Summary: An insight into your domestic life with Frank Castle after he begins his new life
w/c 770
Frank Castle x reader
After all the shit that went down in Hell’s kitchen, Frank was determined to reinvent himself. He didn’t want to be known as the punisher anymore, he was bored of fighting, he’d done it all of his life and he just wanted to take a break. That was how he found you, a pretty waitress that worked in a diner on his way out of town.
Although there was something special about you. He couldn’t just observe you and be happy to leave, he needed more. So he became a regular, always making sure to tip you well so you wouldn’t forget him. Then over time you became familiar with each other, making conversation, him giving you compliments, getting to know each other.
He didn’t hide his identity or lie about who he was, even though Frank Castle was supposed to be dead, but thankfully you didn’t seem to know about his altar ego and his name certainly didn’t ring a bell. That was something he really liked about you. You were starting on a clean slate, without any previous bias.
Your relationship probably moved quicker than some, but you liked Frank. He was all you had and you were all he had, so it was a sort of an easy decision. Within four months of you knowing each other you were already official, and it barely took any longer after that for you both to get together the little money you had to find somewhere to live together.
The apartment you and Frank shared was only small, but it did the job perfectly fine. You had everything you needed, all the basics and then each other. It really wasn’t anything special or extraordinary, but it meant something to you. It especially meant something to you to wake up to the beautiful man every morning.
You would have never suspected Frank to be the domestic kind of man when you first saw him, but he was truly surprising you. He might have even enjoyed it more than you did.
The key in the front door alerted you that he was home, your gaze on him over your shoulder as he entered. You could nearly see all the weight on his shoulders as he trudged over to you, spinning you around so you were facing him rather than whatever you were cooking.
“Hey, how was work?” you asked, sliding your hands against his chest. He didn’t even consider answering before he was pushing his lips on yours, hands holding your hips. You made an oomf noise, taken off-guard by the sudden kiss. But you accepted it, melting into his body happily.
He trailed his lips from yours to your jaw, down your neck while your fingers brushed through his long hair. You were careful when tugging the knots free, knowing he just wanted some gentle love right now. “That bad, huh?” you chuckled. He hummed, nudging his nose against your cheek with one last kiss before he left the warmth of your body. He let you know he was going to shower, leaving you to finish making dinner in the tiny kitchen. But he didn’t leave without telling you how good it smelled already.
He wasn’t gone for long, usually when he got back from the building sight he wanted to spend time with you, he got very clingy after being so isolated all day. He couldn’t bear to talk to those men, he hated them all. You didn’t mind how he basically became a large koala, it was nice receiving all the affection, knowing he wanted to touch you, to hold you.
Only when he snaked his arms around your waist did you catch sight of the redness on his knuckles, frowning as you lifted his hands closer to your face for you to see. “Baby, your knuckles. They’re bleeding,” you observed, gently running your fingers over where you could already see bruises forming on the split skin.
He noticed the frown on your face, lowering his head to catch your gaze so he could reassure you he was alright. “‘M okay,” he mumbled, trying to pull them out of your grasp. You didn’t let him though, narrowing your eyes at him. “I didn’t ask.” There was a small grin on your face as your words registered in his head, a chuckle falling past his lips.
“Clean ‘em up, I’ll finish dinner.” You dropped his hands, patting his cheek as you ushered him away before the food started to burn. He stole one more kiss though, flashing you a wink as he shifted over to the sink nearby. “Yes, ma’am.”
Even on his best day, Frank Castle was a man of few words.
Before his morning coffee, you were lucky if you received more than a grunt or two, and after… Well, even then he didn’t exactly turn into Shakespeare. So whilst Frank didn’t always tell you things, he still managed to show you.
It started with small, simple things.
He’d pick you up from work to save you waking home. He’d cook you dinner in hopes that you’d stop ordering so much takeout. He knew you didn’t always have the time, nor the energy to cook a half decent meal, but he liked to know that you’d eaten at least one portion of vegetables during the week.
He’d take your bins out, fixed your coffee machine – which may have been for selfish reasons more than anything else – and he’d sit and watch ridiculous films with you, even though he knew you’d fall asleep within half hour, leaving him to watch the remainder of the film alone.
And he’d buy you flowers.
So often, in fact, that eventually you had to buy more vases just to house them.
So yes, Frank Castle wasn’t a man of many words, but his actions certainly made up for that.
It was a bog-standard, normal day.
You had awoken next to to Frank’s warm body, pressing your cold feet into his calves, causing him to hiss, but remained where they were, allowing you to steal the heat from him.
He’d been awake for a while, as he always was when he had to formulate a plan for later. Except this time, he wasn’t mapping out a dangerous gang’s headquarters, nor was he plotting any type of recon, assassination…. No. He was planning something much more terrifying. Something that put the living fear into a lot of people, himself included.
Frank Castle was planning a romantic, valentines day.
He and Maria had indulged in only a few valentines, but with two young children and him a military man, it was never something either were particularly fussed over.
You were a romantic, and you didn’t try to hide it. And Frank loved that about you.
Sure, you’d bemoan the commercialization of the day; the expensive cards that would be thrown away after a few days, and the expensive gifts and expectations, but what was wrong with showing someone you loved them?
Sure, you should hold that same amount of love every day, not just one day of the year, but it wasn’t realistic, was it? You couldn’t shower someone with love and attention and affection every damn day of your relationship. Life didn’t work that way. Love didn’t work that way.
So what was wrong with having one day where you went above and beyond?
The morning continued with soft kisses and gentle caresses. His stubble scratched over your thighs, your breathy giggles quickly dissipating into sensual moans, fingers combing through the short hair atop his head.
A shower – where curious hands continued to wander, mapping out each other’s bodies as if you didn’t know every inch of each other’s bodies – followed by the both of you lazily moving around the kitchen in an attempt to make pancakes.
He didn’t have much planned for the morning, you had to pop into work and sign some documents, and he intended to head out to the shipment yard, he’d been given information about a possible new arms dealer in the area, and he intended to – at some point that week – intervene. He’d checked every day so far, and yet nothing had come up, he was just hoping his source hadn’t got it wrong.
Either way, he intended to meet you after work, and take you to a very expensive, Italian restaurant later that evening. He hadn’t told you much, only to dress up.
He was nervous, but for the first time in so long, Frank was also excited about something.
Which was why he should’ve known everything would go to shit.
Turns out, his source was accurate. Or at least, half accurate.
Yes, there was – finally – a weapons shipment. But there was also a huge drug shipment, too. One that Frank knew he couldn’t just leave for another day.
The distributors, a Russian gang that had so far evaded him – were known to be violent drug pushers, using disadvantaged kids to run their products all over the New York Burroughs. Frank was also certain they had a prostitution ring.
Either way, despite the day, he couldn’t let these pieces of shit live a moment longer.
Keeping his eye on them as they strolled around the shipping yard like they owned the place, Frank slid his phone from his pocket, using speed dial to ring you, unfortunately however, it rang and rang and rang, eventually sending him to voice mail.
Huffing, Frank pushed his phone back into his pocket after turning it off. He’d have to just try you again later, or at least hope you wouldn’t be too mad.
He’d watched them for a while,waiting until they began their drive before hopping in his own van and staying two vehicles away. They may have had bravado, but they will still a little paranoid. Once he’d reached their warehouse, he laid in wait, watching them through the sight of his sniper.
He’d have to be smart, his usual going in guns blazing wouldn’t work here. There were a lot of them, spread throughout the two story building. It brought back to use a lot of his Marine training, but also meant he’d spend a lot of time waiting. Checking his watch, he only had just under an hour before you’d be finished.
Shit, he really hoped you were in a forgiving mood.
Sitting on the wall outside of the clinic, you pulled your phone out for what felt like the hundredth time in the last 5 minutes. You could feel Patricia’s eyes on you through the large glass window, but you refused to turn around and acknowledge her.
Pulling up Frank’s contact once more, you wanted nothing more than to throw your phone at the sidewalk when it diverted straight to his answer phone.
It wasn’t like Frank to be late. He was a Marine for practically all of his adult life, he knew how to be on time.
Which meant one of two things.
He was either busy, or injured.
Either way, if he wasn’t already dead, you’d be sure to kill him.
Deciding to just make the short walk home and get changed there, you set off hoping the weather would hold out. February in New York could be unpredictable and if your hair got wet, well, you simply would not be going at all.
You tried your best to give him the benefit of the doubt, and hoped – for his sake – that he would turn up by the time you’d dressed and got yourself ready.
Frank was sweating, ducking down behind a large wooden crate that wouldn’t offer much protection.
He’d managed to infiltrate the warehouse pretty stealthily, taking out a fair amount of guards from his perch on the rooftop a few buildings away. The guards outside weren’t too difficult, either. They’d become complacent in their security, lazy even, and he was able to finish them off quickly face-to-face before they alerted anyone. But inside the building was a different story.
A rogue guard who had definitely left his post walked through the hallway, passing a large look out room and managed to spot the dead guard on the floor. Notifying the rest of the gang via his radio, the whole warehouse was suddenly on high alert.
Frank had to duck and dodge into dark, hopefully empty rooms as he made his way through the top floor, killing whoever he could find on his way down. By the time he’d made it to the main floor, he’d left a trail of dead bodies in his wake.
But they were clearly keeping the hard hitters down here, protecting their stock.
Taking a deep breath, Frank popped his head over the top of the crate, firing another shot before rolling away, dodging the onslaught of bullets that followed closely behind.
Frank – without telling you where he was taking you – had told you that your reservation was for 8pm. He’d repeated the simple fact a few times before he’d dropped you to work, and twice more in the car ride there.
Yet here you were, dressed to the nine’s in a beautiful, red satin dress that hugged you in all the right places, hair and make up looking, dare you say it, damn near perfect, and stomach growling viciously as it awaited Frank’s arrival.
He hadn’t even rang you.
There were not many things in this world that scared Frank Castle was scared of.
An angry, hungry woman, however, was most definitely top 3.
The door swung open before he’d even had the chance to knock, reminding him so much of the first time he’d come to your house to bring you flowers. You didn’t quite have the blaze of absolute fury behind your eyes back then, though.
He knew his demeanor resembled that of a kicked puppy, his dark brown eyes looking at you through his even darker eyelashes as his adam’s apple bobbled.
Watching you silently for a moment, he tried his hardest to keep his eyes on you, but your penetrative stare made him feel all of 5 inches tall. Your arms crossed over your chest, and he used all of his past military training to keep his eyes focused aboveyour neckline.
The whole mission had turned to shit, and a smack upside the head would only be the shitty cherry atop his equally shitty cupcake of a evening.
He waited, ready for your anger to bubble over, as he held out his hand and produced the large bouquet of cherry red roses, the shade almost matching your dress.
Taking one look at them, your brows pushed together and nose crinkled, “Is that your blood, or someone else’?”
His own face contorted as he pulled the flowers closer to him, looking over the rose petals that had blood splotches. He simply shrugged and held them back towards you.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
When you’d slammed the door back in Frank’s face, he didn’t know what to think. What to feel. What to do, even.
He remained on the doorstep until the door flung open once more, your heels clicking as you passed by him, bag now on your shoulder and made your way towards his van, snatching the bouquet as you passed him.
His head snapped around at your 4 simple words, “You comin’ or what?”
Now, here you both sat, in a booth in Pete’s diner. Frank’s clothes speckled with blood stains, cuts and bruises beginning to blossom across his handsome face, and you, sat opposite him in your expensive, red satin dress and sickeningly expensive heels, happily chomping down on a cheeseburger. Plainly put, you both looked ridiculous.
“It good?”
You nodded, licking at the ketchup that had dripped onto your lips. You’d sat in dead silence the whole way to the diner, only speaking to place your order, but now you’d all but ravaged the food in front of you, you were at least a little friendlier.
“I am really sorry, you know? Sorry I was so late and we missed the reservation-”
“Do you really think I care about a fancy restaurant, Castle? In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever cared about something like that?”
“Well… No, but-”
“Frank, if this is going to work, I need you to understand one thing, alright? I might not agree fully with what you do, but I respect it. I get it.I don’t need fancy dinners and expensive gifts and so much hassle. I just need you.Alive, preferably. Just please, in the future… Let me know what’s happening.”
Feeling his cheeks warm up, he pulled the cellphone out of his pocket and waved it a little, “I would’ve but uh… My phone got shot.”
You bulked at his admission, eyes widening in worry before he interrupted you, “It uh, it wasn’t in my pocket. Don’t worry.”
“Then where the hell was it?”
He looked uncomfortable, shifting for a moment or two on the squeaky seat, “It was uh, in my back pocket.”
“Wait… Wait. What? Does that mean-”
“Yes. I was shot in the ass.” He sighed, eyes darting around the diner to make sure nobody could hear you.
Glaring at you as you cackled, Frank almost wished he’d saved himself the silent treatment and led with that information.
“Does that… Is it still in there?”
The look on his face – especially when he shifted in his seat once more – told you everything.
The bullet was definitely still lodged in his ass cheek.
“It’s really not that amusing.” He tried to shush you, the tips of his ears turning beat red.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He simply shrugged, grabbing a fry and dunking it in some ketchup, “I didn’t think it was that important.”
Once your laughter had calmed into a small smirk, he turned his attention to the flowers sat on the table, squashed from where he’d landed on them as he dived into the van in his escape, blood covering some petals as he checked them over with his cut hands,
“I’m also sorry about the flowers.”
You merely quirked an eyebrow, the cheeky smirk never leaving your lips, “Don’t worry about it. Can I uh, can I tell you something?”
He watched as you fiddled with the broken petals, “Of course.”
Your smirk was finally replaced with an almost bashful smile as you looked at him through your lashes.
“I have hayfever.”
Frank watched you for a moment, the clogs in his brain churning slowly before he got it, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
He tried to snatch the offending flowers away from you, as if the soft, beautiful bouquet was a threat to your life, but you were quicker. Holding them close to your chest, you smiled,
“I didn’t think it was that important.”
A/N: So this is just a super quick note to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of the love I’ve received for this mini-series.
This started as just a cute little idea, and I really didn’t expect the amass of followers, likes and re-blogs I’ve gained for it.
I have honestly never smiled so much when I’ve loaded up the website to see that little lightening bolt appear.
So whether you reblogged, liked, followed, or even just read the series, thank you so much for your support. It means so much to a small writer like me, and I really hope to do more of these smaller series with other characters from different TV shows/movies in between writing my full length fics, because it really is helpful sometimes to just get away from a 8,000 word chapter and spent a couple of hours writing something totally different.
So thank you once again, and please remember, requests are open if there is something specific you would like to read by me.
Whilst I am still currently writing my full-length Frank Castle fic (Into Hell and Right On Through It) as well as my full length Steve Rogers fic (The King and the Lion-heart), the next mini-series fic I have planned is a Fezco (Euphoria) x reader, and a Frank Castle x Assasin!Reader, so please stick around if either interests you.
A/n: This is inspired by the song Pale Rider by the Heavy Horses. I completely recommend it! It literally is a song about Frank I kid you not. But yeah, please enjoy. Also tagging @peculiarpenman because they always inspire me to write more poetically. <3 I love you!
Summary: There’s a man with no name who comes in the night, who sits in the same booth and orders the same black coffee. He reeks of violence and yet you feel safe, but you never break the silence. Until one night. Just make sure you don’t fall in love with the pale rider.
Warnings: Afab! reader, SMUT (p in v), language, kissing, angst, some violence, panic attack, depression, but then back to fluff I promise
There’s a song that plays when you’re drying the clean glassware. There’s a song that filters from the small speakers echoing through the empty booths and freshly mopped tiles.
There’s a song that becomes your only company when no one is in the small diner. There’s a song that plays when there’s no one but him.
He comes in the off hours, when the highway outside is bare and lonesome, when the other servers have left and it’s only you and the sleeping cook on the kitchen stool.
He pulls up in a black van, parks in the same spot, a little far from the entrance, but close enough he can watch it from his booth three shy from the door.
You know he’s passing through, he never stops for more than an hour. Ordering simple black coffee, no cream, no sugar, in the same mug with the chipped handle. The same booth, the same unreadable expression, the same scrunch to his nose with every sip.
You don’t know why he stops every few weeks. There’s nights where he’s seemingly normal, hood pulled high over his head. But then there’s nights where he’s covered in dirt and bruises and blood. You’d have to be pretty dumb to not notice the handgun tucked in his waistband.
He always leaves without a word, just a wad of cash that doubles the price of the coffee, and a simple nod towards you.
It’s enough to buy your silence and hush your pressing questions.
Until one night.
It’s a Friday night, a couple teenage couples share milkshakes while pressing up against one another. But they leave good tips so you don’t have the heart to imagine what’s going on underneath the table.
There’s two guys that spare you no thought after you only politely smiled at their not very work friendly comments. Especially after you accidently spilled scalding coffee onto one of them. They grumble and order a breakfast meal while silently conversing with one another.
It’s late enough the regulars have gone home, the only customers being the ones the road brings in and maybe just maybe you’ll be able to use the mug with the chipped handle.
The bells chime above the door, a familiar sound making your head rise to find a familiar face.
A small smile unconsciously works onto your face as the hooded figure nods towards you and heads to the booth three from the door. You practically drop what you’re doing to get his chipped mug, stashed away in a safe space.
Grabbing the coffee pot your motions halt for a second. Questions ringing out through your head, asking why you’re so happy to see him, why he makes your heart flutter, why you feel so safe with him.
Shaking your head and shushing the little voice that echoes insecurities, you walk over to him.
He shrugs his hood off, brown eyes lifting to meet your own. Your breath leaves your chest at his gaze.
Eyes that are soft and warm and somewhat sorrowful. Eyes that have lived and seen and felt. Eyes that have fought and conquered and lost.
You smile and set the mug down, pouring the hot liquid into it.
“Freshly brewed.” Winking as you add, “just for you.”
His lips pull into a grin and you turn to walk away but then he utters, “Thank you ma’am.”
His voice thunders through your soul, shaking your bones and sending lightning through your veins. It sounds just how you thought it would, deep and timbre, yet gentle and as if scared he’s too loud.
You’re not sure what noise leaves your lips, but it definitely wasn’t human. Heat licks up your neck, thoughts running haywire as the corners of his eyes crinkle, amused at your response.
Simply nodding, you rush away, your voice failing you as your heart hammers.
Things go back to normal. The teenagers leave. Sticky strawberry milkshake left on the table, but at least they stacked the plates.
You can feel his eyes on you, watching as you wipe away crumbs. Gazing as you sweep the floor. Studying as you flash a smile his way before vanishing behind the swinging doors to the kitchen.
“Some dishes.” You alert on reflex, but fall quiet when you remember you’re by yourself.
The older cook left about an hour ago, after you repeatedly told him you have everything under control and that his wife must miss him, plus it would be best if he slept in his bed rather than on the stool.
It’s the same fight every night. He hates to leave you even as you usher him to his truck. He reminds you of the pistol underneath the register and you smile and hug him. He always looks at you with wisdom and a hand on your shoulder, “Be safe mija.”
There’s a bang from the diner like someone hit a table and then voices start speaking. Your back straightens and you rush towards the swinging doors.
One of the men from before is approaching your hooded figure. Your heart drops. Your eyes scan towards the gun beneath the counter. He reaches into his jacket pocket, your feet start to move to the counter. He starts to pull out-
An arm wraps around your waist, a hand thrown over your mouth before you can scream. You frantically fight his hold, turning in his arms as much as you can. Throwing your weight side to side in any attempt to be freed.
He marches you through the swinging doors and the hooded man’s eyes meet your own, fear washing over them like ice water before snapping back to his cold calculating stare.
Tears start to build as you notice the gun being shoved towards him. You fight against the hold again, no’s muffled and desperate as you try and plead.
A hand slaps across your face, a ring biting into your skin and bursting your eyebrow.
“Be quiet bitch.”
Everything stops. No one moves.
And then it all happens at once.
A shot is fired, the hooded man strikes, the hands around you tighten and then fall away.
You stumble forward, blinking away tears, and suddenly you’re in another pair of arms.
Instinstics run wild, you start fighting and shoving and “hey hey it’s me sweetheart.”
Relief crashes over you as you recognize the black cotton before you, the spicy deodorant, the large hands rubbing up and down your back.
You look up and are met with the most beautiful brown eyes.
“Are you okay?”
His thumb traces the edge of your jaw, running up by your ear, and wiping the blood away from your eyebrow.
Silently, you nod, transfixed on being so close to him; your nerves still trying to figure out what happened and where you are.
“Yeah? You got a first aid kit?”
He lets you lead him slowly towards the bathroom. Lets you fist the cotton of his shirt as you look down to the two men. Lets you scan his face as you try and gauge what he is while he wipes his hands of blood.
You let him wash and bandage the cut on your eyebrow. Let him hold your thighs as his eyes dance over your features. Let him wordlessly care for you.
“Are you okay?” He repeats, this time not willing to take silent nods for an answer.
What is he? Why were these men after him? Is he dangerous? Are you in danger?
You know you should shy away, should flee from his hold, should escape while you can. But you can’t stop seeing the look of fear in his eyes when he saw you.
He holds you with such tender care, tough and worn skin now gentle and soft. His eyes gaze into your own, searching for something… anything.
That terrified look that he flashed your way is enough to tell you he’s okay. Enough to tell you he can be trusted. Enough to tell you that he’s human.
“I’m… I’m okay… are you?”
His eyes shift away, his tongue darts out to wet the corner of his mouth, “Yeah,” his right hand flexes on your thigh, “I’ve seen worse.” It’s softer, almost like he wasn’t expecting you to ask.
You reach out and press your right hand against his cheek, it looks miniature holding his head.
He’s strong. He’s powerful. He’s safe.
An intense want… need washes over you, like big swells crashing along the sandy shore, abrupt and deafening.
Maybe it’s the frazzled ends of your nerves, the frightened and heightened aire to your movements. Or maybe it’s the fact you’ve imagined this very scenario a thousand times before.
Your lips collide to his, like magnets being pulled to one another.
There’s a half second, an hour long half second where he does nothing. Silent and still and stoic. A half second that’s long enough for the insecurities to bubble up, the thoughts to start ringing like tsunami sirens.
What are you doing? You forced yourself on him. He doesn’t even like you. No one does.
A strong hand cups the back of your head and he breathes into you, lips melding to your own.
His nose smashes against your cheek, his lips smear across your mouth, his breath seals away the little voice. Thoughts washing from your mind as it’s flooded with him and only him.
“Do-” your breathing is loud in your ears, your eyes stay shut, your hands can’t leave his form, “do you want to come back to my place?”
***
Sheets crumple at the base of your bed, clothes strewn across the room, the black van parked in your driveway.
It’s overwhelming. He fills your senses, fuels the fire raging throughout your veins.
His fingers dance over your skin, pushing and pulling at your flesh. His lips map out every curve and blemish on your body, teeth scraping as his breath fans across you. His dick slides in and out, punching something vital inside you, something that makes you curl up and scream out.
Your voice sounds small in your ears, begging and whining and gone dumb for him. Your fingers dig into his flesh, your legs wrapping around his hips and pushing your heels into the strength of his butt. You want him closer, want him to put all his weight on you, want him to crush you beneath him.
He grabs your chin, holding it firm and gentle. His eyes stare into your own, commanding you to look at him, to give yourself to him. It’s intimate and suddenly a different type of overwhelming… something allconsuming.
You know it strikes him too because those deep eyes soften, looking far into your soul, searching for something you’re unsure of. Then they shift down to your mouth, lips parted and coated in him, claimed by him.
His forehead touches yours and he stops.
It’s still.
A calm in the raging waves. The center of a pond’s ripple. The hush of a single falling raindrop.
He breathes in as you breathe out, surrounding himself in you, tying an invisible knot between your souls.
Then his hips move again. Knocking a gasp from your lips.
He leans down, lips pressing against yours no longer in a fierce hot-blooded need, but rather a gentle and almost loving caress. A kiss that slows everything down, coats your movements in molten honey, makes your heart bloom with warmth. A kiss that tells of passion, intimacy, and something akin to love.
Stars burst behind your eyelids, his nose nudges into your neck.
Flames build within your heart, his voice calls your name.
Ecstasy floods your nerves, his lips press against your own.
Just like that sweetheart. There you go. Come for me. Sing for me.
All for me. Just for me. Only for me.
***
It’s comfortable and safe.
His fingers drift across your shoulder, soft and not fully there. He’s lost behind his thoughts, mind somewhere else.
You’ve melted into him, back pressed against his naked chest. Your heart beats strong, still calming down and somehow you know it never fully will. Your own gaze misted and taken by thought.
You take his free hand into your own, turning it over and tracing the lines along his palm, scratching at the permanent scars on his knuckles.
His breath hitches, quiet and barely noticeable. It’s intimate and soft and makes you wonder if you stepped too far.
But you’ve already gone this far.
Laid yourself bare for him. Cracked open your ribs one by one and let him prod at your heart. Torn the muscle out and gave the pulsing pieces to him as a gift, an offering.
All for him. Just for him. Only for him.
You tilt back, head leaning against him so your eyes can find his features, find his eyes already on yours.
There’s something startling in the way he looks at you.
Skin scared and telling tales of pain, a strong nose that’s been broken multiple times, sharp jawline growing dark scruff. His cheeks are dusted with a light pink, his heart beating strong behind your back, deep brown eyes that seem to look into your soul.
They speak silent words, words that you’re unable to translate, words that mean millions to him.
His eyebrows furrow, only slightly. You’re learning that little tells weigh heavily into reading his thoughts.
Those brown eyes leave your own, trailing down your form to where you still have his hand, large and strong and worn in your hold. After a second, his thumb moves, featherlight and almost afraid as he traces your fingers. His eyes cloud over, lost again to thought.
Neither of you speak, too scared to break the silent spell.
You stay like that for what seems like both years and seconds.
All too soon and too delayed, he leans over and turns the light on your nightstand off, a kiss pressed to the top of your head.
You fall asleep like that, pressed against the chest of the man with no name.
Safely secured between the thighs of the man with no name.
Hands still wrapped around the big paws of the man with no name.
***
The next morning the only trace of him, the only evidence besides the memories is the note with scrawled letters left beneath the light next to the sweating water glass.
Stay safe Sweetheart. - F
***
You tried to not think of him. Tried to forget the stab in your chest when you woke up alone.
But the thought of him, the memory of his lips trailing up your spine, his hands tugging your ass, the hushed praise, it echoes through your head.
Gnaws away at your will power.
A fierce hunger that feasts at your soul.
You’re not sure why you’re so hurt about it. Not sure what you were expecting or wanting from him. It’s the classic one night stand leave before they wake up. So why are you disappointed? Why did you expect more? Why did you so easily give yourself to him?
Why do you desperately want more?
***
You’re softly humming along to the radio when the cook turns the television on to the news. Voices flow through the small diner about the weather and then the voices turn more hurried.
“… multiple gangs being hunted down by precise and strategic hits. Many of us are wondering just what army or gang could be doing this, but the answer is not whom but rather who.”
You set the broom to the side and frantically reach for the TV remote, the voices growing louder and lighting up the walls from where it sits in the corner. Pictures flash across the screen, some blurred, some not.
A gasp leaves your mouth.
“That’s right, this is being done by one man. Is the ghost of the Punisher back to torment us all once again?”
A fuzzy picture of a hooded man overtakes the screen and your eyes widen, the remote falls from your grasp.
It’s him.
It has to be him.
Suddenly the dots connect, the scars, the gun… the men.
He was on a mission.
You were just a simple stop along the way.
“Mija… you okay?” The cook asks in his heavy Spanish accent, worry overtaking his aging face.
Looking at him, your head nods but no words can leave your mouth.
Your heart already shattered on the floor.
A red and orange map pops up, showing pins as to how far he has covered the country. The story continues, detailing his committed crimes.
The TV goes dark, forgotten remote in the cook’s hand as his eyes scan over your frame.
“No more mija.”
He nods and trails back to the kitchen, black doors swaying after his departure, the radio soon turned back to the normal channel.
Familiar lyrics flood the diner, never ringing truer than now.
Ride to town, shoot ‘em up, and keep on going. Cause I got a job to do and I don’t stop for no one.
***
Days pass and each time the bells chime above the door your breathing stops, waiting for that hooded figure to walk through, but he never does.
You know it shouldn’t, but your heart drops in disappointment. He became part of your routine, you expected to see him, kept his mug tucked away for when he did show up.
A flickering hope that he might be on your doorstep when you return home each night.
An even smaller want for him to return to your sheets and touch you like he did, full of desire and as if the night would never end.
Maybe it’s for the best, he is dangerous after all. Best to get him out of your head. Yet even as hard as you try, you can’t break free of the invisible knot. Each attempt at running only tightens the link, let’s it dig harder into your soul.
A constant ache that mercilessly reminds you of what once was.
Rumors spread through the local town, it’s small and overly friendly, word traveling as easily as sickness. His name is whispered through lips, as if scared he’ll appear if they speak it too loud.
“Did you hear he killed over the Mexican border?”
“It’s one more killing to the man that has no name.”
“I think he’s doing good, wiping the land of those gangstas that think they’re all that and a bag of chips.”
“He’s unforgiving.”
“It’s one more bullet to the man that has no name.”
“Who says he won’t come here and clean us away?”
“Jerry, is there something you’re trying to tell us?”
“I’m just one more life, for him it’s all the same.”
“Just get your gun, and kiss your wife, and lock up your daughter.”
“Yeah… don’t let her fall in love with the Punisher.”
***
You’ve watched the news, listened to the customers, ears perking for anything related to him. Something inside you wants to know he’s okay, but something else wants to make sure he’s far away.
You can’t deny the hurt you felt the morning after, the stabbing force that still throbs. The tears you shed and wipe away.
What would you even do if he showed up? Flee? You’d probably not make it that far to be honest. Question him? Yeah, as if he’d answer. Kiss him? What the fuck?
Shaking your head you clear the plates on the table, grabbing the few dollar bills left on the table for you. It’s not much, not nearly as much as he would always leave. You’ve had to cut back on spending a little bit.
Your heart tugs at the mention of him. The invisible knot tightening and starting to choke.
Late nights are filled with scavenging for anything related to him.
Court cases, police reports, mugshots pop up with seemingly no end. Your breath lodges in your throat as your eyes scan headlines, eyes tracing the features of your hooded man.
You watch videos, conflicted between anger and sorrow. You learn his story, the warrior he was, the father, the villain, and finally… the ghost.
Minutes turn into hours and into sleepless nights as you ponder, wondering why he chose this path, why he chose you, why he left.
His scrawled handwriting untouched on your nightstand all these days past.
***
Everyone knows he’s alive. A dash cam of him sliding over a car’s hood playing across all channels.
You knew first. Heart rigged to him like an addict to a drug. Any small piece of knowledge to fuel the insatiable desire.
He looks the same. You don’t know if you’re happy, angry, or repulsed.
Your fingertips run along the hem of your dress. The man across the candlelit table passionately talks about his business and the next big thing in the stock market. You were interested in the first five minutes, but thirty more and you’ve tuned out.
Smiling when prompted, you sip at your wine, wishing it was something stronger. Your eyes run along the man’s face, watching as his eyebrows raise with every hard syllable.
His didn’t.
What no, stop, you’re not here for him. You’re here to forget.
“So tell me, what tickles your fancy sweetheart?”
It doesn’t sound right from his lips.
***
One little date turns into a few and suddenly you have a boyfriend.
Part of you knows it is wrong. Selfish and cruel to lead him on and let him be a sad replacement for your hooded figure.
But he takes you out for dinner each week and lets your heart be distracted from the booth three shy from the door, lets your eyes drift away from the road in search of a black van.
He visits the diner, ironed work clothes wrinkled from a hard day’s work sitting in a chair and talking about golf. A chaste kiss to your lips and a harsh pat to your butt.
It makes your stomach churn. But the sight of the mug with the chipped handle reminds you that it could be worse.
Stay safe sweetheart. - F now crumpled and thrown from your nightdesk.
Rejected like garbage in an irate rage as you screamed into your pillow, mascara painted along your cheeks like a Monet. Your voice horse from cursing him and then softly pleading with the universe and finally just quietly sobbing, alone.
The wrinkled paper mocking you from the corner, rejected just as you were.
“How about a beer for your man sweetheart?”
It’s vile and repulsive and completely wrong.
But the disgust covers the loneliness.
***
Days start to melt together. The Punisher no longer in the forefront of the news, his story old and no longer the talk of the century. Merely a story told to children to frighten them out of sneaking candy in the night.
The disgust washes away into annoyance.
It builds. Slow but steady, each time you’re called the hated nickname is like another drop to the ever filling bucket.
“My girl.” Drip.
“Darling.” Drip.
“Sweetheart.” Drip drip drip.
The flow you once had to your motions now muddled and thick. You used to always have a smile, but now you can hardly fake one. The cook watches with concern as you slowly clean the diner. He offers you toothy smiles but you can’t return them.
“Fuck, I need a beer, long day today.” Your boyfriend sits down in the booth three from the door.
He can’t sit there.
That’s not his spot.
“C’mon sweetheart, chop chop.”
No.
Don’t call me that.
You can’t call me that.
I’m not your sweetheart.
“Sweetheart?”
No.
You can’t breathe.
Stop.
You can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t fucking move.
Get out.
Get out.
Sirens ring in your head loud and piercing and overwhelming.
Get out.
Get out.
“Get out.” It’s a whisper.
“Get out.” It’s a yell.
“Get out!” It’s a command.
His eyes are wide, startled, “What do you mean sweetheart?”
“Don’t fucking call me that! Get out!” You point at the door, you’re yelling and screaming, and you still can’t breathe. Sucking in air and yet it does nothing to give you oxygen.
“Get out! Get out of here! Get out of town! Get out of my life!”
“Sweetheart, I don’t understa-”
“I’m not your sweetheart! I never was!”
He leaves the booth three shy from the door, his gray convertible leaving the parking lot, the radio soft in the background.
Your chest heaves, finally able to suck in air.
Tears stream down your face, the bucket tipped over and empty.
The crumpled note rests in the strength of your palm, clenched safely between your fingers.
The cook brings you into his arms, holding you for as long as you need while you shake and sob.
“Go home mija.”
Don’t let your daughter fall in love with the pale rider.
***
Weeks pass, you feel better.
Things go back to how they were. Before your boyfriend, who you haven’t seen since.
The regulars compliment you on your refound smile, happy to have you back in high spirits. It fills a void in you.
The teenagers with their sticky milkshakes and shared fries. The old men who talk about their day back on the farms. The old ladies who gossip and try to set you up with their grandsons even though they know your heart belongs to someone else. The cook goes back to sleeping at his stool.
The note, now wrinkled and worn, rests back on your nightdesk. Where each night you trace the letters and try to remember his voice in your head.
It’s the last part of him you have and you wish had thrown it out. You know it’s the final thing holding you back. Like a recovering smoker with the last cigarette in their breast pocket. A sick reminder of what pleasure once was, what happiness felt like.
But now you can’t. Emotionally attached and still holding onto the sliver of hope. Maybe you were enough. Maybe your memory could entice him back. Maybe he feels what you do.
The invisible knot which once choked and suffocated now a craving, a part of you.
The booth three shy from the door empty in waiting, the black van nowhere in sight, the chipped mug set aside and untouched.
Until one day.
Sunny and bright, with a fresh breeze in the air. Your skirt flutters beneath your apron, your smile a little wider, your heart expecting for something you’re unsure of.
The bells above the door chime.
Your heart stops.
“Hey sweetheart.”
You’re wrapped into a safe embrace.
Don’t let your daughter fall in love with the pale rider.
⊹○ﾟ˖ you and frank started as everyone’s favorite on-screen ship but was that all you saw each other as, just an on-screen flirt?
Francis ‘Frank Castle’ Castiglione is an Italian-American celebrity chef, restaurateur, and reality television personality. Castiglione is the owner and executive chef of several restaurants and franchises, such as Frank’s Cookout and the Hotspot Grill. He has worked with Cook Network since 1995, which won him four Daytime Emmy Awards and a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Y/N L/N is an American chef, television personality and former model. She appeared in the fifth and eighth seasons of Top Baker, Lavo’a cooking competition show. She was a cohost on The Bite, a one-hour talk show centered on food from all angles, which premiered on TBD in September 2011. She spent several years working as a model on the runways of Paris, Milan and London. During this time, she decided to pursue a culinary career.
A/N: Punisher came right for my throat with this opening look god damn. He mentioned a man bun sarcastically in passing but could you imagine??? I love a good man bun.
Summary: After enduring a painful violent relationship, you suddenly find your life turned around, your quiet neighbour Pete soothing the sting of loss.
Word count: 4.6k
Warnings: swearing, smoking, domestic violence, mentions of animal cruelty (nothing graphic), mentions of drug/dealing and murder, soft!Frank
Mature audiences only. Please be advised there are heavy themes throughout. Read at your own discretion. Do not continue if any of the warnings may trigger/upset you ❤️
———
Your lip falls victim to your anxiety, teeth nipping and chewing along the soft skin until the metallic twinge of blood hits your tongue. You swipe it away as you shift in your spot on the floor, jeans catching on the rough unforgiving timber.
The little body sniffing along the corridor perks up at your movement, little claws scratching lightly at the old flooring as she pounces over and into your lap, her little warm tongue lapping softly at your cheek. You take her affection with a smile, nuzzling into her short fur and placing a loud kiss on her head.
He hadn’t been happy when you bought her home, and the remnants of his annoyance sit above your brow, a dull throb hanging behind your temples, but at least you could keep her. She made you feel a little less isolated in the world.
“She’s your fucking problem, got it?”
Something easily agreed to with a quiet yes sir, and then it was over. He returned to the couch, lit up another cigarette and kicked his filthy boots onto the coffee table, and you slinked off to the bedroom with your new friend, pulling an old sock from your drawer and playing tug of war for the rest of the evening, ensuring to keep the noise to an absolute minimum.
The environment was still new to her, the sounds and smells so different from what she had been previously left in. She was restless, intrigued by her surroundings and making her discoveries known with a loud voice. You’d paid for that, too. It’s like she just knewafter the incident, her low whine soft as she crawled into your lap and licked away your tears, almost as if it were an apology. She didn’t make another noise after that.
“I see I got a new neighbour.”
You’re dragged from your thoughts when the familiar low gravel of your neighbour perks up from the end of the hall, his boots creaking along the floor as he makes his way to his apartment opposite yours. You stumble to stand and tuck the puppy against your chest, smiling shyly.
“Yeah. I’m sorry if she made too much noise last night, Pete.”
His dark eyes fall to the puppy, a small smile tugging at his lips beneath the thick beard—the most of a smile you’ve ever seen from the man who always seemed to have a deep frown dug into his strong features.
“Nah. I ain’t hear a lot when I’m here.”
He takes a step closer, holding his hand out and letting the pup sniff curiously at his fingers before scratching behind her ear. She takes the affection easily, tongue lolling from her mouth when he hits a particular spot along her neck. He huffs quietly in amusement, lips curling into a wider smile for a brief second before it smooths out and the usual passive press of his lips returns.
“She got a name?”
“Bullet.”
His brows twitch up in question and you shrug lightly, smile timid.
“You should see her run when she’s let off her leash. Shoots through the air—”
“—like a bullet.” He finishes for you quietly, giving her one final pat before stepping away and closer to his door, keys jangling as he digs them from his pocket. “She’s a little sweetheart.”
“Yeah, she is.” You beam at Bullet, grinning when she licks at your jaw. “I found her in a dumpster. Can you believe that? Someone just left her out in the cold. I couldn’t just leave her there, especially with the weather being what it is so I bought her home…”
It becomes obvious that you’re keeping him from entering his apartment with your quiet ramblings as he hovers in his doorway, dark eyes flicking between yours, and a flood of embarrassment washes up from your chest and along under your cheeks. Your head falls, gaze dropping with it, and you shift in your spot, hold tightening around Bullet.
“Sorry. I’ll just—I’m sorry… um, have a good night, Pete.”
“You fall or somethin’?”
“What?”
His eyes flicker to the noticeable swollen mass above your eye where a fresh scab builds along the split in your skin. Your hand automatically flies to cover the area, the pads of your fingers delicately tracing the tender wound, and Bullet shifts restlessly in your arms.
“Oh,right. Yeah, I—uh, I fell and hit my head on the door. New heels—haven’t worn them in yet so I’m still a bit shaky.”
He nods, almost as if he were expecting your bullshit answer. His eyes move to meet yours before he nods once more in goodbye, his door closing quietly behind him. You linger for a second longer, teeth once again gnawing at your lip as you study the chipped paint of his door.
Pete was… nice.
He goes by his days, sticking to the same routine developed from the day he moved in.
You had no idea where he came from.
He had moved in with practically nothing—no boxes, no furniture… only the one single duffle bag slung across his back.
Though he kept to himself and remained quiet, you knew it wasn’t born from shyness. He stood tall, looked everyone in the eye whenever they would cross his path, and remained unbothered when a few of the sketchier occupants tried to intimidate him. He brushed those who tried to initiate a conversation with him off, and they soon learnt to leave him be.
Sometimes you wonder why he didn’t do that with you.
There was nothing stopping him from slamming the door right in your face the day you showed up with a freshly baked treat and a gentle smile of welcome. He had stood there while you rambled away, stuttering over how you lived opposite and if he ever needed anything, you were only a step or two away.
He was slow when he reached out, almost cautious, a large hand curling around the base of the warm dish with a barely there nod of thanks. You had turned back to your apartment, only just catching his voice grind out a quiet ‘Pete.’ before the door had closed.
A couple of days later, the clean and empty dish had appeared in front of your door, and after that there was always a gruff hello in passing reserved only for you; the days and weeks passing slowly lengthening the greetings into generic comments about the weather, before morphing into questions he seemed genuine with, listening attentively to your answers each and every time—how are you, how’s work going, did you end up finishing that book…
It was nice to have someone to exchange a few words with every day. It made everything feel a little less isolating, like you weren’t actually alone in this big wide world. You slip quietly into your apartment, ensuring to close the door silently so as to not disturb Brad snoring on the couch.
—
The cold remained biting at Frank’s cheeks when he eventually enters the building after a long day at the site, the ache conjured by working that damn hammer all day stirring and settling deep in his muscles as he pushed himself to move.
It could drive anyone crazy, this same day in, day out routine bullshit, but it was the only thing keeping a lid on the carefully restrained pull of darkness creeping along the edge of his mind. He had left the Punisher behind, his quest for revenge now fulfilled and put to bed, but the shadow of the skull still lingers, threatening to break free with every piece of shit that crosses his path.
He hears it just after he slides his key into the shitty aged lock on his door, his attention automatically pulled to it. A tumble, maybe a chair or something falling and hitting the ground with a clatter in your apartment. He thinks nothing of it until the following sounds melt into his ears.
It’s barely there, muffled by the wall and door blocking the scene, but he knows the yelp of a dog in pain when he hears it. It cuts somewhere deep within him, having always been softer on those who are far too good, too innocent, for humanity and its constant ever growing bullshit… but it’s your following tearful pleads oozing through the old, cracked drywall that have him turning fully towards your apartment.
His frown deepens as you increasingly get louder, your pleads of noandplease don’t hurt her driving him closer and closer towards that inevitable edge of no return. He stands in front of the door, fingers twitching at his sides.
It would be easy, so fucking easy, to kick the door in and deal with that shithead you paired yourself up with. He doesn’t know your story, and doesn’t really care to know the ins and outs, all he knows is that you deserve much better than the woman beater taking up space in your apartment.
You were a good person, he could feel it flowing from you the moment he met you. A truly decent person, stuck in this shithole he refused to call home. All smiles and sunshine, even with a face that clearly had taken a beating. How many times did you expect people to accept the door story? He’d lost count of your excuses—I fell over, I slipped on the rug, I tripped over a chair, my heel broke.
Fury burns along his nerves, the muscle in his jaw straining as his teeth grind in aggravation with the more sounds of a struggle. He could have it over and done with within mere moments. He could make it quick—he wouldmake it quick, what with you as a witness.
But then what? Where would that leave you? He wouldn’t expect you to lie and cover for him, and he wouldn’t even bother lying if the cops came to his door—he’d own up to it without a twinge of regret. Nah. He wouldn’t make you witness it, not after everything you’d already been through. Your mind would be troubled enough without him adding witnessing a murder to it.
It takes every fibre in his being to turn his back to your door, to unlock his own and slip into the black of his apartment.
—
It was unusual.
It was normal for him to disappear from time to time, wrapped up in parties or clubs or deals, but to not come home at all? It was unlike him. You wait at the door, Bullet curiously sat at your feet, ears perking and dropping with every new sound echoing from the streets.
An hour passes, and still nothing.
Your phone remains bare of notifications, not even a single voicemail of him drunkenly slurring that he was busy. Something stirs in your gut, but you’re unable to identify just what exactly it is that you’re feeling. A mixture of curiosity and dread maybe, your mind caught up in wondering where he could be, but also worrying about what you’d be faced with when he eventually doescome home.
The end corridor door slams open and you startle slightly at the noise of it, braced for whatever was coming, but your eyes come to focus on Pete. No Brad. Your shoulders drop, a small shaky exhale blowing past your lips before forcing a small smile for your neighbour. Maybe he’d seen him somewhere?
“How’s she doin’?”
Your smile turns into something more genuine, your gaze falling to Bullet. Her small body shakes in excitement, her tail wagging through the air as Pete bends and drops at the knee to give her some attention.
“She’s good. She’s a snuggler.”
“I bet.” He replies quietly, delivering one final ear scratch before standing and digging for his keys.
“Hey, Pete?”
He grunts, turning before entering his apartment. You stand in your doorway, fingers tangling nervously.
“Have you seen Brad anywhere?”
He pauses, hovering at his door as his fingers subconsciously rub together.
He could still feel the ache in his knuckles, the chafed skin freshly scabbed and healing; could still hear the pathetic little begs for mercy ring in his ears, the lies that he had never laid a hand on you or ‘the mutt’.
Frank wasn’t an idiot—he knew what that prick was doing to you and the dog and made that fact known, voice hoarse with rage as he recounted the times he had heard you sobbing and crying out through the walls. He was damn sure the dick never showed you or the dog any mercy, never batted an eyelid to your cries, or gave his cruelty a second thought.
No more.
A piece of shit like that would never change.
He shakes his head with a look of disinterest. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
You smile softly, “Thank you.”
Brad doesn’t come home.
You toss and turn all night.
Sitting at the small table in a quiet apartment the next day feels surreal. No television roars through the room, no cigarette smoke hangs in the air. You cook breakfast—just in case—but it sits on a plate untouched for the day. You watch the door for a while, expecting him to come tumbling in and smelling of a bar, babbling about whoever he disappeared with… but the door remains shut.
You go to work, a shadow of uneasiness tugging at the back of your mind. Would he be home now, waiting for your inevitable return? Would you be walking into a lions den? Would he be in a bad mood because you weren’t there to welcome him home?
The apartment is as you left it hours before, Bullet welcoming you without a trace of fear. It’s the first time in a long while you don’t have to hand over your tips. You tuck the money into the small space behind your bedside table and go to bed.
He still doesn’t come home.
You stare at the ceiling for most of the night, almost too afraid to close your eyes should he return in the early hours of the morning. It’s like with every minute that passes, your body winds tighter and tighter, braced for the oncoming storm that would cross the threshold at any time.
The sharp knock on the door the next morning pries you from the warmth of your bed and confusion warps your mind as you stumble to the front of the apartment, legs tangling in the blanket in your hurry to answer whoever it was.
You wrench open the door, faltering only when the two police officers standing on your doorstep turn to greet you with sombre expressions. You welcome them in with a frown of concern, worried about the stashes of product Brad had hidden in various spots around the apartment, but they didn’t seem to be interested in searching anything. They didn’t slam a search warrant in your hands or slap cuffs around your wrists.
The words fill the air but they don’t quite penetrate your mind. You hear them, take them in, but don’t let them settle. Your eyes remain fixed on the coffee table, following the small trails of condensation sliding down their untouched glasses of orange juice you had offered as their voices fill the room.
Deal gone bad. Beaten. Shot in the head. No suspects. Sorry for your loss.
You blink, vacant eyes rolling up to the officer’s. “Thank you for coming by.”
They’re kind as you walk them out, offering to keep you in the loop should the case change and any suspects come up, but you barely listen.
The door is solid against your back when you close it and turn to rest fully against it, slowly letting yourself slide down the surface until you’re sitting on the floor. Bullet worms her way into your arms until they lock around her, settling in your hold and heaving a soft sigh of content.
Gone.
Gone.
He’s never coming home.
You’ll never see him again.
Your mind races, whirling through the last year of falling into the relationship—the first night, the quickly extinguished ‘honeymoon’ phase, the shouting, the guilt tripping, the money, the pain, the injuries and the excuses you conjured to explain them, hell—the excuses you told yourselfto justify it all… it was over.
Just like that.
Done.
Tears grow along your edges of your vision, bile rising along your throat as the whirlwind of emotion hits you. Grief, confusion, fear, relief. You cry well into the day, not moving a muscle from your spot on the floor as your sobs shatter your chest and birth an ache in your temples.
—
The cool evening air nips at your cheeks as you burrow into your jacket, the smoke harsh and heavy down your throat and bringing a soft nicotine rush to your mind. It tempers the race of thoughts, and gives you something to focus on, your fingers gently tapping the cigarette and watching the small bits of ash float to the ground.
It still hadn’t quite sunk in, but your mind was slowly digesting the fact that he wasn’t around anymore.
A sharp little whistle brings Bullet bouncing back to you from where she was sniffing along the empty street, her little tail whacking against your legs as she jumps to lick at your cheek.
“Good girl,” you whisper softly, scratching behind her ear.
“It’s late.”
You jump at the sudden voice, blinking up at Pete as he comes to stand behind you, hands buried in his jacket pockets. His face is void of expression like always, but something close to concern shines in his dark eyes.
“Everythin’ okay?”
“Brad’s dead.”
He doesn’t look surprised, and you don’t even bother to take notice, too busy turning back around and gently inhaling at the tip of your cigarette. He gives no words of sympathy and it doesn’t surprise you—he’d never been interested in holding conversations with Brad, instead fixing him with a glare and brushing past him.
“How’re you holdin’ up?”
You let his question settle, carefully deliberating your words and wondering just how honest you could be with him. You’d already gone through the various consolations from other neighbours, but with every new interaction, it felt more and more like an act, like you were forcing yourself to play the mourning girlfriend when in actuality you weren’t nearly as upset as you should be.
There’s no heartbreak, no sorrow. Any panic stems from suddenly finding yourself alone, overwhelmed with thoughts of what to do next. It was the first time in a long while you could think your own thoughts and make your own decisions without suffering punishments and it’s a shock to the system.
Does that make you a bad person? You frown at the ground, picking at the sleeve of your jacket.
“I’m devastated.”
The words hold no emotion.
Pete steps down the curb beside you, exhaling quietly when he lowers to sit next to you. He doesn’t say anything. He only gives you a look, a mere glance from the side of his eyes with a brow raising just the slightest millimetre and it’s enough to know that he’s calling you out on your bullshit.
You sigh, huffing in wry amusement. “Okay. That’s a lie. I don’t—I don’t feel anything. I feel something, but I’m trying to not acknowledge it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it’s not—I shouldn’t—” you sigh, frown deepening as you struggle for words. “It’s awful.”
Pete lets you work out your words, seemingly content to wait it out until you are ready. His arms open for Bullet, who jumps up against his chest and nips curiously at his beard.
“I’m not sad. At all. If anything, I feel… relief. And I know how that makes me sound—I’m awful, but I just—I get to come home and not worry about walking on eggshells. I don’t have to have my hair a certain way, I don’t have to watch my words, my breathing…”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. I know what he was doin’ to you both. I’m sorry you had to put up with that shit.”
A soft smile curls your lips.
“Thanks. Y’know, I used to believe the only way I’d leave that relationship was in a body bag—whether it was by his hand, or my own. That was my only out, and I made peace with that, but not anymore. I’m free.”
“Yeah you are.”
“He never used to be like that.” You crush the cigarette under your shoe, watching the remaining tobacco and paper smear over the ground. “He was nice—at the start. I suppose that’s how it always starts. I didn’t even realise what was happening. The first time he hit me, a few months in, he said it was because I drove him crazy, and that he loved me more than anything. You know what I said? I said sorry. Like it was my fault he hit me.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know that. I’ve always known that deep down, but I don’t know… he just had this way of worming into my head. I made excuses. I said the wrong thing, I looked at him the wrong way, I breathed too heavily. He started taking my money, he kept me from my friends… I had no out. He always said he would find me if I ran. I just—I just lived with it.”
Silence fills the air and you breathe a sigh of relief at speaking your thoughts. It feels wonderfully freeing. You move your gaze to Pete, waiting until he turns his head to meet your gaze before smiling warmly.
“Thank you, Pete… for listening. I appreciate it.”
It’s barely there, but you see the way his face softens, his bearded cheeks creasing with what you expect is a small smile.
“I got you, sweetheart.”
—
It takes weeks, but eventually it happens. Your application for an apartment in the city is approved, and you buzz at the realisation that you’re leaving this all behind. You’ll be out of what you had called home for far too long, away from where you had cried and cowered and suffered. You’d be free of the shadow hanging over the apartment.
Thankfully your stuff doesn’t require too many boxes, so the trip can be made in one trip with just a cab. You’re packed and ready to go by lunchtime, Bullet waiting patiently in her new harness attached to the lead in your hand, and yet you wait. Your new keys rattle in your pocket, the promise of a new space free and untouched by memories of him swimming at the back of your mind, but you still wait, sitting on the curb with your few boxes stacked neatly next to you.
It’s Pete that keeps you hanging around your old apartment building. You didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. A propergoodbye, not some hastily scrawled note jammed under his door. You wanted to give him more than that, especially after all he’s done.
After that night, he made it a habit to check in whenever he was coming or going from his apartment. He stayed for only a few moments, but you were thankful for his efforts each and every time.
It’s when the sun starts to set that you see him coming, and you hurriedly stand, dusting your hands off on your pants.
“Hi,” you breathe, smiling as Bullet bounces around his feet.
“Hey,” he returns quietly, hands dug in the pockets of his jacket. “You get a place?”
“Yeah—an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.”
He huffs something close to a chuckle, chest briefly jumping with the force of it and he nods. “You’ll be safe there.”
“Because of that guy in a onesie? What’s his name? ‘Devilman’, or something.”
Pete snorts in amusement, “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
A bigger smile stretches his lips and the wide curve of it warms your chest. He doesn’t smile nearly as much as he should. It suits him. You find yourself grinning back, something stirring your stomach the longer he smiles at you.
“I wanted to say goodbye… y’know, before I left.”
His frown returns. “You were waitin’ for me? You didn’t need—”
“No, I know. I wantedto. I wanted to thank you, you’ve always been very kind to me. And I appreciate you being there for me these last few weeks. You mean a lot to me–I mean, everything you’ve done… it means a lot. I just wanted you to know that.”
Shifting on the spot, you drop your gaze to the floor and reach for the folded up bit of paper in your front pocket. The paper is smooth under your touch, and you brush a thumb over it before speaking.
“Uh, if you ever… I don’t know… want to talk, or catch up or something, this is my new cell number. I’d like to keep in touch. I—if you want, of course.”
You don’t know why, but you half expect him to ignore the small slip of paper you hold out to him, but instead he takes it carefully, dark eyes falling to cross over the numbers scrawled down before moving back to meet yours.
“Hey listen,” he starts, “I uh–I got a friend. He’s a real good guy. He does this group circle therapy thing—it’s for vets… but I can see if he knows anyone in the DV ring. It might be good for you.”
“Oh. Yeah, I’d… I’d actually really appreciate that. I wouldn’t know where to start with that kind of stuff.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks. Um, well… okay. I guess I should get going.”
You take a small deliberate step forward, making your next move absolutely clear should he want to move away. He doesn’t. You curl your arms around his thick torso, breathing in the scent of his jacket and holding your breath when you feel him start to shift in your hold.
Careful arms wrap around your back, keeping you tucked into his chest and you hide a smile, enjoying the way your heart thuds heavily against your chest. You keep close, tilting your head back to place a soft kiss of thanks to his cheek.
The moment holds, and you can’t help but linger, lips ghosting the corner of his mouth. Your eyes shyly roll up to catch his, briefly wondering if this was too close or pushing any boundaries. His eyes move over your face, flicking between your eyes in uncertainty before he tips his head the slightest towards yours, his lips pressing carefully against yours.
A hand cups your cheek, his palm hot from where it had been stashed in his pocket, and it warms your cool skin, the rough feel of it sending a pleasant shock along your nerves. Thoughts dissolve from your mind, the worry at potentially ruining whatever close little relationship you had developed with him fizzing out with the brush of his beard.
The kiss is soft, hesitant, but slowly builds in pressure with the longer you stay pressed up against him. It lasts only a moment, Pete gently pulling away to break the kiss but he stays close, keeping his hand curled tenderly over your cheek as his nose brushes yours.
“Thank you for everything, Pete.” You whisper softly, fingers tightening their hold on his jacket.
“Frank.”
You frown in confusion, watching his eyes open and carefully meet yours.
“My name’s Frank.”
“Frank.” You murmur, feeling how it sits on your tongue. You don’t care to know the details. Maybe one day he’d tell you why. You smile, “It suits you much better than Pete.”
A slow grin pulls at his lips. “You think so?”
“Mhm. Well… don’t be a stranger, Frank. And take care, okay?”
His eyes roll over your face before he softly delivers one last final kiss to your lips, voice gruff as his words melt into your lips. “Yes ma’am.”
Summary: Frank Castle is an old family friend you’ve known your whole life. After your parents invite him to stay with your family for the summer, you are forced to face your feelings for him.
Warnings: SMUT, age gap, taboo subjects mentioned, grinding, cunnilingus, overstimulation (dubious consent), unprotected sex, penetration, dirty talk, light degradation, one (1) ass smack, creampie
The sun shone through your open window, a breeze catching your hair as it blew into your room. Resting your head in one hand, you watched the outside world. You grew jealous of your parents who were sitting in their bathing suits on the deck with glasses of wine in hand. You wanted to be out there with them enjoying the day but you knew that you needed to be getting some work done. There were assignments that you had to finish before classes started in the fall and as much as you hated it you knew that you’d rather get it done now so you can relax the rest of the summer. As you stare out the window you realize that Frank is nowhere to be found.
Frank Castle was an old family friend that you had known practically your whole life. You had been best friends with his daughter for most of your life as well. When you both went off to different colleges you started seeing a lot less of each other and you grew apart. However you still kept in contact with her dad. He was always over hanging out with your parents. This summer they had invited him to spend a few weeks with you guys at your lake house. Ever since you’d gotten there the two of you ended up spending a lot of time together. Playing games, swimming, reading together, going on walks. One of your favorite moments is when he would pull out his guitar and play while you sang a song for him. Sitting close, watching his fingers.
You would be lying if you said that Frank Castle wasn’t one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen. The feelings started to develop when you went to college. When you came back home to visit he always wanted to see you, asking how you’d been and how school was going. He wanted to stay a part of your life and you wanted him to as well. However you knew it was wrong to want to be with him. Not even considering the age difference, he was one of your family’s oldest friends. He had seen you grow up. It would be wrong of you to want to be with him. So why did you want it so badly?
As thoughts of Frank continued to swirl in your head there was a knock at your door. You turned around quickly to see him standing in the doorway. You couldn’t contain the smile that painted your face, very promptly abandoning your work at the sight of him.
“Speak of the devil.” You began and he chuckled.
“What, are you thinking about me?”
“I was just curious where you’d wandered off to.”
“Well here I am sweetheart.” The term of endearment made you melt.
“Why aren’t you out there with my parents?”
“All that aimless lounging … I got bored,” As he began to speak he moved into your room towards where you sat at your desk. “Although I suppose I could ask you the same question. It’s a beautiful day outside. Why are you sitting in here working?”
“I’ve got homework to finish first,” As you watched his eyebrow raise you cut him off just before he could make a snarky comment. “It’s just a few reading assignments for classes in the fall. Nothing crazy.”
“If it’s keeping you locked away, I consider it crazy.” This makes you laugh as you turn to the desk. The sound of his shoes against the hardwood floor made you shudder in anticipation. Soon you could feel his body just behind you, nearly touching your shoulder.
“Let’s see this supposed homework you’re doing.” Leaning down, his face was hovering right beside yours as you flipped through the pages of the book reports you’d been working on. It was all you could do not to turn your face to look at him so you were mere inches away. However you maintained your composure until he moved back a few steps. “Nope. Nope. Sorry sweetheart but I won’t allow it.”
“What?”
“I won’t allow you to sit in your room on a gorgeous day and do homework. We’re going out.”
“Frank, I can’t just–”
“Sure you can. At least get out and take a walk with me for a while. You can do your homework later.” As much as you wanted to hesitate, as soon as he made the offer you accepted.
With your approval he shuffled your papers into a drawer and escorted you outside. As soon as you did the warmth filled your body in the most delicious way. You let out a deep sigh you’d been resisting for a while now. You could see your parents on the other side of the deck. Upon hearing the door shut they both turned and waved, a lazy smile on both their faces. You waved back and Frank’s hand found the small of your back, causing you to follow where he led you quite happily. Once you were both out of the view of your parents he offered his arm to you, which caused you to blush. You took his arm sweetly, letting him escort you to your special place.
There was a pathway that led through the forest, shaded by trees. You were the only people who knew this place existed. As the shade of the trees cooled patches of your skin, you relaxed into his side. At the end of the path there was a curve to the right. At the bottom of the curve was a big flat rock on the edge of the lake where you both liked to talk for hours. Now the rock had a blanket and a small picnic basket on top of it, shaded over by more trees from the path.
“Frank, what is this?”
“Well, I could see you’ve been stressed with work and such. I know college life is hard. I just wanted to treat you a little bit. Is it okay?”
“More than okay. This is really lovely. Thank you.” You lean forward on your tippy toes and peck his cheek sweetly before he helps you onto the blanket where you both sit down. He starts pulling out some of your favorite snacks and arranging them on the blanket for you. You pick up a bag of cookies and start eating as you recline back, watching the water move. Frank also grabbed a snack, mimicking your movements until his hand was only inches away from yours.
“So, interrupting my homework, convincing me to come out here … you had it all planned out?”
“What can I say? I wanted to surprise you. And it worked.”
“Yeah, I guess it did.” You blushed as you thought about his sweet gesture. Thoughts began swirling in your head that maybe this meant more. Maybe this wasn’t just a friendly little hang out. Maybe all of those little hints and clues you’d picked up over these past few years weren’t all in your head. Before you could dream much further you stopped yourself, not wanting to go too far.
Soon you and Frank were laughing with one another as he told you some ridiculous story. The way he threw his head back as he laughed alongside you made it impossible to stop smiling. Things continued on like that for what felt like hours. You just sat and talked about anything and everything. You told him about school and your fears and hopes and dreams and ambitions. And he told you his. What he wanted his life to be like now that his daughter was out of the house. You were beginning to see a side of him that was seemingly brand new to you. It was all you could do not to kiss him right then and there. After a while he stopped talking and got up off the blanket.
“Where are you going?”
“Hang on. I’ve got another surprise.” With that he disappeared behind a bush and when he came back he had his guitar.
“You brought your guitar!” You exclaimed, excited about the prospect of getting to sing with him. He nodded eagerly, sitting back down beside you as he settled his guitar in his lap.
“Yeah. I thought you might like to have an intimate little jam sesh. Just the two of us.” That word, intimate, made you swallow hard.
“I would really like that.” He smiled over at you, your eyes staying locked for the briefest of moments before he looked down and started plucking out some chords. You immediately recognized your favorite song. He had learned to play it just for you. Clearing your throat, you began to sing as he played. With the water babbling behind you, it sounded like an angel’s chorus. Soon it was done, almost as quickly as it had started. You wanted the moment to last.
“Let’s do another.” Frank happily obliged again and again as you continued to request music for him to play, singing alongside him. Unsure of when, you realized that at some point your hand had found a place on his knee. However he made no effort to move it and you weren’t going to do so either. After a while of playing Frank finally put down the guitar, stretching where he sat.
“Well, work calls I suppose. Hope you had some fun though.”
“Definitely. It was the best date I’ve had in a long time.” As soon as the sentence is out of your mouth you both freeze, eyes locked. Your brain starts scrambling for excuses, apologies, something to clear the air but you don’t say anything. It is Frank who breaks the silence.
“Date? You think this is a date?”
“Well, maybe not so much I thought it was a date as … I was hoping it was a date. I wanted it to be a date. Is that awful of me?”
“No. No, it’s not awful of you,” You want to crawl under a rock and hide forever. How could you let that slip out? Now, you’ll never stand a chance with him. How could you say something so stupid? “I was kind of hoping it was a date too.” This stops your brain in its tracks.
“You were? Really?”
“Yeah. Look, just let me explain. I know its wrong. I know I shouldn’t think about you like that. I’ve known you since you were a little kid. You have been best friends with my daughter for most of your life. I shouldn’t think of you romantically or … any kind of way. But it just kind of happened. I looked at you one day and I wanted more than calling you ‘kiddo’ and roughing up your hair and only seeing you when you’re home from school. I wanted more than all that. I know its selfish and crazy. I’m sorry. Please just don’t freak out.”
Little did he know that you were freaking out but for a much different reason. You wanted to explode with excitement and embarrassment and fear and joy all at the same time. Frank liked you. The way that you liked Frank. It was almost too good to be true. You searched your brain for the words and nothing came to mind. There was only one thing in your brain and you didn’t have the willpower to stop it.
“Y/N–” Before he could finish you leapt up from your seat until your lips found his, kissing him deeply. After a moment you pulled away and both of you were frozen again. You were suddenly very aware of what you’d just done and you became scared that you had done the wrong thing. Soon enough Frank put your mind at ease by pulling you in for another. And another. The two of you met each kiss with so much joy and passion. Each kiss felt better than the last as the situation finally became real to you. You were kissing Frank Castle. He liked you and you were kissing. It was a dream come true.
“I really like you Frank. Like a lot. I want more than all of that stuff too. I want to be with you. I know it’s not exactly the most ethical thing but I think we can make it work. I just want you.” You finally spit it all out, bolstered with courage by your shared kisses.
“I want you too Y/N. I want … all of you.” You suddenly realized that both of you were tip toeing around the same sentence that neither of you could say out loud. You knew that you wanted it more than anything and you were sure he wanted it too. It just took the courage to say the words. With a deep breath you scooted closer and picked his hand up in yours, feeling the warmth of his body on your own.
“Frank … I’ve waited a long time for this. I don’t wanna wait anymore,” Frank clung on every word. “Will you touch me?” At first the man seemed frozen again and it renewed your nerves but soon enough he had snapped out of it and his hand found your waist.
“Yes. Yes, I want that too. I want to make you feel good.” As soon as you were both on the same page Frank took the picnic basket and threw it in a nearby bush so that you had plenty of room to move on the blanket. Once the way was clear he moved back towards you, hands on your waist and the side of your neck as he kissed you again, more passionately this time. Positioned up on his knees, he bent down to meet your kiss as he hovered over your body.
With one swift motion, Frank used his current position to his advantage as he helped you down onto the blanket so that you were laying on your back. Once you were laid down you looked up at him through your lashes, panting heavily as you awaited his touch. The sight of you beneath him caused him to groan as he pulled his shirt off over his head. He leaned down again so that he could kiss you. One hand rested on the top of your head and the other was on your thigh, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist which you did eagerly. As Frank continued to kiss you deeply he thrusted against you, causing you to feel his building erection against your clothed pussy. You moaned into his mouth, rolling your hips against his.
“Fuck you feel so good. Even clothed you drive my body crazy.” He adds, face buried in your neck as he grinds down into you. “And yet, I really wanna see you naked. Can I take off your clothes?”
“Yes please.” That is the permission he needs to start undressing you. He takes your shirt off first and then your shorts. You maneuver to help him until you are only in a bra and panties. Frank’s eyes trace over your body, unable to keep himself from looking. As he does so you guide his hand to your back where your bra clasp sits. He takes the hint and helps you unhook your bra, pulling it off of you until your breasts are exposed to him. Next his hands trail down to your panties. Before he can take them off his eyes find yours, asking for silent permission. You nod and he smiles, hooking his fingers in the hem of your panties. He finally slides them down your legs before leaning back on his haunches to admire your body in full before him.
“God you are beautiful.” He muttered breathlessly before diving on top of you and grinding into you. The new sensation of the fabric of his jeans on your bare pussy was delicious, making you cry out. When you do he stops, pulling away to look at you. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Is all you can say as he continues his movements, eyes trained on yours. You hold his shoulders tightly, rolling your hips up into his to get more of that beautiful friction. As you do so you feel a knot building up in your stomach, signaling your impending orgasm. The quick pace of your approaching orgasm catches you off guard since you’d both only just started but you couldn’t deny the feeling of pleasure that coiled inside you. The movements of your hips begin to stutter and Frank catches on, realizing that you’re about to cum for him for the first time.
“Are you gonna cum baby? How shameful. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already falling apart for me. God that is so hot.” He grinds down hard then pulls away completely right as you’re on the edge causing you to moan and whine at the loss of contact. “I’m sorry baby but I have to taste you. I want you cumming on my tongue.”
With that he crawls down your body, trailing kisses along the way as he does until he’s hovering right over your cunt. His breath is warm on your sensitive bud and you moan. He uses his fingers to open you up to him before flicking over your clit with his tongue rapidly, giving you a multitude of sensations at once. You buck your hips up into his mouth as his lips wrap around your clit and he begins sucking. The feeling sends you reeling as you lace your fingers into his hair.
“God yes, I want to cum on your tongue.”
“Don’t worry baby. You’re going to.” With that he increases his sucking, latching on tighter which causes that same coil of pressure to build in your stomach as you buck up into him harder. As you do he grabs your waist with both hands, pinning you down so that you can’t squirm away from him. His tongue travels down to prod at your entrance. Your back arches up towards the sky as his tongue slips deep inside of you. Somehow Frank finds the right spot on the first try, flicking up and back against your g-spot. That is the motivation you need to cum against his mouth. Wild moans escape you as you convulse against him, trying to get away before you become too overstimulated but he keeps you in place. You squirm frantically but he makes no efforts to stop. Closing your eyes tightly, you hold onto his hair even more tightly now as he continues to suck on your clit.
“Frank, it’s so sensitive. Please–”
“You can take it baby. I know you can take it.”
With that he speeds up, flicking his tongue against you more rapidly now. As he does you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach, unable to fight a second orgasm from springing up on you. As he travels down and finds your g-spot again you explode on his tongue a second time, shaking uncontrollably as he holds you down. Once you’ve come down he backs away from your pussy, climbing back up over your body to kiss you. You can taste your own cum on his tongue as he kisses you warmly. You can’t help but squirm a little after cumming twice for him, unused to that kind of relentless attention.
“You did so well. Thank you.” Frank says before kissing you. “God, I’m so hard for you. I need to be inside you. Can I please?” You can’t find the words so you nod. At the motion Frank’s hand grips your jaw, causing you to look at him in the eyes. “No baby. I need to hear your words. I need to hear you say that you want it.”
“I – I do.”
“You do what sweetheart?”
“I do. I want you to put your cock inside of me. Please Frank.”
“Okay. I can do that baby. I can do that.” As he speaks he climbs off of you, balancing himself on the rock as he takes his jeans off. Then his boots and socks. Then his boxers. He peels them off slowly until his cock springs out, fully hard and weeping with precum. The sight of him makes you inhale deeply. “What’s the matter baby? Does my big thick cock make you nervous?” His words cause a deep blush to spring to your cheeks as you squirm, waiting for his touch again. When he finally lowers down onto you, you grab his shoulders tightly as he lines himself up with your entrance. As his hips start to thrust you prepare yourself for the feeling of him but Frank fakes you out, instead running his cock up through your folds. The tip presses against your clit, making you moan sweetly. He slips towards your entrance again, this time prodding more urgently.
You maintain eye contact, pleading him silently to push inside of you. With your evident approval he moves one of his hands to the side of your neck as he nudges himself slowly inside. The feeling of his thick cock stretching you open causes your mouth to gape as you bury your face in Frank’s neck, unable to keep yourself from moaning loudly as you enjoy him. A deep groan escapes Frank’s throat as he presses in deeper, almost completely to the base. With one more thrust he is seated fully inside you, his cock reaching deeply in you.
“Oh fuck sweetheart,” Frank gasps, moving out of you slowly before pushing back in. The second thrust hits even deeper than the first, reaching that spot that makes you feel so exquisite. Just as you are about to beg him to move faster he speeds up as if he could read your mind, pounding you at a genuine pace now. Your passionate moans do not escape his attention as he moves forward to look in your eyes. “That feel good? Like it when I pound you hard like that?”
“Fuck, yes! Yes!” You blurt out, unable to contain yourself. Frank keeps up that same pace, pounding you hard and fast just the way you want him to as you roll your hips up into his, trying to get more of him inside you. As you rock against him you feel that coil in your loins building again, another orgasm imminent. The man moans.
“Jesus, I can feel you gripping me so tight. Are you gonna cum again?” Before he can let you answer you are suddenly being lifted as his cock slips out of you. The strong man grabs your hips and flips your body so that your ass is up in front of him and your face is pressed into the blanket. Without a moment of hesitation he sticks his cock back inside you, pounding at the same pace as before. The sudden shift allows him to go even deeper and you cry out for him. “Look at you. Moaning and whimpering on the cock of the man who practically helped raise you. Such a filthy little slut. I love it baby. So beautiful when you make those noises for me.”
His filthy words make you clench again and he groans, pushing as hard as he can which makes you yelp loudly. Frank’s fingers bear into your hips hard as he takes you like a wild animal out in the middle of the forest, with the sound of the moving water echoing alongside your cries. You can barely find the words to beg him to let you cum.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to say it. You cum on my cock as many times as you like.” With his permission you let out a deep groan, pushing back against him as you encourage your orgasm.
“I want to cum with you. Please.” Frank’s hand swings down, smacking your ass hard at your admission, jolting you forward.
“That’s what I like to hear sweetheart. I’m so close already. Cum with me.” You nod fervently, pushing back to meet his thrusts so he can reach extra deep as the two of you rock towards your orgasm. As he pounds you nice and hard his fingers find your clit, rubbing little circles as he fucks you. It isn’t long before you’re right on the precipice of that sweet high. Neither of you can say any words as you let yourselves fall over the edge, gripping each other tightly as you both cum. The only sounds you can make are whimpers and moans and cries as you cum a third time, continuing to rock back against his hips as you ride it out. Frank is buried the deepest inside you that he’s been during your encounter, filling you up with his warm cum as you both pant heavily. The sun on your back is like heaven as you lean down on the blanket, trying to catch your breath.
“Oh god baby. Fuck.” Frank breaths, collapsing beside you on the blanket. Rolling over into his arms, you let out a sigh. Unsure of what starts it the two of you find yourselves suddenly laughing at yourselves. Perhaps its the absurdity of what just happened. Or maybe its the overwhelming joy. Nevertheless the two of you find yourselves in fits. Soon you’re out of breath all over again, trying to regain your composure. A smile paints your face as you look at him.
“That was … wonderful. You are wonderful.” You say, fingers stroking small and delicate circles into his chest as you speak.
“Not nearly as wonderful as you sweetheart.”
“I like hearing you say that. Sweetheart.”
“You’ll always be my sweetheart.” With another smile you start pushing yourself up but his arm draped over your waist stops you.
“Come on. Let’s go back to the house. I’m sure we could both use a shower.” With a groan he lets go, pushing himself up beside you. The two of you get dressed and pack up your picnic before making your way back to the house. As you walk, Frank extends his arm to you and you walk back cuddled up together like that.
When you make it back you both let go of each other only to see that your parents aren’t on the porch. You head inside, making your way to the kitchen to put away the left overs from your picnic. That’s where you find both your parents, dressed to go out.
“Well hey you two.” Your dad chimes.
“What were you up to?” Your mom adds.
“We were having lunch. Now it’s back to studying.” You say, not wanting to spend too much time on what you were just doing.
“Well that’s fun. Don’t study too hard. Your dad and I are going to head into town to catch a movie just the two of us if that’s alright. We should be back in two or three hours.” With that they both pack up the rest of their things and head out the door, disappearing as quickly as they appeared. With your parents now out of the house Frank’s hand finds your waist turning you in his direction.
“Now what was that you were saying about a shower?”
-summary; Frank ruins you for anyone else. -warnings; 18+ mdni, smut, knife/blood play ish, canon typical violence, blood, graphic description. -a/n; i am a whore <3
“I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”
The words tumble from his swollen lips. You clutch your bleeding side and laugh. Your chest tightens and it’s hard to breath, but you laugh. Your nose is definitely broken, your teeth are stained a blood orange. You can feel cracked ribs and pulled muscles. The life is draining out of stab wounds and bullet holes. But you laugh.
Frank looks just as bad as you. His face is painted black and blue. His knuckles are bloodied and broken. One of his teeth is lying on the floor by his feet. Blood gushes from both nostrils and his vest had been decorated with several fresh bullet holes. You had even managed to weasel your blade into his side to leave a nasty wound.
Your apartment’s a mess. Broken glass littered the floor. Your coffee table was lying in pieces. Frank wants to kill you. You both stood, covered in blood, heaving and panting, in your kitchen.
“Do it,” you grin.
He advances. You make no move to run. It almost surprises Frank. He almost wants you to run. He enjoys the chase. he’ll miss this little game once you’re dead. But as his hand wraps around your throat, he finds himself unable to kill you just yet. So he squeezes, just enough to excite you.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he promises.
“Do it.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs. “I ain’t done with you, yet.”
Frank’s free hand disappears. You watch, half frightened, half intrigued. You don’t see the knife that he pulls. You feel it, instead. You feel it hook under the hem of your shirt. You feel the cool air on your skin as the shirt rips. It’s a clean cut.
You hiss through your teeth. Frank presses the tip of the blade into the skin above your sternum. He grins at his artistry. You feel him drag the blade down. Blood trickles out of the wound, not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to scar. You’ll have it forever. The cuts are clean, it’ll be no gaudy scar, it’ll be dainty, but visible. You feel two more swipes of the blade slicing skin, two across, one below the other. Frank leans back to admire his handiwork. From afar, with a sick grin, he adds another cut, right next to the previous one. You don’t know what he’s painted, but you have your suspicions.
You whine, pushing against Frank. He takes some pity on you and leans in for a kiss. It’s almost sweet, until he bites your lip and the taste of fresh blood floods your mouth. You moan into the kiss. Frank drops his hands to your thighs. He taps them and you jump. He blindly carries you through your apartment. he knocks against the kitchen island and the wall, and several doorframes. You wince and groan against his lips.
“Stop fuckin’ whining,” he chastises.
“Fuck you,” you grin.
He knocks you against the doorframe again, a little harder than before. He stumbles into your bedroom and drops you carelessly on the bed. You sit up. Frank undoes his belt and while he’s unbuckling his jeans, you look around him to the mirror on the wall.
Your eyes go wide. In your sternum, just below the underwire of your bra, are the initials: FC
