fiction-boys-rule

[fiction-boys-rule]

crush

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you wanna show frank your gratitude for taking on a project for you, but he has other plans.

warnings: swearing, long haired bearded frank (yes that needs a warning), explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 2k

a/n: the first time I listed to crush by ethel cain I immediately thought of frank, & then I saw tons of edits with him to this song, & this has been stuck in my head ever since. I just recently renovated my own kitchen, so naturally I thought about something like this the whole time I was doing it. anyway, this is primarily for @thyme-in-a-bubble & @castawaycreature but the rest of y'all are welcome to stay. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds

All you’d done was offhandedly mention to Frank that you wanted to redo the kitchen. Some new paint, new cabinet handles, maybe spruce up the backsplash with different tiles. It wasn’t even a full blown project in your brain, more of an idea of a project for when you had the time and energy. But Frank being Frank took that and ran with it.

Needless to say, you were not at all prepared for the sight you came home to that evening.

As soon as you walked through the front door, you heard a loud mechanical whirring noise coming from the kitchen. Perplexity knit between your brows as you hung your keys up by the front door, following the familiar sound of power tools.

“Frank?”

Rounding the corner of the entryway, you stopped dead in your tracks and your breath hitched. The kitchen was in complete disarray. The cabinet doors had been taken completely off the hinges and were laid out in neat rows on top of a large canvas drop cloth that was spread out on the floor. There were sporadic piles of dark beige dust, evidence of the wood being sanded before it had been neatly painted that rich shade of green you’d been daydreaming about. There were open boxes of new tile and handles on the island, but your attention was immediately drawn away from the organized chaos and towards the source of it.

Frank was kneeling in front of the counter furthest from you, his jeans deliciously snug around his thighs, and the light grey tank top he wore had darkened in certain spots with sweat. There was a glistening sheen covering the exposed portion of his chest that made you want to drag your tongue over the tan skin, but what had heat blooming in your lower belly was the way his biceps bulged as he drilled holes through the drawer he was working on. You could see the clear definition in his arms and his back as he pushed the drillbit through the thick wood, his muscles flexing in a tantalizing way, and the droplets of sweat that cascaded down his veiny forearm were no match for the wetness that had begun to pool between your thighs.

He was so laser focused on the task at hand that he hadn’t noticed you, hadn’t even heard you call his name, which worked in your favor to be able to ogle him freely. There was rarely anything Frank did that you didn’t find attractive, but watching him work with his hands…that did something else entirely to you. Watching him do something so manly while looking so rugged with that grown out beard and that mess of unruly curls that were damp against his forehead…it made your mouth water. 

When he set the drill down and reached for the pack of screws and one of the new handles, he finally caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head in your direction. His stoic expression of pure concentration melted into something a little softer. He opened his mouth to say something, but then noticed the way you were staring at him. His dark brows quickly furrowed in confusion, mistaking the look on your face for something else. 

“What? Said ya wanted to redo the kitchen.”

“I didn’t mean you had to do it all on your own, or right away.”

Frank pursed his lips slightly with a light scrunch of his nose and gave a faint shrug of his broad shoulders, slipping the screws through the holes he’d drilled and lining them up with the openings on the back of the handle.

“Had the day off.”

That almost made you laugh. It was such a Frank thing to say, and do. Of course he’d spent his whole day off doing something you’d mentioned in passing. Frank wasn’t a man of many words, but he was a man of action. He wasn’t always vocal or physical about his affection, but you never had to question how he felt. He showed you in how he treated you, and the things he did for you. 

The sweet and thoughtful gesture combined with the way he looked right now had that flame of desire flickering in your lower belly turning into a full blown blaze. Walking over towards where he was still down on his knees, you reached out to push his messy damp curls away from his forehead, smoothing them back with your fingers, and lightly dragged your nails along his scalp in the process.

“Take a break.”

Frank abruptly paused, turning his head to look up at you with those warm brown eyes that could melt you into a puddle on the spot. He knew you like the back of his hand, and he recognized the barely concealed desire in your heated gaze, and heard the breathy need in your voice. He didn’t need to be told twice. 

His gaze flickered down to your bare thighs that were right at his eye level before he looked up at you again, and he slowly set down the screwdriver on the floor. He reached for your ankle, lightly trailing his fingertips up your calf, along the back of your knee, before gliding his warm callused hand up your thigh and giving it a squeeze, his fingers teasingly dipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Yes ma’am.”

A soft shuddering breath left your lips as Frank held eye contact with you while leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your thigh. Letting out a breathy laugh, you carded your fingers through his hair again, giving it a gentle tug while looking down at him with a grin.

“I should be thanking you for doing all this. You gonna let me?”

Frank let out a quiet grunt when you tugged at his hair gently, and he gripped your hips to pull you directly in front of him just to press your back against the counter, his greedy hands already hiking your skirt up to your hips.

“Why don’t you let me take my gratitude how I want it, yeah?”

He didn’t give you a chance to protest before your panties were pooled around one of your ankles and one of your legs was pulled over his shoulder to open you up for him.

Your grip on his hair instantly tightened, the strands warm and damp against your fingers, unable to stop yourself from tugging him impossibly closer with a satisfied moan feeling that first swipe of his tongue. One of his large hands gripped your thigh that was on his shoulder, digging his blunt nails into your soft flesh, and his other had a tight grip on your hip to keep you steady as you leaned back against the counter and started to roll your hips against his face.

He didn’t stop you. He gave your hip a squeeze of encouragement and moved even closer on his knees, burying his face in your soaked cunt like he couldn’t get enough, and he usually couldn’t.

“Oh f-fuck…Frank…God right there-”

Your eyes nearly crossed when he sealed his lips around your clit and started suckling, and the edge of the counter dug into your back as you arched against it, tugging at his hair with both hands now as sensual moans and breathy pleas flew past your parted lips.

As much as you wanted to come on his pretty face, the desire you felt for him was so much stronger. Giving his hair a sharper tug, you practically had to beg him to relent, which was not a simple task.

“Frankie…please…I want you.”

He gave you only a moment of mercy to gruffly speak against your drenched pussy.

“You got me, baby.”

“I want more.”

Frank chuckled as he turned his head to kiss and nip at your inner thigh.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

“Frank.”

Another deep chuckle rumbled in his chest at your desperate whine of his name, and he rubbed his rough hand over your soft skin soothingly.

“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me what ya want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Those seemed to be the magic words, and as soon as Frank rose to his full height, you grabbed the front of his tank top that was soaked with sweat and pulled him down for a messy kiss raw with hunger and need. Frank’s tongue parted the seam of your lips to tangle with your own while his large hands roamed down your body to grab your ass and squeeze firmly. His hardened cock was straining against the zipper of his jeans, pressing against your lower belly, begging to be freed. But the second you reached for his belt buckle, he grabbed your hips and swiftly spun you around to bend you over the counter.

The jingle of his belt being unbuckled and his zipper being tugged down were dull in comparison to your own blood pumping in your ears, your heartbeat as loud as raucous thunder. You’d been holding your breath in anticipation, but all the air in your lungs was quickly knocked out when he pushed his hips forward and his thick girth stretched out your snug walls in one swift thrust, nestling so deep you swore you could feel him in your lower stomach.

In an instant you slumped against the counter, and your eyes rolled while your jaw went slack, a choked moan echoing throughout the kitchen. Frank leaned over you, pressing his chest flush against your back, one of his hands gripping your hip while his other snaked around and reached up to wrap his hand around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He nuzzled his large nose against your neck, kissing and nipping at your heated skin, dragging his tongue along the shell of your ear, rocking his hips against your ass as he fucked you with slow deep strokes, even though everything in him wanted to fuck you with reckless abandon. Frank never rushed anything, but especially not pleasing you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. This what you wanted, yeah?”

Blindly reaching behind you, your fingers grasped at whatever you could find to anchor yourself to, the fabric of his tank top clutched tightly in your fingers. 

“Frank-”

“I know baby, I know.”

It was almost eerie how well he knew your body, oftentimes better than you did. He knew exactly what you liked, and exactly what you needed, when you needed it. He kept his hold on your throat, but he let go of your hip so he could slip his hand down between your thighs, strumming his fingers over your clit in rapid succession, making you writhe in the limited space you were trapped in between the counter and his large body.

He let out a grunt when he felt you clench around his cock, but he held out on his own pleasure, always making sure you were well satisfied before he even thought about letting go. He let out a quiet moan in your ear when he felt you come for him, felt the warm wetness of your pussy drowning his cock and soaking your inner thighs and the denim of his jeans.

His hips stuttered, and he let out a guttural groan in your ear as he pushed himself flush against you, gripping onto you tightly as he followed your climax. Your pulsing cunt milked his cock in a way that made his forehead drop against your shoulder, and the soft whimper it tore from him made your knees weak and made that desire burn even hotter.

Both of you were panting heavily, and Frank was peppering soft kisses along your neck and shoulder, giving your hip a gentle squeeze before he slowly started to pull out. But little did he know, you were far from finished.

Not even giving him a second to think, you straightened up on your wobbly legs and turned to face him, fisting the front of his tank top as you pushed him backwards and up against the island behind you. Frank looked down at you in bewilderment, his hands instinctively shooting out to grab your hips.

“What-”

“You got to take your gratitude how you want, now I get to say thank you how I want.”

Flashing him a devilish smirk, you kept your eyes locked on his as you sank down to your knees in front of him, and Frank’s confusion quickly transitioned into hunger, his softened cock already stirring once again with need.

“Well this is definitely fuckin’ worth all the goddamn splinters.”

[fiction-boys-rule]

When I write the character and reader into a really good argument or predicament…but now I have to be the one to get them out of it😭

[fiction-boys-rule]

The obsessive Pinterest pinning has begun🫡

[fiction-boys-rule]

A romance movie where the Latino is the rich daddy for once?? Compliments to the chef please😩🫶🏼

[fiction-boys-rule]

Some announcements:

I am indeed alive! Barely, but I think that counts. This blog also just turned 10 years old and I’m still in disbelief. I am entering into my last year of university soon and it’s going to be a hell of a ride. However, this summer I plan to be way more active on here :)

New Portal Spawning Summer 2025🪐

Surprise!! Sons of Anarchy will officially be part of my blog now :) I’ve been a fan of this show for years now and I’ve had some drafts saved for years now that I finally feel happy with posting.

Leverage Works: Summer 2025

Be prepared for more posts coming this summer that have been sitting in my drafts hehe. I appreciate all of the love I’ve received over time with my past Leverage works and I’m so excited to get back into writing again❤️

[fiction-boys-rule]

Introducing Frank Castle x Girly!Reader

Frank Castle x Girly!Reader Headcannons #1

Frank Castle x Girly!Reader Headcannons #2

Texts with Frank Castle x Girly!Reader

reply to be added to taglist and send requests!

[fiction-boys-rule]

“What the fuck is that” has me CRYING lmao💀

Texts with Frank Castle x Girly!Reader

Girly!Reader masterlist here.

a/n: this is my first time doing something like this so if it sucks sorry lol also send any frank requests!!!!

[fiction-boys-rule]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞

Pairing Frank Castle x Reader [friends → lovers] 

Summary A fresh start with no more loose ends—that’s what you promised yourselves. But when a quick outing stretches longer than expected, dread creeps in and reveals how deeply you care for Frank when he’s finally back by your side [3.7k] 

A/N First time writing for Frank. Deeply appreciate Jon Bernthal’s embodiment of the character ♡

The rain hasn’t stopped by the time the van eases into the parking lot, where the water on the ground reflects the cherry-red motel sign shining against the night. It makes no difference to you—lips parted and head tilted against the passenger side window—until Frank gears into park and taps your thigh with two fingers. 

Your eyes flutter open to tiny droplets pattering on the outside of the cool glass. That’s when you notice how still the world has grown. No more potholes, smooth turns, or random swells of acceleration to pass other cars who thought they had all the time in the world. 

After cutting the engine, he runs a heavy hand down his face and tips his head back, the motion disheveling the back of his dark hair against the headrest. It’s gotten longer. So has the coarser hair of his beard. He never asked for your opinion, nor had you mustered the courage to give it, but the look suited him, as if it was innately right. As he briefly closes his eyes, he misses the way you turn to study his profile, noting how the bridge of his nose catches the glow of the lights outside.

A satisfied hum escapes you as you stretch out your legs, drawing his attention back your way. He blinks observantly, eyebrows set in that eternal furrow that makes him hard to read. But you know he’s alright—content. There’s no other reason not to be. A couple hundred hundred miles ago, he’d tied off one final loose end, and now the world went silent for the first time in a while. It was over. No more living ghosts breathing down your necks. You and Pete Castiglione were free to start a new life, be whoever you wanted to be. That’s what you told yourselves. 

Clearing his throat, Frank shifts in his seat and reaches into the cup holder, tossing the room key into your lap. “Room 103. There’s two queens,” he tells you. “I’ll grab the bags.” The finality in his tone suggests he won’t entertain any alterations to the plan.   

You reach down to grab your crossbody. “Can I get this one, or is it too much?” You’re trying to be funny. He waves you off, mumbling under his breath, but there’s an undeniable flutter in his gut when you smile at him before hopping out of the van. 

He purses his lips when you break into an amusing little jog, eager to escape the rain and key into the room. A muted yellow fills the space as you flip on the lights. No sooner does he watch you peek through the curtains like a groundhog popping up from its burrow. It’s hard to make him out, but you swear you can see him chuckling from behind the windshield. 

It’s impressive how he manages to carry both your belongings in one trip. He hums in appreciation as you hold the door open for him. Rather than dumping everything in the main walkway, he trudges the extra few steps to where more space opens up and a small bench rests beneath the full length mirror hanging on the wall. 

The air is thick, as it always seems to be at motels, but the citrus undertones suggest recent cleaning. You stake your claim on the bed closest to the bathroom, ready to settle in. The wrapper of a meal bar crinkles as you dig it out from your purse. 

Frank’s own mattress squeaks as he plops down onto the foot of the bed and lays back, tucking his hands behind his head. The movement makes the hem of his hoodie rise up just enough to reveal the light trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button. It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but you’d be back on the road in the morning headed for central Virginia. 

A modest house in the Blue Ridge Mountains awaited, courtesy of one of his buddies who lived further north in Quantico. Of all the other options, it seemed like a promising place to find your footing away from the endless bustle of New York City. 

“Frank?” He looks over at you. “Thanks.” For everything, you want to add. 

“No worries,” he says. A few moments pass of the rain slowing down outside. It’s a lulling sound that masks the quiet gurgle of your stomach. 

Eyes closed, Frank hears you begin to peel open the bar you’re holding. It’s one of the protein-packed ones that are supposed to taste like chocolate, but always end up too chalky. It’d been a while since the late lunch the two of you had. 

“I’ll go get you something hot.” He sits up. “Passed a few places coming in.” 

You can see how drained he is from driving. It’s in his voice, the slump of his shoulders. “This’ll tie me over for the night,” you insist.

He looks at you with partial belief. Frank was the type who could get caught up in the task at hand and go without eating, if it wasn’t for your reminders. Earlier, he’d brushed over his hunger, only to sit down across from you in that cramped diner booth and inhale his hamburger and fries as you watched, amusement sparkling in your eyes. That look often spurred him into a spiel about how he could get by on a handful of nuts every few hours if he really wanted. 

But there was no such talk this time around. The food was good and hearty, and he enjoyed sitting down and sharing a meal without having to look over his shoulder. There was also something special about the way the sunlight streaming through the windows caught your eyes. 

“Really, Frank. It’s been a long day,” you say as he stands and makes his way to the door. There was no stopping him when he made up his mind. “I can come with you.” That earns you a disapproving look, and you sigh your defeat. “Drive safe, okay?” 

“Yep.” 

The rain subsides shortly after he slips out the door. To avoid the risk of falling asleep, you decide to take a shower, considering yourself lucky that the warm water doesn’t run out after the first five minutes.

By the time you dry off, moisturize, and change into old pajamas, Frank hasn’t returned. When you peek out the window at the sound of an engine, it ends up being construction workers. Despite how much you try to will it away, a familiar sense of dread settles in your gut. It only roots deeper upon realizing that he’d left his BlackBerry behind on the bed. 

Time continues passing by. 

•••

Red and blue police lights appear blazing in the distance in a showy glow. Frank watches from the inside of a family-owned pizzeria, where beautiful candid pictures adorn the walls. The air is rich with the scent of parmesan and garlic, but his face is fixed in a scowl. There’s bruising beginning to develop on the apple of one cheek, and a thin bleeding slash on the other. A few chairs are overturned while tables are askew. 

Under different circumstances, maybe in a different life, he would’ve been able to appreciate the homey charm of the place without trouble finding a way to fall at his feet. The universe had deemed him as the only alter fit to handle it. 

The woman behind the counter, stout with a long ponytail, nearly collapses in relief as the wailing sirens draw nearer, but Frank’s jaw ticks in irritation at the whole ordeal. Other customers who were once inside have either left or are now standing watch from the parking lot. 

Frank turns to look down at the two young men sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall. The masks have been ripped down from their faces, and it’s clear they’ve been roughed up. Despite feeling Frank’s gaze, they refuse to meet it. 

Off to side stands another employee who’s around the same age as the men on the ground. He’s holding a wad of napkins to his bloody nose and can’t keep his eyes from flitting to Frank with reverence and gratitude.  

“Hey,” Frank barks to the seated men. “When they bust up in here, you don’t run, you hear me? Cause I’m gonna be out there and you won’t even make it to the next lot over,” he says. “If you wanna come in here and be tough guys while your buddy’s trying to make a living and do better for himself, then you own it.” 

Their nostrils flare in frustration, but they don’t dare open their mouths. He can see the misplaced anger of his own youth coursing through them. 

“Whatever’s going on between you…you talk it out, yeah?” He looks between all of them. “One bad decision, and your folks are gonna be crying and snotting in a courtroom while some guy with a mallet calls the shots.” 

As the police cars turn into the parking lot, Frank walks over to a table and picks up the carry out bag of food he’d ordered. 

“How do I get outta here?” 

Both the long-haired woman and the young employee point to the back hallway where the bathrooms are, watching him disappear as if he were never there at all. 

Frank makes it to his van as the police enter the pizzeria. In the rearview mirror, he can see the two men standing from the ground with their heads hanging low. Sighing, he pats down his pockets for his phone with the intent to call you. Nothing. All he can do is curse under his breath and start up the engine. 

The No Vacancy sign is switched on when he makes it back. He sees you staring out the window, but you slink back into the room as if the sight of his return was all you needed. A mix of guilt and frustration stir in his chest when you don’t let him in. He has to dig out the key and do it himself with his free hand, the carry out bag crinkling with his efforts. When he slips in and shuts the door behind himself, you’re standing a few yards away. There’s a palpable intensity as you study the afflictions on his face. 

Your body wants to fuss over him and push him away all at once—for leaving his phone, for scaring you, for coming back looking like he’d seeked out yet another fight. Most of all, you feel foolish for believing that there was ever a chance at normalcy. There was no rewriting the curse that all the trouble in the world fell at Frank Castle’s feet so he could set things right. 

Unlike eight months ago, when you thought he was an enemy, you can’t imagine losing him. You wouldn’t survive it. That magnitude of that fear cloaks itself in anger and puts a target on him when it’s the last thing he deserves. 

“What the hell, Frank? You can’t be serious right now.” 

Your piercing gaze is muddled with a myriad of emotions, and he can see them all. He stops the knee-jerk reaction that almost makes him raise his voice and go on about how he didn’t ask for anything that transpired within the past hour. How happenstance wasn’t within his control. How the whole idea of the two people like you finding a sense of normality was probably closer to a fairytale. 

He doesn’t get into it because he loves you. Even though neither of you have ever said it aloud. It was an unspoken truth, written between the lines of the fact that you worked each other’s nerves, but knew how to sooth them even more. Chasing after a fairytale would be worth it with you. 

“Let’s just eat, yeah? Can we do that?” 

He brushes past you to put the food on the small table. You track his movements, watching as he takes out a few small boxes. There’s wings, garlic knots, mozzarella sticks—a variety so you can take your pick and get your fill. It was never really too late for pizza, but he knew you would complain about the layers of cheese grease so close to bedtime. You’re not even sure you have an appetite anymore, but he motions for you to come sit and you can’t say no. Your eyes follow him as he goes to wash his hands, wishing you had it in you to scream. 

There’s only two chairs and your knees knock beneath the table when he sits down. As you nibble on a garlic knot, you stare at the dried blood on his cheek and the forming bruise. 

“Please tell me what happened.” Your tone is lighter than before.

Frank briefly squints then wrinkles his nose, gears turning in his head. Similar to when he walks into a new room, his gaze tracks around different points of your face, as if he’s trying to piece together what he wants to say as he assesses where you are. His thoughts are always written in his expressions even if they aren’t entirely clear. 

 “It was nothing,” he says. 

“Nothing, Frank?” 

Nine times out of ten, him coming back to base camp bearing signs of a fight meant that he’d either taken care of everything or it was time to bounce—no in between. There’s no urgency that suggests the latter, so he must be telling the truth. The events of the night have pissed him off more than anything, like a side quest he couldn’t avoid. As much as he dreaded playing it over in his head for the sake of relaying it back to you, he can see that you need it. 

“Alright, look.” Frank waits for your attentive nod to continue. 

“It was a couple of kids. Came in all loud, making a scene,” he starts. “Long story short, they gang up on their buddy who works there.” Your eyes drift to his lips as he talks, watching the way he wets them every so often. “Everybody starts freaking out, some suit who looks like Mayor LaGaurdia calls the cops.” 

He shakes his head like it was all a big mess. “And I’m not about to sit there and watch this kid get the snot beat outta him, so I get up and do somethin’ about it.” The righteous indignation in his tone that stirs an admiration within you. He notices the shift in the way you’re looking at him. 

“What?” 

You shake your head and bite your lower lip. “So you broke them apart?”

He nods. “One of ‘em got a lick in, pulled out a pocket knife,” he says. “Then I shook both their asses up and made ‘em sit ‘til the cops came.” 

“You pulled your punches.” 

“I pulled my punches,” he confirms.

This wasn’t the story you were expecting, but you’re grateful for it nonetheless. Frank breaking up fights and setting kids straight was something you could live with—better than dealing with crime rings, crooked feds, and personal vendettas. 

A wave of rowdy laughter soon erupts from somewhere in the distance. When you look down, you realize the two of you have made your way through more of the food than you were expecting. Frank wipes his hands off with a napkin and leans back in his chair, watching as you do the same. 

The silence is intimate. Frank’s knees are still pressed against yours. He looks like he wants to say one thing but changes his mind to another at the last minute. “I’m gonna go grab a shower, yeah?”  

“Yeah,” you mimic the quick, New York way he always clips the word onto the end of his sentences.  

He’s never minded your teasing. Every time he thinks he’s gotten away with masking his amusement, you always catch a tell that gives him away. This time, it’s the twitch of his nose as he stands up to throw his stuff away. You file it away in your memory. 

“Hey, Frank?” He looks over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was scared.” 

“I know.” 

Later, the lights around the mirror provide a Hollywood-esque glow as you stand at the sink with one hand braced on the counter, brushing your teeth. This rest of the bathroom is sectioned off behind a door, so you feel the lingering steam from Frank's shower as he steps out in his sleep clothes, drying off his hair. The air smells like the complimentary soap, light and fresh. You absentmindedly shift to make room for him as he drapes the towel around his neck and leans close to the mirror to assess his face. 

Now that the blood is gone, the cut looks less imposing. Unphased that you’re bumping shoulders, he reaches for his own toothbrush. 

You’ve never paid any mind to how heavy-handed he is while he brushes, but it stands out now that you’re right beside him sharing the same sink. Perhaps it only appears that way, but you force yourself to bite back a teasing comment as you move on to floss. Frank just stares at you in the mirror with a soft, tired look in his eyes that makes your insides feel all fluttery. You’re sure he’s not even aware he’s doing it—or maybe he knows perfectly well. 

After he’s ditched the towel around his neck and the two of you are making your way to your respective beds, you bring a halt to his movements by wrapping your arms around him. It’s an awkward angle at first because you come at him partially from the side, partially behind. But he adjusts himself so that your chests are pressed together as he wraps an arm around you—just the one initially, taken aback by your embrace. 

“Okay. Oh, boy,” he chuckles in that low way of his that playfully denotes trouble. 

You’re not sure why you made the move. As he adds his other arm, it occurs to you that there are too many motivations for there to be just one. Affection seldom looks like this between the two of you—maybe once every blue moon during partings or close calls. The seamless way you melt into him says otherwise. It’s as if relishing his warmth and the steady constant of his frame was all you were made for. The possibility doesn’t even offend you. You keep holding him and he keeps holding you. 

“You okay?” he asks after a while, smoothing his wide palm up your back. 

You nod before slowly pulling away. “Sorry, I’m just…” You touch a gentle finger to the center of his chest as he looks at you with that familiar furrow between his brows. “Glad you’re back.” Glad he’s still alive.

“Where else would I be, huh?” He taps your chin with his knuckle. “I walk out any door without you, best believe I’m making it back some way somehow.” 

You nod because you don’t trust your voice anymore.  

He gives your chin another affectionate tap. “Alright then. Bedtime.”

•••

A small sliver of light slips in through the slit in the curtains, casting itself onto the lower portion of Frank’s bed right over his feet. Even after staring at it for what feels like forever, you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes and surrender to the grasp of sleep. Yet the steady rise and fall of Frank’s chest continues on like some sort of miracle. You wish you were close enough to feel it for yourself, and when that pull doesn’t go away, you push the covers off and tiptoe over to his bed amid the dark.  

When the other side of his mattress dips, he thinks it’s one of those half-waking dreams until your leg brushes against his in your attempt to join him beneath the sheets. He immediately shifts to accommodate you, tugging more covers over to your side even though there’s already plenty. As he moves, you can smell the familiar scent of his skin and feel the weight of his proximity. 

“Thought you were—thought I was dreaming,” he rasps. 

With the way your heart has begun hammering in your ears, you’re surprised you can hear him. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, you’re okay, sweetheart.” His voice is thick, but not from tiredness this time. 

Both of you remain still after you’ve settled, scared that moving would shatter this sweet reality that had been woven together by fate. The warmth of his body calls out to you, but you don’t indulge even though you want to. That hesitation doesn’t last long. The moment he reaches out, you press yourself back against his chest. He lets his hand come to rest over your stomach as he tucks his nose into your head, breathing you in. When you relax further into him, his fingertips venture just beneath the hem of your shirt to grace the soft skin above your waistline. The gesture is achingly chaste. The two of you fall asleep just like that. 

Morning seems to come soon, sunlight spilling into the room around the closed curtains. The light is tender in the way it bathes the charming color palette of the room. Frank’s eyes flutter open to find that neither of you had shifted much during the night. You're further away, but his arm remains draped over your middle. He doesn’t know that you're awake—that you’ve been awake. 

The first thing your gaze fell on was the alarm clock nearing nine o’ clock. You’d slept in way longer than usual, especially for what was meant to be another day on the road. You can’t bring yourself to mind. 

It isn’t until Frank withdraws his arm that you finally allow yourself to shift. The sheets rustle in a tell-tale sign that he’s stretching, and you roll over in time to see him on his back with his arms extended, knuckles brushing against the headboard. You scoot closer, resting a hand on his chest after he lowers his arms and tucks the one furthest from you behind his head, bicep flexing. 

Neither of you say anything, but there’s a quiet sense of acknowledgement—of seeing and being seen. With a lone finger, you draw lazy shapes over his pecs through the fabric of his shirt as he slowly blinks down at your hand. As Frank turns to press a kiss to your temple, he reckons he could get used to mornings like these.  

-

♡ Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts.

[fiction-boys-rule]

I need him in a way that sets feminism back 100 years. I don’t care, I’m just a girl.

[fiction-boys-rule]

The obsessive Pinterest pinning has officially begun.

[fiction-boys-rule]

okay but like what did Benny say to the guys before he went out of the bar. did he just “you know what? That pretty lady there just left and I want her on my bike” and everyone just was. “you know what? We get it. We’re on your side. We’ll follow her until she agrees. perfect.” or did everyone see Benny go up to Kathy and think “here we go again” and everyone followed him out because they knew he needed to get laid? what’s the story here I need to know

[fiction-boys-rule]

Johnny boy.

*brass knuckle daddy*

[fiction-boys-rule]

Man I gotta say I loved the use of tv in The Bikeriders

Spoilers below

The first time we see it was pretty blatant. He’s watching The Wild One, a Marlon Brando movie. Idk if this movie was deliberate or if it’s how it actually happened in real life (I’m gonna get the book eventually)

But Marlon Brando was bisexual. In the 70’s he states “Like a large number of men, I, too, have had homosexual experiences, and I am not ashamed. I have never paid much attention to what people think about me.”

This is what Johnny wanted to be. In the explicit, Kathy stating Johnny wanting to be Benny because Benny didn’t care what people thought of him, to the implicit, the sexual attention between Johnny and Benny.

The “Whaddya got?” Line has a whole historical context, same as the term rebel without a cause. The idea that you should be happy but there’s something missing, something lacking even in this picture perfect suburban, and populux lifestyle. It seemed to surround the Midwest at the time. I see Johnny is having that continued blogging. We even though he’s not shown to have financial difficulties nor marriage troubles he’s not happy. I think that’s because of repressed homosexuality. But he can’t say that, and certainly at that scene he doesn’t seem to know. His wife asking what he said and Johnny brushing her off to me shows how even though things were fine, they weren’t great. She just could not get him, could not be what he needed and through no fault of her own.

His wife is only ever talked about out positively in the movie.

Which brings me to the end. I don’t remember the last line exactly but the scene where Johnny is going out to meet the kid that took over his wife asked him to bring back eggs and he says yeah and you get the feeling that Johnny knows that is going to end badly. He’s going to die or get seriously injured. and just as he leaves the background of the TV echoes, the slide “she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t content“ and I just so perfectly encapsulates their relationship. She was a bad wife. She didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t the life he wanted because he wanted to be like Benny.

But in the end, Benny ended up like him

Even the scene where Benny and Kathy are watching TV. They’re watching bewitched (one of my favorite shows when I was a kid lol I used to watch reruns with my mom) I didn’t see any connections between the lines, but it was used to show Benny happy and smiling and laughing, which was a pretty rare thing for him.

It was really just such an incredible movie and I can’t stop thinking about it

[fiction-boys-rule]

Spoilers! The Bikeriders

I was thinking about the scene when Johnny goes to see Kathy before the knife fight…he knew Benny wasn’t there but he also knew deep down he wasn’t going to survive it…he was tired. When she kept asking him what he wanted and he said “nothing” she knew….they both knew….it was Benny…it was always Benny. At the end she may of been happy but he wasn’t…..he heard those motorcycles and would have given up everything that second to ride off with Johnny.

[fiction-boys-rule]

Being Johnny's Girl Would Include

Johnny Davis Masterlist

Warnings: slightly nsfw, but mostly my self indulgent ramblings

♡ Sitting on his lap at Vandals' meetings so you know you're just as important to him as the club.

♡ Watching him sneer at the sight of other men drooling over you, a possessive hand coming to rest over your thigh.

♡ Being draped in his enormous leather jacket that smells of motor oil and aftershave bc he can't stand to see you shiver. Does he also do it to let others know you're his? Prob

♡ Hearing the thunderous roar of his laughter over the engine when you nibble his earlobe during a ride.

♡ Straining to listen for the hitch in his breath when you suggest he fog the windows at the drive-in movies.

♡ The way your heart claws at your throat whenever you watch him race, hiding your face in your hands. Though it's nothing compared to finding the brass knuckles in his glove box, knowing his tough exterior isn't just a facade. His life is dangerous.

♡ That's prob why he appreciates the softness in you. He calls you his "babydoll" bc he swears you look like one in those cute little dresses you're always wearing.

♡ He'll insist on buying you a new one any time your clothes get ruined with the inevitable smear of grease or blood. (Since Benny came around, he's getting into more fights and he's wracked with guilt that he's corrupting you.)

♡ He tries to make it up to you with a stable home life, a nice house and scores of pretty things. You'll insist you don't need anything other than him, but he can't resist indulging that sparkle in your eye when you pass the shop windows downtown.

♡ "Give me a twirl, babydoll," he'll beg when you race down the stairs to show him a new dress, but he really just wants to see the flash of your panties.

♡ He takes you everywhere with him, even when the guys are working on their bikes. Making him beam with pride that you know the use of every tool in the garage. "Ain't my baby somethin'?"

♡ Stealing the bandana he keeps in his back pocket to tie up your hair.

♡ He'll call you every night he's on the road for work, even when he's exhausted and falling asleep over the phone. "Can't sleep a wink until I hear you're alright, you know that."

♡ He's warned you more than once that you'll likely have to go on without him one day, but it breaks your heart too much to think about it.

♡ So when he's home, you're cuddled together as close as humanly possible, practically on top of him. You're only closer when you've just made love and he falls asleep still inside you, stroking your back with soothing words of reassurance, "S okay, I'm here."

[fiction-boys-rule]

I want this movie.

And I WANT IT NOW.

NOW. NOW. NOW.

He's stolen my heart before I've seen the movie.

[fiction-boys-rule]

Just watched The Bikeriders tonight. Officially obsessed, I’ve never been into Tom Hardy or Austin Butler but safe to say after tonight ya girl is converted😂 There’s no doubt about it I’m just a whore for bikers….thats it, that’s the tweet.

Will be staying up late tonight watching edits and reading posts about the film lol.