My Love, Mine All Mine (Andrew "Pope" Cody x Reader)
Summary: Still new to affection, you and Andrew navigate each other's comforts.
AN: @slugarchives and I were talking about how Smurf ruined a million things for Andrew, including the pet name "baby", so I had to come up with an alternative. Thanks again for the inspo and for beta'ing <3
Masterlist // AO3 Version // Gif source
“You alright, baby?”
You meant nothing by it. God, you vowed that nothing you did would ever be to hurt him and he knew it, deep in his bones even when doubts crept through the night and invaded his sanity. Andrew counted his blessings that your patience in his unlearning of every reflect instilled upon him since childhood was as saintlike as his nickname you refused to use.
But your check-in was a bucket of ice water over the head. His back was to you, so you didn’t see how his face knotted on itself with every harsh blink.
“Don’t call me that.” His voice was in his typical low register, but the hoarseness amplified his words, echoing over the water of the Cody’s pool, and struck at your core.
“Okay,” you said as normally as you could manage. You didn’t know how long he’d been standing there though you could make an accurate estimate.
Hiding the pain that you’d uncovered something else that his upbringing had soiled for him was something you had learned to protect Andrew until he was ready to address them with you. Once, he’d read your facial expression as a rejection of his entire being and the way his face crumbled into tears haunted you for weeks.
Yet something else joined the agony of his discomfort in your chest, warmth curling around your heart that he had asked you to do something for him. He’d wanted something and made it known. He was trusting you still.
Moving around into his field of view, though it was concentrated upon the rippling aqua, you considered his tight fists and his oscillating chest before speaking, “What can I call you instead?”
The crease in his brow was carved like a cliff face in perpetual overthinking. He didn’t move from the spot nor his gaze from the water. Carefully, you coaxed him out with your idea.
“‘Handsome’?”
He let out a small scoff. A hand on his chest stopped any more of that right in his tracks.
Because he was handsome. Adonis would be more accurate. A body carved from dedication to being about to take care of others for those he cared about and each scar a tale of a way he carried that out, you loved to feel his strength through his skin, his defiant heart punching through his torso.
In a weird sense, you were minutely grateful everyone else was unsettled by his stare. He was your lighthouse and you sought him out avidly, no competition to be subject to those eyes you truly believed completely changed colours to pair with his outfit. But you still couldn’t understand how no one had even tried to pick him up whenever he was out, especially with his hair grown long enough to create waves about to break in the perfect surf. Tanned skin held lines that ran deep as lay lines. Not just the frown, his dimples that had started folding more into his cheeks since your arrival were one of his many attributes that were now your weaknesses.
“No?” you tilted your head when Andrew continued refusing to look at you, “What about ‘my love’?”
He filled up space in your life like your love filled up your chest and spilled over. You let it flood everything until you bathed and basked in it, tempting him from the deep end to join you in this relationship. When he waded out and reached for your outstretched hands, the ties to each other brought you circling into the centre and meshed you into one.
There wasn’t any part of him you couldn’t understand. You adored his every quirk and quality, yearning to bury yourself in his life. Initially, it quaked you to your core.There wasn’t a risk from him. His devotion was entirely on display in asking for your favourites and bringing them to you STAT, pairing with his free time spent as your shadow. Anxiety of overwhelming you spilled off him at this new found freedom of expression. As a unit, Andrew began to condense all his love without the need to prove himself into doors held open, embraces during nights that he had rarely slept through, your preferred foods combined for dinner, your inner children skipping hand in hand along the beach.
Andrew was watching you closely now, waiting for the punchline.
Instead, you stood between him and the pool and ironed your palms up his taut t-shirt, “‘My man’?”
Partnership, not ownership, was what you preached to Andrew in this relationship. But you had him at your side and you were the only one that saw this vulnerability without jumping to shame or jeer at it. And there was something delicious about that being all yours.
No longer stiff with discomfort, Andrew graced your back with his hands. A warmth spread through your ribs even through your shirt. His brow had softened, his pinstriped forehead slackening until they were faded. His eyes were where the creases were now; they stared at you again with a squint that preluded a smile.
He swallowed hard before he spoke, voice still low and clandestine, “My name.”
“Andrew,” you whispered back.
One kiss, soft, cautious, solidified the not-so-nickname from your mouth to his. Andrew was normally clean shaven so you relished in your fingertips and chin prickling against his stubble.
You parted, barely, so that you could repeat: “Andrew.”
You brushed over the curls that he’d styled upright, still like silk as you graced over them to the back of his skull and pulled him in for another kiss, another, each punctuated with “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.”
His breath huffed out his mouth with amusement. When you felt his lips back on yours, the right corner was quirked up on a lopsided smile against your own.
His hands ghosted over your face, “Call me yours.”
And as they cradled your jaw, you were certain he could hear your pulse racing as you bore witness to this tenderness he was gifting you.
high honor!arthur, gn!reader, is set in new austin so pre-blackwater i guess, but no specific timeframe
wc: 2k
based on the song of the same name by julien baker and torres (highly recommend!)
It was a particularly dark night in the arid hills of Cholla Springs. The stars and the moon were hidden by angry clouds, making it not only hard to know which direction you were going in, but to see anything in general. A frustrated huff escaped your mouth — this was supposed to be an easy, in-and-out job, but some things went south, as they tended to do, and now you were stuck in some side-alley of Pike's Basin, the literal 'asscrack of the earth', as Arthur had charmingly deemed it.
It was too good to be true, really, now that you reflected back on the plan; a stagecoach was supposed to pass through the desert plains to Strawberry, unguarded and filled to the brim with riches. Or so Arthur had been told. The truth, however, was anything but the fairytale spun by a drunk man in Blackwater; the law seemed to have smelled your greed, and you had police and private investigators alike on your tail as soon as you had loaded your gun. You and were forced to flee the scene with empty hands and a bounty on your head. Arthur was furious and ashamed at himself for believing the alcohol-induced blabber. No words had come from his mouth ever since.
"You plan on talkin' to me any time soon?" You asked carefully, no annoyance in your tone. You figured that there was no need for you to feed into his self-doubt any further.
"I ain't interested in smalltalk right now, sorry." He muttered in response. A deep sigh left his lungs. How could he have been so stupid?
"Listen, it coulda' happened to any one of us." You attempted to placate him. "Hell, even happened to me one ti-" your sentence was cut short by a deafening blast and the sound of hooves galloping.
Neither of you hesitated to draw your weapon, standing back to back, protecting each other. It was quiet for a few seconds, too quiet. After a glance and a nod, you silently communicated to slowly make your way further into the canyon in search for cover. The sounds you heard had come from both points of access, and you were walking right towards the source of the explosion; a pile of rubble, at least 30 feet high came into view, and it dawned on both of you that someone was trying to trap you here, in Pike's Basin, New Austin.
Panic flooded you, creeping into your feet, lungs, anything it could reach. You tried to move but your legs had turned into lead, tried to breathe but your airways were filled with dust. The galloping could be heard again, closer this time.
"What the hell are you doin', have you lost your damn mind?" Arthur whispered, urgency in his voice. "We gotta find a way outta' this mess, now!"
You were snapped out of your trance, the fear that had paralyzed you only moments before was replaced with adrenaline, rushing straight to your heart.
"Run."
And so you did. Both of you ran, only stopping by the time you reached the dangerously high wall of broken-off rocks that obscured your way to freedom. They loomed over you like a shadow, damning and dark. Both of you took a moment to catch your breath before you spoke up again.
"What do we do? I can barely see my own hand in front of my face, let alone where i ought to put my feet so I don't fall on my ass goin' up there." The fear in your voice must have been evident, because Arthur placed a soothing hand on your shoulder.
"I don't think we got much of a choice, sweetheart." His head turned to face the ever-closing sound of voices, his expression was obscured by the dark. "I believe in ya. We'll get outta' here, and if I have to drag you up there myself."
His words did little to help you, but they helped nonetheless. You gave him a small nod before beginning your ascend. The rocks' edges cut into your hands like razor blades, and your feet were slipping with each step, but the ground grew smaller beneath you by the second. You heard Arthur curse under his breath above your head, surely plagued by the same predicaments as you. Deep breaths, you thought to yourself. Deep breaths and you'll be just fine. You continued your way up in silence, finding solace in the fact that your horses were hitched at the mouth of the canyon, only a stone's throw away from your current location.
"Almost there, I got you." Arthur breathed, a clear picture of exhaustion was painted by his voice. He held out his hand for you, but his eyes were set on a spot further back: lanterns moving closer at a concerning speed. Anxiety swelled in his chest as he pulled you up on the ledge beside him. Your palms were wet and sticky, a sad mix of blood, dust, and sweat. He held it even after your feet were on solid ground.
You had no time to linger, a sudden shout of command from the men that had now reached the foot of the rubble . Arthur's grip in your hand tightened and he opened his mouth to speak, to tell you to hurry, but he never got the chance.
A gunshot ripped through the night, sharp and loud, hitting you just below your collarbone.
You felt a stinging sensation and clutched your chest, where a gaping hole had formed. The bullet had gone right through you, all that was left was a growing patch of blood on your white blouse. You looked at Arthur through blurry eyes and could only make out his panicked expression and incoherent shouting before passing out in his arms.
More shots tore through the air and Arthur blindly fired back. His revolver in one hand, you, slung across his shoulder in the other, he desperately tried to find a way down the pile of rocks. His grip on you only tightened when he felt a hot, wet sensation dripping down his back. He didn't need to see to recognize the metallic scent.
The descent was more of a stumble than any calculated steps, but he somehow managed to reach the end of the torturous climb. A weak whistle for his horse escaped his lips and he felt a weight lifted off his heart when he saw the outline of a black stallion in the dusky morning light. With as much care as he could muster, he placed you atop its broad back. He mounted only when he was sure you were steady, and began his journey back to camp with your horse in tow.
_________________________________
The days it took until you woke up were nothing short of torturous for Arthur, guilt was gnawing at him like a rat on carrion. Not once did he leave your side, refusing to eat, to sleep, to speak. During the day, camp members would attempt to talk to him, or at least prompt him for some food, but they were only met with snarky comments and a grim face. At night, he only rested when sleep overtook him from sheer exhaustion — only for him to be plagued awake by nightmares of the look on your face when the bullet pierced your skin. It was his fault, all of it. And he knew you would never forgive him when, or if, you woke up.
He held your cold hand, now clean but still littered with cuts, and kept a close eye on the rise and fall of your chest. Slow, but steady. You had grown stronger in the days of rest. Your skin had gained back some of its color, and your breathing was less shallow now. You almost looked peacefully asleep, if it weren't for the large, red-stained bandage tainting the image.
Arthur was drowning so deeply in his own misery, he almost didn't catch the way your hand squeezed his. Almost. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, or felt it with his own skin, he would have deemed it an illusion. A hopeful dream, maybe. But there it was again, your fingers, weakly gripping onto his. He held his breath in anticipation as he watched you stir.
"Arthur?" Weak, but still you.
He could have cried at the sound of your voice then and there. He stared at you in disbelief, still not quite sure whether you were just a figment of his sleep-deprived imagination. A hand reached out to him, caressing his cheek. He felt shame at your soft touch. The way he enjoyed it, albeit so undeserving. You smiled at him, and he hated himself for letting you. He took your wrist and put it back onto the bedroll.
"Y'need to rest." He muttered and left to get someone more capable to take a look at you.
He didn't miss the way your face faltered at his cold response, or the way his heart ached when he turned his back. He didn't come to see you again after he ushered Ms. Grimshaw to your tent. If your resentment kept you from the certain death that came with his company, then so be it. It was a deal he would cut, even if it was the end of him. From the moment you woke up, he resorted to observing you from afar, pretending to busy himself with any-and everything when you caught him staring. It worked, for some time, until you were back on your feet a few days later.
"Y'already up again? Ain't you just as tough as a mountain mule?" He heard Bill's drunken slurring from across camp.
"Very charming." Arthur couldn't stop himself from smiling at your reply. It seemed your humor hadn't left with him.
His smile quickly faded, though, when he saw you making your way to his tent in slow, but determined steps. He felt a lump grow in his throat, along with a drought akin to desert sand. Would you yell at him in anger? Cry in pain? Arthur did not dare to ponder what he preferred less. Your feet shuffled closer, and he finally turned to look at you. The bandage had been replaced with a smaller, cleaner one. You seemed to have gotten your strength back, too.
"Did I do something wrong?" The words struck him like lightning. You sat next to him, sheepishly folding your hands in your lap. "You can tell me if I did, and we can work it out."
He felt like a fool. A stubborn old fool, breaking the one promise he had made himself.
"I almost killed ya'." He muttered. "Best we don't speak no more. Only thing I'm good for is killin'. I ain't the type to keep people alive."
Your hand moved from your lap to his and cradled his knee. You looked up at him earnestly.
"You dragged me down that pile of rocks and brought me back here all to claim that you ain't the savin' type?" Your words were carefully asked, and at his silence, you continued. "I would walk into every circle of hell if I knew you were there with me, Arthur."
He looked up at you with glossy eyes, mouth still clamped shut. Your fingers found his stubble again, slowly stroking it. He unconsciously leaned into your touch. After a few moments of silence, he dared to speak again.
"Seein' you like that — it did somethin' to me." He began. "When you woke up, I felt that I had finally found somethin' worth livin' for, instead of dyin'. I love you. So much that I know I gotta let you go. Even if it kills me to do so."
Your heart grew at his confession, and Arthur looked as though the weight of the rubble was finally lifted from his shoulders.
"I'm tougher than I look." You scooted closer to him, feeling his warmth radiate in a way a campfire would. "You're stuck with me, Mr. Morgan. Whether you like it or not."
Listening to you write and the sound of your heartbeat
⋆˚꩜｡ Daredevil x reader (fluffy drabble)
Matt Murdock guesses the letters you write then gets very cheesy about it.
CW: OOC, slightly dirty jokes, short, some light teasing
I'm so scared about this (I'm always scared about posting and OMG 2 IN A DAY??)
"And this letter?" You quiz him as you write on the paper, peering up at Matt as his face remains nonchalant, contemplating in his mind the letter that you are writing on the paper.
He is able to sense it, he listens to the scratch of strokes on the paper. "Three lines, one vertical, two horizontal.'" he plainly declares before making his conclusion, "It's F, right?"
Glancing down at the paper, then back to your husband you catch the slight curve to the corner of his lips, he knows he's correct causing you to dramatically groan "How do you do this!?"
He laughs and adjusts the sunglasses that shield his blind-distant gaze which do not have a specific focus on anything as a result of his missing sense.
Matt simply places a hand on your shoulder, he knows you're present sure, but he enjoys feeling you there. With a content smile he zones himself into the sound of your heartbeat.
"You got a nice heartbeat, sweetheart."
With a confused and raised brow you smirk at him and continue to write and doodle on the paper "Nice, talk dirty to me, maybe you can echolocate the curvature of my ass?"
Moving his chair around the table to sit closer to you, Matt smiles down at the ground. He sits back down after feeling for the seat, holding your hand, "Seriously, I could pick yours out of a line up—and no it isn't unhealthy, you're good." He almost predicts your questions and squeezes your hand.
You kiss his cheek and grin, "Good thing you're making a bunch of lawyer money otherwise I would've called you a corny bastard."
"You could just admit that you found that romantic, I feel your heartbeat speeding up anyway."
"Shut up!"
"I love you more sweetheart."
You decide to be a little petty and grab the pen once again writing on the sheet of paper, "Your a dumbass, blind man"
"It's Y-O-U apostrophe R-E." he corrects with joking patronisation, still leaning closer, regardless of acting like a dick.
"Once again, I hate you." you declare with very fake conviction.
He chuckles and his voice grows softer, smoother, "And once again, I love you more."
pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!reader (pre-established relationship)
warnings: none. just some fluff and like two seconds of angst.
a/n: some of my writing from over a year ago which I edited a bit. I totally forgot I used to write Matt Murdock fanfics for my friends in 2023.
Your eyes tightly squint closed, lashes pressed against your cheeks. Your nose scrunches up, pointing up toward your furrowed brows. A smile overcomes your features, teeth showing your happiness.
You're sitting on the hard floor, the soft carpet the only barrier between your legs and the chilly wood. Across the coffee table from you, leaning against the couch, is none other than Matt Murdock, your boyfriend.
Lately, you've been trying to see the world more through his eyes, well, in a way. When out in parks, you sit on a bench and close your eyes, listening to every sound around you and trying to guess where it came from or what made it. Sometimes, you visit your favorite garden, a beautiful place filled with the most gorgeous plants, and smell everything. You try to distinguish the different types of flowers, finding it easier the more often you go.
But your favorite thing is to lay with your head on his chest. You curl your arms around him, holding him tightly against you and keeping his warmth trapped in your embrace, and listen. His heartbeat is the most calming sound you've ever heard. Any time you find yourself in peril, freaking out about something, all you have to do is take a moment, close your eyes, and echo the memories of the steady thumps in your mind.
Every time you do something like this, you feel more near to him, and that's all you want. You want to get closer to the mystery of Matt.
The tip of your finger glides over the dice, causing a laugh to bubble at the feel. You mentally count the divots and trace around the carved circles. Feeling where the patterns lay on the cube, you finally decide their number before opening your eyes.
You grin at the victory of guessing the correct number. You've missed a few, so you're pretty happy you've gotten it right. But to be fair, Matt is distracting. That's your excuse, and it's an extremely valid one, too.
"Yes." You quietly cheer under your breath, huffing the word through your teeth as if he won't hear it.
Matt chuckles lightly, an adorable grin softening his features, "What're you so happy about?" He questions a bit teasingly before taking a small swig of his beer.
See, you haven't told him what you've been doing. You don't know if it's weird or creepy, so you're not exactly sure how you're supposed to tell him. But he can spot a lie from a mile away, maybe more, who knows?
"Happy I guessed the die roll right." You shrug, still trying to worm your way out. You reach your hand forward to give you something else to do, gripping the game piece and starting to move it the rolled amount of spaces. The rhythmic clack of the plastic against the board distracts you, bringing your focus off your weird new habits and back to the game.
"That's not all," Matt states, knowing you completely. You could tell him all about an event but leave one part out, and he instantly knows you're not telling him everything.
You look up at him, your eyes staring at his unfocused brown ones. They've landed on your chin, staring at the skin and making you shift slightly. You nibble a bit at your lower lip while he calmly sits there, waiting for you to talk.
"Well, I–" You sigh, stumbling a bit over your words. It's hard to adequately express how you feel and what you're trying to do. You take a deep breath through your nose, briefly flickering your eyes closed, "I try to see the world through your... eyes."
He lets out a huff of a laugh, a slight hint of hurt under the almost scoff, "Ha ha, very funny." He says flatly, raising his bottle to take another large gulp of his beer.
You furrow your brows, the crease between them growing as your lips turn down into a frown, "Huh? I– What's so funny? I try to understand you, to understand what you deal with, and you think that's a joke?"
"You don't understand, though." He snaps, placing his bottle down on the table with somewhat more force than necessary. His unfixed eyes are pinned to your collarbone, staring a hole through the bone.
You sigh exasperatedly, fingers tapping the table edge in frustration, "I mean, can't you see how hard I try?"
"No, not really." He jerkily moves his hand, pointing harshly to his face, "I am blind after all."
You cross your arms, face twisting in irritation. This isn't the time for Matt's smartass remarks. "Really, Matt?" You tip your head to the side, shaking it with annoyance, "I try to understand what you deal with because I fucking love you, and you find all of it funny?" Tears near the surface, burning your nose a bit.
Instantly, you see Matt's expression change, tasting the salt in the air. "Angel..." He breathes into the cool night air, his soft voice nearly drowned out by the city's roaring ambiance pouring in through the barely opened windows. He shifts around the coffee table, scooping you up into his hold. His muscular arms wrap around your waist, cradling you close to his body.
"I go to parks, close my eyes, and listen to people like you do." You huff out through slight sniffles, "And I have this favorite garden nearby that I hang out at, where I close my eyes, smell the flowers, and try to pull the scents apart." You explain through a few tears as he quickly wipes them away lovingly.
"Really?" He asks in a murmur, realizing how much you genuinely are trying. The beautiful brown of his eyes swirl around with tears and love, showing you the vulnerability you're happy he's willing to share with you.
You nod into his shirt before pulling back and darting your gaze over his face. His slightly parted lips huff out small puffs of hot air over your face, dampening more when he darts his lips out to lick them nervously. His scruff brushes coarsely under your palms as you gently cup his face, rubbing the pads of your thumbs over his cheekbones and jawline. Running your hands and eyes up to his brown eyes, lowered down to your chin. The dark, chocolatey color reflects the hue of blinking red and blue lights from the billboard across the street. His lashes flutter together, completely relaxing into your embrace as you smooth your fingertips over his lids.
You glide your hands over his scarred, rough skin and into his silky soft strands of hair. They mirror the comfort and velvetiness of your shared sheets, tangling around your fingers precisely the same way.
You tilt your head up, leaning toward his face to gently kiss him. You could stay here forever, sitting in his lap and showing him how loved he is. The world melts away; the only thing that matters is his touch against yours and his pure love and devotion. Eventually, you pull back, placing pecks on his lips before gingerly pressing a tender kiss to his forehead.
You lower yourself back into his grasp, sighing in contentment as you lay your head on his chest. "Really." You confirm, nuzzling against his heartbeat, "And my favorite thing to listen to is your heart." You continue, stroking your fingers along his torso lovingly as you kiss where you lay, "It's the only thing in this world that brings me this much peace."
Matt's arms wrap tightly around your waist, pulling you into his hold entirely. He shoves his face into your hair, hot tears trailing down the strands and onto your neck. "I'm sorry, Angel." A soft peck is placed on the crown of your head, "I love you." He whispers against your skin.
//hi i know this is the pot calling the kettle black but.
"matt murdock who fucks you so hard and makes you cum" "matt murdock who is a sex god" IM TIRED OF IT. BRING BACK YEARNING.
matt murdock who does not believe in soulmates until he meets you.
matt murdock who learns you, who memorizes you-- your favorite foods, your hatred of certain textures, the last color you painted your nails, the things that make you tick, the way your breathing changes when you've had a long day.
matt murdock who finds himself distracted when he hasn't heard from you, wondering if you're doing okay.
matt murdock who sends flowers to your office, just because.
matt murdock who goes from bachelor with only beer in his fridge to keeping the pantry fully stocked with snacks for whenever you get hungry.
matt murdock who feels his skin start to burn when you give him the gentlest of touches-- a caress of his arm, a hand on his shoulder. it drives him crazy.
matt murdock who is intoxicated by the mere sound of your voice, learning all the different tones you take in various situations, the way your voice softens when talking to anyone you deem a baby (cats, dogs, kids, drunk foggy), or the way it hardens when you're dealing with someone you find annoying (clients, assholes at the bar, etc)
matt murdock who gets drunk with his best friend one night and leaves you 27 voicemails, ranging from twenty seconds long to fourteen minutes, all rambling about how much he loves you.
matt murdock who spends months trying to hint that he likes you, buying you lunch, asking if you need anything, always pouring your coffee just the way you like it, asking if the book you finished was good and letting you ramble about it for twenty minutes.
matt murdock who has the biggest, fattest, most disgusting crush on you.
matt murdock who blushes whenever you enter the room.
matt murdock who yearns. yearns for you.
and yeah, also, he fucks. of course. get yourself someone who can do both. get yourself someone who makes you cry from overstimulation AND spends hours kissing literally every inch of your skin because he can and he wants to.
get yourself someone like matt murdock, who can only be described as head over heels in love with you.
“A Headcannon for the Slayer as his new game comes out.” - Ichor
Summary - “Smut & Normal headcanons for the Scourge of Hell.”
“DOOM: The Dark Ages came out! :D So, these are HeadCannons for Doom Eternal.” - Edit
TW // Smut.
|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐠𝐮𝐲
"The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering." - Slayer's Testament
𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜/𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜:
Alright, as we all know, he doesn’t really speak. Not even a peep of pain leaving him as he gets wounded from minor or severe injuries. He is like a brick wall, and it’s almost like talking to one too, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening in on you. You are at least humane enough that you just… ramble to him at points whenever he is around, and it rather makes him feel more… included in life than he was.
He was unsure of you at first, like any other soldier or person that has found another survivor of an apocalypse, but he eventually gets used to your presence. Sometimes he even turns a bit, expecting you to be next to him when he was out slashing demons. He gets a bit… saddened each time when he sees you are not there. Though, I believe he would have some voice recording of you in his helmet to put him at ease.
Eventually, he likes to be around you more and more. Always finding himself coming to your house/base and watching you doing something mundane. Something this is something else rather than killing and hacking demons. He… he enjoys the simplicity of life. It’s very much different from his usual order: slash, kill demons, rip and tear until nothing is left, repeat. He likes watching you, and in return? You watch him as well.
Either he follows you around like a big protective puppy or you follow him around like a mewling kitten. This is no in-between. You going out to rob some abandoned joint? He’s coming with you if he is there with you, no matter the time, dusk to dawn. You following him? He grows to enjoy it, but just because he lets you follow him when he’s out slaying doesn’t mean he’ll let you every single time. It’s very possible he will stick you somewhere if you’re adamant enough to follow him. He’ll come back for you, don’t worry.
Big ol protector, is one of the things he’s being great at in a gore-like way. Don’t expect him to be all pristine after tearing all those demons apart either. That is his job, don’t disintegrate it for he is really good at it, and well… I don’t think he would appreciate you bad mouthing him. Despite that, he would protect you to the fullest. Being your leader once he learns of your pathing between abandoned cities and factories, and demons know full well to not get in the way. At least, not without a powerful hoard. (That will still fail, but there are possibilities…)
Speaking of the possibilities, he is brutal when something happens to you. The slayer has lost so much already, he is not going to be kind on whatever hurt you or is perceived a threat by you. It’s x10 worse when he finds you gone and he finds out about it himself. His livid, but again, silently. That is until he gets his hands on the demons or even humans that have captured you or perhaps even killed you. If they have put you 6 feet under, expect the aura of this silent behemoth to go up.
Honestly doesn't like seeing you gone from his sights for too long. It gives him a weird feeling of dread after a while. Sure, he’s focused on his task, but who’s to say that a brain doesn’t multitask? This slayer can think of you all day long, and many days he has. I mean, what if there is a demon hoard around your base/home? Getting through you to get to him? He wouldn’t put it below a demon to do so…
Likes helping you out quite a bit with most of the mundane chores of the world. You going to wash the dishes, including his plate? No, let him do it. You made the food, it’s only right for him to help you clean up. You need to travel to get more supplies? Expect a hefty amount in your pantry/storage the next day, maybe a few hours. He just likes providing like he human again.
He definitely likes to jam out with you. Sharing each others music tastes. He even listening to your music while he fights off demons. Mercilessly tearing down his enemies as a rather cute song plays. The blood of the his opposers staining his armor while he just continues on his way. Somehow even sending you recommendations when he out slaying. You encourage him to focus on his set task and he just sends you another song in response, despite your worry.
Encourages you to defeat your enemies when you to battle together. He helps you to know your weapons, slowly teaching you how to weld what you hold. Doing some combos and tactics: thrust, dodge, slash, thrust. A simple combo, but it sure is amusing to see you trying to use what he’s teaching you of. It never fails to have you a bit… dazed in your training, and perhaps… underneath him.
𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥/𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭:
For those who veiw the Doomslayer in a religious light. I would say he would like wait until you are both married to have sexual intercourse, and at that certain point I believe he would take it slow at first. You are both testing your boundaries. It’s usually not good to rush unless experienced with your partners body. Also, he’s definitely huge and would not like to ruin you the first time. No matter if he had tempting thoughts of you.
Worship can both ways in this one. With him? He likes to caress and massage you. His tongue and teeth gently giving kitten licks and nips to test your skin and nerves before starting the main course. Do it on him? Best believe he would be a bottom for a bit. His hands squeezing your thighs gently while you focus your attention on doing your treatment on his own battle hardened skin. You can hear him sigh out a couple of times to your affections.
In my opinion, I think he would like biting more than praise. He’s more hands on than all talkative, but he won’t object your praise to him if that is your subconscious duty. He will grow to love it. Though, back to biting. He loves to mark his partner. Sinking his teeth into their skin just hard enough to leave a mark, and he absolutely doesn’t mind if you do the same. It will surprise him at first, but he’s not against it with how his member twitches.
Definite size kink. That man is what? 7ft? Almost? Ones has to have a size kink of being such a powerful size. So, with a smaller partner he would absolutely thrive on how tight you feel around him. Your body unable to take any more that what you have already inside of you. Bigger partner? He loves just how much you can take him. To see his cock disappear within you as you take him greedily.
Belly budge kink, if he liked watching himself going inside of you, he’s going to like watching that bit of skin the creates a budge inside of you. Telling him of how much you are taking him, and it’s impressive. His hands usually wandering over that bit of skin and gently thumbing it. Watching you closely as you wither and whine at the sudden touch.
I see him having a lingerie kink. So, it would become a great surprise to him if he sees you in nothing but lingerie. He wouldn’t expect that of you, but he certainly isn’t declining your clear invitation of your body sitting so pretty upon the bed with sighs of his name falling from your lips while you pleasure yourself with your fingers. He is quick to not leave you unsatisfied.
Ough, chastity. This one can last a while as he would not have a high limbo. This can be torture for you and more like a walk in the park for him. So, I would advise you to plan this one carefully. Perhaps even challenge him (and well yourself) that you two can’t fuck each other, but you two can tease one another. It’s mostly you teasing, but once he does it? It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself because he knows you like it when he gets back to you and takes his armor off to show the hidden muscle underneath. Bastard.
You could ask him to be bottom for a night, but he would be a power bottom. His hands grasping at your thighs and thrusting up into you with impeccable timing. Your mind going a bit frazzled at his actions as you thought you were going to have him withering but it seems he keeps you in your place in either position. He also likes it when you look exhausted above him. Your hands splayed out on his chest with your heated breathes coating his skin.
There are times where this man gets needy after having you has a partner. The chastity maybe a hard one to get him on, but it honestly takes a lot of time for him to become needy. He is more of a war machine than a sexual one, so it makes sense he isn’t, but when he is? Expect him to be curled around you with his cock deep inside of you. His own, hot breaths breathing into your ear as he stuffs you slowly with him. Taking you deep and slow, savoring you.
It takes a long time for him to do chastity, needy sex, and so does rough sex. He really isn’t that much keen on that one as he doesn’t like to imagine on hurting his partner, but he does obey your cries for more. For him to go “r-rougher!” And by god does he deliver, drilling into you with huffs and growls. His hands squeezing tightly at your waist just enough to create a bruise later. No doubt leaving you bedridden for the next days to come. You’re lucky however, that he cares for you afterwards with love.
never NOT thinking of Frank establishing himself as your personal handyman
handyman |
frank castle x gn!reader
⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰
summary: reader coming to terms with franks insistence of fixings/doings things for them.
wc: 274
a/n: YES!! you and me both, hun. it’s 100% his love language too. as a hyper independent person, i love the idea of just letting him take the reins on everything.
it was a stark contrast to what you were used too. always used to handling it on your own, never needing a man, or anyone, to do things for you. but when frank came into your life that changed. it was tough, not going to lie, but frank made sure it happened.
he never wanted his baby to lift a finger. not in a it’s-a-man’s-job sorta way, more so he didn’t want you stressing about things when he was around. it was odd when you’d say that the showers water pressure was slightly off and the next morning it was back to normal. or that one time you complained about the kitchen door creaking and the next time you opened it, it was dead silent.
it didn’t click until one day you just briefly mentioned your car made a suspicious sound coming home, the sound happened one time. and you found him under the hood, greasy hands and a wrench.
at some moments it kind of pissed you off. you could handle a squeaky door or building new furniture. you didn’t need a man to tell you to get a glass of wine and watch tv. it’s was patronizing, in your head at least. in franks, he was showing you how much he loves you.
it would cause some one sided arguments (he would look at you and smile as you ranted about not needing him to baby you). but in the end you secretly loved it. sitting on the couch, watching your show as your man builds you a new bookcase. it was simple and sweet, and it was frank.
SYNOPSIS: you wanted foreplay. frank reluctantly agreed.
CHARACTER: male reader x frank castle
NOTE: something about frank... it turns me on....
kinktober masterlist .
WC: 1,0k
WARNING: boot grinding,, praise,, frank is very embarrassed,, dry humping,, soft-ish!frank,, light ooc!frank,,
oh, now this was interesting. you actually managed to get frank, the frank castle, onto his knees, on the ground. here you were, sitting on a chair, looking down at him. “didn't think you’d listen.” you say, a hint of amusement lacing your voice. “this ain’t ever gonna happen again. it’s a one time thing.” frank warns, voice cool, eyebrows knitted together in an attempt to look put together. but you saw the bulge in his pants. say what you want, but this was one hundred percent turning him on.
“oh, i’ll make sure to keep that in mind.” you muse, lifting your foot from the ground, the hard bottom of your boot pressing to frank’s crotch. he inhaled a sharp hiss, looking down at the result of your action. his lips parted and he was about to say something snarky. “don’t even try defending yourself.” you say. “if you didn’t like this, you would’ve been out of the house already. so, fess up.”
he gritted his teeth, eyes flicking up to meet yours. he looked pissed. he hated that he couldn’t deny it either. the heavy feeling of your foot on his clothed cock felt better than he ever would've imagined. “this’s stupid. we don’t need the foreplay.” frank reasoned, a rough hand landing just above your boot, on your shin. “hey, it doesn’t hurt to try.” you say with a grin, moving your foot to see just how much he’d react. and oh, did he. his thighs visibly tensed, muscles tightening, fingers squeezing at your flesh. for frank, that’s so much more than a subtle reaction. after raising an eyebrow and letting a smirk adorn your features, you slip your foot off of his crotch and onto the ground, pushing it forward slightly. frank looked at your foot and then up to you, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. no way.
“you’re just gonna sit there?” you ask, pointing to your foot with your chin. “make me do all the work?” you can see frank’s face twitching slightly, anger and embarrassment overwhelming him, but he held himself. he always did around you. he knew what you were implying and he never felt more pathetic. grinding on your boot like a bitch in heat? that isn’t like frank at all.
but who am i kidding. lovesick frank’s rare, but god is that version of him the sweetest and most neediest ever. you were hoping, praying, you’d be able to bring that version out of him. it tended to be the most prominent when you took on the dominant role, when you didn't listen to his complaining and groaning. that’s when he softens. when he lets himself go.
“go on.” you urge him softly, watching his every move intently. frank caves in, very hesitantly, with a dissatisfied grunt. he shifted up, hand still on your shin, his crotch now pressing against your EDL. fuck, that sight was so hot. “pointless.” he murmurs gruffly, head bowing down. he didn’t even start moving yet. “c’mon frank, you know you want to.” you encourage him again, moving your other leg up, resting your calf on his shoulder. frank gives you an incredulous look. he felt ridiculous, and here you were, getting comfortable. with a murmured curse word, he started grinding just slightly. you watched in amusement, and very obviously, with arousal, your mouth in an open smile.
frank grunted lowly, his mouth pressed to your knee. ‘wouldn’t like it’, he said, but his hands dug into your leg. his embarrassment seemed to wash away pretty quickly, seeing as he started rutting against your leg more insistently, pressing his crotch harder against you. “seems like you’re getting the hang of it.” you mutter breathlessly, your hand sliding into frank’s short, black hair. you don’t get a response, not a coherent one anyway. he turns his head a bit, subconsciously leaning into your gentle touch as his face scrunched up. there it is. that needy side of his. he tried to ignore your words, to push aside the shame. to be quite fair, as long as he focused on the feeling of his covered bulge rubbing against you.
“good boy, frank.” you coo, fingers pressing to his scalp as you nudged his head backwards to look at his face. in any other situation, frank would give you a side eye and tell you that he’s not a dog for you to be calling him a ‘good boy’, but currently? he’s not in the right headspace to string together a sentence. after some unrelented grinding, frank was starting to crumble. his rutting got more stuttery, inconsistent and broken. his hips were twitching and pressing down more into your boot—he was not even holding his weight up anymore. “fuck.. ngh-” his voice was quiet, strained, as if he was holding himself back. was he?
“you gonna make a mess in your pants for me?” you tease lightheartedly, but meaning every word you’ve said. before frank could even answer, you cut him off. “do it.”
the authorative tone? your hand still in his hair? fuck he was pathetic for you. low, breathless sounds left his lips, eyes shut tightly as he focused on the sensation. he was painfully hard and he needed your hands on him, but damn it, he’d wait. he’d give you what you wanted first. his eyebrows furrowed and breath faltered, his fingers now seeking purchase on your thigh, fingernails sinking into the fabric of your pants. it didn’t take long before he came, coming down from his high with a few slow, broken grinds. he was gasping for air when he body slumped against your leg. to not seem overwhelmed, or tired, frank swallowed roughly looking up at you through his eyelashes, his eyes glassy.
“that was—”
frank interrupted. “—embarrassing. i can’t believe i even agreed to this.” he grunted out as he slid back down to sit on his own heels.
“we’re so doing that again.” you tease, leaning down to capture frank’s lips in a sloppy kiss. you couldn’t have asked for better foreplay—seeing frank get off on your boot? just like that? dick hard and throbbing. now, however, it was time to fuck frank proper.
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