Frank Castle X Reader - Tumblr Posts

i didn't know i needed this but i did?! i love reverse comfort and with frank? literal perfection.

i thank your past self for writing this absolute masterpiece and if you ever continue it, i will go feral <3

(please do a second part, i'm on my knees begging)

Battered and broken

Frank Castle x fem!reader

a/n: This is out of left field but I found this and had forgotten I had written it after a Punisher rewatch in Nov 2023. So I’m putting it out in the world because why not.

Warnings: actually no smut (I know, right?!), hurt/comfort, description of injuries.

Summary: You’re an ex-Navy corpsman (yes, they call women that too in case you weren’t sure) and Frank comes to you for help and some comfort. Takes place after season 2 finale. 3.3k words

The knock on your door is faint, you could have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to it. You close your book and place it on the coffee table as you stand up from the couch. You unconsciously tuck a stand of hair behind your ear as you reach the door. You take a deep breath before looking through the peephole.

No one looking back at you. Only the top of a man’s head, a ball cap, his face toward the floor of the hall. You can tell by the slump of his shoulders he is exhausted. You slide the chain back.

“Come in,” you say as you open the door. Frank steps in sideways, glancing up at you. You let out a gruff sigh. This particular beating looks worse than any you’ve seen yet.

“Hey,” he grunts at you. He tosses his cap onto the kitchen table and pulls a chair out. The feet scrape on the floor. He nearly collapses into it. His body looks so heavy, like gravity has gotten stronger, pulls harder on him than anyone. He runs his hand over his hair and leans forward, nearly puts his face in his hands but thinks better of it when his busted cheek brushes against his palm. He rests his elbows on his thighs and lets his head hang. You quietly close the door and slide the chain back into place.

Your bare feet are quiet on the tile floor but are the only sound in the silent apartment. He doesn’t look up as you approach him. You stand at his side and sigh lightly. You touch the back of his head, gingerly, run your fingertips down his neck. So far, the back of his neck is the only part of Frank not covered in blood. There’s some there too though. You make another pass, equally gentle, but with your entire hand from the top of his head to his neck and let your palm rest against him.

You’re standing close enough to him that he leans slightly against you, shoulder to thigh. You wish you could take the weight off his shoulders but you’ll happily accept any that he’s willing to offer, even if it is only to prop him up. It lasts only for a beat. He can’t share the load. It’s not pride or ego. It’s a mix of fear and compassion. When he straightens up you slide down to squat next to him. You keep your hand on him the whole time, some small comfort for both of you.

“Hi there,” you nearly whisper. You dip your head as you speak, finding his face, assessing the damage. “Hey.” You reach up and gently put a fingertip under his chin. He lifts his head, barely, and meets your eyes.

“Hey,” he replies. He is beyond exhausted and, this time, beyond beaten. You suck in air between your teeth and drop your hand from his chin to his knee. But you smile up at him sweetly, a closed-lip smile that spreads up to your eyes. He almost smiles back at you but winces.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” you tell him as you stand up. You hear him let out a deep breath. You straighten your pj shorts as you pad through the apartment gathering supplies. Occasionally you glance over your shoulder to make sure Frank is still upright. You run through the list in your head and as you circle back through the kitchen you snag a beer from the fridge.

You lean over the table and let some of the items fall from your arms as you use a foot to slide a chair out. You sit down while pulling your chair closer to Frank, face to face if he sits up straight. He hasn’t yet. So you line up your supplies and then crack open the beer.

“Here. Drink this.” You hold the open beer bottle in front of him. He finally looks up and slowly lifts his head. It looks like it takes all of his remaining strength to rase his arm to take the beer from your hand. He takes a swig of it and sets it and his arm on the table. He leans back just a little in the chair.

You turn back to the table and your supplies, grab a washcloth and the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. You want him to lean back if it’s comfortable so you stand and step between his legs. He takes another drink of beer and rests his arm on the table again. Then he looks up at you. You have the cloth in one hand, alcohol in the other, and a tightness in your chest from those deep, dark, haunted eyes. That particular expression always makes you ache to comfort him, relieve even the smallest amount of his agony.

“I don’t have to warn you, you already know how this hurts. I’m guessing this is the least pain you’ve felt today.” You smile down at him and push some of his hair back from his forehead with the back of your hand.

Frank’s eyes soften slightly as he looks up at you. You feel his left hand move from his leg to yours as he slips his fingers behind your knee, up the bare skin of the back of your thigh. He’s not going any further, only wants the contact with you, but your skin still breaks out into gooseflesh. His touch is gentle for such large, rough hands. You let out the breath you had been holding and dab the cloth against the mouth of the alcohol bottle. You start at his forehead and move your way slowly down his busted and bruised face until there’s no more white on the cloth.

He only winces a few times and never much more than a reflex and never opens his eyes. Only once did he involuntarily pull away, but his cheek is split wide open, even he couldn’t override his body’s response to the alcohol in the open wound. You hold the cloth away for a beat as his fingers reflexively grip your leg. Then you go back to your job. It hurts him but it has to be done.

“Thank you,” Frank mumbles as you step back to sit down again, his fingers trailing off your skin as you move out of their reach. You toss the cloth on the far side of the table and start to set up the first aid kit and a small bowl you fill with alcohol. You close the bottle and look at him while you unpack suture supplies, bandages, ointment.

“Did you finish it? Is Amy going to be safe?”

He nods. Just barely. Even nodding hurts.

“Do you know where she’ll go?” You doubt it. He doesn’t want to be a liability to the people he cares about. Not knowing is safer, easier.

“Nah,” he answers as he looks down at his clothes, examines his hands, turning them over to look at the palms. He takes a drink of his beer. “Nah, I gave her some cash and got her on a bus.” Another swallow. “Maybe she’ll make something out of her life. Good kid.”

“Yeah, she was,” you nod. “Just misguided. Happens to most of us.” You stand up again and slide some things on the table closer to Frank, gently taking his beer from his hand and setting it out of your way. You step back into your position between his legs and before you can begin he reaches up and holds your hips in each hand. He leans forward and rests the top of his head against your stomach. You run you hands over his shoulders, one up the back of his neck. You make soothing sounds but you never shush him. The last thing you want is to make him feel like he can’t say whatever he needs to. These sounds aren’t words as much as gentle humming sounds mixed with it’s-okay-s. The tender moment doesn’t last long. Frank raises his head and slides his hands down your legs. He’s not holding your legs, only resting his hands against them as his forearms rest on his thighs.

You both know this normally sucks but it’s going to be so much worse without a topical anesthetic. Not that this is unusual for Frank, but this split cheek is awful. You decide to do it first. You choose the smallest needle and thread from your medical kit, the best choice you have for facial sutures but still bigger than you want.

You look down at him, soft smile on your face, and find him watching you. A touch of adoration mixed in with the exhaustion.

“This is going to hurt like a motherfucker babe,” you warn him unnecessarily.

“Don’t drag it out,” he tries to grin in that cheeky way but it hurts too much. “Get on with it.”

So you do. Occasionally, you feel his fingers tighten on your legs but Frank’s overall reaction to these stitches is a narrowing of his eyes, small twitches in his lower eyelids, and muscles flexing in his clenched jaw. The apartment is so quiet that you can hear, as well as feel, the sutures as you stitch him up. Frank’s breathing has a rasping quality that you don’t like in the least. Your corpsman’s instincts run through the list of possibilities and, combined with the shallowness of each breath, you’re pretty sure he has some rib damage and maybe a few hits to the throat.

As you tie off and cut the thread you assess the other wound on his chin. That could use a few stitches as well. You go about cleaning your needle, threading it, and try not to be distracted by Frank’s fingers grazing a path up and down the outsides of your legs. He’s started to relax. The endorphins from the pain of cleaning and stitching are washing over his brain. His breathing has begun to deepen and slow.

You look back at him and tilt his face up to yours by running your fingertip up the line of his jaw to his chin. You work silently, this area less damaged but requiring a bit more concentration. After finishing these sutures you drop the needle in the bowl of alcohol. You assess the smaller cuts and splits on his face and deem butterfly bandages appropriate. You unwrap a few and start closing the wounds on his forehead, his other cheek, above the bridge of his nose. When you finish you lean down and kiss the top of his head and cradle the back of his head in your hands.

Frank’s hands slide up the backs of your thighs, over your shorts, to the small of your back. His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top to rest against your bare skin. Unexpectedly, he leans his head forward and you straighten with a little surprise but you don’t stiffen. You let him rest his forehead between your breasts. Through the thin fabric of your tank, his breath is warm against your skin. You gently pet the back of his head and then rest your hands just above his shoulders. His shoulders are shaking a bit, trembling actually. You don’t think he is crying but he’s processing a lot of emotions after a day like this.

You both stay that way for a moment, not too long, and he sighs loudly. You move your hands from his shoulders. When he looks up at you, his eyes are red rimmed but a little less exhausted.

“Alright big man, come ‘ere.” You take a step back and gesture for him to stand up. You smile broadly at him, encouraging him that he can do it, that there is enough energy left in him. Frank groans as he stands but grins at you sheepishly once standing. He rolls his eyes at your mock clapping, praising his effort.

You step closer to him again and the smile falls from your face. You dread seeing how much worse shape his body is in if his face was that bad. It can’t be avoided.

“I’m fine,” he grunts as you move your hands to the hem of his shirt. “I’ll be fine.” But Frank looks away from you and clenches his jaw, chewing the inside of his lip. He doesn’t have much fight left in him.

You continue on your quest and gasp “ouch” when you see his bruised torso. It would be a miracle if he doesn’t have a cracked rib, but it’s probably more like two or even three. You pull his shirt up to his chest and he acquiesces, raising his arms up to help you. He jerks the shirt over his head and his arms out of the sleeves and flings the shirt on the floor. Even his arms are covered in dark purple bruises. You want to soothe him, run your fingers over his injuries, but you only allow your hands to hover above him without touching.

Frank’s face is a mix of embarrassment, frustration, and anger. And it infurates you that the anger isn’t at who did this to him but at himself for being a “burden” on you. You put a mental pin in that discussion, saving it for a better time. He won’t even look at you at the moment so there’s no need to try. Your compassion builds from your stomach and spreads a warmth across your chest as you realize he is actually embarrassed. Does he think that you see these injuries as anything other than his sacrifice? They certainly are not evidence of inaptitude or failure. Surely he doesn’t think that. That conversation will happen sooner rather than later but not tonight.

“Hey,” you prod gently. “Hey?” You wait and Frank eventually turns to look at you.

“Hi there, Mister,” you say as his eyes meet yours. “There he is.” You gently touch his face in the one spot not cut open. “Stay here with me, would ya?”

He tries to return your smile but can barely manage it. He looks down but presses his face into your open hand. He is so epically tired. You glance down at his chest again and know there is nothing you can do with your limited first aid supplies to help him. Maybe wrap his ribs after he cleans up.

“You wanna just do what I tell you for a bit? No argument?”

Frank nods against your hand then straightens up and clears his throat.

“Yeah, sure, whatcha got in mind, doll?” His lips twitch into a lopsided smirk and you would have hit him playfully if there were anywhere to hit him that wouldn’t hurt. You smile at him before squatting in front of him to unlace his boots. No easy feat given how long the blood-soaked laces have had to dry. When you have them loose enough you stand up so he can toe them off.

You casually slide a finger into one of his belt loops and give it a light tug. “Come on big boy.” You flash him a quick smile before leading him to the bathroom.

You can feel him watching you as you walk. You always can. He is hypervigilant about everything but he seems to study your movements, your muscles, any time you move. He’s seen you in less clothing but you like the way your skimpy pjs leave some things to his imagination. Your brain shuts off those thoughts the moment you enter the bathroom.

Frank stops in the doorway and leans against the jamb. You work on readying the shower, getting the right water temp, clean towels. You nod your head in the direction of his pants. “Those. Off.” He groans as he straightens up but you hear his belt, then zipper, as he complies.

The two of you haven’t done this exact dance before but so many variations on it that he know you have to do this for him. He can object, occasionally you let him fall into bed untended to as long as you get his bloody clothes off first. But just as he trusted his corpsman when he was deployed, he trusts you. Marines’ habit of following corpsman's’ instructions is beneficial, especially these days.

You turn toward Frank and quickly survey the damage to his legs. Not as bad as you expected but not great. The bruise on his shin is worrisome but the rest look reasonable, given the circumstances. Your eyes travel back up his battered body to his face as you walk the short distance to him.

“You gonna leave your shorts on while you shower?” you tease. You smile only slightly to indicate that you’re teasing because you aren’t sure if he wants this tonight. Not sure if he wants to be alone, vulnerable and alone, instead of vulnerable with you. You slip a finger under the elastic of his boxer briefs and wait. Wait for him to signal his decision.

Frank raises a hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He focuses intently on you ear, then your cheek, then your lips, and finally your eyes. His hand lingers near your neck and shoulder, fingertips barely touching you. His eyes flit back and forth between yours, reading your face, thinking, deciding. You wait. Always will.

“Nah, easier to shower without them.” He is nearly expressionless as he says this, a hit of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Before you can get started “helping” him remove his shorts, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Not quite a kiss, yet. He’s tired. You press forward into his mouth with yours and he kisses back. His lips are slow, tender, and cautious, and not because of the cut on his lower lip. He always starts off that way. As if he were unsure if he will break you, if he will break, or if you will finally rebuff him. You’ve never sure. You slowly, gently encourage him by running the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip while you kiss him back. That does the trick.

Frank snakes his hand from your neck to the back of your head and entwines his fingers in your hair while pulling your mouth harder against his. It’s passionate but not urgent. Nothing tonight is urgent. But this feels amazing, as if he hadn’t kissed you ages or would never get to kiss you again. You feel lightheaded when he pulls back. His hand stays behind your head, thumb rubbing small circles on your neck.

You remembered your objective and start to get him out of his shorts but he stops you and slides them down, steps out of them, and walks to the shower. He almost grabs your hand as he passes but lets his fingers graze your palm.

“I’m here, Frank. I’ll be in the other room,” you announce as you walk out of the bathroom, “but I’m here.”

You busy yourself with cleaning up, putting everything back, anything that doesn’t go into the bathroom. You want him to have some privacy, safe privacy to breathe. You take a drink from his open beer and pick up his shirt and boots. So much blood. You can sort that tomorrow. He’s still showering as you put the chairs back in place under the table. You plop down on the couch, sitting curled up on your feet, and rub your brow. You take a few deep breaths and then another sip of the beer. As you set it on the coffee table you hear the bathroom water turn off. You pick up your phone from the table, check for missed notifications, then silence it. Frank walks out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, as you are placing your phone back on the coffee table.

“Feel better?”

He grunts affirmatively and smiles. He walks over to you and takes a drink from the beer. Before you really know what is happening, Frank lays down on the couch, barely fitting because he lay with his head in your lap.

(May be continued…)

im finally finishing season 2 of the punisher despite how emotional i am feeling and i feel like these last few episodes will make me sob. then add on the fact that i was just sat here and realised that peace (by taylor swift) is a very frank castle-coded song and i wanna write a one-shot based on this concept.

it has probably been done before but idc, i want to do it because frank deserves loves. thank u.

been working on part 3 of 'banged up' and it's definitely gonna be more than 3 parts! i'm not sure how much longer but it's definitely gonna have a 4th part at least.

i'm having a lot of fun writing it so hopefully i can get it finished tonight but my wrist has been acting up so i'm putting it in a brace for a few hours to let it rest.

i'll see how i feel later but hopefully, part 3 will be released within the next week! it's gonna be a longer one and delves a little more into what happened to reader, introduces the roommate (aka willow (she/they)) and develops on reader's growing feelings for frankie... get excited besties :)

OH and here's a little (unedited) snippet;

“You know how to get in contact with Jessica Jones?” You asked as you took the plate of food from Frank. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “Wanting to add her to your roster of vigilantes to take care of?” He asked. You shook your head and stabbed your fork into a piece of bacon. “Nah, Willow needs a good railing. Thought you might have contacts,” You shrugged, a wry smile spreading across your face. Frank stared at you for a moment, painkiller bottle cap off and in his other hand. His face made you chuckle but that just made your stomach hurt and so you quickly wrapped your arm around it, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re real funny, sweetheart,” Frank muttered. You nodded your head, completely serious. “I’m hilarious. God knew I would be too powerful if I became a comedian so he gave me no social skills and vigilantes for friends,” You responded, the corners of your lips turning up into a smile. Frank shook his head in disbelief.

banged up (3)

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; frank unexpectedly meets your roommate willow and you begin to realise your feelings for frank.

warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, soft frank, awkward frank, descriptions of injuries and memories of torture (not too explicit/graphic tho), suggestive themes, realisation of feelings

notes; part 3 is here my lovelies! we've got more soft frank, an introduction to willow (who uses she/they pronouns) and some realisation of feelings. this chapter is such super sweet and i am getting carried away with this fic. i love these two together so much and i just want them to kiss and get married and have babies. that's all.

masterlist

part one part two

When you heard your roommate - Willow - come back at 9am, you didn’t get out of bed. You hadn’t had a chance to look at yourself in the mirror and you really didn’t need her worrying anymore than necessary. So you let Frank deal with it. But you could still hear their conversation through the slightly ajar bedroom door and it made you smile (which made your face hurt even more than it already did).

“Hi,” Willow sounded unsure as she closed the front door and discarded her shoes onto the shoe rack.

“Mornin’.” Frank was cooking breakfast and you could sense the hesitance in his tone - trying to work out whether Willow was a threat. But he knew you had a roommate and considering they’d come in with a key, he didn’t immediately go on the offense.

“So you a friend of my roommate’s or…?” Willow asked. You tried not to chuckle, knowing it would hurt, as you listened to Frank’s boots shift on the floor. He was uncomfortable, you just knew it. He had never been over at your place when Willow had come back off the night shift. There was one close call a few weeks back but you had mostly kept those two parts of your life separate.

“Yeah, stayed over last night,” He responded. Willow let out a soft ‘uh-huh’ before she ran her hands over her face. They were exhausted.

“She in her room?” Willow asked. Frank was caught off-guard by the question and he quickly realized that he didn’t know if she knew about the company you kept during the nights. How would they react to seeing you bloody and bruised? Frank was surprised that your roommate hadn’t said anything about him considering his face had been plastered on the news more than once over the past few years. But they hadn’t shown any indication that they knew who he was.

“Mhm, gettin’ her beauty sleep,” He responded, gesturing vaguely towards the room. Willow nodded and ran her hands through their hair before letting out a soft huff.

“Cool, okay. Well, I’m gonna go to sleep. Would you two make sure to keep the noise down? It’s been a uh- long night,” Willow finally said. She sounded exasperated and you couldn’t blame her. You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty for not saying anything to them beforehand but you didn’t exactly expect this to happen.

 Plus, you had spent most of last night in so much pain that you could barely think straight let alone have the foresight to message her about Frank being in your apartment, “You the guy she went on a date with?” Willow asked after a beat of awkward silence between the two. She was halfway to her bedroom door when she turned to look back.

“Nah, just a friend,” Frank dismissed. Willow nodded and then disappeared into her bedroom while Frank continued to cook. As you lay curled up on the bed, your phone dinged and you grabbed it to catch a glimpse of the screen; it was a text from Willow.

‘What the fuck is The Punisher doing in our kitchen?’ There was a brief moment before another text dinged through, ‘Are you fucking Frank Castle? I swear to everything that is holy…’ A giggle bubbled from your lips despite yourself and pain shot through your body in an instant. The brief moment of joy was replaced with burning pain as you twisted your face into the pillow, crying out. 

Tears pricked at your eyes and you gripped your pillow underneath your hands. It made it worse but also gave your mind something to focus on. The ache in your fingers was much less painful than your stomach.

Another message dinged through and you tentatively reached a hand out to glance over it. ‘Good on you for getting that vigilante dick, better tell me about it later’ ‘Hook me up with Jessica Jones? Lord knows I need that woman to rail me’. You couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of your chest but your laughs were interspersed with cries of pain and coughing that only seemed to make every part of your body feel worse.

‘Must have been a good night… heading to sleep now, talk to me later xx’ The last message dinged through and you whimpered softly as you curled back up on the bed. Frank appeared a moment later with painkillers and a plate of food. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Somethin’ happen?” He asked. You shook your head and slowly pushed yourself to rest back against the headboard, “You need some painkillers?” You nodded. You had probably had the last lot around 3 hours ago when you had woken up to find Matt in the apartment so you were more than happy to take more. You needed it.

“You know how to get in contact with Jessica Jones?” You asked as your head fell back against the headboard. You adjusted your legs a little before taking the plate of food from Frank. His head tilted slightly, a questioning look on his face.

“Wanting to add her to your roster of vigilantes to take care of?” He asked. You shook your head and stabbed your fork into a piece of bacon.

“Nah, Willow needs a good railing. Thought you might have contacts,” You shrugged, a wry smile spreading across your face. Frank stared at you for a moment, painkiller bottle cap off and in his other hand. His face made you chuckle but that just made your stomach hurt and so you quickly wrapped your arm around it, squeezing your eyes shut as your fork clattered to the plate.

“You’re real funny, sweetheart,” Frank muttered. You nodded your head, completely serious as you forced yourself to recover from the pain.

“I’m hilarious. God knew I would be too powerful if I became a comedian so he gave me no social skills and vigilantes for friends,” You responded, the corners of your lips turning up into a smile. Frank shook his head in disbelief as you let your stomach go, the pain subsiding a little.

“Whatever you say,” He then poured some painkillers onto a spoon before he gestured for you to open your mouth. You took the spoon into your mouth and swallowed it down.

“Y’know if Willow needs a railing, I think I need to be in an orgy or something. Nobody’s given me an orgasm in fucking years,” You grumbled. Frank didn’t know what to say as he poured another spoon of painkillers, “I just want God to give me a man that won’t cum in two seconds flat and leave me high and dry.” You were just bitching at this point but after your failed date and your torture, you were really beginning to wonder what the fuck you had done to get God - or whatever being was out there - to hate you so much, A soft sigh escaped your lips.

“This really bothers you, huh?” Frank asked after a moment of silence. You huffed out (though that made your chest hurt) and shrugged.

“I just got tortured and they got every fluid out of me except one. I’m not saying I wanted one of them to fuck me but the least I could have gotten was fucked in that fancy fucking restauraunt bathroom before I got kidnapped. Y’know,” You explained. You were half-joking but also, not joking in the slightest. He tilted his head as he looked at you and you reached out for his wrist, guiding the spoon of painkillers into your mouth since he seemed to have forgotten what he was doing. 

You swallowed the painkillers down before Frank pulled the spoon away and put it and the bottle down on the side.

His jaw clenched in thought as he tried to decide what to say. You could tell his head was spinning and it made your stomach turn (in a good way). Maybe it was because Frank had been taking care of you all night and he had been more attentive than any boyfriend you had ever had but you were sure that he would take of you if he fucked you. You found yourself almost wanting it.

“I need to piss,” You stated after a moment, distracting yourself from your unsavory swirling thoughts and giving the speechless Frank a reprieve. You had been fighting off going to the toilet for an hour or so, not wanting to face the thought of walking again. How you had walked last night was beyond you but you were desperate for the toilet so pain be damned, you needed to go.

“Come on,” He urged as he put the plate of breakfast to one side and got up from the bed. You shuffled around and wrapped your arm around his shoulder. He hauled you to your feet and with his help, you hobbled to the bathroom. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Frank guided you closer to the toilet and you looked atrocious.

You were pretty sure you would have looked worse last night since you’d got the swelling to come down since but you still looked awful. Your face was covered in bruises, they were in various stages of healing but there wasn’t much of your skin that wasn’t discolored. Your left eye was bloodshot and there was a slash across your left eyebrow which made the skin swell. You definitely were going to have a black-eye when the swelling went down.

Thankfully, you didn’t see how damaged the rest of your body was but you knew that it wasn’t pretty. You could feel the sutures that kept your skin together on your arms. Without them, you would have bled out.

“Need me to stay?” Frank asked as he moved one of your hands to rest against the sink. You shook your head and he let your other hand move from around his neck. He stepped back, “Keep the door unlocked, yeah?” You nodded and he then disappeared out of the bathroom. A long breath escaped your lips, trying to work up the courage to step over to the toilet. 

Despite the ice pack and the rest, your ankle still felt awful. You didn’t think it was broken but it was definitely sprained. You could vaguely recall a boot being stamped over it and you rolled it in your heels before you had been kidnapped. It was painful and putting even a little bit of pressure made you want to cry.

But you had to do it so you did. You limped to the toilet and pulled your underwear and pants down before you sat down. Your arms hurt and as you peed, you looked over them, taking in every suture and stitched up cut. You could remember how it felt when they sliced you the first time. After that, it became just a blur of pain.

Your wrists also looked awful. At first, they hadn’t bothered to tie you up. Instead, they put you in a dark room with lights that flashed intermittently to disorient you. Then, someone appeared, sliced your skin open wherever they could and disappeared. You hadn’t been able to fight back even if you wanted to. It all became far too much, far too quickly and when you had eventually collapsed, they tied you up.

Your wrists were still red raw, layers of skin stripped away. The rope had been the only thing keeping you upright for most of the time, you could still remember the burn in your calves. You sighed, pressing your hands over your face. It took everything in you not to start crying. You sucked in deep breaths, stabilizing your breathing before you wiped and clambered off the toilet. You dropped the seat, flushing and then going to wash your hands.

But the soap against your cuts made you whimper and hiss in pain, tears pricking your eyes. When you were done, you just rested your hands against the edge of the sink. The thought of moving made you want to cry and you were staring back at yourself in the mirror. Your eye really needed an ice pack.

There was a knock at the bathroom door and you said that Frank could come in. He nudged the door open as he looked at you. The tears were threatening to spill down your face at any moment and he frowned, stepping towards you.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured softly as he gently pulled you into a hug. His arms were tight enough to know you were safe without being so tight that it hurt your already battered and bruised body, “You’re safe now, you got that? Nobody’s gonna touch you.” You sniffled against his chest, tentatively moving your arms to wrap around him. You were trying so hard to be careful of the stitches, not wanting another one to pop.

“Don’t know how I didn’t tell them,” You admitted softly, “It hurts so much.” He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t understand how you can do this,” You added after a beat. Frank ran his hands down your hair.

“I know, sweetheart.” He murmured. You sighed, your bottom lip quivering as you held Frank a little tighter, “Need to eat some breakfast, come on,” He said after a moment, supporting half your body weight to head back to your room where your breakfast plate was. 

Once you were back on the bed, Frank adjusted the pillows so you could sit up comfortably. Then he grabbed the other plate of breakfast food and the two of you sat together, eating in silence.

Frank’s presence was enough to make you feel safe and you didn’t want him to leave.

-

Despite your complaints, Frank left the house at around 6pm to get some takeout for the both of you. He had been with you all day, talking to you, lying down with you, feeding you painkillers and snacks and getting anything that you needed. You appreciated it immensely but the thought of him leaving the house sent your anxiety off the charts.

But he promised that he would be back soon and that he was a call away if you needed anything. So, you reluctantly let him leave with that in mind. But of course, the second that Frank leaves the house, Willow made her appearance. You were curled up in bed when there was a knock at the bedroom door.

Every single possible scenario ran through your head before Willow called your name, “I know you’re not asleep and Frank’s gone.” You sighed and told them that she could come in. Willow pushed the door open and for a moment, she was smirking. That was until she saw you and her entire teasing, smug demeanor dropped.

“What the fuck?” It was an involuntary response and you sent her your best attempt at a smile, “Was this him?” She snapped. You scoffed and that made your chest hurt.

“No,” You stated bluntly. Willow’s eyebrows furrowed, not believing you for a goddamn second. You probably wouldn’t have believed you either, “He’s the one that saved me. Got grabbed during my date,” You explained. Willow didn’t know what to say and so she simply pushed your bedroom door to and moved to sit by your side. 

“What did they want?” She asked softly. You shrugged and they scoffed. You let your eyes fall closed, you were exhausted. It had been an incredibly long day.

“Just know that Frank found me, got me the fuck out,” You murmured. Suddenly everything made a lot more sense to Willow and they let out a sigh, pushing her braids behind her ear.

“Is that why he didn’t want me to see you even though I knew you were awake?” Willow asked. You nodded which made you wince, “Jesus, girl. Was it him that stitched you up?”

“Yeah, used most of the kit, sorry,” You murmured. Willow scoffed.

“It kept you alive, I don’t give a fuck,” Willow responded. You gave her a grateful smile before your head fell back down against the pillows. Just keeping your head up made you exhausted and you let your eyes close, “I’ve still got some of my prescription painkillers from my shoulder injury. You want them?” You bit your lip, debating whether that was a good idea, “I wouldn’t offer them to you if they would make it worse.” 

“You’re not a Nurse,” You murmured. Willow chuckled and nodded their head, “But please,” You added after a moment. You were so grateful for even the chance at stronger painkillers, it hopefully would make it easier to function. Willow surveyed you battered and bruised form for a moment before she stood up.

“And I’m gonna wrap your ankle, it looks awful,” Willow stated. You let out a grumble of acceptance before letting your eyes fall closed. You just wanted to relax but you also felt so bad. Willow had enough on her plate without worrying about you. You knew that she had plenty of her own issues to deal with between family, friends, her ex. Her roommate being tortured really wasn’t something you wanted to put on them.

It was a few moments before Willow returned and she had a fresh glass of water in their hand. They placed it down on the side before perching on the edge of the bed.

“Before you bitch, I know you hate pills but you either take it like a big girl or be in pain,” Willow stated. There was no arguing with that tone and you groaned softly in annoyance before slowly pushing yourself up to rest against the headboard. Willow then placed the pill in your hand before you grabbed the glass of water. You put it on your tongue and instantly chugged the water.

The pill washed away with the tsunami water and it was gone. Willow smiled before she shuffled down to bed, “Gimme a pillow,” She ordered. You grumbled in annoyance before grabbing one from beside you and throwing it their way. She grabbed it, put it under your ankle and then began to wrap your ankle, “I have a question,” Willow said after a beat. You groaned, tilting your head back. Willow asking questions never meant anything good, they were a menace at their worst and nosy at their best. You grunted in annoyance.

“What?”

“The Punisher wouldn’t just stay around anyone’s house all day and night. I mean, he should have taken you to the hospital but he didn’t. Gonna explain why?” Willow asked as she continued to wrap your ankle.

“It’s complicated.” It was literally the only way to explain. You and Frank had always been complicated. You knew Frank because of Karen. She had asked for help with something Frank needed probably a year or two ago. Karen had been madly in love with Frank then. You had a feeling she still was but she wasn’t as obvious with it anymore.

But when Frank had found out you had helped (and knew he was alive), he freaked. You couldn’t blame him but he had found you and threatened you. It made you terrified to even go near him and when it was released to the news that he was alive, that terror turned to worry. Even if Frank was terrifying and vengeful, you knew he had a code. He hadn’t hurt you despite the fact that he had no reason to trust you wouldn’t tell people he was alive.

Karen had been worried about him too and she had somehow managed to rope you into a scheme to make sure he was okay when he had gone to the hospital. That then led to you helping break him out of the hospital with Dinah Madani, a literal Homeland Agent. It had been a weird time in your life but somehow Frank saw you as someone to trust.

So, one night, he found his way to your apartment as he bled out and you saved his life. Ever since then, he checked in on you every week and often came to you to get patched up - as did Matt. You didn’t exactly have any medical training but you had a steady hand and the best leftovers to feed the injured so they had both found you to be someone to trust.

It boggled your mind that you had grown a friendship with Frank especially after your rocky start but it felt good to have someone who you knew protected you. You also had called him more than once while completely trashed and he always came to pick you up and take you home like the gentleman he was.

But it was complicated. That was the only way you’d ever be able to explain your friendship with Frank because you didn’t think he would ever actually let you in and trust you. It didn’t really bother you but you sometimes just wanted to be there for him like he was for you.

“You want to fuck him, don’t you?” Willow asked bluntly. Your eyes widened and you used your good foot to kick her in the side.

“I want anyone to fuck me at this rate, as long as they do it right,” You snapped. Willow chuckled at your comment, shaking her head as they continued to wrap your ankle.

“I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to fuck him. He’s the only man who's ever taken care of you while you’ve been sick,” She pointed out. You scoffed, opening your mouth to rebuke that claim. The past few boyfriends you had hadn’t been all that bad but then you remembered every time you had been sick, none of them had come over. You groaned.

“Jesus Christ,” You mumbled. Willow nodded, glancing over at your down-trodden expression. It all seemed to make so much more sense now, “That’s probably why I wanna fuck him so bad, he actually pays attention to me.” There was a pause before you added, “Not gonna happen though.” Willow cocked an eyebrow before they returned back to your ankle, doing one more pass of wrap before she was done, “Willow, he lost his wife. Don’t think fucking anyone is his priority anymore.” Willow hummed in agreement before she pulled away from your ankle. It was wrapped up nice and tight but not so tight it’d block your circulation. It would just hopefully keep the swelling down for the next few days.

“He’s missing out,” Willow stated as you began to shuffle to lie back down. They moved the pillow with your ankle, keeping it elevated, “I’ve heard you give head, pretty sure those men go to a different universe.” Your eyes widened and you kicked Willow with your good foot.

“You perv!” You accused, pouting at her. Willow chuckled.

“Don’t suck your boyfriends off in the bathroom then I won’t hear it,” Willow shrugged nonchalantly. 

You pouted, sinking into the bed, “Noted. I’ll keep giving head strictly to the bedroom.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Willow mumbled. You rolled your eyes and moved your arms to rest over your face. You were so tired but the prescription painkillers were at least helping. The numbing pain had been replaced with relief that was also making you drowsy as hell.

“I’m gonna go get ready for work. Will you be alright?” Willow asked. You nodded.

“Yeah, Frank’s gonna be back soon. I’ll be fine,” You dismissed. Willow nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead just as the apartment door closed which meant that Frank was back. You eyed her for a moment before she smiled and disappeared. Her and Frank shared a curt conversation before she headed into the bathroom.

You stayed where you were, eyes closed. Your stomach was turning in anxiety after that conversation. You did like Frank and it was ridiculous and terrifying and suddenly it felt like you didn’t know how to act around him.

“You and Willow close?” Frank’s voice startled you and you opened your eyes. He still had his coat on, wrapped snugly around his torso. A takeaway bag was in his left hand and there was a smile on his face.

“Yeah, they’re a fuckin’ menace though,” You muttered before slowly pushing yourself to sit up. Frank went to come over and help but when he realized you weren’t grunting or hissing in pain, his eyebrows furrowed, “She gave me some painkillers, strong ones,” You answered the question before he even asked it. Frank nodded and he placed the bag on the bed. He then unzipped his coat and pulled the beanie off.

You opened the bag and it was from your favorite Italian takeout. The familiar smell hit your nostrils and you groaned in excitement before unloading the bag onto the bed. Your muscles still ached and there was an acute sense of pain but the painkillers that Willow had given you were making it so much easier to ignore. You felt almost normal.

“Careful, sweetheart. You still got stitches,” Frank reminded you as he placed his beanie and coat on your dresser. He then came over to the bed and sat down across from you. He had ordered you pizzas from the Italian place down the street and you could have kissed him. You would have kissed him if you had the courage. 

“Shouldn’t have got me my favorite then,” You responded, a wry smile on your lips. You flicked the box open and of course it was your exact pizza order. The grin spread wider and it hurt your bruised cheeks but you didn’t care. You grabbed the pizza slice and shoved it into your mouth, taking a bite. You let out a groan of appreciation, “Fuck, forgot how good this was,” You muttered, mouth full of pizza.

“Feelin’ better?” He asked. You nodded your head, a smile spreading across your face.

“Are you going out tonight? With Matt?” You asked curiously. Recently, the two men (despite their differences) patrolled together and then if they got injured, invaded your apartment for the night. That hadn’t been the case last night since from what you could remember, it was early when Frank had saved your ass.

“Nah, stayin’ here to make sure your sorry ass doesn’t get grabbed again,” Frank responded. A smile began to spread across your face despite yourself and you quickly shoveled pizza in your mouth to ignore the bubbling feeling of happiness, “That gonna be a problem?” He asked, noting how you seemed to have tensed up.

“No, no, I don’t mind. It’ll make me feel safer. I’m glad,” You rambled, “The painkillers are making me drowsy so… probably need the protection.” You added. Frank nodded and he continued to eat his own slice of pizza. The two of you fell into comfortable silence and for the first time since you had woken up to Frank taking care of you, you didn’t feel any pain. It was a mercy.

FRANK CASTLE (x fem!reader)

^ - fluff / * - smut

ONE-SHOTS

medication ^ exhausted ^ sick day (well... sick month) ^ breakfast dates ^ rainy days ^ camera snaps ^ escape artist ^ cake-related disaster ^ blue days ^ wrapped up ^

finally going through my google drive archives and gonna put some one-shots in the queue! there's a couple for luke, some for frankie, one (maybe two) for matt murdock (my beloved <3) and then a couple for marc spector so enjoy hehe <3

Ughh I love both of these mini fics so much!! But especially the little Bake x Frank addition, I'm a sucker for a sunshine character!

WIP poll game

rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got

Ahhh thank you for the tag @chvoswxtch

I’m not going to tag anyone because I’m very new and don’t want to force anybody but let me know which WIP you want me to post a part of!

Omg please add me to the taglist!! I'm so excited to read more <33

WIP poll game

rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got

Ahhh thank you for the tag @chvoswxtch

I’m not going to tag anyone because I’m very new and don’t want to force anybody but let me know which WIP you want me to post a part of!

Ahhh this is so good! I know this is just a two part one shot, but if you ever consider making it into a larger series PLEASE add me to the tag list.

I love reading daredevil x reader writing but the angst in this is fantastic! Frank Castle has me in a chokehold I swear.

Now That We Don't Talk | Frank Castle x F!Reader

BONUS FIC

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Read Is It Over Now? for better clarity.

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader (past Matt Murdock x F!Reader)

Summary: You go home with the guy from the bar, and he makes you forget about your ex.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "attagirl", slight Dom!Frank, song references, unprotected p in v, dirty talk

Word Count: 2.9k

A/n: You wanted a part 2, so you're getting a part 2! Anyway, I don't write Frank often, so I hope it isn't too bad. It's also not as spicy as you probably expected, but I wanted this to fit the vibe of the previous fic (link above). You don't need to have read it to understand this, but it is highly recommended because some references might confuse you. Thank you all for taking part in this event!

You believed that your life had ended when you lost him. He painted your world in the brightest colors, but by breaking your heart, he took them away. All that was left to see was a boring shade of gray in a sea of sadness. 

Matt told you from the start that being with him wouldn’t be easy. You were willing to try. He needed someone, and you wanted to be that someone to him. You accepted him unconditionally. 

In the end, giving everything wasn’t enough. He chose her over you, and the castle you two had built came crashing down on you while he stood idly by. 

You’re not a bitter person, you have never been, but he made you fall for him; he made you believe that there was hope for the future and that you would grow old together. He stole years of your life in which you were trying to save him from himself. In return, he took the best care of you, but that doesn’t matter much now that he has taken your heart and shattered it like a glass of red wine on a white cloth. 

When you left him, you thought the distance would kill you. You truly believed that this was the end of everything, not just your relationship with the man you thought was the one but yourself as well. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he said the day you found out the ugly truth.

“I trusted you,” you remember saying. You couldn’t even cry. The pain burned brighter than the sun, and it dried your eyes before they could even shed a tear.  

He argued with you that, “It was just a kiss,” but you not once believed him. 

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause if I ask Elektra, I’m sure she will tell me the truth.”

“No.”

It was at that moment you lost all of your trust in him—in what could have been or should have been the two of you, forever—and it was also the moment that Matt realized he had lost you. 

You believed that he took everything you ever were that day because your life revolved around him, and only him. 

You remember him opening his mouth, having the audacity to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said, begging you not to leave. 

“Fuck you!” you had never sworn at him until that day.

You still remember the way the necklace with his initial felt when you tore it off your neck and tossed it at his feet. He knew you better than anyone, and you felt like you finally belonged somewhere. That necklace was a symbol of your undying love, or so you thought, anyway. Now you know that he may have known you to some extent, but you didn’t matter enough for him not to climb into bed with his ex-girlfriend.

You couldn’t even look at the necklace. He told you, “This is a piece of my heart,” when he gave it to you on a snowy Christmas Day three years ago. You cherished it the same way you cherished his soul. He was broken, but he was your broken man. He was everything to you. 

Matt Murdock was your moon, your son, and your entire universe. It all seemed far away that you could ever feel about anyone this way again. 

You saw a future with him. Married, a house in the suburbs, and working with Foggy and Karen in their new law office after everything they’ve been through. You were a hopeful person back then.

Karen told you that he went to a party a couple of weeks after you separated. He didn’t look like himself. You wonder if he felt anxious, knowing his only source of comfort was no longer there. You wouldn’t know until you asked him, but you refused to answer his calls.

Part of you felt euphoric, knowing that he was broken too, but you also felt angry because he was the reason you found your heart beyond repair as he stepped on it like a burning cigarette, and in your mind, he had no right to feel this way.

You’re a fucking traitor, Matthew Murdock! I wish we’d never met.

“Another one for the lady,” a voice says beside you. 

Your empty glass of tequila disappears and a full one slides in its place. In your drunken haze, you see a head of brown hair, and his smirk makes you wonder if there’s more to him than he lets on. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, tipping your glass to the stranger. 

“Nah, don’t thank me.” He gets up from his seat and sits down on the empty bar stool next to you. “You look miserable,” he says.

“What if I am?”

“I’d tell you I know the feeling.”

You huff but offer the stranger your hand. You introduce yourself. 

He smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue effortlessly. “Frank,” he introduces himself in return. “Castle.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. 

You thought nothing and no one could pull you out of the dark hole your breakup tossed you into. You believed yourself dead and long beyond the point of redemption. You accepted it. You swallowed in your misery, giving up on finding a new purpose in your life because the one great thing you had was no longer yours. He fell into a grave that he dug for himself, and he dragged your relationship down with him.

Looking into Frank’s eyes now though, you no longer feel like a corpse. And you realize that you are not dead, not at all—you are very much alive. 

The door almost breaks off its hinges when Frank shoves you into his apartment and back against it. The decision to come back to his place was fueled by a lot of alcohol and the way he looked at you. You were desperate to feel something other than the hollow ache that has consumed you every day for months. His eyes told you that he may be able to give you just what you need, no strings attached.

The way he kisses you breathes new life into your mangled soul. He swallows your mouth and your needy moans with his own, and his tongue forces itself down your throat as your teeth clash in a fight for dominance. You’re both tipsy, but he seems to know just what he’s doing.

His calloused fingers burn against your skin. In the back of your mind, Matt is still so present. His hands are the ones you can’t help but compare him to. 

The way he used to kiss you before fucking you into the mattress for hours on end, switching between tasting and fingering you until you were whimpering and begging him for release might have screwed you up forever. He told you one night that he wanted to ruin you for any other man. Back then, you both still believed that you would grow old together.

It is truly ironic how fast things change when you are truly happy and believe that nothing can burst your bubble.

Frank’s large hands brace against the door on either side of your head. His lips disappear from yours. “Who is he?” he asks, his voice rough like gravel.

You meet his eyes, unsure of what to say. Your mind is everywhere but here, and yet it is right with him. Whether it is alcohol or self-loathing, you’re not sure. 

“What?” you whisper.

“You’re trynna forget someone. Who is it?”

He is a lot more perceptive than you thought.

You swallow, blood rushing to your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–” you didn’t what? Think? You feel utterly pathetic.

Instead of throwing you out though, like you expected he would, he reaches out to caress your cheek. His eyes soften as they gaze at you. “Whoever he is, he obviously didn’t treat you right,” he says. “If you want to go, I’m not stoppin’ you, but if you wanna forget whoever is fuckin’ with your head, I’ll make damn sure you forget his name by the end of tonight.”

There is something excitingly terrifying about the look in his eyes. A shiver runs down your spine, and your thighs clench at the thought of feeling his hands somewhere other than your face. Somewhere other than your hips and thighs. His kisses knocked the air out of your lungs. You want more, you need more, but you don’t know if you can take it. Not him—even though you’re also not quite sure if you can take him—but also the offer he is presenting to you. As lucrative as it sounds, fuck, you are not over Matt. And you’re not sure if you can ever forget him.

You want to though. You have to. And you want to be thoroughly fucked into the next day and forget the name of the man that makes you so fucking angry.  

“Talk to me,” Frank coaxes your head toward him. “Do you wanna forget the useless bastard that made you feel this way?”

“Yes,” you manage a breathless whisper.

“Did he hurt you? Break your heart?”

You nod.

“You deserve better.” His grip tightens, and his hand slowly slides to your neck. “I’m not, but I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget his name and scream mine loud enough for this fuckin’ city to know who’s making you feel good. ‘s that what you want, hm?”

He’s dangerous, but that has never turned you off, even when it should have.

And when you finally open your mouth and tell him, “Yes, please. Make me forget,” the switch inside of him flicks completely.

He takes his time to worship between your thighs. His tongue buried in your pussy, his lips sucking on your clit without mercy. He eats you out roughly but sensually, keeping you spread wide open for him with both of his hands and a force unmatched—like a five-course meal, and he has all the time in the world for you. 

You’re lost in the throes of pleasure. You want to buck your hips against his mouth because no matter what he does, you’re on fire and you just can’t get enough, but he is so powerful that you can’t fight him. He has you at his mercy, your body in his hands, and all the control in the world over you. 

You pull at his hair, moaning helplessly as he feasts on your pussy. You’re going mad, you’re sure. He’s doing this on purpose, driving you to the edge before stopping the wave. Frank waits until your orgasm is just far enough for you to last a little longer, kissing the inside of your thighs, and then he dives right back into your wet folds. He thrusts his tongue into your hole, licks up to your clit, and then sucks on the swollen bundle until your legs are shaking in his hands. 

“Jesus, Frank!” you moan out. A trail of sweat runs from your temple down to your breasts. 

Your hands search for something to hold onto, tangling in the sheets and the pillow behind your head before pulling at the fabric. You tried pulling at his hair, but he wouldn’t let you. 

“That’s right,” he growls. “Come for me.”

Your back arches off the mattress. His name leaves your lips in a desperate shout as your orgasm crashes into you. 

“Attagirl.”

Your brain is hulled into an endless fog, but Frank doesn’t stop. 

Soon, you’re on your stomach, gripping the headboard as he pounds into you from behind. He is long and thick, and with every thrust, he forces your face deeper into the pillows. Your eyes have rolled back into your head. He hits that spongy spot inside of you whenever he pleases, and the gurgled moans from the pit of your throat spur him on to speed up, change the angle and thrust even deeper. 

He pulls out all the way, thrusting back into you with full force until he is completely sheathed in your pussy. Your heat consumes him, and he sees red. But so do you. He has reduced you to a few incoherent thoughts, babbling his name in the wake of the drool that is dripping from the corner of your mouth. 

And when you come this time, it is pulled back straight against his chest with his fingers rubbing circles over your already abused clit. You come with a scream of his name, and nothing else matters but his cum in your cunt and the unbelievable depth of the feelings he is eliciting within you. 

You drop to the mattress like a wet towel, covered in his and your cum, and your sweat that has mingled with his. His smell lingers in the sheets as you bury your nose in it. He collapses on top of you. The crushing weight of him offers a sense of comfort that almost makes you cry. And he holds you as though you mean more to him than a One-Night stand he picked up to help forget a man who broke her heart. 

“What’d he do?” Frank asks into the silence later that night.

You are lying on his bed, covered by only his thin sheets. He’s sitting on the other side, nursing a glass of Bourbon. He held you, he cleaned you up, and he offered you some clothes, which you denied. He is kinder to you than you thought he would be, and it warms your heart in a way you can only deem utterly dangerous with how vulnerable you are. Broken people make dumb decisions, and you do not ever want to go through the same pain again. 

At least you know that you are still desired. That you’re not dead. Perhaps, there is still hope for a better future. You made Matt Murdock your life for the longest time, and maybe, as you realize now, that was a mistake. There is more to life than him, and you can live without him. That it took fucking a stranger after weeks of being miserable baffles you, but some things are just meant to happen. Maybe it was destiny, after all. 

You look at him when Frank repeats his question. “What’d the bastard do, hm?” he asks.

Where do you even start? 

When you last checked in on him through your mutual friends—you know it wasn’t the best choice, but you couldn’t help it—they told you that grew his beard, and he last had a haircut when you were still together. It suits him, apparently, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at a picture of him.

Foggy told you that he isn’t taking home girls when they go to a bar, even though he could have all of them. He’s sad. He drowns himself at work and beats his fist bloody every night. The old you would have jumped up to help him. And it is true that you will probably always love him, in a way, but you refuse to crawl back to him.

The more you gave, the more he took, and at the first chance at getting a woman he claimed to no longer love when she came back into your lives, he took her. He couldn’t have wanted you as badly as he claimed if that was enough for him to flush years of loving each other and going through hell together down the drain, knowing it would break your heart into a million pieces. That is probably the worst part about all of it.

You take a deep breath. Frank is still staring at you intently, waiting for an answer. “He fucked his ex,” you finally confess. “Four years of being together and it still wasn’t enough.”

His grip tightens around his glass. “Want me to pay him a visit?”

You chuckle, but you know that he would. “No. But thank you.”

Matt was fading long before you left. Even if you did choose to forgive him, you couldn’t be his friend, so things are better the way they are now. You paid the ultimate price for sacrificing your heart to a man who had too many struggles to deal with himself.

In the silence, you find a little light. “At least I don’t have to pretend to like Jazz anymore,” you say. 

Frank takes another sip, asking, “Jazz?”

“Yeah, Jazz. He loves it. He…He’s special. Well, he was to me, anyway.”

“Special? Fuck, the guy did a number on you, huh?”

You scoff. “You have no idea.”

The only way back to your dignity is to learn how to be without him. You have to turn yourself back into a mystery and learn how to trust someone again before your fragile heart breaks again.

“You still talk?” Frank asks.

You shake your head. “No. It’s over now,” you say. “We don’t talk anymore.”

“Told ya. You deserve better.”

“Nah.” You reach for his glass, taking a sip of the bitter liquor that you used to despise. Looking up at him through hooded eyes, you stretch his leg toward him. 

You need to keep forgetting Matt’s name, no matter what it takes or the reminiscing will surely kill you.

“Right now,” you murmur with an irresistible smirk that makes him leap at you as soon as the words pass your lips, “I just need to forget he ever existed by screaming someone else’s name.” 

Frank captures your lips in a bruising kiss, leaving you speechless and breathless all the same. 

Matt chased you, he caught you, and then he lost you. And now that Frank has you, you never want to look back. 

Now that you don't talk.

I don't have a tag list for Frank, so I'm just leaving this here.

Is he a scary man covered in blood? Or is he my baby girl? Spot the difference

An Unexpected Delight (poly!Fratt x Reader)

(OR: Matt and Frank sharing dessert before the main course ;) )

Summary: Frank wants a taste after Matt tells him how perfectly delicious you are.

a/n: im obsessed with that jon bernthal gif dont even get me STARTED on the fucking jon bernthal gif. anyways, i wrote this in a few hours, didn't send it to my beta reader AGAIN (because im posting so irregularly lmfao), and then thought 'oh i can definitely write more about reader returning the favor/reader getting absolutely plow-' oh god i got carried away again, enjoy!

(Warnings: i feel like this goes without saying but like, smut lmfao, oral (fem receiving), masturbation (a little bit from both of men), minor choking, teasing, frank and matt worship reader, praise kink i guess)

Word Count: 1.2k

This was unexpected, to say the least. If you hadn’t been witnessing it with your own eyes, you wouldn’t believe it, not even as a dream. Alas, Frank Castle’s eyes bored into yours as he stroked himself off, following the pace Matt was setting with his clever, sinful tongue against your clit. Your skin was slick with sweat, the result of relentless teasing from the two men in the room with you.

“Isn’t she pretty, Frank?” Matt lifted his lips from your clit and angled his head toward Frank, who grunted in response.

“F-Fuck, Matty.” You breathed, arching your core off the bed in a feeble attempt to reconnect to Matt’s mouth. His hands, which had been caressing the tops of your thighs, tightened around your hips, holding you in place beneath him.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Matt threw the question over his shoulder at Frank, hot breath fanning across your skin as he asked. Goosebumps skittered in its wake, and a breathy moan released from your mouth before you could stop it. “Didn’t I tell you she was perfect?” Matt pressed a soft, barely-there kiss to your mound for emphasis, eliciting a whine from deep in your chest. 

“You did.” Frank’s deep voice reverberated through the room, and you suddenly felt the urge to pull him closer, to swallow the gravel in his voice, to give him the reprieve you so desperately needed as well. He stepped toward you, forgetting for a moment that you belonged to someone else, and then halted his movement.

“Red, can I…” He trailed off, swallowing thickly. His cock was swollen and angry, and your mouth watered as he stroked himself again. Matt smirked in response. 

“You want to touch her?” Matt asked, licking through your folds in one swift movement. A wrangled moan escaped your throat. “You’ll let him touch you, won’t you, baby? You’ll be a good girl and show him how perfect you are for me?”

“Yes, please. I’ll be so good, Matty. So so good.” You mewled, reaching for Frank, who had stalked closer as soon as you’d agreed.

“See how she begs?” Matt pushed himself away from your cunt, allowing room for Frank to take his place. “She’ll do anything you ask, Frank. Anything.” Frank lowered himself into Matt’s previous position, mouth dangerously close to your slick cunt. 

“Tell her what you want, Frank.” Matt encouraged, stroking himself a few times before caressing your cheek with his knuckles.

Frank’s fingers dug into your thighs, and it took every ounce of his self control to pull his eyes away from your dripping pussy and look up at you.

“What do you want, Frankie?” You asked, eyes trailing the curve of his shoulders beneath your knees. When you met his gaze again, his pupils were bigger than you’d ever seen them, and he looked almost in pain at your teasing. 

“I want,” he began, running the tip of his nose through your folds, “to taste you. Can I?” He asked in a polite, but desperate tone. You sucked in a breath, instinctively widening your legs. Matt smirked from his position above you. 

“He needs words, sweet girl.” Matt murmured, running a finger down the column of your throat. “Can he taste?”

“Please.” You begged, near tears. “Do whatever you want to me, Frankie. Use me.”

Frank couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He dipped his head down, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking before circling it with his tongue. Your vision blurred, and you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking off the bed in response. Frank’s broad shoulders weighed your hips down before you could squirm too much, and he began flicking his tongue over your clit until you were panting so hard you couldn’t see straight.

It was different than with Matt, but not a bad different. You and Matt had been fucking each other for so long that he knew your body inside and out. If he wanted to, he could make you come in less than thirty seconds (a party trick that he would sometimes do when he was feeling overly generous and wanted to make you so strung out you couldn’t function). Frank hadn’t had the luxury of eating your pussy whenever he felt like it, so he was more exploratory than Matt was. And shit did it feel good.

“I’m gonna c-” You were cut off by Matt’s large hand wrapping around your throat.

“Not yet.” He demanded, stroking himself with his other hand. “Don’t you dare come yet, pretty girl.”

“I’m so c-close.” You stuttered, trying to focus on anything other than the handsome man between your legs or the handsome man with the hand wrapped around your neck. They both made that task very, very, difficult. “Matty.” You whined, tears welling in your eyes.

“Not yet.” He gripped your throat tighter.

Frank pushed his tongue around your clit and then inside you, a pattern that successfully drove you crazy beneath him. He smirked as tears began to fall down your cheeks. You were trying so hard not to come that Frank felt himself getting close at the sight of it alone. He rutted against the bed, groaning into your pussy as the friction of the blanket sent heat firing through him. You cried harder at the sight of him rubbing himself against the comforter.

“Frankie.” You cried, sucking in a breath.

“You gonna be a good girl and come on his face, baby?” Matt squeezed your throat as he asked.

“Yes, yes, yes, please let me come. Haven’t I been a good girl, Matty? Let me come on his face. Please.” You rushed out in a single breath, rocking your hips against Frank’s mouth and nose. You were so close it was beginning to hurt.

“Come, baby.” Matt breathed, securing his hold on your throat as you tensed.

Frank’s hands tightened around your legs as you finally let yourself feel the pent up pleasure in your core. It washed over you like a wave, and all you could do was ride the pleasure out as it sparked through your entire body. Your eyes clenched shut, tears still trailing down your cheeks as your breathy moans filled the room.

Frank’s tongue didn’t disconnect from your cunt until you were a puddle in his hands, so out of breath and out of your mind that you couldn’t see straight. He pressed his cheek against your thigh, grinning up at Matt while you came back down to Earth. His chin was coated in your release, and if you weren’t so far gone, you might’ve found that fact incredibly alluring.

“You were right, Red.” He said, sighing against your warm skin, “She tastes amazing.”

Tag List (1/2):

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SICK AND TIRED ➸ F. CASTLE

Summary: After being taken by Frank’s enemies, you struggle to adjust to the new normal.

Warnings: ATTEMPTED S**CIDE, ov*rdose, PTSD, mentions of the trauma, nightmares, panic attack, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION.

Word count: 2.7k

Author’s note: If the warnings trigger you, I urge you to sit this one out!! You don’t deserve to feel any worse. That said, if you’re like me and need a Frank this week, he’s rooting for you and holding your hand through whatever it is you’re dealing with right now. I can’t promise it’ll get any better soon, but I do know you’ve made it through all your bad days thus far. Sometimes taking it day by day is too difficult and you gotta take it hour by hour or minute by minute, and that’s perfectly fine too. Much love <3

(Also, I combined a few requests for this.)

The cool water trickling out of the showerhead above you made you hiss and grit your teeth together, but despite the angry expression, full tears trailed along the edges of your nose. The droplets singed your skin as they ran across the colorful bruises and shallow cuts littering your limbs, and you couldn’t stop from pulling equally empty breaths while bringing your shaky hands up to your body to wash away the grime and blood painting you in ugly hues.

Frank was seated on the toilet, eyes glued to you and his face contorted in a hurt frown which only mixed with the pure rage soaring through his system. He knew he had already made everyone responsible pay — in fact, he had gone above and beyond, disfigured each of their faces and made sure they had felt his pain before taking their last breath. Still, it didn’t feel like enough. If he had had the power to bring them back to life only to take it away again, he would have. He would have done anything for you.

That was why he had offered to help you wash up, too, hovering over you after carrying you home. You could tell he was hesitant to touch you, needing the closeness but not wanting to hurt you any further. You had insisted you needed the control of doing something for yourself, so you had gotten in the shower by yourself, but with your permission, Frank had sat down on the toilet to just be with you, whatever you wanted that to mean.

He couldn’t fight the bitter tears, either, his heart caving in on itself as he watched you cry and tremble in an attempt to clean yourself from what they had done to you. It could have been much worse, he knew that, but seeing just a single bruise on your skin made him sick to his stomach and sent him into a spiral of guilt and anger.

When you were done, Frank was up in a blink of an eye to grab your towel and help you wrap yourself in the soft material. You winced at the contact, but when Frank tried to pull back, you reached for his hand in a desperate squeeze.

”Don’t leave me”, you pleaded, sounding weaker than you had expected, and it did everything to convince Frank to inch in closer.

”I gotchu, sweetheart. I ain’t goin’ anywhere, I swear”, he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead, holding your hand in his.

And he stood by that. Stood by you. When you spent the upcoming night sobbing in bed, he soothed and shushed you, rubbing circles on your back while simply holding you and allowing you to get it all out. You didn’t feel safe outside of his arms, and he had no problem keeping you in a warm embrace for as long as you wanted him to, his tight grip reminding you he was there and you were home.

It quickly dawned on the two of you that while you were no longer being tortured in a dark cellar, taunted by your captors that Frank would never find you, the worst was not over yet.

On the third night back home, you had your first nightmare, and Frank found himself talking you out of a panic attack at four in the morning. It wasn’t your first time dealing with it, but it was the worst you had had in a while, leaving you paralyzed and breathless on the bathroom floor where he held your face in his hands and tried to remind you how to keep the air flowing through you.

The nightmares became a habit, then, and when they did, Frank began to suspect you were dealing with the same thing he was.

”Hey, ’m here”, his gruff voice pushed through the fog in your mind, making it hard to realize you weren’t tied up God knows where — you were home, in bed, with the man who you loved and who loved you. ”Sweetheart, you’re with me, yeah? Feel that? ’M all real”, he continued, gently reaching for your hand so he could place it on his bare chest. You were both sitting up, tangled in the sheets that felt all too hot and consuming, suffocating you slowly but surely. Frank noticed, drawing the covers away from you and placing his free hand on your thigh.

”I got you, hey, hey, shh… You’re okay, baby. It ain’t real, I promise. Just your head playin’ tricks on you, sweet girl”, he went on, and nodding to confirm his words, you clung onto his neck and tried to slow your breathing.

”I was… they—they were trying to…”, you stammered, not even sure how to put the horrifying nightmare into words, but he understood. He always understood.

”I know, sweetheart, I know. But they ain’t gon’ hurt you again. ’Member? I made sure of that”, he reminded, and managing another nod, you licked your lips and rested your head against his chest.

”Frank, I’m so tired”, you cried out, your eyes weary but your mind unwilling to go to sleep, and knowing exactly the feeling, he sighed and wrapped an arm around your shaking body.

”Wish I could take ’em away from you. Y’know I would”, he whispered, trying to keep his voice soft even if he was furious that the assholes that did this to you had gotten off so easy. Death could be merciful, at times, and he suspected you were beginning to realize that after two weeks of no sleep.

Clearing his throat, he tilted his head down to look at you. ”How ’bout we head to the diner and get you somethin’ to eat? Yeah? Get your mind off of it?” he suggested, and with a drowsy smile, you thanked him.

There was no doubt you quickly became regulars of the diner around the corner.

If only your pain had been limited to the nightmares. Instead, every time Frank reached to touch you, you flinched. Every time there was a sudden sound in or outside of the apartment you were now huddled up in, you jumped. Whenever there was actually a need to go outside, you avoided it as best as you could, only agreeing to leave if Frank was by your side the whole time. It became harder and harder to trust anyone except him, and even harder to keep your mind off of what happened. It was like your whole worldview had been tilted on its axis and you felt like you were slowly losing your mind.

It wasn’t like it was all bad. Some days you laughed, some days Frank treated you extra special, and he never faltered from his place of support and love for you. He was patient, even more than you had expected him to be. But the matter of the reality was, you no longer had good days. Or if you did, then the bar for having one was much lower than everyone else’s. To you, a good day was managing to get out of bed and not throw in the towel. A good day was only a few flashbacks, only a few nightmares, only a few intrusive memories.

And eventually, you figured it was becoming too much. You were becoming too much.

”Hey, can I… can I talk to you about something?” you asked quietly, approaching Frank on the couch where he was seated with a bottle of beer and a football game on TV. As soon as the words had left your mouth, though, his focus was all on you, the volume of the television turned down and the bottle placed on the coffee table.

”’Course, baby. C’mere”, he gestured at the free space next to him, and with an awkward fiddle of your hands, you moved to sit there with your body angled towards him.

”I just… I thought I should, uh, give you an out. You know, you didn’t… you didn’t sign up for this. And I feel like a burden—you don’t have to tell me I’m not. I know I am. I’m not the same woman I used to be and you may have been in love with her but if you’re not in love with… whoever I am now, that’s okay”, you explained, choking up but rushing to wipe away the tears. The last thing you wanted was for Frank to stay with you out of pity.

He stared at you for a while, silent and clearly surprised by what you had come to him with. But when he finally seemed to process what you had actually said, he chuckled quietly and shook his head.

”Darlin’…”, he mumbled, a sad look in his eyes as he looked up at you. ”Fuckin’ kills me you think that way ’bout yourself. Hey, I goddamn adore you. I always have and I always will. I ain’t gonna walk away just because things got a little tough. Hell, I’ve made shit tough this whole time. And if anything, it’s my fault—”, Frank started, but you cut him off before he could blame himself any further.

”It’s not your fault. It’s not. It’s those… assholes that we should blame. I don’t blame you, Frank, I swear”, you insisted, and he nodded in a quick response.

”I know you don’t. But I still do. If it wasn’t for me, none of that shit woulda happened”, he emphasized, licking his lips before exhaling and reaching for your hand. ”You mean everythin’ to me, baby. Ain’t nothin’ gon’ change that, I swear.”

You wanted so badly to cling onto those words. You tried your best, you really did. But then on one night that he was spending on a stakeout, you were left alone with the dark pit of your thoughts and you began spinning out. You didn’t want to cause him pain, but what if that was exactly what you were doing? What if you being alive was more painful? What if going away would be a relief for him?

Before you knew it, you were clamoring through the piles and piles of medications you had been given in the past months, and with only a second’s hesitation, you made your decision. You took as many of them as you could bear, one pill after the other, until you physically couldn’t anymore. You lost count but eventually your throat began resisting and your head started to sway. Only then you curled up in bed by yourself, eyes welling up with tears as you begged for a release from all the pain inside you.

As you drifted off, Frank came home earlier than you had anticipated. He called out to you while dropping his bag of ammunition by the front door, only to be met with silence. A frown etched onto his face, but figuring it was already late, he quietly and carefully weaved through the furniture and into the bedroom where he found you, a smile springing to his lips.

”Sweetheart”, he whispered, kneeling next to you, his fingertips delicately moving your hair away from your face. ”Hey, darlin’. ’M home”, he continued, breaking into a concerned look when there was no reaction. Not even a stir, not even a huff.

Then he realized your skin was going cold and clammy. You looked… unwell, to say the least. Swallowing thickly, he felt your throat only for a barely-there pulse to throb against his fingers, and with a panicked exhale, Frank ran his hand through his hair.

”Shit. No, no, no, fuck!” he hissed, bolting up just enough to rush to the bathroom and find the pill bottles in the sink. He made it back to your side, cradling your face in both hands. ”Sweetheart, please. Please, I need you. Come on, girl”, he begged, his heart racing as he supported your head with shaky hands. You were limp and he felt a wave of nausea surge through his stomach as he began gathering you in his arms.

”Stay with me, please. Don’t go”, he pleaded, standing up with your body in his arms, making his way through the front door and to his truck with quick strides. He placed you on the passenger seat and buckled you in before running to his side of the car and starting the engine.

He thanked whatever superior power had cleared all the streets for him — it was quite late, but either way, he was glad he didn’t need to wait in traffic. Instead, he drove erratically, swerving from one street to another with no regard to the traffic rules; he needed to get to the hospital now.

All concern for his very public and very wanted face flew out the window. He carried your lifeless body through the doors, shouting for help, feeling like he might throw up and collapse onto the floor from pure grief any second. He couldn’t do this. Not again.

It was all a blur after a nurse came with a gurney and you were wheeled away. He was sobbing at that point, not even aware enough to fight the other nurse that came to guide him away from the doors. Next thing he knew, he was sitting in a bleak room, eyes tired and puffy, his ears focused on the steady beep of the monitor you were hooked into. They had given him a long explanation of what they had done to help you, but all he could hear was that she’s still alive. Not a goddamn thing other than that mattered to him.

He was still shaky, watching your unconscious body on the pristine sheets, your soft figure wrapped up in a pale hospital gown. He hadn’t dared to touch you, only sat by your side for hours, the moonlight shining through the window and the quiet chatter of the hospital keeping him company.

It was his fucking fault. He knew that. He believed that. And he couldn’t live with himself, didn’t know how to sit still with that sickening feeling that he was the reason you were lying here. He was the reason you wanted to end your life.

When you came to, it took you a moment to realize where you were. But once the sounds and smells of a hospital registered in your head and you saw the monitor next to you, you broke into a desperate cry. Frank had nearly nodded off, but he jolted awake at your weak sob.

”No, no, no…”, you pleaded, cradling your head in your hands, ”I don’t want to be here.”

Your words took a piece of Frank’s broken heart and shoved it through his chest. He had never heard you so defeated, so utterly broken. You sounded so disappointed.

”Baby”, he whispered, reaching for your hand with his bigger one. ”Baby, I’m here”, he continued, fragile and quiet.

As soon as you looked over to him and saw him still by your side, still refusing to let go, you just… broke. The tears escaped you in ugly hiccups and you lifted one trembling hand to your mouth as you wept.

”I’m here, okay, sweetheart?” he gathered some of his voice back to reassure you. ”I’m here. And I’m not fuckin’ leavin’ until you tell me to. I’m never gonna leave you, I promise, sweet girl, I promise”, he rambled, peppering the back of your hand with kisses.

He cried too, climbing up to kiss the top of your head and hug you as gently as he could, his face buried in the crook of your neck. ”I love you. I love you, I fuckin’ love you. Please stay with me, sweetheart”, he begged. ”I’m so sorry.”

"I just wanted to set us both free”, you whispered, and squeezing his eyes shut, Frank held you close to him.

”I’ll say it as many times as you need me to, baby. I want to be with you. I want you. I need you”, he insisted, leaving another kiss on your forehead. His arms supported you against his firm chest and you clung onto him for dear life, comforted by his warmth.

Seven days later, you were officially diagnosed with PTSD. And Frank? He held your hand through it from beginning to end, not once wavering. He told you about his own diagnosis, his own nightmares, flashbacks, the whole deal. He did his everything to reassure you that you weren’t alone. As long as he had a breath in him, you weren’t going to be.

And you promised to try your very best to believe him.

✧ 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

❃ day to day life w cowboy!frank

❃ cowboy!frank is an ass man

❃ shaving cowboy!frank's face

❃ mini friends to lovers playlist &lt;3

❃ when this dumb lug of a lumberjack realised he actually loved you

❃ romcom enthusiast

❃ cowboy!frank eats pussy like a champ*

❃ panty sniffing*

❃ moodboard

❃ nicknames

❃ astronomy dork + small thoughts

❃ riding him*

❃ headcanons

❃ birthday

❃ tongue piercing + bgm

❃ the drive to the piercing place

❃ he’s such a flirt*

❃ breeding kink + dad thoughts*

❃ girldad <3

❃ breeding on the farm grounds*

❃ tits

❃ single mom

❃ spanking*

❃ shit talkers

❃ mama's butter

❃ what he’s like

❃ voice claim

❃ afternoon delight*

❃ merry christmas and a happy new year

❃ drunken confessions

❃ dr. doolittle

Please, Mr. Ghost Face

Frank Castle x F!Reader Halloween Special (18+)

Warnings: explicit language, explicit smut, semi-public, unprotected sex, roughy sex, brat! reader, frank being kinda bitchy, oral (f!receiving) knife play, mention of blood play, teasing.

Summary: look at the title, look at the warnings, you know what it is, enjoy!!

Word count: 7.2k

AN: Oh my god okay, thank you @chelseasdagger and @suitsofwo3 for getting me to actually finish writing this (i literally felt like i was loosing my god damn mind trying to push through). I dont know why it turned out so long I dont normaly write things that are over 3k so this...yeah I really hope at least some of you will enjoy. I love reading your thoughs and feedback on my fic so please, feel free to share them. Reblogs are very appriciated as always :) HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

You're not sure how Frank managed to get his entire Halloween costume ready before you finished the few quick fixes to your makeup. Even considering the fact that it took you around an hour to get the whole look together, and he repeatedly told you no matter when he started getting ready, he'd still be finished before you. He was right. Was it annoying? Slightly, yes, but for once, him being right was actually a good thing since you were already late to a house party one of your friends decided to throw at the end of the week once most of you were finally done with work.

You fix up your lipstick and try the fake fangs on one more time before messing with your hair a bit and taking a couple steps back to check the outfit out in the mirror. Nothing too creative, just a simple well-fitted black dress, slightly shorter than what you'd usually wear, a couple of bright red details and some silver jewelry. A last minute vampire, sure, it'll do.

You straighten up the fabric and look up and down at your reflection one more time.

“Right, I think I'm ready!”

You raise your voice, making sure he’d hear you, before grabbing the last few things and turning to the door.

“So, what did you decide to go as?”

You shout again, curious about how much effort he decided to put into the whole thing this year. Halloween wasn't necessarily a holiday Frank enjoyed, but he'd do this and that occasionally just to make you happy.

“Did you figure it out?”

Another question since he didn't answer the previous one. You step out of the room, digging through your small bag in search of your phone before you walk directly into your boyfriend’s chest.

“Shit, sorry.”

You mumble and Frank grabs your arm, helping you regain the balance before you end up with your ass on the wooden floor.

“Christ, easy, 'you okay?”

Frank’s deep, groggy voice rumbles through your body, and you take a moment to fix up the dress before finally tracing your eyes up his body. You bite the inside of your cheek and it feels like the words get stuck in your throat before you can answer him.

Frank stands in front of you with his usual outfit on. Combat boots, the ones you rarely see him out of, one of the dark gray, now slightly worn off jeans, and a black tank top, his heavy, deep navy blue jacket already in his hand. The reason for your reaction doesn't have anything to do with his exceptionally ordinary choice of clothing, but rather with a thing you're not used to seeing on him.

The basic Ghost Face mask from Scream covering his face makes it rather difficult to focus on… really anything else. The loose black cloth falls onto his exposed shoulders, covering part of his neck, and you catch yourself staring at him and his body for probably slightly longer than necessary.

“Oh, fuck.”

You finally manage to get out a couple of words, and Frank lets go of your arm.

“Think it'll do?”

You catch his question this time but keep your eyes fixed on the mask as his voice flows from underneath the fabric.

“Shit, yeah, yeah it’ll do alright.”

You lean back on the nearest wall, looking over his figure from head to toe once again.

“Shit, Frank, where did you even find that?”

“Corner shop.”

He shrugs and takes a step in your direction after a moment. You feel your back pushing against the door frame, a familiar warm feeling growing between your legs when his frame grows bigger in your field of view. His shoulders and chest, slightly exposed by the tight tank top, the fabric clearly struggling some right above his sternum. You catch the corner of your lips pulling up in a confident smirk once you finally take in the whole picture.

The dark, empty eyes of the mask pierce through your own for a moment and you cross your legs nonchalantly before Frank finally reaches up to get rid of the cheap Halloween costume.

Quickly grabbing his wrist, you stop him before he’s able to pull the mask off of his face. His head tilts to the side slightly, his sudden confusion expressed by the pose.

“What?”

The question, slightly muffled by the dark fabric, only amplifies the smirk already present on your face. You grin happily at the Ghost Face character right in front of you, somehow feeling like he already knows the answer to his question.

“Don’t fucking tell me you’re into that.”

Shaking his head, he tries again but you interrupt the action one more time.

“Oh boohoo, and what if I was?”

You tease. Your impatient hands linger over his body, fingers rubbing over the fabric of both his shirt and jeans. Hooking your hand over the waistband of the jeans, you pull yourself up, pushing off of the wall and leaning forward towards him, rubbing your leg up his own slowly. The fabric of the dress slides off of you slightly, exposing a decent amount of skin. Guiding Frank's hand to the back of your body, you arch your back slightly, pushing your ass into his palm, humming satisfied once you feel his tight grip through the dress. Frank's chest expands with a loud sigh, the space between your bodies closing almost completely now. He watches you carefully; every move, every tease, every little movement you plan out carefully, seemingly only to get a desired reaction out of him.

“What if I was, Mister Ghost Face?”

Your purr, biting down on your lower lip, your hand now pressed against his chest as you gently drag your nails over the fabric. Frank grunts, the harsher touch clearly getting to him now, and you fight back some smart ass comment your brain so kindly decided to equip you with. Instead, you drop your hand to your thigh under the slit at the side of the skirt. Pulling the fabric back, you let a glimpse of the bright red underwear peek from underneath the costume. Frank finally breaks once you glare up at him suggestively.

“Mmmmm, fuck.”

He groans from behind the mask, gripping your ass firmly before pulling you onto himself, your leg hooked loosely behind his. Slipping his hand under the fabric of the dress, he digs his fingers into your flesh and you part your lips, letting out a satisfied moan in return.

“‘M not fucking you with the mask on, kid.”

Way to kill the mood. You think, but bite your tongue just in time, not willing to give up on the idea just yet. You can't help it. To be completely honest, it feels like his fault. You didn’t make him look this good in the costume, well, part of it, you never anticipated he’d pick out this exact one either. The fact that it was able to get these reactions from you and your body? Yeah, seems like you’re innocent. Gliding your hand between his legs, you drag your nails over the bulge before spreading your fingers apart, cupping the whole of it in your palm.

Frank grunts and the previously present smirk makes its way back onto your face, you don’t even try to act innocent anymore.

Listening to his now heavier breathing, despite his not so thrilled demeanor, his heart picks up the pace slightly, the blood rushing down between his legs.

A faint twitch under the jean fabric corresponding with his fingers digging deeper into your thigh and you know he's focused now. He's listening.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

You push the weight of your body against his groin, and his hand finds its way up to your hair. Fingers tangle into your hair before he tugs on it firmly. Your head tilts up, and the Ghost Face mask finally comes off once you cannot delay the inevitable any longer.

He leans in closer, his warm breath brushes over your lips, and you fight back the cocky smirk, not entirely sure which one of you wanted to feel the other more at this moment.

His stern expression only strengthens once you reach your hand behind him. Your fingers brush over his ass and you watch how his jaw tightens, his eyes closing.

“Oh, there he is.”

You tease, and he almost snaps this time, inhaling deeply through his nose in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“You try that shit one more time-”

He starts. Leaning closer to your ear, his lips brushing over your neck.

“And we're gonna have a big problem, kid.”

“Oh.”

You whisper, grinding into his thigh slowly.

“Oh, are we? We gonna have a problem, Mister Ghost Face?”

Your lips almost brush over his now. Frank opens his mouth to talk back, ready to have you bent over and waiting for him, ready to make both of you feel good or, most importantly, ready to have you apologize for the whole god-damn mask thing.

You breathe out a quiet laugh at the frustrated expression on his face once the sound of your phone successfully distracts you from his attempts to intimidate you.

With his hand still under your dress, the other in your hair, his leg between yours and his body leaning down over you, you answer the phone. Speaking as if it was the most casual situation possible.

“Yeah? Oh, yeah, we're on our way, we'll be there in a bit. Yeah.”

Frank watches, flabbergasted, as you make up a little story about why the two haven't joined the rest yet. You smack his shoulder a couple of times, pushing away from him and taking a few steps into the direction of the front door.

“What?”

You ask once the phone call is over.

“You're the one who said it's not happening.”

***

You arrive at the party a good while after it began. The house feels pretty crowded, the music is way louder than necessary, and you're pretty certain you're able to pick up the smell of both alcohol and cigarettes from the other side of the street. It honestly feels like one of those weekend college parties that used to always leave you with a two day long hangover a couple of years back. You shiver from a gust of the cold night wind and look over at your boyfriend while pulling the jacket close around your body. Frank looks unimpressed with that really significant frown on his face, not looking forward to spending the rest of the night in a small, crowded place with a bunch of people he didn't want to have to deal with.

“Oh, you’ll be fineee.”

Your oh so encouraging words earn you a stern look from him before he shakes his head with a deep sigh.

“Just go.”

You laugh and with his hand resting against your lower back, he pushes you towards the door, slipping on the movie accurate mask with a look of disapproval as you climb up the steps together.

“I’m throwing this thing out tomorrow.”

The muffled sound of his voice humors you, but you bite your tongue.

“Whatever you say, Frankie.”

***

This wasn’t Frank's idea, of course it wasn’t. He agreed to go to the party knowing how much you’d enjoy yourself but that was the only reason. The costumes weren’t even in the picture when you first asked him to join you, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to run around to different stores frantically trying to assemble a Halloween outfit. The mask was the first thing he saw after stepping into that corner store earlier in the day. He didn’t pay it much thought earlier, but now? After you made it blatantly obvious how much you enjoyed the whole thing, well… he struggled to get through one conversation without his thoughts slipping back to what happened before you two left your place.

You weren’t any better. Even when you split to catch up with different groups of friends after you stepped into the house, you found yourself constantly scanning the room in search of either his face, the mask, or his back. Catching his glance from across the room, you smile, raising the bottle of beer in your hand up. He does the same, but the gentle smile on his lips wears off the second you gesture for him to pull the mask back down. Frank rolls his eyes, shaking his head, before continuing his conversation with some guy you managed to interrupt.

You could try to focus on other things, on the drinks, the music, the stories shared between your friends. You could…but you can’t. There’s no use in trying when your eyes keep searching for Frank every other moment and your mind keeps slipping into places you’d rather not discuss in a room full of people.

With that in mind, you make it your mission to tease Frank through the evening and really see how hard you can make this get to him.

It starts slow: some gentle touches as you pass him by here and there, pushing your fingers through the hair on the back of his head as you two try to hold a conversation with another person, sitting in his lap when some of the people move to sit outside, and most importantly encouraging him to keep the mask on. It’s a costume party, after all.

He catches on when you two are in the kitchen and you obnoxiously brush your ass against his cock while squeezing past him to grab another beer from the fridge.

He grunts, his fingers quickly wrapping around your arm, and he glares into your eyes, silently warning you, possibly hoping it would somehow get you to behave. It doesn’t. You shoot him a quick smirk, waving at one of your friends wearing an angel costume when she walks into the kitchen.

“We’re doing a group photo in the living room!”

She announces excitedly, and you grin, immediately matching her energy.

“Are we showing our costumes off?”

Frank's fingers loosen the grip around you, and you step away from him without hesitation, taking your friend's hand while she answers your question.

“Yeah! We're trying to get everyone in!”

“Oh, fun!”

Walking by her side, you step out of the kitchen, turning back for just a moment.

“You heard that, Frankie? Costumes!!”

***

Back in the living room, you all gather together to attempt the impossible task of fitting every single person at the party into one photo together. Frank joins everyone a bit after you, walking in your direction as you all begin to take your somewhat assigned places.

“Hi.”

You start innocently, standing on your toes, to press a quick kiss to the side of his face. Frank nods in response, cautious of your tricks. Standing behind you to make you more visible in the photo, he wraps his arm around your chest, and you quickly grab onto his forearm. Glancing back over your shoulder, you quickly point out the obvious.

“You gotta put the mask on.”

“Mind your business, yeah?”

He murmurs, and you breathe out a quiet laugh, not looking away even for a second while he pulls the dark fabric and white mask over his face. You take a deep breath in, and the corner of your lips pull up in a satisfied smirk.

“Frankie-“

You start, the gentle heat between your legs returning since he put the mask on for the first time, now more prominent as he stares down at you once again.

“Leave it.”

He orders in a harsh whisper and with his hand on the back of your neck, he makes you face the camera. Your body takes over your brain and when everyone poses for the photo and his hand slides to your lower back, you push your ass out and press it against his bulge. His grunt, muffled by the mask and the constant noise of the party, slips from under the mask and his hands find your hips faster than you realize it was happening. His fingers dig into your thighs, so hard you know it'll leave bruises. He holds you still, knowing god-damn well if he lets go you'll repeat exactly what you just did.

There's a flash of the phone, and once the photo is taken he lets go of your body immediately. You make up your mind, deciding to risk it. Pushing past a few groups of people that begin to form around the living room, you excuse yourself, glancing back at Frank to make sure he's watching before you disappear behind the corner. You make your way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You don't lock it. You know he won't let that whole thing slip. No more than five minutes pass before he decides to join you.

“Took you long enough.”

You point out and push yourself off the edge of the bathtub, standing up before taking a couple steps in his direction. Frank shuts the door closed and turns back to face you.

“Oh, you wanted me to just walk after you, huh? Make it real obvious?”

He takes a step closer to you, his chest almost rubbing against yours when he looks down.

“No one would give a shit, Frank, everyone's drunk. We could fuck with the door wide open and they wouldn't notice.”

“Stop.”

His voice harsh with the warning.

“Why?”

You push without hesitation or any intention of stopping.

“That get you too much, huh? Bet you'd like that, Frankie, hmm?”

Frank's body tenses up at your attempt to tease him. He stands up straighter, taller, and his shoulders stiffen, his chest rising when he breathes heavily under the mask. His hand balls up into a tight fist as he pushes back the frustration, trying not to hand you exactly what you want from him out on a plate.

“You just don't ever shut up, do you?”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slowly before you stand up on your tiptoes. Staying at eye level with the mask now, you squint, trying to see through the sheer fabric in the eyeholes.

“Oh I do. I can shut up but you don't like that, do you?”

You whisper. The muscles in his neck tensing when his jaw tightens and he shakes his head slowly.

“Yeah, okay, how ‘bout you try for once. Might do you some good.”

“Yeah?”

You whisper again, your hand now rubbing over the center of his chest, feeling the heat under his shirt.

“Make me.”

The words slip past the big smirk on your face and you decide now is the time. Sliding your hand down his body, you brush over the bulge in his jeans. Not giving him time to react, you grip his cock tightly through the thick fabric. With that, you watch whatever was left of Frank's composure crumble away.

There's a moment of silence where his fingers wrap around your wrist. His grip is tight and he holds it in place. You glance down, watching his hand for a moment, before squeezing him once again.

“F-”

He grunts, yanking your hand away with so much force you couldn't possibly even try to fight it back.

“That's it.”

Immediately, you feel his body pushing into yours once he shoves you back against the bathroom counter. Your lips part but you keep the moan back, wrapping your arms around his neck and biting into his exposed shoulder once you feel the porcelain digging into your lower body.

Breathing heavier under the plastic mask, he reaches down to the high slit on the side of your dress. His fingers push into your skin and drag up your thigh. Your breath rushes and your chest rises and falls faster now, the only indication, besides the elaborate banter and the teasing, of how much you've been thinking of this since getting to the party.

You hum loudly once his fingers brush over the hem of your underwear. Your hips push forward slightly in need of his touch once he tugs on the fabric to pull it down. You reach towards him, hands working the buckle of his belt open once the lace of your panties brushes down your calf. Frank reaches up, hand gripping the mask to finally pull it off, but you grab his wrist, stooping him once again.

There's a moment of silence when you both wait for the other to talk, the heat of your bodies radiating through the small bathroom. The pure lust for one another allows this to last only a few seconds.

“Keep it on.”

You request, knowing deep down that you can push him enough to actually have him fuck you with it on.

“Jesus fucking-”

Frank scoffs, pulling the mask off and looking away from you. He shakes his head, disapproving of whatever the hell you've been trying to get him involved in since the night started. He turns back to face you, his eyebrows pulled together, face in a frustrated frown.

“Seriously, this shit again?”

You roll your eyes with a frustrated sigh, hand on his chest as you push against his body, creating some distance between both of you.

“Could you just do one fucking thing without bitching about it so much? Like, is that too hard or?”

You push one more time, both the tone of your voice and the choice of words a lot harsher than before. You keep your gaze on his eyes, confidently staring him down after your annoyed statement, not letting go of this whole thing, not now, not with knowing how close you were.

Frank stands tall in front of you, jaw tight, teeth grinding against each other, and his chest pushes out with the breath he's been holding in his lungs. His eye twitches slightly before he looks off to the side. The bridge of his nose scrunches up when he inhales quickly, nodding once he finally turns back to face you again.

“Alright.”

He slowly pulls the mask back on.

“Your fucking call, sweetheart.”

Before there's time to react, he grabs your arm and shoves you against the sink, turning your body around in one swift motion, bending you over the counter and wrapping his fingers around your upper thigh.

“Your fucking call.”

His words travel down your body and between your legs, the excitement of getting what you wanted, followed by the thrill of the entire situation. The warmth between your legs grows once Frank pulls your ass back, kicking your legs open with his foot. You glance up, focusing on his reflection in the mirror in front of you.

The man towers over you, his shoulders broad and heavy, his chest in the dark tank top, his arm flexing when he holds your lower back down against the wood. The mask, fuck, the mask exposing the tense muscles in his neck, the whole sight taking over your senses, your mind and body.

His heavy hand rubs over your back, up and down a couple of times, before he pushes his palm under the fabric of your dress. Bunching it up, he pulls it over your ass and you can't help but push it out some more in search of his touch.

There's a loud scoff, and you see him shaking his head in the mirror.

“You know, you talk a lot of shit for how wet you are right now, sweetheart.”

He mocks you, pulling the black fabric up before pushing his fingers between your legs.

You whine out loud, closing your legs at the sudden touch but pull them apart again almost instantly.

“Yeah, s’ what I thought. You got a big mouth for-”

“Oh, shut up.”

You cut into his words and feel his fingers on the back of your neck. The grip tightens and he pulls you up, back into an upright position, your body now pressed against his chest. The reflection in the mirror makes your mouth part, but you bite into your lower lip, fighting back another moan. His figure looms over you, the mask ways up above your shoulder, his hand moving to the front of your neck. You feel yourself react to the sight in front of you, to the feeling of his fingers wrapping tighter around your neck, the warmth of his body so close behind you.

“What, you think I'm gonna say make me? Hmm?"

Pushing you back down on the counter, Frank steps closer to your body, his clearly hard cock pressing against your ass.

“Nah, that's your part. I don't do that shit.”

Taking your chance, you perk your ass up some, brushing over the warm spot between his legs. Frank grunts, closing his eyes for a moment before reaching down, pushing his pants open and then down slightly, pulling himself out of the black boxers.

Unable to win with your body this time, you slip up, letting out a moan once his cock springs out from under the dark fabric, stretched out over the large bulge up until this point.

There's a low chuckle from under the Ghost Face mask.

“That shit really gets you that bad?”

One of Frank's hands digs into your thigh, holding you close, the other wrapped tightly around his length.

You nod, making sure he catches the still confident expression on your face in the bathroom mirror.

“Oh, you've got no idea.”

You tease again and Frank moves his hand up to your shoulder blades. Pushing your body down against the counter, he clears his throat.

“Think I got some.”

He lines himself up, getting a few pumps in over his length before spreading you open with his free hand. He pushes inside slower than you'd have liked, pausing after the tip the second he feels how truly ready you are.

“You get off on these things, huh?”

He continues the questing, beginning to thrust into you, and you feel your body stretching to fit him in with every push. Your lips part as your mouth falls open before you bite into your lip, trying to muffle the sounds you're sure would otherwise fill the space of the small bathroom. You try to keep your head up, focusing on Frank's reflection. His body takes up most of your view. You focus on the mask, the low grunts coming from behind it, the feeling of his cock dragging inside of you, out of you and then pushing right back inside, and the feeling of him stretching you out that never goes away entirely.

“You want it fucking scary? Hmm? That'll do it for you?”

He keeps up the teasing, quick to point out every single reaction your body presents him with, and you finally decide to bite back.

You reach behind your back, hand on the front of his hip, tapping your palm against his body to get his attention. Pausing his movements for a moment, Frank watches your face in the mirror, giving you space to talk.

“Yeah, you got me.”

You grunt, cursing under your breath, once he decides to move his palm between your legs.

“You got me but-”

“Gotta speak up, sweetheart.”

He thinks he has you now.

“The mask isn't scary, It's just hot. You should try harder to reeeally get me."

The feeling of his fingers rubbing over your clit disappears immediately after you finish the sentence. He starts up again from behind, and you feel yourself clench around his cock once he moves inside you. You hum loudly, and Frank wraps his big hands around the sides of your body. Panting loudly with his cock still inside you, he tries to focus on your words, knowing, and being almost completely sure, of what you were asking for.

“You know what would help?”

You purr quietly, watching him in the mirror. Your confidence flows back to you once you notice him slightly stunted. The mask moves in the reflection, his eyes focus on your face from underneath the fabric, and you know he's now thinking about it too.

“Yeeeaah, I know you have it, Frankie.”

His grip on you tightens with your words.

“You don't leave the house without it. ‘Just in case’? Your words.”

It takes a moment, but after that moment he reaches behind his body without a word. There's hesitation and he pauses. The bathroom falls quiet and the only sound between your panting is the muffled noise of the party outside the bathroom door.

Slowly, Frank pulls out his black, military grade knife you've seen on him so many times before. The one he always insists on carrying with him, the one you knew he didn't leave at the house tonight.

“Ohhh that's it, Frankie, look at that.”

You whisper in a condescending tone, bumping your odds of actually getting hurt up just a bit higher. He doesn't say a word, but the knuckles of his hand turning white with the strength of the grip speak volumes.

“This what you fucking want?”

He asks, pushing his hand into your hair before tugging to pull your head up. He pushes the blade harder against your skin. The sting of the sharp edge gliding over the inside of your thigh makes you push your hips back again. Once you make sure his eyes focus on your reflection, you smirk, bigger than before, and bite into your lower lip with a quiet whine. With a grunt, Frank holds you down in place, not allowing you to move further back on him,

“You're fucking sick, you know that?”

He points out, and you feel the win in your bones. Making yourself clench around him, you murmur quietly in the most innocent voice.

“Oh yeah, but you like it, Frankie.”

He breaks. His cock twitches inside you and he shoves your chest into the bathroom counter. Thrusting inside you, he follows his every move with a grunt. You grip onto the edge of the sink, now letting the sweet sounds of pleasure slip past your lips with no restrictions. Your breath hitches, the pounding in your head rushes once Frank leans over your body. With his chest pressed against your back, he presses the knife back into the inside of your thigh. You instinctively spread your legs open a bit more as he mumbles something about the knife again. The edge of the blade nicks your skin with the next thrust and you groan at the feeling. Rolling your eyes back, you let your head fall forward, fully aware of the fact Frank just felt how good that felt for you.

“God d-“

He starts in his raspy voice. His big hand holds your lower back in place once he pulls back, the drag of his cock slipping out of your body makes you curl your toes.

Lifting your head back up, you watch him in the mirror, seeing him kneel behind you quickly. You glance back at him confused, not sure of what to expect next.

You gasp, louder than you’ve liked it, but you can’t help it, it’s not your fault. You’d be lying if you said you were expecting him to do his. Kneeling on one knee, Frank pulls you closer by your thighs before pulling the mask up and he presses his tongue flat against the cut. It stings and you jump forward but he pulls you back to him before dropping his right hand to his cock, the knife still in his other hand while he strokes over his length a couple of times.

“So your cock’s fucking throbbing and I’m the sick one?”

You throw the question into the air and it’s like a slap across his face. He pauses, immediately standing up to shove you back down against the wood.

“You gonna act like you don’t like it?”

He spits out, not even expecting an answer, as he lines himself up with your entrance again. Adjusting his grip for a moment, he pulls you back on him instead of thrusting forward, and you struggle to regain balance for a moment as he pushes deeper and deeper inside you.

Out of your control at this point, your thighs press against each other, squeezing him tighter than before. He bends in half, grunting what seems like louder than the actual music playing outside the bathroom. You part your lips ready to deliver another smart ass comment but the force of his hips pushing against your ass, his dick hitting that stop deep inside right under your stomach? It knocks the wind out of you and turns your words into one loud moan.

“Fuck.”

You grunt, feeling your body dancing on the edge now. You prop yourself up, watching his body flex in the mirror as he fills you up, what feels like better than anyone has before.

You move on top of the counter, move with his body when he slips his hands between your bodies to finally push you over the edge. Making him drop the knife, you grab onto that hand and bring it up to cover your mouth with his big palm, muffling the sounds of your pleasured body as he works it even deeper inside you.

“Just needed it to hurt a bit, huh?”

Frank teases, pointing out how your body gives away how close you are now, how you’re unable to keep up the bratty demeanor anymore.

“The knife got you this close?”

You whine quietly through his fingers when he holds your back against his chest. His voice turns slightly softer when he fully takes in the state of you.

With your body shaking, your chest moving faster than he’s ever seen it before, your eyes watering and your hands clinging onto his arm, you let him make the call.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Hmm?”

You grunt, frustrated with the slightly condescending tone, but still nodding your head quickly.

“Attagirl, you calmed down a bit?”

And another nod, his fingers roughing over your clit, his cock twitching deep inside you.

“Yeah, that’s it, c’mon. C’mon you got it.”

He mumbles quietly, helping you lean over the counter one last time. His hands rest on your sides and as he pushes inside you again, you whine. Then again you cry out, pushing your legs together. He only manages half a thrust after pushing his fingers hard against your clit, rubbing over the most sensitive spot. You feel your body tensing up with both pain and pleasure as you reach back to hold onto his arm.

“Attagirl, you got it, that’s it”

Your nails dig into his skin while he works over you, letting your body squeeze around his cock once it finally hits you. The overwhelming pleasure floods your body, and you feel the heat from the top of your head down to the very tips of your toes. Winning out his name, you make it pretty obvious he managed it once again. With your muscles tense around him, Frank grunts loudly, pushing into you one more time before he follows with his own climax.

“Fuuuuuuuck-“

He groans, his cock aching for release once he finally reaches it. He gives a few final thrusts when he fills you up before taking a step back to pull his cock out.

Taking a deep breath in, he reaches up, pulling the mask off of his face while watching you attempt to collect yourself.

You try to catch your breath, pushing yourself up before you feel Frank's hand on your arm. He helps you up, turning you around to have you face him now and you notice his loud breathing slowly beginning to mirror your own.

You lean forward and so does he, both of you taking a moment to calm down. Your forehead rests against his as you close your eyes and attempt to steady your breathing.

“Shit.”

You glance down quickly, feeling his cum drip down the side of your leg. Frank's eyes follow, the mask tilts down when he watches the drop slide down over your skin. His hands move to your waist, and he helps you up onto the counter with a grunt. You sit right at the edge, getting comfortable and spreading your legs apart while he slowly gets on his knees right in front of you. You hold up the mask, resting it on top of his head, focusing on his face. You smile at the red hues in his skin.

“Oh, Frankie, I almost forgot how pretty you look.”

You tease and he follows up with a scoff.

“Yeah okay, c'mere.”

He pulls you forward, slightly closer to him, before helping you pull the dress up one more time. His warm breath fans your skin for a moment before he licks over his lips. They press against your skin now, right above the knee. Another kiss follows but higher up your leg and then once more. You push your legs apart more to make it easier for him.

“Attagirl.”

He mumbles against your skin, his hand rubbing over your calf softly while he works his lips over your skin for another moment.

“See? You can be nice sometimes.”

He whispers, and you hum impatiently, pushing your fingers through his exposed hair before tugging at them slightly. He scoffs, and you feel the quick breath on your center.

The second his tongue brushes over your folds, you shut your eyes completely. Still sensitive from the previous orgasm, you let your body lead this time and your head falls back, resting against the mirror while Frank takes care of you.

You moan out his name, not even attempting to fight it back, and he picks up the pace. The warm and wet sensation quickly works you up more than you're actually willing to admit. Relaxing into the feeling, you push your legs open further and Frank chuckles against your body. Your core rumbles with the sound and your thighs quickly press together, closing around his head. He groans, tongue slipping inside you while the pressure around his face tightens. Tilting his head up, he nudges the tip of his nose against your clit and your hips buck forward, a motion accompanied by another loud moan of his name.

You cover your mouth, but only for a second, failing to keep the sounds in once he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot. Sucking your clit into his mouth, Frank successfully pushes you into an impatient state where you know if he won't get you to finish soon, you'll do it without his help. Your back arches and you mumble his name in an attempt to get his attention.

“Frank.”

You start and your body twitches. Feeling another long stroke of his tongue.

“Mhhh.”

He hums deep into you. Reaching for your legs, he throws them both over his shoulders and digs his fingers into your ass, quickly tugging you closer to him.

“Frank-”

Your breath hitches and you gasp quietly, whining his name out one more time. You feel yourself getting closer, the sounds of the party seem so distant now you almost forget where you are. Almost, because as you feel yourself getting close to your second climax, when his touch becomes so much more intense, when your legs tremble with the feeling, right at that very moment you realize. You never locked the door.

Hearing the sound of the doorknob turning, you press your foot against Frank's shoulder in a desperate attempt to push him away, but before you can do it, with his head still between your legs, Frank leans to the side quickly. With a loud grunt, he shoves the door closed with his shoulder without pulling away from you. He reaches up blindly, feeling the door for the lock, before you reach your hand over his head and finish for him.

He hums into your body, satisfied, and you feel yourself relaxing back into the feeling.

“Shit, Frankie...”

You whisper, pushing your hips forward against his face slightly. There’s a low, raspy chuckle that leaves his chest and you close your eyes, titling your head back to rest it against the mirror while he works on the second round.

You come shortly after and with your body so severely overstimulated, the soft, warm sensation of his tongue works better than he’d expect. He makes sure to take a mental note of it as he looks up from between your legs, watching when the second wave finally pushes you over the edge.

You rest, leaning against the mirror as he stands up in front of you, hand rubbing over your legs gently, his eyes fixed on yours.

“You okay?”

He asks. His soft, quiet question contrasts with whatever the hell the two of you just did in the small space of the bathroom. You lift your hand up, gesturing for him to stop talking and he chuckles quietly.

“Fair.”

He mumbles before turning his attention to his reflection. You watch as he cleans himself up a bit, washing the wet shine off his face and drying himself with the hem of his shirt.

Reaching over to the other side of the counter, he leans down, grabbing his knife off the floor and putting it away before handing the plastic mask over to you.

“Imagine if I didn't go out and pick this shit up.”

You snort, exhausted, enjoying how he literally managed to fuck the frustration out of himself.

“I don’t wanna think about that.”

You whisper, and he scoffs loudly, looking down and shaking his head before glancing back up at you.

“Yeah I bet.”

He helps you collect yourself, staying close by when you clean yourself up and straighten the fabric of your dress before handing you the previously abandoned underwear as you both get ready to leave the bathroom.

He offers you his hand, helping you off of the counter, and you lean on him while stepping down from it.

“Can you walk?”

He asks, and you look up at him, unimpressed with the not-so-subtle tease.

“Shut up.”

You mumble, hoping and praying your legs wouldn't just give out on you and give him something else to tease you about.

“Oh yeah, sorry.”

He grabs the mask and pulls it back on his face, then turns to you.

“Can you walk?”

He repeats the question, clearly enjoying this more than he should.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. I saw how hard you got.”

“Okay, that’s it. Out.”

He gestures to the door, pulling it open to let you out of the room. You hold onto his hand, letting him lead. You ditch your shoes and he carries them for you as you both make your way towards the front door, glancing back in the direction of the party before turning back to face each other again.

“You wanna get the hell out of here?”

“Yeah.”

You nod.

“We gotta get all the use out of that mask before you toss it tomorrow.”

You point out, pulling the door open, and hear his laugh over your shoulder.

“You don’t think maybe you’ve had enough now?”

His voice cuts through the night, and you turn around with a playful smirk, feeling the cold, crispy autumn air fill your lungs.

“No, no, I don’t think so. Besides...”

You slowly pull the mask onto your face staring him down.

“I don’t think you’ve had enough either.”

The “I lost my wife and kid(s) and now I’m afraid to get too attached again” club

when Frank is in charge of getting Matt's birthday cake

Headcanon Masterlist

Unless otherwise stated, all of these contain HCs for Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, and Michael Kinsella because they are my loves.

Sick HCs

Injury HCs

Anon Ask 1 (Random HCs)

Anon Ask 2 (Fatigued Reader HCs)

Autistic Reader HCs (Frank and Matt)

The “I lost my wife and kid(s) and now I’m afraid to get too attached again” club

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

scars full of lies.

pairings. frank castle x fem!reader

about. frank is hoping to keep his vigilante life a secret, but it’s hard when reader asks questions that brings that wish to risk

warnings. lying? nothing really

ricky rocks. ma man 🤗

scars on the back of his neck.

that's it. that’s what you thought about a lot. especially when night rounded around the corner and you were having a hard time finding sleep. so, instead of counting sheep, you counted his scars by memory.

you wondered how they surfaced on his body and who made the execution to create such deep cuts on his body in hopes to hurt him. frank was a scary man. you understood that. but who was scared enough to hurt him?

or not scared at all?

you thought about frank a lot more than you’d like to admit. you knew he’d tease you and you already had a hard enough time dealing with that—it would be a field day for him if he knew what went on in your head.

“you alright?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you smiled softly to the concern that erupted through franks voice as he looked up from the book he read. you adjusted your place next to him, sinking deeper into the couch and deeper into his side, cuing him to go ahead continue reading with the nod of your head.

but he didn’t look back down to his book like you had hoped, “what’s going through your mind right now, sweetheart?”

you smiled at the name and your cheeks began to grow warm when his hand reached and clasped the back of your neck softly, as if to pull you in closer.

fuck.

he always got you, if not with his words, then his affectionate actions.

“i don’t know, i just think, frank,” you mumbled, not wanting to finish your thought.

his brows narrowed, struck slightly confused, “yeah, well i hope so.”

“no, i mean, i think about you, frank, a lot,” you were hesitant with your words, not sure if you should speak them aloud, because the thing was, you felt it shouldn’t be that way.

you met frank on the subway station after he saved you from tripping onto the tracks before never really seeing him again until a month later at a coffeehouse—accidentally spilling coffee on him before recognition kicked in and the two of you sat down together.

it felt like talking to your father—scolding you for being so clumsy with both encounters you two had and telling you, you should really study your surroundings more. and then the cell phone thing—

“can i get you number, you know, just to thank you some other time, more properly.”

he had froze from putting his coat on, a hesitant look immediately overcoming his face causing you to cringe, wondering what had gone wrong despite everything going so smoothly for you two being strangers.

“oh, i mean you don’t have to, i just—“

“no, i just don’t really have a phone, at the moment,” he finally had his brown coat slung over himself, giving you a sympathetic smile. “i recently moved into the area, lost my cell in the process and really haven’t found time to replace it.”

what a lie, was what you thought.

“i’m not really a good with a phone in the first place,” he shrugged before pulling out a pen he had in his pocket, sitting back down. “this is my p.o. box, write me a letter sometime.”

he winked, before getting up and walking away.

but it seemed since day one, frank was never one to track, someone who didn’t want to be held down.

he didn’t get a phone until five months after you sent your first letter, but he still couldn’t keep track of the thing for the life of him.

“you want to tell me what it is you think about?” his finger tips teased the side of your face before tucking some strands of your hair behind your ear.

“i feel like… i barely know you,” you pause, feeling uneasy about your words, “i mean, i worry because i don’t know who you were before we met.”

“same person as i am now,” he smiles.

“yes, but,” you sigh, taking a step back in your head, attempting to recuperate. he studied your face with a sudden hard frown, studying the emotions that were crossing your face. you suddenly set your hand on the back of his neck, your finger tips finding one of the many scars easily and tracing it back and forth. “this. i want to know about this.”

his lips twitched upward, “my scars?”

he seemed confused as to what was so fascinating about them, making you feel dumb by the way you couldn’t help but nod eagerly.

“okay…” his tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he thought while his eyes strayed from yours. “i had a bit of rough childhood, i’d come home almost everyday to my mom screaming at me, for no reason.”

he shook his head, a look of distress coming across his face as he spoke, almost reliving that moment, “one day, i had came home a little bit later than usual for whatever reason—maybe i saw a dog, i don’t know—but it just wasn’t her day,” he tsked, his head slightly shaking, “threw a glass vase my way, shattered and sliced my neck all up. one of many, many marks,” he slid his sleeve up, brining light to the small scars that tore up his arms. “she had a short temper.”

a lie. frank was full of lies, but it was better if you didn’t know the truth. and it was good that you ate it up, because he couldn’t imagine how you’d react to the real reason half his body was full of scars and hidden wounds.

“frank, i’m so sorry,” your arms wrapped around his neck as you had practically thrown yourself to his body, a feeling of remorse overcoming you as you held him as close as you could. “you didn’t deserve that.”

even if it was true, he probably did. he deserved every little mark of pain on his body, even more so for lying to you about it.

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