yes-it-would-be-easier-if

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

👀

David Corenswet for GQ ❤️💙💛

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

I'm gonna miss these freaks.... cant wait to fall in love w a new team tho!

also I drew that Jason cause I saw some INSANELY white-washed fanart of him and it pissed me off so bad it broke me out of art block cause I had to right the world

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

before long

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary/Excerpt: Some people say spending time apart is good. Those people clearly haven't spent almost a year without hugging their partner.

CW: 18+, explicit, tragedy-free frank/no punisher, marine!frank, fluff, romance, longing, kind of long-distance relationship, established relationship, mention of marriage, frank and reader are engaged, making out, hj.

Word Count: 1.5k

— Links: AO3 | Frank Masterlist

You never saw yourself as a military wife. Hell, you never pictured yourself married at all. You’re not yet anyway, but it feels just like it. There’s already an engagement ring around your finger holding that promise of a future linked to Frank. Saying yes to him was the easiest thing you’ve ever done right before he was called away. Before the ring had time to feel real on your finger. Before you got a chance to be engaged, to plan anything that felt like a future. It was the most natural step in the course of your relationship.

He's already yours. On paper or not. And you're already his with ring or no ring. But the idea of sitting at home, going on about your day, waiting for the rare call, or trying to write one of those letters you managed to write during the past year— it sometimes seems like watching someone else’s life.

Some people say spending time apart is good. Those people clearly haven't spent almost a year without hugging their partner. Distance might make the heart grow fonder, but some days, when it truly hits how much you miss him, you wish he’d just work at the grocery store down the street. You’d love to be sick of seeing his face every day, sick of kissing his lips, sick of him changing the temperature of the damn thermostat.

But Frank is nearly perfect. Present or not. You are all he thinks about. It’s the only thing that keeps him going. Loving you is the thing that keeps him alive when he’s gone. You’re etched in his armor, waved into that shield that he keeps up 24/7 when he’s on uncharted territory.

Today he's coming home.

Waiting at the base, you wring your hands around a paper cup filled with coffee, watching the plane land on the runway beyond the tall windows. In the distance, you survey a line of Marines descending like ants through the narrow boarding stairs. Upon touching ground, they break off to different groups to board different vans.

After tossing the paper cup into the nearest bin, your feet dash toward the doors, step into the tarmac as the transport gets closer and closer.

You spot him the moment he steps off the van.

Dressed in clean fatigues, his broad shoulders slightly drag to the side where his duffle is perched.

Frank scans the crowd, eyes flickering with a sliver of doubt, as if part of him fears you might not be there.

But his heart knows better.

And then he sees it. Clear as day. The red dot in the crowd. The color of your dress shining under the glaring sun, unmistakable between the sea of uniforms and strangers, like a signal flare just for him. It's the same dress you wore that he proposed to you in Central Park last summer.

His breath catches in his throat when he sees you running towards him.

He drops his duffle bag to the ground like it doesn’t matter, arms already out, ready to catch you. You jump, launching yourself into his open embrace like gravity’s been waiting for this reunion as much as you have.

Your arms lock around his neck, your legs around his waist. His hands hold tight, keeping you up though his knees feel like they're about to give up on him. It's overwhelmingly sweet to feel the weight of your love pressed directly against his chest again. It hurts and heals just as much as he thought.

His arms tighten around you with a quiet, desperate force, as if letting go isn’t an option.

You bury your face in his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent mixed with aftershave and sun-warmed fabric.

He murmurs your name against your hair, like a prayer, like a promise. And for the first time in months, you can finally breathe.

You don’t know how long you stay wrapped around him—seconds, minutes, maybe longer. Time folds in on itself when his arms are around you again, when the ache in your chest finally lets up.

When you lean back just enough to look at him, your breathing falters.

His eyes are glassy, rimmed with red, and when they meet yours, the rest of the world disappears around you. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at you like he’s making sure you’re real. His fingers touch your face, tracing your features just to make sure. You are a vision, but a real one. Solid and stunning, making him whole.

You raise a hand to his face, fingers brushing over the freshly shaved skin of his jaw that's already starting to pickle. And that's when you realize he's on the verge of tears. The kind he would never let fall in front of anyone else. But for you, he doesn’t even try to hide it.

“You okay?” you whisper, voice barely there.

He nods once. “Now I am.”

You nod too, swallowing the lump in your throat as you rest your forehead against his.

“I missed you so damn much,” you say, and it breaks something loose in both of you.

He pulls you in tighter, arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through the cracks.

“I thought about this every day,” he murmurs.

“I’d do it again,” you whisper. “Not because I want to. But because I love you.”

He finally manages a breath out a laugh, that small, familiar sound that melts your heart.

“Let’s not do it again.”

“Deal.”

You stay like that for another long moment. And then he shifts you gently in his arms as your feet touch the pavement.

“Come on,” he says, voice still thick with everything he hasn’t had the chance to say yet. “Let’s go home.”

The red dress doesn’t last long once you’re inside the house.

You barely make it through the front door before his hands are bunching your skirt, pushing the fabric up your body and over your head. His lips find yours like he’s been holding his breath since the day he left. You drop your bag somewhere behind you. Shoes are kicked off. Keys barely dangle on the keyhole, without even bothering locking it properly.

It all blurs in a frenzy of never-forgotten passion as you clumsily make your way into the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes and shoes scattered all over the floor.

Both of you are already half naked when you fall into the mattress pulling him down with you. Frank extends your arms over your head, holds your wrist up for a moment. He stops moving, almost stops breathing upon the precious sight that is your body, but his heart still races, pumps a little faster in his chest. His eyes stare, really stare at you like he’s memorizing every inch of you again.

You let him look for as long as he needs. Though you can feel the pressure building behind the soft fabric of your panties when he nestles between your legs—his body trembles with something bigger than want. It’s not about sex. Not entirely. It’s about closeness. Proof. The physical reminder that you’re not dreaming, that this isn’t a memory. He’s real, and he’s finally home.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t fumble this time. His fingers brush over your skin with the kind of reverence that only comes from going too long without it. Your skin rises into goosebumps when they glide down your ribs. He whispers a “sweetheart” over your lips like a secret before kissing you with the bruising force of a man who’s been starved and deprived of water for a hundred years. He devours your mouth trying to make up for every missed morning kiss, every forgotten stroll at sunset, every late night I love you.

Your hands cling to his neck for dear life while the heat rises between his skin and yours. His tongue becomes desperate for more, grows hungrier than it already was if that’s even possible.

The lower half of his body starts rocking, pushing firmly between your legs to aid that aching arousal at his core.

“Fuck”, he grunts, abruptly breaking the kiss, stopping the motion of his body at the same time.

“Hmm. What is it, babe?” You frame his face with your hands and tilt it up so you can look at his lust-drunk stare.

“I think… uh…” He grins shyly, one corner of his mouth pulling up. “Think I’m gonna come already.”

“Yeah?” You scoff, angling your hips to tease and feel his cock twitching behind his boxers. “Well, I’d be worried and offended if I didn’t have that effect on you after all this time.”

“You like that, huh?” He chuckles, kissing your face sweetly.

“Love that,” you purr, sliding a hand down your body. “Let me help you, Lieutenant.”

He lets out a scoff as you tug his boxers down to palm his hardness. It’s hot and hard and already dripping when your fingers curl around it.

“No one to impress, baby. Just come for me,” you whisper in his ear while you pump his raging erection, ready to explode. It doesn’t take you more than a minute or two to have him spilling all over your hand.

“God, I love you so much.” He pants against the crook of your neck. “I’m gonna make it up to you. I promise.”

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

IT’S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA (2005-) 6.11

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

Absolutely

it’s about how he looks at you, with this deep dark eyes that hold so much behind them

the devotion, the heat

how his hands trail reverently over your tingling skin, lighting you up like nothing ever has before

how he curls them deep and purses those plush lips you think about all the time, his wrist undulating to push in and out of you underneath the fabric of your dress

it’s all you can stand to wear now, with the heat and humidity that makes the air thick but he’s not one to complain and neither are you if this is the result

he’s leaning down, lips pressing to your cheek, your nose, your chin, your neck- anywhere he can as you watches with rapt eyes the pleasure that courses through you, that he stirs and tempers in you

a low, rumble of a chuckle is the only answer to the whine that squeezes its way through your throat on the next exhale and you feel the prickle of your high just within reach

his hand stills as your hips begin to move, your head thrown back and an arch making you such a beautiful sight for him to behold

“that’s it, take what you want”

and fuck, you do, because you know he loves to see it, feel it, be the source of it. you shatter with a strangled cry of his name and he thumbs at your clit to prologue it. a peck on the lips the soothing even as he slips his fingers from between your thighs with a deep groan of his own

he catches your bleary eyes when they open, heavy lidded and searching. your own lips are swollen and open wide as you pant and try to catch your breath. but he doesn’t stop, he raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean as his other hand quickly undoes the string keeping his swim trunks up

but you gently swat it away and do it yourself, revealing the hard length of him to hungry eyes and trail a nail up the underside- the shudder that wracks through his body is intoxicating

the electricity between you both too much to bear as he’s suddenly notching himself between your shaking thighs and pushing in

twin moans enough to fill the cramped bathroom where you’re pushed up against the mirror on the counter and he’s crowded against you

all thoughts of the summer bbq continuing on outside in the backyard drowned out by the way your mind fuzzes and your body moves in tune with his hard thrusts

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

Welp.

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

Omg!

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

He will never let this task go

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

snoopy of the day

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

“I always feel perplexed when I’m identified in whatever form of media as a ‘highly private person,’ because that’s the opposite of me. I’m very unprivate in my private life. I just know that personal relationships are such a complex thing to navigate even without having this enormous lens on them.”  - PEDRO PASCAL (photographed by Sølve Sundsbø for Vanity Fair, June 24, 2025)

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

RACHEL McADAMS as BARBARA SIMON ARE YOU THERE GOD? IT'S ME, MARGARET. (2023) dir. Kelly Fremon Craig

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

"We're living through the ongoing fascist collapse of the United States but I still gotta clean the kitchen and go to work tomorrow" sure is the mood right now, huh.

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

first of all what the fuck

[yes-it-would-be-easier-if]

@bernthirst-events 🎬Best Look - Sam Rossi/Beard🎬 Jon Bernthal as Sam Rossi in Sweet Virginia