Frank Castle x f!reader | wc ~1.7 k | explicit, mdni | ao3
summary: Frank's lap is the best place for dry humping and being fingered
warnings: no y/n, barely any plot except ✨they are fwb and in denial✨, making out while sitting in Frank's lap, dry humping until it's not, fingering (f receiving), Frank talking you through it, finger sucking because it's me, squint and you miss possessive Frank, affectionate smacks on the ass, petnames (pretty girl, 1x attagirl 🫦), hand on the throat but just for the aesthetics, pussy pronouns, dm me if I missed any, not beta'd because I'm rebellious
a/n: another drabble for my follower milestone event, thank you nonnie for requesting "and what do we have here?". i just need to ride Frank so bad, blame this month's ovulation. 😩 a big thank you and a smooch to @guiltyasdave for literally sitting with me while I was writing this 💛💛💛
There were too many feelings for something casual. For something to just take the edge of.
“You're needin’ me too much, pretty girl,” Frank says when he rests his head in your lap.
“We shouldn't meet this often, just makes things complicated,” you say when you put your stuff in a drawer he has emptied out for you.
“Can never make you happy,” he whispers against your forehead before he places a lingering kiss there.
Maybe you both turned blind to the obvious. Or just got comfortable in the coziness of your ignorance. Whatever it is, neither of you wants to stop playing pretend. Just friends. Just casual. No big deal. We can stop anytime, you both say, like addicts lying straight to themselves.
“Don't need you,” you murmur and climb into his lap.
“Don't need you either,” he replies, gruff voice polished all soft in the crook of your neck.
“Just want you.”
“Mhmm,” he hums, his hands roaming up your thighs to your ass and he pulls you deeper into his lap. Wanting you to feel him.
You learned quickly that there were hardly any boundaries for Frank's hands. What they wanted to break, they broke. What they wanted to rip open, they ripped open. What they wanted to touch, they got to touch.
“Frank,” you whine quietly, pushing back into his hands, dragging your lips up his neck and along his jawline. Whining again when his dark scruff burns on your lips. Yelping when he smacks you and kneads your stinging flesh.
“I know, pretty girl,” he mutters into your ear and nips your earlobe.
He knows. You see it in his eyes the moment before you start kissing. Making out, your hands gripping the backrest of the couch and the back of his neck. He knows you need him. Want him. Not just benefits and friendship.
“Jus’ like that,” Frank grunts, sucking your lip between his. His hands, unbounded in their will to unravel you, start pulling and pushing. Guiding you in your movements when you need no guidance. You let him move you willingly.
He drags you over all the hard parts, belt and bulge. He draws soft sounds out of you, soft and sweet, and he eats them right out of your mouth.
It's leisurely, rolling and rubbing against each other just for the sake of getting drunk on each other, desperate for the other one, hungry for the feeling of hot skin on hot skin. Frank waits until you whine his name, until you breathe more heavily from humping him like a desperate little thing.
He’s patient, he’s able to push his own needs aside, still a soldier, still serving.
“Touch me,” you breathe out with your lips swollen from his nips. Shaky from the relentless back and forth on Frank’s lap.
A finger slips under your top, then two and three fingers. You whine again because it is not what you want. But his nails scraping over your lower back are better than nothing. He shifts, pushes his hips upwards, spreading his legs even wider. He is so hard in his jeans. If you’d care to look down you would see a dark spot in the denim.
If he'd care to look down he would see a dark spot in your short, too.
You press down, in need of more friction when the slick in your panties barely lets you feel any. He grunts, fingers digging into your back and then slipping into the back of your shorts. With a handful of your ass he holds you in place and grinds up into you.
“No. Touch me!”
He grins when you whine again, another breathy complaint coming from you.
“'m touchin’ you, pretty girl. Feel that?”
You do. You feel his other hand slipping behind the elastics and fabric. His fingers connect one spot with another with a tender brush, zigzagging his way deeper into your panties.
“Mhmmm, and what do we have here?” Frank doesn't have to do much searching or probing, he can feel your arousal right on his fingertips.
“Is this for me?” he asks, his nose nudging your chin, making you look at him. “All this wet and just for me?”
You nod your head, unable to put up an act whenever he is like this, so sweet. “Yes,” you breathe softly, “‘s for you.”
“Thought so,” he murmurs, and you can feel each word rumble in his chest.
Frank looks at you, brown eyes flitting over your face. Your droopy lids, your lips ajar the tiniest bit with the tip of your tongue between your teeth. Your impatience shows with how your shoulders tense up. You're holding your breath. Waiting for the impact.
He dips one finger between your folds and smiles when you whimper. He adds a second finger, moves them back and forth, coating you and him with your slick. Curls his fingers, wedged tightly against your entrance.
“Frank,” you whisper and your muscles tighten even more. Ready to pounce. Ready to be pounced.
His hand, the one still on your ass, pulls you closer and onto his two fingers. Joint for joint Frank spreads you open until he's nestled inside you. Knuckles deep with your pussy clenching around him.
“‘s for me, right?” he husks and kisses your moan right off your lips when he pulls you back again with the handful of your ass. “She's just for me? Tell me, pretty girl.”
“Yes,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his.
His fingers slip back inside you when he pushes you forward again. Frank grunts, satisfied with your answer and your slick walls gripping his fingers. “That's right, pretty girl.”
He's guiding your movements, just like before. Back and forth, letting you fuck yourself on his fingers. Allowing you to bite into the coiled muscles of his shoulder and neck when you want to go faster than he lets you to.
He knows you, knows where to push and rub, when to add a third finger, only for a few thrusts, and when to leave you on the edge with just two of his fat fingers stuffing you.
With every tilt of your hip you grind against the heel of his palm, every cant bringing you closer. You tighten and clench, your hands grab for anything that is Frank. His arms or chest. Knowing he doesn't mind it when you forget about being gentle, when you can't really be anything else but gentle. Just desperate and aching, just for him.
“Need me so bad you gonna cum.”
It's not a question. It's a simple fact. Stated with a low hiss when your nails leave small halfmoon imprints on the taught skin of his arms.
What his hands want to break, they'll break. They will ruin and wreck as they please. And so it's three fingers again with the next thrust. Buried inside you, all the way to his calloused knuckles. Making you whimper and your pussy squelch.
“Gonna cum on my fingers? So needy for me you gonna cum all over my hand?” he asks, voice just as breathy as your moans.
Your eyes lock with his for a moment, and if your cunt clamping down on his three digits isn't already proof enough of how close you are, the look on your face is.
He curls his fingers, almost hooking himself inside of you, right where you need it and where only Frank manages to reach. You start rocking against his palm, pinned down by three fingers and just enough range of motion to rub your clit against his hand, coated with your arousal.
“Jus’ like that, pretty girl. Take what you need. Make yourself cum for me,” Frank groans and moves the hand from your ass up, higher, squeezing whichever of your curves he passes on his way to your neck.
And while you fuck yourself stupid on his fingers he gently wraps his hand around your throat.
Holding you up just slightly, holding you in place, holding you close to him. Holding your gaze.
Seeing your face twitch while he feels your cunt twitch. Seeing your eyes roll back when he changes the angle of his fingers and pushes into deeper, just a little bit, just to let you feel the stretch of his knuckles.
You moan his name one last time before you cum. A feral expression is edged into Frank's face now. The last thing you see is his tongue wetting his lips, then your vision turns white.
This is the part he loves most, seeing you letting go, just for him and only because of him. He loves the way your brows pinch together with each wave of your orgasm, loves the way you lose control of your body and are just held together by his hands.
“That's it, pretty girl,” he praises between his own groans, feeding you each one of them, right into your opened mouth. “I got you. You're doin’ so good for me.”
He's rubbing the heel of his palm to your sensitive clit until you start squirming.
“Frank, it's too much,” you whine, but Frank is not yet loosening his hold on your throat. He's still holding you in place, right where you belong. In his lap.
“Thought you wanted me to touch you? Ain't that right?” He chuckles, all rough and warm, like his hand between your legs, but then eases up. “Attagirl,” he murmurs and distracts you from pulling his fingers out of you with a harsh kiss.
A kiss that gets sweeter the moment a finger slips through your lips, followed by a second. You moan at the taste of your pussy, sucking Frank's digits deeper into your mouth.
“You're too greedy, pretty girl,” Frank says and pulls his fingers back only to lick the third one clean himself. “You're too needy, told ya.”
You roll your hips, knowing exactly that he is painfully hard.
“You're looking pretty needy, too, y’know?” you smirk, rocking against his bulge once more. Your move elicits one of his reluctant grunts from him.
“We gotta stop doing this,” Frank huffs, his hand already going from your neck to his belt buckle. “Ain't gonna end well.”
“Too many words,” you chide, working his fly open. “Too many clothes.”
You push your hand into his jeans, his cock hard and hot in your palm.
“Is this for me, Frank?”
thank you for reading, let me know how you liked it. i'd love to get some feedback on my first Frank fic <333
Frankie Morales x Benny Miller | wc ~1.3k | explicit, mdni | ao3
summary: a movie night gets steamy, Stallone means making out, basically no plot
warnings: mlm, homophobes might feel a slight tingle in their panties, established relationship, dry humping, finger sucking, cumshot, oral, petnames (baby, pretty boy), a dash of dirty talk and praise, Spanish (guapo=handsome, mírame=look at me)
a/n: my follower milestone drabble for @qunariagenda, thank you so much for asking for some FishBen!! I chose the movie nights prompt (but the guys are pretty good with their hands, so I'm giving myself a half point for that). I hope you like it! and special thanks, as always, to @guiltyasdave for the beta and hype 💛
songspiration: boys like you - tanerélle (i LOVE her, check her out)
With Benny it has always been about his hands and fingers. Plucking the strings of his guitar, at night when they were deployed in some sandy hole or wet ditch. Punching some opponent straight in the face during a fight. Holding a gun. Pulling a trigger. Fighting for his life with his hands trying to crush a windpipe of someone who's been declared as their enemy. Cutting up herbs and meat for a legendary BBQ. Pulling women onto the dancefloor and feeling them up with a boyish grin that lets him get away with almost anything. Pulling Frankie in for a kiss, fingers splayed on his nape.
Like right now.
Both of them haven’t paid much attention to the movie they wanted to watch. Something with Sylvester Stallone, which always means making out. Because they know all of Stallone’s movies, like the back of their–
“–hand,” Benny mutters, not even completely breaking away from the kiss. “Give me your hand.”
Something about this big guy and his low voice make Frankie cave, always. Especially when Benny sounds so sweet, needy, already sucking Frankie’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it. Like he can’t get enough. Maybe he really can’t get enough.
Frankie holds out his hand, the one he reluctantly pulled away from Benny’s hair, and a dazed smile spreads on his face when Benny rubs his cheek into his palm.
The smile turns into a bitten lip when Benny starts guiding their intertwined hands down, along his neck and the rumpled tshirt, slow, so damn slow over his stomach, flexing his muscles because he knows it makes Frankie twitch in his shorts, and then down the front his sweats.
Rubbing. Pressing, making Frankie’s fingers wrap around the thick outline of his hard cock.
“You feel this? Feel how hard I am for you?”
Benny tightens his grip around himself and Frankie's hand, tentatively palming himself, groaning when he gets back on top of Frankie. Slotting so perfectly between the thighs of the older man and trapping his hand between their bodies, between their straining cocks.
“Say it, Morales,” Benny murmurs, his voice honeyed and scraping before he gently nips on Frankie’s earlobe.
“Dios, I feel it.”
He gasps, the air knocked out of his lungs when Benny cages him in between his arms and starts grinding against him, against his hand, against his own hard-on. Frankie can’t move his hand, all he can do is feel how Benny rolls his hips back and forth, pushing the whole length of his clothed cock over Frankie’s palm and further until he feels Frankie’s finger curl over his balls.
Benny grunts with his face hidden in the crook of the other man's neck, then pulls his hips back and slowly pushes forward again. The same pace Frankie likes to set to feel Benny writhe and plead. Faster, oh god, baby, please, just a lil’ faster. He never goes faster. Nice and slow ‘till the end.
Frankie knows that there will be no faster for him tonight. It’s just this. Torturously slow. High friction. Back. And forth. Back again. Until one of them starts cussing and begging.
He gives in. Pinned down under Benny’s body he surrenders. Next time it will be his turn again.
“Guapo,” Frankie moans softly, answering Benny’s movements with his own, canting to feel more. “So pretty for me.”
Benny chuckles, breathlessly, burrowing his flushing cheeks deeper into Frankie’s shoulder. Perhaps there’s a stutter in the ebb and flood, his back and forth.
Back and forth.
“Mírame.” An order, a loving one. Frankie’s free hand tugs on Benny’s hair until their eyes meet. Blue framed with strawberry blonde, flecks of gold littered over his skin, all over his body; Frankie knows this, familiar with every freckle his love has.
“Pretty boy,” he says, tongue and lids heavy, weighted down by the heat and longing between them.
Benny’s hips stutter again, every praise making him lose his rhythm. Flustered that Frankie can still make him blush like he makes the girls blush.
“Stop it,” he mutters but soon is silenced by Frankie thumbing his bottom lip. Hips snap forward, eyes widen, Frankie’s thumb pushes between Benny’s lips.
The muffled moan resembles the one that fills their four walls whenever Benny is nestled between Frankie’s legs to make them both forget about their day. Lips puckered, tongue lapping, hollowed cheeks. The same praise.
“So good for me. Just like that, baby…”
Frankie sets the pace now, pushing his finger deeper into Benny’s hot mouth and pulling back out. Benny’s movements mirror Frankie's, the back and forth, faster now because he can’t tell his needs apart. His mouth is needy, his cock is, too. Both messy, both leaking.
Frankie knows the look on Benny’s face, he’s gone, chasing release, grinding himself against the heel of Frankie’s palm, moaning around his finger, drunk on the man beneath him.
“Gonna come for me?” Frankie purrs, just as close but not ready yet. “Gonna let me feel how desperate you are, hm?”
Benny whines, spit sticking to his beard when Frankie replaces his thumb with his index and middle finger instead. Nodding his head and ignoring the tingle in the back of his throat when he sucks the fingers deeper into his mouth.
“Already making a mess for me…” Frankie tuts, relishing in Benny’s rutting growing sloppy. It’s not even back and forth anymore, just desperately canting into Frankie’s hand, now that he found the exact spot that will send him over the edge.
“That's it. That's my pretty boy. Show me, I wanna see you.”
He hooks his thumb behind the waistband of Benny’s sweats and with the next movement they are getting tugged down enough for him to understand. Frankie’s fingers slip from his mouth when Benny sits back on his heels, pushing his sweats and boxers down just enough.
It doesn't take much for Benny. Just a few hasty and hard strokes and the sight of Frankie licking his lips and pulling his shirt up to bare his stomach, and he is spilling all over his fist and Frankie’s exposed skin.
His whole body jerks when he pulls his hand away, a shaky laugh escaping him when he hears Frankie mutter a gorgeous.
“You always get me with those damn praises,” Benny huffs softly and unceremoniously pulls down the other man’s shorts.
Frankie's cock springs free, leaking, sensitive from the grinding and humping, his balls, heavy and full, already tight and tucked high. With that boyish smirk of his, Benny slots between Frankie’s thighs again.
The flat of his tongue moves up, from Frankie’s balls over his cock and through the sticky happy trail, relishing the moans and the hand in his hair and the taste of his cum mixing with Frankie’s. Benny grins, like a cat that got cream, and licks up his own spent before he finally, fucking finally, wraps his lips around Frankie’s sensitive tip.
The fingers in his hair tighten when Benny starts bobbing his head and hollows his cheeks again. And before Frankie can start uttering out his praise, Benny reaches up and offers his still sticky fingers to him.
Two, then three fingers get sucked into Frankie’s mouth with a low moan. Hips snapping in the same rhythm as the fingers get pushed between his lips. A steady back and forth.
It has always been about Benny's hands and fingers. Plucking on Frankie’s heartstrings or the drawstrings of his shorts, curling around his cock, carding through his hair at night.
Or holding hands while he makes Frankie come in his mouth. Cupping the man’s jaw with licked clean fingers. Caressing his cheek when he pushes himself up so they can share a kiss and their flavors.
“That was nice,” Benny whispers, sucking the last bit of salty taste from Frankie’s lips.
“Yeah, it was.” Frankie smirks, wiping the corner of Benny’s mouth with his fingertip. “Should we start the movie over?”
every time someone likes queer content a homophob gets horny in public. help them out, support queer artists!
also: let me know how I did with my first ever attempt at FishBen, preferably with words, thanks! 🫶✌️
Marcus Moreno x f!reader | wc ~630 | explicit, mdni | ao3
summary: you meet Marcus in a bar and he's a hot flirt
warnings: no y/n, Marcus being flirty, mentions of drinks in a bar, allusions to smut
a/n: a drabble for my follower milestone event, this one is for my dearest @guiltyasdave. it's my first Marcus Moreno and I'm down bad. it's also my first fic with a Taylor song title, because I think there always can be more of those <3 thank you for beta'ing your own drabble, Jana 😅💛
I recommend listening to so it goes by Taylor Swift because fic and song go hand in hand!
All you wanted tonight was something to satisfy your hunger for something harsh and sharp edged and rough. Something potentially painful but in a pleasurable way. This bar usually serves these kinds of men, the ones that are good for one wild ride but break your back once they bucked you off and disappeared.
And then this guy caught your attention. He looks so tame, sweet, raising his glass when a bartender serves you a drink from the gentleman over there, ma’am. He looks soft. The only sharp edge you can make out is the curve of his nose. And even that one looks like it would feel smooth. But there is something brewing, you can see it in his eyes once he settles down next to you. Some kind of magic potion is bubbling behind his eyes and you want to taste it.
He is soft spoken, but he keeps his voice so low that you have to lean in closer to understand what he is saying. Drawing you closer with his voice alone, already pulling on an invisible string, just how you like to be tricked into this game of surrender without losing your face.
He introduces himself, “Marcus. Marcus Moreno.”, and when you take his hand to shake it he doesn’t let it go. What you mistook for softness is smoothness.
He orders you another drink and talks about his daughter growing up so fast and that he preferred some things going lento. Slow. Nice and slow. He doesn’t say that, but he looks like that. He looks like the kind of man who gives you what you need, not what you want. Slow and deep instead of hard and fast.
His thumb ghosts over your wrist, exactly over the spot where you always apply some of your perfume. You are so close that you don't even have to lean in to hear his voice. Knees against knees, yours between his, your hand in his when he lifts it to brush his lips over your knuckles. A smooth turn and his nose is tracing the scent on your wrist.
You placed a few drops all over your body, between your breasts and your inner thighs and Marcus looks at you like he knows. An approving smile lets your heart skip a bit, the murmured I like the way you smell makes you bite your lip.
The pads of his fingers run up and down your bare arm, he's picking up imaginary lint and you can't even be bored by him using all the tricks in the book. Because he uses them for you, to get your attention. To make you smile.
“Oh, what do we have here?” He smirks and lifts his hand and you almost expect him to conjure a coin from behind your ear. But he doesn’t. He cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb brushing, caressing, the corner of your mouth. Wiping away a tiny bit of foam from your cocktail. Licking his thumb afterwards, locking eyes with you while he does so.
The other patrons, the music, the chatter, it all fades into insignificance. All that is left is him. Gaze heavy on your skin, fingers light on your face. Voice suave when he asks if he can take you home, smile honest when you say yes.
You mistook his softness for weakness, when really it’s quiet power with no need to show off. And he really likes it nice and slow. Deep strokes, taking his time, giving you more time than you would ever give yourself. Encouraging you to take what you need. Praising you when you leave your traces on his back. Catching you when you fall, catching you again. Holding you close that night. And after.
Would you be willing to write for Frankie Morales x Benny Miller? (FishBen has my heart) maybe flirty/nsfw: "I really like a man who’s good with his hands." Or domestic: movie nights?
Hi Ashlee! 💛
Thank you so much for sending an ask for the drabbles bribery event! I am more than willing to write FishBen, you can find your drabble (which turned into a fic, oops) here.
giiiiiirl ♥️ congratulations on your milestone, you deserve all this and so much more!!!!
so let’s see… how about marcus moreno (i know you want it 😌 but alternatively i’ll take dave as well… or both) and the prompt "what do we have here?” anddddd if it tickles your creativity, let me add so it goes by taylor swift to the mix, but no worries if it doesn’t!
love you byeeeeeeeeeee
Hello my sweet!
thank you so much, and honestly, without your support I wouldn't be here 💛💛💛
Your drabble is right here, unfortunately without Dave (but I've already told you that they all meet in the future, sooooo 😏😏😏)
And thank you for the song inspiration, it's top tier!
