draculasfavoritewife

[draculasfavoritewife]

Distracted

Summary: When Frank calls you during a mission after an extended period of radio silence, what could possibly make him break his own no-contact rule?

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

Warnings: Some language; this is practically just phone sex in every way except for me explicitly stating so ;)

I think I just need to accept at this point that my Frank fics will always get away from me in the end. This one started on the 🤭 side of the scale and by the time I reached the end it had somehow reached unprecedented levels of 🥵. In any case, I love the idea of normally taciturn Frank missing talking to reader and just calling her up out of the blue to tell her that. And then I guess everything just devolved from there, as it so often does.

When you answered your phone, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape from your body right through your chest wall.

He never called.

Had something gone so horribly wrong that he needed to say goodbye?

"Frank?!"

"Hey there, pretty girl." His voice sounded bone-tired, but warm with affection, and your panic started to subside. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," you had murmured. "You just know how I worry."

"I do." The rough laugh on the other side of the line turns your insides into a melting mess. "Just needed to hear my girl's voice for a minute. Long day."

You lie back on the bed again, letting out a quiet breath of relief.

"I miss you, tough guy."

He hums wordlessly in acknowledgement, and you can imagine him settling back against a wall somewhere, finally letting his overexerted body relax.

"Tell me what you're wearing?"

He sounds softer now, almost a little hesitant. "I wanna picture what you look like right now."

Heat rushes to your face. "Nothing special. Just one of your shirts I uh...'borrowed'. I hope that's okay."

There's silence for a moment on the other end, then a sharp hissing sound that you imagine must be him sucking in a breath between his teeth.

"Shit, baby, lookin' like that without me there to see it? You know how I feel about you wearin' my stuff. Goddammit."

You smile and stroke the threadbare fabric between your fingers. "I know, Frank, I'm sorry. But it smells like you, and I missed you so bad today. It helps me sleep at night when you're not here with me."

He chuckles softly, a deep rumbling that you feel all the way in the pit of your chest even through the phone's less-than-ideal sound quality. "Alright, alright. Which one?"

"Black. Slightly thicker fabric, buttoned collar." You tap the worn-smooth buttons with your fingertips as you say the words, an unconscious fidgeting habit.

"That old one with the holes in the sleeves?" He's way too good at this, guessed exactly which piece you would've taken refuge in during his absence.

"Damn, Frank," you breathe out, shocked at his accuracy. "How'd you tell?" He does own at least four different shirts that match the brief description you'd given.

You hear him grunt, probably a blend of approval and the soreness that comes from doing god-knows-what for the past few days. "You like that one. Only reason it's still in the closet, to tell the truth. Would've thrown it out a long time ago otherwise."

A flood of memories rushes through your mind: cuddling up to him, in bed, on the couch, his hands in your hair and his lips brushing your forehead, warm and safe in the folds of this very same shirt. "I'm really glad you kept it, then."

"I am too." A long sigh, and the rustling sounds of his large body shifting position. "Your hair up or down?"

The warmth rapidly returns to your face. Is what you think is happening actually happening?

You wouldn't have guessed Frank was an over-the-phone kind of guy, he prefers to be hands-on in every aspect of his life, but the two of you had spent so much time together lately, maybe the separation is getting to him, too.

"It's down. I took a shower earlier and wanted to let it air dry for a bit." Your voice comes out soft, vulnerable as you answer him and lean further into the pillows behind you.

"Mmm. You know if I was there I'd help you get all the tangles out, yeah?"

You shiver at the thought of his big hands in your hair, those long, dexterous fingers patiently combing their way through, their passage sometimes halting where your comb had missed a spot. "You say that now, Castle, but how do I know you wouldn't be putting more tangles in?"

His taken-off-guard laugh rasps in your ear. "Hey now, you watch that pretty mouth of yours. Don't taunt me like that." A brief moment of consideration, a heavy pause as he imagines you on top of him, that damn shirt swallowing your figure and your teasing face looking down into his. "Maybe I would."

"Thought so." You stick the fingers of your free hand through the aforementioned holes in his shirt. "I hate this bed, Frankie."

"Yeah? Why's that? Don't be a smartass now, I practically built that bed for you."

"It's too big and empty without you." You channel all of the sad, bratty tone you can possibly muster into that simple sentence.

"Christ."

You're not quite sure if the strain you hear running beneath his voice comes from exhaustion or something else you're starting. "My girl's lonely there all by herself, huh?"

"Yeah. I need you to come back, Frank."

"Shit, I know, Sweetheart. I know. I need you, too." His breath hitches, barely noticeable but you know him, and you catch it.

"You lonely without me too, tough guy?"

He hums, a non-answer, deliberately drawing the conversation out. "Look, I like bashing faces in as much as the next guy, but the people I'm after are a little bit lacking in the affection department."

You put the phone down, switching it to speaker mode and settling into a better position. "So you're touch-starved, is what I'm hearing."

You know he must be scowling and shaking his head at the accusation on the other end of the line. "Nah, I wouldn't say that, exactly --"

"Well I am." Your admission comes out as little more than a breathy sigh. "Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

He only snorts at that, and you feel gratified that the implication landed.

"I can't even watch TV at night without wishing your hand was here resting on my thigh like usual," you tell him wistfully.

A long, huffed-out exhale precedes his next words, and you grin wickedly at the sound. "Yeah, Sweetheart. I miss how you count all my scars when we're just lyin' in bed and neither of us can sleep."

"You got any new ones for me?"

The unsteadiness is completely impossible to keep out of your own voice now as you close your eyes, remembering how it feels when his hands are the ones touching you instead.

"Probably." A sharp intake of air interrupts him for a brief moment. "Not gonna tell you where, though. I'll let you find 'em all on your own when I get back."

Your entire body shudders violently at such an invitation. "I will, Frankie. I'll find all of your new scars, I promise. I'll kiss 'em for you, too -- maybe even bite 'em, if they're in good places."

"Shit."

There's a sudden vacuum left in the air between you after his sharply spat expletive, only the uneven rhythm of two people dozens of miles apart trying to catch their breath breaking the delicate silence. You pick your phone up again and bring it close to your face so you can hear his breathing right in your ear; if you keep your eyes shut, you can almost imagine he's right there in the bed with you.

"You're dangerous, you know that," he mutters after a bit. "Got me all distracted out here like some asshole amateur."

"Hey, you called me," you point out, warmth pouring into your contrary words. "I know you're not completely naive, Castle."

"Ah, get off my ass. Was a momentary lapse in judgement, s'all. Happens to the best of us."

"Mmhmm." You trace a small heart on the blanket next to the phone. "Right. Well, you better get back here soon then, and avoid any more mistakes like this, huh?"

"I will." His promise is gentle, but steel-hard with sheer conviction underneath.

"Won't be long, baby girl. Can't wait to have you with me for real again."

[draculasfavoritewife]

Undeniable

Summary: All it takes is one single kiss, one vulnerable night, to disrupt a longstanding pattern of comfortable deniability.

Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley x Eddie Diaz

Warnings: Eddie goes on a bit of a panic spiral as only Eddie Diaz can, my boys are sad yet somehow also manage to avoid talking through all their feelings, implied smut.

I am such a hardcore Buddie shipper and they have caused me so much brainrot it isn't even funny. This little thing came to me all at once very late one night and refused to release me from its grip until I wrote it down. There are so many ways that these two could get possibly together; this is just one of my many ideas :)

*Note: Kind of an AU, takes place pre- 07x04

It's only 5:00 in the morning, and Eddie Diaz is already deep in the throes of a personal crisis. 

The gloomy voice in his brain that's always lurking just in the background sarcastically asks him what else is new, and he crossly brushes that thought away even as he thrashes in the tangled blankets, trying to get comfortable enough to fall back asleep. 

It's different this time, Eddie old boy, and you know that. 

He's never had a 5:00 am crisis over sleeping with his best friend before. 

Who is he? 

Buck spent the night at the Diaz house quite frequently, had been doing so for the handful of years they'd been friends. That wasn't the strange part, not even close. An intimate dinner, just the two of them and Christopher, all three of them snuggled together on the couch watching TV afterwards, him and Buck leaning on the island in the kitchen in the half-darkness, shoulder to shoulder, talking in low murmurs and sipping a beer.

All of that was normal. 

All of that was perfect. 

Perfectly normal. 

Right?

And sure, when he'd had a couple of drinks Eddie found it harder to tear his gaze away from Evan Buckley's eyes sometimes, those eyes that were a prettier blue than the sea around them could ever hope to match, those eyes that were somehow so full of shattered dreams and fragile heart and yet at the same time the warmest, softest eyes Eddie has ever looked into.

Sure, when it's late at night and exhaustion strips away his inhibitions a little he's stared at those pretty lips for just too long whenever Evan Buckley laughs at his own dubious wit, or even better when it's Eddie that makes him smile, that strange, slow smile that creeps across the other man's wide mouth from one corner to the other and makes him turn his head away like a shy boy.

And yes, he loves Buck, trusts him more than any other person on this damn earth, but that's all it was, right? 

His best friend. 

His best friend who's been struggling lately, holding too much inside like always, who's obviously been burdened with the crushing weight of too many things he shouldn't have to carry alone, even though no one else seems to see it. 

Haunted, beautiful Evan Buckley whose voice had cracked the night before when he'd admitted "I don't even know how I'm staying afloat anymore, Eddie," -- who had crumpled into Eddie's arms like he always does when he can't stand on his own two feet anymore.

And Eddie had held the other man close, said all the things he could think of that could reassure Buck in a fierce whisper under his breath, had felt the shift in the air when, at last, Buck finally raised his face from Eddie's chest again. 

He'd felt like an outside observer watching a movie in slow motion when Buck had straightened up and kissed him, the brush of his lips barely even feeling real with all of his intense hesitation.

Buck had immediately drawn back from Eddie, looking all of a sudden terrified and much smaller than the reality of his huge frame should allow. 

"Sorry," he'd whispered, breathy with horror. "I don't know what I --" 

"Don't," Eddie had ordered sternly -- he hated when Buck felt like he had to apologize for his boundless displays of affection. 

And it could have just ended there. 

Could have ended there, and everything would be fine. Things could have stayed the same, or as close as possible, at least.

But to his own surprise, Eddie had reached out for Buck's face instead, cradling his jaw, gently guiding those pretty blue eyes back to his own and hating the preemptive self-loathing he already saw darkening there, the visceral fear that Buck had just ruined the most stable relationship he had. 

"Just don't," Eddie repeated, and had pulled his best friend in for another kiss.

He was distantly surprised to find that he felt none of the usual spikes of panic that so often clawed at his chest whenever he spontaneously acted upon such instincts. 

Everything after that was a bit blurry in his currently half-asleep memory, but he knows that all of it felt right, that it somehow made sense. His hands reassuring Buck as Buck's hands explored, the knowledge that he lost count of how many times they had kissed after number nine.

They ended up in his bed somehow, clothes forgotten on the floor. It all felt natural, the whole progression of it, simply one more step in the forward evolution of who they were. The way they both checked in at every stage to make sure they weren't overstepping, the freely offered suggestion of more whenever the other was too timid to ask for it.

And strangely enough, in the shower after, there was no laughter between them, no "never thought we'd end up here," jokes.

There were barely any words at all, and he does remember how they just stood there, under the hot water for an indeterminate amount of time with their foreheads pressed closely together as they traced each other's tattoos and scars with their fingertips. 

Buck could have gone back to his usual spot on the couch after that. 

But he didn't. 

He'd slept in Eddie's bed, his cheek resting just above Eddie's heart, and Eddie would bet his next three paychecks that they both slept better for those few hours than they had in maybe years (comas excluded, of course). 

But then Buck had left, after the unfairly tender gesture of sweeping Eddie's sleep-ruffled hair back from his forehead for a moment, only the fading of his rustling sounds as he hurriedly dressed signaling his departure. 

He's probably too scared to talk about it now that the rest of the world is awake. 

What "it" even is, Eddie has no idea anymore. 

Best friends can help each other out with a little stress release now and again, right? 

Right?

He sighs and rolls over again, and catches the faintest trace of Buck's aftershave still clinging to the pillowcase beside him, closing his eyes and letting the familiar scent lull him out of his frenzied, mile-a-minute thoughts. 

Wrong. 

He's pretty sure by now that he's simply, undeniably in love with Evan Buckley. 

[draculasfavoritewife]

It's gotten to the point that whenever I start consuming new media my friends now tell me who they think I'll end up becoming attached to (and to my chagrin they're almost always correct)

do you ever become obsessed with a character and you just go "of fucking course its that one" at yourself because you are so incredibly predictable

[draculasfavoritewife]

I've been a 911 (and Lone Star!) girly for awhile now and I love these two so much it hurts ❤️ This is a Buddie supporting blog because they're literally perfect for each other and they're driving me crazy.

@whattamanza I adore how you draw them!!

new to tumblr and this is my first time posting! hoping to find moots and friends 💛 also first time making fanart for my favorite wee woo show.

(don’t look too closely at their tattoos; i couldn’t remember which tattoos Buck has canonically so i guessed)

(also i forgot to add their scars so just assume they’re there)

although i am a supporter of mustache!eddie, i could not figure out how to draw it well so i just left it off.

[draculasfavoritewife]

You will not use AI to get ideas for your story. You will lie on the floor and have wretched visions like god intended

[draculasfavoritewife]

Fr the more I post the contents of my drafts on here the more I realize that if I write for any fandom long enough, chances are there will be an obligatory "they still haven't said the L-word to each other but these bitches take whole showers together" scene.

Characters who fear emotional intimacy 🤝 Characters who are convinced they haven't caught feelings

"youve already written that trope" yesss. i like it a lots. i will be writing it again. 1000 stories of the same trope over and over again for ten million years

[draculasfavoritewife]

It's me guys I'm the one undressing him.

*sigh* if only...

I love everything about this–especially the coloring!

International Iron Man issue #5

[draculasfavoritewife]

I wanna give him a neck massage so bad among other things

I'm obsessed with drawing him omg

[draculasfavoritewife]

Azúcar (Capítulo 7)

Summary: There's so much you wish you could just say to him, but for him to accept any of it, you have to let your bodies do the talking instead.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!Spider!Reader

Warnings: This miniseries covers a wide range of potential triggers, including heavy sexual tension, bad/nonexistent communication, depression, implied smut, using said smut as coping mechanism, mentions of child death, guilt complex, a tiny bit of emotional manipulation, avoidant attachment style (lookin' at you, Señor O'Hara), and one shameless display of my bite kink, whoops.

Note: I use the shortened version of his name "Mique" in my own writing just because I personally prefer it. Swap it with whatever nickname you prefer in your head :) For my intents and purposes, Reader understands and speaks Spanish.

Lyrics from "Sugar" by Sleep Token

*Spanish translations at the end! (I am fairly bilingual, but if I made a lil mistake here or there do forgive me)

...Show me what you do

It’s after three in the morning when the two of you finally collapse into the tangled sheets, the sudden silence stark enough that your panting breaths practically echo in the confines of the small room, deep and ragged. 

The room is a disaster zone — pillows strewn across the floor and the framed art on your walls hanging at odd angles. You’re pretty sure Miguel’s claws have left deep gouges in the headboard again; you’ve talked to him about it several times, and when he does remember, he tries to keep himself under control. But it doesn’t always work. 

And, on the nights when this bed is too empty without him, there’s a strange comfort that comes from reaching up in the dark and running your fingers over the scars he left behind, to physically remind yourself that he was there, and he will come back the next time he needs you, if he stays alive another day. 

Not that you’d ever tell him so.

He certainly doesn’t need the encouragement. 

Miguel lets out a long exhale, flipping the two of you so that he is now underneath you, your body draped across his muscular torso, cheek resting against his chest. One of his hands drifts across your back light as a whisper, the pads of his fingers now smooth and warm, talons sheathed. You smile as those fingers start to trace arcing shapes over the surface of your skin; you can’t tell if he’s transcribing all his secret thoughts there in Spanish, or if they are simply mindless designs. 

Either way, you know that it means his tumultuous mind is at rest for now, temporarily clear of everything he constantly tortures himself with, and that knowledge is enough for you. 

“What are you thinking about?” His breath ruffles your hair as he looks down at your face. 

You pull yourself up slightly so that you two are eye-to-eye again.

“You.” 

He almost chuckles at that. “¿Por qué?” 

There’s something about that simple little question that unexpectedly stings, so you busy yourself for a bit with running your fingers through his hair, reorganizing the unruly strands that are stuck to his forehead and temples and watching the way his beautiful eyes move to follow your hand’s path. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” you finally counter. “What else would I be thinking about right now?” 

Something dark passes over his face, like an iron gate abruptly rolling shut over whatever openness had been there only a second ago. “Ay coño, Ángel. Not now.” 

It's an old conversation that needs to be had at some point. There are words that have waited far too long to be said and questions that need to be asked, things that you need to hear from his mouth before you can finally confront yourself in the mirror and ask if you’re really, truly okay with how all of this works. 

But he’s not ready for that.

And you know you can’t ask him when, if ever, he will be. 

So instead, you nod reluctantly, promising him without words that you won’t go any further down that train of thought for now. 

Miguel O’Hara needs to know that you’re here, in this moment with him right now, and that you’ll be there, standing distant and coolly composed at arm’s length again tomorrow, just like always. 

Not quite his, but nobody else’s.

And that’s why you keep playing his game, as you force your smile to look teasing instead of vulnerable and lean down to kiss him.

Damn him.

He’s always been such a soft kisser once the fire burns down, and it makes your heart ache. 

Te amo, Miguel, you tell him silently, since you know he doesn’t want to hear it. 

Not from you.

“I need a shower,” you announce instead, finally rolling off of him. “Join me?” 

¿Por qué? = Why?

Te amo = I love you

(6)

[draculasfavoritewife]

Tortured

Summary: There are a few small things that Frank wants to make absolutely sure you remember; fortunately for the both of you, you've always been a hands-on learner.

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

Warnings: A sexually interpretive psychological study of Frank Castle's personal philosophy on torture; little bit of DIY bondage, sensuality. Frank is kind of a dom if you squint.

I really have no excuse for this one, dear fellow Frank enjoyers. Heard him give his whole torture spiel in episode 3 of Punisher back during my initial binge-watching stint a year ago, and my brain immediately went to some very shall we say creative places. It's not my fault his voice is just so delicious when he explains the messed up stuff hehe.

He's definitely given you his torture lecture before, you just don't think you'd paid such painstakingly close attention those other times. 

When you're the one the key concepts are being applied to, of course, it does make the lesson stick just a bit more vividly. 

"See, everybody always thinks torture is pain." Frank's voice is so low, grating deep in his chest like the thrumming of a powerful engine, that you could swear you feel the vibrations even through his fingertips as he expertly tightens his belt around your wrists with a sharp snap, easily keeping both of your hands high above your head with just one of his own. 

"But I'll keep sayin' it -- that ain't right at all, baby girl. You know how it goes by now, want you to say it for me." 

"Torture is time," you breathe out, wholly transfixed by the way his unwavering attention is pinned to you, how his deep, dark eyes never leave yours for a second, their molten chocolate depths swallowing up your ability to say anything but those three words.

His pretty lips twitch into a crooked smirk, so quickly that you barely catch the movement, before returning to their usual downward angle once more. 

"S'right, Sweetheart. That's all it is. Time can break down almost anyone eventually." 

His free hand starts to caress your body, skilled fingers drawing strategic paths across your torso, and the sensation is delicious, the combination of his light, skimming touch and roughened calluses raising shivers from you in waves. But he will neither stray high enough nor low enough on your body to satisfy the burning hunger that's currently driving you mad, his unworldly self-discipline strictly maintaining a rigid boundary from your ribcage to your hip bones. 

Not an inch above, not an inch below. 

You're a mess. 

"Didn't say you could interrupt me," he grunts when a particularly loud whine of frustration escapes your lips. "You don't behave, you get more torture. That's how this whole thing works." 

You shudder out another breath and try to arch your body into a more advantageous position, but his heavy palm on your stomach immediately flattens you back against the mattress as easily as one might pin down a sheet of paper blown by the wind. 

"Stay," he says firmly, and the tone of his voice only makes you writhe more. 

He waits until you can finally control yourself enough to behave for him again, then continues.

"Know what the single hardest part of a sniper's job is, baby girl?" 

"No," you admit truthfully, heart hammering as he starts up his slow touching once again. 

"It sure ain't pullin' the trigger." He murmurs those words into your cheek, so close you can feel his throat move when he swallows against your shoulder.

"Nah, pullin' the trigger's the easy part. Means everything's finally over." 

"I don't understand, Frank," you pant as he drags himself away from you again, his stubble lightly scraping your neck and chest and sparking a new wave of fire blazing through your veins. 

Those gorgeous lips tilt up to one side again, revealing his teeth in that almost-sly grin that always makes your heartbeat freeze for an instant. 

"It's the waiting, Sweetheart. Just lyin' there, on that rooftop or behind that tree. Not movin' for god knows how long, tryin' to keep your fingers from gettin' twitchy and throwing everything to shit. It's sittin' there, with your eyes burning and your mouth gone dry, just praying for the release of finally touchin' that goddamn trigger." 

He knows exactly what he's saying, can feel your reactions to the picture he paints as his hand hovers just above where you most need his touch, close enough that you can feel his body heat but nothing else.

You're so far gone, you can only plead for mercy with your eyes now, hoping the raw desperation in your gaze will finally sway him. 

Frank merely chuckles, warm and dark, as he returns his featherlight stroking to more innocent, adjacent areas once more, practically feeding off your breathless protests.

"Shit, you're just so damn pretty when you're hungry, Baby." 

[draculasfavoritewife]

Okay hear me out 😮‍💨so a gale x reader and theyre in the bomb shelter after he saved prim (i know that man was STRESSED) and its that mixture of him being angry to avoid it all but also him wanted to be wanted (yk?)

OOH friend I like how your mind works!! I will add this to my running list of general fandom draft ideas, and I may have to rewatch the Mockingjay duology to refresh my canon context a bit, but I will see what comes to me! (And if I eventually get it all written I'll tag you!) Thanks for reaching out! I love hearing from you 🥰

[draculasfavoritewife]

His insanity and asshole-ery are what get me through the day-to-day irl. He's my everything and sometimes he punches people.

shoutout to my insane, sociopathic, asshole fictional boyfriend. i love him so much

[draculasfavoritewife]

MORE 👏🏻 MEN 👏🏻 IN 👏🏻 CORSETS 👏🏻 PLEASE

(Just look at that grabbable waist 😋 and THE SLEEVES OMG)

Magistrate

Prompt on twitter 💫

Print ❤️

[draculasfavoritewife]

Listen to the certified therapist, everyone. What we're doing is not just silly and feel-good, it's actually good for our brain chemistry too!

(And honestly the only thing keeping me sane as I search for a new job haha 🤪)

My therapist just told me my problem is that I need to write more fanfiction.

[draculasfavoritewife]

Cold

Summary: Showers with the Punisher are always an experience.

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

Warnings: A slight hint of "accidental" temperature play, lots and lots of touching. Authoritative! Frank.

If you had told me a mere year ago that I would be here, utterly head-over-heels obsessed with this man, I would have said you were crazy, but there is just something so irresistible about him. I've watched and rewatched S2 of Daredevil and both seasons of Punisher through SEVERAL times and still just can't get enough of Frank ❤️ I really love writing him in small, intimate scenes, so enjoy a little shower piece!

"Frank?"

Nothing.

He's pressing into your body with what feels like his full impressive weight, warm and solid and heavy, strong arms trapping you close to him.

"Frank."

Still no reaction.

His face is cradled softly in the space between your jaw and shoulder, lips warm against your neck, hot breath clouding in the damp air and drifting down your chest, sending water droplets rolling between your breasts.

"Frankie?" you try, and at least you know he's not asleep on his feet by the way he grunts into your collarbone and shifts his hips to bring you even closer to him. His fingertips squeeze into the softness of your flesh, making you lose your tongue for a blissful moment.

He obviously has no plans to move anytime soon.

"Francis David Castle."

That finally gets under his skin, his eyes flickering open so you feel his lashes brushing your jawline.

"Dammit, baby girl, don't pull that shit on me in the shower. Ruins the mood."

"Well I had to do something to get your attention, Frank. The hot water's running out, and I'm getting cold."

He mutters a string of curses under his breath about the quality of your apartment's amenities. "Fine. I'll fix that."

The next thing you know, he's grabbed you and flipped the both of you, so the front of your body is now crushed against the shower wall, Frank looming against your back, his large hands stroking up and down your arms, massive thighs pinning your legs in place as he takes the brunt of the rapidly chilling water for you.

You, however, can't stifle the sharp gasp that abruptly pulls the air from your lungs, and Frank feels the shiver rippling through you.

"What is it, Sweetheart?"

"The tile is ALSO cold, Frank!"

Your skin is quickly turning textured with the new harsh chill you can't even escape from; he's a 6'2", 200-something-pound ex-marine after all, and even if you struggled you very likely wouldn't win.

"Christ, nothing good enough for ya, huh?" Despite his disapproving words, his tone is unexpectedly light, and he deftly slips a hand in between your body and the shower wall to grasp your jaw and turn your face just enough to kiss you on the lips.

"Guess I gotta find a different way to warm up my whiny girl, then. And to think, I was gonna be gentle with you tonight."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" You can't keep the intense curiosity from bleeding into your voice as he finally releases the pressure keeping you held in place and turns off the now-chilled water.

"Means I'm gonna run you so ragged that in a bit you'll be glad the shower's gone cold, baby girl." His voice has dropped to that ominous growl as he steps out and chivalrously hands you a towel.

"Get yourself dry. And don't take too long about it, yeah? You got me riled up now, and I've gone too long without you under me to be teased anymore."

[draculasfavoritewife]

Azúcar (Capítulo 6)

Summary: No one can escape Miguel O'Hara when he's on the hunt -- but then again, why would you want to?

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!Spider!Reader

Warnings: This miniseries covers a wide range of potential triggers, including heavy sexual tension, bad/nonexistent communication, depression, implied smut, using said smut as coping mechanism, mentions of child death, guilt complex, a tiny bit of emotional manipulation, avoidant attachment style (lookin' at you, Señor O'Hara), and one shameless display of my bite kink, whoops.

Note: I use the shortened version of his name "Mique" in my own writing just because I personally prefer it. Swap it with whatever nickname you prefer in your head :) For my intents and purposes, Reader understands and speaks Spanish.

Lyrics from "Sugar" by Sleep Token

*Spanish translations at the end! (I am fairly bilingual, but if I made a lil mistake here or there do forgive me)

My arms

Keep you in the room

Barely let you move...

Somehow, you both end up in your bedroom at last, though you’re pretty sure you knocked over a couple of chairs and a lamp on the way there. It’s just an occupational hazard of being Miguel’s…whatever you are to him.

He may stalk as lightly as a cat most times, but whenever his wilder side comes out to play, collateral damage is always a given. 

And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t fire you up even more. 

Miguel all but slams you up against a wall, one hand bunched in the back of your shirt and the other braced above your head, one of his massive thighs wedged between yours. His lips have barely left your own except to allow you both to breathe, and you simply let his aggressive affection crash into you over and over, a pleasure-drunk pile driver that overwhelms you completely as he can’t keep his teeth and tongue from joining the fray. 

He’s better than any drug could ever be. The whole package — the sheer physicality of him, the brief snatches of genuine emotion that keep reeling you back in again and again, the lure of knowing he’s so much more underneath that aloof exterior, if only you could just coax him open — is everything you could want, and the way he makes you feel when he’s like this is almost too much in the best way possible. 

You gasp as he leans in further, his body pressing yours into the wall even harder. Arching your back for more space only crushes your chest against his, the rigid muscles caging you in place for the time being. Miguel watches you writhe underneath him for a moment with a satisfied glint in his eyes, full lips tilting upward on one side in a hungry smirk. When he gets like this, you know how his every honed sense is raging, on fire, how something about seeing you trapped between him and a hard place ignites some deep hunter’s desire within him.

Your little game of struggling to loosen his grasp only prolongs the thrill of the chase, makes the eventual capture that much sweeter when he finally wrestles you into exactly where he wants you. 

Another game the two of you play, yes, but one that you enjoy as much as he does. 

“No fair, Mique,” you hum, as your fingertips dance down the slopes of his shoulders to dig into his broad back. “I didn’t even have a chance.” 

“You want a chance?”

He growls, nudges your jawline and grazes over his love bites again with his teeth.

“What’re you gonna do, Princesa? ¿Crees que puedas escapar de mí?” 

You both know you can’t, not if he were pursuing you at full power.

No one can run from Miguel O’Hara forever. 

But he lets the arm not currently attached to you slacken slightly, allows you to shove it aside and slip from his grasp, though you hear the telltale shredding of fabric as his claws snag in your shirt. 

“Again? C’mon, papi, you owe me three shirts so far this year!”

You spring away from him, landing lightly on the far side of your bed, staring him down. 

He rolls his shoulders and neck until you hear the audible crack of his tense muscles finally starting to release. It’s a deceptively lazy motion, but you don’t miss the flexing of his fingers, nor the way the corner of his mouth twitches as he stares right back.

“Ay Dios mío, Princesa, puedes tener otra camisa mía, no te preocupes. Now, are you gonna run for it, or are you really just that desperate to be pinned under me again?” 

You open your mouth to sling an indignant reply back at him, but he takes that brief opportunity to pounce, grappling you onto the bed before you can even blink. 

“Too slow,” Miguel snarls, one massive hand spread across your chest to still your halfhearted struggles.

“I gave you your chance, Chiquita. Now you’re all mine.” 

¿Crees que puedas escapar de mí? = Do you think you can escape from me?

Ay Dios mío, Princesa, puedes tener otra camisa mía, no te preocupes = Oh my god, Princess, you can have another of my shirts, don't worry

(5) (7)

[draculasfavoritewife]

I saw ur 'wildhoney' post and OMG Thats exactly how i imagine gale acting tbh (weird question ik 😔) what do you think he smells of? Thats such a weird question ik but i'd love your perspective of him

Hey! Thank you so much, that means a lot!! I really love imagining how my favorite characters affect all of the senses, so it's not really all that weird a question lol. In my mind, he definitely carries the scents of the woods -- a mix of the fresh green of living plants and the earthier tones of leaf mulch and dark soil. It's also my headcanon that his clothes just perpetually smell of smoke as well like a lot of outdoorsy people :)

Hope this helps your imagination of him! <3