good fortunes!

Koven || Ace || 23 - MINORS DNI || They/Them || Masterlist || Taglist || Requests Open! || The Punisher

[kkovenn]

Interruptions

Frank Castle x Reader

Kkovenn’s Kinktober 2025 (Ao3) - Cockwarming, Distracted Sex || Word Count: 10,540

General Masterlist | Kinktober 2025 Masterlist

TAGS: service top!frank, frank and reader are engaged to each other, mentions of wedding planning, sex as stress relief, frustration from r because of distractions, faux choking (franks hand on reader's throat without any pressure), accidental and unintentional edging, reader takes a while to come, some shame abt it but frank dispels the thought, reader throws a hissy fit but frank handles it best he can and hes a good sport abt it, 2 pussy pronouns im sorry, mating press, clean up and aftercare yay

TAGLIST: @gumdropgirl, @yakydrah, @theladyblackfyre, @starlord3000, @final-sights

---

Frank is a surprisingly active participant of wedding planning, but not necessarily for the details. He’s more of a schedule guy, the one that makes sure the two of you get to all the meetings, tastings and test runs. He’s the one that allots mental energy for remembering dates, meeting times, and the subsequent travel times it takes to get there and organizing them on a schedule.

He’s also the calmer one between the two of you when you start to get too into everything that could go wrong.

So far, it’s been tiring. Truly. Nearly half a year of your weekends and after work days being occupied with planning. Half a year and still neither of you have decided whose side Karen is going to participate in within your mixed gender bridesmaids and groomsmen because you two met her at arguably the same time in your lives.

Half a year of feeling like you’re in and out of the wringer, the only thing making it worth it being the thought of the success of the event itself, the excitement for the coffee flavored wedding cake, and the fact that you were one of the luckier ones to have your fiancé be so involved in the process of wedding preparation.

Half a year in, and you finally break.

—

Friday. Your solo drive home from work is quiet, music on low. Work had been incessantly overstimulating, so much so that even enjoyable stimuli was just too much.

You’re looking forward to getting home and being in your lover’s arms, having a nice hot shower together, good food, good company, maybe some well deserved lovemaking to get you to sleep (if you both don’t pass out first, you’ve no idea of the kind of day Frank’s had, but you’re tired for sure) and then wake up to the weekend well past noon.

Perfect. You’re desperate for a recharge. Just two days of nothing but rest and recuperation and you’ll be half ready for the week after that. It’ll be enough to get you by.

You even made sure to crunch and finish some extra deadlines at work early, just so you get to pretend to work on them when you get back in the office on Monday next week.

You get home first, Frank’s van absent from the garage. No matter. The moment you unlock the door to your shared home and lock it again (as per his insistent requests), you’re practically already stripping yourself of your work clothes, dumping them by the bathroom floor.

You shoot Frank a text that you’re in the shower and extend an invitation for him to join once he gets home. You don’t bother waiting for his reply before you jump straight in and turn on the water.

The first breath you take as the water hits your skin feels special despite the mundanity of the act. It’s the kind of shower you wish could seep into your spine, but hot water can only make you feel so warm without making you feel like you’re singeing off your skin.

You immerse yourself into the act of just standing under the spray for a long, long while, not registering the opening of the bathroom door.

“Sweetheart?”

Your eyes open. Frank’s here. You didn’t even hear the main door unlock. You see the blur of his silhouette through the shower curtain. He’s standing by the door.

“Hi, Frankie.” You smile to yourself, inching the curtain open slightly behind you, then letting yourself take a quick peek.

“I uh, got your text.” He shucks off his jacket, brows raised, waiting for more confirmation in case you’d changed your mind.

Cute. You can’t help the chuckle that leaves you. “So why are you still out there and not in here?”

He grins at your reply, lifting off his shirt and undoing his belt to take off his pants. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

—

You end up just hugging Frank in the shower once he enters, and admittedly, he may have misread the mood. (Not that shared showers without sex were uncommon for both of you, he’d just been anticipating getting on his knees to get you off, relieve some of your stress.)

Regardless, he holds you in return, content just to spend time with you in such close proximity. “Long day?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You angle your head for a kiss and he responds in kind, pressing his lips to yours. His hands move to your tailbone, pressing his fingers into the divots in small circles.

Heavenly. It’s so fucking good coming home to Frank who knows how to touch you, knows how to soothe with his gentle strength, knows how to translate how well he understands you into action. You hug him tighter and he relishes in the way you melt into him and groan.

“How about you?” You ask, cheek pressed into his chest.

“Eh, th’ usual.” He shrugs. Not being in an office made for less eventful workdays, he’s found. He might also just be lucky that this new crew at the jobsite was full of people who minded their own business most of the time.

“What’d you want f’r dinner? Meatballs or chicken alfredo?” He offers options as he continues his massage because he can tell the last thing you want is yet another decision on your mind, but he still wants your preferences considered.

You make your choice as Frank squeezes some shampoo onto his hands, massaging it into your scalp. You busy yourself with lathering soap onto his skin, which was totally not just an excuse to get your hands all over his chest.

The shower ends with the two of you towelling off each other’s hair, and you emerge from the bedroom to one of your favorite nightgowns on the bed, old and worn in, fabric softened by use. Beside it was a pair of panties as well. The garments likely placed here the moment Frank got home and before he entered the shower with you. Your lover makes no mention of the silent acts of service, instead, he’s already left the room after putting on a shirt and a pair of sweats, beelining for the kitchen to prep dinner.

You soak it all in with another deep inhale, towel still wrapped around you, alone in your shared bedroom. Just like that, the day’s pace had slowed completely from it’s earlier hectic rhythm. You didn’t have to do everything on your own anymore. Not for a long time. Not as long as Frank’s around.

Frank has a knack for calming you down like it’s as simple as breathing.

—

Your fiancé has a sauce going in a pot when you emerge from the bedroom. You go straight to making drinks.

“We don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow, right?” You ask. If there was, Frank would’ve mentioned it by now. He manages to be more on top of the schedule than you are.

Not that you aren’t keeping track on your own calendar. Still, it doesn’t hurt to confirm.

Frank’s licking off his thumb when he turns to you, taste testing the sauce from the ladle. “Nothin’ f’r tomorrow, sweetheart. Y’can sleep in.”

You let out a faux whispered, bodily exaggerated ‘yes!’ that endears him as he works on the food on the stove.

“Try this.” He blows air gently onto a spoonful of sauce before presenting it to you.

Frank is a good cook even though he’s the kind that doesn’t measure, just trial and error, small adjustments each time until he gets it as delicious as he can manage. You hum once the flavor hits your tastebuds.

“It’s good.” You hum up at him, kissing his cheek. He receives your affection with a small grin as he turns off the stove and starts making two plates.

“Y’know…” You start. “Having nothing scheduled for tomorrow also means we can spend more time together later tonight.” You hint at him, batting your lashes when the two of you meet at the dining table.

Frank knows that look, he gets it often, and he considers himself one lucky bastard for it. “Yeah? Need a little somethin’ t’help you sleep, huh?”

He sits down beside you, and the mischief apparent on your face, coupled with the way you press your cheek into his shoulder as you nod, begets your answer.

—

Dinner passes at its regular pace even with your proposition for sex later that night. Frank isn’t really the type to horse around when the matter came to food. Meanwhile, you’re just basking in the experience of being able to express wanting sex without a man immediately wanting to rush into it like a shark smelling blood.

You’re at home here. At home with Frank. You love it.

By the time 8pm rolls around, the plates are in the dishwasher, kitchen and dining area clean. The two of you take turns brushing your teeth by the bathroom sink and freshening up.

Frank has you on his lap in bed by 8:15. He’s shirtless, gone commando in his sweats. His hands are under your nightgown, petting your thighs, lips pressing against yours in open-mouthed kisses.

“I’ve missed you all week.” You sigh, melting into the way Frank slowly locks your lips together.

“Mm, missed you too, sweetheart.” He noses along the junction of your neck, pressing his lips to your skin every once in a while. “Don’t think I’ve ever clocked out faster in my life when I saw y’r text. Needed that shower with y’real bad.” Frank chuckles.

This week was especially packed for some reason, there being genuinely no day from the past six days that didn’t entail a call or a meeting with your wedding planners and suppliers.

All that, on top of both your full time jobs, was nothing if not draining the life out of you. The two of you barely had time to indulge in each other past the usual routine of dinner together and five minutes of TV before succumbing to sleep.

It was reassuring to hear that Frank needed you the same way you needed him right now.

You smile tiredly at his words, eyes closing as Frank’s hands move back over your clothes, cupping your chest to thumb circles on your nipples. “Ah… mm—” He meets your lips in another kiss, making your body run even warmer.

A string of saliva separates you two when you part, your own hands squeezing Frank’s biceps.

“Was ready to get down on my knees in the shower and eat y’out.” He confesses. “Help my girl relax after a long week.”

You let out an amused hum, face flushed, lips bitten. That did sound amazing, but you had a different order for your mental itinerary.

“I can’t say I’m not a fan of that…” You chuckle. “But I wanted to finish everything first.” You feel Frank’s hand cup your cheek, and you respond by leaning into it and placing your own hand over the back of his. “So there won’t be anything left to interrupt us.”

“Yeah, figured.” He replies, tilting his head to the side with this tender gaze, simply admiring your features. He smiles, closes his eyes briefly when you lean in at kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Y’got any ideas, sweetheart?” He asks, looking up at you again, tone low, thumbs now circling your hips over your loose clothing. “I’ll make ‘em happen.”

Frank likes it when you get to choose how he gets to touch you.

Warmth spreads through your body at the question. Regardless, you did have a position in mind, your back to Frank’s chest, his hands all over your body, legs spread over his strong thighs while you’re impaled on his cock.

Your mouth waters at the thought.

“Yeah.” You reply.

He watches you as you turn, quick to realize the position you’re going for, hands hovering under your forearms in case you lose balance. You sit yourself on Frank’s lap in the exact way you’d imagined and he pulls you close to him.

“You like this position a lot, don’tcha?” He murmurs from behind you.

Your spine tingles from the sound of your lover’s voice. You’re flustered as you reply, as if caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “I like when you hold me.”

“That right?” He kisses along the side of your neck, humming when you tilt your head to accomodate the action. “Want me to fuck you just like this, huh?”

Your hips grind down on his lap at the thought he proposes. “Yes.” You look up at him. “Please.”

“Alright, baby.” He coos. “Relax f’me.”

He noses along the base of your neck, grunting in satisfaction when you grab him by the wrists to move his hands, one at your clothed core and the other at your chest.

“Attagirl.” He can’t help but groan. There’s nothing Frank loves more than when you tell him what you want so directly.

He hikes your nightgown up, slips his hand under the waistband of your panties, sighing contentedly at the familiar feel of coarse hair against his fingertips. He finds your clit quickly, circling it in slow, gentle nudges.

His other hand busies itself with cupping your chest, pleasuring your nipples with subtle passes of his fingers.

“Mm—” Electricity buzzes up your spine, pools at the tips of your fingers.

You try giving yourself over to Frank, breathing deep, willing your mind to stay quiet. For once in a long time, there should be no pressing matter at hand other than the sleep you’ll get later, Frank’s hands on your body, and his unspoken but mutually understood promise of multiple, deeply satisfying orgasms.

Frank makes sure of the last one every time, even at the cost of his own (not that you’d ever allow that. You’re both stubborn about each other’s pleasure—which is probably why it’s always so exciting to indulge in each other even after so long together).

But there was a little something that kept nagging at you, persistent, a thought so present in your head that it made it hard for you to empty your mind. You should’ve mentioned it to Frank earlier, but you were too wrapped up in getting to this point.

Frank’s chest is to your back, his warmth seeping into you, voice rumbling behind you as he speaks. He notices you’re still just a tad bit tenser than usual despite his usual gentle touches. “What’re y’thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

Your shoulders roll. As much effort as you exert, you needed just a bit more help to convince yourself to truly relax. “Just… It’s just tiring. We’re doing so much but we aren’t even halfway done.” You frown.

Your lover nods behind you, knows that you’re referring to the wedding the two of you have been planning for what felt like ages. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re not behind.” He reminds. He’s made sure of it, and you’re nothing but thankful. “Don’t hav’to finish it all so soon either. Just get to what w’can.”

“I know, it’s just…” You take a deep breath, thighs tensing, breath catching with Frank’s ministrations along your clit. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful. This is a great problem to have, but… it’s—” a breath— “exhausting.”

“Mhm.” He listens, lets you verbalize your frustrations as he kisses the tip of your earlobe, stops cupping your chest in favor of holding one of your hands in his own. He takes a while to reply, silently assessing the kind of comfort you need at the moment.

“We’ve got the weekend to ourselves. Sleep in t’morrow. Order out.” Frank offers a comfier perspective.

“Mhm.” You smile, squeezing his hand in slow pulses.

Frank continues speaking. “Close y’r eyes f’me. Yeah? Let me talk to my girl all nice, jus’ how she likes it.”

You sigh, shifting into a more comfortable position. You do as Frank says, closing your eyes. Deep breaths. Letting yourself sink into the feeling of being held and being close and being touched so precisely that the mere memory gets you wet.

Him acknowledging and engaging with your tired thoughts finally clicks your mood fully into a nicer place. He knows you’re exhausted, and now the two of you get to indulge in each other to soothe that tiredness, be the balm to each others sore muscles, sink into the slowness and the pleasure that comes with your personal curated brand of intimacy with Frank.

The familiar feeling of his hands under your clothing, fondling you so affectionately, goes straight to your cunt. The fingers at your mound continue to pet your clit, catching the wetness pooling at your slit to give you a smoother sensation. Frank’s other hand is at your breasts, thumbing gently along each nipple.

“My girl needs some extra lovin’ to get some good sleep, yeah?” He whispers, voice low and gravelly against your ear, setting the mood by nudging your thoughts towards less stressful matters with his choice of words. “Y’need a bit more than just one to get y’satisfied?”

Frank is so, so warm behind you. “Yeah… And you’ll give it to me, right?”

Frank practically purrs at you engaging with his sweet talk, tone low in his chest, his cock straining against his sweats. “‘Anythin’ for my sweetheart. You know that.” He kisses your cheek. “Jus’ gotta tell me.”

He allots a bit more pressure onto your clit, feeling the warmth on his fingertips. “Tell me what y’want, baby. C’mon.”

You groan, heels digging into the sheets. “I want… Want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah...” He shifts one of his thighs, inching your own apart. “I hear you. Let me make you come first, okay?”

You nod, hips bucking into his fingers. Frank keeps his gentle pressure. Slow. Tender. Insistent. The sound of your ragged breathing goes straight to Frank’s cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart…” He whispers gruffly, in that tone so kind and considerate it contrasts so nicely with how Frank initially shows up as. He keeps touching you, body warm behind yours, arms solid in the way they cage you to him.

You close your eyes and sigh.

—

Its taking a while.

Too much of a while, really.

You whine, shifting in Frank’s lap. Despite him touching you just right and talking to you the way you were craving, the ache of your joints was too apparent for you to relax, mind too full to give you enough space for respite. There was still something missing. You need more that just this.

“Frank.” Your tone shifts, less whiny and more desperate. “I need you, please.”

His brows furrow. “Don’t wanna come first, honey?”

A breath. “I can’t—”

Frank nods, knows its not him, just your mind working against you. His fingers slow in their pace at your clit before stopping, his arms move to wrap around your midsection. It was one of those days. His girl was just too restless, too active, sharp mind working overtime. That’s all.

“Want me t’finger you now?” He whispers, gaze trained onto you, trying to more accurately assess his approach.

“Please.” The desperation in your tone tugs at his chest. Frank grunts his understanding of your wishes, kissing along your neck.

“Alright, baby… I’ve got you.” He pops two of his fingers in his mouth before pressing them to your clit. His hand at your chest moves lower, gathering the slick pooled at the seam of your cunt before gently pressing one finger at your entrance.

“This okay? Deep breaths—attagirl.” He guides your body and mind to listen, to receive, never wanting to force you into anything, pacing himself so you only ever get to take what you can handle despite your frustration for more.

You feel Frank’s finger inside, and he times himself to slide in another before curling them at your sweet spot. That, coupled with his unrelenting gentleness on your clit, makes you tremble. “Ngh—”

“Hold onto me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He whispers, rewarding you with praise when you do as he says. One of your hands rest at his bicep, the other on his forearm. His arms flex with the angle and the way they move to give you pleasure. Being wrapped up in Frank’s strength like this makes you gush all over his fingers.

“That’s my girl—” He hums when your hips start to move, chasing the tender feeling of his fingers. The motion makes you grind onto his cock, which in turn makes Frank have to close his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself.

He’s grunting, enamoured with your squirming, with how you can’t seem to decide on arching back into him or away from him, how you’re panting too.

“Frank—” You grind a bit harder, impatience gnawing at your tired psyche. “C’mon.” Your cunt clenches around his fingers, missing the usual stretch his cock gives you.

“Shh, sh… Slow down, baby. I’ll give y’one more, yeah? Shh…” He cajoles, urging you to sit still. “Stay still.”

He takes the opportunity to slide a third finger inside you, using the hand petting your clit to distract from any discomfort.

He waits a while, inching his fingers in and out slowly, still not wanting to rush no matter how hard he is in his sweatpants.

You, on the other hand, harbored a bit less patience. “Frankie-”

“I know, baby… I know.” He consoles, kisses your temple affectionately. “Know you need me, and I need you too but it’s been a while, alright?”

You huff, unable to argue with his logic—but the sense in his answer doesn’t magically make the impatience disappear.

“Just lay back, I’ll take care o’the rest.” He tempers your whining with more promises. “When have I ever left y’hangin’, hm?”

Frank made it his mission to get you to come every time, so this was an easy question to answer. His phrasing puts it into clearer perspective. There was no doubt that Frank would deliver. Your body stops tensing, mouth agape. You shake your head no. “Never.”

“Mhm, I’ll do right by ya. Always do right by my girl.” He kisses the top of your head again. “The sooner y’relax, the sooner I can fill y’up, yeah?”

That was the little piece of logic that pierced through the tired fog in your mind. The promise of being tended to alongside the realization that Frank did understand how urgently important this felt to you finally lets your mind settle.

“Right…” Frank hums at your reply, pleased with himself when he feels your body melt against his own. He knows he’s got you where you want to be when you’re so quick to heed his request. You practically go limp on his lap.

“I want it too.” He confesses, not that it wasn’t obvious with how goddamn hard he is in his sweatpants. “I missed makin’ y’come.” He murmurs lowly. “Missed feeling you come around my cock.”

You whine, body arching, a cocktail of embarrassment and desire stirring deep in your stomach. Frank’s fingers against your sweet spot dull the mental ache. “If you missed it so much you should make it happen faster—”

He chuckles. “You’re right.” He agrees, cooing at you. Your snark contrasts against your now more relaxed body language, so he engages with you (not that he ever doesn’t). “Shh, sh…”

Frank angles a fourth finger in, taking note of the way your body tenses and your breath pauses. You grunt at the stretch—your lover was right to take his time. As much impatience as you’ve displayed about the entire ordeal, you were subconsciously appreciative of Frank’s insistence on your usual preferred slow pace in intimacy.

“Deep breaths f’r me.” His nose bumps against the side of your head as he softly bites your ear. He grunts as he feels your clit jump against his fingers. “Good girl.” He keeps up his gentle pace, coaxing you to relax, keeping track of the way the tenseness ebbs away from you bit by bit.

You try to squirm some more, but every time you do, Frank coaxes you to relax, lay back, and let him do the work.

After what feels like an eternity, Frank finally slips his fingers out of you. It’s near uncomfortable for you with how wet you are. He moves his hand away from touching your nub, whispers for you to sit up a bit, just enough so he can slip his sweats by his ankles and free his achingly hard cock out out of his sweatpants.

He groans when you reach for the back of his head as you sit back down, tugging at his hair. “Mm—”

“C’mon—” You whine, spreading your legs, heels digging into the sheets. Frank’s cock is between your thighs, tip flushed red and leaking pre.

Now that the two of you were on more of the same page, your frustration has turned into something more endearing than concerning to him. Frank can’t help having his ego fed with how much you need him.

“Alright, shh…” He coos at you as he holds himself at the base with one hand, his other arm under one of your thighs. He inches the gusset of your panties to the side.

“Easy, baby. Easy…” He whispers as he sinks you over his cock. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your warmth envelops him so fucking nicely it makes his head spin. His breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling in deep, shaky breaths behind you as he bottoms out. He touches your nub gently, supplementing the stretch with pleasure.

“Feel okay?” Frank murmurs.

“Yes—” You pant. “Always feels good with you.”

“Yeah?” He whispers, still testing the angle. He urges you to lean back into him more so he has a better shot at rubbing up against your sweet spot. It takes a bit longer than usual, he’s more used to missionary, after all.

Still, he knows he’s got it when he feels the familiar clenching of your walls against his girth. The speedy huffed exhale that follows.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment, one of your hands grasping at his forearm.

“Here?”

“Yeah—”

Frank nods, the ghost of a smile on his face when he feels your free hand search for his own. He catches onto what you want, intertwining your fingers together.

The fingers of his other hand cup your clit in slow circles.

“Practically made f’r me. Takin’ me just right—” Frank groans, kisses your cheek in a soothing gesture, “Can’t get enough of you.”

His words make you squirm, drool pooling at your mouth. Finally. Finally. It’s so good—

You’re stuffed full of Frank’s thick cock, back to his chest. He’s petting your nub with just the right amount of pressure. You’re breathing deeply, cunt clenching around him, thighs spread across his. It’s quiet, your lovemaking is reduced to the sound of both of your ragged breaths and the quiet shifting of the sheets with how Frank’s jutting into your sweet spot in small, barely there adjustments.

“Frank—”

“I’ve got you.” He reassures. You don’t even know why you called his name just now. One of your hands reaches back to tug at his hair again and he groans. “Need me real bad, huh?”

He’s coaxing out sweet, sweet mewls from you, nudging his nose into your cheek before pressing a kiss there.

It’s perfect. You’ve turned into mush on his lap.

Frank lets go of your hand to gently tap two fingers of against your lips, you let them in and let them rest on your tongue. The rough pads of his fingers contrasting with the wetness of your tongue makes his cock throb.

“Atta fuckin’ girl… y’feel good?”

You nod, eyes closing, response muffled by Frank’s fingers as your mind starts to be submerged in that familiar deep water, drool pooling at the edge of your mouth. “Mhm.”

There’s nothing to focus on but your breathing and the pleasure pulsing throughout your body as Frank tends to you and your needs—

RING. RING.

It’s Frank’s phone. It’s his obnoxiously loud ringtone that you happily tease him about how it evokes him being an old man most days.

RRING. RRING.

It’s the one that gets louder if you leave it be. Useful, but nothing but rage inducing in the moment.

You groan, looking up at him with pleading eyes. His fingers leave your mouth, he wipes them off onto one leg of his sweatpants and he reaches for the phone.

“No—” You whine.

RRRING. RRRING.

“Don’t answer it!” You complain as he glances at the screen.

“S’the wedding planner, sweetheart.” He replies, pressing a kiss to your cheek to console you. “I’ll handle it. Shh. Jus’ relax.”

His other hand keeps petting your clit as he swipes the screen to answer his phone, pressing the device to his ear.

“H’llo?”

You try your hardest to keep quiet despite the complaints bubbling in your throat. Frank’s cock is still pressed right at your sweet spot, making you feel him with every breath. He’s still sliding his finger along the slit of your clit so, so gently and it’s so fucking sensitive. Just enough for you to handle it but too much in the way it makes your limbs all tingly.

You busy yourself with grinding your hips, trying to make the most out of the bothersome distraction. Your mind works against you though, because you can’t help but tune in intently to the conversation being had.

The faint voice on the other side of the phone call is unintelligible. You can only piece together what’s being talked about based on Frank’s replies. “Tomorrow? Yeah, s’pretty short notice.”

He presses his lips to the top of your head, fingers not letting up. The way you’re warm and heavy and squirming all over him makes his cock twitch inside you. Frank has to close his eyes and bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning, knuckles white as he grips his phone.

You can’t quite appreciate his restraint though, because did you hear that right? Tomorrow? There’s something scheduled for tomorrow? Absolutely not. You stop. You’re about to speak out, riot, curse someone whose just doing their job out—but Frank seems to already have beat you to it in a much more respectable fashion.

“Mind if we reschedule that f’r the weekday instead? We already got a family thing tomorrow. Can’t cancel.”

You’d fall in love with him all over again if the entire situation didn’t endlessly frustrate you.

“Alright, ‘ppreciate it, thanks.” Finally, the call ends with him pressing ‘end’. Frank sets his phone back on the bedside table and his attention is returned to you immediately.

“What was that about?”

“Wedding planner said she forgot to mention us havin’ a uh, meetin’ t’morrow to go over the invitation designs.” He murmurs, peppering kisses along your neck.

That explains the call way past working hours, but that doesn’t make you feel any better either. Now you’re back at square one, mind unable to resist viewing over your mental checklist of things still pending for the wedding; flowers, the theme for the venue, the centerpieces, hair and makeup tests, you haven’t even gone to pick out a dress yet—

Frank feels you tense up, the combined efforts of getting you to relax gone like the wind.

“Sweetheart.” He calls for you. “Hey—”

“Yeah.” You blink, taking a deep breath. “Sorry… just thinking.”

“S’okay.” He reassures, knows how you get, is familiar with how a big part of your relationship is him helping you understand that it’s okay to slow down, that life won’t leave you behind, that you didn’t have to do everything right now until you have to stop.

He’s stopped moving his hips a while back, one arm now wrapped around your midsection. The hand on your clit has since retreated to rest on your thigh in a grounding touch.

“Want me to keep going, sweetheart?” He asks, not an ounce of impatience in his tone. That helps. It’s okay. Things are okay.

“Yes, please.” Frank nods at your answer, lips pressed into the top of your head.

“Put my hands where you want ‘em, yeah?” He encourages you to be more present. Here. With him instead of wherever your thoughts like to take you.

His words go straight to your cunt, your eyes closing for a brief moment before you nod. You take Frank’s hands, place one back to your mound and the other at the base of your neck.

He’s quick to pet your clit again in slow, soft circles. He’s a bit surprised by the way you’ve placed his other hand on your neck, so he waits before doing anything there.

“Just hold me here.” You gulp. There’s a thrill that shoots through both of you at the way Frank can feel how you swallow against his palm. “I don’t… actually want you to squeeze.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Got that, sweetheart.”

Frank listens to your request. Of course he does. He whispers sweet praise to your ears as he’s canting his hips up again in barely-there increments.

Your breath catches, the head of Frank’s cock presses up against your sweet spot again, gently, so slowly that you feel every inch and nudge.

It feels so good. Everything is okay. Frank affirms that. “There’s nothin’ that needs your attention right now ‘xcept you feelin’ good.” He coos. “Breathe with me, c’mon.”

You match your breathing with the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, rewarded with his gravelly praise. “Attagirl. Jus’ like that.”

Frank takes you both back to the earlier slow and sensual rhythm you’d been interrupted from.

Your head rests on his shoulder, eyes closed. Your lover is kissing the side of your neck every once in a while between whispers of how good you feel, how pretty you look, how nicely you’re taking his cock.

Your toes curl, heels digging into the sheets, you’re being handled so tenderly.

“S’it feel good for you?” Frank asks, steady in the manner in which he’s touching you.

“Yes—” You pant, eyes opening. You can’t see him much from where he’s seated behind you, only parts of the side of his face with the way he’s diving into your neck with kisses.

You lean your head beside his, cheek brushing up against his hair. Frank’s next words make your body tingle even more.

“Could y’tell me how good it feels, sweetheart? Yeah?”

You bite your lip for the briefest moment, a whine slipping from your throat before you speak. “Okay—”

“You’re so patient… with me.” Frank’s eyes dart towards you at your words. He’d expected the usual dirty talk, call and response, the lewd thoughts you seem to always have ready when asked.

Not this.

“Mm?” He signals he’s listening, not that he has to, he’s always been an active listener. It meshed well with how you operated, how you had a tendency to untangle your thoughts verbally because your mind is usually too full to not have to lighten the load.

“We’ve been at this f’r so long…” You lean further back into his shoulder.

“Y’r not enjoyin’ it anymore, sweetheart?”

“No, no. I am…” One of your hands reaches for the hair at the back of Frank’s hair, not really tugging, but your lover can feel the pleasurable pull regardless. “I am.”

“I’m just so moody, even here. We could’ve been finished sooner if I wasn’t so worked up all the time.” Your brows ares drawn together, eyes focusing their attention on other things in the room.

“Yeah? Well y’r workin’ yourself up thinkin’ ‘bout all this, y’know.” Frank chuckles, an amused huff heaving his chest behind you.

You laugh, the playful (but not untruthful) jab snapping some sense into you. “That’s true…”

“Mhm.” Frank kisses the side of your head, ups the ante of his hips for a more insistent grind against your walls. He gathers some more slick on his fingertips before circling your clit again.

“Let’s try again, yeah?” He coos. “Talk t’me…”

Frank continues. “How’s it feel with me touchin’ y’r pretty clit like this?”

Your face feels warm at his words, breath catching. “Good.”

Frank nods, eyes trained on the way you’re writhing and willing and mostly relaxed atop him, his cock sheathed inside your warmth, squeezing every once in a while as the pleasure he’s giving you compounds.

He licks his lips before he speaks next words. “Why’d you put my hand around y’r neck like this?” He doesn’t squeeze, he wouldn’t dare. Only ever heeding your preferences. His sweetheart.

That makes you think of (thankfully) less stressful thoughts. Why did you place Frank’s hand there?

You gulp, the calloused palm of your lover steady and grounding against the base of your throat. “I… I like feeling how big your hands are.”

“Could do that by holdin’ my hand, though.” He teases, chuckles softly.

“Shut up.” You swat lightly at his bicep. Your face flushes, and you fix him a glare to the best angle your head can manage. You barely see him and you have no idea if he can see you. But it’s there.

“M’kiddin, baby. M’kidding.” Frank laughs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “You like havin’ it here?”

You’re a bit too frustrated and equally fucked out of your mind to articulate why you like having it there. It’s not even choking because Frank’s not squeezing, you asked him not to and he’s not tried.

Maybe its the power play of it all, the subversion. The way it seems like Frank’s overwhelmingly dominant over you right now with the way he’a holding you when it’s really you calling the shots. When he’s really the one giving you options, when he’s moreso the one curating the intimacy, servicing you with your preferences at the forefront.

Maybe its the trust, how safe you feel whenever Frank’s concerned. How overwhelmingly competent he is while being borderline overprotective of your boundaries.

Maybe it’s just that, the competence. His tendency to handle because he’s got it. He’s got you. How he finds so much fulfillment in having you fall apart just enough, using what he’s learned about you so masterfully you sometimes feel like your mind’s been read before you’re even aware of the thought forming yet.

Frank talks with his hands, in the way he serves, always so steady, making everything he touches better despite his insistence that he’s just ‘doin’ what’s right’.

The blunt head of his cock drags along your sweet spot, and Frank’s just now parted the coarse hair of your mound again so he can slide an adept finger under the hood of your clit, and in that moment, your brain turns to mush.

“I do. I like it.” You manage to utter out, before you break into a strangled moan. Your own hands move to grip at his forearms for stability, even though you could melt and still not go anywhere with how solidly Frank’s wrapped himself around you.

“Yeah? Y’like how I’m touchin’ my girl?” Frank groans, his own body overwhelmingly warm. The head of his cock is sensitive with how long he’s been grinding onto your pleasure points, but he persists. Breathes sharply out of his nose, bites with his lips at your shoulder.

“Yes, yes yes—” Your lover moans gruffly at the way your clit jumps against his fingers, your walls pulsating around the base of his cock. “I’m going to come… Frank—”

“I’ve got you… Let me have it, sweetheart. C’mon, baby…”

Close, close close— You’re so close. Your heels dig into the sheets, the involuntary writhing of your body only unintentionally amplifies the pleasure.

Your mouth hangs open, your lungs take a deep, shaky breath—

RING.

It’s your ringtone this time. Not Frank’s.

Your head falls back against your lover’s shoulder, orgasm halted. You’re thinking again. Who could be calling? Why are they calling? What time is it to warrant a call?

RING.

Your ringtone is taunting you. To say it’s infuriating is an understatement.

Tears well up in your eyes, your already overwhelming frustration from earlier has quadrupled. Frank consoles you, cooing at you that its okay. He eases the hand at your cunt onto your thigh to do some soothing, grounding motions.

RING.

He reaches over to the nightstand, seeing the caller ID listed as the wedding florist. He answers on your behalf.

“Yeah, this is a bad time.” He replies after a moment, your phone pressed to his ear. His brows are drawn, jaw clenched, frown etched deep into his features. “Listen, think this can wait ‘till next week, yeah? S’not really a good hour t’be callin’ ‘bout work. Wife’s already asleep. Long work week.”

Frank ends the call with a curt ‘thanks’. He returns your phone to the nightstand, makes sure both his and yours are on do not disturb before placing his attention back to you.

Any other time, hearing him refer to you as his wife even when you two haven’t actually gotten married yet would’ve put a smile on your face, but right now, you’re devastated. Whatever prank the universe is playing by deciding to shove two interruptions into your well deserved time of rest, you did not appreciate one bit.

You lift yourself off of Frank’s lap, laying on your side of the bed instead and tugging the blanket over your form.

Frank squints, but he makes no move to stop you. He hikes his sweats up for some decency, unminding of the tent. You’re acting out of frustration, there’s too much on your mind.

You’re well aware you’re throwing somewhat of a hissy fit, and granted it wasn’t even Frank’s fault. But this is half a year of frustration welling up. All that effort into a satisfying climax completely ruined by phone calls that weren’t even emergencies. Calls that could have genuinely waited until the next morning. Calls you would have gladly entertained had they been made a few hours later, into the next day, instead of right now.

Your mood is ruined. Tears well up in your eyes. You already harbored some deep rooted shame over taking a while to come, and now it’s only been amplified by whatever the hell just went down.

“Hey.” You feel Frank before you see him. His hands cupping your face. “How’s my sweetheart feelin’?”

He settles on hovering over your form, the blanket sandwiched between your bodies. One of his hands are beside your head, the other thumbs along your cheek.

You frown up at him, and worry colours his features. “Talk t’me.” He urges, voice gruff but navigating your mood with care. He wouldn’t dare continue if you really didn’t want to, but there was no denying that you really did want it, those two calls just seemed to complicate things.

You lean into his touch, finally meeting Frank’s gaze. A stream of complaints escape you. Those damn calls, how it’s not the callers’ faults but you can’t help but be mad, how tired you are, how much you’ve been looking forward to ending the week in a satisfying way only to be interrupted twice.

Throughout it all, Frank listens attentively, letting you get it out of your system. His thumb drags along your cheek idly as you speak.

"I’m sorry.” You hide your face behind your hands. Frank lets you, but only for the briefest of moments. “I already have it so good and I’m still being a piece of shit.”

"Shh.” You feel his hand pull yours away gently. He’s currently holding himself up on his other elbow to not crush you under his weight.

"Y’r not a piece of shit, baby.” There’s an angle of absurdity in your train of thought that makes Frank laugh just a little. “Nothin’s wrong anymore. It’s handled.”

"Right...” The weight of his patient gaze makes the ache in your chest dissipate bit by bit.

“Everythin’ else can wait.” Frank cups your cheek, thumbs near your undereye. “No more calls. Jus’ you n’ me, and me helpin’ you come, yeah?”

Your face flushes despite your own frustration. “Can you wait, still? I take so long to finish…”

“‘Course I can, sweetheart.” He chuckles. “I get to make you feel good for longer? Kinda man would I be ‘f I complained ‘bout heaven?” Frank replies, shrugs. He likes that it takes a while. Likes that intimacy with you doesn’t feel fleeting because it takes you a while to get to a climax.

His reply and him not looking like he’s ticked off in the slightest puts your mind at ease, helps you realize that your worries about Frank’s dissatisfaction with this were just you projecting your own impatience with yourself onto him.

He knows your ticks, and he’s exactly where he wants to be when they happen, he thinks to himself, his large hand thumbing at the apple of your cheek softly.

A small relieved sigh escapes you, Frank’s doting gaze never leaving you as he asks you a question. “Mind if I get under th’ blanket with you? S’chilly out here.”

“Sorry.” You laugh, realizing he’d been half laying over your blanketed form for your entire rant. You lift the blanket on one side, trying to shimmy it up over his back.

He leans down to kiss you after he maneuvers himself into the small blanket cocoon you’ve made, whispering a quiet ‘s’okay’ to your cheek. You spend a while like that, exchanging kisses, Frank’s form quite literally acting as a weighted blanket over you. The warmth seeps into your tired body, offering a moment’s respite from the outside world.

“Wanna keep goin’?” His thumb gently drags along the apple of your cheek. There’s this subtle, but very handsome smile on his face and it reminds you that everything’s okay.

You take a breath before answering. “Yes.”

 He gives you two more kisses, one on each cheek. “Want me t’make you come?”

His choice of words make your body run warm. “Mhm.”

“Let me hear you say it, sweetheart.” He coos softly, hand cupping the back of your head.

You feel yourself pause at the way your face grows warm. “Please make me come, Frank.”

Frank ducks his head under the covers, whispering a hushed ‘attagirl’ against your skin. He makes his way lower, his hands warning you of the path his lips plan to kiss along.

The blanket laid over his back as he descends leaves you bare to the ceiling of your shared bedroom. Frank lifts your nightgown up to your chest, peppering kisses along the plush of your tummy until he eventually reaches the waistband of your panties.

The tip of his nose drags along the garment, hands cupping the tops of your thighs to gently spread your legs. He licks your clit through the fabric, alternating between suckling and dragging his tongue along the tip.

“Frank, don’t tease…” You truly, normally wouldn’t mind, but your impatience tonight has been testing you.

Your lover murmurs a quiet apology against your mound, huffing a mildly amused breath.

His palms gently run along your inner thighs before he moves to slip your panties off and discarding them by the bed. “‘ll make it up t’you—” He parts the hair at your mound, licking a stripe up the slit and ending to suckle at your nub.

He drinks in the long sigh you let out, groans when he feels your hips moving ever so slightly against him. He translates that as to you needing more, so he cups his tongue under the hood of your clit as he tastes you and grinds against the appendage in small increments.

“Oh—”

You feel his hands take yours, thumb running along your knuckles before maneuvering them to the top of his head.

You know what he wants, and there’s something so damn hot about how he asks you to hold onto him.

A tug at his hair makes Frank moan against your core, deep and satisfied.

You feel your clit twitch against his tongue, Frank not letting up on his movements. It felt good, but you’ve been wound up all day and you need more.

You pull one of the pillows beside your head down to the empty space on the bed beside your hips.

“Frank—” You pant, eyes watery with unshed tears. “Please—”

His eyes flick up towards you at your pained tone, noticing the pillow you’d given him.

He’s above you in an instant, one strong hand under your hip so he can slide the pillow beneath you. “S’not cuttin’ it, huh?”

You respond by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “Need you to fuck me.” Frank feels you punctuate your point when the back of your heels bump against his lower back, your legs wrapping around him and tugging him closer.

His own cock twitches at the obvious display of want. He loves it when you get so unashamedly needy, bordering on demanding. He wants it all, wants to be wanted in ways that match the intensity he feels inside, considers himself lucky to be craved as deeply as he craves the love of his life.

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” He coos, one hand guiding the head of his cock to notch against your entrance. “Deep breath in. Out—attagirl.”

Frank grunts as he pushes in. Breath catching at the way your warmth wraps around him, squeezing and urging him in deeper.

He takes his time bottoming out, partly wanting to reassure you that he truly didn’t mind taking his time with you, with anything to do with his sweetheart.

He tunes in to your movements, how your palms are warm against the back of his neck, how your thighs bracket his waist, the bump of your heels against his tailbone. He listens to the sound of your breath as it catches, notices nothing but silence following after.

“Don’t forget t’breathe, sweetheart. Yeah?”

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Yeah—”

Frank places his forehead against yours, one of his hands gently braced against the top of your head. He uses his other hand to support his weight against the bed as he pushes his hips into yours.

The eye contact is disarming, you’re tingly from need. You want more. You’ve been craving Frank inside you for a week at this point, and you were not going to let the night end without it.

The telltale hitch in your slow breathing, coupled with the way your walls clench around him lets Frank know he’s exactly where you need him to be.

“There she is.” He coos, “Keep breathin’, yeah? I’ll make it good f’r you.”

He tucks your hair under your head so it doesn’t get pulled when he positions himself on his elbows on the space beside you.

“Ready?” Frank presses his forehead against yours, gaze on the lookout for any sign of discomfort. Him telling you to focus on your breathing helps undo the crease between your drawn brows.

“Yeah.”

“Leave it t’me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as he starts a slow, sensual grind.

Your jaw goes slack on a silent moan, your lover’s weight a comforting thing over you as he drags the tip of his cock right at your sweet spot.

He does small half thrusts into you, groaning in between whispered praise.

Your eyes close, toes curling, drool threatening to slip out the corner of your mouth. “Frank…”

“Yeah? You okay, sweetheart?” He’s panting a bit, muscles tense with restraint because you feel so fucking good but he knows exactly how much you need. The drag of your walls against his cock is searing hot, added to the fact that he’s been close to coming for hours.

He feels the hands on the nape of his neck pull him closer. Your eyes open, lips parted. “I love you.”

Frank will never get tired of hearing you say that. “I love you too.” He says your name, nudges his nose against yours before leaning in to kiss you. He shifts to move a bit more insistently, muffling your mewls as he does.

“Mm!”

Your legs give out, feet planting themselves on the mattress as your thighs spread, urging Frank closer.

Before he could ask, you’re already telling him. “Just like that, Frankie—”

He follows a slow but insistent rhythm, unrelenting against your pleasure points. Electricity jolts across your limbs, followed by a deep warmth.

“Yeah?” Frank groans, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin as he continues his slow grind.

“Yeah—”

Your lovemaking continues, the only sounds in the room being the shifting of the sheets and skin against skin, moans muffled into each others flesh. It’s deceptively good, the kind that looks tender and gentle but is in no way less intense. Frank has never needed to make the bed creak to give you the orgasm of a lifetime.

He’s mindful and attentive like that. Careful but never once lacking in passion. He has a habit of taking note of how you respond to touch, etching it into his memory, refining it each time he bathes in the satisfaction of making you orgasm.

You’re moaning, Frank is so gentle but so precise it’s making your head spin. Each whimper you make against his shoulder makes Frank’s cock twitch inside you.

He’s close. Has been. You are too judging by how wet you are, the sound of your slick as he drives his cock into you quiet but consistent.

“Attagirl, sweetheart. Let me have it, yeah? Let me feel you. Let go f’r me.” He pants, voice low and breathless. Your heads are buried in each other’s shoulders, the way your bodies are pressed together makes it so warm in contrast to the AC (you’d be sleepy if not for how fucking intensely Frank’s pleasuring you).

One of Frank’s hands snakes its way to the back of your head, cupping, holding you close. He moans when he feels your nails scrape against his back.

You’re so full, its all too much and just right at the same time. Drool slips past the corner of your mouth but you’re too fucked out to care.

You didn’t even get to say you were coming before it happens. You feel your cunt clench, twitch, contract in pulses around Frank’s thick cock.

“That’s it—thas’it. Yeah. Deep breaths.” Frank grunts, kissing your shoulder briefly. “Good girl, sweetheart.”

“Frank! Mm—” You can’t help but whine, heels kicking against the sheets. Frank stays, keeps his tip right against your sweet spot as he rides his own climax.

“Oh fuck—” Frank’s breathing heavily against your shoulder. You’re still coming somehow, thighs trembling, mouth agape, eyes closed. Your hips twitch against your lovers’, his weight keeping you still, positioning him exactly where you’d feel it best.

You could cry from how satisfying the orgasm is. You probably already are, because Frank’s thumb is running along your suddenly damp cheek and he’s shushing you in that way he always does. The way you’ve come to recognize as him not actually wanting you to quiet down, but as a soothing gesture from his own vocal ticks.

“Let it out, sweetheart. So good f’r me…” Frank sounds spent. It’s equal parts comforting and arousing and honestly pride inducing. You’d have been able to savor these emotions more in the moment if you weren’t so preoccupied with the way your clit twitches and your labia flutters around the base of Frank’s cock. “Goddamn—”

You have no idea how long it’s been. All you know is your cunt is sensitive. You’re satisfied, but tired. You open your eyes and see Frank’s blurry visage looking down at you.

A hint of a smile appears on his face when you lean your cheek into his touch. His partial worries relieved.

“You okay? Want me t’pull out?” He asks. “Y’r cryin… I might’ve overdone it.”

You shake your head no. “So good…” Your blinks are slow, groggy. You mirror his touch by cupping his cheek as well, your other hand falling to lay limply on the mattress.

Your cunt throbs again, overstimulated, and your brows draw. “Okay… maybe back up a bit.”

Frank chuckles, eases himself out a few inches—

“But don’t leave—”

“Sweetheart… gotta give her a rest, y’know?” He shakes his head, leans down to kiss your forehead, idly tucking your sweaty bangs away from your face.

“Ngh.” You pout. “Do it slow.”

“Yeah.” He kisses you on the lips as he pulls out, suddenly disappearing from over you and spreading your legs to check for any damage.

Next thing you know, he’s parting the hair between your legs, nursing on your clit, swiping his tongue along your slit once, twice, before cupping his tongue under your nub and grinding slow.

“Frank!” You groan, an exasperated smile on your face. “All that talk about giving her a break.”

“Sorry—” He huffs, amused. Knows he’s a hypocrite. He leaves with one last sweet kiss to your pussy before pulling the blanket over both of your forms, letting you cuddle up into his side as he lays down for some much needed decompressing.

—

You were just about to fall asleep after answering no to Frank’s usual post-intimacy survey (“Wasn’t too rough? You sure? Hurtin’ anywhere?) when he shifts.

“Alright, c’mon” He pats your thigh affectionately, hands sliding under your hips to pull you up. “Bathroom.”

“I’m sleepy.” You clearly have this disgruntled look on your face as Frank picks you up and carries you across the room.

“Jus’ a couple more minutes, sweetheart.” He urges you to sit on the toilet to pee, leaves to give you your privacy. You vaguely hear the sound of your closet doors and drawers opening and closing.

You’re done, washed up, now standing again before he he re-enters the bathroom to start up the shower.

“We’re showering? Again?” It’s clear you’re not too excited about the prospect.

“You’ll thank y’rself t’morrow.” Frank takes off his stained sweats, helps you slip out of your nightgown, then coaxes you under the spray of the water with him. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

This is how you find yourself clinging to Frank with nearly your entire weight. The wall too cold to lean your back on. He has one hand hiking one of your thighs by his hips, the other hand busying itself between your legs, fingering his come out of you.

“You hurtin’ anywhere?” He asks, his own tired gaze trained on you, relieved when you shake your head no despite your displeased expression.

“Frank—” You whine, tired out of your mind. “Isn’t leaving your come inside me the entire point of you getting that vasectomy?”

Frank chuckles, low and deep in his chest. There’s a tiny sense of pride in him at you letting out such a crude statement around him. “Just ‘cause I got snipped don’t mean you won’t get a UTI ‘f we don’t do this.”

Point. Of course he had a point. Frank always took clean up seriously, and him being so kindly and responsibly insistent about it would’ve shot your arousal straight up had you been any less tired than you were right now. (It’s equally why you’re so excited to have sex with the man. It’s not over until he’s taken care of you the entire way and back.)

“M’tired.” You murmur again, pouting defeatedly. As nice as this all felt, you’ve been wanting good, genuine sleep since last week.

“I know, sweetheart. Y’did good…” He praises, slowly slipping his fingers out of you. “Hold on t’me.” You’re on wobbly legs, and he makes sure to steady you by the shoulders throughout the entire process of turning off the shower and towelling you and himself off.

You beeline for the bed while Frank chucks the rest of the discarded clothes from the bathroom floor into the laundry basket.

He notices, only after putting on new sweats, that the new shirt he’d left out for himself on the bed was now suspiciously absent. Meanwhile, the fresh nightgown he’d prepared for you was still there beside it.

The peek of dark fabric from under the blankets you had on you (as well as the satisfied smile on your face as you waited for his reaction) outlined the culprit to be none other than you.

He laughs quietly, shoulders shrugging, shaking his head as he returns the nightgown to your dresser, forgoing a shirt for himself. He climbs into bed with you and relishes in the way you immediately cling to him and squeeze his torso like he’s some sort of teddy bear won from the fair.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

“Mm, night Frankie.” Your head is on his chest, soothed by the thrum of your lover’s heartbeat. You feel Frank’s fingers card through your hair before he caresses your upper back. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Frank ends his sentence with your name, punctuates it with a kiss to your forehead, enamoured when you tilt your head up after to kiss his nose.

You’re ‘fucked-out-of-your-mind’ fulfilled, while Frank’s ‘thank-you-for-letting-me-care-and-affect-you-this-deeply’ fulfilled.

It’s perfect. And now you finally, finally get to sleep with everything you’d wanted for tonight checked and accomplished despite the earlier phone call fiasco. Your eyes close. You take a deep breath.

Until Frank decides to get up out of bed. No words. So easily slipping away from your hold because you didn’t think he’d get up.

“Where are you going?” You sit up groggily, brows furrowed, frustration coming easily to you.

“Get’ya some water.”

“Oh.” Your expression returns to something less hostile. You were kind of thirsty now that you think of it, skin damp and cool but your body running warm. A little too warm.

You could’ve sworn you caught the slightest hint of a half-impish half-apologetic smile on Frank’s face as he left. If you were a bit more lucid you’d have noticed sooner that he laughed a bit at your frustrated question.

He comes back with one of your insulated tumblers and hands you the prized item.

The first sip of ice cold water that hits your tongue could rival the relief from your earlier orgasm.

The two of you take one or two turns sipping from the straw before Frank’s laying under the covers again (thanks to you practically pulling him into bed).

Settled into Frank’s bare chest once more, impressively fucked out of your wits, cared for after such a vulnerable set of hours, and hydrated with freshly prepared ice cold water, you finally close your eyes.

Frank noses along the top of your head, tucks your hair away from your forehead, leaves a kiss there once, twice, before he speaks.

“Want sausages with y’r pancakes tomorrow mornin’? Or bacon?”

No reply graces Frank’s ears save for one silent snore and the hum of the AC unit.

You’re already fast asleep.

He’s decided he’ll make both with a side of eggs—but judging by the weight of his own eyelids and how quickly you fell asleep, he wagers with a crooked smile and an amused breath that neither of you will be awake for breakfast tomorrow anyway.

[sodaneko]

something so special about someone who takes their time to make you come. not edging you, but showing you patience and eagerness in learning how to unravel you. mumbled sweet words to coax your attention back on them when you're getting into your head about 'taking too long'. if anything they just scoff, maybe getting angry on your behalf for whoever made you feel this way in the past. as if getting to taste and feel and worship you for hours isn't the best thing that ever happened to them. their intention is not to push you over the edge in record time but to get to know you inside out, no matter how long it takes. they rather come untouched in their pants than to stop giving you everything you deserve and more. your pleasure is their pleasure.

[softdomsworld]

actually my kinks boil down to “i want someone to desire me so strongly and urgently that they just can’t control themself around me”

[gotchibam]

*offers you this doodle of happy trans pikachus for pride month* :) 💖💖💖

[nic0las-uncaged]

i could blog better than this but i won't

[kkovenn]

Compromise

Frank Castle x Reader

Kkovenn’s Kinktober 2025 (Ao3) - Consensual Non-Consent, Groping || Word Count: 9,212

General Masterlist | Kinktober 2025 Masterlist

TW: there is a scene in the beginning where the reader tells frank about having experienced prior sexual trauma, the language used to describe the trauma is vague and the exact details are left up to interpretation (save for there being a perpetrator whose name, physical qualities, and gender are left unspecified), but the implication that it happened is made clear through frank’s reaction (he comforts reader and is angry about the situation). during the actual CNC roleplay, frank’s strength and reader being unable to get away is shown and mentioned often

TAGS: reader is the one to propose CNC, thorough kink negotiation, CNC scene through groping and penetration (fingering prep is done pre-scene), manipulative language and rhetoric from frank (used in scene), loss of agency for reader (in scene), dubious consent (in scene), this ones a bit more challenging for frank bc of canon realities (re: the kinds of ppl he kills as the punisher), stubborn!frank, lots of “yeah’s”, established relationship, use of stoplight signals in scene, lots of check ins, manhandling, condescending language from frank (in scene), frank doesn’t raise his voice but he is a bit more cocky (in scene), aftercare

TAGLIST: @gumdropgirl, @yakydrah, @theladyblackfyre, @starlord3000, @final-sights

Please mind the tags for this one!

===

You blame your restlessness for making you bring it up.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Frank asks, his sleepy mind trying to comprehend your mumbles. He hugs you tighter and leans in closer to your shoulder.

“I wanted to ask if… you knew what… noncon was. The… kink.” You murmur quietly, thankful you weren’t facing Frank. He hums behind you, and you run your hands along his arms crossed over your midriff.

“... Nah. Could you describe it t’me?” You feel him shift, the word ‘kink’ likely waking him up. Your lover was always eager to please, his thumb beginning to rub gentle circles on your waist.

You take a breath, nervousness in your veins. “It… is short for consensual non-consent. Basically… we pretend that… someone between the two of us doesn’t want sex, or wants it to stop, but it keeps going anyway.”

You feel him freeze, and he pauses before he hugs you tighter. “... Uhuh. You like that?” He asks, tone unreadable. Regardless, you see no reason to lie.

“The… idea of it. Roleplaying it.” You emphasize, now treading more lightly given your initial jump. “What do you think?”

Frank sighs, taking a pause to choose his words. “If you’re th’ one actin’ like you don’t want it, that don’t sound like something I can stomach, sweetheart m’sorry.” He apologizes, and you turn to face him.

“No, hey… don’t… you don’t have to apologize.” You reply hastily. It was only then you got to see Frank’s expression, a mix of disappointment directed at himself and anger at the tangent the kink made him think of, jaw tight, gaze clouded. “Are you okay…? I shouldn’t have brought that up so randomly. I’m sorry, Frankie.” You cup his face, mind racing with regret.

His hand, gentle, runs along your arm, the other cupping your cheek. “M’okay, baby… Just can’t imagine… hurtin’ you like that, even if it’s jus’ pretend.” He pulls you to his chest as if shielding you from something invisible.

Frank hurt people. Killed people. His hands have taken lives. He hunts down rapists and pedophiles out on the street and delivers hell to them on a silver platter. The kink you described felt too real to him due to his sheer proximity to humanity’s most depraved no matter how he tries to wrap his head around it being merely roleplay in a safe and consenting setting.

But at the end of the day, it was a kink that you’d expressed interest in. It’ll only be the two of you, and you were the one to ask him of it. Frank won’t drop this so easily, not without trying.

“Could you tell me why you like it?” He inquires.

“Hey, no. We don’t have to… I don’t want to force you-” You start, and Frank nods, running his fingers through your scalp.

“Yeah, I know, baby… but I’m asking because maybe we could get to the bottom of that want, yeah? Give it to you in other ways.”

How thoughtful. But in truth, Frank never passed up an opportunity to answer any of your desires, especially once they were already voiced. Him being firm and honest with what he can or can’t handle while you never tried to cross those made for a wonderful dynamic between the two of you. Easy, comfortable. Freeing. Exploration became exciting instead of anxiety inducing. Every attempt would always be with a clear conscience and the assurance that you can stop any time, anywhere.

“Please?” He asks when he notices your subtle hesitation to speak, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. Being in Frank’s arms was always nice and toasty, perfectly contrasting the cold rain out your window.

Kinks could come from experiences you wished to take back power from, or sometimes from out of nowhere. In this particular instance, your case was more of the former.

“Okay… well—” You relay the story to him, fragments of past traumas that all led to the emergence of the desire, Frank’s face morphs into one of disbelief, then into anger as he holds you in his arms and you finish speaking.

“M’sorry that happened, sweetheart.” He was seething, resting his forehead against yours before he leaves a gentle kiss there. He’s glaring at the wall as he holds you, body tense. “You got a name? Remember what the fucker looked like?”

You look up at him, see the way his adam’s apple bobs and the way his breath is shaky, limbs tense and wound up. He means it. “Frank…”

As alluring of a power fantasy it was to have Frank seek out revenge on your behalf, you weren’t keen on him getting any longer of a criminal record than Madani had already absolved him of.

“Anythin’ I can get a lead on. I’ll do the rest. Please.” Frank whispers hastily, you shake your head no.

You tell him that it was okay, that it was a long time ago (he grunts out that it doesn’t matter as his hold on you tightens, that the bastard had ‘no right, you hear me? No goddamn right.’), that he’d healed a lot of your pain by virtue of just being the way he was and being by your side.

He wants to offer this to you. It wouldn’t be a problem. He’d kill this bastard for you like it was a Sunday stroll through the park.

But you insisted otherwise, gentle in your firm decision, so Frank channels that energy elsewhere, to the matter at hand. To being of service in other loving ways that weren’t vengeance or bloody retribution.

He slips the blanket higher over you and you find his immediate attempt at comforting you endearing. His hands rub along your back, wide and warm against your skin. “That shouldn’t have happened to you.” He murmurs, arms tense as he holds you. Frank’s muscles are flexed, charged with this deep-seated anger.

The trauma was years ago, but you still end up feeling a bit teary eyed at his tender reaction, further amplified by his kisses on your forehead. The two of you stay like that for a while, with you drowned in the comfort that is your steadfast lover.

“Thank you, Frankie…”

“‘Course. I love you, sweetheart. Y’hear me?”

A smile graces your features. “I love you too.” He meets you halfway when you inch upwards to kiss him.

Frank’s hand keeps combing through your hair, the other pressing his fingers into your lower back. Coupled with the warmth of his body and how the blanket keeps it in, you’re off to sleep in minutes.

Your lover is glancing around the room as he thinks, then he puts his thoughts to words. “Sweetheart, ‘bout that kink—”

At your lack of reply, Frank moves back a bit to glance down at you, only to find you fast asleep.

This can wait. He’s thankful for the more time he’s got now to think about it. He gives you one last kiss to the top of your head before he starts to mentally run other possible scenarios he can offer to your desires instead.

—

Frank does some research on his laptop the next morning as he cooks breakfast, explores a couple of articles and peruses through some forums before he brings it up again that night after you’re both home from work, Friday evening.

“Sweetheart, ‘bout that kink.” He says as he’s settling into the couch for your Friday night TV show binge.

You blink at him, brows drawn. “Frank, we really don’t have to…”

“I want to give it a shot.”

Silence, then you let out a sigh.

“If you’re only doing this for me then I’d really rather not.” Frank had this tendency to serve even if he’d find little enjoyment in whatever it was you were engaging in, citing your desire for it as the fulfillment in and of itself.

You could tolerate (and appreciate) that with mundane things, but not here, not with this. Not when sex meant more than just an act to both of you.

“I want to give it a shot, s’right there. Said I want it.”

Now you’re both having a stubborn-off. A moment of the two of you just staring at each other passes.

“Are you sure?” You ask.

“I am.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head and letting the ghost of a defeated smile grace your features. There was no arguing with Frank once he’s set his mind on something. His own determined expression softens and he moves to rest his arm over your shoulders.

“I read up ‘bout it, got the gist of it, from what I saw uh… there’s plenty of ways to go about it. Diff’rent dynamics. Diff’rent situations.”

He researched? He really means it, then. But it shouldn’t come as a surprise, Frank rarely half assed anything, save for maybe the one time he used dynamite to fish, You remember how adorable the smile on his face was as he told you the story.

“So my question is… y’know, the details o’ what you want. Help me out here, sweetheart.” Frank continues.

He’s pitching the ball back in your court, letting you inform and guide his determination to fulfill this.

“Uh…” You struggle to find where to start. Frank is patient as he waits. You intertwine one of your hands with his, resting them on your lover’s thigh.

“Okay.” You take a breath. “I guess I should start with… why? I think?”

“This isn’t to say that I don’t love how you always listen when I don’t want to do anything that involves… touching and intimacy. That’s hot and I’m so… so lucky.” The only thing Frank is very insistent on you doing despite your protests is you eating when you’re hungry and locking the doors.

Frank’s brows draw together as he shakes his head, “S’how it should be.” To him, you weren’t lucky to have him. He was lucky to have you. He’s just being normal, not letting his dick wanting things entitle him into mistreating you or taking you for granted. Like a person with common decency.

You smile at that, gaze softening. “I… you know what I mean. I really do love how you are, Frankie…” With him, you can say you just want to make out and it’ll actually just be the two of you making out. Frank’s self restraint when it comes to sex was off the charts.

There were never any slippery slopes with him, and you adored how he operated, always on standby at the slightest hint of discomfort or change in your mood and never showing his disappointment if either of you suddenly didn't want to continue. He’d been the one time and time again to actually stand by it when he says ‘no hard feelings.’

You could indulge in each other through plenty of other sensual acts, and you always enjoyed the way your intimacy with Frank didn’t always have to end in penetration or even an orgasm for it to feel like a complete and fulfilling experience.

“But just for the roleplay…” You continue.

Frank nods, repeating your words quietly. “Jus’ for the roleplay.” He lets you elaborate further.

“The thought of… you being just a bit more persistent? With wanting me? Gets me going.” 

Your lover’s gaze is focused on you, taking in your every word. Frank squeezes your hand in his.

“The idea that… you want me because you just thought of me, and you’re asking for me even though I don’t… invite you or hint to you that I want sex.” You’re speaking slow, trying to fight down the feeling of wordsalading. 

“It makes me feel… pretty, like I have that… that effect on you that you end up wanting me so much to the point of ‘forcing’ yourself onto me.” You make sure to do air quotes with your free hand. “I know its not like that in real life—”

Frank nods, processes your words. Your explanation made sense to him, he experiences something somewhat similar, really. He loves whenever you’d be the one to initiate intimacy with him, ask for him. It made him feel useful, worthy of the privilege to make you feel good, wanted, attractive—even if he personally thinks his mean mug and boxer’s nose does him no favors.

He imagines if you threw yourself at him and demanded sex out of the blue, touched him all over and whispered how much you needed him, it’d probably turn him on and boost his ego, especially if he was in a good mood that day.

This perspective is one he can more easily get behind. You wanted him to be more forthcoming with his (already very ardent) desire for you, more vocal, have more initiative (to the point of a pre-discussed, strictly fictional violation of consent).

Frank raises your intertwined hands and presses a quiet kiss to your knuckles. “Yeah, yeah I get that, sweetheart. Makes sense.”

His genuine interest and attempt at understanding makes you braver, less sparing in sharing your internal thoughts. “I think having this… simulated sexual coercion scenario would be hot, that’s all. I don’t wanna pathologize it too much.”

Frank nods encouragingly, the arm over your shoulders pulling you closer to his side.

“So y’wanna say no t’me, but have me sweet talk y’into it still?”

Your face grows warm at the thought. “Yeah… actually you could… straight up just touch me into saying yes instead of… waiting for me to say yes—again, it’s not like that in real life. I’m not endorsing it or anything—”

“S’okay. S’just us.” Frank squeezes your upper arm in a comforting gesture, running his hand up and down.

You nod, feeling this anxious pit in your stomach thrum with each breath. The junction between your lover’s neck and shoulder beckons for your head to nuzzle into it. He doesn’t mind when you do. “Thank you, Frankie.”

 There’s this internal attempt on your end to find words that’d more accurately describe what you want.

“Uh… imagine you want me to try food, and I’m being stubborn by saying I don’t want to try it—but you shove it in my mouth anyway and oh-wait! It tastes good.”

His brows are cinched together for a moment before he huffs out a chuckle at the analogy. “Uhuh.” He grunts, trying to connect the comparison.

“But! I wanna act like… it doesn’t taste good, or hammer home the fact that I really think you shouldn’t have fed me that spoonful. I’ll keep pretending I don’t like the taste even if the truth is the opposite.”

“So th’ fun in it f’r you is that you get to act all stubborn?” He clarifies.

“Pretty much?”

Frank’s brows raise. “Okay, ‘nd you like that?”

“Yeah.” There's a moment of thought on your end as your lover looks around the living room, clearly digesting what you’ve shared.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t feel safe enough to bring this up if you weren’t the way you are.” You realize late how off that sounded. “Not that it’s your fault or anything. It’s more of…” Frank feels your gaze on him. “You’ve always had so much self control when it comes to this… and so I know that if I ask for the scene, it’ll only ever be a scene.”

There’s this pride that blooms in his chest, nudging away his initial discomfort. You feel confident asking him for this because even if he acts in the improper, violating way your fantasy desires, he’s proven himself trustworthy enough for you to still feel safe with him after.

And Frank knows from the years he’s spent with you that your trust is not cheap. He’s earned it. You trust him enough to open this up to him, a kink that puts you in such a vulnerable position, a kink that others can so easily take advantage of—he won’t do that to you, you know he won’t. It calms the turbulence in Frank’s mind.

He understands you a bit better now as he thumbs at your intertwined hands. However, there’s still this hesitation in him that gnaws at the reassurance you’ve so gracefully given.

His gaze is trained on you as he listens to the voice of his trepidation. “See… ‘bout that… What I’m having a hard time coming to terms with is seein’ you struggle… d’you think the physical struggle is a... necessary? Part of it f’r you?”

Frank knew he was deconstructing the kink down to its barest and then taking away such integral parts of it, but the thought of being so rough with you, of seeing you in near genuine expressions of pain and him not helping you—would break him, even if it was just roleplay.

There's a moment where you ponder his presented compromise. “The… thrashing and yelling, you mean?”

“Yeah.” The mere thought makes worry churn in his gut, bile bubbling in his throat.

“I would say I don’t really… prefer it to be that intense? I don’t even want you to be mean.” (He never is.) “How do I explain this…”

“Sometimes people like the fight of it. How frantic it is.” You try to think of a more concise way to explain your desires.

“For me… I like feeling how strong you are, but not because you’d fight me.” You slip onto Frank’s lap and he’s quick to accommodate you. “I guess I—its me being powerless but I know I’m safe with you that… uhm, resonates.”

Your lover quietly thinks to himself, trying to apply what you say to his own imagination of the scene to see how he can go about it. His hand caresses your back and hips as he squints elsewhere, that expression he does when deep in thought.

There’s a clear vision in your head of how you want this to go. Frank carrying himself how he usually does, measured movements and hulking physique, crowding you on a random day. Large hands pressed against your body and keeping you still. Being able to push at his chest and not feeling him budge one bit while he’s on top of you. Saying no but being met with him shushing you, in the same breath reassuring you that he’ll make it so good for you—

But it’s so hard to put into words without combusting on the spot.

“Would… you be willing to read a story with that? It's just a couple of pages on my kindle. It’s kind of hard to explain on its own.” At his affirmative, you stand up, ready to get the device from the bedroom, but Frank beats you to it.

“I’ll get it.” He nods as he stands, pads over to the bedroom and re-emerges with the small e-reader, made even smaller by the size of his hand. He gives it to you on the couch before sitting down beside you again. You make quick work of browsing your library for that one story and set the starting page of the scene up for him.

The air is heavy. You end up being teased with his usual ‘This the kind of stuff y’read on this?’ line. You swat at his face but appreciate the attempt at lightening the rather serious mood. Now he’s reading on the couch while you’re watching TV beside him.

The character in the show you’re watching has just finished a rather riveting argument when Frank gently sets your kindle aside on the coffee table.

“Done reading?” You ask, muting the TV and continuing to speak when he nods. “What do you think?”

His expression was still just a bit troubled if not pissed off entirely. “Don’t like how he talks to her.” Frank murmurs, looking away to direct his frustration elsewhere.

You recall the attitude of the male protagonist in your head and it amuses you. He was one of those domineering types, written to have quite condescending, mean dialogue. You would have given Frank something less tropey to read, but you haven’t come across any more examples as complete as that scene. The one you asked him to read included the setup and the aftercare so it was still the most substantial one of your current collection of erotic literature.

(Not that you ever had to direct Frank on how to take care of you after sex, he insists on aftercare even for the softest of sessions, it was a non-negotiable to him, near instinctual. But you figured letting him see the male protagonist in a caring light would help him.)

You move from beside him to straddle his lap again, smiling at him and cupping his face. His expression softens a bit once he’s face to face with you, relaxing fully once you thumb at the hard line between his brows. “You don’t have to talk like that… whenever I ask you about a kink it’s always me asking for your take on it. How you would do it.”

That’s true. Frank nods, mulls the situation he’d read about minutes prior in his head as he thumbs at the plush of your sides.

“How d’you wanna go ‘bout that scene? You wanna keep the medieval part?” 

Oh.

“Ah, how about this…” You ponder, feeling emboldened by Frank clearly still wanting to make this work despite his own trepidation. “Just a normal day in the present, and the scene is I’m busy or I don’t want to rest yet, but I should rest.”

“Familiar.” He interjects, corners of his mouth tilted upwards, but lets you continue.

You chuckle. “Shush!” Frank chuckles. “So, then you try to ‘convince’ me to stop working and come to bed by uhm… fucking me… and then it feels so good I sort of… can’t argue my case for not resting anymore. Maybe I could actually be doing a chore so it's a bit more believable.”

The reframing definitely helped Frank warm up to the idea. Especially since he was no stranger to your moods of dodging rest unless you felt like you ‘deserved’ it. Looks like you just wanted to play the part of a stubborn person who didn’t want to listen, with sudden sex as the assisting factor instead of his usual tactic of cooking you food or caging you in hugs—emphasis on stubborn.

He recalls the scenes in the book, mind now having a clearer and way less intimidating frame of reference for fulfilling your kink. “So I enter the scene, walk up to you, start groping you no warnin’ whatsoever… you’d like that?” 

Frank’s gaze had this layer of intrigue to it. It was sweet that he approached this matter with a lot of thought and conversation where others would have been so careless. You were in good hands.

“Yeah… I would.” You smile, face flushed at the thought and at the way Frank was thumbing along your cheek.

“Would you prefer it if… I didn’t… struggle so much? Just some pushing and some of me saying ‘no,’ but… no crying or cursing you out. And I won’t say it hurts.” After all, Frank was always careful with you, near devout with the way he treats your body and mind, never once letting you take him without him prepping you first.

You picked up what your lover spoke of, the part that he couldn’t stomach. Even the mere thought of pretending you were in pain made him uneasy.

He sighs, and you see the way his shoulders slump to relax. He’d been figuring out how to propose exactly that without the kink no longer being what it was entirely. “Yeah. Please.” Frank gives you a kiss on the lips, and you mewl into it. His arms shift to hug you. “I’d like that. I know that’s th’whole point of your uh, kink, but I need to see that I’m not hurtin’ you.”

You nod, feeling fuzzy as you reciprocate his hug. Frank was an incredibly attentive lover who enjoyed learning by doing. He’s so in tune with you, with every movement and expression, that you could order him around completely non-verbally and you’d still end up getting whatever you’d asked for. It was only natural for him to feel discomfort at the idea of being shown such conflicting signals during intimacy, especially given his fulfillment being so deeply tied to how much he can safely pleasure you without violating any of your boundaries or underestimating the steep difference in strength between the two of you.

When you two part, you pepper kisses along his face, brows raising when Frank speaks. “Let’s use th’ stoplight signals. Yeah?”

Warmth spreads throughout your chest. “Yeah.”

Frank nods, thankful that you were deliberately clear about what you liked. He appreciates the story you’d made him read (save for the male character’s attitude, still), having a whole scene laid out to him like that from start to finish helped him piece a more cohesive picture of what you wanted.

There's a moment of silence before Frank speaks. “Alright.” He thinks to himself, more feasible ideas forming in his head. He was idly squeezing your thigh, sighing contentedly at the way the fat gives under his fingers. “Y’remember the safeword?”

You nod, leaning into his chest and answering with your shared safeword. He repeats it back to you, soft, solemn.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “Think you’re ready for it by t’morrow?”

“Are you? We can wait a bit if you want. It's no rush.” You parry the question back at him because he’s the one who made his reservations clear.

“Yeah. M’ready.”

—

The next day, he fingers you before the scene even starts. Loose cotton shorts and panties hanging from one of your ankles, your back on a set of pillows laid against the headboard while Frank sits on his haunches between your legs on the bed.

“Is this really necessary?”

“Can’t do that thing you want without hurting you if we don’t get y’ready.”

That changes your perspective, makes your face flush. Frank was always so thoughtful. His words manage to temper your impatience to jump into the scene, letting your body settle into the pillows he so dutifully stacked behind you. He’s hovering over your form, leaning down to give you a kiss that you reciprocate in kind.

He’s always patient when penetrating you, taking so long until he gets to a four finger stretch. Frank bumps the tips of his fingers up against your sweet spot and a strangled groan leaves your lips as he starts to whisper encouragement into your neck and shoulders.

He licks at the thumb of his free hand before gently rubbing it against your clit, feeling it twitch as he grinds his fingers in you the exact way that’ll make you come undone. 

Your walls shiver at the familiar sensation, making you start to pant. “Wait—don't make me come yet!” You whine, that gets Frank’s attention.

“Why not? Give ya a good time before we start.”

“I’ll get sleepy!” You protest, and Frank shakes his head, huffs with an amused expression, leaning over you to press your foreheads together. He eases up on the pressure of his fingertips against your g-spot, pacing it to a less insistent grind as he gets you used to the stretch. He drinks in the way your body instantly relaxes again once he lets up on the sensations.

There’s a smile on his face, endearment in his gaze as he whispers his next words. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Frankie.” Warmth blooms in your chest. “So much.”

“You’ll use th’ safeword if you feel uncomfortable, yeah?” He noses along your neck and shoulders.

You nod at him, turning your head to bump your nose against his. “I will, I promise.”

He nods, locks your lips together as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. His demeanor caring in the way he’s still the one to slip your panties and shorts back on your hips.

—

You’re standing in front of the washing machine after having placed in a load and setting it to a run cycle. The newly dried, clean clothes were in the laundry basket, waiting to be folded. Frank’s evenly paced footsteps could be heard padding closer to where you were. He’s listening to your quiet humming as you make a show out of folding one of his shirts, your voice mixing with the idle sound of the washing machine.

“Sweetheart.” Your breath hitches with Frank’s slow approach behind you. His hands massage your shoulders.

You let it happen before you start playing your part, body melting into his warmth for just a moment. “Yeah?”

His breath fans against the shell of your ear. “Need y’real bad…” The tip of his nose drags along the junction of your neck, lips kissing behind your ear. “Been thinkin’ about y’all day.”

His admission makes your body run warm. “Oh… that’s sweet, Frankie, but… I wanna finish this first.” You slip away to grab another article of clothing from the basket, folding it and stacking it on the shirt you finished with earlier. 

Frank lets you keep up the act of folding laundry over the flat top of the washing machine, trigger finger twitching as he resists the urge to end the scene and actually help you with the chore (it’s what he would do outside of the scene, after all, help free up your schedule so you can both freely indulge in each other).

Your lover remains behind you, unmoving and patient. By the fourth shirt you’ve folded, he crowds you again, his chest pressed to your back, hands petting your hips. “Clothes can wait. I’ll help you after. Promise.”

“Frank…” His hands slip under your shirt, squeezing at the plush of your midsection with a satisfied sigh. His movements remain gentle, but his presence was so solid that it left little wiggle room with how he hounded you into the washer.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t you like it when I touch you like this?”

“I do but—but not right now-”

“Shh, sh… j’s let it happen, baby. Promise I’ll make it good f’r you. I always make y’feel good don’t I?”

There’s truth to his statement, no instance of laying with Frank had ever left you unsatiated. And god, his tone. Just the right amount of condescension. No screaming, no yelling, but still so heavy with intention. You feel warm between your legs.

You’re sinking deeper into the scene, back arching against your lover’s body.

“You do, Frank. But I don’t want it right now.” You keep your voice soft, near embarrassed, even. Indulging in your role.

He kisses your shoulder, hips pressing your lower half onto the washing machine. You feel his fingertips caress the underside of your breasts.

“Color, sweetheart.” He murmurs, quiet, nearly drowned out by the sound of the washer.

“Green, Frankie—” He nods, his hands cupping your chest and thumbing at your nipples. “M-mm—what’re you doing? Didn’t I say—”

“Shh, sh. Jus’ lean back into me. I’ll handle the rest.”

“No—”

One of his hands sinks lower along your body, slipping between your legs, cupping you over your thin shorts. “S’okay. You’re okay.”

He notices. The subtle way you spread your thighs to accommodate his hand before squeezing them closed again, the way you let yourself sigh in pleasure before uttering your protests, the way you let the smallest of moans slip before telling him no.

He appreciates the signals, uses them to commit to the act more for you.

You feel him back away from you, and for a moment you’re worried if he’s okay. Before you can ask, Frank’s turning you around to face him, slotting his hips against yours, pinning you against the washing machine, your weight partially on him.

Frank leans in to pepper insistent kisses along your neck and shoulders as you try to squirm away, slowly but firmly pushing at his chest.

He doesn’t move an inch even when you apply more force to your hands. The realization goes straight to your cunt. He’s just so strong.

“Color, Frankie?” You whisper, checking in.

Frank didn’t expect to be the one asked this. His demeanor softens, hands stilling behind your upper back, under your shirt. “Green, sweetheart.”

You nudge your head towards his own, and he takes the cue to meet you for a kiss.

“Get off me, Frank—” You whine, tone dusted with a hint of faux panic. He feels your hands push at his chest again but he remains steady, unmoving. His only response to your squirming being a continuously heavy handed gentleness.

“I’ll make y’feel good, sweetheart. Jus’ gotta let it happen—” You shake your head no, but he chances your lips in a kiss, and that brings you to momentarily still, groaning in pleasure against his lips before you start to make a fuss again.

He pulls away and your mouth opens. Your next complaint dies on your tongue as Frank’s fingers are on your clit.

“Wait—no. Don’t, I-”

“Shh, sh sh. Why wait when I can make y’feel good right now, sweetheart? C’mon.” He coos, pressing your foreheads together.

Your brows are drawn, face flushed and mouth agape. Frank feels the way your hips are trying to jut into his hand and he makes no comment on it. He hikes you up just a bit higher to let your butt rest partially on the top of the washer, slipping your shorts off of you so he can run his thumb along your clit .

“Look at’you. Y’r wet, sweetheart. Want this just as much as I do.”

“That’s not how it works—” You bark back.

“S’okay if y’don’t think that. But this pretty pussy needs me, doesn’t she?” He coos, applying more pressure to your nub.

“No, stop—ngh-” Your protests die out into whimpers.

“That’s it… let me, sweetheart.” He kisses along your neck, sucking a hickey onto your skin.

You’re trying to push at his shoulders, but end up holding onto them instead. “A-aah—”

“Yeah,” Frank’s voice makes your head spin with arousal. “Thought so.”

Frank leans into your ear to whisper. 

“Yellow, sweetheart. Hold still. Don’t want it to hurt.”

You recognize the momentary slip in character. Your body relaxes, head resting on Frank’s shoulder.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

“Mm…”

“Doin’ okay?”

You can’t help but smile at his concern. “Yeah. You?”

“Peachy.”

A groan leaves you as Frank pushes two fingers inside, aided by his earlier stretch. Only when he pulls his head away do you return to your role. “Frank, I swear to god—”

“Shh…” He silences you with a kiss, one hand between your legs and the other supporting your back. He finds your sweet spot with practiced ease and drinks in the moan you can’t help but let out. Your expression is one of frustration, brows drawn and trying hard to glare at Frank.

Your nipples are stiff, peeking from your shirt. Frank leans in to suckle on them, the slick of his spit mixing with the rubbing of the fabric of your shirt driving you insane.

Your hands cradle his head for a brief moment before you’re trying to push him away by the shoulders again to no avail.

“Frank! Let me go—”

He’s groaning into your chest, alternating between peaks until you’re left with two wet spots on your shirt. He blows air onto them and watches you shiver at the change in temperature.

“Stop that!” You yelp, but your hips say otherwise, moving back onto his hand as his fingers grind against your sweet spot.

“Nah, nah.” He shakes his head. “Think you want somethin’ but y’don’t wanna admit it. My girl’s just too stubborn, but her pretty pussy’s so needy, ain’t she?”

He leans in for a soft kiss, letting you catch your breath. “C’mere. Know exactly what to do with you.”

“What…”

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, lets go of you for a brief moment and you hear the familiar clinking of his belt as he shucks his pants lower. The anticipation doesn’t last long, Frank pulls your hips forward towards him, you’re now barely sitting on the top of the washing machine. His grip on your thighs tight. 

You feel your mouth water at the sound. “No, no no—” 

He aligns himself with a hand at the base of his length. You feel the tip of his fat cock nudging gently against your core.

“Need a color, baby.” He whispers. Your head spins at the idea of what’s next.

“Green… green, please—”

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Shh, sh.” He caresses the back of your head with one hand, pressing your foreheads together. “Don’t hav’to beg.”

He seeks your hand, urges you to hold him. “Squeeze my hand real tight if it hurts, okay? I’ll stop.”

“Yeah. Okay…” You gnaw at your lip, need coursing through your veins. You nose at his shoulder. “Green, Frankie—”

“Alright, baby. I’m here.”

At your reassurance, his cock pushes into you. Slow and deliberate.

“A-ahh—stop!” You protest but don’t squeeze Frank’s hand. Frank takes that as your affirmative.

“Shhh, sh sh. This is f’r you. Always workin’ so hard. Let me reward you, sweetheart.”

“No, no no—” You wriggle your hips away, but Frank has one hand on small of your back.

It was exhilarating, your cunt hugs Frank’s length. You indulge in more sounds of protest, squirming against his hold only makes your walls tighten. 

“Look at you. Pretty pussy practically beggin’ for it with how well you’re takin’ me. Don’t tell me you don’t want it, baby.”

You’re shaking your head at his words, closing your eyes. Your voice is breathless as you exclaim. “Stop, stop—”

You let go of Frank’s hand to push at his shoulders. He takes the opportunity to support one of your thighs.

Frank keeps going, his hips thrusting slow. The angle makes it take a while longer for him to find your g-spot, but he does. Both of his hands now support your back.

Even despite the context of the scene, Frank was moving so gently, slow and deliberate with the way he massages your sweet spot with the tip of his cock. Your legs kick blindly, moans slip from your mouth. Your lover leans in to pepper more hickeys across your skin, making you tremble.

“Frank—I said s-stop—”

“S’okay… this is f’r you sweetheart. Let me get y’there. Make you feel good. Doesn’t it feel good?”

“No.” You pant. “I don’t want it right now, I told you—”

“Shh, sh… jus’ hold on to me, c’mon sweetheart.” Your hands do as he says before you can register it, nearly hugging him as he pushes up into you. “Promise I’ll help y’with the laundry after. I always do, don’t I?”

“Y-yeah—” That wasn’t a lie. Frank got into the habit of doing laundry more than you did.

“See? Just think you need a break from all these chores, always workin’ so hard.”

“That’s not—I said I didn’t—” Your breath feels like it's getting punched out of your lungs. Your core throbs, body warm with arousal.

“Shh…” He leans in to kiss you again, and you immediately switch into compliance. You forget what you were going to argue in that instance.

Your sounds of complaint die down into moans, head resting on Frank’s shoulder in faux defeat. He’s bucking into you slowly but so, so precisely that it's easy to melt into his hold.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Attagirl…” Frank purrs into your ear, cradling the back of your head with one hand. 

“Noo…” You whine, shaking your head against his shoulder feebly. Your hands weakly push at his chest. “H-hng—”

You could come like this, you think. There’s this familiar feeling of floatiness in you, brought about by a mix of everything in the scene, how well Frank was able to still feel so caring despite the context, how strong he was practically holding you up like this, how attentive he is to your body’s machinations, knowing exactly how to pull pleasure from you.

You sigh. Then, a sharp pain shoots up your ankle, makes you grit your teeth.

“Frank, yellow—”

Frank’s eyes widen, he pulls back immediately, hips halting but still making sure he’s supporting you. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Cramp—fuck.” You pat your left knee. “Ankle.”

Frank lifts you from the washer, gentle as he lays you down on the floor. “Alright, I’ve got you. Deep breaths.”

He straightens your foot, angles it to relieve the muscle. Finally, the tension releases and you lay flat on the floor of the laundry room, huffing a deep breath.

“You okay?” Frank inquires, still massaging your leg with soothing, intentful pressure.

“Yeah.” You giggle up at him, tracing his nose with your thumb. There’s a layer of embarrassment in your body language. “Sorry, I’m not much used to fucking anywhere else but in bed.”

His gaze softens, hand still kneading at your ankles. Frank chuckles, kissing your knee affectionately.

“S’okay. ‘Bout time we moved to the bed.” He noses along your knee. “Still wanna keep goin’?”

“Yes please, oh and… can you…” You sit up and he helps you. Taking the opportunity to lean into his ear, you whisper. “Carry me over your shoulder? Then I’ll go and flail around a bit.”

Frank amusedly shakes his head at your request, boyish grin gracing his features. “Sure, sweetheart.”

He helps you stand, then he hoists you over his shoulder easily.

“Frank! What’re you doing—” You shriek, unable to stop a few giggles from leaving you. To your credit, you do manage to accompany it with some gentle hits to his back using your fists while your legs flail around in the air.

“Gonna feel much better for you in bed.” He pats the plush of your ass gently as he pads over to the bedroom.

He sets you on the mattress, pins your body down with his. Frank lets you catch your breath before continuing. You’re panting from your earlier antics, hands on his shoulders.

Frank takes a moment to himself to simply admire you. Your face is flushed, mouth agape, just a hint of a smile on your face as you look up at him. He can’t help but press his lips to yours, and he relishes in the way you push back into him with even more fervor than his approach.

You’re both panting when you pull away. So much for letting you catch your breath.

“Color, sweetheart?” Your lover asks, nosing along your shoulder.

“Green.” You smile up at him.

“Let me get back in slow, okay?” He cups your face, sees you nod. His other hand moves to spread your legs but you’ve beat him to the act, already having your legs wide open for him.

You’re both sighing when he pushes inside and bottoms out.

He waits. You nod at him. You’re back to protesting once he starts moving.

“Shh, sh. Sh. Don’t run from me.” He coos. “Only gonna make y’feel good.”

“B-but—”

Frank is holding your hips flush against his own and the bed beneath you, thrusting into you deep. He’s going slow, but the strength in his movements were undeniably present with the way he has you unable to move away from him past your futile attempts at wriggling.

There’s drool pooling at the corner of your lips, your vision hazy with pleasure. “Stay right there n’ lemme make you feel good, sweetheart. Be good.” Frank’s tone is gravelly and low as he thrusts into you.

His words make your body tense, heels digging into the sheets. Frank was so solid above you, so present and unyielding. That familiar, achy feeling of your approaching orgasm making itself more known. Your eyes close, cunt gripping at Frank’s length.

“You like this?”

“Yes— I, no! I don’t—” Frank chuckles at your answer, half relieved and half amused at you clearly having fun with this.

“I think you do, sweetheart. No need t’be shy.”

You whine, unable to say anything at this point, mind too blissed out to form words. Shaking your head is the most you can muster over your groans with each of Frank’s well placed thrusts.

Your hands are pushing him by his chest and shoulders but your legs are locked behind his hips, body just wanting him near while your mind still tries to keep up with the role you set yourself to act out.

“Look at’you, baby. I can’t even pull away if I try. You want me right here, don’t you? Try to push me away but you want my cock right here inside you.” His breathing is laboured, shaky, groans slipping past in the manner that makes your blood run hot.

“Y’needed this real bad, but y’don’t wanna admit that.” He grunts when you end up nodding into his shoulder. “S’okay—never hav’to work yourself tired. Not while I’m here. I’ll make sure y’always rest good, yeah? Gonna fuck you so good every time so y’can relax.”

“Stop—”

“Nah, know exactly how my girl likes it, she’s just a little too stubborn sometimes. But I’m here. I’ll put y’to bed. Make it so y’don’t have to think so much all the damn time.” Each thrust has Frank bumping into your sweet spot just right. Your vision is blurry, eyes closing without realizing.

“Yeah, yeah. Just takes some convincin’ huh? Just need me t’push you a bit. S’for y’r own good.” His words make your cunt clench, the sound of him pushing into your slick drenched walls obscene.

“Fraaank—”

“Feels good, don’t it? I feel it, sweetheart. S’okay to admit it… won’t judge ya.”

“No!”

The pleasure’s all but consumed your willpower to stay in character. The way Frank was fucking you, slow, gentle, but so so present, hitting all the right spots, holding you down so deliciously with just enough wiggle room for you to stretch your back out when you arch it. The way he spoke, using this sweet, caring tone to thinly veil the subtle condescension you were craving.

You can’t help it.

“Frankie—”

“Yeah? 

“It feels good—” Finally admitting it felt just as good as all the physical sensations.

“Attagirl.”

Frank leans in close, whispering praise into your ears. How you’re taking him so well, how he’s doing this for you, how all you need to do is lay back and let him fuck you stupid.

You’re unaware of the drool slipping past the corner of your lips.

“You’re close, ain’t ya, sweetheart? Huggin my dick like a damn vice.” Frank groans, thrusts deep and grinding right into your most sensitive parts. “So good, baby. C’mon. Come all over my cock. S’all yours. All yours. I’ll take care o’the rest.”

“I—I…” You whine. “Frank!”

One of your legs is over the back of his hips, another kicking at the sheets. You’re too fucked out of your mind to keep up the act.

Your back arches, thighs trembling, a shout coming from your open mouth as you climax. Your arms are holding onto him like he’s a lifeline, body convulsing against his own steady, sturdy form.

Now Frank’s on the receiving end of being trapped, tanking the full force of your clenching walls as they milk his cock. He groans, loud and gravelly, into your shoulder, hips unable to move from the sheer pull of your legs now recrossed behind him.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart—”

Your moans are loud, ricocheting off the walls of the bedroom as Frank’s own orgasm overcomes his body. You’re groaning right into his ear, thighs trembling with the force of your pleasure. Your nails claw at his back, pulling him closer.

“T-that’s it—yeah, yeah, I’ve got you.” His arms are caged around your head as he presses his body into you. You’re still squirming, still clenching around his sensitive cock and it makes him hiss. “S-sh—shh shhh…”

Debauched noises slip past your throat with each pant as you come down. Frank lets his hands wander, his own heavy breathing filling the room. He’s still inside you, his thighs flexing with how sensitive he finds himself to be.

There’s a heaviness to your limbs from all the earlier thrashing. The slightest hint of a headache throbs at your temples from your prior shouting. You let your eyes close, you feel Frank prop himself up on his hands, watching you under him.

His rough palm caresses your cheek, thumbing at sweat on your forehead. “You okay, baby? How d’you feel?”

You will yourself to open your eyes, meeting Frank’s worried gaze. His expression softens when you give him a satisfied smile.

“So good…” You're breathing deep, still not quite calm but so, so thoroughly satisfied.

“Y’sure? Y’hurtin’ anywhere?” He shifts to pull himself out but is met with your locked legs behind his hips refusing his exit. “Sweetheart—”

“Stay, please…” You whisper, cupping his face, tapping the red tip of his nose with your pointer finger. Your chest is still heaving as you catch your breath.

Frank relents, nods as he rests your foreheads together. He’s silent for a few moments and you take the opportunity to speak.

“Y’did so good earlier…” Frank looks away at your praise, pushing his nose into your palm at his cheek.

“Yeah?” He grunts, pulling back to see you more clearly, newfound fervor in his veins. “Changed a lot about the scene.”

“You made it so much better than what I had in mind…” There’s this sleepy, blissed out lilt to your voice that Frank takes pride in.

“That right?”

“Mhm…” You hum. “You’re so sweet to me… Y’talk to me so nice.” A droopy smile is on your face.

“Like talkin’ t’you nice, sweetheart.” He murmurs. Eyes trained on you like a dog waiting for a treat.

“Mmm, y’touch me so nice too. Always feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

There’s still this dash of hesitation on his features despite your feedback that you’re quick to pick up on. You speak again.

“You okay? There’s something y’r not telling me…” You scratch the back of his scalp idly with both hands and Frank sighs at the feeling.

He looks both ways before addressing you again. “Sweetheart, you know I… I uh—” There’s a tenderness to his gaze, eyes begging for something you can’t quite piece together without more information from him.

“Won’t ever actually hurt y’like that, sweetheart, you know that, right?”

It clicks.

Your expression softens and you nod, cupping Frank’s face and relishing in the way he leans into your touch like an obedient dog. “I do… I know you won’t Frankie. Remember? The only reason it works is because I know you’ll never actually do that to me. It’s just roleplay.”

He nods, “Didn’t want y’to be afraid of me after.”

“I’m not. It’s just pretend.”

“Yeah… just pretend.” He sighs, relief flooding his veins. “Y’still feel safe? With me?”

“Always. Thank you for doing that for me.”

Your lover nods. “Course.”

Your thumbs trace circles along his cheek. Plenty of time passes with the two of you settled like that, Frank still inside you and laid atop you. You’re idly petting the back of his broad shoulders, feeling the ridges from your earlier scratches. “I should put some lotion on these.”

“Later. I’ll get’ya some water.” He murmurs, waits for you to nod before adjusting to slip out of you.

He comes back with two cold bottles of water, handing one to you and sipping half of his own. Frank climbs back into bed and takes the opportunity to spread your thighs open to check for any bruising.

He’s relieved to find none, transfixed by the way his come has started to leak out of you. It was sweet how he was always the first one to check over you every after sex (albeit a bit embarrassing with how straightforward he was about it). (Whenever you’d thank him for it he’d grumble about how it was just ‘how it should be.’ Typical Frank.)

You set your water bottle aside, unable to close your legs with how Frank had laid his head on your tummy. You don’t mind, lazily running your hands through his thick dark hair.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

There’s a pause, as if he’s debating speaking. “Think you can take some more? Want to kiss your pussy.”

Your face immediately feels warm, expression one of surprise. Frank’s looking at you with those deep, now black eyes of his, pupils blown out at the mere sight of your pussy earlier. “Oh—”

You can’t help but bite your lip before answering. “Go ahead, Frankie.”

He whispers his gratitude against your slick folds like a prayer and you reward him by pulling him closer, in the exact way he craves, reminding him that you want him just as much as he wants you.

—

You’re fresh from a quiet, comfortable shower, laid in bed.

“You really like it when I ask you for… things, don’t you.” The assumption leaves your lips after much silent deliberation, recalling the entire debacle before the scene and Frank’s stubborn insistence on fulfilling your desires.

He chuckles. “Yeah. You know I uh… I like it when y’put me to work.”

You’re soft, tender with your lover’s ever present affection and devotion. “Thank you for trying it for me, I know you weren’t the biggest fan of the idea at first.”

He nuzzles into your hand. “S’okay... Enjoyed doin’ it for you.” It makes him feel like a creep to admit, but he’s really less focused on the role he played and more of the fact that doing so was service to you, that he feels capable when he can meet your wants. He knows that you’re the one who asked for this specifically, that he’s as safe here with you as you are with him, under your newly changed sheets and burrito blanket that you two are sharing surrounded by the white noise of the rain against the window.

He leans in. “Y’came real hard, sweetheart. Felt like y’were going to snap me in half.”

“Hey!” You snicker, swatting at his face as he nuzzles into your shoulder.

“Kiddin’, m’kiddin’...” He murmurs in between kisses to your forehead and nose. Frank sighs, drinks in your warmth like a cold beer after a long day. He could fall asleep here, just settled beside your softness, his hands holding your back from under your shirt and his nose nuzzled between the valley of your breasts.

Your stomach grumbles.

He blinks.

A shit eating grin forms on Frank’s face. “All that squirming and yelling got’ya hungry.”

“Shut up!” You retort.

He shakes his head. “See, I was about to ask y’what you wanted to eat. But since you want me to shut up—”

You gawk at him and how he’s clearly entertained. “No, don’t shut up!”

Frank laughs at your reaction, feels the smile on your face as you hide in the crook of his neck.

—

Regardless of the earlier bickering under the covers, he carries you to the kitchen and cooks you a hearty plate of dinner while you busy yourself with making each of you some iced drinks.

Both of you enjoy the simple meal, clean up, and run back to bed. You’d just finished finding a perfect spot for your head on Frank’s chest when you remember something you’d both forgotten.

“Frank… the laundry—”

“Ah, goddamnit.”

[starlord3000]

thinking about this gem and enjoying yet another reread. its unbelievably yummy and SO well written <3

[kkovenn]

THANK YOU SO MUCH RAAAAWR 💐💐💐

[darlingshane]

Jon Bernthal on The Kelly Clarkson Show

[darlingshane]

Jon Bernthal & Ebon Moss-Bachrach portraits for Broadway's Audicence Choice Awards

[darlingshane]

New look at The Punisher in Spider-man: Brand New Day via Empire Magazine.

[salomeh]

The bravest character in my humble opinion. And I don't care what the fandom(tm) thinks.

[lucy-sky]

@darlingshane's ONE LAST KILL COUNTDOWN | Day 12: Kiss

[hellilovedit]

currently thinking about how cute/fun a holiday bbq would be with Frank.

Frank, a little easier today, having a couple beers.

Frank, his eyes following your every move.

Frank, making your plate for you, remembering exactly how you like your burger or dog.

Frank, sitting you on his knee when there’s no extra chairs.

Frank, his hand on your back, guiding you, touching you, keeping you right there.

Frank, his eyes softening when he sees you across the yard.

Frank, sunglasses on.

Frank, muttering something horribly funny in your ear.

Frank, giving you a bite of a cupcake. Kissing the frosting off your lip.

Frank… existing as a man for one day. With you.

Ok I’m done now lmao

[stariejay]

[w0mbmates]

The Accountant (2016) // The Accountant 2 (2025)

[papa-evershed]

The Class (2006)

Pilot

The Class Visits A Hospital

The Class Learns About Hurricanes

The Class Blows The Whistle

The Class Gets Frozen Yogurt

The Class Goes Trick-or-Treating

The Class Goes To A Bar

The Class Celebrates A Birthday

The Class Gives Thanks

The Class Runs Into A Convenience Store

The Class Celebrates An Anniversary

The Class Visits A Bad Neighborhood

The Class Hits It

The Class Has To Go to a Stupid Museum 

The Class Eats Moroccan Chicken

The Class Has A Snowday

The Class Springs A Leak

The Class Rides A Bull

The Class Goes Back to The Hospital

Since this show isn’t easy to come by, above you will find a link for every episode. Feel free to watch, download, gif it, whatever it is you so please.

**If there comes a day when you find yourself finding this post and the links are no longer active, feel free to shoot me a message and I’m happy to reupload.

Enjoy some Baby Bernthal!

[pedro-reed]

Jon Bernthal | The Punisher: One Last Kill (2026)

[dirtylittlediary]

bloodstream- frank castle

pairing : frank castle x f!reader

summary :turns out emotional dependency is adorable right up until you haven’t seen your boyfriend in three weeks.

warnings : MDNI, p in v sex, overstimulation, emotional dependency/codependency, separation anxiety, praise kink, size difference, unprotected sex, creampie, emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of phone sex, excessive yearning, frank castle being catastrophically in love, reader and frank using each other as emotional support animals, overstimulation, pathetically needy !frank

word count : 8.7 k

a/n : as usual, nor proofread, based on this rq except i made it smutty angst bc to me seperation with frank = he can't take his hands off of you... ENJOY !

For weeks, you and Frank have been just barely missing each other.

Work trips that take you overseas, Frank going out on missions with Matt, all co-inciding in the same two weeks. Frank comes back after a week of being away, and you leave two hours before he even gets back.

At first, it’s almost funny.

The universe playing some kind of cruel little game with the two of you. You find one of Frank’s shirts abandoned on the bathroom floor and send him a picture with a caption that reads:

evidence of life.

Frank responds three hours later with:

don’t start bein’ cute when i can’t get to you.

You grin at your phone in the middle of a terminal halfway across the world and immediately feel sick afterward. Because that’s the problem.

You miss him in ways that don’t feel normal anymore.

Not dramatic movie-montage missing. Not casual wish you were here missing. It’s physical. Like your body notices before your brain does. You stop sleeping properly first. Then eating right. Then concentrating. You start reaching for your phone every five minutes without realizing it, checking for texts that aren’t there because Frank’s busy and you’re busy and neither of you have enough free time to do more than send exhausted updates at 2 a.m.

alive. u?

yeah.

miss you.

miss you more.

It should help. It doesn’t. If anything, hearing from him just reminds you he’s still not here. And apparently Frank’s handling it about as badly as you are. You figure that out when Micro calls you by accident instead of Frank one night.

“—seriously, man, if you stare at your phone any harder you’re gonna burn a hole through the scre—oh. Shit. Hey.” You blink.

“Micro?” A long pause. Then, somewhere farther away from the phone:

“Castle, dumbass, I called your girl.” Immediate rustling. Then Frank’s voice, rough and sudden:

“Lemme see that.” The line goes muffled before his voice comes back clearer.“…Hey.” Just hearing him makes your chest ache.

“Hey,” you say softly. Frank goes quiet for a second too long.

“You okay?” he asks finally. The question almost makes you laugh because neither of you are okay. That’s become painfully obvious.

“Yeah,” you lie.

“Mhm.” Frank doesn’t sound convinced for even one second. You hear movement in the background. A door shutting. Probably him stepping away somewhere private. Then: “You sleep at all last night?” Your throat tightens immediately. Because that means he didn’t either.

“A little.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re one to talk.” Frank exhales softly through his nose. You can practically picture him rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Fair.” Silence settles after that—not awkward. Just tired. Familiar. You miss him so much it feels embarrassing. You curl tighter into the hotel bed, phone pressed harder against your ear.

“When’re you home?” he asks quietly.

“Three days.” Another pause.

“Long fuckin’ time.” The honesty in his voice nearly kills you. You swallow hard and stare at the dark ceiling above you.

“Feels longer for me too.” Frank makes this low sound in his throat—half agreement, half something rougher.

“You know what’s stupid?” he says after a minute.

“What?”

“I keep thinkin’ I hear you.” Your chest physically hurts. Frank laughs once under his breath, humorless. “Swear to God,” he continues quietly. “Keep hearin’ the front door and thinkin’ you’re home.” You close your eyes immediately. Because you’ve been doing the exact same thing. Every elevator ding outside your hotel room. Every footstep in the hallway. Every dark-haired broad-shouldered stranger that almost looks like him for half a second before your brain catches up.

“I hate this,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. Frank goes silent. Then, softer than anything:

“Yeah, baby.” You can hear it in his voice too now—that same exhausted ache stretched tight between you both. Not just missing. Withdrawal. And suddenly the distance between you feels unbearable. Thousands of miles and bad timing and responsibilities neither of you can walk away from. You curl tighter beneath the blankets like it’ll somehow help. Frank stays on the phone with you anyway. Neither of you saying much anymore.

Just breathing.

Like maybe hearing each other exist is enough to survive another few days.

A few days later, you find out your trip got extended. You call Frank absolutely wrecked, a sobbing blubbering mess as you whine and cry into the phone.

“No, no, no—Frank, I can’t do another week,” you choke out, pacing the tiny hotel room barefoot. “I seriously can’t, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.” On the other end of the line, Frank goes dead silent. Not cold. Just… absorbing it. You hear him exhale slowly through his nose, the sound rough like he’s trying to keep himself together for your sake.

“How long?” he asks quietly.

“Five days.” Your voice cracks pathetically. “Five more fucking days.”

“Jesus Christ.” Something clatters in the background like he dropped whatever he was holding. Then more silence. You can picture him perfectly anyway: hand over his mouth, pacing your apartment, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper miserably.

“Hey.” His voice sharpens instantly. “Don’t apologize to me for missin’ me.” That almost makes you cry harder. Because that’s the problem. Frank gets it too much. There’s no healthy amount of distance between the two of you anymore. Somewhere along the line, your lives fused together so thoroughly that separation feels less like missing someone and more like losing a limb. You hear him moving around again. Then the creak of your shared bed. Your chest aches instantly.

“You in bed?” you ask softly.

“Mhm.” Your eyes burn. “Your side’s cold,” he murmurs after a second. You fold in half at the waist like someone physically hit you.

“Frank.”

“I know, baby.” His voice drops lower, gentler. “I know.” You climb into your own hotel bed miserably, clutching the phone to your ear. For a while neither of you says anything. You just breathe together in the dark. Then:

“You wearin’ my shirt?” The question catches you off guard. You glance down automatically at the faded black tee hanging off your shoulder.

“…Yeah.” Frank makes this low sound in his throat. Almost tortured.

“Fuck.” Heat crawls slowly up your neck. “You sleep in it every night?” he asks.

“Mhm.” Another silence. Not awkward. Heavy. Charged. Because suddenly you’re both thinking about the same thing: the absence of touch.

Weeks without his hands on you.

Without his weight beside you in bed.

Without sitting in his lap half-asleep while he watches terrible documentaries and rubs circles into your hip absentmindedly.

You miss him so badly it’s starting to curdle into need. Frank’s breathing changes first. Just slightly.

“Baby,” he says carefully, “tell me somethin’.” Your stomach flips.

“What?”

“You still touch yourself when I’m gone?” The question hits you like a shove to the chest. You squeeze your eyes shut immediately.

“…Frank.”

“What?” His voice is rough now. Tired and wanting. “Need t’know if my girl’s takin’ care of herself.” Your thighs press together automatically. You haven’t, actually. Not really. You tried once and ended up crying halfway through because it just made you miss him worse. Apparently your silence tells him everything.

“Aw, honey,” he murmurs softly, and somehow that’s worse than teasing. “C’mere.” A pathetic laugh escapes you.

“I literally cannot come there.”

“You know what I mean.” And God. You do. You hear the rustle of sheets as Frank shifts onto his back. You can practically see him now: one big forearm thrown over his eyes, phone pressed to his ear, exhausted and touch-starved and aching for you.

“Need you t’help me out a little,” he admits quietly. The honesty in his voice makes your pulse stutter. Because Frank never sounds embarrassed about wanting you. Just sincere. Like needing you is the most natural thing in the world. You swallow hard.

“What do you want?” you whisper. Frank exhales slowly.

“Wanna hear you.” And maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe both of you are a little too attached, a little too desperate after weeks apart. But the distance has hollowed something out inside you both. Phone sex becomes less about getting off and more about pretending, for twenty minutes, that you still belong to each other physically too. Frank talks you through it slowly.

Patiently.

Like he’s trying to hold your body together from several thousand miles away. You curl beneath the blankets, one hand clutching the phone while his low voice pours into your ear like warm whiskey.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs when your breathing starts shaking. “Missed hearin’ those sounds.” And God—you missed this too. Missed him reacting to you. Missed the way his voice roughens when he’s turned on. Missed the tenderness underneath all that gravel and exhaustion. You can hear his restraint slipping little by little the more worked up you get. Hear the quiet curses under his breath. The hitch in his breathing. At one point he laughs softly—wrecked, disbelieving.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Miss you so fuckin’ bad.” The confession punches straight through your ribs. You end up crying afterward anyway. Not hard. Just quiet tears slipping down into the hotel pillow while you come down from it. Because it helped. But not enough. It still isn’t him. Frank hears it immediately.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Baby?”

“I’m okay.”

“No you’re not.” You laugh weakly, wiping at your face.

“No,” you admit. “Probably not.” A long silence. Then Frank says, so quietly it almost breaks you:

“Wish I was there.” You clutch the phone harder.

“Me too.” And neither of you hangs up that night. You both just fall asleep breathing into the same phone like it’s the closest thing you can get to holding each other.

When you finally make it home, it's mid afternoon at least eight days later. And the best part is, Frank doesn't know you're coming home. You manage to get your boss to release you from the trip early, and you're practically vibrating as you step off of the subway and into the crowded new york streets. You know Frank won't be home for a few more hours, and you want it all to be perfect.

A warm dinner when he gets home.

A cold beer.

His favorite late night TV.

The couch all set up to be all comfortable so you can curl into him and just let him hold you against him until you both fall asleep.

By the time you finally unlock the apartment door, your entire body feels electric. You barely get the key out before you’re stepping inside too fast, suitcase bumping awkwardly against your leg as you look around like you expect Frank to materialize immediately. But the apartment’s quiet.

Still.

Empty.

And somehow that almost makes it better. Because this means you get to put pieces of yourself back before he comes home. Your shoes end up abandoned by the couch within seconds. Your suitcase gets kicked halfway down the hall because you genuinely cannot make yourself care right now. The apartment smells faintly like coffee and Frank and gun oil and laundry detergent and home, and your chest hurts so badly you actually have to stop moving for a second.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper to nobody. You missed this place too. Not because of the apartment itself. Because it’s his.

Yours.

The two of you built routines into these walls so deeply that being away from them started feeling like being scraped hollow. You move through the apartment touching things absentmindedly. Straightening a blanket Frank probably didn’t even realize he’d left bunched up on the couch. Picking up one of his shirts from the dining chair and pressing it briefly to your face before folding it properly. By the time the sun starts setting, dinner’s almost done. There’s beer chilling in the fridge. The couch is loaded with blankets and pillows because you already know exactly what’s going to happen once Frank gets home: he’s going to sit down and you’re going to crawl directly into his lap like your body physically cannot resist doing it.

And honestly? At this point it probably can’t. You’re stirring sauce on the stove when you hear it. The front door unlocking. Your entire body freezes. For one horrible second your brain doesn’t process it properly. Then the lock clicks. Heavy boots hit hardwood. And Frank speaks.

“Micro, I swear t’God if you ate my leftovers again—” He stops.Silence. Your heart slams so hard it almost hurts. Slowly, you turn around. Frank’s standing just inside the doorway, duffel bag hanging from one hand. He looks exhausted. Bruised.

Unshaven.

Broad shoulders tense beneath a black thermal. And then his eyes land on you. Everything in him goes completely still. The duffel bag slips from his hand and hits the floor with a heavy thud. For a second neither of you moves. Frank just stares. Like his brain genuinely cannot catch up to what he’s seeing. Then:

“…Baby?” The way he says it absolutely wrecks you. You don’t even realize you’ve started crying until Frank crosses the apartment in about three strides flat and grabs you. Hard. One arm wrapping around your waist so tight it almost lifts you off your feet while the other cradles the back of your head. And then he’s everywhere. His face buried against your neck. His hands on your back. His breathing ragged against your skin like he just finished running for miles.

“Oh my God,” he says hoarsely into your shoulder. “Oh my God, you’re home.” You make this humiliating little choking sound and cling to him just as hard. Frank actually shakes a little when he holds you tighter. Like his body’s been bracing for impact for weeks and finally gave out the second he touched you.

“You came home early,” he says, voice rough and disbelieving.

“I wanted to surprise you.” Frank pulls back just enough to look at you. There are dark circles under his eyes. Fresh cuts across his knuckles. And an expression on his face so openly relieved it nearly splits you in half.

"Fuck, you're real." He rasps, shaking his head.

His hands cup your face like he still doesn’t entirely trust the evidence in front of him. Like if he lets go for even a second, you might disappear again. You laugh shakily through the tears still clinging to your lashes.

“Last time I checked.” Frank just stares at you. Not even trying to hide it. His eyes drag slowly over your face, your hair, your clothes—taking inventory like he’s memorizing you all over again.

“You got prettier while I was gone,” he mutters finally. You snort softly.

“That’s biologically impossible.”

“Nah.” His thumbs brush beneath your eyes. “Think starvation made me hallucinate you hotter.”

“Frank.”

“I’m serious.” He leans down like he physically can’t help himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Been losin’ my goddamn mind over you.” Your chest squeezes so hard it almost hurts.

“Dinner’s gonna get cold,” you whisper eventually. Frank’s eyes close briefly like he’s fighting for his life.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Right. Food. Human survival.” Still, he doesn’t let go immediately. You practically have to drag him toward the kitchen by the hand, and even then Frank keeps stopping every few steps just to touch you again. A hand at your waist. Your lower back. Your jaw. Like weeks without contact rewired something primal in him. By the time you finally sit down at the table, Frank’s looking at you like a man who hasn’t eaten in days.

And honestly? Not just metaphorically.

“You made all this?” he asks, staring down at the food.

“Mhm.”

“For me?” You blink.

“…Who else would it be for?” Something in his expression softens so abruptly it almost takes you out at the knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs quietly, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” He reaches over and drags your chair closer to his with one hand. “C’mere.” You laugh.

“Frank, I’m literally already sitting here.”

“Not close enough.” The legs of your chair scrape loudly across the floor until your knee knocks against his thigh. Apparently still unacceptable. Frank eats maybe three bites before his hand settles heavily on your leg beneath the table. Warm. Possessive. Absentmindedly rubbing his thumb back and forth over your skin while he looks at you instead of his food.

“You keep starin’ at me like that,” you mumble.

“Can’t help it.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I missed my girl.” The words land directly in the center of your chest. Frank takes another sip of beer, eyes still fixed on you over the rim of the bottle.

“You have any idea how hard it was sleepin’ without you?” You smile softly.

“Probably about as hard as it was for me.”

“Yeah?” His voice drops lower instantly.

“Mhm.” Frank’s hand slides higher along your thigh.

“You sleep with my shirt every night?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“You know I did.”

“Wanted to hear you say it.” Heat crawls up your neck. Frank notices immediately. Of course he does. “Cute,” he murmurs.

“Shut up.”

“Missed this too.” His fingers squeeze your thigh gently. “Missed makin’ you blush.” You try focusing on dinner. It’s difficult when Frank keeps looking at you like you’re something he wants to consume whole. At some point he abandons pretending entirely and just hooks an arm around your waist, dragging your chair flush against his. Then closer. Then somehow you end up half sideways against him while he keeps feeding you bites off his fork between conversations.

Then eventually—

“You know this is insane, right?” you laugh as Frank fully lifts you into his lap mid-sentence.

“Mhm.”

“And deeply codependent.”

“Probably.”

“You should be concerned.” Instead of answering, Frank buries his face against your neck and inhales slowly like he’s been deprived of oxygen.

“Can’t bring myself to care,” he mutters against your skin. Your entire body melts automatically.

God. This. This is what you missed. His chest warm behind you. His huge arms wrapped around your waist. The steady rumble of his voice against your shoulder while his hand strokes lazy circles beneath the hem of your shirt.

“You smell like home,” he says quietly after a while. You turn your head enough to look at him. Frank’s eyes are softer now. Heavy-lidded. Affection practically dripping out of him.

And suddenly he smiles a little. Crooked. Fond.

“Baby,” he says, voice rough with sincerity, “I love you so fuckin’ much.” The words hit you so hard your breath catches. Frank watches your face carefully after he says it, like he always does. Like no matter how many times he tells you, some part of him still waits nervously for your reaction. You touch his jaw gently.

“I love you too.” Something in Frank visibly unravels. He kisses you immediately. Slow at first. Tender. Like he’s trying to relearn your mouth after weeks apart. But it doesn’t stay soft very long. Because Frank’s been starving for you. And apparently kissing you while you’re sitting in his lap is enough to completely destroy whatever self-control he had left. His hands tighten around your waist. His mouth gets deeper, rougher.

Needier.

You gasp softly when he pulls you closer against him, and Frank groans into your mouth like the sound physically hurts him.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your lips, half wrecked already. “Jesus Christ.” You laugh breathlessly.

“What happened to dinner?”

“Fuck dinner.” And before you can even process the sentence properly, Frank reaches out one huge arm and shoves the plates aside. They hit the floor with an explosive crash. You yelp.

“Frank!”

“Don’t care.”

“Those were ceramic!”

“I’ll buy more.” Then he stands up with you still in his arms like you weigh absolutely nothing. The edge of the table bumps against the back of your thighs. And suddenly Frank’s setting you down on top of it instead. Broad hands immediately spreading your knees apart so he can step between them. The look on his face almost knocks the air from your lungs. Completely gone for you.

“Been thinkin’ about this for weeks,” he admits roughly, forehead dropping briefly against yours. “Every damn night.” His hands slide slowly up your thighs. “Missed touchin’ you so bad it made me mean.” Your pulse jumps hard.

“Frank—”

“I know.” He kisses you again, slower this time, almost apologetic despite the hunger in it. “I know, baby.” Another kiss. “Missed my girl.” Another. “Missed havin’ you close.” His hands settle warm on your hips. “Missed this.” You can’t stop staring at his hands. You have to lock your knees around his hips to keep still or you’ll reach out and try to memorize every callus, every tendon. You want to map him, all over again, hands shaking from more than hunger. Frank smells like sweat and sawdust and the outside world, but under that is the skin you missed, the one you’d have eaten raw if he’d let you. He doesn’t speak at first. He just runs his thumb down your jaw, anchoring your wide-eyed and helpless to the table while the rest of his hand cups the back of your neck. Like maybe you’ll bolt otherwise. There’s a tremor in his grip, so barely there you’d miss it if you weren’t searching for every piece of him, every deficit from the last weeks. When he finally kisses you again it’s nothing like gentle. Frank mouths at you like he’s trying to fit your whole heartbeat back in place. Your legs tighten reflexively on his hips and you can feel the desperate rise of his dick, already hard and unyielding through his jeans.

“Frank,” You say, and it comes out dissolving and strange. Like someone wrung your vocal cords through a cheese grater. “I missed you.” You expect him to say it back. He just grunts and presses you harder into his chest, but you can feel it in his body, the way he shakes under your fingers. You’ve never seen him so single-minded - he’s usually so good at taking you apart. But now he wants something else: something to break the weeks of isolation. He bites your lip, hard enough to leave a mark, like a line in the sand. Then he fists both hands in the hem of your shirt and yanks upward fast enough to startle you. Your shirt and the sports bra vanishes over your head in one move, flinging your arms and leaving you cold and unsteady under the kitchen lights.

“Fuck, you can’t be lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters, one hand splaying wide over your bare stomach, “gonna make me fuckin’ lose it.” He runs his palm up so slow it makes you want to cry. Up between your ribs, around each breast, until his thumb catches your already-hot nipple.

“Jesus,” he says, and there’s awe in it, real and rough. She shivers. “Didn’t even get to look at you last time. You just left.” He nips at your jaw while his hands knead, and you can’t seem to breathe fast enough.

“Wasn’t on purpose,” You manage, hands raking into his short hair. He grins, more wolf than man.

“Yeah. But you’re here now.” He slides both hands under your ass and drags you closer to the edge of the table, He pauses then, just long enough to thumb the edge of your shorts to the side and find the wet spot on your underwear, and he laughs, delighted.

“Fuckin’ hell. You’re soaked already.”

“Shut up.” You’re pink all over, but you can’t hide it from him now. Frank leans in, chin against your shoulder, and lets out a pleased little noise.

“So needy for it, princess. Thought about me?” You bite your tongue on a whimper, knowing if you say the truth it’ll undress him further. But he reads you anyway - you see the understanding in the crinkle around his eyes, the fondness, the urgency. He doesn’t bother with your underwear or shorts after that, just yanks both of them to the side and runs two fingers up your slit, slow and shallow, until you’re grinding herself into his hand. He’s making a project of it, rubbing hard circles on your clit, sometimes just lingering there and not giving you what you want, until you’re grabbing at his wrists and begging.

“C’mon, please, Frank, please—” He relents then. Slides two thick fingers inside you with no warning. You shiver so hard her teeth clack. Frank leans in:

“Missed how tight you are for me, baby. God damn.” Pumps his fingers, scissoring you open in a way that half-hurts but you want more, so much more. He watches your face while he does it, fixing on every twitch and gasp.

“Ssh,” he soothes when you start whining again. “I got you.” The timbre of his voice - low, gentle, but so inexorable - reaches some bright and liquid place in you, and you feel your legs start to shake. Your hands scramble for purchase on the table edge or the corded muscle of his arm, anything solid to hold on to. You’re already embarrassingly close and he knows it. He knows every part of you by now, and you hate and love that he can read you like this. He pulls his fingers out at the last second, and you let out a wail of protest. He just tuts at you, eyes gone dark, and shoves his hand into your mouth.

“Suck,” he orders. The heat of his command is deranged. You do. You lick yourself off his hand, hears the way his breath catches, see him swallow. If your mind were anything but goo you’d tease him for it. Instead you’re just watching him, mouth open, eyes wide. He moans, and he shakes his head.

“Shit… You got no fuckin’ idea how many times I blow a load on my fist like some fuckin’ teenage boy these past few weeks.” He grumbles, his voice desperate and needy. You whimper, because you haven’t been able to get yourself off, and you’re already shaking and overstimulated from his. He practically rips open his jeans, shoving them just low enough to free his dick, already leaking at the tip. You both look down at it - him with this sharp, unashamed hunger, you with something more like terror. He’s always thick, but right now it looks brutal. Frank grins, catching your expression, and lines himself up with both hands.

“You think you can take it ?” he hushes, the words scraping along your throat. You nod, and you whine even before he pushes in. He goes slow, like he wants to savor the moment, the stretch. The first few inches burn, and you gasp, clutching his arms.

“Fuck, Frank, it’s - ”

“I know.” He says it like a confession, teeth gritted. “S’tighter than I remember. Let me…” He rocks in, hips pinning you flat to the table. He grabs your waist with one arm and holds you steady, the other wrapped up in your hair, and he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. Like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he looks away. Your legs are shaking, threatening to come from the stretch on it’s own, your entire body shaking with need. Frank groans, his tip lodged tightly between your folds, his entire body shuddering as he holds back a sob of relief. Frank draws in a ragged breath. You watch his jaw flex, his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts as he holds himself there, just the head of his cock forcing you open. The sharp ache at your entrance is a brand -stretch and burn and sweet relief - twinned with the frantic, animal greed that’s been gnawing both of you hollow for eight long, godawful weeks. He looks down at the place you’re joined, hand around the base of his cock, holding it in place like if he let go it’d tear something loose. He leans in, voice low and sweetly obscene:

“C’mon, baby. Let me in. Missed you so much.” His left hand wraps your thigh, tilting your hips up; you feel the smooth wood of the table bite into your tailbone, feel yourself throb around the impossible girth of him. You have to clamp your jaw to keep from crying out, because for a second it’s too much, and you feel so full it might split you. But Frank’s shushing you, stroking his thumb over your knee, and there’s so much raw honesty in the sound it feels like a plea.

“Just like that,” he groans, pushing in another inch with the patience of a butcher. “God, you feel so good, baby. So fuckin’ tight for me.” He pulls back out, barely at all, then pushes deeper. You try to catch your breath - fail. Every nerve in your body is screaming. There’s no room for thought, for shame, for anything but the pulse-pulse-pulse of being utterly, perfectly impaled. Your nails dig bruises into his biceps and he grins, teeth bared and predatory. He sets a rhythm, slow enough to savor, each snap of his hips slamming you further onto the table’s edge. The world outside the kitchen shrinks to white static. He fucks you open with steady, greedy strokes, and you can feel yourself fluttering around him, soaking his cock, the wet sounds obscene in the hush.Frank’s hips grind in torturously slow, his cock thick and stretching you so wide the only thing you can do is clutch at his arms and sob with relief. He’s not gentle, not really—he’s never been, not after a dry spell like this. But it’s the kind of rough you want; the kind that fills you up until you’re dizzy and clawing for more. He bows over you, wraps one hand around your throat—just resting, never squeezing—and the other brute-forces your thighs wider. Sweat dampens his hairline, and he grins down at you, all teeth and desperation.

“There you fuckin’ go,” he rasps, half praise and half growl. He slides out a bare inch, then buries himself to the hilt again in one deep, sweet punch. The movement knocks the wind from your lungs and rattles the table beneath you.

“Frank - ” It’s a plea and a curse and a thank you, all in one. Your eyes burn, but you can’t look away from him, the cut of his jaw and the hunger widening those dark eyes. You can smell the sweat, the cold beer on his breath, the sharp ozone stink of need, and it all melts together, makes your bones go loose and stupid. Frank wedges your knees higher, fisting both hands under your thighs so your back bows right off the table. He pins you there, lets you squirm and writhe and try to fuck yourself further on him, and every time you do he just gives a low little laugh and pounds in deeper. The table shrieks on the tile floor, an exclamation punctuating every thrust. You can feel the edge of it digging into your spine, the wood biting hard, but it doesn’t matter - none of that matters, not when Frank’s fucking you like a man half out of his mind.

"Oh fuck-" He rasps, shaking his head, hiking your thigh up higher.

Frank shoves harder, hands anchoring your hips to the slick table. Each push is a demand, a claim, rough-edged but still careful with the parts of you he knows are softest. “Missed you so much,” he’s half-chanting, voice shivery with the hold he tries and fails to keep on himself. The table’s edge gouges your ass, but it sharpens everything: sparks the ache of him hilted inside you into a wildfire need. You clutch the back of his neck, blunt nails digging at the hairline. He seems to melt under each new inch of your skin he can grab for himself.

He hitches your legs up until your calves rest heavy over his shoulders. The stretch makes it even tighter, impossible, and your head tips back, gasping. You spill another noise—something wounded and grateful—into the kitchen air. The windows are open, it’s dusk and the world is violet-blue, and you don’t care if the whole city hears you. Frank leans over you, both hands braced on your thighs, and lowers himself until his sweat-slicked chest drags a line of heat up your sternum. He tastes the salt at your neck, your cheek, your mouth. His tongue is all desperation, all teeth and open need. “Been so fuckin’ empty without you, you got no idea,” he rasps, voice crumbling at the edges. He snaps his hips again, slower now, and each press lands exactly in that deep place that’s been craving him since the second you left.

You can’t keep quiet. You don’t even try. He moans along with you, his sounds ricocheting in your chest until you can’t tell whose heart is beating harder.

“Frank, please—” you whine.

He nods, sweat streaking, and mashes his thumb hard against your clit. You jolt, nearly biting his shoulder, and he laughs like a dying man: desperate, delighted, so wild for you he’s not even trying to be patient with himself anymore. The combination of him inside, the heavy press of his hand, and the filthy sweetness of his voice all mix up until you can’t separate pleasure from pain. You full-body tremble, every part of you buzzing, and you’re babbling now, some litany of I missed you and please and fuck, Frank. It comes out in a rush, right through your teeth, and he soaks it up like a benediction.

“Come for me,” he says, low and pleading. “God, I need it. Let go. Please.”

The words tip you right over. The spiral is short, too sweet, and you come so hard you nearly blackout—muscles clench and the whole world contracts to this hot, white point behind your eyelids. Frank curses, the realest fuck you ever heard, and fucks you through it, hips stuttering while you squeeze at his cock, making it harder for him to hold on. You try to clear your head but nothing in you works except clutching him closer, your legs shaking so hard he has to pin them down. He’s like a man crazed, he can’t stop. You jerk so hard against the table you feel your back scrape open and all you can do is arch up and try to take him deeper into your already dripping and pulsing cunt. Frank’s still pounding, not even pretending to slow down, and every time you gasp or whimper he just grinds deeper.You’re still shivering with aftershocks when he does it again—leans in close and delivers a low, wet, “There you go, baby, give it to me,” and somehow your body obeys, the next orgasm crackling straight through the one before it. Your senses blur. It’s a convulsion, a rolling, brain-melting quake that has you jerking violently in his grip, your own voice echoing bright and raw off the cabinets. You can’t stop. He won’t let you. Frank’s shaking too, but he refuses to finish before you’re wrung out.

“Need to hear you again,” he rasps, pinning you by the hips, sweat mixing with yours. You want to say it’s too much, but all you can manage is a moan trailing off into babble. He slams in again, deeper than before, and something inside you just gives. Another orgasm rips through, blanketing all pain, limbs tremoring and heart blurring the edges of your vision. You can’t think. You just feel: the heat, the stretch, the fingers digging half-moons under your thighs, and the way he won’t stop whispering your name like a prayer he’s trying to relearn. He always did pride himself on stamina, but now it’s deranged, frantic. Weeks without this and now he’s got you, livewire and trembling, and apparently the only thing in his head is making up for lost time. Your brain splits into pieces: pleasure so bright it’s nuclear, followed by a sluggish horror of how ruined you must sound, how unhinged each gasp gets. Frank gives a ragged bark of laughter as you lose control, and presses his mouth to the corner of your jaw.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this.” He pistons in, strikes that softest spot and holds you down when your knees threaten to buckle off the tabletop. “Never let anyone see you like this. Just for me, yeah?” The words are like an order but sound more like a promise, and you nod, crying out as you clamp down hard, electricity rippling up your spine. He moans, head tipping back, his muscles going taut. He’s getting close, you can tell. Your body is spasming so hard you can barely contain yourself, tears flying down your cheeks as you try desperately to get him to slow down, your hands reaching for his hips to halt his movements, even for just a little bit, but Frank just swats your hands away and presses a kiss to your stomach. He barely slows down, not even when your thighs begin to spasm, clenching and trembling uncontrollably. The sensitive places in you are already bright with warning, nerves fizzing raw at every motion, and Frank—god, Frank must feel it, the way your body shudders on each thrust, but he just drives in harder, determined, greedy for every last shock of you.

“I know s’lot but you’re doing so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” The table rocks with it, plates and silverware scattering to the floor, and none of it matters. Only the way Frank holds you steady, sweat dripping from his brow, jaw gone hard and mean with the effort of holding back. He wants you to break again. He needs it.

“Please—” It comes out shredded, hoarse, barely a word at all. Maybe you mean to say stop, or more, or thank you—whatever it is, he eats it straight off your lips, mouth crashing against yours in a kiss so hard it cuts the inside of your cheek. There’s blood on his tongue, copper-bright, it makes you whimper. Frank finally, finally lets go, fucking you open with no care for how desperately you’re shaking, and god, you’re so raw it hurts, every inhale a warble of sensation, every exhale just a long, pulsing moan. He must see it, must feel how you go rigid under him, every muscle snapping taut, because he jerks his head down and grits the words into your neck:

“Attagirl girl. Give it to me. Been waitin’ so long for you, fuck—” You can’t see, can’t think, just the world strobing with the force of it. Your cunt squeezes mercilessly around him, and still he’s pounding, sweat pouring off his forehead, teeth sunk into his bottom lip so hard it’s gone white at the center. He wants to make a meal of your need. He always does. “C’mon, one more,” he says, desperate.

“No-No, Frank i can’t-”

“Yes, you can. C’mon. C’mon.” He fucks you straight through the aftershocks until you’re sobbing, the sounds coming from your chest not even human, just raw plea. Wet already running down your thighs. He barely slows enough to suck bruises into your collarbone, sink his teeth into your thighs, and the animal way he’s rutting, you know he’s close, so close, but still he won’t finish until he can wrench another out of you.

“Oh- Oh god, Frank- Fuck, Frank, I’m gonna-” This time, you break. Not even a scream, just a silent, shuddering clamp of muscle and the sudden white noise of another wave. He drags your hips back, you’re wild, kicking, but he holds you and lets it run you down to dust, and only then does he let himself go. His hands slip under your ass, the last few thrusts a brutal, reckless blur, and then he explodes inside, filling you so hard it leaks out with every pulse. You whine, thighs trembling and clenching, sobs breaking out of you with every pained groan of Frank as eh empties himself into your, your body spent and exhausted and all of the pain and misery you felt these past weeks comes bubbling up.

You feel so stupid.

I mean, Frank Castle has you impaled on his dick, just gave you the best few orgasms of your life- and you're fucking crying.

He stays inside you for a long moment, his weight a crushing, grounding pressure, his forehead pressed to yours as he catches his breath. You can feel his heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic drum that slowly, slowly begins to even out. But yours doesn't. It just keeps racing, a frantic, wild beat in your chest that has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the crushing, miserable weight of your own thoughts. He finally eases out, a slow, careful withdrawal that makes you whimper, and the sound is what breaks the dam. It's not a sob of release or satisfaction. It's a broken, ugly thing, full of all the weeks of silence and distance you tried so hard to ignore. Frank's entire body goes still. He pushes himself up, his arms bracketing your head, and looks down at you, finally realising you're actually crying.

"Hey," he says, his voice rough and confused. "Hey, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" You just shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as a fresh wave of hot, stupid tears leaks from the corners. You can't look at him. You can't let him see this pathetic, weepy mess you've become. You feel his thumb swipe at your cheek, gently wiping away the moisture.

"Baby, talk to me. You're scarin' me here," he pleads, his voice dropping to that low, concerned rumble that usually makes you feel safe, but now it just makes you feel worse. Because he shouldn't have to be concerned. He should be basking in the afterglow, not dealing with your emotional fallout.

"Sorry," you choke out, the word tasting like ash. "I'm sorry. I don't know why—" Frank’s face changes instantly. Not lust. Not irritation. Pure panic.

“Whoa, hey—” His hands are suddenly everywhere, gentle now, cupping your face, brushing damp hair off your forehead. “No, no, baby, don’t apologize. C’mere.” His voice breaks on the last word, rough with concern. You turn your face away anyway, mortified.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat helplessly. “I just—God, this is so embarrassing.”

“What is?” Frank asks immediately, brows pulling together. “Cryin’?” You let out a miserable laugh.

“You literally just fucked my brains out and now I’m having, like, a psychological episode on the kitchen table.” Something soft flickers across his face then. Not amusement exactly. Recognition.

“Baby,” he says quietly, “you think I ain’t one bad day away from cryin’ in a Home Depot parking lot at all times?” That startles a laugh out of you. Wet and ugly, but real. Frank visibly relaxes the second he hears it.

“There she is,” he murmurs. You scrub angrily at your face.

“I just missed you so much.” The confession comes out tiny. Childish almost. “And then you were gone for so long and everything felt weird and awful and I know it’s unhealthy but it felt like I was missing part of my body all month and—”

“Hey.” Frank presses a kiss right between your eyebrows. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, you do. And he just looks wrecked for you. Completely open. Eyes dark and tired and impossibly soft.

“You know what I did three nights ago?” he asks. You sniff miserably.

“What?”

“Made coffee for two people.” Your face crumples instantly. Frank huffs out a laugh at himself, rubbing one hand down his jaw. “Didn’t even realize ‘til I poured the second cup.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

“Yeah.” He gives you a sheepish little shrug. “Sat there starin’ at it for like ten minutes like a fuckin’ idiot.” That ache in your chest twists harder, but softer this time. Less sharp. More survivable.

“I missed you so bad it made me stupid,” he admits quietly. You laugh again through tears.

“I think we might have a codependency problem.”

“Mhm.” Frank nods solemnly. “Sounds fake.”

“Frank.”

“What?” His mouth twitches. “I’m serious. I think the solution is obvious.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Never leavin’ the apartment again.” You snort despite yourself.

“That’s not a solution.”

“Says you.” He leans down, pressing slow kisses to your damp cheeks between sentences. “We got blankets. We got groceries.” Kiss. “Got cable.” Kiss. “Got each other.” Another kiss, softer this time. “Think we can survive.” Your shoulders finally stop shaking a little. Frank notices immediately. He always notices immediately. “There you go,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking under your eyes. “Breathe for me.” You do. And for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t hurt as much. Frank studies your face for another long second before his expression suddenly shifts into something gentler. Fond enough to kill you.

“Y’know,” he says quietly, “kinda nice hearin’ you cry over me after all the times I almost threw my phone through a wall missin’ you.” You stare at him.

“You did not.”

“Baby, I almost fist-fought a microwave.”

“A microwave?”

“It kept beepin’.” He says this like it should explain everything. “You weren’t there. I was already upset.” You dissolve into helpless laughter, shoulders curling inward. Frank grins immediately like that sound alone fixed something vital inside him.

“There she is,” he says again, softer now. Then he gathers you up carefully, strong arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to leave even an inch of space between your bodies again. He lifts you right off the table without effort, settling you against his chest.

“You know what your problem is?” he asks, carrying you toward the couch.

“What?”

“You need to be held for, like… medically concerning amounts of time.” You hum tiredly, wrapping yourself around him automatically.

“Probably.”

“Mhm.” He drops onto the couch with you still glued to him, immediately dragging a blanket over both your laps. “Good thing I’m an expert.” You end up half sprawled across him exactly like always—your favorite place, his favorite place—your cheek against his chest while his hand rubs lazy circles into your spine. The TV murmurs forgotten in the background. Frank’s hand never stops touching you. Across your spine. Your hip. Your thigh. Like he’s reassuring himself you’re still here every few seconds.

"I missed you." You hum against his skin. Frank goes rigid beneath you, and he sucks in a heavy breath. For a second, you think maybe you said something wrong. Then Frank’s arms tighten around you so suddenly it almost steals your breath. Not painful.

Just desperate.

His face presses into your hair, rough stubble scraping lightly against your temple as he exhales hard through his nose like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters quietly. You blink up at him.

“Do what?”

“Say shit like that all soft.” His voice comes out wrecked around the edges. “Makes me feel insane.” Your chest aches instantly. Frank shifts beneath you until you’re tucked even closer, one broad hand spreading across the back of your ribs while the other cups the back of your neck. He holds you like something fragile now. Like the weeks apart hollowed him out enough that he’s scared you might disappear again if he loosens his grip.

“I missed you too,” he says finally, so low you almost don’t hear it. “Christ, baby.” His thumb strokes slowly under your shirt. “Missed you every second.” You melt further into him automatically, listening to the heavy rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It’s calmer now than when he first got home, but every so often it still kicks harder when you move against him, like his body’s reacting before his brain can. Frank kisses the top of your head. Then again. And again. Little absentminded kisses, like breathing.

“You eat while you were gone?” he asks suddenly. You smile tiredly.

“Sometimes.”

“Mhm.” He sounds unimpressed. “Sleep?”

“A little.”

“Bullshit.” You laugh quietly into his chest. Frank immediately softens at the sound, his hand sliding up and down your spine in long, grounding strokes. “Couldn’t sleep right either,” he admits after a minute. “Kept wakin’ up thinkin’ you were in the bathroom or somethin’.” His mouth brushes your forehead. “Then I’d reach over and…” He trails off. And even without him finishing the sentence, you know. Empty bed. Cold sheets. Nobody there. Your fingers curl against his chest.

“Frank?”

“Mhm?”

“I think I forgot how to function without you.” That makes him go very still again. Not tense this time. Just emotional enough that you can feel it settle heavy in his chest.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs softly, almost helplessly. “C’mere.” Like you aren’t already physically fused to him. He shifts you higher anyway until you’re practically folded into his lap completely, your legs tangled with his beneath the blanket while his arms wrap fully around your waist. One huge hand slides into your hair, fingertips scratching gently against your scalp until your eyes flutter half shut.

“There she is,” he whispers when you relax against him. “That’s my girl.” You make this sleepy little hum that nearly kills him on the spot. Because suddenly Frank’s holding your face in both hands, staring at you with this unbearably tender expression like he can’t believe you’re real and here and touching him again.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks quietly. Your heart stumbles.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

“Nah.” He shakes his head slightly, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “No, I don’t think you get it.” His voice turns rough with sincerity. “I love you so much I spent three weeks walkin’ around this apartment feelin’ like somebody scooped my organs out with a spoon.” You burst out laughing. Frank grins immediately, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m serious.”

“That is the grossest possible way you could’ve phrased that.”

“Didn’t say I was poetic.” He leans down to kiss you again, slow and warm this time. “Just sayin’ I missed my girl.” Your nose nudges against his when he pulls back.

“Your girl?” you mumble.

“Mhm.” His arms tighten instinctively. “Mine.” The possessiveness should probably embarrass you. Instead it makes your whole body unclench for the first time in weeks.

Eventually you murmur,

“I think we broke each other.” Frank snorts.

“Baby, I was broken way before you got here.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.” His voice goes gentler again. “Think maybe you just made it easier.” Your throat tightens instantly. You hide your face back against his chest before he can see it happen, but Frank notices anyway because of course he does. He always does.

“Hey,” he murmurs, amused now. “None of that. No more cryin’ tonight.”

“You’re saying that after literally rearranging my organs on the kitchen table?”

“I said no more cryin’,” he repeats firmly, fighting a grin. You smack weakly at his chest. Frank catches your wrist immediately, kissing your knuckles before tucking your hand beneath his thermal against the warm skin of his stomach. The contact makes both of you go quiet for a second. Just feeling each other. Breathing each other in. Frank closes his eyes briefly like the sensation alone is enough to exhaust him.

“You know what the worst part was?” he asks eventually.

“What?”

“Bed was too big without you.” His voice drops lower. Rougher. Honest in a way that hurts. “Kept wakin’ up reachin’ for you like an idiot.” Your chest aches again.

“Frank…”

“Mhm?”

“I think if we ever do that again I’ll actually die.” One of his eyebrows lifts.

“Work trip or emotional breakdown sex?”

“Both.”

“That’s fair.” He presses a kiss into your hair. “Good news though.”

“What?”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere for at least twelve hours.” You blink up at him.

“Twelve?”

“Might be undershooting it honestly.” He tightens the blanket around you both like he’s sealing you into place. “Think I need minimum forty-eight business hours of holdin’ my girl before I recover emotionally.” You snort.

“Emotionally?”

“And physically.” He says it shamelessly. “Got attachment issues now.”

“Now?”

“Alright, fair point.” You laugh again, softer this time, and Frank watches you with that same ruined fondness all over his face. Then, quieter: “Missed hearin’ that too.” Your smile falters around the edges.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand slides up your back, warm and steady. “Apartment sounded wrong without you in it.”

taglist !

@overdrive1975 , @alialuvsreid, @nanni197, @goawayplease95 , @yesshewrites1 , @carolinaxvz , @sofianotvergara, @bearisbored , @jbrownta , @cafieeee