#punisher imagine
i’ll be alright
summary: Frank comes back. and you missed him. You just try not to let him know that.
warnings: blood, injuries, angst
a/n: cannot get enough of frank castle…….. pls give me a break <3
initials.
-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
