found myself with 7k words of pure filth and a pit of self-disgust in my stomach that i think will last my whole life. bon appetit.
please reblog / comment if u liked this. otherwise i die </3
Bucky knows this is all his fault.
He’s fully aware he’s the one that started this whole thing. When he first said those words to you - ‘no emotions, no exclusivity, just sex’ - he watched about twenty emotions roll over you in the space of a few seconds. First was offence, as if he had just shot you the nastiest insult you could have imagined. Next was something uncomfortably close to hurt. But eventually, he watched a sort of smugness begin to sprout over you - like you knew you would make him regret it.
And fuck, does he ever.
He’s sitting with Steve and Sam in the corner of one of Tony’s stupid team-building drinks, watching all sorts of SHIELD employees approach you. For some reason, it seems like every fucking field agent, engineer and tech analyst decided that tonight is the night to chance their arm with you.
He is furious at the fact that they think they have a shot, but there’s nothing he can do. He has no claim to stake. You dismiss most of them with a polite smile and a flippant comment, but every so often you lean just slightly too far forward, speak a little bit too softly, and it throws Bucky’s head for a spin. Hand grasping his whiskey tumbler just a bit too tight, he’s biding his time until he can discreetly pull you into his room or a supply closet or hell, even the bathroom, and prove why none of them are worth your time. It wouldn’t be the first time.
In his defence, the whole ‘no strings’ thing had mostly been for your benefit. He’s an old man with the emotional regulation abilities of a teenager. HYDRA had left him so thoroughly fucked up, he hadn’t been sure what parts of him were Bucky and what parts were the Winter Soldier. He hadn’t wanted to drag anyone into the mess of finding out and surgically removing the unwanted pieces.
But as spring bled into summer and eventually streamed steadily into autumn, he began to realise that maybe those unwanted pieces don’t need to be removed - you seem to like them just fine, in any case. You do more to dampen the noise in his head than any court-mandated therapy session, uncharacteristically sincere when he wakes up with terror wracking his mind and body. You remind him of who he is and the fact that he will never again be the Bucky of the past - but who is ever their past selves? And who would want to be? He is the old Bucky and the new Bucky and both are okay and worth living as. And if he fucks you with a little more intensity on those days where he feels more Winter Solider than Bucky Barnes, bends you over and makes you take it hard and fast - well, who is complaining? Not you.
He had regretted asking for this arrangement almost instantly. You are gracious; never mentioning the dates you go on, but he knows and you know, and he can just feel how smug you are about it. He almost wishes he could return the favour; show up to your trysts smelling like perfume and running out early with a vague excuse. But he’s old and disgruntled and, if he’s being honest, the idea of being so close to anyone except you makes his skin crawl, as if you’re the one exception to his whole touch aversion thing. Maybe you are.
He has only seen you out with a date once. He was passing by the window of a cosy, candlelit Italian restaurant on his way to the laundromat and caught sight of you. Your blood-red dress was dipping just low enough to hint at your cleavage. Your lips were the same crimson as your dress and you brought the rim of your glass up to meet them, shooting the asshole in front of you a flirty smirk. Lust and nausea were flooding Bucky’s stomach in equal measure. When your eyes caught sight of him, he watched surprise flicker there momentarily, before you smiled wickedly and turned back to your date, leaning in closer to rub salt in the wound.
He thinks you might be doing the same thing now, doling out your punishment to him in the most unkind way he can fathom. The way you’re tilting your head up towards the agent in front of you, eyes wide and enthralled, as if he had just said the most fascinating thing you had ever heard. He knows you’re faking it.
Sure, the guy was fairly good-looking - if you’re into that All-American, Steve Rogers kind of thing. But he knows you’re not. You like your men with rough edges - you like them like Bucky. He can see as much when he fucks you, whispering to you all dirty and mean, and your eyes roll back into your skull as if you’ve found nirvana. The boy in front of you wouldn’t know how to treat you like that, how to get you there.
And he can hear, even from this distance, that the guy is a bore. He’s rambling on about statistics - expounding entry level concepts to you, as if you’re not two full grades above him. And you’re just sitting there, listening and nodding earnestly like he’s not the exact sort of person you would make fun of when you’re alone with Bucky.
You’re in your tactical gear - not long returned from a mission, but always eager for a chance to socialise and cause mischief. His jaw twitches when you shift in your seat and he gets a better view of your breasts. He sees your hips shift, a sliver of soft skin peeking out between your vest and the waistband of your pants, and he can almost picture that you’re seated above him, with the way the leather of your suit clings to you like a second skin. The asshole talking to you - Brandon? Brian? - is clearly enjoying the view too, judging by the way his breath stutters mid-sentence. Bucky wonders if you’re doing this on purpose just to torture him.
“Get a fuckin’ grip, dude,” Sam mutters, reaching over to remove the tumbler from Bucky’s grasp. “Gonna break the damn thing.”
He wonders how long they had been watching him when he catches sight of Steve, expression caught somewhere between amusement and concern. “You okay, pal?”
Bucky just grunts in what is intended to be an affirmative, forcing his eyes away from you but still listening in to your conversation. Steve and Sam are watching him like they aren’t quite sure what to say, eyes darting between himself and you. They have been in this predicament enough to know that something is happening between the two of you, but had never discussed the specifics. Bucky figures they must just know that he has an interest in you that is bordering on unhealthy.
“Look,” Steve says in that pragmatically optimistic way of his. “I actually think it could be a good thing to… you know, get back out there. Why don’t you just talk to her?”
Bucky almost laughs at the suggestion that it’s shyness that is preventing him from talking to you right now. But the truth is so much worse, so he admits nothing. “Had enough whiskey,” he says instead. “Gonna get a beer.”
Steve and Sam sigh almost in tandem as Bucky hauls himself up and over to the bar. When he gets his beer, he doesn’t bother returning to his seat. Instead, he leans against the bar where he can observe you again without any intervention. It’s almost embarrassing how well you have him wrapped around your finger, but he can’t look away.
“Uh- not trying to freak you out or anything,” Brandon mutters conspiratorially, voice lowering. “But I think Barnes has been staring over here for a while. And he looks- well, he doesn’t look happy.”
You smile then, and it’s real - not the pitiful grins you had been granting him before. “Oh, really?” you ask, eyes flicking over and meeting Bucky’s for just a split-second. It strikes him like lightning, the way you look at him - eyebrows raised with mirth and devilment. He feels that he’s too old for the games you’re playing with him, while also wanting nothing more than to grab you by the hips and haul you out of the room caveman-style to have his wicked way with you.
“Don’t look, you’ll make it obvious,” your little pest urges you quickly and Bucky almost face-palms at his idiocy. He doesn’t really understand how this guy got certified as an agent without an awareness that super soldiers also had super hearing, but whatever. The training program is more Steve’s remit.
“Sorry,” you say with a smile that only Bucky knows is sarcastic. “Don’t think he saw me.”
“Are you guys…” he trails off, head turning around to glance at Bucky who meets his stare head-on. “Are you guys together or something? I wouldn’t really wanna piss him off…”
“Together? Oh god no,” you laugh and Bucky’s jaw twitches.
“Okay…” Brendan continues, taking another quick glance at Bucky, who knows his stare has only grown more stormy. “Well, does he maybe have a thing for you?”
“No way,” you protest, and he hates how much you seem to be enjoying this. “We’re not like that at all, Brennan. Bucky trained me. Pretty much taught me everything I know. He’s more like… a father figure, really.”
Bucky almost drops his beer. Something inside him stops, like all the clogs turning in his body have decided to break down. His brain is lagging as he tries to convince himself that he must have misheard you. Even his blood has paused its journey through his body. He can see Steve looking between the two of you from the corner of his eye, but he ignores his bewildered glances. He’ll do his best to explain this away later.
You can hardly contain your amusement. Bucky can tell that you’re fighting every instinct in your body to not look over at his reaction.
“Oh ok!” Brandon seems happy enough with that explanation, but you have lost interest. You quickly manage to get rid of him with the promise of a date the next day and turn back to Natasha, voice brimming with real interest in a stark contrast to your last conversation.
Bucky isn’t sure what to do with himself. He can see Steve deciding whether or not to approach him, so he gives you a look - one that you are very familiar with - and goes straight to his room, trying his best to ignore the bulge forming in his pants.
It takes you near enough to two hours to get to Bucky’s room. Exhaustion steamrolling through you in the aftermath of your mission and the team event, but not enough for you to turn down the silent offer made to you before he walked out. He is almost foaming at the mouth by the time you reach his door.
“You have some fuckin’ explaining to do,” he demands when he meets you at the door, dragging you in not-so-gently. You smirk up at him as you walk in, purposely casual and slow, as if you have all the time in the world.
“I don’t have to leave early just because you do. My world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”
Bucky would usually tell you that it should, but he seems to bite it back today. He’s not talking about the fact it took you so long to get here, and you know that. “What the fuck was that, down there?”
“What? You’re the one who wanted no exclusivity, remember? Don’t tell me you’re jealous just because I’ve talked to a few boys.”
He is and you know it. You see the way he grits his teeth when someone else approaches you and a warm sort of satisfaction slithers up your spine every damn time. It’s the only thing that makes it worth letting them take you out on dates. The way he fucks you after, rough and demanding, like he’s proving that he’s better than whoever your date is (he is). Or the way he fucks you before you’re scheduled to run out, desperate and possessive, pushing into you hard and fast in a way that should be too much but isn’t because it’s him. Like he’s trying to convince you to stay.
And you never do. Because he made his stance perfectly clear and the last thing you are going to do is invest where he hasn’t.
Even if the dates you go on make you bored and sick. Even if the one person you had tried to sleep with since starting your arrangement with Bucky gave you a full-body ick, a shiver running through you like your body was rejecting him. (“Did you just cum?” he had asked you, smug and satisfied. You told him you had.)
But that’s not the point. You’re playing with Bucky now, trying to make him say it. To admit he is jealous. That he doesn’t want to see you with anyone else.
“You said I was a fuckin’ father figure, doll.”
Your smile just widens, a laugh bubbling forth. You hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh, that really got you, huh? You have a daddy kink, Barnes?”
Bucky just glares back. He doesn’t. He has told you before that the whole daddy thing has never appealed to him.
But you can see it now - you calling him a father figure, so flippantly and casually, did something to him. You can’t tell whether he wanted to bend you over then and there, prove to you and everyone else at the function that he is most definitely not a father figure to you. Or if he wanted to lean into it, maybe show you who is in charge. The irritation on his face is making you lean towards the latter.
“You’re a damn piece of work.” he grumbles, voice low and dangerous. “I’ve half a mind to take you over my knee and show you the discipline you obviously never got from your actual father figure.”
You freeze for just a beat. That’s new.
“You won’t,” you say, indignantly rolling your eyes even though you’re kind of faking your confidence.
“Wanna bet, kid?”
The air has changed slightly, an odd current running between the two of you. And you’re suddenly not so sure he’s bluffing. You feel slightly out of your depth. Like this whole thing had gotten away from you a bit. Like he was more serious about this than you were expecting.
Still, you press him. Because that’s who you are and what you do.
“Yeah, actually, I think I do, old man.”
There’s a tense silence - long and drawn out - where you start to doubt yourself. Maybe you should have backed down, because the way he’s looking at you now, stormy and dark, is making you nervous in a way you’re not used to with him.
And then his nostrils flare and he’s moving towards you, faster than lightning, faster than you are prepared for. He lifts you with annoying ease before you can even register what’s happening, fingers digging into your waist as evidence of a cracked restraint. You’re kicking your legs, a strained shout escaping as he catches you off your guard.
“Let me go!” you’re thrashing now, all spit-fire and outrage.
No,” he grunts, manhandling you with practiced ease. He settles you down over his lap. “You wanna act like a brat? I’ll show you what it means.”
You’re squirming when his hand comes up to yank the leather of your pants down to your thighs, almost tearing it in the process. You’re left in just a lace white thong, bearing your backside to him fully. You had worn it intentionally to see the tortured expression on his face that you enjoy so much. Now it just feels humiliating, bent over in front of him in his favourite panties - the picture of submission.
“Stop messing around, Bucky. Don’t be a dick.”
There is a second where neither of you speak. His fingers dance gently on the skin of your ass and you can’t see him but you can hear his breath catching over the strained silence that stretches between you.
Before it shatters into a million pieces.
Because Bucky’s flesh hand comes down - abrupt and hard - against the skin of your ass. The stinging sensation travels outwards from the area of impact, sizzling your skin and your nerves, and you realise you are absolutely and utterly in over your head.
“Okay!” you gasp. “Okay, Jesus Christ, Bucky, I’m sorry! I didn’t actually think you’d…” you trail off, face enveloping in a sudden and suffocating heat. “I’m sorry. You can let me go now.”
Another silence where you can feel him hesitating and then: “No.”
“No?” you splutter, words lost in your throat as if the position you’re in isn’t humiliating enough. “What do you mean no? I apologised.”
“I mean no. You asked for this doll, remember?”
He grabs your hair in a way that you suppose isn’t a million miles from gentle and twists your face to meet his. In what is an uncomfortable stretch for you, his eyes implore yours, silently assessing whether this is really okay.
Whatever he finds in your face steels his resolve because in the next second, he is pressing your face down further, ass arched higher and his palm is coming back down against your ass, knocking you forward. He clears his throat, mutters a curse under his breath that lets you know this is getting to him too.
“Asked for it when you flirted with that moron downstairs instead of coming to me.”
Another slap has dark stars flashing behind your eyes, the combination of pain and pleasure sparking through you to create something completely unchartered. Your skin is burning and it should be unpleasant - probably would be with anyone else.
Maybe it’s just the angle, you reason. Maybe it’s reverberating to your clit and that’s what making you rock forward with an embarrassing moan.
“Asked for it when you called me a father figure, like I don’t fuck you silly.” He spits the term ‘father figure’ like it’s something dirty, and the smack he delivers after it makes your mouth fall ajar and your cunt pulsate.
“Asked for it when you wore this fuckin’ thing,” he says, hooking a finger around the thin lace strap of your thong and letting it slingshot back with a dull nip, before you feel the stronger sting of his hand on your ass again. “Asked for it when you bet I wouldn’t do this. You remember that, don’t you, doll?”
“I-I-“ you can’t get the words out because now Bucky is pressing his fingertips lightly down your spine, carding through the soft indents there before tracing down, lower and lower. He follows the line of your thong, over places that make you clench and shudder, until his finger is pressing lightly over your core through the soaked fabric of your underwear.
“You-you-?” he mocks, black and mean, as he applies pressure there and watches you wiggle back to his touch.
When you don’t answer, his hand leaves your pussy and comes down hard with three successive smacks as punishment. You can feel his jean-clad cock pressing into your thighs, feel it jump at the little yell you release. He curses, whispered and dirty.
“I don’t know, Bucky,” you whine. “It hurts.”
“Too much?” he asks condescendingly, rubbing a hand over the curve of your ass where you can feel red-hot heat blossoming.
You shake your head, face warm with embarrassment and sheer desire and he brings his hand down again and you wonder if it’s possible for you to cum like this, with nothing but his hand against your ass in explosions of fire and something just shy of real pain.
You really should not be having this reaction to being taken over Bucky’s knee and spanked - you’re an adult, for fuck sake - but you think maybe you would enjoy anything he chooses to do to you. Your shame is just making you want it more.
He continues until it really starts to hurt in the most delicious way, the flat of his palm hitting against your skin, rotating between featherlight and rough. Every so often, his fingers nudge their way to the tops of your thighs and your clit, playing there for just a matter of seconds before returning to the fat of your ass.
When he stops, you’re delirious and dumb and you wonder if you’ve just discovered something new about yourself, or if Bucky just has a way of gnarling all your desires, turning them darker and moulding them to his own preferences until the only thing you can categorically say you enjoy in bed is him.
Your ass is so raw that when Bucky finally lifts you off his lap and places you on the bed, you feel a pleasurable little burn linger, but most of your concentration is on your neglected core. You can’t stop moving your hips, too desperate for friction, as he carefully removes your shoes and peels your pants the rest of the way down your legs. He makes light work of your top too and in just a matter of moments you are completely bared to him at the bottom of the bed. He stands above you, still fully clothed, his jeans stained with your desperation.
“Did so good for me. Took it so well,” he murmurs, grabbing your jaw and forcing your eyes to his for one brutal moment. You feel imprisoned by his blue eyes before he grants you a soft kiss - an act of mercy before he completely destroys you. “I think you enjoyed it a bit too much though. Not much of a punishment.”
You shake your head but both of you know that you’re lying. Bucky just smiles knowingly, glancing down obviously to where your pussy is dripping onto the bedsheets. Your face floods with humiliation.
When he kisses you this time, it’s a violent thing - tongue pushing against yours with a dominance usually reserved for those nights when you return to him after a date, your chin lightly grazed with beard burn from an unpleasant goodnight kiss. The feel of his lips on yours lets you know what kind of night you’re in for.
He’s leaning over you, thumb navigating its way to your clit like clockwork. You’re so ridiculously wet that it almost glides right off. He chuckles and mumbles something about how needy you are against your lips, but your body is buzzing and your ears aren’t working properly.
He circles your clit, using extra pressure as if it needs it. You’re humming and moaning, feeling like you might already be on the precipice after just a few seconds. When he slides just one finger into your heat, your mouth opens to release the most desperate sound you think you might have ever made right up against his lips. He smiles, nudges it in further.
“I don’t think I need to get you ready for me at all, do I, sweetheart? Pretty pussy is drooling already just from a bit of discipline.”
Something about the term ‘discipline’ - as if he’s an authority figure - makes the whole thing feel so horrifically dirty but you can hear the mortifying squelching between your thighs and you know he’s right. When he adds a second finger, you’re preparing for the humiliating reality that you’re about to cum just from Bucky’s punishment and less than a minute of fingering.
Except you don’t. Because Bucky curls his fingers into that spot that only he can hit, makes light explode behind your eyes, gets you so so close. You grind down on his fingers, body taught with the expectation of something mind-blowing. And then suddenly he’s gone as quickly as he was ever there and you’re pressing your hips down onto air, trying to find purchase where there is none.
“Bucky!” you gasp, voice coming out so embarrassingly breathless that you might be self-conscious if you thought about it too much. The sight of him humming around his fingers, still slick with the evidence of your arousal, is not helping. “I was just about to-”
“I know, I know,” Bucky murmurs, hand brushing through your hair, voice thick with false sympathy. He’s looking down at you as if you’re some child that fell off their bike - his condescension almost pisses you off, but mostly it turns you on. “You were so close, baby. Your voice goes all whiny when you’re almost there, did you know that? Always sound so needy. Makes me wanna fuck you harder.”
“Then why did you do that?” You’re vaguely aware of how petulant you sound but all conscious thought flew out the window the second you felt his palm on your ass.
Bucky doesn’t answer you. Instead, his hands reach down and begin to unbuckle his belt. Slowly. Meticulously. You’re transfixed, watching every movement. When you reach out a hand to help, he smacks it away, light but firm. He unbuckles and tugs his pants and underwear down far enough for his hard cock to spring out. Your thighs press together in a motion he doesn’t miss.
You feel small like this - completely bared and open to him. You are vulnerable and exposed and so helplessly turned on. But if you try to rush Bucky into touching you, he will only take ten times longer. So you lie as still as a rock, watch him undress slowly and fold away his clothing with precision, ignoring the very horny, very naked woman on his bed. But it is wildly clear that he is feeling some of what you are. His jaw is ticking and his nostrils flare at the smell of your arousal.
By the time he leans over you and kisses you again, you are both on fire. He wastes no time, pressing his cock up against your dripping hole and slamming in with one stroke.
It’s humiliating, really. The whole night is turning out to be just one humongous humiliation ritual.
Because after that first stroke, you’re completely gone. Your cunt clenches down in a way that makes him hiss, squeezing and convulsing, losing your mind. You’re not sure what you’re babbling while you try to milk him - possibly something along the lines of Yes, Bucky, please, right there. You just know that Bucky’s grip bruises your hips with a restraint that is fit to snap at any moment and your legs are spasming as you try to bear down on the cock he just fed you. He’s too surprised to even talk you through it the way he normally does. Instead, he just watches you, awe filtering through his bright eyes.
Your first thought when you come down is that Bucky is going to be absolutely insufferable about this. Your second thought is that you’re still ridiculously horny.
“God, baby,” he grits out, a taunt and a prayer all at once - like he can’t quite decide whether he wants to tease you about this or worship at your feet. He chooses the former. “I didn’t know you were this fucking desperate. Coming as soon as you get my cock in you. Like you were trained for it.”
In a way, you were, you think. But then Bucky is pulling out of you and slamming back in. The sensation is overwhelming - he is too big. It’s too much for your sensitive hole. Your cunt is still pulsing with aftershocks, the sensitivity verging on too much. But you’re still squeezing around him, unwilling to give yourself any reprieve. Not when it feels this good.
“Feel how she’s sucking me in, doll? You can’t stop, even after coming. Your tight little cunt was made for this.”
His eyes are trained solely on your wet heat and the way it’s taking him, a sort of adoration painting his face that almost seems out of place in the filthiness of his actions. His hands have a firm grasp on your hips for leverage while he fucks into you, hard and slow. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head and you feel too braindead to respond. All you can do is watch him.
“Look at you. Can’t even talk. Let me empty that smart little head of yours. There’s only enough space in there to think about my cock.”
When he fucks you like this, you think you might be in love him. Best not to think too much on it. Not that you can think too much on anything, with his dick sliding in and out of you, filling up and stretching every inch of you.
“Feels so good, Bucky,” you whine. “Need you.”
“You need me?” His voice is patronising. It should piss you off, but it has you gushing. “Baby, you have me. I’m all up in your guts, right here.”
He looks to your stomach and you follow his gaze, watching the head of his cock press into the skin there, before disappearing and poking through again with every thrust. “Fuck, look at that,” Bucky groans, watching his own movements. “So perfect at taking me.”
“Yeah,” you whisper, hand absently reaching down to press on your stomach, feeling his movements there. Your breath is stuttering and you think maybe you’re choking on the pleasure he’s giving you. “Wanna be good for you.”
When Bucky feels you press down on the head of his cock through his stomach, his hips stutter and a loud, animalistic groan spills out. “So good for me. Such a good girl, letting me mark up your ass like that. Think you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you baby? Let me fuck you past your limit?”
You’re lost to the pleasure. You just nod and he gives your clit a quick nudge in appreciation.
“I know you would. Know how bad you wanna make me proud.”
Oh.
Oh.
Your pussy jumps, face flooding with heat and Bucky is looking down at you like he’s figuring you out. The term ‘father figure’ comes rushing back into your consciousness and it takes everything in you not to go running for the hills in a panic at how much you liked those words on his lips.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he grumbles, pulling his cock out of you and manoeuvring you so you are kneeling up on the bed with your hands on the headboard. “Can’t look at your face when I say those things to you, baby. Gonna make me cum too soon.”
He’s sliding into you from behind then, both arms pressed to your hips to navigate you up and down on his cock, while he presses his face to yours. Every now and again, he lands a kiss to your gland that makes your pulse drop. His pace is steady and harsh and your tits bounce with every brutal thrust of his hips, your combined arousal dripping down to his heavy balls.
You’re chanting his name along with other obscenities that you can barely even register. You feel completely shameless, willing to do anything he wants just so he will shower you with more of that praise you have become so addicted to.
“You’re so easy,” Bucky taunts you again. “Bet if I touched your clit right now, you’d cum again.”
“Yeah,” you say, and you can’t help the way you sound as if you’re begging. “Please, Bucky.”
He tuts, and he grins against your cheek. “I don’t know. Do you deserve it? You talked to a lot of men today, sweetheart. Made them think they have a shot.”
There’s a stubborn part of you that, even in this cock-induced daze, wants to snap at him. To remind him that this was all his decision, not yours. Unfortunately, you’re thinking with all organs except your brain right now.
“M’yours,” you pant, fucking back onto him. You can feel the short, course public hairs graze your ass, which is still red raw. The pain only adds to the building feeling. “Don’t want them.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck- yeah, please, Bucky.”
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he gasps, voice strained. “I’m gonna come inside you. Gonna fill you up so good that nobody could ever try to take you from me again.”
You can’t help the sharp moan that comes spilling from you. You can’t quite explain how much you want that; how much you want him to fuck his cum into you, as if it would somehow make you belong to him. His filthy words along with the grinding of his hips is almost too much for you to handle.
“Please, Bucky. Want it so bad.”
“Please, Bucky,” he mocks you with a cruel lilt that makes you squeeze around him. “That all you can say? You want my cum so bad you can’t even think?”
You just nod, a strange concoction of arousal and humiliation coursing through you.
“That’s okay, baby. Don’t have to talk. I’ll give it to you. You just have to take it like a- fuck- like a good girl.”
Finally, he moves his metal arm down. He presses his middle finger over your clit, featherlight, and it makes your legs shake and your cunt squeeze and you’re so close-
“Gonna flood you, baby. Have so much to give you. Gonna make you drip.”
And then you’re falling off the edge with a call of Bucky’s name, grinding back onto his stupidly big cock, nonsense falling from your lips. You’re almost embarrassed about the keening noises you’re making but the enormity of your orgasm is too extreme for it to matter. He follows you not a second later, and you feel him pulse inside you, shooting up ropes of sticky cum. He holds you tight as he groans, rocking his hips back and forth on yours with aggressive ardour that peters out into slow, languid thrusts as the feeling washes through you both.
Bucky was telling the truth. He’s still grinding shallowly into you while his spend is spilling out of you, dripping down his length, past his balls and onto the sheets. He fucks what he can back into you for a moment while you both come down, shaking and shuddering.
He’s babbling, pressing kisses to your neck. “So good. Took that cock so good for me. You’re all mine, aren’t you, sweet girl? My good girl.”
He pulls out of you gently and you feel his spend flood out of your thoroughly used hole. He allows you to slump back, lifting you back until you’re lying on the bed with his face in your neck. You can’t bring yourself to care about the wet patches you’re lying in. Not yet.
Both of your chests are heaving as you come down. Bucky is pressing intimate little kisses to your neck, a gentle hand stroking your stomach, and your chest tightens. You’re so close to mistaking this for something that it’s not. How he can dole out his affection like this while still maintaining that you two have ‘no strings attached’ is beyond you. As you slowly recuperate, your breathlessness is replaced with a gooey warmth, owing itself entirely to the man pressing gentle kisses and whispering sweet praises to you as if you’re his. And you’re uncomfortable with how much you want to be.
But you don’t let it upset you. Instead, you take your red ass and your dignity and you decide it’s time to get the hell out of dodge.
“Jesus, Barnes,” you chuckle softly, beginning to haul yourself up even though you’re still feeling shaky and limp. “Whatever I did to piss you off so much today, remind me to do it again.”
“You’re leaving?” he asks, sitting up with you immediately.
“Yeah,” you say, searching through the crumpled sheets for your underwear which has blended into the white of the bed. “Got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Why? You just got back from a mission.”
You give him a sideways glance. “Going for breakfast,” you say simply, as if you’re not both aware that it’s a date you have planned.
“You being serious right now, doll? You’re really gonna go on a date knowing I was inside you just a few hours before? With my cum still dripping out of you.”
You ignore the way heat pools in your stomach. Maybe it’s for the best that you and Bucky are not together - being this turned on all the time would be exhausting.
“Well, that’s what showers are for, dumbass,” you say, standing up and shimmying into your underwear.
You’re turning around to find your pants but his voice stops you. “Don’t go.”
You give him a smug little smirk, but truthfully, your heart is racing. “Why not?”
“I don’t want you to,” he spits and his eyebrows are furrowed - an attractive little line forming there. He looks so sulky and petulant, it almost makes you laugh, something affectionate tugging at your heart. But that answer isn’t good enough.
“Don’t worry, I don’t have high hopes for this guy,” you sigh, yanking on your pants. “I will probably be back here again in a day or two.”
“I don’t want you to come back in a day or two,” he grits out, standing up to tug on his underwear. “I don’t want you to go.”
He’s standing over you now in a way that might be intimidating if you didn’t know Bucky any better. His arms are crossed, great swells of muscles tensing and bulging while he looks down at you with stormy eyes. You like him like this - broody and grumpy and disgruntled. But the confusion it’s causing right now is overriding all of that.
“I can’t stay, Bucky. I would have to cancel-”
“Then cancel.”
You’re not sure what to say - shifting from one foot to the other in an uncomfortable staring contest. You’re not usually like this, but you feel a bit nervous, squirming under his gaze. You push it down.
“No.”
Bucky grits his teeth. “Why are you bothering with these fuckin’ dates? You think they can fuck you like me? Make you cum as hard as you just did?”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” you snap, irritation fighting through all nervousness. “It’s not all about sex, asshole.”
He stands up straighter. “And you think any of them would be the perfect man for you, doll? You think they’d be better for you than me?”
That was cruel. Fury is coursing through you, burning hot. “I don’t know, Bucky, maybe they would be. At least they wouldn’t say they just want sex and then throw their toys out of the pram when I talk to anyone else.”
The storm clears from his eyes for just a second but you don’t care to stick around to see what peeks through after. You’re fumbling with your bra, trying to get it on as fast as humanly possible. Why is it so much harder with shaky fingers?
“I don’t just want sex,” he says, so earnest and uncharacteristically timid that it almost makes you want to wrap him in your arms. Almost.
“Yeah, I know, Bucky,” you scoff and watch as surprise flickers over his expression. “I’m not stupid and you’re not subtle. But you made your bed when you asked for this. I’m not gonna stick around and wait for you to stop being too emotionally stunted for a relationship.”
“I’m not- hey, stop.”
You’re leaning down to tie up the laces of your shoes when he grabs your arms to stop you in your tracks. You glare up at him.
“I’m tryna talk to you. Can you just listen to me for a second? Stop trying to run out on me, Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He puffs out a breath and silence falls over the two of you for a moment. You know you won’t be the one to break it - you just watch Bucky grapple with his words.
“It was never just sex,” he begins softly. “I just didn’t wanna fuck you up while I was figuring things out. But then things were… so good between us.” He looks to you with a hint of insecurity, as if checking to see whether or not you agree. “It made me think maybe I had nothing to be scared of. I regret ever saying it was just sex. And I can’t fuckin’ stand watching you leave.”
He closes his mouth tight, like he’s trying to stop a flow of excuses and appeals from bursting forth. He might even be holding his breath, leg twitching and bouncing nervously. You still won’t say anything, waiting for him to admit what you’ve known all along.
“I want you to be mine, doll. If you’ll have me.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting off a laugh. “I’ll think about it.”
Bucky’s eye twitches comically. “You’ll think about it?”
“Yeah. I’ll compare notes after my date with Brennan, decide which one of you to pick.”
He glares, but his ears are pink. “You think you’re funny.”
“What’s funny?” you say and this time you can’t stop the smile from creeping onto your face. “Gotta assess my options.”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face but he’s smiling too - a crooked, reluctant one with blissful happiness creeping out of the cracks. His hands move to your hips and you let them.
“Let me give you something else to add to your notes.”
how i felt after writing this:
tags: @dolcesaints @m0th3rcal @marina468
ask: @tough-tittay-4u (i hope this was ok! i changed a couple of things so i would find it easier to write but i hope it was somewhat how you pictured it!)
2087
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
gamechangershow
pixelskylines
titsay