#the punisher netflix

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Hint of Lovely Oblivion

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: After a week of sleeping terribly, Frank makes an effort to help you get the rest you deserve.

warnings: Swearing, fluff, caring Frank, this is not medical advice

a/n: I wrote this for my lovely bestie @madschiavelique who wanted some Frankie comfort. As someone who deals with insomnia pretty regularly, this was very cathartic! I hope you all enjoy. A huge thank you to my other bestie @gracethyomen for beta-ing and helping me plan this fic!

w/c: 4.6k

Inhaling deeply, the frigid air of the room made your nose twitch. Sliding as deep as you could into the blanket pile while maintaining your seated position, you bit your lip, shifting the pad of paper on your lap and craning your neck once again. While your duvet provided an excellent shield to lock in heat, your shoulders inevitably poked out whenever you weren’t fully horizontal, leaving your body to sit in a temperature regulation purgatory; your consciousness rumbled uneasily as the hair on the back of your neck refused to flatten, your brain torn between making you shiver or letting you sweat. The position was far from comfortable—but being awake all night made comfort an unattainable goal for you anyways.

It had been days since you’d slept through the night. You were no stranger to insomnia, you’d been cursed with it your entire life, but lately it had dug its malicious claws into your chest with the violence of a starving feral animal. Your bed, which used to be a haven of rest and relaxation, was now a space that you avoided at all costs—the wonderfully soft pillows and warm blankets mocking you as they sat untouched well into the night, fatigue never overtaking you when you needed it to. For the first few nights of your ongoing battle with sleeplessness, you’d crawl under the covers anyway, praying to any deity listening that the weight and heat of the fabric would force your eyelids to close—but it never did.

Sighing as your pencil tip snapped, you closed your eyes, letting your breath rest in your lungs for a moment before exhaling again; apparently your frustration with your own hormone production created a physical pressure on the lead of your pencil. Picking up a fresh one from your nightstand, you did your best to clean up the smear of graphite from the impact of the broken point.

Turning your attention back to the subject of your sketch, you chewed your lip to stifle a smile. Despite the thick curtains your partner had insisted on, a sliver of moonlight illuminated the massive man slumbering beside you, quietly snoring away—completely oblivious to the inspiration he'd given you. The feather-light moon beams shone through his tousled hair, creeping down over his face, which was adorably mashed against his singular pillow. Considering that he'd turned up a handful of hours ago drenched in other people's blood, it was downright ironic to be calling him “adorable” as he slept—but you couldn't shake the giddy feeling that always bubbled up when you saw his face so lax with sleep. His expression was so uncharacteristically peaceful, it never failed to make you happy.

Sure, not sleeping sucked. You'd be plagued with jaw-cracking yawns and mild memory loss in the morning, just like yesterday and the day before that. Having the opportunity to watch Frank sleep soundly, didn't make up for the fact that you'd accidentally put orange juice in your coffee yesterday, but it made the build up of irritation much easier to bear. Which is why you'd decided to memorialize it in your sketchbook.

Studying the map of shadows on Frank's handsome face, you scratched the pencil over the thick paper, the rasping sound soothing the constant buzzing in your brain. Scrunching your nose as you tried to smooth out the sketch in front of you, you nearly jumped out of your skin when he spoke.

“Why're you up, darlin'?” His voice was rough with exhaustion. Noticing your wide eyes and ragged inhale, a large hand slid up to rest on your thigh. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya.”

”It's alright, Frankie. I wasn't paying attention.“ You tried to laugh, but the sound died in your throat.

His hand stroked over your leg as he waited for you to answer his question. Instead, your eyes remained trained on the book across your lap, pencil moving fluidly through the silence. Tracing a thumb over your warm skin, Frank frowned. “Ya didn't answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” Your tone was innocent, but the way your eyes remained glued to your work was enough to tell him you had definitely heard the question.

Squeezing your thigh with a yawn, Frank tried not to groan as he dragged himself up to sit next to you. His movement finally captured your attention, your brow furrowing as you set your pencil aside. “What are you doing?”

Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug, Frank slid an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. ”Sittin' with my girl. That a crime now?“

Smiling despite the guilt flaring in your chest, you shoved at his solid torso feebly. ”Go back to sleep, Frankie. I'm sorry I woke you. I can—“ Shuffling in your seat, you tilted towards the edge of the mattress, fully intending to relocate to a different room so that Frank could go back to bed. Foiling your plan, Frank's arms held fast against your teetering, pulling you flush against his chest.

”Don't you dare.“ He growled, chin resting atop your crown.

”Frank! I didn't even finish my thought,“ You wriggled against his hold, your brain torn between reacting with endearment or annoyance over being imprisoned by his strength. “Let me go, you...you...butthead.” Whining at your own lackluster insult, you buried your face in Frank's neck as he chuckled.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Ain't gotta go for my throat like that.” Frank murmured smugly. You could envision his shit-eating smirk despite it being out of your line of sight.

”Shut up,“ You muttered, a tiny smile gracing your lips against your will. Your body trembled as Frank shook with rumbling laughter. Drawing you into his arms, Frank set your legs over his lap, positioning you towards the windows. The gusting heat from the vent closest to your bed ruffled the fabric covering the panes, the pale glowing rays of moonlight fluttering over your knees as the drapes shifted. It created a mesmerizing dance of light and dark, captivating you.

”Ya gonna tell me how long you've been sittin' here starin' at me or did ya wanna keep pretendin' you were asleep?” In defense of your ruthlessly persistent boyfriend, it has been said that the third time’s the charm. His tone was as delicate as his gruff voice allowed, the muscles of his jaw and throat rippling against your scalp as he spoke.

Eyes falling closed, you focused on the warmth of Frank’s body surrounding you as you willed the tears pricking your eyes to back down. Another unfortunate side effect of sleep deprivation—your emotions started to go haywire over the littlest things.

It wasn’t that you thought Frank would be angry. Well, it wasn’t the biggest anxiety on your mind, at least. It was more the fear of burdening him with your own issues at all hours when you knew a good night’s sleep was practically a miracle for him. The first night at home after a few weeks away always seemed to make it come easier, but other than that Frank rarely rested. The mere thought of forcing him to sit up with you, especially on the one night this week he’d get a full 8 hours, grabbed your guilty conscience by the throat.

Giving a halfhearted shrug, you caved. “Dunno. Slept for a few hours when we went to bed. Then I got up and...” Trailing off, you gestured to the bed in front of you, which was clearly not being used for sleep.

Frank withdrew from the embrace and your pounding heart sank. You set your jaw, waiting for the frustrated scolding…but it never came. Instead, one calloused finger landed underneath your chin, tilting it upwards as he spoke. “You been awake that long?” His eyes shone with concern, boring ferociously into yours.

Nodding miserably, you swallowed the overwhelming shame crawling up your esophagus before speaking. “I’m sorry, Frank. I tried to sleep, but I just couldn’t—“

Cutting you off with a tender kiss, Frank’s hand moved to cup your cheek. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, honey. Ya shoulda woken me up.”

Looking up at him with glossy eyes, you bit your lip, ”You deserve to sleep uninterrupted. I didn't want to be the one to take that away from you.“

Frank chewed the inside of his cheek as he was overrun with waves of adoration and sympathy for you. How he'd managed to end up with such a considerate partner, he'd never know. Especially when he didn't consistently return the gesture.

He'd come home yesterday and practically collapsed into your arms—ignoring how unsteady your balance seemed when you dragged him into the apartment, blaming it on his own weight. You'd patched him up sweetly, as you always did, and Frank hadn't thought twice about the fact that you'd had to leave the room three times to get the gauze, assuming your memory had just been shaken by his battered appearance.

Was he truly so wrapped up in his own bullshit that he hadn't noticed the sunken crescents underneath your eyes? They were so prominent now, stark sepia bruises on your otherwise even skin. It must have been days since you slept properly. Beside himself with worry, his thumb traced the indent under your left eye. ”Shit sweetheart...“

”I'm—“ You started to apologize, but it stuck in your throat when Frank shook his head.

”Hey, none of that. Don't wanna hear it, ok?” You nodded in response to his gentle command, sitting there quietly as he schemed. “Are you tired at all?”

The pitiful shake of your head seemed to make up his mind.

Unwinding from you, he raised his arms above his head in a stretch, moaning as his back popped with the movement. Your face scrunched in disapproval, making him grimace sheepishly. “Sorry, honey. Guess I was stiff from drivin' all day.” Without waiting for your response, he slid out of bed. Your brow furrowed as he strode over to the dresser, pulling a shirt over his rumpled hair.

“Get dressed, darlin'. I have an idea.” He called to you over his shoulder as he rummaged for a clean pair of pants. Sighing, you abandoned the bubble of heat surrounding you in bed and headed for the closet.

Despite your grumbles and evident confusion, the two of you were dressed and on the road before the sun even peeked over the horizon. With one hand settled in yours, Frank kept his gaze trained on the road ahead, trying not to laugh at your exasperated questioning and adorable pout. Dragging you out of the house at this hour might not have been his brightest idea—since he normally tried to remain on your good side—but hey, he’d gotten this far without you chewing his head off.

Frank could hardly be considered a morning person, but you were practically nocturnal. Leaving the house before dawn was probably high up on your list of personal hells, but staying in bed when you couldn’t sleep wasn’t a good idea. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Curtis’s agitated tone.

“For the last time, Frank: staying in bed will make it worse.”

Way back in the day, during his first trip home after going overseas, he’d bugged Curtis relentlessly about his own sleep issues. Maria was tired enough raising a wandering toddler and an imaginative kindergartener, she didn’t need to worry about a restless marine to boot. He’d tried every suggestion under the sun, but sleep still evaded him. Tour after tour, night after night, he’d lay beside his wife in their bed and stare at the ceiling until his alarm went off. After his family died, well…it didn’t exactly get easier to rest.

Despite scouring the internet, a few libraries, and the expanse of Curt’s brain for any possible cures, his sleeplessness persisted. It was a torture he endured for years, and an anguish he wouldn’t wish on anyone but his worst enemies.

Finding out that you also dealt with insomnia was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, not having to explain his fickle moods and constant absence from the bedroom was a welcomed relief. On the other, seeing the symptoms of sleep deprivation in someone he cared about was an agony worse than an infected bullet wound.

He knew what you were going through all too well, which meant he was determined to try and help. Getting you out of the house was just the first step of his admittedly too-detailed plan.

His lips twitched with a smile as he spotted the building. Turning into the ragged asphalt lot behind the restaurant, he turned his attention to you.

“We’re here, darlin’.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you remained unimpressed. “A diner?”

Letting out a bark of laughter at your obvious disdain for the activity, Frank pointed a finger at you in warning. “Hey, don’t knock it til ya try it, sweetheart.” His exaggerated stern expression broke through your apprehension, your lips turning upwards into a fond smile.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Frank pressed a kiss to your temple, heart swelling as you leaned into him. “If ya wanna go home, just say the word.”

Biting your lip, you glanced out the window at the electric blue awning extending from the glass doors. The yellow lamp lights lining the sidewalk reflected in your wide eyes as you stared. “No, we can go. I, just…can I ask you a question first?”

“Course, honey. Anythin’.”

“Why here?” Your question was soft, but genuine; your curiosity was outweighing the contempt you’d previously shown for his choice of destination.

Running a hand through his hair, he gave a one-armed shrug. “Fuck, well... ya know I’m no stranger to the whole…not sleepin’ thing. And, uh, back in the early days, when it was real bad for me, I’d come here. We– er– Maria and I, we took the kids here a couple of times. Dunno, wanted to remember the good times, I guess, and it became a sort of tradition. Thought it might help you too.”

With a stuttering inhale, you reached for his hand, stroking a finger over his knuckles as you looked up at him shyly. “Thank you for sharing it with me. I didn’t mean to be rude about it, I’m sorry.”

Squeezing your fingers, he could feel heat creeping up his face. “It’s nothin’ sweetheart. Ain’t gotta worry about that.”

Glancing back out the window for a moment, Frank could see the gears turning in your head as you turned back to him with a tiny grin.

“Lead the way?” You asked tentatively.

“For you, sweet girl? Always.” He pressed a kiss to your hand, his stubble scratching at the skin of your fingers.

Frank ushered the two of you inside and into a booth in the back of the diner. The restaurant was lacking in customers, as could be expected given the early hour. While the inky black sky was broken up with dim streetlights outside of the building, the inside was flooded with fluorescent lights--so bright that you had to shield your eyes with a limp hand for a few minutes.

Once your vision adjusted, you had to admit that the energy in the diner was quite nice. The chipped linoleum tiles that lined the floor were a gorgeous cobalt blue. Along the ceiling, large chunks of the roof had been replaced with thick panes of glass, allowing you to watch the clouds float by, the darkness of the night contrasting beautifully with the intense lighting. You and Frank were seated on a worn vinyl booth, the strips of fabric alternating between silver and black. Similar booths wrapped around the space, almost twinkling as you looked at them.

“So,” Frank pushed a mug towards you. “Whaddya think?”

“It's nice.” You murmured, pulling the warm cup closer to yourself. Somehow you'd missed him ordering himself coffee and you a tea in your distracted state.

Frank cocked his head at you, lips turned up in a smug smirk. ”’S that so?“

Smiling into your mug as you took a sip, you retorted. ”Shut up.“

The drink was warm and, thankfully, unsweetened. It's crisp flavor relaxed your shoulders as you sipped, settling your anxious stomach.

“Hope mint is a’right.” Frank spoke quietly, a blush creeping up his face as he studied his own drink.

“You remembered.” You breathed out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly as your eyes prickled with emotion.

“Course I did.” Frank huffed, draining the rest of his black coffee. You shuddered in distaste and he chuckled, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand. “You hungry at all?”

Shrugging noncommittally, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. Frank sighed, but didn't push further on the subject, which you were very grateful for. You'd never explicitly spoken to him about the effect your insomnia had on your eating habits, but--being the observant partner he was--he'd clearly picked up on it anyways. Once your day started with little to no sleep, it was like all of your bodily functions forgot how to...function. Hunger and thirst cues were practically impossible to read, your body and brain battling each other ferociously at every turn. Which, of course, just exhausted you further.

Scrubbing at one eye with the heel of your free hand, you grit your teeth to keep from groaning. Dwelling on how miserable you were going to feel today wouldn't solve anything, it would just worsen your mood.

”Head botherin' ya?“ Frank asked, brow folding in concern as he watched you knead at your forehead.

”No more than usual.“ You cracked a small smile, hoping that didn't sound as sad as you thought it did. “Just...frustrated with myself.”

“I feel ya, sweetheart. Not sleepin' ain't any fun. But I have some ideas, so don't you worry your pretty little head about it, ok?” Frank tangled his fingers with yours, his gaze earnest.

“You get ideas?” You scoffed, grinning when Frank rolled his eyes in return.

“Ya know what? Just for that, I ain't gonna tell ya about 'em.”

“Nooo,” You whined, taking Frank's massive hand in both of yours and pouting at him. ”I was just kidding. Please tell me.“

”Hmm, I dunno. First you insulted the diner, then my intelligence. Seems like you don't want my help, sweetheart.“  Frank withdrew from your grasp, pretending to sulk into his coffee.

Giggling at Frank’s pout, you reassured him. ”No, I do! I do!“

With a sad little shrug, Frank glanced forlornly out the window.

“Please Frankie,” Pleading with your gaze, you tried to keep a straight face.  “You're my only hope.”

Dropping his startlingly believable moping act, Frank cackled. “Ya think you're real clever, don't ya?”

Smirking into your tea, you gulped down the last remnants with a shrug. ”Maybe.“

After your countless apologies for insulting his intellect, Frank finally explained why he'd encouraged–forced–you to leave the house before sunrise. Apparently he'd heard that staying in bed while awake could perpetuate the cycle of sleep deprivation. And, though you were loath to admit it, it seemed to help.

The little excursion definitely lifted your spirits, if nothing else. You were able to admire the sunrise and mess around with Frank without your anxiety skyrocketing because of the city crowds.  It was nice, and you told him such–even at the risk of over-inflating his ego.

His next activity, however, was not as pleasant.

“Are you going to have me carry you around the apartment next?” You groused, hefting the bedframe up so that you could adjust your rapidly loosening grip on the cold metal. This much physical labor on an empty stomach and no sleep was not what you’d had in mind for a relaxing day with Frank. He, however, was insistent on moving the furniture in your room immediately upon your return home. 

“You offerin'?” Frank smirked at you, pretending to set the bed frame down. His eyes glinted with a humor you didn’t share over the current situation. 

“Fuck no.” You muttered, glaring at him until he lifted the majority of the weight once more. Frank laughed deeply. 

“Set it right over here, darlin’. We gotta move your dresser and then we’re all done.”

“You know, if you hated the layout of my room so much, you could’ve told me months ago.” Instead of waiting until I was already reaching my limit. You thought to yourself, not vocalizing that particular vulnerability. 

“And have you put me out on my ass for bein’ so forward? I’d never, sweetheart.” Frank chuckled, adjusting your bed as you collapsed against the mattress with a huff. “I’m teasin’, honey. It’s an old trick Curt told me about. All the rearrangin’ is supposed to help your brain remember how to sleep, or some shit.”

Rubbing at your forehead as the ache that had been plaguing you all day made a sudden resurgence, your limbs instinctively curled into fetal position as a small whimper escaped your lips. 

“It’s helping it remember to bother me is what it’s doing.” You grumbled, gritting your teeth as the pain ebbed and flowed. You knew the more you thought about it, the more it would torture you–but the stabbing sensation was all that your fatigued brain could focus on right now. 

Frank snorted, sitting beside you gingerly and caressing your hunched back with an open palm. “‘M sorry, sweet girl. Let me get ya some meds and you can lie here while I finish movin’ shit around.”

Your body felt like it was aimlessly floating, untethered to the Earth and hurrying to escape the pain so viciously attacking it at the moment. You were so tired. Every blink was a reminder of the heaven that had been ripped from your delicate grasp hours ago because your body couldn’t even function in the way it was designed to. Brow scrunching, you burrowed under the covers with a sigh.

“Ya better not be sleepin’ on me, honey.” Frank murmured as he stepped back into the room. 

“Course not,” You mumbled. “Would never…”

“I know you’re tired, darlin’, but ya gotta stay awake until it’s dark. Naps will just make ya feel worse, trust me.” He trailed a finger down your arm, taking your hand and placing some painkillers into it. Waiting patiently until you begrudgingly dragged yourself into a seated position, Frank smiled softly at you as you popped the pills into your mouth. Holding the glass of water out to you, the Marine squeezed your leg as you drank, tucking his chin over your head as you collapsed wearily into his side.

“The big bad Punisher takes naps? Hard to picture, Frankie.” You teased, your voice morphing into a satisfied hum as he threaded his fingers into your hair. 

Frank scoffed, kissing your crown before returning the jest. “Maybe I should take the vest off before closin’ my eyes next time.” 

You giggled, burying your face into his neck. His warm flesh felt wonderful on your pounding head, soothing the pain behind your eyes with each measured breath. “Do you cuddle your guns like teddy bears?” The question was overtly ridiculous, but Frank loved you enough to entertain it anyway. 

“Course. What else would I do with ‘em?” He asked coyly. 

Looking up at him, the corners of your lips lifted as he pressed a line of gentle kisses down your nose until he reached your lips. 

“If I turn on the TV, are ya gonna pass out on top of me?” He murmured, his stubble scratching your face as he spoke. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, love.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his sturdy jawline before he stood up to grab the remote. 

If someone would’ve told you a year ago that your next boyfriend could make a bad insomnia week feel tolerable, you never would’ve believed them. But here you were—lying on your stomach completely topless as Frank massaged a lightly scented lotion into your back—feeling pretty comfortable with the whole arrangement. 

After you’d failed to stay awake during the movie you’d picked out, Frank had carted you around town on various errands: picking up groceries, going to the bookstore, and even taking a quick walk around the park to feed the ducks, which he knew you loved. Your body still ached, and your mood still waned, but overall, it was a good day. And all the credit belonged to your incredible partner. 

Groaning appreciatively, it felt like you were melting into the mattress as Frank tenderly stretched your taught muscles, unraveling the knots of stress that had been building up all week. 

Chuckling, Frank pressed a tiny kiss to your bare shoulder. “Glad it feels good, sweetheart.” 

“No, it’s awful,” You lied. “You clearly need more practice..” 

Frank snorted, “Noted. How’re ya feelin’?” 

“Tired.” You sighed, rolling over as Frank handed you one of his tees to sleep in. 

“I bet. We’re on the last leg, sweetheart, almost there.” Frank’s large hands eagerly wrapped around you as you nestled into his side. Cupping your face with one palm, the fingers of his other hand threaded into your hair, detangling it carefully and brushing it off of your face. 

Biting your lip in frustration, and to keep from sighing again, you nodded. Attempting an understanding smile, you poked him in the chest. “I know. Thanks for putting up with my cranky self today.”

“Sweetheart, you can be snappy with me as much as ya want if it means you’ll sleep through the night.” Frank smirked, squishing your cheek as your eyes suddenly blurred with tears. 

“I love you.” You whispered, going limp in his hold as he settled against the pillows. 

“I love you too, darlin’. So much.” Resting your foreheads together, he kissed you delicately and your lashes fluttered. 

“Frankie?” You looked up at him with your practiced ‘doe eyes’ expression that he could never resist.

“Yah?” He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Can you read to me?” Batting your lashes, you watched with satisfaction as Frank’s expression softened, your eyes taking in the exact moment he caved to your whims. 

Straightening his posture stoically, he reached over to grab your new book from the nightstand with an exasperated huff. “Oh, I see. This was all a scheme of yours to get me to read to ya? ‘S that it?”

“No…” You giggled, nuzzling into him as he cracked the novel open.

“Sure, sure. You’ll be hearin’ from my lawyer, sweetheart. Think ya owe me compensation.” He winked at you, eyes lingering on your face.

“Honey, before ya drift off, jus’...” Sighing, he stroked a thumb over your cheek. “Just know, if all this doesn’t work, cause it ain’t a cure all, ya know–”

Laying your hand over his, you gave him an encouraging look. He inhaled sharply, thinking about how he wanted to phrase the sentiment. 

“I want you to sleep, darlin’, ya know I do. But if it doesn’t happen tonight, we can always try again, ok?”

Startled by the affection in his tone and his beautiful promise, your face went slack as you nodded. Eyes flitting over your gaze, he nodded curtly once he decided you understood. Returning his attention to the book in his hands, he cleared his throat before beginning to read. His rumbling velvet tone soothed you, your eyes falling closed almost immediately. Here, in the safety of Frank’s arms, surrounded by his beautiful voice and reassured by his adorable promise, you finally felt at peace. Though you knew sleep might continue to evade you, the anxiety you’d felt about your insomnia didn’t feel quite as all-consuming tonight. Whatever happened, Frank would be there. And, for now, that was enough.

Thanks for reading!!

[peterman-spideyparker]

Mr. Russo (Billy Russo x Secretary!Reader)

Author’s Note: I’ve had this fic and other Billy Russo stories in my drafts for ages, and I figured while I was working on other Daredevil and Moon Knight fics, I’d throw in some of these older ones that I’ve never posted. I think the original intention was for this to be longer and a multi-part series, but I don’t like that idea anymore. I cut about a thousand words, and I might include those as a bonus separate part--I’m not sure yet. Enjoy! :)

Summary: Working for Billy Russo wasn’t a challenge like most people would expect. You know how to do your job and how to do it well. One late night of working allows something about your past come to the surface, changing the trajectory of the relationship you share with your boss.

Warnings: Fluff, Billy softening up, angst (mentions of crappy experience in New York and the foster care system/Billy Russo being brooding and sad/hurt and rage/delicious tension), implied smut, cursing, mentions of addiction (drugs/alcohol)

Other Characters: Frank Castle

Word Count: 5,495

Another day in the books. Although everyday at Anvil is never the same, it can get a little monotonous. You answer the phone, respond to emails, draw up contacts, and do whatever Mr. Russo needs.

Oh, Mr. William Russo.

Intelligent, suave, cultured, and the definition of sex on two legs.

He works so hard in his business, and he cares about what he does. Anything that you can do to make his day less stressful, you’ll do it, and that definitely came in handy today, even if it still is a late night for him. You catch a glimpse at the clock on your screen—7:14pm. With a tired sigh, you hear him shuffle some papers around and push his chair out, moving a short distance to slide on his coat. You hear the click of his Italian leather shoes move closer to where you sit, and you smell his expensive cologne in the gentle breeze he brings by. You watch him as he walks with a purpose when he stops in his tracks, turning around to address you. “Do you ever even go home?” he asks.

“Sir?” you ask, unsure where he’s going with this.

“You’re always here before I get here—no matter how early—and you always stay after me. I just don’t get it.”

“I do my job,” you tell him. “It’s that simple. I do it, and I make sure that I do it well.”

“You also deserve a break—a life. Don’t you have friends around to go out for a drink or anything?”

“No, actually,” you admit. “Last friend I made in New York was one from when I got here. She then took 180 dollars from my wallet and ran away, making me scrape by for food for the rest of that week. My family isn’t nearby, either, if that was your next question. Work—this—is all I have, really.” Oh God, do you sound pathetic.

“Where is your family?” Mr. Russo asks, slowly moving back to your desk.

You scrunch up your bottom lip in a frown and shake your head. “I don’t know. I grew up in the system. I’m assuming whoever my parents are, they live in the Boston area, since that’s were I grew up.”

His expression softens to something to one that you have only seen twice before. It’s not quite pity, but it’s deeper than sadness. “You grew up in the system?” he asks softly.

You give a small nod. “It changes you pretty quickly.”

“It does.” His lips part like he wants to say something more, but he presses them in a tight line and sticks his hand in his jacket pocket, his eyes swirling with a mix of emotions. 

“Is there anything I can do for you before you leave, Mr. Russo?”

He blinks a few times before he shakes his head. “N-No,” Billy breathes. “Have a nice night, (Y/N).”

“You too, sir.”

There’s flowers on your desk when you walk in the next morning. How are there flowers on your desk?

“Hello?” you call into the office, sliding pepper spray out of your purse. “Anyone here?” Dead silence. Nothing looks out of place except for the bouquet, and after a quick sweep of the office, you see that you are alone. You look through the flowers and don’t see any card. Logging into your computer, you quickly pull up surveillance to see who delivered these. Your jaw drops when you see Mr. William Russo himself walk in at four in the morning with the same giant vase of flowers to your right. You lean back in your chair, your brain not really comprehending what you just saw. After a few minutes, you move towards the beautiful assortment of white gardenias, yellow lilies, red tulips, and magenta lilacs. You stick your nose to the flowers and take in a perfume of scents that make your chest happy and bring a smile to your face, and that smile remains on your face as you get to work and organize Billy’s day.

“Mornin’,” Billy says with a nod, walking a few hours later, not acknowledging the assortment on your desk.

“Morning,” you respond as he moves closer. “Thank you,” you say just before he enters his office. You don’t need to turn around to know exactly where he is—about a stride and a half from being in the doorway to his office, his right foot mid-step. “They’re beautiful.”

He doesn’t respond, but he takes a minute before he continues his gait into his office. 

The rest of the day proceeds as it normally does: you respond to client emails, answer the phones, do other office work, and hand Billy files, briefing him before his meetings.

“Have a nice night, (Y/N),” he says, adjusting his scarf on his peacoat as he walks past your desk.

“You too, sir,” you say. “And remember you have a 7:30 meeting tomorrow morning at the Four Seasons with Thaddeus Ross to discuss security for the SHIELD weapons conference.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” he says, turning to look at you, flashing you the faintest of smiles. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, considering you built this company from the ground up, I think you’d manage.” His smile grows a hair bigger. “Safe travels, Mr. Russo.”

The next few weeks proceed as they usually do, but you are dumbfounded yet again when you walk in Monday, about a month after you found the flowers on your desk.

“Morning,” Billy says, placing a coffee cup on your desk as he walks by. “Sweet cream cold brew, right?”

You turn in your chair and look at him, confusion and surprise written all over your face.

“Yeah,” you say. You notice he has a hot cup for himself in his hands. “You hate Starbucks.”

“I needed some extra caffeine this morning,” he shrugs.

“So the ‘shit-water jet fuel’ is what you were craving this morning?”

He nods, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. “Exactly,” he answers after he swallows. You can tell he still hates the brew.

“Well, thank you for thinking of me,” you say. “If you find yourself needing some more caffeine, just let me know and I’ll make a pot.”

His face says I’ll be taking you up on that in five minutes, but his lips say, “Thanks, (Y/N).”

The next morning, there is a bouquet of blush colored peonies, white gardenias, and purple roses on your desk.

“Vultures today, huh?” Billy says as he comes out of his office and to your desk, placing some outgoing mail in your organizer, adjusting some of the flowers in the assortment of roses, chrysanthemums, and asters. “That phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning.”

“It’s the political season,” you hum as you shift your gaze upward. “All the big wigs want the best security money can buy. You’ve made it clear that you and your people are the ones for that job.”

“You know how to flatter a man,” he chuckles, shaking some nuts you’re snacking on in his hand before plopping them in his mouth. 

“While you’re here,” you say, picking up a few slips of paper, handing them to him in an ordered fashion. “These are those calls back you were waiting for, these are inquiries from the three biggest politicians running for Senate, this is a message from Frank wanting to know if you’re on for dinner at Karen’s, and these are the Ulrich files you were waiting on.”

“Thank you, paperwork Santa,” he says, moving his gaze to quickly examine what is in front of him. “And here I thought it was gonna be a slow day.”

“Around here? Unlikely,” you grin.

He is about to say something more when he turns his head to the ringing of his direct line in his office. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “We’ll talk more later.”

You turn back to your computer in astonishment. We’ll talk more later? Is this the same Billy Russo that hired you? And does he mean casual talk or work talk? He would have made it clear, wouldn’t he?

“Anvil, this is (Y/N),” you say as you continue typing a contract on your desktop.

“(Y/N), hi,” you hear Mr. Russo say on the other end of the line.

“Is everything alright, sir?” you ask, spinning around in your chair and watching your boss  give you a little wave through the industrial loft windows.

“We’ve been over this, you can call me Billy,” he reminds. “We’ve known each other long enough.”

“Sorry, it’s a force of habit.” You have to suppress a blush. “What’s going on?”

“I just got off of a call about that veteran’s fundraiser,” he says, and you shift to flip through the calendar.

“The one on Saturday night?”

“Exactly. They asked me to present an award and introduce a speaker that night. So in addition to networking and schmoozing, I’m gonna need to do some more things.”

“Let me know what you need to have ready, and it’ll be good to go by Friday night.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d come with me Saturday. With my upgrade in duties, they gave me a plus one.”

What? “I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t know if I have anything black tie like that,” you say. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll have it all taken care of. So can I take that as I yes?”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter. “And—.”

“Perfect, you’re the best,” he says, having up the phone with a click.

Did your boss just ask you out? Or is this really just a work engagement?

When you come home from work on Friday, you see a black dress bag hanging off a garment rack with black bag hanging next to it. Locking up and putting down your things on the table by your door, you slowly move over to it.

“Told you I had it taken care of,” the note reads on the bag.

“What did you do, Russo?” you breathe, undoing the zipper. Inside, there is a stunning pine green gown. You look at the label and your mouth drops open: Oscar de la Renta. Taking it out of the bag, you see that it has a v-back, but has fabric coming off of each shoulder to give it a kind of cape effect. You feel like you’re moving in slow motion when you dare look over at the jewelry bag on the right next to it, seeing Harry Winston embossed in gold lettering. Carefully, you take it off of the hangar and peak inside, seeing three boxes neatly arranged. Placing it on your breakfast bar, you pull out the large necklace box, opening it to reveal both a sparkling diamond necklace and its matching earrings. Shocked, you pull the other two boxes out and find that they are the corresponding bracelet and ring. As you look down in disbelief, you catch a Louis Vuitton shoe box at the bottom of the rack.

You sit down on the barstool, lightheaded about the luxury that is around you. As if on cue, you see Billy’s contact light up on your phone.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen what you’ll be wearing tomorrow?” he says after you pick up.

“It’s way too much,” you say. “I appreciate it, but all this is more—it’s too much.”

“It fits the event,” he shrugs off. “It’s a ritzy event full of high-rolling investors, contributors, and other people within the top one per cent. Trust me, you’ll fit right in.”

“I just . . .”

“It’s a lot?” You swear he’s smiling like a devil on the other end.

“A hell of a lot.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the jewelry is on loan,” he says. “But the dress and shoes are yours to keep. Oh, and before I forget, you have an appointment to get your hair and nails done tomorrow with Donna at the Marigold Spa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before your brain can think to ask him more, he is off the line, leaving you stunned in your apartment. 

“Who is it?” you call from your apartment, responding to the rap at the door.

“Your chariot has arrived,” Billy says through the wood.

“I’m almost ready,” you say, nearly falling over as you try to put on the heels standing up. “Come in! It’s open.” You hear the door open and shut, and the click of expensive shoes against the vinyl floor.

“You know, for someone that works for a security company, leaving the door unlocked isn’t secure,” he teases.

“I knew you’d be over soon and I was still getting ready,” you say. “Just a courtesy.”

“To robbers.”

You chuckle as you successfully gain your footing in one of the shoes. “There’s water in the fridge if you’re thirsty,” you start as you slide on the other shoe, throwing a few last minute things in your clutch, and taking one final look at yourself in the mirror.

“I’m good," you hear him chuckle in a low timbre as you clack your way out of your room. “Thank you, though.”

“Alright, I’m all set to go,” you say as you enter the main living space.

Billy turns toward you and stands stock still. His eyes slowly look over your body from head to toe. It’s as if he’s drinking you in.

“Wow,” he finally says, his dark eyes twinkling in the lights of your kitchen.

“Well, the guy that picked it out has really good taste,” you say with a small grin and a blush rising up from your neck to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

He continues to look at you for a little while longer before he realizes that he’s staring.

“These are for you,” he says, holding out a bouquet of burgundy, cream, and lavender roses. “A little thank you for agreeing to come.”

“They’re beautiful,” you say, smelling them. You move to find a vase, getting the flowers settled before walking back towards Billy.

He puts out his arm for you to take.

“Shall we?”

“I still can’t figure out how you manage to do it,” you say as you walk beside Billy after he schmoozes the last of the big-wigs in tuxedos.

“Do what?” Billy asks with a lift of his eyebrow.

“Work so well with these upper-crusty people. Some of them very clearly just a face at this fundraiser and don’t care the same way you do. I don’t know if I could do that.”

“Unfortunately, that’s just what the business is sometimes,” he sighs. “But then I remember that Anvil gives veterans an outlet when they get home—a legitimate career. Then it makes the schmoozing and pretending to care about their Hamptons houses easier.”

“That’s a great way to think about it,” you say softly. 

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

Instead of walking to the direction of your table, Billy leads you to the edge of the dance floor.

“Care do dance?” Billy smiles.

“I can’t promise that I won’t step on your toes,” you say, feeling a blush prick at your cheeks and your ears.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have the band play something slow.”

You wouldn’t be surprised if his Marine-trained ears could hear how hard your heart is beating. 

“How can I say no to that, then?” you say with a small smile, your mouth suddenly very dry.

Billy takes your hand and leads you in. As if the band knows, the song shifts to something slow. Billy holds one of your hands in his while the other rests on the small of your back, his palm spread wide, securely holding you as you both move across the floor.

“And here I was thinking you had two left feet,” he grins.

“Well, I guess it helps that it’s not a formal ballroom dance,” you blush. Seriously, he has to know how fast your heart is racing right now.

“Is this what you thought you’d be doing with your life?” Billy asks as you slowly move in a circle. “Being a secretary, dealing with executives and government officials, and going to charity fundraisers?”

“Isn’t it every little girls dream?” you smirk, quirking an eyebrow.

He chuckles, twirling you to the music before he pulls you back into frame.

“No, really,” Billy whispers. “What did you want to be when you were younger?”

You think about it, but only briefly. “An author, I think. With all the time I spent in the system, I always tried to figure out how I could get out or what it would be like when I did. I’d just write about it. It moved from that to creating these different worlds and different people that were everything that I wasn’t and everything that I couldn’t be. Those are what made me happy. Scholarships from those stories is what got me through college to get my undergrad.”

There’s something soft in his eyes, tender even, as he listens to you talk about your childhood dream. It’s soul-churning and completely devastating in every sense of the word.

“What about you?” you return. “I’m assuming that the military wasn’t six-year-old Billy’s dream.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he admits. “I wanted to be a baseball player. But there were things that happened when I was a kid . . .” He clears his throat. You’ve touched a nerve.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—.”

“No, it’s okay. Saying that my childhood was shitty is an understatement, but it made me who I am and brought me here. In a way, I think the Marines was the only thing that made sense for me.” He gives you a gentle smile, pushing away the dark cloud that emerged on his face. “And just think: without it, we wouldn’t have met. And I don’t know about you, but our time together makes me happier.”

Your heart stops and leaps into your throat. He has to just mean as a coworker—maybe just even someone who isn’t an ex-Marine that he gets to see to break up his environment. You can’t let your mind go to these conclusions. It’d just be a disappointment, and he’s my boss. Still, you find yourself unable to look away from his hypnotic gaze, the tenderness in his expression making you melt. The song stops and he drops the frame, and you let your eyes flutter a few times so you can adjust your head out of the haze he has placed you in. Billy keeps his hand in yours as you stand, pointing his head towards your table. 

“C’mon,” he says. “I heard the steak was supposed to be amazing.”

“Did you have fun tonight?” Billy asks as you hand him a bottle of water, his elbow cooly leaning against the island.

“Surprisingly, yes,” you admit, taking off the heavy jewels. “I don’t know, I hear fancy fundraiser, and I don’t think ‘party.’”

“That’s cuz you’ve never been to a Billy Russo fundraiser,” he smirks.

“I guess those are the only ones worth going to, then.”

“You know, I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“You are?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Oh,” you blush, but a nagging question starts to echo in the back of your brain. “I-I didn’t mean to. Just tired.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll let you be for the night,” he says with a soft smile, giving you hand a gentle squeeze on the island before he moves away. “See you Monday, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. 

Okay, that’s it.

“Are you only being nice to me because you found out I grew up in foster care?” you blurt as he walks towards the door. There’s no turning back now. “Before, you’d never say more than you needed to to me, and now for five months, you’ve gotten me flowers, you ask about my day, you know my coffee order, and you left me an insanely gorgeous gown and jewelry to wear to a fundraiser that I wasn’t supposed to go to in the first place.” You pause for a moment, processing that you’re probably running a bond that you’ve wanted for a long time, not to mention your job, probably. “What’s changed?”

“You know I grew up in the system?” he asks, his head turned to the side while his back is still to you.

“I do,” you answer. You had done some deep digging when you were applying for the job, trying to find out as much about the company and its founder as possible.

“Then you should realize that I sympathize with you. Pouring your life into something to move yourself as far away from your past as possible.”

“What I’m really hearing is that all of this from the last few months has just been pity,” you say bitterly, and you try to push away the feeling of tears stinging at your waterline. “And if that’s what this job has turned into, then I don’t need it. I know my worth, and it’s more than that—than whatever this is.”

Your statement causes him to spin around so fast you think he’s gonna get whiplash. He strides over to you so quickly you almost can’t process it. He drops his keys to the ground before kissing you hard, one hand on your waist as the other holds onto the back of your head. He almost knocks you off your feet, but his hands on your body assure that it can’t be a possibility. Your hands rest on his shoulder as your lips move against him, kissing him back just as urgently. His beard tickles a little, but you’re not moving in a way that makes it scratch. When Billy finally pulls away, you’re both left panting for air.

“It’s not pity,” he clarifies. “It’s admiration. I had always thought you were some brown-noser with daddy issues, but you always had this integrity and determination. And then . . .” he trails, his eyes intent and glassy. “I know that drive you have, and that fear of being a disappointment. Hell, that’s how I got here. I wanted to show you that we’re not that shit that happened to us. I wanted to show you that I care.”

“It’s a hell of a way to show it,” you say quietly, looking at his big brown eyes. “I, um . . .” you swallow hard and let emotion contort your face, reeling your feelings in before you continue. “Every time someone finds out, they treat me differently. I really didn’t want you to be one of those people. You might not have thought so, but the way you treated me before made me feel like I finally had a place, y’know? I had a purpose to do something. That I was needed and wanted.”

“I know,” he nods.

“I guess I’m just confused why now.” 

“You’ve been my secretary for four years. You know things about me that I don’t even know all the time. You know things about me that you don’t need to know, but you care enough to. I’ve always wanted to know those things about you, but . . . I’m not great at communication with people that—.” He stops to clear his throat, furrowing his brows together. “The only good relationships I have are with Frank and Curtis, and that’s because we’ve been through hell and back with and for one another. I didn’t know where to start with you, because you just come in and you’re like this . . . force to be reckoned with. I guess that finding out we had something in common made me think I could know you better.”

Billy tucks some stray hair behind your ear as he looks at you. “I don’t want to go back to what this was before,” he says softly. “I like this. Having a friend. Connecting with someone. And . . . I like to think this has the potential to be more than that. Than friends.” 

“Well, I guess I need to know if you kiss all your friends like that.”

A small smile spreads across Billy’s face. “Just the ones that use lemon shampoo and look good in designer dresses.”

“I’m not fired, am I?” you whisper. “Because I think a kiss like that is some kind of HR violation.”

“Not if you don’t want to be,” he responds. “I will say, though, the job market is tough right now.”

“Is this something we can do?”

“I’m willing to make it work if you are.”

You nod your head. “Let’s try it.”

Billy leans back in for a kiss, this one more gentle that the last, but just as deep. Your arms wrap around him and settle on his back, and you feel him lift you up slightly as he pulls you into him.

“We’re gonna do this slowly,” he breathes, brushing his nose against yours, his chocolate eyes staring into your soul.

“Okay,” you quietly agree. “Slow.”

“We have different definitions of slow,” you hum as Billy presses a kiss to the back of your naked shoulder.

“Trust me, I wanted to, but I have a thing for brunettes in designer dresses,” he says, dragging his hands down the bare curves of your body in post-sex bliss. “And it looks just as good on the floor as it did on you tonight.”

You laugh as you roll onto your back, your head resting on his shoulder. 

“Hi,” he says with a dreamy look on his face.

“Hi,” you say, returning his gaze. He leans down and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips before resting his cheek on the crown of your head. You lay like this in blissful silence as his fingers play with yours, the pale moonlight trickling into your bedroom through the curtains. You think he has fallen asleep—and you almost have—when he shifts a little on the mattress.

“Did you ever think of finding them?” he asks quietly. You know exactly who “them” is.

“I did find them,” you say. “I found out all about them, too. A little after I told you about growing up in the system, actually—curiosity got the best of me.” You think about what you know, and the silence weighs heavy in the bedroom. “My father was an alcoholic, and my mother used all kinds of drugs. They had a short and nasty relationship and split before I was born. My dad worked on the docks, showed up one day drunk, hit is head, and drowned. Based on his obituary, I was six when he died. My mom sobered up around that time, got married, and lives in Cape Cod.” You feel hot, angry tears sting at your waterline. “Two kids, and a freakin golden retriever.”

“And I’m guessing you don’t want to reach out?” he asks carefully.

You scoff. “No. Didn’t want me then, won’t want me now. I’m a part of that past that she worked to forget. I don’t want to go near her with a ten-foot pole. Besides, if she wanted to know me, she’d find me. She’d find a way. And she hasn’t. That says all I need to know.”

Billy wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, pressing a long kiss to your forehead.

“She’s missing out on the best person that I know,” he whispers.

Too emotional to respond, you snuggle into him and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

“Have you?” you whisper. “Found yours?”

“I found my mom,” he swallows. “She chose meth over me—she safe-havened me. From then on it was group homes.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I think I’ve made my peace with it all. Can’t change it. But it made me who I am, and I’m okay with who I am.”

You don’t ask any more onto the subject. Instead, you snuggle in closer to him.

“For what it’s worth,” you breathe. “I really like who you are, too.”

Billy turns so you’re huddled together chest-to-chest, his arms holding onto you tightly, kissing your forehead before tucking your head under his chin. You fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

You practically jump out of your skin when you feel a pair of arms loosely wrap around your middle.

“Jesus, Billy,” you sigh. “You really don’t make a sound if you’re not wearing Italian leather shoes.”

His laugh comes out as a hum as he places a kiss on the back of your neck, right on a bundle of nerves he found out about last night.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” he murmurs into your skin. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” you grin as you turn the waffle maker.

He kisses your neck again before resting his chin on your shoulder. “I thought the guy was supposed to make breakfast.”

“Not in my house,” you say, running your fingers through his hair as you move to flip some bacon. “My place, my job to make you some food.”

“Fine,” he sighs, moving from you, but not before placing a light smack on your rear. “But I make the coffee.”

“You want any eggs?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says, pouring coffee grounds into the filter. “This all is more than enough. I don’t usually get to enjoy this part.”

“Well, if we’re gonna make a habit of this, it’s something you better get used to.”

You finish making breakfast in harmony, exchanging sections of the newspaper as you eat.

“Wow,” Billy chews, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re destroying the crossword.”

“It’s a talent,” you smirk as you pause before filling in the rest of your answer. “Now, is it ‘ei’ or ‘ie’ in Steinbeck? I can never remember.”

“I guess you got cocky too soon,” he smiles.

“Yes, and I’m big enough to admit it. Which is it?”

“I’ll tell you, but it’ll cost ya.”

“Oh?” you say as his hand slides into mine, silently inviting you to get up and sit in his lap. You do, and his free hand squeezes your thigh.

“It’s gonna cost you a kiss,” he hums.

“Mm, you run a hard bargain, but I think I can afford that,” you smile, biting your lip as you press your mouth into his. It’s tender, and even with coffee in your systems, there’s something sexily sleepy about the embrace.

“It’s ‘ei’,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours before placing another kiss on you lips.

“Thank you,” you say, filling in the squares and placing a soft kiss on the freckle just below his eye. His hand then gently holds your cheek, bringing your lips down to his. The kisses grow more needy, and just after he adjusts you so your legs straddle his lap, his phone starts to ring. Reluctantly, he pulls away and looks at his phone.

“Shit,” he hisses before he answers. “Hey, Frankie.”

“Brother, where are you?” you hear Frank ask through the phone.

“Yeah, no, I’m on my way,” he sighs. “I just got a little held up this morning.”

“Mm, yeah,” you hear him chuckle. “Where’d you find this one?”

Billy looks at you with warm, sparkling eyes. “I think she found me.”

“And the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes that day.”

“Yeah, shut up,” he chuckles. “I’ll be there soon.”

Billy hangs up to avoid any more snark over the line from his friend, but not before kissing you once more.

“I didn’t realize it was this late,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I gotta go.”

“I know: ten o’clock runs with Frank, every Sunday. And if you go by the office, you have some extra workout clothes there so you don’t have to run in a tuxedo.”

“Nothin’ gets by you.”

“Nope,” you smile, popping the ‘p’.

You get up from his lap and begin to clean up the table while Billy moves back to your room to get his clothes.

“I will trade you one dress shirt for one very soft and fluffy robe,” he offers when he comes back into the kitchen, your Hello Kitty robe hanging from his finger.

“I guess I accept,” you sigh dramatically. You slide Billy’s shirt off of your body and hand it to him as he slides the robe onto your shoulders.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, adjusting the collar on your robe.

“Tomorrow,” you nod. “Have fun with Frank.”

“Somethin’ tells me I’d be havin’ more fun here.”

He leans down to kiss you, repeatedly procrastinating his delay with each punctuation of his lips.

“Okay,” he kisses. “I’ll see you—.” Kiss. “—tomorrow morning—.” Kiss. “—bright—.” Kiss. “—and—.” Kiss. “—early.”

You giggle as he takes you in for more kisses. You pull away from his reach, only to be swept back in for one final kiss.

“I really gotta go, now,” he sighs, tucking hair behind your ear.

“I know. I’ll see you soon.”

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[buckyhoney]

𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this idea got stuck in my head, but enjoy another kinktober fic!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!frank castle x sub!reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝! 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, bondage, daddy kink, very light dumbification kink, light degrading kink, praise kink, oral (m receiving), face fucking, sorry for any missed typos!

"Look at you," Frank stepped back, admiring his work.

The knot was complex and tight around your skin- enough to leave little imprints.

You looked up through your eyelashes at the man towering over your body. The sight of the rope tied intracity around your chest alone was enough to cum- the way the thick rope highlighted your breasts and restrained your hands behind your back.

Tonight, Frank wanted to try something different than your usual. You weren't sure if you're like being this restrained, but when you caught a glimpse of yourself from the mirror behind him? You couldn't help but feel the flutter between your thighs.

"S'perfect," He mumbled, running the side of his finger under the side of your breast.

"What are you gonna do with me, Daddy?" Frank kneeled in front of you, dipping his hand between your legs, soothing your inner thigh.

"Hm, Daddy's gonna have so much fun with you, bunny." He smiles as his thumb runs over your clit.

Bunny.

Frank felt your pussy contract.

"You liked that one, didn't you?" The heat rose to your cheeks and you shyly nod.

He teased over your clit a few more times before pulling his hand away.

"You're gonna be a good little bunny and suck Daddy's cock, yeah?" Nodding gently, you settled back on your legs.

Frank stood up in front of you. His cock was already leaking with precum the moment he discarded his briefs. He's heavy and thick- it's a wonder how you're able to fit him inside you. The sight made your mouth water and reach to touch him, but you were stopped by the rope holding your wrists securely behind you.

"Aw, dumb bunny, did you forget you can't use your hands?" You could feel the arousal leak from your pussy.

"Daddy's gonna help you, you don't need to think about anything else except my cock." He stroked himself a few times in front of you, watching your eyes light up.

"Open." You stick your tongue out, waiting patiently for his next move.

Frank taps your tongue- teasing you, but you whine impatiently. He chuckles, slipping himself inside your mouth. Instinctually, you close your lips around his tip. You push forward, taking more of his length. Frank smiles at your obedience, caressing your cheek.

"Good girl. More." Obeying his command, you relax your jaw allowing him to push all of himself inside your mouth.

His tip grazes the back of your throat and you gag around him. Frank pulls himself out completely, letting you get a breath. Your chest heaves and your sounds are already horse.

"Just like that- 'm gonna fuck that pretty little mouth now, okay?" Your pussy ached and you nodded eagerly, readjusting on your legs.

He gets a good grip on the back of your head before beginning with soft thrusts. There are incoherent curses each time he hits the back of your throat. You're looking up at him, not breaking eye contact- even as the saliva and precum drip down your chin.

Frank loved how obedient you are, how willingly you were to give up breath for a taste of his cock.

You kept attempting to reach for him, only to be reminded that it wasn't an option. It began to frustrate you and tears swelled in your eyes.

Frank watched as the tears trickled down the sides of your face as you fought against the rope. You knew it was a losing battle, the knots were too thick.

Oh, the tears. The tears.

"Oh, bunny, you look so fucking pretty crying over my cock-" He grunted, picking up the pace.

"That mouth- fuck- 'm gonna cum-" Soon your throat became numb and you're eyes fluttered open- the only thought running through your mind was his cum.

"Shit, bunny, s'perfect for me, choking my cock like that-" His thrust became sloppy and you're whining around him, begging for his cum.

Frank holds himself against your mouth as ropes of cum shoot down your throat. The moans get caught in his throat but escape with such rasp.

Pulling himself out, his cum spills around the corners of your mouth. You're gasping for air, but Frank kneels down and holds your throat. You stick your tongue out, showing him that you've swallowed all you could. Frank is beaming and brings his mouth to yours.

"That's my fucking girl, such an obedient slut." Frank is in awe of you, how eager you are to please him, and good you always make him feel.

"Daddy's so proud of you," Frank helps guide you to stand.

[blackeyewhiterose]

It was hard to see Frank’s family photos clearly in canon, so I grabbed these from the Netflix prop auction a little while ago and cleaned them up. Feel free to make use of them for any really sad Punisher fan projects you’re working on.

[antiheroapologist]

Chaotic dead men who become best friends trope

[biisexualemma]

killer. frank castle

word count: 1.8k

warnings: fighting, threat, assault

requested: by me

plot: you’re on the hunt for frank, but somehow he keeps finding you

a/n: haven’t written for this fella in a while but hope you enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it ! ugh frank castle is on another level to these boys i swear

masterlist

you scoped out the area below from your position on a rooftop that you frequented. it had the best view of the city, made it good spot for picking out bad guys. you'd found some of your best bad guys up here. on this particular night you were waiting on a certain vigilante that had been pissing a lot of people off in your neighbourhood recently. you'd been tipped off on his whereabouts, but so far it seemed that your intel was a load of crap. you'd been squatting for well over an hour now, your legs were getting tired and so were your eyes, and still no sign of him.

you pulled out your phone to check the time, 1:37am, with a sigh of defeat, you slipped the knife in your hand back into it's holder against your thigh and with a grunt you pushed yourself back up onto your feet. "i'm getting too old for this shit," you mumbled to yourself, stretching your arms over your head to undo the ache you'd developed from sitting so long in such an uncomfortable position.

you pulled open your messages in your phone and sent a quick text to matt, relaying that your stake out had been a bust and that you were heading home for the night. you were sure he was still out at this time of night, he usually was, he never knew when to quit. tucking your phone in your back pocket, you took one last glance over the ledge-- nothing out of the ordinary. you turned to climb back down fire escape, your breath catching in your throat when you felt the cool metal touch your forehead. you flinched when the gun was pressed harder against your head, eyebrows tightening into a frown as you faltered and took a step backwards.

you tried to discreetly reach for the knife strapped to your thigh but the sound of the gun cocking caused you to freeze. "ah--ah," his voice was gruff and dismissive. "don't try that shit-- hands where i can see 'em," you followed his instruction, your frown deepening when you lifted your arms, hands in his sightline. "better," he mumbled the praise. "now, you wanna' tell me why you're looking for me?"

"who said i was looking for you?" you should probably have less of an attitude towards the man holding a gun to your head. "maybe i just like stalking on rooftops like a creep?"

he let out a disgruntled scoff at your sarcasm. sensing no threat from you, he lowered the gun from your forehead, letting you get a full glimpse of his face. sharp jawline, jagged features and a few cuts and bruises littering his skin. his eyes, however, were soft and gentle, the last thing you had expected. after a brief hesitation, you lunged yourself at the man, your hand successfully grabbing your knife and swinging it at him as he fell back, only just missing the blade.

"shoulda' never let that gun slip, punisher," you grumbled, jabbing your blade at him in every direction but every time he managed to slip out of the way, or block your attack. he caught your wrist as you went for the throat, his eyebrow quirking as he glanced down at your pink cheeks and angered stare. the knife barely touched the skin of his throat, his grip on your arm stopping you from causing any real harm to him.

"won't underestimate you again, sorry," he quipped. you grunted, trying to remove your wrist from his hold but he had you in a strong grip and he wasn't budging. "the pretty face threw me off," the corner of his lip turned up slightly when your frown deepened, using all of your strength to yank your arm out of his grip with a groan of annoyance.

your breathing was heavy, you still held the knife in a tight grip in your palm, you didn't dare let your guard down. not after the stories you'd heard about him. you blew a stray piece of hair out of your face, quirking an eyebrow at him. "you think i'm pretty?"

you locked with his eyes, two could play at this game.

he held your stare for long enough before he broke it, shaking his head. "go home, sweetheart."

"why? 'cause that's where a woman belongs?" you tilted your head to the side, egging him on.

he shook his head, jaw tightened as he pulled his eyes away from you and tucked his gun back under his arm. "if you wanna stay here and get your ass beat, i'd be more than happy to give it to you," he teased. "feminism and all, right?"

your teeth gritted together, rolling your eyes away from him. "if anyone's getting their ass beat—"

"is that what that just was?" his eyes held your hard stare for a moment before trailing down to rake over the rest of you. he let out a light scoff, to which you squared your shoulders and folded your arms over your chest. a scowl on your face, you opened your mouth to tell him off when he beat you to it. "you're pretty cute when you're mad, you know sweetheart.”

your eyes widened with fury. "cute?" you repeated, as if maybe you'd misheard the mass murderer you'd been sent to scope out. "i could literally kill you."

he was amused at how easily you could be tormented. usually stoic and unfeeling towards his enemies, frank couldn't help but find you intriguing and kind of amusing. he had no doubt you could hold your own, but you held your swings when attacking him earlier. made him think of you differently. that and you had these big, expressive eyes that showed your every intention whether you meant them to or not.

"hm," his lips turned down into a slight frown, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting at you carefully. "maybe, if you really wanted to," he shrugged. "but you don't," he took a calculated step closer to you, scoping you out for a reaction. "want to, do you?"

your feet stayed firmly in place, eyes darting between his as he stood closer to you now. you weren't one to back down, no matter how intimidating he was trying to seem. you tilted your head back slightly, holding his brown eyes with your own carefully. you wondered how such a brute of a man could have such soft brown eyes. "want me to show you again how much i really want to?"

frank humphed, a small smile lining his lips, causing your eyes to uncontrollably drift down to the curve before immediately darting back upwards. he took a step back again, his hand leaving it's place on his holster. you didn't intend to, but you felt your body uncontrollably move towards his as he moved away. you thought you had disguised it quite well but frank caught it. "cute," he mumbled before backing away from you.

you didn't attempt to follow him.

-

you didn't see him again for a while after that, until a few weeks later. you were walking home after a long night. drinks at josie's had turned into foggy and karen finishing an entire bottle of whiskey and stumbling out of the bar in the early hours of the morning. you had followed behind them fairly sober, with matt beside you stone cold sober.

"y'sure you'll be alright?" matt reached out and touched your forearm, eyebrows knitted slightly.

you nodded with a soft, sleepy smile. "i can handle myself, you know this better than anyone," you gave his hand a squeeze before turning your separate ways home.

"i can still walk you home if you want?" he called out after you'd turned your back on him and began the walk back to your place.

you waved him off, "g'night matt!" you called out, not even looking over your shoulder as you walked the five minutes to your apartment.

you turned the corner leading to your street, only to find a couple of men walking right in your direction. you gulped, head down, moving to cross to the other side of the street like it was the most normal thing in the world, and not deliberate.

"hey!" one of them called faintly, you ignored him, pretending that you didn't know his holler was directed at you. you sped up, fumbling in your pocket to find the keys to your apartment that was in sight just down the street.

all of sudden a hand grabbed your forearm, and another wrapped around your back, forcing you to keep moving forward. your immediate reaction was to pull away, you jolted but his grip was solid. your breathing was heavy, eyebrows furrowed as you struggled, trying to drag your heels.

"relax," you recognised the voice, your head shot back where you saw none other than the punisher himself. your frown deepened when you realised. "i'm helping, alright, sweetheart? act natural."

you stared at him with confusion, anger and a little bit of fear still lingering. though, as much as you wanted to hit him for scaring the shit out of you, you couldn't help but feel just a little bit relieved.

"i didn't ask for your help," you spoke through gritted teeth. glancing over your shoulder for a split second you saw the two men that had been following you, slowly receding when they saw you were with frank.

"yeah, well, you didn't need to," he grumbled, his grip still tight as ever on you. "keep walking, alright? are they gone yet?"

you took another discreet glance, noticing that they had in fact turned around and were heading in the other direction now. you let out a huff. "yeah, they're gone."

his grip loosened but he didn't let go entirely, he continued to walk you along the street up to your building.

"this you?" he nodded to the building you'd stopped in front of.

"yeah," you spoke quietly. you didn't know what to make of this. you were supposed to be bringing this guy in for some pretty indescribable crimes, but here he was helping you out. it didn't make any sense. you cleared your throat. "yeah— this is me."

he nodded, his lips stretched into a permanent frown, his eyes hardly meeting yours at all. he tucked his hands in his pockets.

you stood still, frozen in place as you watched him fidget. your eyebrows slowly knitted together the longer your eyes studied him. "how did you know where i was?"

he shook his head, turning partially away from you. "don't walk home by yourself anymore, alright?" he mumbled.

"you didn't answer my question, frank," you called out as he turned to walk away.

"just be more careful."

"i can handle myself," you argued back as he walked away from you.

"yeah, you showed me," he called over his shoulder. "bad shit can still happen."

you were left baffled on your doorstep. was this the same frank castle you had met a few weeks ago?

[ellooo0ooo]

Siren!Billy Russo🧜‍♀️ w/ short comic

Based on this post, written by @becauseicantthinkwritings (really sorry;;;) with @marvelmusing's moodboard

I missed some things a little too late for me, and I'm embarrassed about it lol sorry afkhask

Some obstacles must be overcome so it took a while to finish akfjlaksjfl

Also @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend here it is!

[fluffyprettykitty]

Purify

Pairing: Frank Castle x female reader (no other specifications!)

Word Count: 1022 words

Outline: Frank is the kind of man to simply refuse to leave you alone for a second.

Warnings: swearing, pet names, a tiny bit of existential angst.

Author’s Note: This is my entry for @that-sarcastic-writer 's writing challenge! Congratulations baby for this milestone, wishing nothing but happiness in your path, mwah! My prompts were sfw, "am I showering alone? - Absolutely not." with Frankie boy. This was so cute to write and I added some extra feelings just for that extra sparkle :)

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics ​//​ banners by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist ・❥・Frank Castle Masterlist

“Frank!” 

You shout followed by a giggle trying to escape his tickle attack. It has only been ten minutes since you devoured the lovely breakfast he had made you and now all you wanted to do was to take a shower. You had plans to go meet your friends in the city for a cup of coffee and is not like Frank hadn’t had already a taste of you but there he was clingy and lovely as always. 

“I need to start getting ready.” You breathe out, desperation evident in your voice, placing a kitchen chair between the two of you. 

“I am not getting in your way. You are the one rearranging pieces of furniture. “ Oh, he wants to act all smart now. Frank shrugs his shoulders trying to look innocent. 

“Cut the crap.” You warn him and turn on your heel, only for him to grab you over your arm and turn you around. He pins you against the bathroom door, your wrists above your head looking at you with a cocky smile. 

“That’s an awful mouth you got there, baby.” He shakes his head mockingly. “I don’t like my baby to use bad words.” You manage to hide very well The shiver you feel up your spine. His possessive nature always riled you on but you knew how to keep yourself in check. Otherwise, you’d always be just a toy for him to play with. You roll your eyes so slowly, knowing exactly the kind of game he is playing. 

Two can play that game. 

“Daddy will let me go and let me have a shower because he loves me and wants me to see my friends and he doesn’t fucking care whether I fucking swear or not.” You bat your eyelashes at him and you watch him as he slowly licks his lips at you, loving your dominant side. Oh, the things he could do to you!

“Alright.” He lets go of your hands but doesn’t move his body away from yours. “But only if Daddy gets to watch.” That wasn’t too bad of a plan actually. But what if he…?

“No.” You roll your eyes again and wiggle your body under him and open the door. Quickly you get inside and close the door behind you. Momentarily you think that he let you go way too easily. You sit by the door trying to decipher what he is doing until you see the door handle moving. 

“I got a question for you, dove.”

“Will I want to hear it?”

“‘Course. Is a smart question.”

“Ah-huh. What is it?”

“Can I watch?”

“Frank!”

“Is a good question!”

“Is a question that has already been answered.”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask a second time. Pretty baby might have changed their mind.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure, baby. Shoot.”

“Can I shower alone?”

He pushes the door more open sticking his head there.

“Absolutely not.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms together looking at him.

“That is not fair. ” You turn around in protest. 

“You rejected mine…” He whispers, making a puppy face. “I think that was very cruel of you. I am willing to abide by any rules…”

“Abide?”

“Yeah.”

“By any rules?”

“Yeah, baby, anything for you.”

“No touching.” You warn him turning around to give him a stern look while moving the shower curtain away. He is nodding his head in response walking inside the small room. 

“No touching yourself either.” You continue and look at him sternly pointing your dexter at him. 

“I promise, doll.” He grins at you and leans on the bathroom door. “Daddy knows to behave.” Oh, he uses daddy now. Great. 

“He better.” You look at him while turning on the faucet, letting the water run, and then you proceed to take off the shirt (which of course is one of his since is so big and cozy) revealing yourself naked to him. 

“Behave.” You warn him again and get inside the shower watching him slowly stroke his beard. 

He is observing you when you begin to throw warm water on yourself throwing your head back trying to relax. 

“You look beautiful, like a nymph from an old tale washing in a river.” 

You chuckle at that and before you know it big strong hands are on your back massaging you. 

“And like a dutiful knight dedicated to this beauty, I must pay my respects.” You can’t help but laugh softly. His touch is pure magic working on your tendons and muscles so masterfully. He takes the shower head from your hands and put it on its handle, turning you around to look at him. 

“No adult activities.” You shake your head and he obliges opting for the loofah. He uses some product from your favorite shower gel and begins to lather you up. His hands were delicate and intimate, never touching directly any of your erotic zones. He is precise and the look in his eyes is so full of love and devotion to you. 

Truth is Frank’s a pure sweetheart, he could make you melt with just one of his warm smiles. He makes you happy, he makes you feel whole, and right here in this tiny shower, you feel complete. You feel loved and cared for. A small tear leaves the corner of your eyes and he catches it, kissing it away. This was a man who came by, pulled you right out of the darkness, and washed all of your insecurities and past resentments of love away. He held you late at night and worshipped you early in the morning. Held your hand in every street and brought you flowers every morning. 

“I don’t want you to be late.“ He whispers kissing the top of your head and you shallow a lump and look up at him.

“Thank you for loving me.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I love you.”

You press your body on his and hug him tightly allowing the water to fall on both of your naked bodies for a little while. You didn’t mind being a little late.

No, not today. 

If you want to be notified about my future stories please follow my library blog @fluffyprettykittylibrary and turn on notifications, my inbox, and my requests are open!

[mycurrenthyperfxations]

…I wake up most mornings, and I want it. I hope for it.

[russobaby]

too close for comfort

Billy Russo x Female OC

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of death

A/N: Just a little teeny tiny something I wrote up when I was feeling mopey. 303 Words. 

It was raining in New York. She watched the water droplets stutter their descent down the hospital window. Was this weather a cruel joke from the universe or an act of solidarity as if to say I am relating to you in the best way I can. The sunken feeling had evolved into numbness and the still energy in the room matched everything she was feeling inside. 

A steady beep to the beat of Billy’s heart being the only thing to ground her to the current reality. The doctor's words replayed in her head and the word “coma” ran on an endless loop. Looking down at the silver band around her finger she thinks back to six months ago. 

-

A different pit settled in her stomach then, concerned over what might make its way up from her stomach and ruin her gorgeous white gown. Billy, being so in tune to her, finds his way to the corner of the church she was currently hiding in (eyes closed tight obviously) and within seconds the unsettled nerves ease into a wave of warmth washing over her.   

“Breathe with me baby.” He whispers to her.

She takes a deep inhale tightening her hold on him followed by a deep exhale releasing all the tension in her body. They do this a couple more times until she’s calmed down and they simply hold each other. The steady beat of his heart lulls her racing mind. By his side she always felt invincible. 

-

Six months. That’s all the powers-that-be, gave to them. She would do anything to go back to three nights ago. She should’ve tried harder to stop him. 

“He’s not at death’s door yet.” A gruff voice shakes her from her thoughts. 

“Maybe not Frank,” she whispers “But he’s too close for comfort.”

[marvelmusing]

Billy Russo as random fake headlines I found on Pinterest (I was mostly motivated to make this by seeing the first one and thinking of Billy)

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Fall Drabbles, Day 7

prompt: flannel

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank loves that you wear his clothes but would rather you stay warm when you're not feeling well.

warnings: swearing, brief non-graphic descriptions of illness, fluff

a/n: I keep warning for swearing but I don't even think these all have swearing lol. Anyways, another one in the Lumberjack!Frank AU!

w/c: <1k

Treading up the hill through the snow, Frank hefted the pile of freshly split logs to the top of the existing stack, except for the handful he carried under his arm and into the cabin. Kicking off his boots, he carefully placed two new logs into the dying fire, stirring the embers before replacing the screen as quietly as he could. 

The house was dark, quiet—lacking the life that you usually brought to it. That was what he expected tonight, though. He'd been out later than usual, a cacophony of nightmares and intrusive thoughts plaguing his mind as he hacked into tree after tree.  Combined with the fact that you were feeling under the weather, he was glad to come home to a silent house and a diminishing fire rather than an exhausted, yet awake, girlfriend. 

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he plopped down on the sofa, snatching his current read from the end table as he sat. As he made his way through a few chapters, the growing heat from the flames pushed the chill from his aging bones. Shifting onto his side, a soft padding caught his attention. You shuffled out from his bedroom, rubbing your eyes with a yawn. 

“Hiya, sleepyhead.” Frank murmured, catching you as you collapsed into his lap. “How're ya feelin'?“

Giving a half-hearted shrug, you nestled in against him. ”Little better.“ Your poor voice was scratchy and quiet as a mouse. He was overcome with the urge to whisk you back into the bedroom and bundle you up tightly—especially when he registered that your outfit was only a flannel shirt. 

”Hmm, ya don't sound too good. Ain't ya chilly, sweetheart?“ He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing one hand over your exposed thigh in an attempt to warm you up. 

Nodding against his neck, you shuddered. Frowning, Frank pressed a kiss to your head. “Why don't we get ya somethin' better to wear? Ya look adorable in my shirt, doll, but it ain't the warmest choice.”

Making a mournful noise of protest, you wrapped the soft fabric tightly around yourself. “I like it. It's soft, like you.” 

Frank chuckled at the unique description of himself, hand still stroking your bare leg. “A'right, let's get ya some pants, at least.”

Gently setting you on your feet, Frank's heart swelled with a protective affection when you shyly took his hand as he led you to the bedroom. You looked so small in his massive shirt, arms completely dwarfed by the plaid sleeves

Finding his softest pair of sweats, he held them up. “How 'bout these?” 

At your sleepy yet affirmative nod, he gestured for you to sit before slipping the pants over your legs. Tying the string tightly to prevent the oversized fabric from falling down, Frank perched next to you, holding you upright as a coughing fit bent you at the waist. 

“Christ, doll, you ok?” In lieu of a response, you sighed roughly and let him put an arm around your sagging shoulders. “Why don't I make ya somethin’ hot to drink before we both get some rest?” 

“Yes please.” You whispered, hoarsely. Kissing your cheek tenderly, Frank stood up and made for the door—only to be pulled back by your weak grip.

“Can I come?” Your voice cracked around the request and he winced as his own throat ached in sympathy. 

“If you want to, darlin’,” He nodded, grasping your waist to help you off the bed. 

Once in the kitchen, Frank got to work. Grabbing a lemon, some honey, and a bottle of whiskey from the pantry, he pulled you flush against him as the water started to boil—tucking your unusually warm head under his chin and drawing circles over your back. 

Grimacing at the shrill whistle from the teapot, you withdrew from his comforting embrace, giving an insincere smile when he showed you the silly mug he’d set aside. 

Frank made quick work of the task at hand, whipping up the hot toddy with ease and passing it to you. “Careful, darlin’, it’s hot.” 

Nodding blearily, you gratefully accepted the mug, pulling it to your flannel-covered chest with a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.” You murmured, blowing on the liquid before taking a few small sips. Humming appreciatively, you closed your eyes. 

“Anytime, babydoll.”

[peterman-spideyparker]

Mr. Russo (Bonus Bit!) (Billy Russo x Reader)

Author’s Note: Heyo! So the first part of this fic got mad love!!! Thank you to everyone who has read! Since you guys enjoyed it so much, I've decided to post the thousand-ish words I cut from the original to serve as a little bonus. Enjoy! :)

Summary: Having given into your feelings for Billy, you two have fallen into a very comfortable relationship that you have decided to keep on the down-low.

Warnings: Fluff, soft!Billy having heart eyes, smut (P in V, crazy office sex, dirty talk, Billy being a dom?--am I using that right?), cursing

Other Characters: Frank Castle

Word Count: 1,022

“Paul Meadows sent over the contract all signed,” you say as you open the file folder, getting the paper to where he needs to sign.

“Took him long enough,” Billy sighs, scribbling his signature on the line.

“Well, it might have helped that I sent an email gently reminding him that Anvil reserves the right to end a business relationship with a party if we do not here back within a timely fashion—even if they’ve put down a significant deposit. Oh, and they we can charge extra for their negligence of a proposed agreement due to the sensitive nature of the cases and other organizations that seek us out.”

Billy looks up at you astonished.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to send an email like that, and you know it,” you chuckle.

“I know, but I love how ruthless you can be sometimes.”

“Just the life of a kick-ass secretary,” you sigh with a smile as you collect the folder to put with the active files.

“Want to grab some dinner tonight?” he asks as you finger through the file cabinet. “Italian, maybe? We could do Fratello’s.”

“Mm, that sounds delicious.” You close the file cabinet and lean against the cool metal. “But you see, I have plans.”

“Plans?” he repeats.

“Not fancy plans, but plans that are gonna keep me here for a while.”

“Tell me what they are so I can talk some sense into your boss. I know he can be a hard-ass, but a proper one-on-one will let me tell him that your man needs you tonight.” There’s humor and teasing in his voice, but a sensual darkness grows in his onyx eyes, making you blush.

“It’s Boss’s Day today,” you elaborate, knowing that any sort of lying and deflection won’t be any use to you this time. “I was gonna stay late tonight to get even more done so you don’t have to worry about them during the day.”

“Is that why my coffee was waiting on my desk this morning with my favorite kind of bagel, and like, half the work there should be?”

“There’s a chance,” you hum with a soft smile and slight tilt of your head.

“Tell you what,” he says as he gets up, leaving little space between your bodies. “You give me some files back, I’ll make us a reservation for around 8, and I stay late to help you. What kind of boss would I be if I let the best secretary do more work that she should? You should know I’m a giver.”

“Just trying to give a little back, that’s all.”

“You already do plenty of that,” he says, taking your hand in his and gently rubbing the back with his thumb. “Can we call it a date?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “It’s a date.”

Billy moves in to kiss you, but you duck your head to the side just as he stops himself.

“Later,” you whisper.

“Later,” he agrees.

You moan a deep, primal sound as Billy kisses your neck, deeply rocking into you in the empty office. You don’t have much you can grasp onto, but Billy makes sure that you are secure between him and the wall. This is the third location in his office that you’ve worked on—from his chair, then his desk, and now finally the wall, the bricks lightly scratching your bare back.

“I like stayin’ late,” he grunts, placing a hungry kiss on your lips, one hand carefully moving up your side to your breast while the other holds onto your waist with a bruising grip.

You laugh as you run your fingers through your hair. “This is more fun than what I usually do,” you sigh, nipping at his earlobe.

“I’m gonna make it better,” he breathes, putting a finger between your bodies and quickly rubbing you, making you see stars as your brain and any coherent train of though begins to quickly melt into nothingness.

“Billy . . .”

“Fuck, babygirl,” he moans as you squeeze him for everything he’s worth. “You feel so good around me like that. Your pussy’s so sensitive, huh? So sensitive from havin’ me fuck you all over my office and makin’ you cum so hard, huh? Isn’t that right, baby? You cum so good for me. Fuck.”

You have no idea how Billy is forming coherent sentences right now. Billy’s thrusts become more erratic and you scrunch his crisp white shirt that hangs wide open as he finally gets closer to his end after holding back for so long. As he works to fuck the hot ropes of his cum deep inside of you, someone kicks his door open.

“Freeze! Hands where I can see them!” a gruff voice calls, shining a light in your faces. You both halt your movements to look over, and the man puts the flashlight and gun down, looking away from your compromising position.

“Bill?” the voice asks. It’s Frank.

“Hey, man,” he responds, clearing his throat. Billy doesn’t embarrass easily, but you can tell in the dimly lit office that a little flush of embarrassment graces his cheeks.

“Hi, Frank,” you add.

“(Y/N),” he acknowledges.

“What are you doing here?” Billy asks.

“You must have accidentally called me,” he says, still not looking at you as the two of you adjust yourselves into a more presentable manner. “I picked up my phone and it sounded like you were in trouble. Now it’s clear that it very much wasn’t the case.”

“Sorry to make you rush down here like that,” Billy says.

“Don’t worry about it, brother,” he says, holstering his weapon. “So, uh, how long has this been a thing?”

“A while,” Billy says, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Well, mazel tov,” Frank says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll see you both later.”

Billy and you laugh after Frank leaves the office, and Billy holds your head in his hands, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I guess that’s our cue to go to dinner,” he smiles.

“I guess so,” you say, pecking his lips.

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[evilbubu]

I edited him. and made him more of a babygirl than he already is 🤭

[mariamariquinha]

lost. (Frank Castle x f!reader)

Summary: You met Frank Castle one night when everything went wrong.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Bad words, mentions of death, violence, blood, mentions of military service, slight angst, smut, unprotected p in v sex, use of licit drugs and mention of canon events - but of course we jumped out of the canon-accuracy train a long time ago. Probably typos (sorry, always safe to remind that English isn’t my first language).

Author’s Note: It’s my first attempt with Frank here, folks! I tried my best, 

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

------------------------------------

The thing was, you didn't even want to be there, but suddenly you were with the plus of being only able to witness what was already inevitable.

The Punisher was inevitable.

And it was like that old cliché of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, with equally problematic people who would obviously get you into trouble, even if you weren't with them. He must have felt it, as a sense of understanding through experience.

When the action started to happen, the bodies fell and only the shadow of someone animalistic remained in your eyesight disturbed by what almost happened, he turned to you with a panting breath, visibly taken by adrenaline. Because it was a dark alley, you couldn't see his face - the little light coming from the street partially illuminated his features, but nothing that could make you say 'this is the guy'.

Frank was his name, you knew that. Frank Castle.

You saw your life flash through your eyes as he took steps toward you, reducing your figure to less than you already were, sitting on the dirty floor and huddled like a mouse. The boots entered your field of vision before you could close your eyes and expect the worst.

It didn’t came.

He said your name. Not the nickname that might have come to his attention, but the real one. You looked up in confusion, unsure of what that meant.

“What were you doing here?” A thick, heavy, half-dark and harsh voice. This you noticed.

“Huh?”

“With them,” He sounded impatient, which made you blink a few times before answering.

“I… I-I… I just needed… The information.”

“They almost beated the shit out of ya,” Again, impatient, but this time he crouched in front of you - to be seen, to be heard, you didn’t know.

His face was more visible, at least. Stiff, bruised, covered in some blood that certainly wasn't his. You wondered if that would be the last face you'd see before you died, if in the end your efforts would come down to being another number on the Punisher's trail. It was like being a child chased away by an adult, afraid of what would happen, fearful.

But then he left a small ‘tsk’ and tried to grab something inside his vest. You instinctively turned all defensive again, wishing that wall could engulf you so nothing would happen.

“‘Not gonna kill ya, girl, relax.”

Oh… No?

“Here.”

He held out a small flash drive that felt even tinier between his fingers.

“That’s the information,” Frank gestured with the thing. “Lucky for you we're after the same guys.”

“... We are?” Maybe that wasn't the most valid thing to say, or the most convenient, but he didn't seem to consider that a bad thing and nodded.

“Take it, do your thing. Take care of that face too.”

There wasn't a wait longer than ten seconds; Frank tossed the flash drive into your lap and stood up, walking out of the alley with careful steps, as if he didn’t leave a bloody and animalistic mess behind him. You got up a little unstable, eyes fixed on his silhouette disappearing in the dark - like a 9 to 5 day.

Jesus, you thought, eying the drive then the number of dead bodies around you, so this is what it costs?

---------------------------

It was the olfactory memory of the smell of blood that made you run to the bathroom and throw up. Everything was dark, no lights in your apartment had been turned on; you felt the toilet between your shaking hands and body aches.

You didn't sleep well that night.

-----------------------------

“You can’t do that.”

“But it was precious information.”

“Precious infor-How much time do you spend watching TV?”

“You CIA people talk like that.”

“We don’t. Now stay still or it’ll hurt more,” Curtis leaned over a little to put the gauze on your back, which made you hiss because dammit, it wasn’t so bad before, right?

Looking back, it was weird to think he didn't like you saying you worked for him. Just a collaboration, Curtis said, but you both knew that had already exceeded the original purpose of the negotiations. The CIA wouldn't dismiss your services that easily - take the files, try to destroy the criminal empires, earn some money. You used to make fun of the situation by saying you were the cheapest agent at the agency, but Curtis stopped laughing about it when things started to get riskier.

You didn't stay in his apartment long enough to consider yourself a friend; nevertheless, the company was good. He knew how to deal with his own demons in a pacific way.

Which made you think of the event the night before, of someone else who was also dealing with their own demons… subtly different.

“Damn, did I really manage to shut you up?” Curtis’s voice was low, teasing.

“Something happened yesterday,” You couldn't find a light way to bring it up. Your brow was furrowed and your face serious, as if the image of the man was vivid in your mind.

“What?” Lucky for you, Curtis always had a good sense to know when something was off. Whether it was military practice or a personality trait, it was easy to know that he read people like a book and you stopped hiding certain reactions just because of that.

“Someone showed up there, knocked the guys down one by one,” Your hands gently began to pull down the cloth of your shirt and he chose to help rather than look at you, giving you space to ponder the best way to continue talking. “... Frank Castle.”

Curtis stopped his own movements. There was a silence, one that made you wonder because he always knew what to say and then suddenly he got quiet, weighing his words. You watched his profile for a moment, confused.

“Did he hurt you?” He asked, hiding what appeared to be concern in a more indifferent facade.

“No, I mean, he was the one who got the drive and all. I thought the guy was going to kill me, to be honest,” For such a collected man, Curtis was evidently agitated by the information, walking away and turning his back on you as if he were going to the kitchen. You didn't comment; it was The Punisher, after all, there wasn't always someone left alive after bumping into him.

Still, your instincts told you there was something else, a situation lurking in the cup of coffee he started pouring for you two and the fact that he actually kept his back, pretending. You got up from the table, rolled your shoulders, and walked over to the counter, both elbows propped up on the marble.

“Think he would do that?”

“Do what?”

“Kill me.”

Curtis considered before turning back, a small smile on his lips while placing one cup in front of you.

“You look scared of it,” He sipped nonchalantly.

“And you seem pretty cool with the possibility,” You bit back. “Of course I got scared, the guy is a fucking executioner.”

“If he wanted to, he would have done it already. Did you clean that cut right?” The change of the subject could make you more curious, but Curtis reached out to touch your forehead, which distracted you for a beat.

“I’m not a kid, man, ‘course I did!” You batted his hand away, creating a small moment of silence. “And I'll want a gun.”

“You don't need one.”

“The Punisher is on my neck and you say it with such calmness? Really, how concerned are you with my well-being?”

“That's a problem I'll solve, don't worry.”

“Right…” You rolled your eyes, tasting that coffee that at least had a good taste. If the CIA still hadn't resolved this issue, what would change? That's what you thought, disbelieving whatever Curtis' methods were and wondering what weapon would be best to keep in your bag - just in case.

“No guns.” He warned. Always the best at reading people.

“Am I not the one who should decide that?”

“No.”

“Ugh, okay… But you better resolve this thing soon, I don't want to go through the experience again.”

“So keep listening to me instead of doing what you shouldn't.”

You didn't argue or try to argue, let alone point out that he wasn't covering up his feelings so well. It would be unfair to press on, but again, a part of you said there was more than just a setback to what had happened that night. A secret truth between why Frank was there, got what you wanted and still did yourself the favor of killing your tormentors.

It wasn't a coincidence.

And if you stood in front of the gun shop on the way home, haunted by the idea of ​​being followed, that was something you kept to yourself, as were a lot of the bad thoughts you'd had since starting this life.

--------------------------

Maybe you were more combative, Curtis could be right about that. And you could agree that your abrasiveness had to do with what had happened to your brother, especially in this job. To him, you had the chance to be anything: use your MIT degree to work at one of those companies in Silicon Valley and have a nice apartment in California. For a moment, this was something you craved.

But then you looked at him and said 'if I go, who will do this for you?', which left him quiet. Of course, anyone with experience could do the tricky part of it all, but that sense of trauma, of revenge, was something Curtis would never admit, but it fueled the success of things.

Days after what happened in the alley, you tried to carry on as if nothing had happened, trying to strengthen the indifference - inside your mind, you thought about Frank, what he did and how he talked. You did more research, opened certain databases in the silence of the night, and found out about everything. The Army. Maria. The children. Hell’s Kitchen. Prison. Billy Russo. You didn't tell Curtis about finding out they served together, nor were you offended to have that information like that, after all, trust has certain limits and maybe it would be better for everyone if it seemed like something… trivial. In a way, it gave you comfort. Frank wouldn't hurt you. At least.

That's how the sense of empathy bubbled up in your heart. He had grieved and dealt with it; he wasn't a madman, just someone who suffered, who might still suffer. In the works that followed, a part of you wished you'd meet him again, to see him do what he'd done that night, but caution was part of everything and you weren't a fighter - things were supposed to be discreet and hidden.

None of this even came close to happening.

Suddenly one day Frank was standing in front of your building in broad daylight, two hands in his pockets as he leaned against the brick wall of that small restaurant across the street. Simple like that. You got scared as fuck, jumping at the sight of him in a hood standing there.

“Can we talk?” No apologies. Sure.

It made you look at him for a moment, open and close your mouth without a right answer. There was almost no one around, despite the time. The restaurant was not open for lunch, so there was less traffic. You considered, looked at your building and nodded.

“Beer?”

-------------------------------

Inside your apartment, Frank was a normal man. He wore a very dark shade of green on his shirt, his jeans were black, and despite everything, his boots didn't have any bloodstains remaining from whatever he'd done. It didn't make you any less apprehensive. He seemed polite enough not to notice your stuff, furniture, or organization, but as you grabbed two bottles of Budweiser from the fridge, you saw that Frank glanced at the small bookshelf next to the TV.

You put his bottle on the coffee table and left it there, pressing your lips together because suddenly there was nothing to say - he was the one who showed up, so you were left to wait.

“You read a lot,” Frank observed, even with a hint of a question in his tone.

“University matters,” You shrugged, looking between the shelf and him. “Most of them.”

“MIT, right?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Which course?”

Maybe he already knew the answer and for a moment you hesitated, looking at the guy's easy face as he bent down to accept the beer.

“... Electrical Engineering and Computer Science.”

You didn't expect Frank to be impressed, he already knew exactly what it was, after all. Still, he raised his eyebrows and sipped his drink calmly, almost pretending the information was new.

“What do you do when you're not with Curtis?” The question caught you by surprise, as everything since you first met the man. Even then, he looked collected, calm, and visibly curious.

“I’m… I’m not with Curtis,” You frowned, fingers gripping the bottle just a touch too tight.

“So how is it? Do you work with the CIA?”

“No! No, I mean… I work for the CIA, not with them. There’s a difference,” Maybe you got a little defensive there, but there wasn’t a single reaction from him.

“Because of your brother?”

Talking about what had happened wasn't very comfortable, especially for him and given the circumstances. Surely the guy wasn't there to speculate on your life and you weren't going to undergo a family grief exchange session.

“Can I help you with something?” You decided to ask, this time in a sharp tone that made him frown.

A pregnant silence hovered you two. Even in the worst of your fears, you stood firm, looking into his face and hoping that it had a resolution, an explanation. This made Frank pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh.

“I need a favor.”

“... What kind of favor?”

“The one Curtis doesn't need to know.”

--------------------------------

Frank didn't tell you why it was a 'secret', but he didn't have to. He started to explain and you understood how it was better to share the thing with as little detail as possible.

The two of you sat at the kitchen table - you with the computer, him with the same beer, alternating between moments of silence and a few words strictly focused on what he wanted. Hack into the security system of a clandestine casino? Easy. Offer safe exits because he must have been working alone? Too obvious. Certainly the hardest part was having to put up with the steady stares he gave you when he watched you work, as if taking notes - you didn't know if you liked the idea.

Thing is that at the end, that lasted until late afternoon. It wasn't until you turned on the light that you realized how dark it was outside, the first hints of night showing.

“How much will you charge for it?”

“Hm?”

“For your work. How much?”

You looked at him dumbly, blinking a few times as if he made the most difficult question you’ve ever heard. Then you laughed, almost giggled, because this idea was ridiculous.

“You couldn’t pay for it.”

“That expensive?”

“It’s easier to take money from the government in these situations,” Your fingers flexed. “We're closer on that spectrum than I am to them. Basically. I destroy these guys as best I can because at some point they took something from me.”

Not that you were insinuating anything or trying to push Frank's buttons, but in that moment you waited for something to change his contemplative expression. He remained serious, silent, and measured every inch of your face cautiously. Searching again, perhaps. With such intense brown eyes, you started to feel more than uncomfortable - because he was truly looking at you without a threat knocking at your door, you even felt… appreciated?

You wouldn't deny that you returned the same favor by taking the details of his face; the nose, the jaw, the cut on the lip or on his left eyebrow. Under other circumstances, you'd even say he was handsome. Interesting. Magnetic.

“So it will be a courtesy,” Your voice came out faster than you could prevent, breaking whatever situation was happening there. “Whereas I could be dead right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“There’s no need to thank me.”

“There is. Even if you scared the shit out of me.”

He scoffed at it and gradually the subject faded away, leaving the place briefly silent again.

“How can I get in touch? You know, when I need it?” Frank gestured to the computer, already standing up from his spot.

“Call. I'll write down the number for you.”

And that's what you did, writing in blue pen every digit of the phone that hardly anyone had, but now he would from that moment on. Frank looked at the piece of paper and didn't take long to tuck it into his pants pocket. He assured you that no one else would have that phone, that after recording it he would burn the paper, and you almost laughed because it must have come naturally to him, this idea of ​​being a shadow in places.

When he left, you thought that was it, just a help, and that you would never see him in person in a casual way again.

--------------------------------

Frank sent a text message only. It was nearly two in the morning and you woke up to do as he asked. The next morning, the TV announced that a clandestine casino had been found 'by the police' and that all the criminals had been killed by 'exchange of fire'.

If you found a $300,000 package on your fire escape right away and smiled, it was the context of the whole thing. Frank Castle really meant his words.

--------------------------------

Visits were frequent. He would show up, mention something new he needed to solve, you would help. This progressed to afternoons drinking beer and after months, he would knock on your window at dawn, always unexpected, and ask if he could sleep on your couch because he was nearby. Finally, you ended up spending a few moments watching Youtube videos about First Aid because he always came in injured and your apartment didn't have that many supplies for that.

It was a natural construction, that trust. You didn't imagine he would have this with anyone other than Curtis, living like that was complicated, and little by little you were filling each other's loneliness.

No one brought up the subject of your brother or his family. You once mentioned the basics, 'he tried to do it right and ended up dead'; Frank told good stories of a past, where his gaze always wandered as if he was remembering what he lost. You weren't offended. There were always times when his attention was all on you and that was enough.

You couldn't tell when you started to worry about it, about having his full attention, about waiting for him to appear at your window or waking up with the sight of the guy on your couch. The only thing you could tell was that this was dangerous, nocive and really severe.

Almost a year later, you had established a good relationship. Curtis never mentioned it among works; despite always having a curious little smile, he pretended that everything continued as before. There was no time for such a thing in this kind of life, so any similar feeling was reduced to a beautiful distraction.

That night he arrived pretty wrecked, you could tell, but it was nothing new anymore. He knocked on the door, you sat on the fire escape and pulled out a crate of beers - the night was particularly cold, you were curled up in a blanket and he didn't even seem hit by the breeze, wearing a hoodie with the sleeves up. You two were quieter too, which wasn't a problem; over time you noticed that Frank preferred moments like this, without words.

He made you stare at his profile for a while, the gash on his jaw, the bruise under his left eye.

“Why is your apartment like this?” The question made you frown, especially as he continued to stare down at the street below you.

“How?”

“Dim.”

You considered his words, then looked behind your body where the living room stayed. Dim would not be the right word to say. Discreet, perhaps? Not that the IKEA lamps was the best, but they made a nice contrast in the room and-When you turned around again, Frank was watching you and only then did you realize it took a while to respond.

“... I prefer it that way. I tend to have a lot of migraines,” The teasing tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by him.

That’s when you saw that smile, which was really rare and remarkable because he almost never did that. It turned to be usually discreetly, carefully, and left as quickly as it came - even embarrassed, because the practice of smiling almost never came in handy, and usually accompanied a tilt of the head to the side. The giggle would flow in the wind, that night wasn’t different, but for some reason you had the slight impression that the humor lasted a little longer.

His hair was longer, you could see he had a simple quiff that he ran his fingers through when he didn't have to hide his face with the hood. You noticed that, even though you didn't comment. It was for that reason that you soon turned your eyes to the street again, sipping your beer to distract yourself.

“That must be why you don't have someone,” He murmured.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that's not the reason. At least not the main one.”

“Work?”

“Work.”

Frank didn’t answer for a few moments, so you both got quiet again.

“Having the Punisher sleeping on my couch doesn't help much either,” The comment came with a smirk from your part and by your peripheral vision you saw that he turned his gaze at you instantly. “I mean, it would be weird.”

“... It would.”

“Like I said,” You shrugged.

“But it's not like I'm sleeping in your bed.”

“That's not the problem.”

“And what is then?”

Look, it was a joke. You weren't being literal about it, and there was no reason to make the subject so inquisitive, but you suddenly realized that the topic piqued Frank's serious interest, so the question was genuine.

“Well, for starters you intimidate people,” Your point was met with a positive nod of encouragement, which made you pause in your own thoughts. “At least me. You know I was really scared when I met you.”

“But the situation was different. You're not afraid of me now, are ya?”

The quick and easy answer would be: no. No, because it took a while for Frank to be just Frank, not The Punisher. No, because you have acquired sympathy for his presence, for his accent, for his mannerisms - which was ridiculous. Well, maybe he was right. Maybe you were very lonely and started to have a kind of feeling for someone who was certainly living on the edge of their own restraint in this sort of thing.

“No.”

Just like that. Monosyllabic and simple. No.

And you expected him to not ask anything more; he didn’t.

You two finished your beers and went inside the apartment, still in silence, something that seemed like an eternity because despite your misgivings, a part of you knew that it had planted a seed. Which one? You didn't know it, but it was there in the way he helped you through the window and kept his hand on your waist a little longer; when he dumped the bottles in the trash and stood by the fridge, watching you wash your hands, watching you drink water.

The air got stuffy as you approached to call it a night, on the way out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. It was the way he slipped in front of you discreetly, just to the right side to give you a chance to leave, but you didn't. Like that first time, you watched his boots for a while, and when you lifted your head, you noticed that the feelings were definitely different. No blood, no fear, no work to be done - it was a pending, a wish. His eyes were warm, a shade of brown that was lit by the light in the room, dim or not.

First and last, that kiss was final proof that Frank still had a soft part of him. He wasn't rough as he used to be with his victims; there was a subtlety in the contact of his lips on yours, a question whether he could go on or if he’d crossed the line, if he'd misunderstood. Instead of answering, you put your hands on his neck, pulled him close and felt his heartbeat as your tongue invaded his mouth.

Accelerating, accelerating, accelerating… Frank growled against your mouth as he felt your teeth nibble on his bottom lip, pressing his palms to your ass cheeks, pulling you close, eager to feel as much as you were.

Getting to the bed was mixed feelings: he knew the layout of your apartment and didn't stop kissing you as you made your way there, even if your steps failed every now and then. The shiver that ran through your body as his frantic hands peeled off your clothes made you sigh, but nothing compared to the skin-to-skin contact when Frank practically hugged you to dig his fingertips into your back, insatiable for the touch. His torso was warm, firm, tough but sensitive to the touch of your bare breasts.

No, there was no conversation when he put you to bed, because then he was everywhere at once. Squeezing your tits, devouring your pussy, making you spit out truly moans, gasps and whimpers, not giving time to say anything more coherent than babbles of pleasure.

“Wanted it for so long, darlin’... So long…” He murmured against your neck while thrusting inside you with earnest, mouth brushing the skin below your ear.

It was there that you knew and understood that with Frank, the motivation for things could be simple. That the connection you had went beyond trauma, grief, but the need to find somewhere the comfort of an embrace for when loneliness was too heavy. That despite the danger coming from his hands, he could offer pleasurable things like an orgasm or the feeling that, in a way, you weren't an isolated part of a complex and dangerous world.

[antiheroapologist]

If I had a nickel for every time that I became obsessed with a brooding, sassy, dark-haird marvel character, with a military background and tragic past, who is really good at killing. I would have two nickels. Which isn't much, but it's werid it happened twice.