i don't share - frank castle
pairing : frank castle x f!reader
summary : when trouble comes knocking, frank gets to punching
warnings : violence, blood, mentions of stalking, degrading and gender driven insults, angst, fluff
word count : 4.8 k
a/n: not proofread and based on this rq ! (also no idk why i have beef with guys called ethan leave me alone)
It starts small.
Small enough that you don't tell Frank.
At first.
The first time you see Ethan, you're leaving a coffee shop two blocks from the apartment. You almost walk right past him. Then he says your name. Your entire body goes cold. Because you know that voice.
Three years together will do that. You turn. And there he is.
Looking at you like no time has passed. Like he didn't cheat on you. Like he didn't leave you for your best friend. Like he didn't shatter your heart and then disappear.
"Hey." You stare.
"Wow." His smile grows.
"It's good to see you."
"No," you say honestly. "It really isn't." Then you leave. Simple. Done. Or at least it should be.
But Ethan has always had a habit of hearing only what he wants to hear. And apparently he decides your reaction means there's still something there.
The second time happens outside work.
The third time happens at the grocery store.
The fourth time happens at a bookstore.
The fifth time happens at a restaurant across town.
That's when your stomach starts twisting. Because that's not coincidence anymore. That's effort.
Intentional effort.
You confront him.
"What are you doing?" He smiles.
"Running into you."
"No."
"What?"
"No, you're not." His smile falters. You point at him. "You're following me."
"I'm not following you."
"Then why are you everywhere?" His expression softens. The same manipulative expression he used to wear when he wanted something.
"Because I miss you." Your eyes nearly roll out of your head.
"Ethan."
"I'm serious."
"You cheated on me."
"I made a mistake."
"You slept with my best friend." His jaw tightens.
"You don't have to keep bringing that up." The audacity is genuinely impressive. You laugh directly in his face. Then leave. Again.
You don't tell Frank. Not because you're scared. Because you're annoyed. Because Ethan has always been convinced the world revolves around him. And because you know exactly what he'll say. You should've told me sooner. So you keep handling it yourself.
Until Ethan starts escalating. Flowers appear on your windshield.You throw them away. The next day there's another bouquet.
Then another. Then another.
Your work receptionist tells you someone keeps calling and asking if you're available. A handwritten note gets slipped under your windshield wiper. Then another. Then another.
You throw every single one away without reading them. Then one night you leave work late. And Ethan is waiting beside your car. Your heart nearly stops. Not because you're happy to see him. Because he's standing beside your car like he belongs there. Like he's entitled to be there.
"What the hell?"
"Can we talk?"
"No."
"You won't answer my calls."
"No shit." His expression darkens.
"You're being difficult." You actually laugh.
"Difficult?"
"I'm trying here."
"You cheated on me."
"For God's sake—"
"You left me." His jaw clenches.
"You act like I murdered somebody." The words hit you like ice water. And suddenly you realize something. Ethan genuinely doesn't think he did anything that bad. Not really. Not deep down. He thinks enough time has passed. He thinks you'll eventually get over it. He thinks he deserves another chance.
"You know what your problem is?" you ask quietly. His eyebrows pull together.
"What?"
"You still think this is a conversation." Then you get in your car and leave. Two days later he shows up outside the apartment.
Your apartment.
The apartment you share with Frank. The apartment you've never told him about. The apartment that isn't on social media. The apartment he had to actively search for. You're carrying takeout upstairs when his voice appears behind you.
"Still avoiding me?" Every muscle in your body locks. Slowly. Very slowly. You turn around. Ethan is standing there. Smiling. Like this is normal. Like showing up outside your home isn't completely insane. Fear crawls down your spine.
Real fear.
The kind you haven't felt before.
"How did you find me?" His smile slips. Just slightly.
"Does it matter?" Your stomach drops. Because that's not an answer.
"Ethan."
"Look, can we just talk?"
"No."
"Why?" You actually stare at him.
"Why?"
"Yeah." The look on his face is so sincere it's disturbing. Like he genuinely doesn't understand.
"I loved you." The words make your skin crawl. "Past tense." His expression hardens.
"No." You freeze.
"No?"
"No." His eyes lock onto yours. "You still do." The certainty in his voice is terrifying. Not hopeful. Not questioning. Certain. Like he's convinced of it. Like it's a fact.
"I hate you."
"You don't mean that." You laugh. A short, disbelieving laugh.
"Oh my God."
"You don't."
"You are out of your mind."
"You would've forgiven me." You stare.
"What?"
"If he wasn't around." The implication hits immediately.
Frank. He's talking about Frank.
Like Frank is somehow the obstacle. Like Frank is the reason you don't want him.
Not his cheating. Not his lies. Not his betrayal. Frank. Your stomach turns.
"You need to leave."
"I'm serious."
"You need to leave."
"You loved me."
"I don't." His eyes flash.
"You're lying." The words come out immediately. Sharp. Possessive. Angry. And suddenly you don't see the boy you dated. You see a stranger. A man who has built an entire fantasy in his head. A fantasy where you still belong to him. Where Frank stole something that was his. Where all he has to do is convince you. "You still love me. I know you do. If you hadn't decided to whore yourself out and find the next willing warm body to lie with." The words hit you so hard you actually go still.
For a second. Just one second.
Then every ounce of shock evaporates and leaves nothing but fury.
"What did you just say?" Ethan immediately realizes he's crossed a line. Not because he's sorry. Because of the look on your face. Still, he doubles down.
"You heard me." Your laugh is sharp. Disbelieving. Almost dangerous.
"Oh my God."
"You run straight into another guy's bed and somehow I'm the bad guy?"
You stare at him. Actually stare. Trying to figure out how the hell this is the same man you once loved. Trying to find the person you spent three years with. You can't. Because he's gone. Maybe he always was.
"You know what's funny?" you ask quietly. Ethan frowns.
"What?"
"I spent years wondering what I did wrong." His expression shifts. "I spent years wondering why I wasn't enough." You take a step forward. "And now?" Another step. "I look at you and I realize I wasn't the problem."
"Baby—"
"No." You cut him off. "No, you don't get to do that." His jaw tightens.
"Do what?"
"Act like you're the victim." Your voice rises. For the first time since this conversation started, you're angry enough to stop being afraid. "You cheated on me." Silence. "You lied to me." Silence. "You slept with my best friend." His face darkens. You keep going. "You destroyed every friendship I had. You humiliated me."
"I said I was sorry."
"No." You laugh. "No, you weren't." His expression hardens.
"I came here to fix things."
"No." Another step. "You came here because she left you." That lands. Hard. The color drains from his face. Because it's true. You both know it's true. "You don't miss me."
"Stop—"
"You miss having someone who loved you no matter what." His hands clench.
"You think he's better than me?" There it is. Not love. Competition. Ego. Possession.
You suddenly feel exhausted.
"Yes." The answer comes immediately. Without hesitation.Without guilt. Without regret. Ethan blinks.
"What?"
"Yes." You shrug. "Frank is better than you." His face goes red.
"You don't mean that." You smile. A cold smile. One that doesn't reach your eyes.
"I really do."
"You don't."
"He doesn't cheat." Silence. "He doesn't lie." More silence. "He doesn't make me feel small." His jaw clenches so hard you hear it. "He doesn't make me question whether I'm enough."The words hit their target.
Good.
Because you've carried them long enough.
"And you know the biggest difference?" Ethan says nothing. You smile again. This one softer. Warmer. Because now you're thinking about Frank.
About home. About safety. About love.
"Frank never had to convince me to stay." Silence. "He never had to chase me." More silence. "He never had to manipulate me." Ethan looks away. For the first time all evening. "And he definitely never had to stalk me." That one lands too. You see it. The tiny flicker of shame. Gone almost immediately.
But there. You point toward the street.
"Leave."
"Wait—"
"Leave." His face twists. Humiliation. Resentment All at once.
"You'll regret this." The threat hangs between you. So you slam the door shut. That's when you finally call Frank.
Frank gets home twenty minutes later.
You tell him everything. Everything.
The flowers. The notes. The calls. The apartment. The conversation. The part where Ethan insists you still love him.
Frank listens. Silent. Very silent.
Which is somehow worse than yelling. When you finish, he sits there for a moment.
Then asks:
"He found our apartment?" You nod. Frank's jaw flexes. "Our apartment." Another nod. His eyes close.
Slowly. When they open again, they're cold.
"Okay." That's all he says. Just: "Okay." You sigh out a heavy breath, shaking your head.
"I should've told you sooner." Frank's eyes immediately find yours.
"Yeah." You wince.
"Frank."
"What?"
"I really am sorry." His expression softens a little. Not much. Just enough. You rub your face. "I thought I could handle it."
"You shouldn't have had to."
"I know."
"You call me when somebody's makin' you uncomfortable."
"I know."
"You call me before it gets to the point where some asshole is showin' up outside our apartment."
"I know." You groan and drop your head onto his shoulder. "I know." Frank wraps an arm around you immediately. Automatic. Instinctive. Like breathing. For a minute neither of you says anything. Then:
"He said you whored yourself out?" You freeze. Uh oh. Frank's voice is very calm. Very calm. Which is significantly worse than yelling. You slowly lift your head.
"…Frank."
"He called you a whore?" You immediately regret repeating that part of the conversation.
"Frank."
"He said that."
"It's not important." His stare is flat. The kind that says he might commit a felony.
"It sounds important."
"Frank."
"He cheated on you."
"Yes."
"Left you."
"Yes."
"Stalked you."
"Yes."
"Found our apartment."
"Yes."
"And then called you a whore." You close your eyes. Because hearing it all listed together somehow makes it sound worse. Frank lets out a slow breath through his nose. Not angry. Past angry. The kind of calm that comes right before something breaks. You know that look. You've seen it exactly three times. None of those times ended well for the other person.
"Frank."
"What?"
"Don't do anything stupid." He actually looks offended.
"I ain't gonna do anything stupid." You stare. He stares back.
"Frank."
"Sweetheart."
"Frank."
"What, baby ?"
"You have that face."
"What face?"
"The face." He looks genuinely confused. Which means he's lying. "You know exactly what face."
"I don't."
"You absolutely do." Frank's mouth twitches. Barely. The tiniest hint of amusement. Which somehow makes this worse. "Frank."
"I'm not gonna do anything."
"You promise?" Silence. Your eyes narrow. "Frank."
"I promise I ain't gonna start anything." You immediately catch the wording.
"Start anything?" Frank shrugs.
"You asked if I'd do anything stupid."
"Frank."
"I'm sayin' if he leaves us alone, we're good."
"And if he doesn't?" Frank's expression goes completely blank.
"There won't be a third conversation." The room goes quiet. Not because he's threatening. Because he's stating a fact. A simple fact. Like saying the sky is blue. You stare at him. He stares back. Then his expression softens again. Immediately. Like a switch flipping.
One second dangerous. The next your Frank. He reaches over. Tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.
"You okay?" The question catches you off guard. Because somehow you're the one he's worried about. Despite everything. You nod.
"Yeah." Frank studies you. Making sure. Actually making sure. Then he leans down and presses a kiss against your forehead.
Slow. Gentle. Safe.
The exact opposite of Ethan. The exact opposite of everything Ethan ever made you feel. And suddenly your eyes sting. Because for years you thought love was supposed to be hard.
Messy. Painful. Something you had to earn.
Then Frank came along. And somehow made it easy. Not perfect. Just easy.
The way home is easy. The way breathing is easy. The way safety is easy. Frank notices the tears immediately. Of course he does.
"Hey."
"I'm fine."
"Liar." You laugh. A little. He pulls you closer.
"C'mere, my pretty baby. You ain't gotta deal with him anymore." Your throat tightens.
"Frank—"
"No." His hand rubs slowly up and down your back. "You dealt with enough." For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then:
"What if he comes back?" Frank doesn't hesitate. Not even a little.
"He won't." The certainty in his voice makes something unclench in your chest.
The next day Frank acts normal.
Almost suspiciously normal. Kisses you goodbye. Makes your coffee. Tells you he loves you. Nothing unusual. You don't realize he's following you until later. Because Frank doesn't tell you. He just decides he'd like to see Ethan for himself. And sure enough— There he is.
Outside your office.
Watching. Waiting.
Just standing there staring at the building. Frank watches him for ten minutes. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Long enough to remove any possible doubt. Long enough to know exactly what's happening. Then he gets out of the truck. Ethan notices him immediately.
And for the first time since all this started— He smiles.
Actually smiles. Like this is what he wanted. Like he finally gets to talk to the competition. The idiot.
"You Frank?" Frank stops in front of him.
"Yeah." Ethan nods. Looks pleased.
"I figured." Frank says nothing. Ethan shifts his weight. "I should probably tell you something." That gets Frank's attention.
Barely. Ethan smiles. The confident smile of a man who thinks he's about to win.
"She still loves me." Silence. Frank just looks at him. Which somehow encourages Ethan. Big mistake. "We were together for three years." Still silence. "You don't just get over that." Nothing. "I know her." Frank finally speaks. One sentence.
"No, you don't." Ethan's smile falters.
"I do."
"You don't."
"She loved me." Frank nods once.
"Probably." Ethan looks relieved. Then Frank continues. "Then you cheated on her." The relief disappears.
"You don't understand—"
"No." Frank takes a step closer. Ethan has to tilt his head slightly upward. "I don't understand." Another step. "You had her." Another. "And you threw her away." Another. "Like a fucking idiot. Now somebody else treats her right.' Another. "And suddenly you want her back. And let me tell you, bud. I don't fucking share." Ethan's face reddens.
"You think you're better than me?" Frank's answer is immediate.
"Yeah." No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just fact. Ethan's jaw clenches.
"You know, she talks about you like you're perfect." Frank shrugs.
"I'm not."
"Then why'd she pick you?" Frank actually laughs. A short laugh. Disbelieving. Because the answer is so obvious.
"She didn't pick me." Ethan blinks.
"What?"
"She chose me." The distinction lands like a punch. Frank's eyes go cold. "And every day she keeps choosin' me." Silence. Then Frank leans slightly closer. Not threatening. Not loud. Just final.
"You show up near her again." Ethan opens his mouth. Frank cuts him off. "You call her." Silence. "You text her." More silence. "You send flowers." Even more silence. "You come within a hundred feet of our home." The emphasis on our makes Ethan flinch. And finally— Finally— Frank smiles. Not warmly. Not kindly. The kind of smile that makes smart people leave. "You and me are gonna have a very different conversation." Frank huffs and steps back, turning on his heel.
Just when he's about to reach his truck, Ethan calls out behind him.
"Yeah, thats right ! Run back to your slut ! The only good thing about that girl is the cunt between her legs." Ethan's words hang in the air. For exactly one second. Frank stops walking.
Just stops. His hand is still on the truck door. Still. Completely still.
Ethan smirks. Because Ethan mistakes silence for weakness. Because Ethan has never understood what real self-control looks like.
Slowly, Frank turns around. The parking lot suddenly feels very quiet. Ethan spreads his arms.
"What?" he says. "Truth hurts?" Frank starts walking back. Not fast. Not angry. Just walking. And somehow that's worse.
Much worse. Ethan's smile starts to slip.
"Look, man—" Frank keeps walking. "She ain't exactly innocent." Another step. "She used to beg me to pay attention to her like the needy whore she—" The punch lands before he finishes the sentence. A brutal right hook. Fast enough Ethan doesn't even see it coming.
One second he's talking. The next he's on the pavement. Blood splatters across the concrete. Ethan makes a choked sound. Frank stands over him.
Breathing evenly. Calm. Terrifyingly calm.
Ethan tries to push himself up. Frank grabs the front of his shirt and hauls him back to his feet.
And then he punches him again.
And again.
And again.
Until Ethan's face was torn apart and bleeding and he was coughing up blood, begging for Frank to stop. His teeth are scattered on the pavement beside him, and one is lodged in Frank's knuckle.
Blood is running from his nose. His lip is split. One eye is already swelling.
Frank doesn't look angry. That's the terrifying part. He looks calm.
Cold.
The same way a storm looks calm right before it tears a roof off a house. Ethan coughs.
"Y-you psycho—" Frank lifts him clean off the floor and slams him against the side of a parked car. The metal dents. Ethan wheezes.
"Listen to me." Frank's voice is quiet. Very quiet. The kind of quiet that forces people to listen. Ethan tries to shove him away. Fails.
"You breathe near her again," Another shove against the car. "You think about her again," Another. "And I will fucking find you." Another. "I will find you- and I will do way worse than knocking out a few of your teeth." Ethan winces. Frank leans closer. For the first time, genuine fear appears in Ethan's eyes.
Because this isn't about jealousy.
It isn't about competition. It isn't about Frank's pride.
It's about you.
And that makes it worse. Way worse. Because Frank can forgive insults aimed at himself. He cannot forgive somebody hurting you. Ethan swallows.
"I-I was just trying —" Frank's hand tightens in his shirt.
"I don't care."
"I didn't mean—"
"I don't care."
"She used to be my—"
"No." The word cuts through him. Sharp as a knife. "No she wasn't." Ethan blinks. Frank's stare never wavers. "She ain't property." Silence. "She ain't something you own." More silence. "And she sure as fuck ain't yours." Ethan looks away first. Of course he does. Frank releases him. Ethan nearly collapses. For one hopeful second he thinks it's over. Then Frank grabs the front of his shirt again and gets right in his face, and then Frank shoves him backward.
Hard. Ethan stumbles. Falls. Hits the pavement again. And this time Frank doesn't follow. He just stands there looking down at him.
"Stay away from my girl." Then he turns around. Gets in his truck. And drives away.
------
Later that evening, the door slams shut behind you as you rush in.
"Frank !" Frank winces at the pitch of your voice, flinching as he readies himself for you to yell at him.
Frank has beat up his fair share of men for you- and every time you've gotten annoyed with him. Not because he did it, but because you can defend yourself, and he knows that.
Instead, when you round the corner into the living room to find Frank sitting on the couch, bracing for a fight- the look on your face makes him leap up from his perch.
You look terrified. Worried. Panicked.
There aren't enough words in the dictionary that could describe the look on your face, and even less to describe the way Frank's heart drops.
"Woah- Hey, hey-" He rasps, stepping towards you as you drop your bag on the floor and launch yourself into his arms, arms flying around your neck, fingers digging into his hair as you cling to him. Frank catches you automatically.
One arm around your waist. The other cupping the back of your head.
You pull back from him, your eyes crazed and your hands trembling as you cup his cheeks.
"Oh my god- Are you hurt ?" You grab his face, tilting it in all angles, checking for new bruising, new cuts. "Did he hit you ?" Frank stares at you, dumbfounded as you fuss over him.
"Frank - for fuck's sake- answer me ! Did he hurt you ?" You rasp, your eyes welling up with tears. Frank just stares at you. For a second.
Then another.
Because of all the reactions he'd expected?
This wasn't one of them.
Not even close. You aren't angry. You aren't yelling. You aren't lecturing him. You're standing there looking like your heart is about to stop because you're worried about him.
"Baby—"
"Did he hit you?" Your hands move over his face again. Checking. Searching. Looking for bruises. Cuts. Anything. Frank catches your wrists gently.
"Sweetheart."
"Frank."
"I'm fine."
"No you're not." Your voice cracks. "Oh my God, your hand—" Only then does he remember. The blood. Most of it isn't his. But there's enough on his knuckles to look alarming. Your face immediately goes white.
"Jesus Christ."
"Baby—" You sniffle, shaking your head.
"Oh my god- Is that a tooth ?" Your thumb pokes at a shagged piece of tooth stuck in his knuckle and he winces. Frank hisses through his teeth.
"Yeah." Your eyes get even wider.
"Frank!"
"What?" he says, sounding genuinely confused.
"What do you mean what?" You point at his hand. "There's a tooth in your knuckle!" Frank glances down.
"Oh."
"Oh?" you repeat, horrified. He shrugs.
"I'll get it out." You stare at him. Then at the tooth. Then back at him. And suddenly your eyes fill again. Because he doesn't understand. Of course he doesn't understand. Frank thinks you're upset because he got into a fight.
You're not.
You're upset because Ethan is dangerous. Not to you. Never to you. But you've seen him angry. You've seen him throw punches in parking lots because somebody looked at him wrong. You've seen him put holes in walls. You've seen him break a guy's nose outside a bar and laugh about it afterward. You've seen the way his temper explodes. And all day you've been imagining what could have happened.
Imagining Ethan pulling a knife.
Imagining Ethan having a gun.
Imagining Frank getting hurt because of you.
"Baby?" Frank's voice softens immediately. Your bottom lip trembles.
His thumbs brush beneath your eyes.
Catching the tears gathered there.
"Why're you cryin'?"
The question comes out impossibly gentle.
Your face crumples.
"Oh, screw you." You break away from him, slumping down on the couch. Frank follows.
Frank immediately laughs.
A real laugh this time.
"That's not an answer."
"You got into a fight."
"He deserved it."
"Frank."
"He did."
"Frank."
"He called you a—"
"I don't care."
That finally shuts him up.
You swallow hard.
"I don't care what he called me."
Silence.
"I care that you got hurt."
Frank freezes.
Just a little.
Because that's it.
That's the whole thing.
Not the fight.
Not Ethan.
Not revenge.
Him.
You were worried about him.
Your fingers slide into his hair.
"I know he looks pathetic," you whisper. "I know he looks like some loser ex that won't leave me alone."
"Baby—"
"No." You shake your head. "Listen to me." Frank goes silent. "I've seen him get into fights." Your voice is shaking. "I've seen him smash bottles over people's heads." Frank's jaw tightens. "I've seen him punch walls." More silence. "He got arrested once for fighting outside a club." That gets Frank's attention. Your eyes close. "And every time he got angry he looked…" You swallow hard. "Different." Frank's arms tighten around you.
"Different how?" You hesitate. Then:
"Like he stopped caring." The room goes quiet. Frank knows exactly what that means. Probably better than anyone. You shake your head. "When I heard what happened today I-" Your voice cracks. "I was so scared." Something flashes across Frank's face. Not guilt. Not regret. Understanding.
"Sweetheart—"
"What if he'd had a knife?" Frank immediately opens his mouth. "What if he'd had a gun?" Silence. "What if he'd jumped you from behind?" Frank's expression softens. Because now he gets it. This isn't about Ethan.
This is about him. The possibility of losing him. You press your forehead against his chest.
"What if I lost you too ?" Your voice is tiny. The words hit Frank right in the chest.
Hard. His eyes close briefly. Then his arms wrap around you tighter. Not possessive. Protective. Like he's trying to hold all your fear for you.
And suddenly Frank feels about two inches tall.
Because now he gets it.
You aren't angry.
You're scared. The same way he'd be scared if the situation was reversed. The same way he'd lose his damn mind if somebody called him and said you'd been hurt. His arms slide around your waist.
Pulling you directly into his lap.
You go willingly. Too emotionally exhausted to fight. Frank buries his face against your neck. His grip tightens.
"I didn't think about it like that, sweetheart." Frank presses a kiss beneath your jaw. Then another. Then another.
"I'm okay." The words are supposed to help.
They don't. Because people always say that. People say I'm okay right up until they aren't. Your fingers curl tighter into his shirt.
"I spent the last three hours thinking somebody was gonna call me and tell me you were in the hospital." Frank's expression immediately softens.
"Sweetheart…"
"I mean it." You wipe angrily at your eyes.
"I kept checking my phone." His hand slides over your back. Your voice cracks. "I was sitting at my desk trying not to throw up because all I could think about was Ethan getting lucky." Frank's jaw tightens.
Not because you're talking about Ethan. Because you're crying. Because you're scared. Because he caused it.
"What if he'd had a weapon?" You laugh weakly. "What if he hit his head wrong?" Another laugh. More broken this time. "What if he got friends involved?" Frank reaches up and cups your face.
"Hey." You don't stop.
"He was out there waiting for me, Frank. If you got hurt because of me, i would never forgive-"
"Hey." His thumb brushes beneath your eye. Your voice dies immediately. Because Frank is looking at you like you're the only thing in the room. Like nothing else exists.
"I'm okay." You shake your head.
"Frank—"
"I'm okay." His forehead presses against yours. "I'm right here." Your breath catches. Frank rarely talks about fear. Rarely talks about feelings. Rarely says exactly what's in his head.
But right now? He's trying. For you.
"I ain't in a hospital." You sniffle. "I ain't dead."
"Frank."
"I'm sittin' right here." The words hit harder than they should. Because he's right. He's here. Warm. Solid. Alive. Your eyes squeeze shut.
And suddenly all that fear you've been carrying since Ethan came back crashes into you at once. You start crying again. Not pretty crying. Not movie crying. The ugly kind. The exhausted kind. The kind that comes after you've been holding yourself together for too long.
"Oh, sweetheart." Frank immediately gathers you closer. One hand in your hair. One rubbing your back. Patient. Steady. Like he can feel every piece of tension leaving your body. His thumb traces your cheek.
"I'm sorry, baby." You immediately shake your head.
"No."
"Sweetheart—"
"No." You grab his face with both hands. "Do not apologize for defending me." Frank freezes. "You hear me?" His eyes lock onto yours. "Frank." A pause. Then:
"Okay." You nod.
"Good. if i wasn't so scared for your safety, it would've been really hot." A corner of his mouth twitches. Because you're still crying. Still emotional. Still sitting in his lap. And somehow you're managing to boss him around. His favorite thing about you. You finally glance down at his hand again.
Immediately grimace.
"Oh my God." Frank follows your gaze.
"The tooth?"
"The tooth, Frank." He shrugs. You look horrified. Frank looks amused.
"You cannot just have somebody else's tooth stuck in your hand."
"Why not?" Your jaw drops.
"Because that's disgusting. Who knows what diseases that ass had in his mouth ? " Frank starts laughing. Actually laughing. The deep kind. The kind that rumbles through his chest. You glare.
"It isn't funny."
"It kinda is."
"It is not."
"Sweetheart."
"No." He grins. You point dramatically at his hand. "Bathroom. Now." Frank raises an eyebrow.
"You're givin' me orders?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
"Frank."
"Yes, ma'am."
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