An Introduction and A Masterlist (updated 28.06.2026)
Welcome or welcome back to my little blog <3
It's currently taking on some renovations, so apologies for the mess.
I'm Emily, and this blog is now multi-fandom, so if you're a fan of The Pitt, The Walking Dead, Daredevil, The Punisher, The Bear, The Last Of Us, etc, please make yourself at home.
Aside from indulging in those fandoms and their media, I love reading and writing and knitting. Basically any hobby you would stereotypically attribute to a sweet old lady, I probably have that hobby, too.
My ask box is always open, whether you have a request, a headcanon you want to yap about, or simply if you'd like to stop in and have a chat <3
Below, you'll find my masterlist. It's got multiple sections, so I hope you'll find something that tickles your fancy or warms your heart.
i'm back with some frank smut, enjoy y'all MWAH!!!!
warnings: 18+ MDNI. smut. unprotected p-in-v. car sex. public sex kinda? Swearing. Use of pet names, 'sweetheart' etc. fem!reader. USE OF EM DASHES BECAUSE AI CAN PRY THEM FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS FUCK YOU AI!!!!!!!!!!
In hindsight, bringing Frank to the family barbecue had been a good idea. But now, as your aunt’s crowded you by the herb garden, demanding details and asking uncomfortably specific questions, you wished you’d stayed home with him instead.
“So, are you thinking about babies yet—”
“Of course not, they’re not even married—”
“Is he generous, you know, in bed—”
“Okay!” You huffed, smoothing down the front of your dress. “I don’t mean to be rude, but these are very personal questions, and I—”
Frank chose that moment to appear, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he muttered, smiling placidly at your aunts, and the handful of cousins that had arrived to hear the gossip. Leaning into him, you plastered on a faker smile than his.
“If you’ll excuse me, I just need to talk to Frank for a second.” Everyone dispersed immediately, bumping into each other as they went, though a few lingered a little too close for comfort, ears straining for any juicy detail.
Grabbing his hand, you pulled Frank to the edge of the yard, over by the hydrangea bushes, half tempted to slip out the side gate, get into his van, and go home.
“I was going mad over there, couldn’t have shown up sooner?” Huffing a laugh, you lifted your gaze to the sky. It was a beautiful day, clear blue and cloudless, sun beaming down upon your skin. Maybe you should’ve chosen a dress with sleeves instead of thin straps, because you were certain you’d be sunburned by the end of the day, but it was too late for that.
“Sorry, sweetheart, your mother wanted some help with the electric knife. It wasn’t working.”
“Oh, so she wanted to snoop, too? She took the batteries out again, didn’t she?”
He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your bare shoulders. “Yes and yes.”
Scoffing, you picked at the hem off your dress, pulling at a few loose threads until Frank’s hand wrapped around your wrist.
“Stop it, you look beautiful. Really fucking beautiful.”
A thrill shot up your spine at the low rasp of his voice, the slight airiness in his tone. He only ever spoke like that when— oh. Glancing up, noting the muscle that flickered in his jaw, you knew what he was thinking about. Your knees trembled, just slightly.
“I really want to kiss you right now.” He leaned in so that his lips were only inches from your own.
“Yeah, no. I don’t think so,” you muttered, almost choking on a nervous laugh as you stepped away, not wanting to give your family anything to chatter about. They were insufferably nosy enough as it was, you didn’t need them seeing you come undone because of a brush of Frank’s lips alone. They didn’t need to know how easily you’d crumble in his hands. “Nice try, casanova.”
“Nervous, sweet girl?”
“I— no.” Damn him, why’d he have to say stuff like that? Trying to be discreet, you squeezed your thighs together, trying to soothe the sudden ache between your legs, but Frank noticed. Of course he did.
“Come with me.”
“But—”
“Hurry, they’re not looking, let’s go.”
Without a backward glance, you let Frank pull you through the side gate and out into the street. He’d parked his van around the corner because the curb had been full, and was now striding in that direction, keys in hand.
“Frank, what are we doing?”
“They want something to talk about? We’ll give the something to fuckin’ talk about.” The lights on his van flashed as he unlocked it, yanking open the passenger side door and sliding the seat back. Climbing in, he patted his thigh. “Up here with me.”
After you’d scrambled into his lap, straddling him, he swung the door shut and locked the van once more.
Frank’s lips were instantly on your neck, sucking and kissing and biting. His hands roamed down your back, over your waist, before slipping beneath your dress and settling on your ass, groping and squeezing, pressing you down onto his erection where it strained against the seam of his jeans. You gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders as you rolled your hips.
“What if someone walks past?” The windows were tinted, so being seen wasn’t a problem, but still…
“I guess you’ll have to be quiet and go slow, then.”
“Okay, okay,” your voice was barely a whisper. With shaking hands, you unzipped his fly and reached into his boxer briefs, pulling his cock out. It was thick and heavy in your hand, already weeping at the tip. Without wasting any precious seconds (it was only a matter of time until someone came looking for the two of you), you quickly tucked your panties to the side and sank down onto him.
“Fuck, so wet for me,” Frank groaned, grip tightening on your ass, pulling you forward and up, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls, before he lowered you back down. Whimpering, you rolled your hips, desperate to feel him deeper.
“Come on, baby, please,” you moaned, leaning in to kiss him. Frank’s tongue slipped into your mouth at the same time he bucked his hips, driving himself into that spot that made you stars, and a high-pitched whine slipped from your lips. “So deep, fuck. Right there.”
Another thrust. Another wanton moan.
Frank slipped two fingers into your mouth, and your teeth grazed against his knuckles. “Come on, pretty girl, you gotta be quiet or we’ll get in trouble.”
From this angle, the way your clit would rub against his crotch with each forward roll of your hips spurred you closer and closer to orgasm. And from the way Frank was groaning through gritted teeth, he wasn’t going to last long either.
“Been wanting to fuck you since you put on this damn dress,” he hissed, planting a firm smack on your ass. “So fucking gorgeous, aren’t you? My good fucking girl, that’s it.”
Despite your best efforts to stay quiet, you came with a fractured cry of his name, thighs quivering, walls fluttering around him. Frank kept thrusting up into you, not caring about going slow anymore. And when he came, too, the warmth of his cum flooded you, dripping out a little onto his jeans.
Panting and spent, you sighed into the side of Frank’s neck. “I don’t want to go back inside. I just want to go home.”
“Sure thing. I can’t go back anyway, not when you’ve made such a pretty mess all over my pants.”
Smiling sheepishly, you climbed out of his lap, moaning as his cock slipped out, leaving you achingly empty.
here's some matty smut for your evening <3 this one is whorish but also a little silly, and our bff frank castle makes a minor cameo. hope you like it :)
warnings: 18+ MDNI. smut. unprotected p-in-v sex. lowkey pwp. swearing. yearning, horny matt. matt gonna GET you there, if ya know what i'm sayin. idk if scent kink is a thing?? oral, m receiving. fingering. light choking. use of 'angel' as a term of endearment. afab!reader.
Matt had been craving you all day; each second spent in the office, swamped by page-after-page of pointless statements that all led back to nothing, felt like hours. And to make everything worse, it was a cold and dreary day and the radiator had well-and-truly died. No matter how many times Foggy had given it a well-placed kick, it didn’t turn on. So when Matt got home, grumpy and shivering and needing you, only to find that you weren’t there?
He was more than pissed, especially when he could guess what you’d been doing before you left based on the scent of your arousal lingering in the air. He followed it to his bedroom, where he ran a hand across his bed, feeling the rumpled sheets beneath his fingers. Cursing his misfortune, and wanting you back here, in his bed, Matt let out a frustrated snarl and left the room. He could hardly focus when all he could think about, smell, and practically taste all around him, was you.
Out in the kitchen, he was practically wearing a divot into the floorboards as he paced back-and-forth, hands resting on his hips, head tilted back, as he counted each second that passed. One minute turned to two, then five, and Matt’s agitation grew with each tick of the clock. He’d tried calling twice but you hadn’t picked up.
He slammed his hands on the counter, delighting a little in the pain that jarred his wrists because, for a moment, it took his mind off you. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt halfway, because it was suddenly too warm in his apartment, he stalked across the room and dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide as he leaned back against the cushions.
With his head tilted to the ceiling, eyes closed, he tried to calm himself down. It was ridiculous, the way he was acting, but it was always hard to think clearly when it came to you. He’d never known desire the way he felt it with you, like he’d never get enough. Never imagined his resolve could crumble so quickly under the slightest touch of your hand or brush of your lips. And he was so wickedly selfish about it, wanting you all to himself; in his apartment, in his bed, under him.
“Fuck’s sake,” he hissed through gritted teeth. His cock was straining so hard against the zipper of his pants that it had actually reached the point of being painful. Fiddling with the buckle of his belt, he lifted his hips a little so he could yank the strip of leather from the loops, letting it drop to the ground with a clatter.
It was then that he heard you. The stomp of your boots against the stairs, the thundering of your heart, and the curses you muttered under your breath.
"I swear to God, if he isn't in that fucking apartment."
Oh? The jingle of your keys set him into motion and he was at the door before you even had a chance to unlock it. Swinging it open, his hands found your waist and tugged you inside, slamming the door and pressing you up against it.
"Matty, please," was all you could get out before he pounced. His lips were instantly on your neck, kissing, sucking, biting, and he was rutting his hips pathetically against yours. You whimpered, fingers in his hair, tugging at the root, as you arched into him, silently begging him to take, take, take.
"I could smell you," he moaned against your neck as you reached down to palm him through his pants. "So desperate. So riled. But you were gone."
You spun him around, tugging him toward the living room, his lips still trailing over your skin. Pushing him onto the couch, you knelt before him, fingers fumbling with the zipper on his pants.
"I went looking for you," you admitted, tugging his fly open and reaching into his boxers. His cock was achingly hard, practically throbbing in your hand, and the head was coated in a smear of pre-cum.
"I tried so hard, Matty. To hold off until you got home. But I couldn't." You pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, down the shaft, pumping him a few times. Matt was already halfway to falling apart, chest heaving, head tilted to the ceiling, muttering an endless mantra of 'oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.'
"And then I couldn't make myself cum. Didn't feel as good on my own. No one does it like you, Matty."
Flattening your tongue against the base, you dragged it all the way upwards, circling the tip until Matt was bucking his hips, hands white-knuckled as he gripped the couch cushions.
"But when I got to the office, you weren't fucking there-"
"Please, Angel. Stop teasing."
Matt let out a guttural groan as you finally, finally, took his cock into your mouth. Taking it as deep as you could, until the dark curls at the base tickled your nose, and you swallowed around him then pulled back to take a breath.
Matt's hand flew to the back of your head, gripping your hair, as he grunted your name over and over, slowly losing his mind over the warmth of your mouth on his cock. Bobbing your head, you worked whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth with your hand. Glancing up at Matt, the wave of power that rushed through you was intoxicating. Here he was, stern lawyer Matt Murdock, skilled vigilante, Daredevil; falling to pieces, a whimpering, moaning mess coming apart on your tongue.
His cock hit the back of your throat again, but then you were pulled away, Matt’s grip on your hair tightening.
“Get up here,” he growled. Matt moved out of the way so you could lay down, then climbed on top of you, caging you in. He tore at your blouse, not caring that he sent the buttons flying, he just needed you naked. Needed to feel your skin pebbled with goosebumps under his fingertips.
“Lift your skirt, sweetheart,” he whispered, warm breath caressing the shell of your ear. You did as you were told, shimmying the fabric up your thighs until it was bunched around your middle. Bare to him now, thighs still sticky from when you’d try to get yourself off, Matt inhaled deeply and let out a low snarl.
“No underwear? Naughty.”
“Shut up, Murdock.” Grabbing his tie, you pulled him down to kiss you. Matt’s lips were soft against your own, slotting together like puzzle pieces, and he swallowed your moans as he slipped his fingers between your legs.
“So wet for me,” he murmured, more to himself than you, and dipped two fingers inside you, testing the waters, placing his thumb against your clit. If there was one thing Matt loved more than anything in the world, it was the way you reacted to him; the little noises you made, the ones that got caught in your throat when he’d go down on you, or the way your heart would start to race if he wore button-ups with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, or when he’d ask you to help him get ready for work and your fingers would linger a little too long on his tie or his belt. On those days, it was almost impossible for him to think straight, especially when all he wanted to do was take you over his knee and spank you, or shove his fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet as he fucked you against the wall. Getting out the door and going to work was the hardest thing in the world.
“Matthew,” you groaned, pushing your hips up against his hand.
“Hm?”
“I’m so close, keep going.”
Matt hadn’t even realised, but while he’d been lost in his thoughts, he’d been pumping his fingers inside you, drawing tight circles on your clit with his thumb. And now, your walls were fluttering around his fingers, your hips bucking, chasing the friction. At the last second, Matt pulled his fingers out and placed a quick slap on your clit. You shattered completely, crying out his name, thighs trapping Matt as you tried to press them together.
Matt didn’t even give you time to come down from your high, didn’t wait for the tremors to stop wracking your body, before positioning his cock at your entrance and sliding home in one brutal thrust that had you both moaning. Your head fell back against the armrest, leaving your neck exposed to Matt, and he wasted no time in peppering it with open-mouthed kisses, nipping at the hollow of your throat.
You raked your nails down his back, knowing there’d be red marks for him to remember you by, and grabbed at his ass, pulling him deeper as you rolled your hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. He’d started off slow, but the frustration that had been building within him all day had started to rear its head, and he couldn’t help but get rough. Pistoning into you, his hand snaked up to curl around your throat.
“This okay?”
“I can handle it, Matty,” you groaned, arching your back, chest pressed flush against his. “Take whatever you need. Whatever you want.”
“Oh, my angel,” he ran his thumb over the seam of your lips and you opened obediently for him. “You’re too good to me.”
The couch creaked and groaned as Matt thrust into you, seeming to hit deeper and deeper every time. In true Matt fashion, what he took, he gave back. So while he wrung his pleasure from your trembling body, one hand around your throat, the other braced on the armrest to hold himself up, he gave you all he had. As each thrust pushed you closer to the edge, you lifted your legs a little and crossed your ankles, using your heels to drive Matt deeper. If that was even possible.
“Fuck, Matty, baby, fucking hell, right there,” you threaded your hands in his hair, pressing his forehead against yours, and squeezed your eyes shut. And Matt would’ve loved to be paying attention to every little whimper, squeak, and gasp that dripped from your lips, but the heavy thud of boots coming up the stairs drew his attention. Matt slowed, not wanting to take your orgasm away from you when you’d already had trouble getting there earlier, but the footsteps got closer.
Then the scent hit him.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growled, pulling his hand away from your throat and sliding it down to rub at your clit. He was desperate to make you cum before Frank came through the door, because Matt knew the bastard wouldn’t knock, but he wanted to take his time with you. You had at least three more orgasms in you before it became too much, and Matt wanted to pull them all from you; one with his cock, another with his fingers, and the final one with his tongue. But there wasn’t any time.
Reaching over, he felt along the coffee table for something, anything he could use to his advantage.
“Matt, what is it? Please don’t stop,” you whined, propping yourself up on your elbows, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
“It’s alright, darling, it’s alright,” his hand closed around an empty mug that you must’ve left there. It wasn’t much, but it’d do. “It’s okay, I won’t stop. I won’t. I’ve got you.”
The door creaked open, swinging wide and slamming against the wall. “Red! You here?”
You tilted your head back over the armrest, searching for the source of the voice. Was that who you thought it was?
“Matt—”
He thrust into you again, so deep that it made you dizzy. “Don’t worry about him, I want you to cum for me.”
“But—”
“Do as you’re told,” he grunted, rolling his hips. Just as Frank was about to reach the end of the hall, Matt drew back his arm and pegged the mug across the room. You were writhing under him, close to frustrated tears, but you came with a cry of his name, shuddering hard. The mug hit the wall right near Frank’s face and he stumbled back into the hall to avoid the shower of porcelain shards.
“Get out of my fucking apartment, Castle!” You’d never heard Matt yell like that before; it sent a thrill through you.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to hold onto him as the aftershocks of your orgasm tore through your body. Each gasping breath you took, with Matt still chasing his own high, was like breathing in a shower of sparks. Your whole body was on fire, each of his thrusts left you jolting, trying to shift your hips away from the intensity of the skin-on-skin contact, but desperately wanting him to keep going.
“Matt, Matt, Matt” his name was a prayer from your lips. “It’s too much— I can’t—”
He pulled out instantly, despite reaching his peak. The warmth of his cum splattered across the plane of your stomach and he groaned out your name between great, heaving breaths. Then he collapsed, the full weight of him covered you, and you welcomed it. He was so warm, and so beautiful, and so yours when he was like this. For a moment, the two of you just laid there, spent, listening to each other breathe.
With his head resting on your chest, listening to your heart as it slowly returned to its normal rate, Matt let out a long, exhausted sigh as you stroked his hair.
“Are you gonna tell me why Frank was here?” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the throes of overstimulation when he’d come in, you probably would’ve been angrier that you’d been interrupted. But Matt had dealt with him and gotten him out before the moment was ruined, thank God, because if, after all that, Matt hadn’t gotten to cum…
Well, you would’ve been tearing Frank a new one right about now.
“I don’t know, probably has information. He’s downstairs, out on the sidewalk, so it must be important, or he would’ve left.” Matt pushed himself up, lifting a hand to the mess smeared on his stomach. His mess. It was all over your torso, too.
“Stay here, I’ll get you cleaned up.”
You couldn’t help but stare at Matt’s ass, at the red lines that marred the pale flesh, as he retreated to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. Once he returned, wiping the sticky substance off your skin with a tenderness that was the exact opposite to the roughness you’d just experienced, your lips lifted into a sleepy, blissed-out smile.
“I love you, Matty, so much,” you reached out to caress his cheek, despite the fact that your hands, your whole body, still shook. “But you need to get dressed and go down there and kick Frank’s ass for me.”
Matt huffed a laugh. “I thought you’d want to do the honours.”
“I would, but I honestly don’t think I can stand up. I just need a few minutes, that’s all. Maybe you can get started and I’ll join you a bit later.”
this is the tattoo artist!carmy au thing i wrote in, like, august 2023, after i got my first ever tattoo (i now have 28.) i had a lot of fun writing it, and now after rereading, it's still just as fun <3 enjoy!!
as promised, i'm tagging @nolita-fairytale
warnings: nothing, really. description of being tattooed. a sprinkle of tension.
“I know a guy.” That’s what your friend had told you when you’d jokingly expressed a desire to get your first tattoo. But then she’d shot the ‘guy’ a message, right then, over brunch, and you’d almost choked on your food. Now, a week later, you were sitting anxiously at the aforementioned friend’s side on a shiny, velvet couch. Fingers drumming on your knees, you glanced at the clock. Four minutes until your session was meant to start.
Through the saloon-style doors, you could hear the overlapping drone of the equipment; you were no stranger to tattoo parlours, having been the support person for many of your friends, but today would be the first time you’d be in the chair, rather than in the waiting room. And this was a new place, a few blocks east of your apartment, but apparently the artist was awesome and charged lower rates because he’d only just opened the parlour.
“How do you know this guy again?” You whispered to your friend, trying to act like you weren’t freaking out a little.
“He did my spine a couple of weeks ago, and he’s so chill. Super hot, too, so that’s a bonus. Something to focus on rather than the sting, y’know? Real nice voice.”
You swallowed, unsure if that last tidbit of information was a good or bad thing. Your friend's phone buzzed in her pocket incessantly and she picked up, excusing herself, leaving you alone in the waiting area, swallowing your panic. For a moment, you considered following her, abandoning your reluctant post by the decorative, vintage globe of the world.
“You my next one?” The doors swung open with a squeak, ruining your escape plan, revealing a man with a messy head of curls and a tragically easy smile. He held his hand out and your gaze snagged on the tattoos on his knuckles before you took it, graciously, and he pulled you up off the couch.
“I think so, yeah,” you said, trying not to let your nervousness show, relishing in the somewhat soothing warmth of his palm.
“Awesome, just follow me through here and hop onto the second chair for me.”
You did as he asked, not even moving of your own accord, simply running on autopilot. He did have a nice voice. Goddamnit.
You swore you could feel the thudding of the bass-heavy music through the floor as you followed him through the parlour, gaze straying to the way his muscles moved beneath the tight black shirt he wore. Once you got comfortable, the man settled down on a wheeled stool, sliding closer to you.
“Alright,” he fiddled with the equipment in his station, straightening the individually-packed needleheads, sifting through a few sheets of paper with various designs on them until he found the one he was looking for. The one you’d picked out after hours of trying to decide.
“First things first, my name’s Carmen.” He paired it with another soft smirk, and it seemed to put you at ease.
“Hi,” you said, and it came out embarrassingly breathily. Clearing your throat, you adjusted your position in the chair and offered him your name. It was hard to focus on much after that.
The softness of his touch as he held your wrist, twisting it slightly, so he could place the stencil. The easy he looked up at you, a quiet demand to ‘relax for me’ slipping off his tongue like honey. The closeness as he leaned in, the buzz of the needle making your heart leap into your throat. The way his brow furrowed while he focused, carefully tracing the stencilled lines.
“Remember to breathe for me, darlin’.” His voice was a murmur. A quick glance, a locked gaze, a subtle check-in to make sure you were comfortable. “Feelin’ alright?”
“Yeah, fine.” It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, and it probably had something to do with the fact that you were completely and utterly distracted by Carmen. In fact, the sting was almost… soothing?
“Good. You’re doin’ really great, ‘m almost done.”
He was so close, haloed by the overhead light, and you couldn’t tear your gaze from him. His hand was so steady, so careful and practised, and you found your thoughts straying to places they shouldn’t go. Slowly, you crossed one leg over the other, and you could’ve sworn Carmen bit back a smirk.
He pulled back, setting the handpiece down. “There we go.”
There it was, permanent, on your skin. Glancing down at the fresh ink, you smiled. You hadn’t thought you’d love it so much, but it just looked… good.
“Suits you,” Carmen said, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow. “You better come back for more.”
Unable to focus, you could barely manage anything but a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I love it’ as he wrapped your arm in clingfilm, sealing it with a strip of tape. He’d drifted closer, and your knees loosely slotted together; just enough space between you to make you crave less of it.
As he walked you through the aftercare procedure, you found yourself staring at his lips, the way they curved around each word, and only the sudden ‘there you are, all tatted up!’ that announced the return of your friend snapped you out of it. Rising from the chair, blinking away the headrush after sitting for so long, you tried to ignore the searing imprint of his hand on your hip as he stood, too, steadying your stumbling frame.
“I’ll see you again, yeah?” He muttered so only you could hear it, leading you back into the waiting area so you could pay. And a sense of boldness welled up in your chest, and before you could hold them back, a string of words tumbled out.
i was gonna wait a few days to stagger out the release of my old fics, but i reread this one last night, and it's still one of my favourite things ever. i remember writing this, about three years ago, and being so excited to go back to it each day. i found it to be so beautiful, and some of the metaphors and descriptions i use in this fic still kinda blow my mind today.
i feel i'm super critical of my writing most of the time, but coming back to this, i am really fucking proud of it. i luv u frank castle, and the love you inspire in my writing.
warnings: 18+ MDNI. fluffy, but also smutty as hell. Sex dream. Use of 'sweet girl,' 'sweetheart,' etc. Masturbation, being caught masturbating. Dry humping yum. Fingering. Swearing. Unproteced p-in-v sex. Porn WITH plot. afab!reader.
His hair wasn’t long enough, you realised mid-way through threading your fingers in it. Too short, not enough to tug, not enough curl to it like Frank’s. Whoa, wait. Frank? The thought ripped you away from the guy you’d picked up at the bar; James, Jason? You couldn’t recall, and apparently it didn’t matter because all you seemed to be thinking about was Frank. Since when does that happen?
“You okay?” James or Jason asked, pupils blown wide, dark hair in tangles where you’d tried to pull it. The cold brick wall of the alley turned your spine to ice as you backed up against it.
“Yeah, um, I’ve got to go,” you muttered, double-checking you had your phone, keys, and wallet in your pockets. “Thanks for the drinks, and the kissing, and, yeah okay. Bye.”
The guy called out after you but you just kept walking up the street, leaving the noisy bar behind as you followed the neon blink of the ‘NO VACANCY’ sign. When you reached the twin room you’d booked that morning, the tarnished brass ‘153’ glimmering in the moonlight, the key missed the lock three times before you managed to successfully open the door. Kicking off your shoes, you wandered through the small room, poked your head into the bathroom, calling out for Frank but receiving no response.
A small part of you was saddened by the fact he wasn't around.
Shrugging off that feeling, you grabbed a change of clothes and ducked into the bathroom. While you showered, you thought back to the moment outside the bar. Why had you thought about him at that particular moment? But then you thought back further, days, weeks, months back.
Snippets flashed through your mind like the whip of a ribbon, rippling off in a stream of colour. Small moments, barely worth a second thought, that you’d fixated on without realising.
An accidental smile shining through in reaction to a silly remark you’d made when Frank was pissed. Sneaking a glance at him as he drove, profile haloed by the rising sun, your eyes blurry with exhaustion. Stitching him up in the low-light of shitty gas station bathrooms across the states, his soft murmurs keeping you calm as blood oozed beneath your fingertips, ‘attagirl, slow and steady, you got it, don’t go stabbing me now.’ His calloused hand braced against your hip, holding you back until it was safe to continue forward. The way he'd plucked a pair of your lace underwear out of the still-damp laundry, swinging it around his finger, eyebrows raised and a mischievous glint in his eye, 'these are delicate.' Stopping for donuts in the middle of the night and bickering over who got what, but always winding up sharing, having half of each.
Living on the road wasn’t easy, and having to remain vigilant at all times was fucking exhausting, but… Frank Castle, in his own little way, made it bearable. And somewhere along state lines, riding shotgun in his van, you’d stopped thinking about him as a reluctant partner-in-crime turned begrudging friend, and had started thinking about him when kissing other people. And now, apparently, in the shower.
The ever-darkening night had handed you a bout of self-awareness that, it seems, you’d been ignoring for ages. And it was coming back with a vengeance to bite you in the ass; here you were, wrapped in a towel that was too small to dry much, shivering against the chill in a motel room by yourself, while Frank was somewhere in town, probably having a much better night than you, and definitely thinking about the person he was kissing as he was kissing them.
After you’d spent the better part of forty minutes showering and contemplating every single interaction you’d ever had with Frank, you were clean and dry and dressed in some old sweatpants and a grey tank top. Chugging a few glasses of water, you flopped onto one of the beds, cringing a little as it squeaked loud enough to wake the dead.
Curling up beneath the blankets, you tucked your hands beneath your cheek and watched the television without really paying attention to what was happening. It was some celebrity game show where they were asked a bunch of questions that Frank, oddly, always knew the answers to. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand but you ignored it, figuring it would just be Frank texting you to let you know he wouldn’t be back until much later and to not wait up for him. That was the unspoken rule; it didn’t matter where or who you ended up with at night, as long as you let each other know that you were fine.
Flicking off the television, you rubbed your eyes and rolled onto your back, staring at the water-damaged ceiling. The orange-ish light of the bedside lamp cast a blanket of sickly gold over the room, so stark it made your eyes sting. So you closed them, and the sight that flashed before you was Frank; the sharp angle of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he spoke, the way his tongue would dart out to wet his lips when he was pissed off…
It was suddenly much too warm. Throwing back the blankets, a low groan rumbled from the back of your throat at the resounding creak that echoed through the room. Fuck this. Standing up, you pushed the two beds against opposite walls and tugged the mattresses onto the ground. Hell, if you were going to spend the night alone, you were going to do it comfortably and without being awoken by a grating, metallic shriek every time you dared to breathe deeply.
Now, much more comfortable in the silence, you fluffed up the pillows and settled in. Letting your eyes flutter shut once more, you slowed your breathing and tried to fall asleep.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Your eyes flew open, heart racing, only to be greeted with an empty room. Shrugging, you pulled the covers up around your chin and shut your eyes. But there it was again, Frank’s voice like gravel, looping around in your head.
“I want you to do something for me…” The low rasp was enough to make your toes curl, heart thudding forcefully against your chest. “I want you to touch yourself like I would, can you do that?” Nodding, even though this was only your imagination, you slipped your hand beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. “Show me what you like, sweet girl. Show me what you want me to do.”
The night sky turned to liquid, stars burning within, and time slipped from your grasp. There was nothing left in the world but Frank’s voice, spurring you on, and the soft moans of his name that dripped from your lips and fluttered through the motel room like moths.
—
A moth flittered past Frank’s nose as he got out of his van, bag of groceries in tow. The plastic crinkled in his hand as he jogged across the parking lot to Room 153, wanting desperately to get out of the cold. When you hadn’t responded to his text asking what you wanted from the 24-hour supermarket, he’d grabbed the essentials and a handful of the chocolate bars he knew you adored, and drove back to the motel, trying not to worry. Resisting the urge to hunt you down, just to make sure you were okay. If anything happened to you…
He’d seen you leave the bar with that man, whose gaze had slid like oil over your figure. Not that he’d said anything, of course, it was none of his business who you climbed into bed with. But for a fleeting moment, he’d wanted to take you back to the motel and have you all to himself. It was not the first time these selfish thoughts had clouded his better judgement.
Having you around had started off as a nuisance, you were always questioning his every move and ragging on him about cynical things like his ‘atrocious eating habits,’ but over time, you’d become a pleasant distraction. The roads were long and having you in the passenger seat, chattering away about different odds-and-ends, handing him snacks and water, and humming along to whatever was on the radio, well, you made the long hours of travel bearable. In your own special way.
Then, of course, the past few weeks, something had changed. You were on his mind, all the fucking time. When you weren’t around, he found himself wanting you near. When you were with him, he never wanted you to leave.
And then there’d been the dream. Between the endless cycle of nightmares that had hounded him for years, nightmares that all ended the same way, a sliver of light, of goodness had slipped through. It wasn’t much, just a few flashes of your smile, an echo of your laughter, but the moment that had caught him off guard was the warmth of your thigh under his hand and the brush of your lips against his own.
He’d awoken and sat up so quickly that his head spun, and from the bed across the room, you’d raised your eyebrows at him.
“Everything okay?” There had been a hint of that damn smile upon your face, like the sun peeking through the clouds, and he’d damn near wanted to cross the room and kiss you. He hadn’t, of course, but fuck he’d wanted to. He hadn’t been able to think straight since.
The key slid home, lock clicking, and he pushed the door open with his elbow, careful not to drop the groceries. The harsh light from the lamp made him pause, blinking against the sudden change in brightness.
But there you were. Splayed across the mattresses on the floor, sheets a tangled mess at your feet, back arched, with one hand down your pants and the other beneath your shirt, toying with your breasts. Frank’s breath caught in his throat. Shit, he shouldn’t be seeing you like this, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t fucking move. His bones had turned to cement, his blood to glue, and he was stuck.
It didn’t help that the moans tumbling from your lips sounded an awful lot like his name.
It also didn’t help that, the moment you came, shuddering and groaning, was also the moment you spotted him standing in the doorway. Eyes widening, you drew your hand away, but your body was still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm.
“Frank,” it was meant to come out as a startled shout, but it slipped free, breathy and light, with a hint of a moan laced within. Pulling the covers up, as though you could hide from everything you’d just done and everything he’d seen, you tried and failed to calm your ragged breathing.
“Frank, I’m so sorry, I─ I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow morning, I’m─” you sighed, smacking a hand to your forehead as you sat up. “Oh God, I’m so embarrassed, I’m so sorry.”
Frank said nothing as he closed and locked the door, set the bag of supplies on the ground, and started calmly unlacing his boots. You, on the other hand, were trying to figure out what to do with yourself. Should you leave the room? Leave the motel entirely? Dig a hole in the ground, crawl into it, and never dare to show your face again?
The third option seemed awfully tempting as Frank finally, finally, faced you again.
“It’s alright,” his voice was softer than goose-feather down, each syllable peeled back a layer of your skin until your bones were laid bare. Everything on display for him, despite the clothes you wore. Heat spread across your cheeks, shame, the full effects of being caught slowly settled in, curling up in your stomach like a stubborn cat. “S’alright, sweetheart.”
The term of endearment struck like a bullet through the brain.
Frank refused to meet your gaze as he wandered over to the kitchenette, careful not to trip over the blankets spilling onto the greyish carpet. Pouring two glasses of cold water from the pitcher in the mini-fridge, he sat on the floor beside the mattresses and handed one to you.
“You were saying my name,” he muttered, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend it. Suddenly, the bottom of the cup seemed very interesting as you took a long gulp, if only to buy yourself time to somehow come up with a response to that. But all the water in the world couldn’t have saved you, so it was better to just bite the bullet.
“Yes, I was.”
Frank glanced up at you from beneath lowered brows, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Why?”
“Because I was thinking about you.” Taking another sip, you watched him over the rim of the cup, but he was impossible to read.
“While you were touching y─”
“Yes. And I’m sorry. You were never meant to─”
“But I did.”
“Yes.”
God, each admission made you want to lay down in the middle of the highway, but you couldn’t lie. Not to him. Frank always saw through your lies.
He drained the water in three large mouthfuls, wiping away the droplet that escaped down his chin with his thumb. Drumming his fingers on the side of the cup, he turned to you, eyes like sparkling pools of ink.
“I think about you, too.”
Oh? Your stomach dropped, plummeting through the floor, through the very foundations, and straight down into the vast depths of hell.
“All the damn time,” he continued, running a hand through his hair, choking on a laugh. The flash of his smile as he turned away, a glimpse of his true grin, was so unexpected that your breath caught in your throat at the beauty of it. Frank so rarely let himself laugh, and it was always fleeting, gone within seconds, but the smile lingered; a smear of apricot paint on a blank canvas. Stark and bright and warm. A glimmer of sticky sweetness, a taste of childish wonder, seeping from a crack in his steely resolve.
Without thinking, your hand crept across the sea of blankets, finding a home on his shoulder; anything to get him to look at you. And he did, slowly turning back to you, his own hand rose to cover yours. The warmth of his palm seeped into you, each callous like a thistle scraping gently against your knuckles, and your mind zeroed in on the contact. Goosebumps spread like wildfire across your skin.
“Frank.” There it was again, that breathy sigh of his name that drove him so close to insanity he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to remind himself he was human.
Frank’s hand shook as he cupped your cheek, and the gesture was as much a brand as a tattoo. Weeks from now, you knew you’d still feel the lingering heat, the soft brush of his fingertips.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his dark gaze searching your own for any sign of what you were thinking. “Anythin’ you want, I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to kiss me,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. “Please kiss me.”
There had always been a ravine between the two of you, and you’d spent the past few months shouting across it, getting to know each other from a comfortable distance. Never too close. There was a rickety bridge, fashioned from shared glances and subtle smiles, that you just had to cross. Or meet each other halfway.
And yet, as Frank leaned in to kiss you, he sliced the ropes that held the bridge together. He sliced the ropes and leapt off the edge, plunging into the dark unknown of the ravine. And without second-guessing yourself, you threw yourself after him.
His lips were so soft against yours, like snowflakes or flower petals, so unlike anything you’d ever expect from him. Everything about Frank was sharp and harsh and grating, bloody and scarred. He was carved from stone, angular and strong and untouchable.
But his lips, they were holy. Gentle and smooth, like velvet in a stream, moving as one with the water, becoming it. And they slid into place over your own as easily as though you’d done this a thousand times.
Stubble brushed against your palm as you cupped his face with both hands, pulling him closer. Frank crawled onto the mattress with you, laying you down with such tenderness that you sighed dreamily against his lips.
Frank planted one hand beside your head, holding himself up, as he slid the other beneath your shirt, fabric riding up and exposing your skin to the nighttime chill. Running his thumb over your ribs, skirting along the underside of your breast, Frank hummed as you gripped his jacket in your fists, needing to be closer.
“You’re shakin’ like a leaf, sweetheart,” he murmured against the side of your neck, placing a trail of kisses from that special spot behind your ear, all the way down to your collarbone. “Do you want me to stop? I can, no hard feelings─”
“No. God no, please don’t stop. I’m just,” you jolted, swallowing a gasp, as Frank’s thigh dipped between your legs, spreading them,“sensitive.”
“Is that right?”
Cocky bastard, but a smug smile crept onto your face at the slight waver in his words.
He kissed you again. And again, and again. Each press of lips and swipe of his tongue was another step in your undoing as you unravelled like a ball of twine in his embrace. Frank was all over you, the weight of him on top of you, the broadness of his shoulders, each angular jut of muscle and sinew, it was almost too much. You arched up into him, pressing your chest flush against his, and wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers buried in his hair.
Hair that was just the right length to tug, just the right length to get lost in.
A low groan rumbled from within Frank’s chest, bubbling up his throat, and he ground his hips against you. Instinctively, your legs tightened around his waist, ankles crossed behind him, holding him close. Pushing him closer. With a roll of your hips, the bulge in Frank’s jeans finally settled against where you wanted it most.
Through the fabric of your sweatpants, you could feel him, every inch of him pressed against the inside of your thigh. Frank’s tongue swiped up your throat before he latched onto the underside of your jaw, teeth scraping, to leave a mark that would linger for days. He was rocking hips into yours, a low groan slipped from between his lips and reverberated against your neck, and it felt like you were in high school again; trying to make-do on a single bed, with the door half-open while your parents watched television just down the hall.
“I need you” you whispered, reaching down to tug at the waistband of his pants. Frank pulled away, kneeling between your legs, as he undid his belt, gaze never leaving yours as he tugged the strip of leather from the loops on his jeans. With one swift movement, he shrugged his jacket off, his shirt followed soon after. Then he tugged your sweatpants down, gaze roaming unabashedly as he drank in the sight of you before him, the black cotton panties still shielding you from him.
“If we do this,” he said, running his hands up your now-bare thighs as he positioned himself back between them, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to keep my hands off you.” Not when he’d spent so long holding himself on a tight leash, never daring to cross such a line. The long nights you’d spent patching him up, your fleeting, gentle touch lingering long after you’d gone away… It had come closer to killing him than any bullet. Having you so close but so fucking far away was the worst kind of torture.
“That’s okay,” you sighed, cupping his jaw in your hands, tracing your thumb over the small gash on his lip. “If we do this, I’ll never want anyone else to touch me.”
“Attagirl.” This time, his kiss tasted like sparks and embers, tearing its way down your throat, gathering like a bonfire in your chest. And you were content to let yourself burn and burn and burn. You choked on a gasp as Frank tucked your underwear to the side, sliding two fingers into you without resistance.
The warmth he found between your legs, the way you arched up against his chest, your shaky breaths fanning his neck… It was exactly how he imagined it as he spent long nights just one bed away from you. Shameful moments spent in dimly-lit motel bathrooms, standing beneath lukewarm shower spray, jerking himself off to the thought of you, biting down on his fist so hard he drew blood in an attempt to silence his pathetic groans and whimpers, while you were busy making dinner just outside.
Frank curled his fingers at the same moment he lowered his head to your neck, digging his teeth into your collarbone, marking you. You whimpered a little at the pain but… it felt good.
"Do that again, Frankie," you sighed, gripping his forearms, "make me yours."
The words snapped some kind of tether in him, a weak chain link finally giving way. His teeth scraped against the underside of your jaw this time, then down down down, leaving a trail of raspberry red blooms. Frank pulled away to help you out of your shirt, chuckling at your whimper caused by the sudden absence of his fingers. The sound that came from within him as his gaze scoured every inch of your bare skin sent a new wave of heat through you. It was animalistic and raw and so full of need that it nearly knocked the wind out of you.
His hands skirted along your hips, your waist, and up to your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze. A harsher one, pinching your nipples then soothing the hurt with soft kisses. When Frank glanced up at you whilst his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, seeing you with your face scrunched up, mouth ajar and eyes shut tight, was like seeing a glimpse of heaven. He may not believe in God, but fucking hell, seeing you like this, brought undone by the slightest touch… It was holy. There was no other way to describe it.
“I can’tㅡ” you groaned, squirming under Frank. He pulled away instantly, ready to apologise, but you grabbed him by the wrist. “No, no, Frank, it’s okay. I just, I can’t wait anymore. Please, I just need you to…” You sighed deeply, running your hands down his chest.
“Use your words, pretty girl, come on. You always have so much to say, don’t shut up on me now.”
You tried, you really did, to put into words how to explain just how badly you needed him, but it was impossible. So, with a shove and a surprised grunt from Frank, he was under you.
In an instant, his hands were on your waist, pulling you down, holding you against the bulge in his jeans. Rolling your hips back and forth, with your hands planted on his chest, digging into hard muscle, you gazed down at him, a saccharine smile tugging at your lips. With nimble fingers, you thumbed free the button and undid his fly, shuffling back a little to tug his pants and boxer-briefs down.
There was no build-up, you’d already gone without him for so long, you simply sunk down onto Frank’s cock. A long, breathy sigh slipped from the back of your throat like a silken ribbon, smooth and soft, once he was fully settled within you. It stung, just a little, he was thicker than you’d anticipated, but by God, he fit perfectly. You hadn’t even moved and you were already a panting mess, chest heaving like you’d just sprinted three miles.
Frank, on the other hand, was struggling. It felt like he was seventeen again, fumbling in the dark, getting caught in twisted sheets, moaning too loud and cumming too fast. With his hands gripping your hips, a muscle in his jaw feathered as he gritted his teeth hard enough to hurt. Fucking hell, he wasn’t going to last long. And when you slowly lifted yourself up, then lowered once more, he damn near lost his mind.
Frank’s hand crept up to wrap around your throat, and he could feel the hum of approval brewing before it vibrated against his palm.
“Fuck,” was he all he managed to get out as you started circling your hips; slow, languorous gyrations that all but reduced him to nothingness. There was only you, on top of him, in control, taking whatever he’d give. Which, at the present moment, wasn’t much. It was an effort to not let go, to just cum then and there, but God he wanted this to last. So, with shaking hands, he scooped you up and laid you down in the cocoon of sheets. Sliding a pillow beneath your hips, he stripped his pants all the way off and thrust back in, the momentary absence of your heat almost agonising.
He hit deep, deep enough to pull a long whimper of his name from your mouth. Squeezing your eyes shut, you fisted your hands in the sheets as stilled inside you, then pulled out, then slid all the way back in. Jesus Christ, you could barely focus.
“Let me see those pretty eyes,” Frank muttered between thrusts, leaning down to kiss your neck, lips hovering over ever-darkening splotches of reddish-purple. Then he rested his forehead against your own, staring directly into your eyes as he thrusted deeper and deeper. You could see everything written across his face, every flash of lust and hunger and helplessness and desire and raw, guttural infatuation.
Each roll of his hips, each press of your heels into his back, forcing him deeper, was adding fuel to the bonfire raging in your stomach.
“Frank, pleasepleaseplease, right there, oh God.” You kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, gobbling down every grunt and moan that escaped him as though they were sticky-sweet caramels. It was only when your teeth scraped his bottom lip, tugging at an almost-healed gash, that his movements faltered.
Raking your nails down his back, feeling every ridge and hollow, you grabbed at his hips, guiding his thrusts as his loud groans filled the motel room. You bucked your hips, meeting him stroke-for-stroke, arching up into him. With his chest pressed against your own, you could practically feel his thundering heart drumming against your skin.
“Sweetheart,” it was more of a warning than anything else.
You cupped his jaw, just as it went slack, and watched as his entire face changed, scrunching then opening up like a tulip in the spring. Mouth ajar, shuddering groans emerging from within, Frank’s arms shook as he triedㅡ and failedㅡ to hold himself up. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he came, filling you in thick, warm bursts. The full weight of him bore down on you, pressing you into the mattress.
Although his body shuddered, and he was breathing hard through clenched teeth, he slid a hand between your bodies, circling your clit at a ruthless, relentless pace, determined to shatter you.
It didn’t take much for you to fall apart completely, his name a broken cry on your lips.
“Tha’s a good girl, there you go.”
The two of you stayed there, tangled in the sheets, legs and bodies intertwined, for a good long while. A glimmer of disbelief hung in the air.
That had really happened…
It happened twice more before the sun rose. And once again in the shower.
i'm kicking my blog renovation off with an old favourite of mine. this was the first thing i wrote for carmy way back when, lost to the abyss years ago after the account deletion. so enjoy <3
i haven't seen season 5 yet because disney+ did some upgrade where i have to pay extra to see it, and i am lowkey pissed about it, but i will hopefully get to it soon. no spoilers pls <3
warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut. p-in-v unprotected sex. swearing. prone bone? is that what it's called? idk. reader is described as having tattoos. basically, pwp, happy sunday! afab!reader <3
The steady buzz of the needle droned in the small studio like a swarm of bees. Laid out on the table, you focused on breathing steadily through the uncomfortable sting.
The artist's gloved hand was warm on your arm as he held it still, carefully shading between the stencilled lines. You'd been coming to the same studio for months now after Carmy had recommended it; admittedly, he hadn't thought you’d be frequenting it more than him. Not that it bothered him, he found the steady increase of ink on your skin, the surprise of finding a new tattoo on your hip or thigh as he went down on you, really fucking hot.
And for you, something about the pain was a little comforting, so you just kept coming back. And, hey, the juniors needed to learn and practice somehow.
The bell above the door jingled and you glanced over, a soft smile gracing your features as Carmen stepped in, hair messy from the wind. He caught your stare, eyes bright, and winked.
“Hi,” he mouthed, sitting in one of the leather chairs in the waiting room, ankle crossed over a knee.
“Yo, Berzatto,” the artist, an older guy named Jared, looked up from the linework. “How’s the restaurant?”
Carmen’s brows shot up in that exasperated way they always did when he was stressed, sighing deeply through a weak smile. “Shitty, yeah, actually. Lots of renovation and shit.”
Jared nodded, getting back to work, leaving Carmen to watch you in peace. The way your face changed as the needle crept toward a sensitive spot near the crease of your elbow, the way you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip when it stung. And though his face didn’t show it, a rush of desire went straight to his cock when you squirmed on the table, crossing your ankles, causing your skirt to ride up a little.
It gave him a perfect view of his favourite tattoo. A little heart on your upper thigh, simple and plain, but it was the one he’d done for you. It started off as a joke, when you’d found your old tattoo gun that you’d impulsively bought in college, the same one you’d used to tattoo your friends. Never perfectly done, but fun all the same.
A few months ago, you’d handed it to Carmy and asked him to do it. Admittedly, he freaked out a little, afraid to fuck it up, but it had turned out alright. A little wonky, due to the lack of a stencil, but you loved it. And he loved it, in that little possessive way he seemed to always adopt when it came to you.
Seeing that little heart made his brain go fuzzy, sending him back to that morning; the early hours of limbo where his alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but there was no point in going back to sleep.
The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the room, buttery and warm. Arching off the bed, you bit down on your fist to keep from crying out. The walls in this stupid, cheap, apartment building were thin, and there was only so much scathing, knowing stares from the neighbours that you could take.
“Like that, baby? Doin’ so good f’me. Feel so fuckin’ good.” Carmen’s voice dripped with sleep-addled honey, thick and sweet and sultry. You’d woken up reaching for him, a soft whimper of his name passing through your lips, and he swallowed the sound with a searing kiss.
Each of his thrusts hit deep, cock brushing against the perfect spot, and you rolled your hips to meet his movements. Foreheads pressed together, every breath was shared, every whisper of praise and quiet moans mingled in the fraction of space between the two of you. The chain around Carmy’s neck bumped at your lips, and you tilted your head to capture it between your teeth.
“F-fucks sake,” he breathed, gripping your waist. His thrusts stuttered; seeing you with his chain in your mouth struck something in his chest, and it went straight to his dick.
“Harder, Carm, please.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm.”
He pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach, slid back in, and fucked you into the mattress. Each thrust, each impact against the back of your thighs, each stifled grunt and groan in your ear; it set your head spinning.
“Fuck, baby. Just like that, fuck. Carm, come on, fucking give it to me. Fuck. Please.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a jumbled string, muffled by the pillow. Carmy’s hand found its way into your hair, tugging at the roots, and he smirked at the long moan it pulled from your throat.
“Such a pretty fuckin’ mouth,” he grunted between thrusts, feeling the pulse and flutter of your walls around his cock. “So fuckin’ good, baby.”
His thumbs fit into the divots at the base of your spine, fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you, giving you exactly what you wanted, what you needed.
“Fuckfuckfuck, Carmy, I’m–” You lifted your hips and pressed back into him, chasing your orgasm, each thrust slammed into you, leaving you breathless. “Fuck, there, right there.”
Carmen’s grip on your waist got tighter, tight enough to leave bruises, as he got closer to the edge. When you came, burying your face in the pillows to stifle the cry of his name, Carmen swore loudly. He fucked you through the comedown, leaving you sensitive and blissfully overstimulated.
He was so close, every flutter around his cock unbearable. “Fuck, baby, where–”
“On my tummy.”
Carmen pulled out and you rolled over, just in time for the first spurts of his cum to land on the bare plane of your stomach. He jerked himself off until he had nothing more to give, and there were strings of sticky white covering your tummy. Swiping a finger through the mess, you held his hooded gaze as you sucked it clean.
Carmy watched you, panting. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb brushing back-and-forth absentmindedly over the little heart tattoo. He reached up, running his thumb up your stomach, before tilting your chin.
“Open,” he purred, and you did. He pressed his thumb onto your tongue, and you closed your mouth around it–
“Carm?” Your voice pulled him from his fantasy, one that had left his cock pressing against the zip of his jeans. He looked up and there you were, standing in front of him, arm out to show him the fresh ink. “Like it?”
Carmen swallowed, trying not to let his gaze slide over you, knowing it’d give every thought in his head away. But when he met your stare, he noticed the little smirk that tugged at your lips and realised you already knew.
“Uh, yeah, baby, it looks awesome.”
You winked and turned on your heel, wandering over to the front desk to pay, putting a little extra swing in your hips, setting your skirt flaring. Not that Carmy was staring or anything, (he was.)
Moments later, you were grabbing his hand, pulling him out of the chair. “Let’s go home.”
Thank you so much for reading, but I had a minor heart attack because I misread your comment as "and I'm ten years old" and I was like WAIT HOLD AWN NO WHY YOU READING THIS YOU ARE TOO YOUNG but then I read it again LMAO
three-for-three y'all, the most active i've been on this site in MONTHS and i apologise for that, but i'm getting the ball rolling again. publishing old works and new works, across a range of fandoms, so hopefully y'all find a little something that floats your boat MWAH
Beneath the flickering glow of delicate chandeliers, you glanced around the room, holding tight to your flute of champagne to hide the way your hands trembled. Despite being Matt’s plus-one to this gala, which you were beginning to think was just an excuse for the city’s court officials to get together and flash their money about in the form of fine suits and sparkling jewellery, you’d been avoiding him all night.
It hadn’t been easy, considering he could just follow the distinct scent of your perfume merged with the scent of him, and be at your side in seconds. For the most part, you’d spent your time cowering in the bathroom, texting Karen to soothe your nerves, even though she’d only been a few feet away.
Karen <3, 7:26pm: Is everything okay? Where are you?
Tapping away at the screen, you’d sent off a quick message, giving away your pathetic hiding place. In a matter of seconds, the stunning blonde had slipped through the bathroom door like a shadow, wrapped in a dress of glimmering, black silk that clung to her body like a second skin.
“I fucked up,” you admitted, biting down on your tongue to keep a nervous giggle from slipping out. Karen frowned, placing her hands on your shoulders.
“Did you and Matt have a fight? Is that why he’s out there clenching his jaw so hard he looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel?”
Unable to contain your laugh, you hid your face in your hands as warmth crept up your cheeks. Chewing on a fingernail, you could barely look at Karen as you spoke.
“Not a fight… I may or may not have teased him to the point of cruelty before we got here.”
The sound of Matt’s shallow breaths, bordering on whines, echoed in your mind as you recalled the way he’d practically shattered like porcelain in your hands as you trailed sinful kisses down his neck and along his collarbones, whispering filthy promises against his flushed skin.
Tugging at his belt, you slipped your hand into his pants. His cock was heavy and hard in your hand, and Matt hissed through his teeth, hips bucking involuntarily, as you ran your thumb over the tip.
But then you’d pulled away, glancing at the clock as you stood, smoothing down your dress.
“We’ve got to go now, we can’t be late.”
Karen’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening, as her lips twisted into a knowing smile.
“Oh, honey, I can’t save you from this one,” the blonde held out her hand to you, red-painted nails gleaming at the end of her slender fingers, a silver bracelet dangling loosely at her wrist. “But I can guarantee a very, very good night is on the horizon.”
You grasped Karen’s hand, holding onto it as though it were a life-raft, and let her drag you back out into the glitz and glamour. Stumbling slightly, Karen pulled you to her side when you reached the table you’d been avoiding, she plucked her purse from the back of her chair. Matt was already facing you, head tilted slightly, red-tinted glasses hiding his sinfully beautiful eyes. A muscle flickered in his jaw and it sent a thrill through your body, sending a tendril of warmth straight to your core.
“I’m gonna call a cab, okay?” Karen was explaining to Matt and Foggy, “一just not feeling well.” You weren’t paying attention, not when Matt’s tongue had darted out to wet his lips and you somehow knew that he was doing it to taunt you, that he could somehow taste the change in your mood, in your body.
Matt stood slowly, straightening the cuffs of his suit jacket, and grabbed his folded cane from the table. Adjusting his glasses, he came to your side, slipping his hand around your waist. “I can handle this, thanks, Karen. I’ll see you both at the office tomorrow.”
After bidding a few very important-looking people farewell, Matt led you outside. You flagged down a cab with a shaky hand, trying to keep your cool, even though the grip Matt had on your waist was burning through you. His hand brushed the curve of your ass as he helped you into the backseat and you swallowed a gasp.
The ride back to Matt’s apartment was fifteen minutes of torture. Your thighs had started to hurt from how hard you were pressing them together, and Matt… God, he just kept that insufferably smug smirk on his face the whole way, his hands innocently resting in his lap. You weren’t sure which was affecting you more; him touching you or him not touching you. Either way, you were practically squirming in the seat, staring out the window to try and distract yourself.
This was only the beginning of the payback, you were sure of it. But you still had a little trick up your sleeve, well, under your dress… Immediately, you tried to picture Matt’s reaction when he discovered your little secret; a gift, of sorts, for him, that you’d bought on whim last week. Chewing on your bottom lip, you bit back a grin.
Matt, sensing a change within you, the scent of your arousal heavier in the small space, so much so that it almost made his head spin, turned to you.
“What on earth are you thinking about, Angel?” His voice was a low rasp that set a flurry of hummingbirds free in your stomach.
“Oh, nothing. Just stuff.” Casually, you laid your hand over one of his where they laid in his lap, subtly brushing his crotch with your knuckles. Matt inhaled through gritted teeth, fighting the desire to pull you into his lap and have his way with you.
Only two more blocks, he thought, and then he could have you, taste you, fuck you. Ruin you.
But there was something you weren’t telling him, something you were hiding, and he was going to make it his mission to find out what it was.
Finally, finally, the cab pulled up outside the familiar apartment complex, and you practically threw yourself out of the car. Even though Matt could’ve taken the stairs by twos and been at his door in seconds, he took it slow, dragging it out even though it was killing him. But it was killing you, too, and the barely audible whines you let out everytime he paused to adjust his coat or brush a speck of dust off his pants made it all worth it. He couldn’t wait to have you under him, or on top of him; he didn’t particularly care. As long as he was deep inside you.
When the door came into view you almost sighed in relief, snagging the keys from Matt’s pocket before he had a chance to stop you. Unlocking the door, you kicked it open and tugged Matt inside, not caring if he thought you were desperate. You were desperate, and the second the door shut, you shoved Matt against it and your lips found his neck.
Placing a line of frenzied kisses along his jawline, down his throat, you tugged at his tie until it came loose in your hands. Wrapping your hand in the strip of dark fabric, you pulled him closer and leaned up to kiss his lips. But he pulled away.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s cute that you think you’re going to run this,” he whispered, nipping at your nose. “But after the stunt you pulled earlier? I don’t think so.”
You might’ve whimpered, or groaned, or straight-up cried, if Matt hadn’t reached out and grabbed the straps of your dress. With the gentleness of a dove's feathers, he slid them down your arms, pushing the bodice down until you were bare from your stomach upwards, the tapered bodice clinging to your waist to keep the dress from pooling on the ground. You’d forgone a bra when you’d gotten dressed, and you were thankful for one less obstacle as Matt stepped closer, cupping one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple. A shiver rocketed down your spine and you sighed, caving in to the touch. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and Matt walked away, passing through the living room and into the bedroom without another word.
Leaving your shoes by the door, you hiked up the skirts of your dress and followed him like a hound on a scent, not caring that the nylon stockings you wore snagged a little on the floorboards. Jesus Christ, you wanted him, and he knew it.
“Matty,” you whispered when you entered the room and found him by the window, haloed by orange light from the street below. He’d discarded his suit jacket and button-up, they were in a pile on the floor, and stood with his back to you. For a moment, you just watched him, gazing at the scars on his back, the way his muscles shifted with each breath he took. It was a sight you’d never get sick of; Matt Murdock, in all his rugged glory, despite the weight of guilt and shame he always seemed to carry, despite convincing himself that he wasn’t worth anything at all to anybody, was truly a beautiful man. A man that you loved more than you’d ever loved anybody before.
When he turned to face you, glasses gone, you gulped; in his hands, still, was his tie.
“Take off your dress” he said, footsteps silent as he approached you. You did as you were told without argument, shimmying the fabric down until it dropped to the floor in a puddle of soft silk and chiffon. He was close, so close that your bare chest brushed against his as you took a deep breath. Matt shuddered at the contact, his stern resolve slipping momentarily as the warmth of your body seeped into him.
“Give me your hands,” he leaned in to mutter in your ear, letting the tie dangle from his hands.
You were about to hold up your wrists, but you paused. It was time, this was the perfect moment to drop the bomb, to show him what you’d been hiding all night.
“Wait.”
Matt’s head dipped to the side, gaze fixed just to the left of you. Noticing the quickening pace of your heart, he cupped your chin in his hands, tilting your head upwards as though to inspect you. “What is it? You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you?” His lips quirked up into a smile. “That’s why you acted the way you did, you had a plan.”
As usual, Matt saw straight through you, but he still didn’t know exactly what was going on. For a few seconds longer, you’d have the upper hand.
With a gentleness comparable to moth's wings, you grabbed his wrists. Matt resisted for a moment as the balance of who, exactly, was in control shifted, but gave in. Stepping back a little to allow room to move, the backs of your legs hit the bed, and you placed Matt’s hands on your waist so he could feel the intricate lace and little ruffles that clung to your figure.
Immediately, his nimble fingers skirted along the fabric, feeling each clasp and detail, snapping the waistband against your skin a few times. “What is this,” he practically hissed, lowering to his knees to further inspect the unfamiliar lingerie. He pressed a few kisses to the ridges of lace, slowly moving his hands lower, lower, to where thin strips of elastic attached to delicate clasps that, in turn, held up the dainty nylon stockings you were wearing.
“It’s a garter belt. Got it made special, just for you.” Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you fought to keep your breathing steady as Matt slipped his fingers beneath the belt to pull your underwear down your legs; a simple, black lace pair that paled in comparison to everything else. Matt had to unlatch the stockings to get them all the way down, but once they were off, he fixed the stockings again and stuffed your panties in his pocket.
“For me?” His voice soft as sin, and hands twice as gentle as he pushed you onto the bed and spread your thighs so he could kneel between them.
“Mhm,” was all you managed to get out as Matt leaned forward, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, grazing his teeth over it. Your next words came out in a harried gasp as Matt slid a hand all the way up your thigh, beneath the lace, and pressed his thumb to your clit. “That’s not even the─ oh fuck─ the best part.”
“Pray tell,” he muttered, more focused on drawing tight circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb, revelling in the noises he coaxed from you and the way you tried to clamp your thighs together. His mouth placed a trail of kisses from the underside of your breast, over your ribcage, until Matt was practically leaning into your lap, nipping at your hip as he pressed a finger into you, pumping slowly. You were so wet for him, practically dripping, and Matt nearly groaned at the feeling.
“It’s the same colour─ Jesus Christ─”
“He won’t save you from this,” Matt absentmindedly chimed in, but you barely heard it.
“─same colour as your suit. I asked to have it made like that specifically, a garter belt and a lace bralette. Had to compare colour swatches and everything.” Unable to stop yourself from rambling, barely able to string two coherent thoughts together because Matt had slipped a second finger inside you, you bit down on your knuckle to shut yourself up.
At the same time, Matt’s head whipped up, unsure if he heard you right. “Really, Angel?”
So you could focus, he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth to suck the wetness off them as though that wouldn’t be equally as distracting. Cupping his jaw in your hands, you pulled his face toward you and pressed your lips to his. Matt’s tongue instantly swiped at the seam of your lips and you opened for him.
“Mhm,” you murmured against his lips. “Got my own little Daredevil suit, but you’re the only one I wear it for. I’ve been saving it for tonight.”
In Matt’s mind, everything clicked into place. That’s why you’d teased him so much earlier, leaving him achingly, embarrassingly hard, so he’d be wound up and flustered so you could reveal this, this magnificence, and he’d be completely at your mercy.
“Oh, you devilish thing,” he growled, slowly climbing onto the bed to allow you time to shuffle back. And then he was on top of you, straddling your hips but careful not to put his entire weight on you, his thighs strained against the tightness of his perfectly tailored pants. With Matt’s arms on either side of your head, his silver crucifix dangling only an inch from your lips, you were caged in. Matt was everywhere.
“I fell for your wicked, wicked games,” he was saying, and then he’d rolled to the side, hauling you with him, until you were on top. “So play them.”
The full meaning of words didn’t hit you until he held out his hand, tie hanging limply from his fingers. You hadn’t been brave enough before when Matt had looked ready to ruin you, and you’d been more than happy to sit back and let him, but part of you had wanted to call the shots. Now he was stepping back to let you take the reins. And the way he gripped your hips, slowly guiding you back-and-forth so you could feel the evidence of just how badly he wanted you pressing up against your bare core, it was driving you mad.
The same confidence you’d had that afternoon, when you’d had Matt melting like butter in your hands, returned with a vengeance. Grinning, you grabbed the tie.
“Give me your hands, Matthew.”
He loved it when you said his name like that, and he did exactly as he was told.
“Good boy,” you whispered as you wrapped the strip of fabric around his wrists, securing it with a knot tight enough that he shouldn’t be able to get out of it easily. Without needing to be asked, Matt lifted his hands above his head and kept them there.
Leaning down, you captured his lips in a searing kiss that set your thundering, and from the way Matt smirked against your lips, he could hear it loud and clear. Pulling back to catch your breath, you began your descent, leaving a smattering of hickeys from his jaw to his chest, making sure to kiss each scar you came across, then shuffled back, continuing down his torso until you got to the trail of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
Matt’s chest was heaving and you’d barely touched him, so when you undid his belt and tugged his pants down his legs, he knew he was done for. And when you palmed him through his boxers before taking those off, too? His heart damn-near stopped beating. No matter how many times he’d take you to bed, he never got over the adrenaline rush, the overwhelming surge of lust that overtook him, consumed him.
Spitting into your palm, and then letting a bead drip from between your lips onto the head of Matt’s cock, you pumped him a few times before taking him into your mouth. Matt moaned loudly, head pressed back into the pillows, and his back arched at the warmth of your mouth, the way your throat constricted around his cock as you swallowed.
“Fucking hell.” He wanted nothing more than to cup the back of your neck and guide your movements, but he kept his hands above your head because he knew if he moved them that you’d stop. The muscles in his thighs twitched beneath your hands and you squeezed them, digging your nails into the corded flesh. If you had to pick a favourite body part of Matt’s, you would choose his thighs in a heartbeat. They were just so thick and warm and, God, you’d lost count of how many times you’d gotten yourself off on them, Matt spurring you on with filthy words, because he’d had work to do and couldn’t give you his full attention. And you especially loved that he always wore tight pants specifically tailored to his exact measurements.
When his cock was well and truly wet, and Matt was a hopeless, panting mess, you moved back up his body and straddled him. Dragging your core up his length, letting out a shattered breath as your clit brushed against the rounded tip, you braced your hands against his scarred chest. Then you reached down and lined up Matt’s cock at your entrance and sunk down onto him. A bolt of pleasure raced up your spine when he was fully sheathed inside you, and the stretch that you’d never get used to had your thighs clenching around his hips.
A strawberry-red flush dusted across Matt’s chest and crept up his neck, throat bobbing as he tried not to cum right then and there.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he panted, veins in his neck tensing. “So fucking good, oh God.”
When you started rocking your hips, the sounds that came out of his mouth brought a devilish grin to your face. He was a whimpering mess, and it was so pathetic the way he squirmed, trying so hard to leave his hands up, but it was so… hot.
In the glow of the neon lights from the billboards outside, he looked purely heavenly.
Meanwhile, Matt was losing his fucking mind. Your pussy was so tight around him and he just wanted to touch you, grab your waist, your ass, and pound into you. But he was trying so hard to be good and he loved the way you had taken control. But Jesus Christ, he hadn’t realised how badly he needed to touch you, to hold you during sex, until you’d taken that privilege away. A broken whimper slipped past his lips.
“Oh, Matty, what’s wrong?” you crooned, enunciating your words with a roll of your hips that pushed his cock deeper, making you see stars. Leaning down until your chest was pressed flat against Matt’s, you nipped at his earlobe. “Is it too much for you, poor baby…”
Matt pressed his head back into the mattress, breathing hard through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. His hands were still held obediently above his head, but his wrists strained against the fabric of his tie. A bead of sweat slipped down his neck and, in the heat of the moment, you licked it away, dragging your tongue up the hollow of Matt’s throat.
“Not enough─ oh God─ please, sweetheart, I need more.” Matt squirmed, bucking his hips to try and get more friction, chasing a high you’d yet to allow him to have. Cruelly, you evaded his movements, lifting off him slightly every time he tried to thrust up into you.
“Nuh-uh,” you tutted, gripping his chin, turning his head to the side so you could place another hickey to the underside of his jaw, digging your teeth in a little just to make him wince. “But I might reconsider if you beg for it again.”
Matt wasn’t even going to try and resist, he didn’t want to play that damn cat-and-mouse game. So he begged. And begged.
“Please, sweetheart. Fuck, I just need to touch you. Let me touch you, please.”
And though you told yourself you weren’t going to cave, that you were going to toy with him a little longer, just for the fun of it, you crumbled before he’d even said a word. You practically ripped the tie off his hands, tossing it in a ball into the corner to be found tomorrow.
Matt didn’t waste a second, his hands instantly on your ass, guiding each gyration of your hips, doubling the already steady pace you’d set. Then they moved to the straps of the garter belt, snapping the elastic against your skin, and you moaned a little at the zing of pain. He panted and moaned, chasing his pleasure, using one hand to rub your clit to make sure you found your own. And when he sat up, one hand on your back, pressing you closer, and the other at your waist, he thrust into you, deeper and deeper. The bed creaked with each movement, but you were too busy clinging to Matt, face pressed into his neck as you fervently rocked your hips to meet each of his thrusts, to even notice.
Shattered moans and whines dripped from your lips like flower petals, and it was all Matt could hear; he’d zoned everything else out until all his senses were filled up with you, you, you. He didn’t care about anything else.
“Matty, I’m so close, fuck, I’m so close,” your voice was a breathless rasp.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“Keep going. Just like that. Oh God.”
“Fuck, Angel.”
“Just like that, Matty, just like that.”
Everything came to an intense point as Matt groaned into your neck, spilling inside you, and that sensation on top of everything else pushed you straight over the edge. You cried out his name, voice breaking, and your thighs clenched so hard around his waist that you were sure it must have hurt. And then, just for a moment, you blacked out.
You hadn’t realised your body was spasming, limbs trembling, until you came to and heard Matt whispering to you, stroking your back as he held you close.
Later that night, well, early the next morning, after you’d spent a good half-hour in the shower together, exchanging sleepy kisses under the hot water, you were wrapped in the sheets with Matt. Neither of you had bothered with clothes, and a seed of a thought was already planted in your mind of just how you’d wake Matt up. But for now, you struggled to keep your eyes open.
You were tracing idle circles on Matt’s sternum, your head resting on his shoulder, when he said something you weren’t expecting at all.
“I love the way you fuck me.”
You almost choked on your own tongue, tilting your head to look up at him.
“Matthew Michael Murdock, such naughty words from that pretty mouth of yours.” You leaned up to press a kiss to that pretty mouth, tasting the faint mint of toothpaste on his tongue.
“I’m serious, sweetheart.”
“And what is it about the way I fuck you that you love so much, huh?”
“All of it, obviously, but you always know just what to say and do, and all your little surprises, and the sounds you make. It drives me crazy. I can never stop thinking about you.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, good.”
Silence fell once more, only to be broken a few minutes later when you thought Matt had fallen asleep.
“Is it bad that I want to be inside you again already?”
You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped your throat. “Do not make me kick you out of this bed, Matthew. I need to sleep.”
“Fine,” he huffed, rolling onto his side to snuggle you closer. “But I’m not going to work tomorrow. I’m staying here, in this bed, with you.”
“You have to go to work, you’ve got that big case, remember?”
“But─”
“If you go, I’ll be sure to visit you on your lunch break and send Karen and Foggy on a food run at that Chinese place a few blocks away so they’ll be gone for a while…”
“Fine, I’ll go.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “But only if you promise to wear that garter belt again.”
today is a bit of a busy day for me, but i wanted to get three of my old works out, one for each of the new character masterlists. so it's frank's turn.
me and frank go way back fr because i watched the punisher for the first time at one of the most difficult points of my life so far. i always have place in my heart for him <3
warnings: 18+ MDNI. a fluffy, smutty little fic. p-in-v unprotected sex. oral (f! and m! receiving.) fingering. swearing. shower blowjob. use of 'good girl' and 'yes, sir.' afab!reader.
After the night Frank had, he was ready to crawl into bed, hold you close, and breathe you in. But you were already awake when he finally stumbled through the door, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower.
Following the clatter of plates and cups to the kitchen, he couldn’t help the relief that swept through his chest as he found you, headphones on, stacking the dishwasher. You were okay. And you’d always be okay, but paranoia hounded Frank every waking moment, after what had happened to his family all those years ago. Although he was healing, as much as one could heal from a tragedy of such an immense degree, the terror was always there in the back of his mind. So seeing you safe, wearing only a baggy shirt and a pair of satin pyjama shorts, not only reassured him that you were fine, but that you were his.
With your back to him, you were still blissfully unaware of Frank’s presence, too busy fluttering about the kitchen, trying to get everything cleaned up before Matt and Foggy came over for brunch later. Nodding along to the AC/DC song that was playing, you grabbed a punnet of strawberries out of the fridge to snack on, swearing that you’d just have a little break and then you’d get back to work.
It was then, with a strawberry halfway to your mouth, that you spun around and noticed Frank leaning against the wall, watching you with a placid smile. And you would’ve laughed, embarrassed at how oblivious you’d been, if you hadn’t noticed the blood staining his knuckles and the fresh bruise blooming along his jaw like a morbid orchid.
Tearing off the headphones, you rushed over to him, reaching up to take his face in your hands, tilting it this-way-and-that to get a better look at the splotch of deep mulberry purple.
“Frank, baby, hi,” you said once you’d prodded and poked, assuring yourself that he was okay. “I missed you last night.” You understood that Frank had things he had to do, but it didn’t stop the bed from being too vast, too cold, to sleep in alone. In the end, you’d managed to get a few hours of fitful sleep, but only after exchanging your sweater for a different one you’d been wearing while curled up with him, one that you’d plucked from the bedroom floor because it still smelled like Frank.
“I know, sunshine, and ‘m sorry.” His words were muffled as he pressed his lips to your forehead, arms slipping around your waist and pulling you close. Like a house of cards in a hurricane, you didn’t stand a chance as you crumbled into his embrace, burying your face in his chest and just breathing him in. The scent of woodsmoke and gunpowder, and the faintest hint of the lavender laundry detergent you used, wrapped around you like a safety blanket.
Frank ducked his head, pulling away slightly so he could meet your gaze. For a moment, he just stared, tracing his thumb over your cheek, across your lips, then tilted your chin upwards so he could kiss you. The faint coppery taste of blood lingered on his tongue as it swept into your mouth, a claim and reassurance at the same time.
With one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other crept down your waist then up beneath your sweater. Although his fingers were warm and callused, scraping over your soft skin, brushing against your ribs as his hand slid up to cup your breast, they still sent shivers spider-walking down your spine. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and pointer-finger. A low laugh escaped the back of his throat as you tilted your head back, soft gasp dripping like honey from your kiss-swollen lips.
“Thought about you all night,” Frank muttered, leaning in to press a trail of featherlight kisses up your neck, chuckling at the way you whined when he reached that special place just beneath your ear.
“Hmm? What was I doing?” It was a leading question, and you knew exactly what you were doing; your feigned obliviousness wouldn’t fool anybody, especially not Frank.
Frank smirked, lifting you onto the kitchen counter, and stood between your legs, bracing his hands on either side of your thighs. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief in the glow of sunlight filtering in through the kitchen window, and he kissed you again. And again.
“You weren’t doing anything except laying back and looking pretty for me.”
“Oh yeah?” The words were meant to come out full of teasing confidence, but it came out as a whisper that Frank would’ve missed entirely if he wasn’t so focused on you, on every breath you took, every little sound and reaction.
Frank said nothing, lips tilting up into a smirk as he ran his hands up your thighs, fisting them in the fabric of your shorts. Without needing to be asked, you lifted your hips so he could tug them off. Back between your legs, the bulge in his jeans was pressed firmly against your core, with only the thin cotton of your underwear as a barrier.
Frank’s hand was resting on your tailbone, pushing you closer as he leaned down to capture your mouth with his own. The beginnings of a beard shadowed his jaw, and the light stubble scratched at your chin, and you couldn’t help but imagine the way it was going to feel against your thighs. The thought left you so breathless that you had to pull away.
“Alright, darlin’?” Frank’s gaze found yours, searching for any discomfort or pain or anything wrong, but only found you stammering and flustered.
“Yeah, yes,” you reached out and tugged at the hem of his shirt, hands shaking. “I just— oh Jesus—” Frank had pulled his shirt over his head then, leaving you to observe the muscled expanse of his torso, littered with bruises and scars. Without thinking, you pressed a kiss to his chest, his ribs, dragged your tongue over ridges of muscle. “I just really fucking want you right now.”
“I know, I know, just let me take care of you.” The rasp of his voice sent tingles down your spine as he laid you down on the counter. Squirming, you moved to take off your sweater, but Frank grabbed your wrists.
“No, leave it on,” he muttered, simply pushing the fabric up, bunching it under your chin so your chest was bare to him. The fabric smelled like him, and he wanted that scent carved into your skin.
His teeth grazed against your nipple and you arched your back, pressing into his touch. Watching him like that, slowly moving down your body, leaving a trail of messy kisses that would darken into hickeys, was like watching an artist working on a masterpiece. A sculptor coaxing unimaginable beauty from impenetrable stone.
“So gorgeous,” he murmured against your hip. “All mine.” Against the waistband or your underwear this time. He took the elastic between his teeth and pulled it back a little, letting it snap against your skin. The warmth of his breath against your core made you shiver, a spark igniting within your belly. You lifted your hands to your breasts, squeezing and touching and toying. With nimble fingers, Frank slid your underwear off, balled them up and shoved them in your mouth, then he kneeled on the tiles, the counter the perfect height for you to be right in front of his face.
The first stroke, one flat-tongued stripe right up your centre, set your head spinning, and you squeezed your eyes shut, moan muffled by the fabric between your teeth. When Frank’s nose bumped against your clit as he dipped his tongue inside you, your hand flew to the back of his head of its own accord, tangling in the short mess of curls.
“Frank, fuck—” you spat your underwear onto the counter, propping yourself up on your elbow so you could get a better view of the god-like man between your legs, worshipping you with his tongue. He was already looking up at you, dark eyes gleaming. Meeting his gaze, you could tell that he was getting off on this; on making you fall apart, watching you bite your lip and groan his name. And even though he was in a position of vulnerability, down on his knees for you, he was the one in control.
With the swirl of his tongue on your clit, your legs clamped shut around his head, and he hummed against you, the small vibration sending tingles through your body. His hands came up to hold your thighs apart, just a little, so he could have full-range of motion but still feel caged by the warmth of your flesh pressed against his ears, his cheeks.
A wave of warmth swept through your tummy, goosebumps rising on your skin, as you arched up off the counter, rolling your hips into Frank. He took every fervent buck of your hips in stride, moving with you, timing each dip and stroke of his tongue so it went as deep or pressed as firmly as possible. He gripped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, ones that would turn a beautiful purple over the coming days, and would serve as a reminder of this moment every time you took a step.
With your legs draped over his shoulders, , his chin and lips coated in your slick, Frank Castle truly believed he’d found heaven. Maybe Red’s onto something about this whole ‘faith’ thing, he thought as he slipped two fingers inside your soaked cunt, flicking your clit with his tongue as he slowly pumped in-and-out.
Despite his cock straining against his jeans, almost painfully so, Frank barely noticed, too focused on you; the way you bucked your hips into his face, the way your walls fluttered around his fingers, the way you tasted. In fact, the intensity of trying to hold off from cumming, untouched, in his pants like a horny fifteen year-old, added to the overall desperation that hung as thick as smoke in the air.
“Think you can take another finger, sweetheart?’ Frank asked, pulling away from your throbbing core for the first time since he’d started. You moaned at the sight of his mouth, cheeks, and chin glistening and wet, and you nodded frantically.
“Yes, God yes,” you groaned, shifting your hips to give Frank a better angle, and he slipped in a third finger. It took a moment for you to adjust to the stretch, but once you did, Frank curled them just right, hitting that spot inside you, and you jolted. Head tilted back, you let out a series of high, keening gasps, chest heaving. You couldn’t even string two thoughts together as Frank sucked harshly at your clit, the sensation making your whole body shake as you got closer and closer to your peak.
“Come on, sweet girl,” he rasped, watching in awe at the way his fingers slid so easily into you, the way your slick dripped down his hand, his wrist. “I know you’re close. You gonna cum for me?”
Too high on the feeling of Frank thrusting his fingers faster, curling them a bit deeper, you just nodded, a wanton moan your only answer. When he leaned back in, letting a string of spit fall from his lips onto your sensitive clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, you had to lay back down, gripping the edge of the counter.
“Shit—” you squirmed against the cold marble, toes curling as you crossed your ankles behind Frank’s head. “That feels so— fuck, Frank, right there, right there, right—”
You arched up off the counter with a strangled gasp, a flare of white momentarily obscuring your vision, followed by a stream of ragged, fractured moans that fell from your lips like flakes of snow. Gushing on his fingers, your cum dripped down his chin and onto the counter. Without your notice, your hand had returned to the back of Frank’s head, holding him still as you writhed against him, and he was just taking it. Removing his fingers from your still-fluttering cunt, he rubbed his hands up and down your thighs, further up, over your stomach to your breasts and down again, as you just used him, unable to control yourself as you rode out your orgasm.
Finally, when your moans had turned to shallow breaths, and finally into quiet, sated sighs, Frank pulled away. He stood, gazing down at you, splayed out on the counter, spent but satisfied.
“That’s my good girl,” he muttered with a smile, chin glistening, as he lifted his hand to his mouth, making a show of slowly sucking them clean, his gaze locked on yours the entire time. When he was done, he helped you into a sitting position, holding you steady as a tremor ran through you, then lifted you into his arms. With your legs around his waist, the prominent bulge in his jeans pressing against your sensitive core, you caved into his bare-chested embrace, littering any skin you could reach with gentle kisses as he carried you to the bathroom.
When he set you tenderly on the edge of the bathtub, he pulled the shower curtain to the side and reached up to turn on the shower. He helped you out of your shirt, his shirt, taking a moment to just stare at you, naked and beautiful in front of him.You grabbed at his belt, but he gently pushed your hands away.
“Not yet,” he tutted, undoing his belt himself, slinging it into the corner. His pants and boxers followed soon after, and your mouth dried out as you took him in, in all his naked glory. Frank helped you into the shower, chuckling at the way your legs trembled, and pulled you close. Beneath the stream of hot water, pitter-pattering like raindrops on a tin roof, you kissed Frank. Deep and slow, relishing in the swipe of his tongue, the softness of his lips.
You slid your hand down to where his cock was pressed against your hip, taking it in your hand, giving it a few languorous tugs as though you had all the time in the world. Frank groaned, tilting his head back into the spray, letting it wash over his face. The water rinsed away the remaining evidence of your pleasure from his chin, but it would only be a matter of time before it would be there again, so Frank didn’t mind too much.
He was too focused on the way your thumb swiped over the tip of his cock, the way your palm slid up and down his length, to think about anything else. You'd consumed him, taken over everything that he was, in a matter of seconds. And when you leaned in to kiss the side of his neck, grazing your teeth across the veins there, your name slipped from his lips; a moan and growl all at once.
“Come on, Frank,” you muttered, nipping at his earlobe, stroking faster. “Come on, baby.”
“Tell me where you need me,” he ground out through ragged pants.
“This isn’t about me anymore,” you said, twisting your wrist loosely as you jerked him off. “What do you want? My mouth?” You stuck out your tongue, licking your palm and dropping it back down to his cock. “Or my pussy?” With your free hand, you grabbed his wrist and brought it down, placing it just above your crotch.
Frank groaned as he drew you in for a kiss; it was messy and rushed, a clash of tongues and teeth. “Let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours, yeah?”
Nodding obediently, you dropped to your knees in the bathtub. Frank cupped your cheek, staring down at you with a smirk on his face.
“Tap my thigh if it’s too much, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” It just slipped out. Frank’s eyebrows shot up, dark eyes flaring.
“What did you say?”
You turned away, a little embarrassed, but Frank grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”
Blood roared in your ears, and your heart was thumping so hard against your rib cage that you swore you could hear it.
“I said yes, sir.”
Frank’s head fell back as he let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Say that again.”
And you did, a spark of lust catching and flaring in your chest, like flint to a cluster of dried leaves. Burning and burning and burning.
“Are you gonna take what I give you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you gonna be a good girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you mine?”
“God, yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes. Sir.”
Frank’s thumb passed over the seam of your lips. With your hands resting atop your thighs, staring up at him like a fucking angel, you were the picture of innocent obedience, as though you hadn’t been writhing beneath his tongue only minutes ago.
“Open,” he muttered, pumping his cock in his hand a few times. When he slid into your mouth, hot and hard and heavy on your tongue, the noise that rumbled from the back of his throat was like one you’d never heard before. With a grunt, he slammed his hand against the wall, holding himself steady as you relaxed your jaw, allowing his cock to hit the back of your throat.
“Okay— shit, honey— I’m gonna move now, okay?”
You hummed around him, Frank shuddered at the vibration, and you lifted your hands to cup the back of his knees. When he started thrusting into your mouth, he wasn’t rough, but he definitely wasn’t gentle either. Breathing through your nose, you tried to stay as still and pliant as possible as Frank chased his high, occasionally hollowing out your cheeks. A particularly deep thrust had your eyes watering, throat constricting at the intrusion.
Frank was a panting mess above you, whispering a constant stream of expletives, his hand fisted in your hair.
“Fuck, darlin’, so good. So good f’me.” A loud moan burst from his mouth, echoing off the walls of the bathroom, as you started bobbing your head to meet each push of his hips. “So good, lettin’ me use you like this.”
Despite how good your mouth felt around him, Frank wanted more. Needed more. He pulled out and hauled you up, and you were pressed up against the shower wall before you even realised you were standing. In one harsh thrust, he was fully seated inside you, grabbing one of your legs behind the knee and hooking it around his waist.
The frenzy that had been building in him since he’d walked in to see you in his shirt and not much else finally reached breaking point. As one, the two of you moved, unable to discern where you ended and he began; a pas de deux of skin and sweat and heated gazes. Frank pressed his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut, as he drove into you, deeper and deeper with every stroke, grunting and panting.
God, he was so beautiful when he was losing his mind.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressed yourself flush against him, and rocked your hips in time with his thrusts. The slap of skin-on-skin slowly rose above the roar of the shower.
“Frank,” you whined. Still sensitive from before, you were already dancing along the edge of another orgasm.
“I know, sweetheart. I gotcha.” Frank pressed his face into your neck, jaw clenching as he pounded into you, trying to pull you closer, but there was no space left. It was just him and you, nothing else left in the entire world.
A few more thrusts and you were a goner. Crying out, you let your head fall back against the tiles as your whole body shook. If it weren’t for Frank, holding you and fucking you through it, you were sure you would’ve blacked out. The tight clench of your walls around his cock was what finally shoved Frank over the cliff.
He groaned, murmuring your name over and over into the side of your throat, and dug his teeth into the curve of your shoulder. It hurt, but knowing that there’d be a mark there in a few hours turned the spark of pain into pleasure.
“Frankie,” you gasped, rolling your hips one last time before Frank stilled inside you, completely spent. His cum sat warm within you, sending tingles up your spine. When he pulled out, it dripped in little rivers down your thighs. For a moment, the two of you just watched it happen.
As your breathing returned to normal, you grabbed a washcloth off the shower caddy and lathered it up with soap. And as you washed him off, Frank just gazed at you, eyes glassy with adoration. You almost didn’t hear him when he spoke.
“I didn’t know I’d be able to feel this way about anybody after…” he trailed off, but you knew exactly what he was talking about. “But I do. Feel that way. For you.”
Unable to form the right words, you just nodded, a soft smile upon your face. Frank leaned down and kissed you, and it was so starkly different to the heated frenzy that had simmered to an end. Now, his lips were careful, testing; a silent portrayal of words he couldn’t say.
i'm kicking my blog renovation off with an old favourite of mine. this was the first thing i wrote for carmy way back when, lost to the abyss years ago after the account deletion. so enjoy <3
i haven't seen season 5 yet because disney+ did some upgrade where i have to pay extra to see it, and i am lowkey pissed about it, but i will hopefully get to it soon. no spoilers pls <3
warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut. p-in-v unprotected sex. swearing. prone bone? is that what it's called? idk. reader is described as having tattoos. basically, pwp, happy sunday! afab!reader <3
The steady buzz of the needle droned in the small studio like a swarm of bees. Laid out on the table, you focused on breathing steadily through the uncomfortable sting.
The artist's gloved hand was warm on your arm as he held it still, carefully shading between the stencilled lines. You'd been coming to the same studio for months now after Carmy had recommended it; admittedly, he hadn't thought you’d be frequenting it more than him. Not that it bothered him, he found the steady increase of ink on your skin, the surprise of finding a new tattoo on your hip or thigh as he went down on you, really fucking hot.
And for you, something about the pain was a little comforting, so you just kept coming back. And, hey, the juniors needed to learn and practice somehow.
The bell above the door jingled and you glanced over, a soft smile gracing your features as Carmen stepped in, hair messy from the wind. He caught your stare, eyes bright, and winked.
“Hi,” he mouthed, sitting in one of the leather chairs in the waiting room, ankle crossed over a knee.
“Yo, Berzatto,” the artist, an older guy named Jared, looked up from the linework. “How’s the restaurant?”
Carmen’s brows shot up in that exasperated way they always did when he was stressed, sighing deeply through a weak smile. “Shitty, yeah, actually. Lots of renovation and shit.”
Jared nodded, getting back to work, leaving Carmen to watch you in peace. The way your face changed as the needle crept toward a sensitive spot near the crease of your elbow, the way you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip when it stung. And though his face didn’t show it, a rush of desire went straight to his cock when you squirmed on the table, crossing your ankles, causing your skirt to ride up a little.
It gave him a perfect view of his favourite tattoo. A little heart on your upper thigh, simple and plain, but it was the one he’d done for you. It started off as a joke, when you’d found your old tattoo gun that you’d impulsively bought in college, the same one you’d used to tattoo your friends. Never perfectly done, but fun all the same.
A few months ago, you’d handed it to Carmy and asked him to do it. Admittedly, he freaked out a little, afraid to fuck it up, but it had turned out alright. A little wonky, due to the lack of a stencil, but you loved it. And he loved it, in that little possessive way he seemed to always adopt when it came to you.
Seeing that little heart made his brain go fuzzy, sending him back to that morning; the early hours of limbo where his alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but there was no point in going back to sleep.
The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the room, buttery and warm. Arching off the bed, you bit down on your fist to keep from crying out. The walls in this stupid, cheap, apartment building were thin, and there was only so much scathing, knowing stares from the neighbours that you could take.
“Like that, baby? Doin’ so good f’me. Feel so fuckin’ good.” Carmen’s voice dripped with sleep-addled honey, thick and sweet and sultry. You’d woken up reaching for him, a soft whimper of his name passing through your lips, and he swallowed the sound with a searing kiss.
Each of his thrusts hit deep, cock brushing against the perfect spot, and you rolled your hips to meet his movements. Foreheads pressed together, every breath was shared, every whisper of praise and quiet moans mingled in the fraction of space between the two of you. The chain around Carmy’s neck bumped at your lips, and you tilted your head to capture it between your teeth.
“F-fucks sake,” he breathed, gripping your waist. His thrusts stuttered; seeing you with his chain in your mouth struck something in his chest, and it went straight to his dick.
“Harder, Carm, please.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm.”
He pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach, slid back in, and fucked you into the mattress. Each thrust, each impact against the back of your thighs, each stifled grunt and groan in your ear; it set your head spinning.
“Fuck, baby. Just like that, fuck. Carm, come on, fucking give it to me. Fuck. Please.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a jumbled string, muffled by the pillow. Carmy’s hand found its way into your hair, tugging at the roots, and he smirked at the long moan it pulled from your throat.
“Such a pretty fuckin’ mouth,” he grunted between thrusts, feeling the pulse and flutter of your walls around his cock. “So fuckin’ good, baby.”
His thumbs fit into the divots at the base of your spine, fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you, giving you exactly what you wanted, what you needed.
“Fuckfuckfuck, Carmy, I’m–” You lifted your hips and pressed back into him, chasing your orgasm, each thrust slammed into you, leaving you breathless. “Fuck, there, right there.”
Carmen’s grip on your waist got tighter, tight enough to leave bruises, as he got closer to the edge. When you came, burying your face in the pillows to stifle the cry of his name, Carmen swore loudly. He fucked you through the comedown, leaving you sensitive and blissfully overstimulated.
He was so close, every flutter around his cock unbearable. “Fuck, baby, where–”
“On my tummy.”
Carmen pulled out and you rolled over, just in time for the first spurts of his cum to land on the bare plane of your stomach. He jerked himself off until he had nothing more to give, and there were strings of sticky white covering your tummy. Swiping a finger through the mess, you held his hooded gaze as you sucked it clean.
Carmy watched you, panting. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb brushing back-and-forth absentmindedly over the little heart tattoo. He reached up, running his thumb up your stomach, before tilting your chin.
“Open,” he purred, and you did. He pressed his thumb onto your tongue, and you closed your mouth around it–
“Carm?” Your voice pulled him from his fantasy, one that had left his cock pressing against the zip of his jeans. He looked up and there you were, standing in front of him, arm out to show him the fresh ink. “Like it?”
Carmen swallowed, trying not to let his gaze slide over you, knowing it’d give every thought in his head away. But when he met your stare, he noticed the little smirk that tugged at your lips and realised you already knew.
“Uh, yeah, baby, it looks awesome.”
You winked and turned on your heel, wandering over to the front desk to pay, putting a little extra swing in your hips, setting your skirt flaring. Not that Carmy was staring or anything, (he was.)
Moments later, you were grabbing his hand, pulling him out of the chair. “Let’s go home.”
the account i made for the bear was short-lived, because tumblr had something super buggy going on, and the account got deleted somehow, not once, but twice, so i deadass gave up. but i'm bringing carmy back to my little internet universe <3
smut will be marked with an asterisk, and each fic will have specific warnings.
weinthepitt Frank Castle / Matt Murdock masterlist (previously @/marvelswh0re)
hello!!
coming back around to two of my OG comfort characters. my oldest account, which i deleted almost three years ago, is one i miss so much. so many fun times and fic challenges and stuff lived on that account. but @/marvelswh0re was deleted for my mental health. anyhow, i want those fics on tumblr again, because they still bring ME comfort from my shitty, off-brand laptop, and i want you guys to have them, too.
smut will be marked with an asterisk, and each fic will have individual warnings.
also hypothetically, if i were to publish the frank castle, matt murdock, carmy berzatto, etc fics i had on my old blogs that i've since deleted, would y'all be cool with that? because i miss those fics, and i want to make this a central location for all the stuff i've written......
i know i started this blog for the pitt, but i used to delete tumblr accounts once my hyperfixation passed. but these fandoms are all part of me still, and i want all my writing in one place <3
A little Abbot ramble because I am two margaritas deep as someone who doesn't drink alcohol, and everything is warm and glittery. Apparently being tipsy and horny is all I needed to break my accidental hiatus. Love y’all.
"Baby, baby, hi," you whispered, a little giggly, when Jack finally found you. Nestled in a circular booth with your friends, at the back of some new, neon-lit bar, you'd been waiting patiently for him.
It had been a long night, even though it was fairly early by 'night-out' standards. But you were half-drunk and sleepy, ready to climb into bed.
"Well, hi," he said, in that honey-smooth voice of his, as his hand slid to your lower back, keeping you steady. "Ready to go?"
"Mhm," you nodded, leaning forward just enough to press your lips to his. A fleeting, gentle kiss, led by the mess of desire in your lungs, the need to simply be near him. He was so warm, and his cinnamon curls, dusted with more sugary grey every day, were tangled in that way they always were when his hair was freshly washed.
"Say bye to your friends, baby, don't forget your manners." His tone was soft, but that casual, quiet dominance made your already-warm skin tingle. You bloomed under his gentle instruction, and once you’d said your goodbyes, the walk to the car felt like a marathon. Each step in those cute little heels punctuated by the thud of your heart.
His hand against your lower back was a specific kind of torture, strong and steady and so gentlemanly. Jack helped you into the car, giving your ass a little pat to urge you into the seat, before reaching over your lap to put your seatbelt on for you.
And as he leaned over you, you inhaled the scent of him and almost moaned. He was doing this on purpose. Surely he had to know the kind of effect his nearness had on you, especially when you were this tipsy.
“Jack,” you whispered as he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, sliding into the steady flow of nighttime traffic. The brake lights and streetlights blurred in your gaze; everything sparkled.
“Yeah baby?”
Words seemed impossible to come by, so you grabbed his hand, moving it from where it rested heavy on your thigh. Jack’s low, knowing chuckle echoed through the car as you guided his hand between your legs. A smirk tugged at his lips as he lazily toyed with your clit through the already-damp fabric of your underwear, his gaze never leaving the road.
You gripped his wrist, gently rocking your hips, chasing more pressure, more friction.
With practiced ease, Jack slid his fingers into your underwear, then into you. It took a few seconds for your hazy brain to catch up, for a stream of expletives to drip from your lips like honey.
It didn’t take much for you to fall apart beneath his lazy touch. You whimpered his name, thighs clamping around his hand, and shuddered breathlessly. Your head fell back against the headrest, a soft, satisfied smile on your face.
“Clean ‘em up for me, baby,” Jack muttered, turning his gaze from the road to shoot you a wink, as he tapped his wet, gleaming fingers on your bottom lip.
As you took them into your mouth, tongue swirling lasciviously, Jack let out a low sound. “That’s it, baby. That’s it.”
Anyway, I am goin da fuck to SLEEP now. I miss writing on here, but I am so uninspired at the minute and unfortunately also employed. Love y'all!!!
I have had Pope on the mind so much recently, and I have also been have a shit time at work recently. So I wrote this, on company-branded notebook paper, during work hours. Hope this is coherent? And go easy on me, I've only, like, eight episodes of Animal Kingdom.
WARNINGS: Literally just porn. 18+ MDNI. Period sex???
"You need this?" His question was a low rasp, punctuated by the torturous grind of his crotch against your cunt. Separated only by denim and cotton, you were already half-gone at the friction.
Breathless, you nodded, hands roaming over warm skin, over the valleys and ridges of toned muscle. He was steady and malleable beneath your desperate reaching. Yours.
Immovable reassurance after the shitshow of a say you'd had. Shitshow of a month, really.
"Alright, alright." Husky and quiet, the faintest trace of amusement in his tone. "I know, I know. I got it, I got you."
---
His rough hands held you steady, guiding every rut of your hips as you rode him. Mouth agape, eyes screwed shut, you whimpered and moaned and cried out his name.
There was a tremor of frustration in your movements, like you were chasing, chasing, chasing a feeling. But you couldn't quite get there.
Knees digging into the mattress, you tilted your head back, hands drifting to your tits, toying with your sensitive nipples. Groping and grasping and squeezing.
"Andrew," you sighed, on the verge of tears as you looked down at him. His dark gaze, the tight set of his jaw as he watched you, brows furrowed slightly.
He was trying to get a read on you, trying to figure out what you needed and how to give it to you.
His groin gleamed with your slick, tinted with smears of blood. He didn't care, never had, but seeing it made you roll your eyes. Of course, just another fucking thing.
Without waiting for another frustrated whimper, Pope manoeuvred you until you were beneath him. His elbows sunk into the mattress on either side of your head; he was so close his nose brushed the tip of your own.
He wiped your tears away with the pad of his thumb. "Hey, hey, don't cry. Don't cry."
He kissed the wet smears the tears had left behind, tasting the salt on his tongue as he slid back into you.
As he bottomed out, you made the quietest, weakest sound. A little like relief, and your wide-eyed gaze locked onto his. Pleading and thankful.
"Yeah?" He whispered, pressing his lips to yours. Once, twice. "My baby, hm?"
Nodding, your bottom lip trembled as you reached for him, pulling him down until he was pressed flush against you. It shoved him just that tiny bit deeper.
Your felt yourself gush around him, felt it leak down between your thighs, pooling beneath you.
"Sorry," you mumbled against his lips.
"For what?" Pope frowned, nipping at your jaw.
"The mess."
Pope just shook his head, pulled out a little, then thrusted back in. "Don't worry 'bout it, sweetheart. Doesn't matter."
And when you sniffled, whimpering his name, he just nodded, hushing you with a kiss as he picked up his rhythm.
Thrusting and retreating until you trembled beneath him, clawing at him as though he were an anchor. He lost count of how many times you whispered 'please.'
----
ANYWAY!!! Hope you liked this. I'm hoping to get back into writing soon <3
