amhrosina

Bucky Barnes -

My Sun My Moon My Stars - part 1 part 2

They Don’t Know About Us

Frank Castle - 

Frank Castle Masterlist

Matt Murdock - 

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Billy Russo -

Sneaky Link This Feels Like Falling in Love Your Pretty Heart

Miguel O'Hara (Spider-Man 2099) -

Love Bites It's Always Been You Fixation

Peter Parker (Tom Holland) - 

Worth the Risk

Namor (K’uk’ulkan)-

Namor (K'uk'ulkan) Masterlist

Marvel Headcanons -

Pregnancy Headcanons - part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 (end)

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Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe

Javier Pena -

Feelings are Fatal

Joel Miller -

The mid-July heat was no joke, even in their tiny town up north. A record-breaking heat wave was sending scores of townsfolk indoors or to the public pools in search of relief. Subsequently, her father had been roped into planning a barbeque by an innocent-looking Mrs. Cross, who’d been eyeing their unused pool for months and had brought cookies to wear her father down. She, of course, was voluntold to prepare the sides and finger foods. Neither her nor her father were happy with the arrangement, but Mrs. Cross could be very persuasive, and her dad was a sucker for freshly baked cookies. 

That is how she found herself in the midst of a packed aisle at the grocery store, looking up and down for hamburger buns. It perplexed her that they’d be out of them already, especially considering that Mrs. Cross had invited seemingly every single person in town to their barbecue. 

“Excuse me,” she spoke, pulling the attention of a clerk away from the cans he was restocking, “I can’t seem to find the hamburger buns.” 

She remembered him from high school, though she couldn’t remember his name. Ben? Eric? Something like that. Ben-Eric lazily glanced at the empty shelf, shrugging. 

“If they’re not on this shelf, we’re out of them.” 

“You can’t possibly be out of hamburger buns in July,” she stammered, exasperated. 

“Clearly,” he said, rolling his eyes, “we are.” 

He turned back to his task, placing more cans on the shelf at a snail's pace. She glared at his back. This is exactly why she couldn’t fathom being with someone her own age. Frank would never be so infuriatingly careless about his job. 

“Fine. Thanks.” She turned the cart around, heading down the aisle away from Ben-Eric. 

When she finally finished purchasing everything on Mrs. Cross’ list, minus hamburger buns, she loaded everything into the back of her father’s car. The time on her watch said she had plenty of time to make a pit-stop on the way home before her father began to worry, which she fully intended to do. It’d been too long without seeing Frank, and she didn’t think she’d get to see him very much until after the barbecue. They’d have to be extra discreet tonight. 

When she pulled up to Frank’s workshop, his car was the only one in the lot. She smiled. Good. She much preferred to speak with him when he wasn’t surrounded by older women. 

“Frank?” She called out, knocking as she entered. She could already feel sweat beading at her temple. It was sweltering, even inside his air-conditioned workshop. She should’ve left the car running to save herself from heat stroke later. Thankfully, she’d worn a skirt – Frank's favorite. 

Clanging echoed, followed by a grunt. She followed the noise, stepping carefully around the various bits of wood and buckets of paint that had been sporadically placed in different corners of the room. 

“Frank, it’s me.” She called again. 

“Yeah, what can I do for you?” 

He appeared almost out of thin air, rounding the corner with a pencil tucked behind his ear and a frustrated pout on his face. This is how he approached most of his clients, though his eyes softened when he realized she was alone. They were so good at playing this game together. 

“Sorry, I thought your dad might be with you,” he said, tugging her against his sweaty t-shirt. “To what do I owe a beautiful woman visiting me on the hottest day of the year?” 

She giggled, swatting at his chest, “You always have beautiful women visiting you.” 

“They don’t matter to me,” he said, shrugging and pulling her in for a kiss. She couldn’t resist the urge to swipe her tongue against his. He squeezed her against him, crouching slightly so that he could lift her into the air. It was second nature for her to wrap her legs around his waist. This was a dance they were all too familiar with. 

He tasted of salt and coffee, a mix that she was growing more and more addicted to. She couldn’t get enough of it, of him. She moaned into his mouth when she grinded against his length, hard and begging to be freed from the confines of his tight jeans. He turned, setting her down on top of a tool bench. The cool metal burned against her heated skin, melting all sense of time or urgency away. Frank groaned as she pulled his waist closer to hers with her legs, yearning for more, more, more of him. 

Suddenly, a vision of Mrs. Cross tutting in her direction entered her brain. The ice cream, the lack of hamburger buns. The afternoon she’d have to spend readying herself for the entire town to have eyes on her and her father. It felt wrong, but she pried her mouth away from his, gasping. 

“I have ice cream in the trunk,” she groaned, almost whining at the ridiculous list that Mrs. Cross had given her. “And I need hamburger buns or Mrs. Cross is going to kill me.” 

“Okay,” Frank blinked through his lustful haze, nodding slowly, “I have some at my house.” 

“You have some at your house,” she repeated, mirroring his head movement. 

“Y’wanna stop by and get them before the party?” 

“Yes,” she breathed, watching his pupils dilate as his hands crawled up her exposed thighs. “I really do have ice cream in the trunk.” 

Frank chuckled, inching his hands higher. He was overwhelmingly big, taking up so much space in her vision that she could hardly see over his shoulder. She gulped, blinking up at him with the doe eyes that he adored. 

“I can be quick,” he said. He was so close to her now that she could feel the ghost of his words on her lips.  

Goosebumps skittered down her spine in the wake of his heated words. She seriously considered telling Mrs. Cross to go to hell and take her melted ice cream with her, but hesitated. As much as this barbecue was annoying her father, it felt nice that he’d be surrounded by so many people again. It’d been a long time since their house was filled with more than just her, her father, and occasionally, Frank. A few hours of socializing would be good for him. 

A thud from the parking lot forced them apart from one another, Frank regretfully putting distance between them. Someone was here, and they were going to be caught if they didn’t pull themselves together, and fast. Frank quickly returned to her, lifting her off the tool bench and setting her down on wobbly legs before busying his hands with a pencil and a piece of plywood. She smoothed her skirt, awkwardly wringing her hands as the stranger made their way through the workshop. 

“Back door’s always unlocked for you, sweetheart,” Frank said, pressing a quick peck to her temple. His voice was gravely, a sign that she’d successfully wound him. “Get whatever you need from my place. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” 

“Okay,” she nodded, heart still pounding from both the intimacy with Frank and them almost getting caught together, “Thank you, Frankie.” 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he said, refocusing on the piece of wood in front of him. She glimpsed a blur of blonde-ish gray hair as she hurried toward the nearest exit.   

“Mr. Castle?” A woman’s voice called out as she circled the same corner Frank had appeared from earlier. “I thought there might be someone else here! Anyway, I was wondering if you had any time to work on the floors in my living room this weekend.” 

She didn’t stick around to hear the rest of their conversation, cursing herself for not leaving the car running when she climbed into the boiling hot driver’s seat. The ice cream was certainly a puddle at this point. She’d never related to ice cream so much. 

x 

Frank’s house was around the corner from the one she shared with her father. It didn’t matter how many times she stayed the night with him – being the only person in the house made her nervous. She often felt like she was taking up space that she didn’t deserve, especially here, amongst Frank’s belongings. She wondered if that was something every young woman went through, or if it was just her. She didn't have a mother to ask, which made the ache of not knowing even worse. 

As she made her way to the pantry, a picture hanging on the fridge caught her eye. It was a much younger Frank, sidled up to a woman who had a hand pressed to his chest. His late wife, presumably. Two young kids sat on either side of them. They both looked so much like Frank that she couldn’t stop her eyes from watering. Frank never talked about his family, and she didn’t ask, though her father had mentioned it to her a few times in passing. They had died, and Frank was “different” now, though she didn’t understand what that meant. 

The picture broke her heart. Who was Frank before he moved here and met her? She didn’t know, but she wanted to. She wanted to pry into his life, opening old wounds so that she could understand how he ended up here, alone except for the fleeting moments he had with her. She wondered if Frank would ever want a family with her, or if the pain of it all was too much. She wondered if she’d be a good mom, or if she’d die young and leave her kids without guidance as they navigated adulthood just like her mom did to her. 

She snapped out of the harrowing thoughts, swallowing thickly and backing away from the refrigerator. Hurrying back to the car, she gulped down air as she backed out of the driveway and made her way home. Mrs. Cross’ hamburger buns would have to be a later problem.  

x 

When she finally walked through the kitchen door, her father was amidst a heated conversation on the telephone, hand resting on his hip in a way that told her he was annoyed. She set the bags on the counter, smiling at his exasperated face. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth, rolling his eyes at whoever was on the other line. 

“It’s Cindy,” he mouthed to her, covering the bottom of the phone with his hand. “Help!” 

She hurried over, putting the phone to her ear. Mrs. Cross – Cindy – was rambling about seven-layer dip.  

“Mrs. Cross, it’s me. Sorry to interrupt,” she said, cutting the older woman off, “I wasn’t able to get hamburger buns. Safeway was out. Do you know anyone that could bring some?” 

Her dad put his hands together in a prayer-like manner, thanking her. She stifled a giggle as Mrs. Cross began rambling again. Her dad took a long pull of his cigarette, shaking his head in vexation. When she finally managed to get off the phone, her father was lighting another, staring through a window at the backyard. 

“She was only on layer three of seven when you walked in,” he pointed out, shaking his head again, “I can’t imagine how long she would’ve kept me if you hadn’t shown up when you did, honey.” 

“Well, I got layers four and five just now. I guess we’ll hear about six and seven this afternoon.” 

He laughed, looking over the piles of groceries on the counter. 

“Cindy is doing way too much with this barbecue,” he grumbled, waving his cigarette through the air. “Did you know she hired gardeners to come by this morning? Gardeners! What’s wrong with our garden?” 

“She’s being nice.” She sent him a pointed look before nudging him toward the groceries. “Now, help me put everything away so that I can start on the first layer before she gets here.” 

Later, when the barbecue had finally begun and it felt like every person she’d ever met was crowding her house and backyard, she wilted against the wall in the kitchen. She’d never made so many finger foods in her life. Everyone else seemed to be having a good time, but she couldn’t remember the last time she sat down. Leave it to Mrs. Cross to suggest a relaxing barbecue and then force her to cater for it. 

Frank, newly showered and bare-chested, arrived a few minutes later. Six bags of hamburger buns swung from his fists as she took in the sight in front of her. She’d nearly kissed him right in front of everyone but settled on thanking him quietly and asking him to put them in the kitchen.  

“Where did you get them?” She asked, shutting the door to the kitchen softly, cheeks flush at the sight of Frank’s bare torso.  

It didn’t matter how many times she’d seen him shirtless. The tiny gasp that always left her lips was involuntary. They were alone for a fleeting moment, and all she could think about was jumping his bones. 

“Safeway had a ton,” he said, eyeing her outfit.  

It was blistering hot, even in the late afternoon, so she’d donned a pair of white shorts and a string bikini top. She didn’t intend on swimming, but she knew it would drive Frank crazy to see her in such little clothing.  

“Safeway said they were out when I stopped by! Right before I came to see you!” She moaned, running her hand over her face. “Ben-Eric is such a liar!” 

“Who?” Frank tilted his head, confusion overtaking his tone. 

Before she could recount her story about infuriating store clerks, her dad jostled into the room, followed by the last person she expected to see standing in her kitchen – her ex-boyfriend, Matthew. 

Time halted for a few moments as she tried to understand the picture in front of her. Her father, who was smiling as he glanced proudly between her and Matt, stood with his hands on his hips. Matt had an arrogant smile on his face, though he was twiddling with his cane enough to tell her he was actually very nervous. Frank, left in the dark about the newest stranger in the room, glanced between her horrified face and Matt’s, trying to gauge why the temperature in the room had just risen a few degrees. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Matt said, tipping his head in her direction. 

“Sweetheart?” Frank echoed, the surprise in his voice bouncing off the ceiling and quieting the dull roar in her ears as she continued to stare at Matt’s stupidly handsome face. 

The three men watched her, waiting for an explanation, a response, anything. She gaped back at them, wondering what in the fresh hell Matt was playing at, showing up to her dad’s barbecue and calling her sweetheart. The nerve he had was astonishing. Anger muddled her thoughts. How dare he show up in her house?  

She didn’t say any of this, of course. In fact, the only words that came out of her mouth were, “You’re wearing flip-flops.” 

“It’s a pool party, right?” Matt tilted his head, smiling. His hands continued to fiddle with his cane. 

“You’re in my kitchen, wearing flip-flops.” She muttered robotically, fixing her eyes on the wall behind Matt’s head. 

“I hope it’s okay that I invited him,” her dad said, sending her a look that told her she was acting insane. “He mentioned that he’d be in town, and I thought why not, ya know?”  

He finished his statement off with a swift pat on Matt’s back, sending her another pointed glance. She finally blinked, back in her own body and furious. She inhaled, ready to kick and scream at her father, but Frank cut her off before she could say a word. 

“We haven’t met. I’m Frank, the neighbor,” he said gruffly. 

“Matthew,” Matt said, head still tilted in her direction, “the ex-boyfriend.” 

“The ex-boyfriend,” Frank repeated, eyeing Matt closely. 

She knew exactly what Frank was thinking. Matt was another older man that she’d given herself to. Granted, Matt was only about a decade older than she was. It wasn’t as big of an age gap as her and Frank. Still, she could see the cogs whirring in his head as he fully grasped the situation happening in front of him. 

His nostrils flared once, the only sign that Matt’s presence was affecting him, before he nodded and looked at her father, asking if he needed help with grilling. She watched as he made his way across the kitchen, volunteering to take over for her father outside. He sent her a single, pointed glance before softly closing the door behind him, leaving her and Matthew alone for the first time in months. 

“He seems nice,” Matt said, noticeably calmer now that the kitchen had been vacated by Frank. “A little old for you, don’t you think?” 

“Don’t even, Matthew. What are you doing here? You can’t just show up at my house after disappearing last year.” 

Matt scoffed, leaning against the edge of the counter, inching closer to her heaving chest.  

“I was invited. I thought you wanted me here.” 

Her eyebrows shot up. He must be an idiot. He must think she’s an idiot. 

“You thought I’d want you here after you disappeared last year? No calls, no texts, just a scribbled note with the words ‘I’m sorry’ written on it?” 

“I told you I had a big opportunity, sweetheart-” 

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” 

“Don’t act like you’re innocent in this either, sweetheart.” He bared his teeth, emphasizing the pet name. “You wanted out just as much as I did.” 

She huffed, narrowing her eyes at Matt’s towering figure. 

“Don’t put this on me. You knew what you were doing when you took that job in New York. Our relationship was done as soon as you signed that offer letter.” 

“You gave up before I did.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. She couldn’t figure out if he was perturbed or not by this conversation, which made her even more angry. “I’m going to go converse with Frank, the neighbor. Unless,” he paused, running a thumb across her bare torso, “you don’t want me to, for whatever reason?” 

His touch, which had at one time, set her on fire the way Frank’s does now, barely phased her. She was done with Matt the minute he walked out on her. It’s how she ended up moving back home to live with her father, and how she ended up meeting Frank. It was a good thing, ultimately. 

“Do whatever you want, Matt. I’m not your keeper anymore.” 

She gritted her teeth, stepping away from Matt’s touch and heading toward the back yard where the party seemed to be picking up.  

“You never were,” Matt called after her. 

She rolled her eyes, stepping into the sun for the first time in hours. People milled about, separating themselves into groups and eyeing each other as they whispered about the latest gossip. Small towns were notorious for this, but she tried not to let it phase her. As long as her and Frank kept their relationship secret, she could avoid the gossip mill. 

She watched a group of older women take turns glancing towards Frank and her father, who were so busy debating the proper way to grill a hamburger that they probably wouldn’t notice if the women stripped down and went skinny dipping right next to them. She stifled a laugh, relaxing into a chair somewhat isolated from the party, but still amongst the revelry.  

She’d chosen this seat specifically. It had a perfect view of Frank’s bare torso as he stood by the grill, sipping a beer. She suddenly felt a sort of kinship with the group of ogling women. Frank was droolworthy.  And she got to remind him of that every single night. 

A figure entered her periphery, forcing her attention away from Frank’s toned abs. She nearly rolled her eyes and groaned, readying herself to stomp of Matt’s foot, when she realized it was Ben-Eric from the Safeway down the road. 

“Ben-Eric!” She startled, cringing at her inability to filter her thoughts. 

“Who?” He said, sitting down in the closest seat to her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she laughed, “I couldn’t remember your name, and that’s what I called you earlier when you lied to me about the hamburger buns.” 

He laughed along with her, sipping his beer. 

“To be fair, I didn’t know we had more in a different aisle. They sell out so quickly in July.” 

“Sure, Ben-Eric,” she said sarcastically, laughing again at his perplexed expression. 

“You’re half right. It is Benjamin, but I guess you can call me Ben-Eric if that’s what you want,” he said, tilting his head in a way that reminded her how handsome he was. “Most of my friends call me Dex.” 

“Okay, Dex,” she said, grinning again. “Tell me. How much do you know about seven-layer dip?” 

They spent the afternoon people-watching and catching up, though the longer she sat there, the more she wanted to see Frank. It felt like she always wanted to see Frank these days. He’d disappeared earlier after the grill had been cleaned, and she hadn’t seen him since. When the party finally wound down, she realized, thankfully, that Matt was long gone. Ben-Eric left, thanking her dad personally for the party, and then it was just the two of them, standing amongst empty beer cans and deflated balloons. 

“That was exhausting,” her father said, immediately exiting the kitchen in favor of falling asleep to his crossword. She huffed and began clearing the mess. So much for ‘we’re in this together’.  

Not long after she’d begun, a sudden throat being cleared startled her. She turned, seeing Frank for the first time in hours. 

“Frank!” She put a hand to her chest, heart pounding. “I thought you went home!” 

“I did, but I came back because I knew he wouldn’t help you clean up.” He shrugged. 

There was something off about his demeanor. She immediately noticed the way he hesitated to enter the room fully, instead choosing to lean against the doorway. Was it because her dad was snoring in the other room, or for a different reason? 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, shaking her head. 

He shrugged again, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“Frank,” she murmured, “What’s wrong?” 

He finally looked up, staring at her with a hard, unreadable expression that left her even more confused. 

“You didn’t tell me about Matthew,” he finally said, immediately cringing. “Fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying. I sound like a whiny bitch when I say it like that.” 

Her hands, which held a near-empty trash bag, hung limp in front of her. She didn’t realize how much he’d been affected by Matt’s sudden appearance. She’d forgotten about it already. 

“Matthew doesn’t mean anything to me.” She said simply, shrugging. 

“Anymore,” he rasped, looking anywhere but in her direction before finally lowering his head, ashamed. “And that fucking asshole outside. I wanted to fucking strangle him when he made you laugh.” 

She dropped the trash bag, approaching him slowly. He watched her carefully, refusing to let himself touch her. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. 

“Are you jealous, Frankie?” She said, genuinely amused. “Is that why you left?” 

Frank’s nostrils flared. A spark of anger lit his eyes, amusing her even more. 

“You drive me crazy, sweetheart,” he grunted, still refusing to put his hands on her. “Everything about you drives me insane.” 

She pushed her chest against him, looking up at his scowling face. 

“I don’t care about any of them, Frank,” she said, running her hands up his broad torso. “I only care about you. I thought you knew that.” 

He grunted again, this time, angling his head so that their lips were millimeters apart. 

“I do know that,” he murmured through gritted teeth. “Something about you makes me forget how fucking ridiculous being a jealous asshole is.” 

She was thrilled to hear this. She’d been waiting for him to mark his territory from the moment Matt walked in the kitchen earlier. Her father being three feet away hadn’t crossed her mind for a moment, though she was sure Frank would’ve knocked Matt on his ass for touching her if her father was anywhere else in the house. 

“Show me,” she murmured, placing her palms on Frank’s cheeks. “Show me how jealous it makes you.” 

His expression hardened, jaw ticking. He remained incredibly still as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips grazed his ever so slightly as she lifted her mouth, begging for him to touch her. 

“You’re mine,” he grumbled, and finally, finally, he touched her.  

His hands tightened around her waist as his lips crashed against hers, pulling her into a salacious kiss worthy of the front-page news. His tongue collided with hers, forcing its way deep into her mouth. She sighed into him, relishing the warmth of his body against hers. 

This felt more right than anything she’d ever felt in her life. Frank, standing in her kitchen, reminding her who she was to him. It may have started as a casual hook-up, but now they were in so deep with one another that it felt like drowning while simultaneously breathing air for the first time. 

“I’m yours, too,” he murmured inbetween kisses, cradling her head between his palms. “Always.” 

“Always,” she repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, unable to remember or care that her father was down the hall and could walk in at any moment.  

She wasn’t even sure he was asleep, but nothing about this night had felt right until now, and she wasn’t going to ruin it just yet. She grasped Frank’s waistline, tugging at his pants. She wanted to be thoroughly wrecked by him, right here, right now. 

Frank, on the other hand, was a much more responsible person than she could ever be. He groaned as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers for a moment before disconnecting entirely. 

“Frank,” she started, blindly reaching for him. “I need you.” 

“Not here,” he murmured, “Not when he’s down the hall.” 

Conflict warred with desire in his eyes. Even after all this time, Frank couldn’t bring himself to hurt his best friend more than he already had. Every day that they continued their affair, he was damaging his relationship with her father, but he couldn’t stay away from her. She was everything to him, and after losing everything once, he couldn’t help but hold on tightly. 

“Can I come over after I finish up here?” She asked, cheeks still flush with need. 

“Always, baby,” he said, bending down to pick up another piece of trash left by partygoers. He pushed it into the forgotten half-empty trash bag. “You don’t have to ask.” 

She nodded, focusing on the mess around her again. Frank didn’t leave like she thought he would. He stayed and continued to help her clean, which made it even harder for her to stay focused. Finally, when the mess had been contained to a reasonable level, she and Frank walked slowly back to his house. She decided now was a good time as any to bring up the picture on his fridge. 

“Frank, can I ask you something?” She said, casually swinging their intertwined hands. 

“Anything.” 

“What was your wife’s name?”  

She said it barely above a whisper, but Frank heard it loud and clear. His head snapped to hers, confusion and caution clear on his face. His eyes softened at her expression, weary, but curious. 

“I mean-,” she said, immediately hating herself for asking, “You don’t have to tell me. I saw them – your family – on your fridge earlier when I stopped by and I’m curious about them, but you don’t have to tell me anything. I just mean-.” 

“Maria,” he said, interrupting the anxious rant she had begun without realizing it. “Maria was her name. And Lisa and Frank Jr. are my kids.” 

She eyed him nervously, waiting for anger or admonishment for prying into his personal life, but there was none. Frank squeezed her hand, pulling it up to his lips for a soft kiss. 

“Car accident. Almost twenty years ago now.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I miss ‘em every day.” 

“Oh, Frank,” she said, tears welling in her eyes, “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her against his side as they continued the short walk. “I should’ve told you about it sooner.” 

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek before continuing to the home where they had shared so many intimate moments together.  

Standing inside Frank’s house reminded her that it had only been a handful of hours since she’d been here last. The day had melted into a blur of cooking, partying, and Frank, all packed into a 24-hour period. If she was honest with herself, she was exhausted, but she finally had Frank to herself, and she wasn’t going to squander that opportunity. 

As soon as he locked the door, she was on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and jumping into his arms. Her legs wound their way around his body as he lifted her in the air, pulling her fully against his torso. The feeling of his muscles alone was enough to make her moan. He was the hottest thing she’d ever seen, and he was all hers. 

“You knew exactly what you were doing when you showed up without a shirt today,” she said between kisses, hoping Frank could navigate the stairs while she was wrapped around him like a koala. 

“You’re one to talk, sweetheart” he grumbled, taking each step carefully until they made it to the top of the staircase. “Look at this bikini.”  

His bed, which he now considered to be their bed, was still unmade from their intimacy that morning. When he lowered himself, setting her down on her back, she nuzzled into the blankets. They smelled like him. 

“I love this bikini,” he said, eyeing the curve of her breasts beneath the fabric. She’d worn it just for him.  

His hand slowly pushed down into the mattress, feeling its way underneath her until it found the strings tied in a knot against her spine. A swift tug had the strings falling apart, giving way to him. He lowered his head – first to her cheek, nuzzling against her smooth skin, then to her neck, where he peppered kisses all the way down to the top of her shoulder, where he found the other knot holding her bikini together. She quivered with need as his teeth scraped against her racing pulse. He slowly nipped at the material, pulling the end of the knot with his teeth until it too gave way, exposing her breasts in the dim light of his bedroom. 

He huffed in disbelief as he looked over her exposed chest, jaw ticking.  

“He didn’t stand a chance,” he mumbled, eyes crawling up her body until it landed on her flushed cheeks. “Not a fucking chance.” 

“Who didn’t?” She asked, innocently batting her eyes. 

“You know who,” he grunted, jealousy laced in his tone for the second time tonight. “Do you know how badly I wanted to knock Matthew on his ass today for calling you sweetheart? For touching you after I left the kitchen?” 

“I didn’t know you saw that,” she breathed, heat pulsing in her core. Frank rarely got this way with her, but when he did, she was so turned on by it that it hurt. 

“I fucking saw everything,” he grumbled with a hardened expression, “He doesn’t get to touch what’s mine. Ever.”  

“I know, Frankie,” she murmured, running her fingers along the sculpt of his shoulders. 

“Your dad told me he’s a catholic lawyer,” he gritted, “and that the only reason you came home last year was because he broke your heart.”  

“That’s true,” she swallowed. 

Frank lowered his body even more, barely hovering over her. Her hips met his, grinding up against his hardened length through their clothes. Frank leaned forward, lips ghosting over her ear. 

“His loss,” he murmured.  

The wake of his breath sent goosebumps skittering down her spine. She moaned, grinding against him again. Frank’s eyes were so dark that she could barely make out the brown irises that she adored. 

“What about the other one?” She asked, unable to stop taunting him. “The one that sat by me outside and made me laugh.” 

His gaze, which had been slowly raking down her exposed chest, snapped up to meet hers again. His nostrils flared as he processed her question. She blinked hazily at him, waiting for his restraint to meet its limit. His jaw ticked before he finally let out a long, slow breath. 

“Watch it,” he warned in a low voice, though she could see the delight hidden in his eyes. 

“Or what?” She taunted again. 

And finally, after what felt like years and years of waiting, Frank’s restraint finally snapped. He slammed his mouth against hers, immediately swiping his tongue through her mouth. He was relentless with his kisses, giving her barely enough time to breathe between nipping at her jaw and grinding against her. 

She barely realized when her pants were off, only shuddering when his fingers teased her soaked entrance. She let out a soft moan, widening her legs. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was distraught with love for the man she shared this secret with. 

“I want on top,” she said, swiftly nudging him on his back as she hovered atop his impressive length. 

At some point in time, Frank had also lost his pants, though she couldn’t pinpoint when that happened. Everything about Frank was overwhelming to her senses. She could get lost in him. She wanted to get lost in him. She wanted to show him how much he meant to her, how much the other men in her life didn’t affect the feelings she held for him. 

Frank squeezed her hips tightly, eyes still dark with desire. When she finally sank onto him, she held her breath, tears pricking at the back of her eyes in both pain and pleasure. Frank, ever the gentleman, would always slowly ease into her, allowing her time to adjust, but she didn’t want that. Tonight, she wanted to remind him how much of her belonged to him. 

She moved her hips slightly, moaning at how deep he was in this position. He had barely moved, breathing slowly with his eyes half lidded. She placed her hands on his chest and began rocking against him, eliciting a groan from his perfect, plump lips. His moans of pleasure spurred her to rock against him harder and faster. Her hips were held in a bruising hold by his large hands, guiding her against him. 

“Ask me to do anything, and I’ll do it,” he grunted, bucking into her and breathing hard as she continued grinding. “Name anything and I’ll get it for you. Anything, baby.” 

She giggled, delighted at his ability to make her feel like the only woman in the world. He took advantage of her distraction, flipping them over so that he could rut into her even harder. Frank rose to his full height, pulling her to the edge of the bed and lifting her hips to meet his in an even deeper position than before. 

She felt like she was on ecstasy, pleasure overriding every part of her body. Frank slammed into her at a relentless rate, grunting every time she squeezed around his thick length.  

“You fit so fucking perfectly underneath me, baby.” 

Slapping sounds echoed through the room, mixed with praise from Frank’s filthy mouth. 

“Did he ever make you feel this good, baby?” 

She arched her back, moaning. 

“Did he worship you the way you deserve?” 

Fire wreaked havoc on her entire body. She was on the brink of exploding. 

“He could beg for forgiveness for the rest of his life and never deserve you, sweetheart. Fuckin’ altar boy.” 

“Fuck,” she whined, nearly squealing as heat overcame every sense, every thought, every breath. Her orgasm crashed through her, pulsing every nerve in her body. She couldn’t remember where she ended, and Frank began. Every part of her was Frank’s, and every part of Frank was hers.  

“That’s it, baby,” Frank cooed, slowing his hips so that he could properly watch her come undone beneath him. “There you go, pretty girl. You’re doing so good.” 

Heart racing, she arched further off the bed, begging for more. Frank met her chest with wet lips, kissing up the valley between her breasts. She mewled when his lips wrapped around her nipple, flicking his tongue over the nub. Tears of pleasure flowed freely down her cheeks, driving Frank into a state of wild delirium. 

He pounded into her, drawing out another orgasm, and another. He left trails of wet kisses along every part of her body, marking his territory with sweet nips at her sensitive areas. 

“Mine,” he murmured after each kiss, reminding himself that she was here, splayed beneath him because she would choose him in every lifetime. 

“Yours,” she breathed, trembling. 

When Frank finished, after she found her pleasure one more time, she laid in a heavy heap, barely grunting when he cleaned her off with a warm towel. The exhaustion of the day had finally caught up to her. Frank lifted the blankets over her wilted figure, kissing her temple before crawling into bed next to her. 

She was barely conscious enough to feel Frank’s arm wrap around her waist and tuck her against his chest, but she breathed easier knowing he was holding her. 

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Always.” 

Sweet, unconscious bliss followed her into the deepest sleep she’d ever been in, though she’d swear later on that she heard Frank tell her he loved her. Somehow, even in sleep, her body knew what she meant to him. She loved him too, more than anything. It would be a few more months before she admitted that to anyone besides him, though. 

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She didn’t mean for it to be this way, but honestly, she couldn’t imagine anything better than Frank kneeling in front of her, lapping away at her cunt as she tried to cook dinner. Frank wasn’t a loud man. She’d been around him long enough to know that he preferred peace and quiet over most things. Nevertheless, it surprised her just how loud he’d get when his head was crammed between her legs, eating like a man who’d been starving for weeks. 

She struggled to focus on the task at hand – chopping vegetables for the stew she was supposed to be cooking for dinner. Her dad had specifically requested it. He had claimed that it was Frank’s favorite dish of hers, though she knew better than that. Frank’s favorite dish was her pussy, and it had been for a long time. 

Her dad didn’t know – of course he didn’t know – that she was fucking his oldest friend. They’d been the most discreet about this arrangement, sneaking around the house when her dad was away, and they never intended on getting caught. He’d probably have an aneurysm if he could see them now.  

Frank’s tongue circled her cunt again, sending a shiver down her spine. He was so damned good at this part. She knew he was detail oriented because of his job, but she hadn’t anticipated how focused he could be when he was determined to get things done. His current obsession was making her come as many times as humanly possible in the hour before her father got home from work.  

He was working on number three now, gripping the back of her wobbling knees to hold her steady. She watched the knife shakily chop another carrot, feeling a million miles away from the girl in the kitchen. Her vision swam as heat coiled in her core. The calluses on his palms scraping against her bare thighs is what did her in. Frank greedily drank her third orgasm of the afternoon, smirking into her cunt. 

He pulled away, watching her resolve crumble. She sighed, closing her eyes as waves of pleasure overtook her senses. The knife she’d been cutting with was flat against the cutting board, squished beneath her palm. He eyed the sharp blade, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to ruin her high. 

When she finally blinked down at him, it was with flushed cheeks. He loved that about her. She’d never been able to hide her feelings from him. He wanted to do it all over again – lift the skirt of her dress up and plunge into her again with his tongue – but she pressed her palm into his cheek and tutted. 

“Greedy,” she muttered, running her fingers through his hair. 

He leaned into her touch, squeezing her ever-wobbly legs. Yes, greedy was a good word to describe how he felt about her. He couldn’t get enough, and she was ever so generous. They were perfectly matched in that department. 

“How long do we have?” He asked, inching his fingertips up the back of her thighs. 

“Not long enough,” she replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

A car door slammed somewhere nearby, sending a shock through both of them. They’d lost track of time. Her dad was home and would be walking through the kitchen any second now. They glanced at each other for a single moment, wide-eyed and frantic, before moving in unison. 

Frank unfolded from his stooped position, wincing when his knees popped in protest. If they weren’t in such a hurry, she’d giggle and call him old. She cursed, running her hands through the wrinkles on her dress. 

“Dinner’s not ready yet,” she murmured, pulling her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck. 

Frank, who was normally much more coordinated, crashed into the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen in his attempt to put some distance between the two of them, causing alarm to flit across her face. She opened her mouth to chastise him when the door swung open, revealing Frank’s oldest friend. Her father moseyed through the door carrying a briefcase, a day-old coffee mug, and the coat he’d worn out the door that morning. 

The thing about her father was that he really wasn’t a terrible guy, just busy. He’d raised his only child by himself, making sure she was taken care of and well-fed, even when his empty belly ached at the dinner table. He hadn’t a lot of money, but he had a lot of love, and he, like all great parents, made do with that until they figured it all out.  

Frank felt sick to his stomach every time he came face to face with him. He didn’t mean to fall for his best friend’s daughter either, but it didn’t seem like his choice. Their budding relationship seemed inevitable from the moment she returned from college, eager to help her dad out around the house. Frank didn’t know she would be so...agreeable. 

“Hey, old man,” her dad said, patting Frank on the back with a wide grin. He eyed his daughter, focused solely on the carrot that had surpassed sliced a while ago and was approaching pulp-ish. “Hi, honey.” 

“Hey, how was work?” She replied awkwardly, flicking her gaze from the vegetable to her dad, then to Frank and back to her dad. “I’m almost done with dinner.” 

She turned back toward the cutting board, listening to him recount a story about one of his students forgetting to cite his sources in his semester essay. It was almost Christmas. She felt like maybe the student deserved a break, but she wasn’t a college professor, so what did she know? 

“I’ll go get ready for dinner.” Her father finished his story, turning towards Frank. “D’ya want something to drink? I raised her to host better than that, y’know.” 

He shot her a pointed look, amusement clear in his eyes. She blushed. While that was true, she didn’t think Frank minded that they’d chosen to forego drinks and jump straight into oral when he’d arrived. 

“She always takes good care of me,” Frank cleared his throat, sending another shiver down her back. She threw the vegetables in the stew, choking on the gasp that had lodged itself in her throat. 

“Right.” She nodded, trying to play it cool. “I offered earlier, dad.” 

She finally let her breath loose when her father disappeared deeper into the house. Frank smirked. 

“Frank-” 

He brought his finger to his lips, reminding her to keep her voice low. 

“You’re awful! He’s going to catch on!” She whisper yelled across the kitchen. Frank was already closing the gap between them, unable to keep himself away from her. Her hips were a magnet for his hands. He had no power over it. 

“He won’t suspect a thing.” Frank smirked, wicked thoughts clear as day on his face.  “Will there be any dessert? I already know what I want.” 

She rolled her eyes, giggling. 

“Not if you can’t keep your terrible mouth shut during dinner!”  

She nudged him towards the table, turning back to her stew moments before her dad rejoined them in the kitchen, none the wiser. 

When dinner was done, she piled pots, pans, and plates into Frank’s hands at the sink. He always insisted on helping her clean the kitchen. She knew it frustrated him that her dad never offered, but those complaints were met with firm shushing from her. It wasn’t his business what her father did or didn’t do. 

“Same time next week?” She asked as she walked Frank to the front door. 

He’d been sitting with her dad in the study for an hour, joining him only after the dishes were completely washed, dried, and put away. She didn’t mind sharing him with her dad. Frank was the only person who came around anymore besides solicitors and the occasional girl scout. It made her feel less guilty for stealing all of Frank’s attention.  

“Same time as always,” Frank said, tapping her nose with a wink. “Thanks for dinner.” 

She knew what he meant. In a few hours, she’d be plundering across the lawn, bundled against the cold with a very specific destination in mind. Frank’s back door was always unlocked. She’d know her way from stoop to stoop with her eyes closed.  

Her father joined her at the window as she watched Frank mosey down the street, hands tucked in his pockets.  

“You’re nice for letting him come over early, honey. I don’t think he talks much to other people. Mrs. Cross said he spoke to her in mostly grunts at the workshop the other day.” 

“Was Mrs. Cross trying to talk her way into free repair?” She pressed, arching an eyebrow. 

Frank often vented to her about the jobs that people in town tried to get him to discount. Mrs. Cross was a steady regular for him, but she was the cheapest lady he’d ever met. Frank had worked on almost everyone’s house in town at one point or another. He was the resident-fixer-upper, and he also happened to be one of the only handsome bachelors in town. Women hired him all the time to do random things around their house when their husbands weren’t home. Frank hated it, but it paid the bills. 

“She must’ve left that part out,” her father conceded, sipping his whiskey. “Still, I think he’s a little lonely.” 

“I think he gets on just fine,” she murmured, adjusting the curtains over the window once Frank was out of sight. “Besides, don’t you think people say the same about you?” 

Her father had been a bachelor just as long as Frank, prioritizing work and raising a child over developing a relationship with someone new. Women hounded the widowed professor almost as much as they hounded Frank. Still, having a grown daughter living with him seemed to keep them off his back. Mostly. 

“Never.” He shook his head. “I have you, remember?” 

She nodded, half-smiling as he made his way down the hall to his study. He did have her, but he wouldn’t always. She’d have to grow up someday. They both would. 

When her father had finally lost his battle to whiskey and sleep, she found herself creeping into Frank’s dark house, removing her shoes by the door. He always made fun of how quiet she forced herself to be, knowing that the only person in the house was him, but it was a force of habit. She’d been quietly tiptoeing around her house for years. 

It always went something like this. Every night, she made her way up the stairs, overly familiar with his house, and inched the bedroom door open. Every night, Frank met her at the door, shirtless and oh-so-fuckable, tugging her lips against his in breathtaking swiftness. Every night, they tangled themselves in the sheets and each other, deepening their connection and furthering their affair. 

Inbetween kisses, he gasped into her mouth, “What took you so long?” 

Inhale. Kiss. Exhale. Kiss. 

“He was doing the crossword. You know Thursdays are the trickiest-oh!” 

In one sweeping motion, he’d lifted her off the ground bridal-style and chucked her on the blanketed bed, erasing any thoughts of gridded puzzles.  

“Thought you weren’t coming,” he said, hovering over her frame. 

“I’ve been here every night for months,” she replied, running a cool fingertip down his exposed bicep. “I’ll always come.” 

“Always? Promise?” 

He winked at her, barely visible in the dim light of his bedroom, but it sent another flurry of butterflies through her core. Smitten was a good word to describe her. Smitten and damned, because she didn’t care how wrong it made her feel. 

“I promise,” she said candidly. 

And she really believed she meant that. 

x 

Frank had quite the stamina for an older guy. It’d been almost an hour, edging himself closer and closer to coming every time another orgasm tumbled from her lips. She was currently on her stomach, wedged between him and the comforter. Her arms were crossed behind her back, held tightly by Frank’s large hand as he pounded into her. Hot, pleasurable tears streamed down her cheeks.  

She arched against his weight, trying to stave off another orgasm, but it spurred him further. He slammed into her with such force that an unsolicited moan forced its way from her throat. 

“Frank,” she started, swallowing thickly. 

His hand met her throat, tugging her head back even further. She groaned at the new position. He was somehow even deeper inside than he’d been before. 

“What do you need, baby?” He cooed, breathing into her ear. Goosebumps skittered down her spine in response. 

“P-Please,” she whined. 

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetie. Can you give me one more?” 

“Frank-,” she mewled into the comforter, muffling the sound. 

“Just one more, baby,” he coaxed, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You can do it.” 

She wasn’t sure she could. Frank had enticed more orgasms out of her over one evening than she’d ever had in her life. Even so, the familiar heat coiling in her core told her she’d be trembling with pleasure again soon.  

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmured, rutting into her. “Wish I could keep you in my bed forever.” 

It had taken her a while to get used to Frank’s praise. He was relentlessly flattering, and what’s worse is he meant everything he said to her. She’d spent most of her life trying to understand the people around her; hours spent deciphering the words they used when they meant something completely different. Yet, Frank’s words were always genuine, and she never doubted their truth. 

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, kissing down the slope of her spine, “I know you want to.” 

She really, really did. Frank was an all-consuming, overwhelming force taking her exactly where she wanted to go. He squeezed her throat, eyes lighting up as a slew of curses left her lips. She was already gone, lost in a haze of pleasure reserved only for Frank. She relished in the sturdiness of his body, pressed against her in a way that made her feel whole.  

Finally, he let go of the leash he’d been holding on himself, bucking forward and holding himself deep inside of her. His delicious groan pushed her even further over the edge. A beautiful cacophony of heavy breaths and moans surrounded the two of them. 

When she finally blinked her eyes open, Frank was coaxing her back to life with gentle kisses down her spine. She relaxed into his touch, heart pounding.  

“You’re perfect, sweetheart,” he breathed, rutting into her a final time for emphasis. “I can’t believe how perfect you are for me.” 

He dropped to the bed next to her, still breathing heavily. She couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off her face. He really was the most handsome bachelor in their town. 

“Do you ever wish that I was older?” She asked, suddenly shy in front of the man that had seen her naked in a multitude of positions. 

His gaze snapped to hers. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. 

“I just mean- Like if I was older, maybe we wouldn’t have to hide it from everyone.” She said, gnawing on her bottom lip. 

“I don’t care how old you are,” he shook his head, sitting up. “I care about hurting your dad, hurting you, but I don’t care about the rest of it. I’m not hiding you because of that.” 

She nodded, understanding but still disliking it. She wasn’t sure her dad would ever come around to the idea of Frank and her together, and she was too much of a coward to tell him about it. 

“Are you thinkin’ about telling him?” Frank asked, arching an eyebrow at her. 

“No.” Shook her head. “The opposite actually. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to tell him.” 

He ran his hand along her back, soothing the anxiety before it could bubble into something worse. 

“And that makes me sad,” she murmured, eyes glossy. 

“I know it does, baby,” he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “ ‘m sorry we can’t be more open about us.” 

His quiet whisper broke her heart. She’d never been this enraptured by another person. Frank was kind and didn’t make her feel weird for being herself. It was unfair that she couldn’t publicly celebrate the only person in the world who knew her. But her dad wasn’t a progressive man, to say the least, and he’d likely try to kill Frank for even looking at her in a suggestive way. 

“Do you ever think about running away?” She asked, curling against Frank’s side and relishing the warmth that radiated from his skin. 

“With you?” He sighed. “All the time.” 

“Me too,” she said, closing her eyes and imagining it. 

They could go anywhere, but she knew they’d end up near the ocean. She was hundreds of miles away from one, but they’d figure it out. 

“We could get a house on the beach,” she said, smiling. “I could take you out and not have to worry about running into anyone we know. I could show you off, like I want to do now.” 

Her heart ached at the thought of it. She knew Frank was hurting too. It was all a silly, out of reach dream that they had. The world was much smaller than they wished it to be. It didn’t matter how they felt about one another if her father wasn’t okay with them being together. 

“I’ll buy you that house on the beach one day, sweetheart,” Frank sighed again, running his fingers up and down her back, “And we’ll run away together; have a life outside of the four walls of this bedroom.” 

“You promise?” 

She looked up at him with sadness in her eyes and hope in her heart. Everything about their situation was troubling, but she couldn’t possibly end it. She loved Frank, even if it meant isolating herself from the rest of the world. 

“I promise,” he said. 

And she really believed he meant that. 

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“No.” 

You stood in the doorway of Micro’s hideout, staring down the most infuriating man you’d ever met. Frank glared at you through the pouring rain, heaving. He was likely injured or in need of a place to sleep, but his stupid, handsome face had soured your mood immensely.  

“Not your call, sweetheart,” he grunted, looking you up and down, though he made no move to shove past you into the hideout. 

“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms. 

Frank’s nostrils flared. Good riddance. 

“Still mad about the last time we saw each other?” He taunted, smirking. 

“Fuck you, Frank.” 

You slammed the door, hoping it whacked him in his large nose. It wasn’t a matter of anger; it was a matter of principle. That’s what you told yourself, at least. Frank had been circling you for years, walking in and out of your life without a second glance. He’d appear on your doorstep, call you pretty, fuck you better than any man should be capable of, and then disappear for weeks again. You’d done this dance so many times that you’d lost count a long time ago. You were not in the mood to dance anymore. 

Frank banged on the door, sparking another wave of anger deep in your bones. He was relentless, but you were stubborn. You ignored it, turning back to the couch you’d been half-asleep on before his unwelcome arrival. A grumble echoed through the door, rattling in your bones. You hesitated, turning back toward the door. You hated yourself for it, but Frank was hard to say no to. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you extended it to him anyways. 

An annoying grunt left your throat as you swung the door open again. 

“That was pathetic,” you said, glaring at his still-smirking face. You moved to the side, allowing him into the abandoned building. 

“Where’s Micro?” He asked, looking between Micro’s usual haunt in front of the computers and your furious figure. 

“Occupied,” you sent him a mocking smile, plopping down on the couch. 

“Doing what?” His eyes followed your every move intensely. 

“I’m not his mother, Frank. I don’t know.”  

You threw your hands up in exasperation, curling your legs into your body. The TV was quietly playing re-runs of The Twilight Zone. You pretended to watch it as Frank moved to a fro, doing whatever it is that assholes do when they interrupt your very peaceful evening.  

A stifled groan echoed from the small bathroom, pulling your attention away from the show. You blinked, shaking your head. Whatever Frank was doing in there was not your business. You refocused on the tv, hoping the rain would muffle his grunts. It didn’t, of course, and when the groans began ringing in your ears, you found yourself drawing closer to the noise.  

Frank was shirtless, hunched over the sink, gripping a needle and thread in his shaking hand. Blood dripped from a nasty wound on his back, littering the floor around him. A small knife was lodged into his shoulder blade. The sight was nauseating. He was breathing heavily, eyes closed in concentration. 

“What happened?” You asked, moving closer to the trembling figure. 

He jumped, then let out another groan. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he heaved, gripping the sink hard enough to crack the fake porcelain. 

You rolled your eyes, huffing. 

“You have a knife in your back, Frank,” you said, stating the obvious. 

“ ‘m fine.” He attempted to wave you off but immediately grunted at the movement. 

You placed a hand on his unwounded shoulder, hoping to disarm his foul mood. 

“Let me help,” you said, meeting his gaze in the dirty mirror. 

He finally nodded, dropping his eyes to the blood-soaked sink. 

He still towered over you, even hunched forward. You eyed the knife, hoping it’d be an easy removal. You knew your way around injuries, especially knowing Frank for as long as you had, but there were wounds that even you couldn’t fix. This one didn’t seem too deep. 

“Who did this to you?” 

You began inching your way towards the knife, hoping to distract him as you removed the blade. 

“You gonna go after ‘em?” He teased, smirking at your frown. 

“Maybe,” you teased, “Maybe not.” 

“Let me worry about ‘em, sweetheart.” 

He sounded genuinely concerned, which almost made you laugh. You scoffed instead. 

“ ‘m serious. Don’t get involved,” he grunted, meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“I won't. I was just trying to distract you,” you said, quickly dislodging the knife from his back in one swift motion. 

He stifled a groan, somehow squeezing the sink even tighter than before. You carefully placed the knife on the counter as Frank’s heaving echoed around the bathroom. 

“That fucking hurt,” he finally growled, standing to his full height so that you had to look up at him. 

“Sorry.” You grinned. 

“No, you’re not.” 

You nodded, agreeing with his observation. You were not sorry in the slightest. 

“You’re right. And you’re bleeding all over Micro’s nice, clean floor.” 

He grunted but didn’t move to stop the bleeding. You kept your eyes on his, ignoring the way his muscled chest was heaving so close to your own. 

“We even now?” He finally spoke, dangerously low. 

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. Sure, he’d given you the chance to physically hurt him in return for his swift departure from your apartment the last time you’d seen him, but that didn’t make up for the fact that this toxic relationship was ruining your sense of self. Your self-esteem was at an all-time low. Why weren’t you good enough for him? 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, shaking the thoughts from your head. 

“Thought you were smarter than that, sweetheart.” 

He tapped the bottom of your chin with a bloody finger. Teasing. Taunting. Tempting you to bite it off. You pulled away from him, anger renewed.  

“You’re an asshole, Frank,” you sneered, turning to get as far away as possible from him. 

“Woah, sweetheart,” he said, wrapping his hand around your arm and tugging, pulling you flush against his chest. “I was joking. Relax.” 

You shoved against his steel hold around you, letting out a frustrated sigh when he didn’t let go. 

“Don’t fucking tell me to relax. I don’t want to do this with you anymore, Frank.” 

He blinked, then unlocked his arms and took a full step back. You were grateful for the distance, finally able to breathe now that he wasn’t smothering you. 

“I didn’t know,” he simply said. 

“Of course you didn’t. That would require you to care, which you’re clearly incapable of.” 

It felt like a low blow. Frank cared more than anyone you’d ever met, but you wanted to kick and scream, and he was being entirely too levelheaded for your liking. 

“I care,” he sneered, taking the bait. “Don’t say shit you don’t understand.” 

“I understand plenty,” you pointed at him, “I’m not a thing you get to take your sexual frustration out on, Frank. I have feelings.” 

“Oh, I see,” he said, mocking you, “What do you want me to do? Take you out? Treat you like a girlfriend? A wife? I never promised you any of that.” 

“I get it, Frank. Whatever,” you said, leaving the bathroom. Your plan to rile him up had worked, but his words hurt worse than you’d ever admit. Still within earshot, you called out, “Clean up the fucking floor before you leave.” 

You occupied yourself in Micro’s makeshift kitchen, ignoring what you hoped were the sounds of Frank cleaning up and leaving. You never wanted to see his abnormally large nose again. You’d probably punch it. Or kiss it. You couldn’t decide which would be worse. 

Suddenly, Frank pressed against your back, wrapping his arms around your torso. His cheek rested on the crown of your head. Guilt roiled in your gut, but you didn’t say anything. You wanted him to go. You wanted him to stay. You wanted to knee him in the groin. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, voice raspy in the quiet kitchen. 

“Did you clean up?” You rested your palms against the countertop, hoping the coolness of the granite would contain the heat climbing up your throat. 

“Cleaner than it was. But that bathroom has never been clean.” 

You bit your lip, hiding the smile that forced its way onto your face. 

“Are you still bleeding all over Micro’s floor?” 

“No,” he shook his head, swaying against you. 

“Leave,” you said, sighing. You didn’t mean it, and he knew it. 

“You know I can’t let you go to bed angry, baby” He teased.  

You felt his smirk against your head. 

“I’m angry every time I see you, Frank.” 

“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to your temple for emphasis. 

“How?” 

You knew he wouldn’t be able to fix everything. It was in Frank’s nature to leave when feelings got too big.  

“The only way I know how,” he whispered, running his hands over your waistband. 

You couldn’t help it. You arched into him, resting your head against his chest. Your shirt, already cropped, revealed goosebumps along your torso. 

“Let me show you how sorry I am, sweetheart,” he murmured, fingers splaying over the exposed skin above your pant line. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  

You believed him, cursing yourself for allowing him to worm his way back into your good graces. 

“You’re going to run off like you have every other time,” you breathed, closing your eyes. 

His fingers wound their way around your stomach, soothing touches for all the times he’d burned you. 

“I won’t,” he shook his head, “’ll stay this time.” 

“You can’t possibly think I believe that,” you said, scoffing. 

“Let me take care of you, baby,” he murmured, ignoring your statement, solidifying the truth of it. 

You hated him for it. You hated yourself even more for nodding your head, agreeing to his suggestion. Knowing he was a lying snake. Knowing he would do the same thing he always did. Knowing this would end with you alone in bed, again. 

“I hate you,” you whispered, arching further into him. 

“Yeah? You hate me, baby?” He asked, pushing his hand down the front of your pants. Warmth echoed throughout your body as his fingers brushed against your clit. “You’re already fucking soaked. You don’t hate me, sweetheart. You love this.” 

He emphasized his statement by rubbing circles around your sensitive clit. You moaned, leaning into his strength to keep you upright. His free hand was holding you steady against his chest while he teased you relentlessly. 

“I love it too,” he whispered against your ear, sending goosebumps down your back, “I love seeing you so worked up over me. So angry. Makes me hard. I think about it for days afterwards.” 

“Liar,” you gasped, whining when his finger teased your entrance. 

He tutted, wrapping one hand around your throat and lightly squeezing. 

“Don’t be a brat,” he chided, running his other fingers through your wet folds. “’m here to say sorry, remember?”  

You moaned when he finally plunged two fingers into you, pumping in and out as he lightly squeezed your neck. 

“See? You’re so good for me when you’re nice and quiet,” he teased. 

Your jaw dropped, ready to argue. He chuckled. 

“’m joking, baby.” 

He peppered your neck with kisses, emphasizing every pump of his fingers with sloppy nips at your skin. You were wound up tight like a bomb, moments away from explosion. Frank had that effect on you. 

“I’m not forgiving you after this,” you huffed, whining when his thumb brushed your clit. 

He hummed in response, tightening his grip on your throat. 

“Don’t want your forgiveness, baby,” he finally murmured, breath skittering across your exposed skin. Goosebumps fluttered down your spine. “Just need this sweet, sweet pussy.” 

He curled his fingers, sending an electric pulse through your body so overwhelming that your knees gave out. An orgasm ripped out of you so fast you couldn’t catch your breath. You mewled as Frank slowly bent you over the counter, gently pulling his hand out of your pants. Your legs wobbled in sickening desire as he tugged your pants down, exposing your ass. 

“Love that sound you make when you come, baby,” he grunted, kneading the newly exposed flesh between his large hands. “It plays in my head when you’re mad at me. I get hard every time.” 

You huffed in annoyance but didn’t do a thing to stop Frank from rubbing against your bent over figure. He was skilled in two things: fucking and fighting. You weren’t going to complain when he targeted you for the first thing. 

“You’re so wet for me already,” he pointed out, slapping your sensitive mound with his palm.  

You jolted forward, whining when your cheek scraped against the counter. 

“ ‘m sorry, baby,” he said, running a soothing hand up the length of your back. “Do you want me to stop?” 

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. Did you want him to stop? Never. You always wanted this and so much more. He wasn’t willing to share that with you though, so you’d accepted a long time ago that this was the only piece of him you’d get to cherish. 

“Baby,” he said, pressing his forehead between your shoulder blades, “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll go.” 

You blinked your eyes open, ignoring the tear that had appeared on your lash line. 

“I don’t want you to stop,” you murmured, breathing hard as his hips grinded against your bare skin.  

“What do you want, baby?” 

“I want you to fuck me, Frank,” you said, almost whining. It had already been too long without contact. “I want you to fill me up and then I want you to fuck me again.” 

A low groan sounded in his throat. You couldn’t see him, but you knew what his face would look like if you could. His eyes, usually harsh and unforgiving, would be dark with desire. His lips would be plump with need, half-smirked and cocky at your foul words. You knew exactly how to drive him crazy too. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, somewhere between a plea and a moan, “I love it when you talk to me like that. You’re so fucking pretty.” 

You wiggled your ass in response, jumping when his palm smacked against your exposed skin. The sound of his belt being undone made your toes clench. His massive hands wrapped around your hips as he finally pushed into you. Gentle, at first, because you both knew how big he was. This was not the first time he’d bent you over and called you pretty. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, smacking your ass again as he began moving in and out of you, “Your perfect little pussy is so fucking addictive. I dream about doing this every night.” 

A moan was the only response you could muster, because he’d suddenly picked up his pace, pounding so deep into you that you saw stars. You gripped the counter, holding on as he slammed into you over and over again. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” 

It was almost a whine. Almost. You clenched around him, tightening your pussy as he continued sliding in and out of you.  

“F-Fuck,” he grunted, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, “This pretty pussy is going to kill me, sweetheart.” 

You did it again, this time arching off the counter even more. And there it was – a whine so deliciously sinful that you nearly came from the sound of it alone. The only time Frank allowed himself to be vulnerable was when he was with you. You relished in it. The biggest, baddest thing in New York was whining in your ear about your pretty pussy and your even prettier face. It was enough to give a girl an ego. 

Frank wound his arm around your face, pulling you slightly off the counter and arching your back even more. His hand gripped your throat tightly. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, and you couldn’t stop the pleasure-soaked tears from finally spilling down your cheeks. 

“Even when you’re being bratty,” Frank started, emphasizing the word ‘bratty’ with a punishing slam, “You’re fucking pretty. My pretty fucking brat.” 

“I’m not your anything,” you murmured, arching into his touch. 

“You’re my everything, sweetheart,” he grunted. 

“Maybe just your annoying little plaything,” you said, unable to keep the venom out of your voice. 

A firm hand smacked against your ass. You meant what you said, but you didn’t truly believe it. Frank’s pace hadn’t stuttered, but you felt his intense stare as he continued wrecking you. 

“You’re my salvation, baby,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear. So quiet, in fact, that you thought you might’ve imagined it. 

He didn’t give you the chance to think too hard about it. You were very suddenly seeing stars, orgasm sneaking up on your pleasure-filled body. You turned your head, muffling your moans with the countertop before Frank pulled you off the counter again. This time, he pulled out of you completely, turned you around, set you on the counter again, and plunged back into you.  

“Nah, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “I wanna hear those pretty noises you make for me.” 

You nodded, swallowing thickly.  You’d barely gotten through your first two orgasms. A third seemed unlikely, though Frank’s face was more determined than ever. His hands wound around your hips, helping himself find the right angles to send you spiraling once again. 

You couldn’t help yourself. His face was right there, and you wanted to feel his skin against your palms. You rested your hands against his cheeks, pulling his attention to your face. He hesitated, only for a moment, before pushing his lips against yours. 

It was a frantic, wild kiss, begging to devour you whole. Frank did everything with his entire heart behind it, including kissing you. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last, but this one felt different. Hungrier.  

You whined into his mouth, which spurred him to drive into you at an even greater speed. If you weren’t hanging on to each other, you would’ve certainly fallen off the counter. 

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispered against your lips, brushing his tongue over the corner of your mouth for emphasis before capturing your lips in another intoxicating kiss.  

 You whined into his mouth, feeling your pleasure heat between your legs for a third time that evening. 

“Frank,” you moaned, arching your back, “I want you to fill me up.” 

You knew that would be the thing that brought him over the edge. He was stoic and quiet in most aspects of his life, but you knew deep down that Frank had a breeding kink. You had put yourself on birth control as a surprise for him. He fucking loved it. 

His hips finally stuttered, plunging deep inside you as he came. You couldn’t stop the heat from overtaking you as well, pulling a third orgasm from deep within your core. Maybe Frank was your kink. 

You wilted against him, worn out and wobbly from the intense make-up sex. Those were always your favorite sessions, even though the feelings that came before and after seemed to get harder every time. 

His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling your legs around his waist and lifting you in the air. You sagged into him, praying to a God that you barely believed in that he would stay. He said he would. You wanted to believe him so badly. 

“Get the lights, baby,” he murmured as carried you towards the bed you sometimes shared with him. 

He plopped you down on the bed, crawling under the covers with you in the dim light of the warehouse. It was still pouring outside, which was maybe God’s fleeting mercy. Frank pressed against your tired body, soaking in the warmth of your skin brushing over his. 

“You’re leaving?” You asked, barely above a whisper. 

“Not yet, baby.” He shook his head. “I said I wouldn’t.” 

“I didn’t believe you.” 

Frank’s mouth formed a small grin before he planted perhaps the softest kiss he’d ever given you on your forehead. You sighed, finally allowing yourself to rest against his chest. You already knew this wouldn’t end well, but that didn’t stop you from hoping it wouldn’t. 

Later, when the rain finally stopped, and only when Frank knew you were in a deep sleep, would he sneak out of the warehouse. When you awoke to an empty, cold bed, you resigned yourself to never speaking to Frank again, knowing you were lying to yourself. You and Frank were in a toxic cycle that you couldn’t begin to pry yourself out of. You rolled over, half-aware that you’d done this to yourself by trusting him again. That didn’t stop the tears from flowing onto your pillow anyways. 

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The ticking of the clock was beginning to grate on your nerves. The office was quiet, other than the constant tick-tick-ticking in your ears. You shot a nervous glance toward Matt’s closed office door, wondering if he could feel your anxiety through the walls. It was long past when you were supposed to go home, but you didn’t have anything going on tonight, and you felt bad leaving a blind man by himself in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen. The occasional creak of the floorboards told you he was still moving around, so he didn’t seem too concerned. 

It all felt a little pathetic if you were honest with yourself. He was your boss, and you were spending the better part of your workdays dreaming about his handsome face. Every time he said your name, it felt like you were being lit on fire. His smiles were even more dangerous, because it was like he knew he was handsome, which charmed you more than you cared to admit. 

There was also the fact that Matt seemed to be infuriatingly agile for a blind man, though he frequently came in with scrapes, bruises, and excuses. Matt Murdock was a charming mystery that you wanted so badly to solve. However, there was one small problem. 

You’d never actually slept with anyone in your life. Sure, you’d been in situations where maybe someone copped a feel, but you’d kept your legs firmly closed anytime a man tried to invite himself inside “for coffee” after a date. You’d never found anyone you trusted enough to be intimate with, but Matt seemed to have changed that without even trying.  

There was just something about him that made you want to learn more. This, of course, had not persuaded you to speak with Matt about anything so personal. In fact, you’d been so caught up in not being creepy towards him that you’d begun distancing yourself from him completely. 

Matt cleared his throat, pulling you from yet another daydream about him. He was leaning against the doorway of his office. You started, knocking the piled-up stack of papers from your desk to the floor in a cascading, fluttering display of disaster. Your cheeks warmed, embarrassed that Matt had such an effect on you. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, kneeling to pick up the mess you’d made, “You scared me.” 

Matt shuffled toward your hunched figure, stopping when his dress shoes came into view. You glanced up at him, wondering if he was about to fire you. 

“I should be the one apologizing,” he said, bending down to help you. “You could’ve left hours ago. I’ve been in my own world. I’m a terrible boss.” 

You nodded, then grinned at your forgetfulness. Sometimes Matt was so in tune with the world around him that he didn’t seem blind at all.  

“It’s not your fault. I stayed because I wanted to, Mr. Murdock.” 

“Matt," he corrected, smiling. 

He’d corrected you a million times before. You still weren’t going to call your boss by his first name. It felt too personal, and that was the last thing you needed if you were going to get over your crush on him. 

“Sure, Mr. Murdock. Whatever you want.” you acquiesced, waving your hand in defeat. 

“You don’t have any plans tonight? It’s Friday night. You’re young. What do all the young kids do around here now?” 

“Not that young,” you stood, carefully placing the papers in a heap on your desk, “And I wouldn’t know. I don’t get out much.” You shrugged, pulling your purse over your shoulder. “Anything you need before I go, Mr. Murdock? I can call you a cab.” 

Matt grinned, shaking his head. 

“I think I’ll manage.” 

“Okay.” You skirted around the edge of the desk, careful not to run into the disastrous array of papers you’d have to reorganize in the morning. “Goodnight then, Mr. Murdock.” 

He chuckled, running the back of his knuckle along the wood of your desk before knocking twice, silently deciding something. 

“Actually,” he faced you, “Are you hungry? There’s this great Indian place around the corner. Mind walking with me? I know it’s not technically in your job description, but...” 

His voice trailed off, leaning against the desk, your desk. 

“Um,” you said, clearing your throat, “Yes. Yeah, I can walk you. And I am hungry.” 

He grinned.  

“I knew it. Let me grab my cane and we’ll be off!” 

Your legs felt slightly wobbly. The idea of uninterrupted time with Matt this late at night was not a part of the plan. It was hopeless. You’d jump off a bridge naked if he asked you to do that. You were sort of hoping he would. 

When he held his arm out for you to guide him, you had to take a deep breath. It would be fine. You were a professional. It was simply a boss getting his employee dinner. Nothing insanely intimate about that. 

The night air felt nice on your heated cheeks. It wasn’t too cold in New York yet, which meant there were plenty of people out and about. You’d planned on keeping a healthy distance between yourself and Matt, but when busy sidewalks nudged you against his side, you couldn’t ignore the firm press of his arm against your body. 

You finally took a breath when Matt sat down across from you at the restaurant, giving you the space you so desperately didn’t want, but also needed if you were going to make it through this dinner. 

“So,” Matt spoke your name, instantly warming your cheeks again, “You’re not from here, right? Why’d you move to the city?” 

“School, mostly.” You shrugged.  

“You finished school months ago, but you’re still here,” he observed, taking a sip of his beer, “Which, by the way, we are so grateful for. Foggy and I would be a mess without you. Please don’t leave us.” 

You didn’t realize anyone had noticed you’d graduated. You wondered how many other things Matt had noticed when you weren’t paying attention. 

“I don’t plan on it, Mr. Murdock-” 

He clicked his tongue, chuckling. 

“I don’t plan on it, Matt. I like my job.”  

You emphasized his name, eyeing the pleased look that washed over his expression at your surrender. The name tasted so foreign on your tongue, even though you’d been dreaming about saying it for months. You took a gulp of your beer to try and smother the desire to say it again. 

“I’m glad,” he said, clearing his throat, “I mean, we’re glad to have you. You’re a great paralegal. Any chance you plan on attending law school in the future?” 

You’d considered it, wondering what it might be like to defend people who need help like Matt and Foggy do, but you weren't sure what you wanted to do with your life, and you figured the people who you’d end up defending probably deserved better than that. 

“I think I’ll leave the defense of Hell’s Kitchen to the experts,” you said, shrugging.  

The waiter, a short, pretty woman, brought the orders to the table, making extra sure that Matt didn’t need anything else. She eyed you, trying to gauge the situation happening at the table. Lovers or friends? You weren’t certain you could tell a difference with Matt. You simply watched her back, looking between Matt’s face and hers. Matt was so preoccupied with stuffing his face that he didn’t give the waitress another glance. When she finally stalked away, you leaned forward, whispering across the table. 

“Mr. Murdock, I think that woman was trying to flirt with you.” 

“She was,” he said between bites, “But this curry is so good. I couldn’t leave it waiting. Eat.” 

He pointed his fork in your direction, a hilarious attempt at a threat. You snorted with laughter at the idea of Matt being intimidating to anyone. He doubled down, shaking the fork in your direction. 

“I think she spit in my food.” 

Laughter overtook both you and Matt. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, drawing stares from the customers around you. There wasn’t anything you could do about it. Matt was giggling like a schoolgirl at your bad attempt at a joke, and you couldn’t do anything to stop the grin from widening across your face. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “You have to stop. My stomach hurts.” 

“It’s because you haven’t eaten.” 

Matt arched an eyebrow at you, subtly pointing his fork in your direction again. 

“I better eat so you don’t stab me with your fork, then.” 

You dissolved into another fit of giggles, laying your head in your hands. This was definitely not going according to plan. You weren’t supposed to be laughing with him.  

“I like your laugh,” Matt observed, chuckling. “How come you never laugh at the office like that?” 

“I try to stay professional when I’m working,” you shrugged. 

“Foggy could learn a thing or two from you,” Matt joked, turning towards the approaching waitress.  

You eyed the interaction, wondering how Matt knew the waitress had come back. It had to be a sense thing, right? You chalked it up to one of those Matthew mysteries that you’d never fully understand, watching the waitress write her number on the check. You almost pointed out that he wouldn’t be able to see the number, but kept your lips shut. 

You gulped down the rest of your beer, hoping he’d wait to flirt back until you’d gone home. Instead, he turned his attention back to you, thanking the waitress and crumpling the check into a ball.  

“You didn’t want to call her later?”  

You couldn’t stop the question from bubbling out of your mouth. He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“No.” 

“She’s really pretty,” you pointed out. 

“How would I know?” He asked. 

“Somehow, I think you do know. I’ve heard you and Foggy in the office. You’re known to have a conquest or two.” 

The smirk that spread across his face was charming enough to warm your cheeks again. 

“I think it'd be incredibly rude to pick up women while I’m out with another woman,” he shrugged, “People in this city come and go. Sometimes a one-night stand isn’t worth the effort. You know what I mean?” 

You stared at him. You knew exactly what he meant, but not in the way he was saying it. 

“Right,” you nodded, heart stuttering. 

He tilted his head. Alarm bells went off in your head. This was definitely not a safe conversation to have with your very handsome boss. You watched him, hoping he’d move on from the topic, but he seemed as intrigued as ever. 

“Are you seeing anyone?” He asked suddenly, voice huskier than before. 

You shook your head, cringing when you realized you were using body language to communicate with a blind man again.  

“No, I’m not seeing anyone.”  

You cleared your throat. He nodded slowly, tapping his fingers on the table. 

“Have you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? Or...you know what I mean.” 

You stopped breathing for a moment. Is this seriously how Matt was going to figure out that you were a virgin? 

“No. No boyfriends. Or girlfriends, or whatever.” 

He hummed, tilting his head again. You eyed the movement, wondering what he was doing with that information in his mind. 

“Surely you’ve slept with someone, though?” 

You blinked, imagining spontaneously combusting. It sounded preferable to wherever this conversation was going. 

“No,” you finally whispered, cheeks heating. 

“Oh,” he said, nodding once. He tipped his head back, chugging the rest of his beer. You wondered if you’d somehow made Matt Murdock nervous. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you waved your hand, hoping he wouldn’t see through your calm and collected facade. “I just haven’t found the right person.” 

He brushed his hand over his lips, nodding. 

“That’s respectable,” he said, standing. “You ready?” 

You watched him for a moment, feeling the walls of the restaurant closing in around you. How were you going to face him tomorrow morning? And every morning after that one? 

“I could use some fresh air,” you said, blinking away the tears that pricked at the back of your eyes.  

When you made it outside, you put a healthy distance between yourself and Matt, who had been quietly contemplating since your conversation inside. 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, sighing. “I was just surprised.” 

“Why?” You couldn’t hide the malice in your voice.  

“That’s not what I meant either,” he shuffled his feet awkwardly, “I just meant I expected someone as beautiful as you to have men tripping over themselves to be with you.” 

You almost smiled. Almost. 

“Who says they’re not?” You asked, sounding more confident than you felt. 

“You’re right,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” 

You waved his apology away, shrugging. 

“It’s fine,” you chuckled a little, “Do you want me to call you a cab?” 

He shook his head. 

“I think I’d rather walk you home, if that’s alright with you.” 

You considered it for a moment, then slid your arm through his. 

“Sure.” 

You walked in silence, wondering what Matt was thinking. It all felt so silly. It shouldn’t be a big deal that you hadn’t lost your virginity, but for some reason it felt like the end of the world now that Matt knew about it. Matt didn’t seem too perturbed about it, but he also wasn’t easy to read. 

When you made it to the front steps of your apartment, you paused. Slightly tipsy, emboldened by the drinks, you looked up at Matt’s chiseled jaw and asked a question you’d never asked a man before. 

“Do you want to come in for coffee?” 

You blinked, wondering what the fuck was wrong with you. Your mouth opened again, ready to redact the insane request, when Matt slowly nodded his head.  

“Do you invite guys in for coffee a lot?” 

A small smile played on his lips, but you saw it for what it was – a suggestive inquiry into what had been playing on repeat in your head for months.  

“Never.” You shook your head as you replied, trying to shake away the butterflies that had suddenly wound their way into your stomach. 

“Okay, if that’s what you want. If you’re sure. Are you?” 

He asked it softly, with a genuine tone, but electricity charged into your chest. Was this really happening? 

“Yes.” 

You unlocked the door before you could talk yourself out of it. Matt’s warmth pressed against your back as you made your way into the foyer. Matt let out a low whistle at the size of the apartment, which struck you as odd. How could he tell? 

“How do you do that,” you questioned, watching him closely as he somehow took in the high ceilings and crown molding; things that people fully capable of seeing usually ignored. 

“Do what?” He faced you, only a few feet away but still close enough that you couldn’t breathe. 

“That. What you’re doing right now. You’re blind. How are you so good at seeing things?”  

“I don’t know what you mean,” he shrugged. 

“Yes, you do. You knew the waitress was coming to the table before I did. You avoid uneven sidewalks before I can warn you about them. You barely need my help when I’m walking with you around the city. You said I’m beautiful.” 

“You are beautiful,” he said, leaning his cane against the wall and removing his red glasses. He stepped toward you, stopping when he was towering over your figure. He brought his hand to your chin. “Very beautiful.” 

“How do you know that, Matt?” 

“I’m a really good lawyer, I guess.” 

He was joking, but it infuriated you. 

“Matt, seriously,” you wrapped your hand around his wrist, “I can’t do this if you’re not being honest with me. I can’t.” 

He froze, only for a moment, before relaxing. You looked into his eyes, a pretty hazel color that you wanted to drown in. 

“I can’t explain it well,” he swallowed, “I don’t see the world like most people.” 

“What do you see?” 

“A world on fire,” he replied, shrugging. 

“A world on fire,” you repeated, leaning into his touch. 

“I see a lot that people can’t, but the thing I want to see most of all is the sky. Every day, I imagine what it might look like.” 

His confession sent a pang through your chest. 

“Some nights, it’s so bright here in the city that you can’t see a single star in the sky. But they’re still up there. Sometimes we get lucky and can see them. I’ll tell you the next time that happens. I know it’s not the real thing, but maybe that helps?” 

You cringed at your attempt at comforting him. The corner of Matt’s eyes crinkled as a genuine smile crossed his face. 

“I see a beautiful woman,” he said, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb, “that wants me to take something very important from her.” 

You shook your head, trying to ignore the urge to wrap your lips around his thumb, and said, “I want you to have it. It’s a...gift.” 

“A gift?” He chuckled, the vibrations of his laugh humming through your bones. 

“I just mean,” you huffed, “that I know you will take care of me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I trust that you won’t make me feel embarrassed about that.” 

He shook his head, perfectly coy smile on his lips. 

“I would never tease you about this, honey,” he said, cupping your cheek with his free hand. “I’ll take care of you.” 

You bit your lip, unable to ignore the buzzing in your chest. He angled your jaw up, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to yours. 

It was the softest version of a kiss you’d ever felt, but it set your body alight with need. He was so gentle, yet so domineering. You wanted to please him in every possible way. His lips met yours again, this time in a searing kiss that left you gasping. He slid his tongue into your mouth, simultaneously pulling you flush against his chest. His hands slid to the nape of your neck, fingers sliding into your hair. A deliciously needy groan left his throat, and you were certain you were already a puddle on the floor. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, tightening his grip on your head, “I’ve been dreaming about this for months.” 

You blinked up at him, unsure if you heard him correctly. It sounded so much like what you’d been thinking. 

“You have?” 

“That surprises you?” He laughed, pressing his forehead to yours as he breathed. 

“I don’t know. Yes.” You shrugged, trying to calm your thundering heartrate. 

“Are you nervous?” He quirked, rubbing a thumb along the base of your neck. 

“No,” you lied, “I trust you.”  

Matt nodded, but you weren’t sure if he believed you. You did trust him, but that didn’t ease the anxiety radiating through your body. 

“We’ll take it slow, okay? If you want me to stop, I will. I won’t be mad. We can do whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Okay,” you agreed, unable to look away from his chiseled features, “I want to do everything with you, Matt. But-.” 

“But what?” He probed. 

“What if it’s not good for you? What if its awful and you never want to see me again?” 

His hands, which had wound their way to either side of your jaw, squeezed slightly. 

“You’ll be perfect, honey. Don’t worry about me. I’m taking care of you tonight, alright?” 

He led you slowly down the hallway, tugging you behind him. When he correctly made his way to your bedroom, confusion bubbled at your senses. 

“How did you-” 

He cut you off with a swift tug, bringing his lips to yours again. You immediately forgot the confusion, focusing on the rough scrape of his stubble against your face. His tongue swiped against yours, and you felt like there was a possibility you might be floating in mid-air. 

He nudged you toward the bed, stopping only to tug on the hem of your shirt.  

“Can I take this off, hmm?”  

“Yes,” you breathed. 

He pulled the shirt over your head, careful to toss it gently on the floor. He cleared his throat, loosening his tie. His hands, unable to help themselves from touching you, cupped your exposed waist, dragging a gasp from your lips. You slammed your lips against his, demanding more, more, more.  

The buttons of his shirt begged for your attention. All you could think about was seeing him without the numerous layers of cotton covering his body. You’d only seen Matt in his dress shirts, but the firmness of his chest made you suspect he was hiding a lot of muscle underneath. 

Your fingers shook slightly as you slowly unbuttoned his top button, moving down the seam until you were loosening the final piece. You ran a hand up his sculpted chest, swooning as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. 

“Wow,” you said, stunned at the man hidden beneath the lawyer costume. 

Scars littered his torso, drawing your attention away from the impressive muscles. You ran a finger over the pair of scars on his chest, two straight lines that ran parallel to his collar bones.  

“What happened here?” You asked, forcing your eyes away from his chest and back to his face. 

“It’s a long story,” he chuckled, “I’ll tell you about it sometime, over dinner.” 

“Are you asking me on a date mid-hookup, Matt?” 

“Definitely,” he smirked, placing his hands on his hips. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” You teased, pressing your palms flat against his torso. 

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, pulling you against his body and leaving a trail of kisses from cheek to collarbone. 

Every question that had entered your mind swiftly fled, leaving you on cloud nine as Matt continued to kiss you. His gentle touches were infuriatingly sensual. His hand wound their way up your back, nudging your bra clasp. 

“Can I?” 

You gulped. You’d never been topless in front of a man before, and even though Matt was technically blind, he saw more than people assumed he could. 

“Hey,” he tipped your chin with his knuckle, “We can stop. Everything will be okay.” 

You could cry at his gentle tone. He was a dream you hoped you would never wake up from. 

“No, I want this,” you said, shaking the hesitation from your head, “I want you to be the one who does this.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Eyebrows furrowed, he felt along the lines of your face, searching for hesitancy. 

“Please, Matt?”  

He sighed. 

“Okay, sweetheart.” 

He unclasped your bra, pulling the straps from your arms. You resisted the urge to cover up out of habit, but his hands were already there, wrapping around your breasts. A low hum left his throat as he squeezed. 

“Perfect,” he mumbled, squeezing again for emphasis. 

You arched into his touch, stifling the moan that was trying to force its way from your lips. He held them like they were a piece of art, careful and curious and in awe. His fingers, sinful and exacting, swiped over your pebbled nipples. You couldn’t help the groan that clawed its way up your throat, demanding to be heard. 

Matt grunted at the sound, running his hands along your waist, fingers tightening when he found the waistband of your pants. He fiddled with the material, rubbing the wool between his finger and thumb.  

“Can I-” 

“Yes,” you interrupted, desire overtaking manners. 

He unbuttoned the pants and gently pushed them down your wobbly legs, leaving you in your plain panties. You cursed yourself for not wearing a more revealing pair, but then again, you did not think Matt would be peeling them off you when you got dressed this morning.  

Matt teased at the material, snapping it against your hip. You watched in awe as he knelt, cupping the back of your thighs as he lowered himself. His lips, gloriously swollen, trailed along your leg, stopping only to glance up and ask a silent question.  

Can I? 

You pushed the fabric down, allowing him the pleasure of taking your underwear off when you met his hands halfway. His breath hitched when you were completely bare in front of him, the sweet scent of your body coiling around him. He grunted, looking up at you once again. It was dizzying to see such a beautiful, powerful man holding himself back. You wanted him to tear you apart, wreck you so thoroughly that you’d never think of another man again. You kept that thought to yourself, content to have this moment with him, even if you never had another one like it again. 

“Your heart is pounding,” he said, leaning his forehead against your bare thigh. 

“How can you tell?” 

A small smile was his only reply. Another mystery to add to your long list of things you’d never understand about Matthew Murdock. 

“God, you’re,” he paused, swallowing, “so beautiful, sweetheart.” 

Warmth tingled throughout your body at the adulation. If anyone else had said it, you might doubt their sincerity, but Matt said it in a way that felt sacred. You were a divine creature, ready to be worshipped. He was God’s most faithful servant. It felt sacrilegious to deny him anything, though the thought of doing that hadn’t truly crossed your mind.  

When he stood, your heart leaped into your throat again. He towered over you, running his fingers over every curve, learning your body in the most intimate way possible. His hands travelled from your hips to your breasts, up to your neck and jaw. He was everywhere. You were spellbound by the attention. 

“Matty?” 

“What is it, honey?” 

“Will it hurt?” 

He sighed, pulling you into a hug that scared you more than comforted you. You’d done some research about it, but you’d never found a direct answer. It all depended on the person and their limits, and you were never more unsure about those than now. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, kissing your head, “but it might hurt. We’ll go really slow. Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” 

You nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“I’m ready for...,” you trailed off, unsure of how to word it.  

He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“No, we’re not doing that yet. Let me worry about it, okay? Lay down. I’ll take good care of you. I promise.” He nudged you backwards towards your bed.  

 You didn’t know what to say. In the movies there was never any build up, and your friends hadn’t gone into detail about the foreplay they experienced with their partners. It was all a giant question mark in your head, but you nodded anyway, trusting Matt to lead you in the right direction. 

You sunk onto the bed, taking another deep breath and leaning against the pillows. You could do this. Matt would take care of you.  

He crawled up the bed, settling himself next to you and pulling you into his side. His dress pants, already wrinkled and messy, were taut around the bulge in his pants. Your eyes fluttered close as his lips trailed up your neck, settling on a spot just below your ear. 

Your soft moans elicited a groan from Matt, who was running his fingers up and down the inside of your thigh. His fingers lightly grazed your folds, and your gasp was enough to halt his movements. You widened your legs, arching your back. 

“Please,” you murmured, begging him to do something, anything. 

“Okay, baby,” he whispered, moving his hand to your most sensitive part. 

He slowly circled his fingers around your clit, breath hitching when he realized you were already absolutely drenched. You were a bundle of nerves. Electricity ricocheted through your body, eliciting another moan. 

“All this for me?” He whispered, leaning his forehead against your temple.  

You opened your eyes, only to find his eyes screwed shut in pure bliss. He wasn’t just taking care of you, he was enjoying it. 

“All for you,” you breathed. 

His husky groan, so close to your ear that you could feel his breath as he ravished you, rattled your bones. It burned itself into your memory, perfectly tucked away for you to play later, repeatedly. 

His fingers teased your entrance, playing with the mess he made.  

“Can I?” He grunted, breathing heavily. 

“Yes,” you nodded fervently, widening your legs even further. 

He slipped a finger in, slowly pumping it in and out, listening for any cries of pain. All he heard was a guttural moan, emenating from the deepest, most carnal part of yourself. You couldn’t tell if this was how it always felt, or if it was because it was Matt, but the violent heat that sparked in your core was something you’d never experienced before.  

“Okay?” Matt rasped, his voice so husky it nearly ended you then and there. 

“Yes,” you whimpered, “More.” 

He obliged, pushing another finger into you. He watched you carefully, though you were so blissed out that you could barely think straight. You rocked your hips against his hand, begging for more friction. If you weren’t so enraptured with how good he made you feel, you might have been embarrassed. 

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, “Has anyone ever made you feel this good?” 

“No, Matty,” you whimpered, “Only you.” 

He pressed his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your open mouth. His fingers, devious things, curled inside you, and you were done for. Your orgasm crashed through you, cascading throughout your body in waves. You gasped into Matt’s mouth, whining with pleasure as your body trembled.  

He slowly removed his fingers, pulling away from you to wrap his lips around them. You watched in awe as he tasted the evidence of your pleasure. He groaned with you, relishing the taste on his tongue. 

“Oh, wow.” You murmured, enraptured by his desire, dazed by his confidence. 

He gently grabbed your jaw, pushing his lips against yours. His tongue swiped over yours, and you nearly exploded. You needed him everywhere, immediately. 

“Are you ready?” Matt asked, breathing heavily. 

“If you ask me one more time-,” you started, huffing. 

He chuckled, rolling off the bed. His belt jingled in the quiet room, mingling with the sounds of your panting. You watched as he stepped out of his pants and tossed them to the floor. His underwear was next, and you couldn’t stifle your gasp when you saw his length. A shy smile briefly crossed his face.  

He crawled on the bed, leaning on his elbows and hovering over your shuddering body. He seemed content to stay here forever, listening to the sounds of you coming undone beneath him. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, kissing the bridge of your nose, “Are you sure you want this?” 

You blinked up at him, more willing than you’d been in your life to be vulnerable with another man. 

“I want it so badly, Matt. I’ve thought about this for months.” 

He smiled. 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” 

If you were being wholly transparent, you’d been dreaming about this since the day you’d met Matt. His charisma and kindness to you, a complete stranger, is what drew you in, and his continued efforts to help everyone around him was the sinker. You couldn’t imagine losing your virginity to anyone else at this point – you were just too afraid to admit it to yourself before. 

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to either corner of your mouth before lining himself up with your entrance. You both took a deep breath as he pushed into you. A slight twinge of pain echoed through your pelvic area, but it didn’t hurt too badly. You bit your lip as he slowly pushed further and further in, finally stopping when he was all the way inside. 

“Are you okay?” He croaked on trembling arms. “Does it hurt?” 

“I’m fine,” you breathed, relishing in the fullness of him deep inside you. “You can move, Matty.” 

He shifted his hips, groaning at the movement. Slowly, he began pumping in and out of you, listening intently to the mewls and moans that slipped from your lips. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he groaned, resting his head on your shoulder. “So fucking perfect, sweetheart.” 

You whined at his admiration, wondering if this is how sex always felt. You were willing to bet that most sex was not as enchanting as your coupling with Matt. He shifted again, pushing your leg up so that he could sink deeper inside you. 

“You’re doing so great, sweetheart. Does it feel good?” 

“Oh, Matty.”  

You moaned at the new position, electricity and heat sparking deep in your core again. It was only a matter of time. Matt was exceptionally patient, adjusting and readjusting to make sure you were getting the most pleasure out of it. 

It only took a few minutes before you were so dazed that you could barely speak. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to yours as you came for a second time. The second one was somehow more breathtaking than the first, sending flashes of pleasure, heat, and desire through every fiber of your being.  

Matt was mumbling sweet nothings in your ear, but your heart was pounding so hard that you couldn’t hear a word he said. He stiffened, pulling out and groaning as he came onto your exposed skin. It was all-encompassing, a steady rhythm of flesh against flesh that sent you directly into outer space. You’d never feel the same again. He had utterly and irrevocably altered your perspective on life. 

You finally came down from your high, blinking your eyes open to a grinning Matt. He was the most handsome man you’d ever met. Both of you were breathing heavily. You were sure if you pressed your ear to his chest, you’d hear his heart pounding as hard as yours was. 

“Was it okay?” You asked, watching as his small grin morphed into a wide one. 

“I was going to ask you the same question,” he chuckled, flopping onto his back next to you.  

Shockingly, he nervously fiddled with your fingers as he waited for your response. 

“You go first,” you probed, wanting to know if you’d embarrassed yourself wholly in front of him. 

“It was,” he closed his eyes and happily sighed, “amazing, sweetheart.” 

You blinked away tears, hoping he wouldn’t notice. How embarrassing it might be to cry after the most amazing and only sex you’d ever had. 

“Was it okay for you? Did I hurt you?” 

He turned his head toward you. You grinned at the genuine concern on his face. He was a kind man, even when he didn’t have to be. 

“You didn’t hurt me, Matt. It was...amazing.”  

You searched for the right words. How could you describe to him that he’d done you a kindness that you’d never forget. His sincerity since your confession at dinner was overwhelming. You couldn’t begin to tell him how much it meant to you. There weren’t enough words to describe the gift he’d given you. 

“I’m glad,” he said, rolling toward the edge of the bed, “Now, where are your towels? That can’t be comfortable.” 

You’d almost forgotten the cum on your stomach and chest, so wrapped up in Matt’s presence that you couldn’t think straight. You pointed him in the right direction, sighing as you considered what tomorrow may look like at work. This didn’t have to change anything, but you weren’t sure you were capable of forgetting any of it. 

When Matt returned with entirely too many towels, he wiped you clean, pressing a kiss to your forehead before throwing the towels in the hamper in the closet. 

He re-joined you on the bed, pulling you against his chiseled chest. You listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat, slowly lulling you into sleep. 

“Matty?”  

You yawned, eyes heavy. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Will you be here in the morning?” 

“Of course, honey.” 

Warmth buzzed in your chest. 

“What are we going to tell Foggy?” 

He chuckled, pressing his lips to the top of your head. 

“Let me worry about that. Sleep, sweet girl. You’re going to be sore in the morning, but I’ll take care of you.” 

“You promise?” 

Another yawn, this time sending you closer to the brink of unconsciousness. 

“Promise,” he whispered. 

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request: I really need to ask you if you could write something domestic with husband Frank? Something romantic with smut and domestic talks and all😭 I just can’t stop thinking about frank being a romantic hubby that wants to be a father! 

The sun rose slowly over upstate New York, blanketing the house with a buttery warm glow. Birds twittered by the bedroom window, welcoming the morning with a jaunty tune that reminded you of spring. The curtains danced with the wind, allowed in by the small opening Frank had left in the windows the night before. A peaceful morning for a peaceful life. 

The horses were probably growing restless. Frank rarely slept past sunrise. You squinted at your husband’s sleeping figure in the dim room, wondering if you should wake him. He’d be annoyed, mouth twitching over his piping hot coffee, before chugging the entire thing and stalking out the backdoor. You smoothed out the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb, hoping its appearance didn’t mean he was having a nightmare. They were so rare these days. Not gone, but less haunting than before. The countryside did that to folks. There’s a certain peace in the absence of movement, and Frank had been silently begging for stillness his entire life.  

Frank stirred beside you, stretching his long arms above his head. The crease reappeared when he blinked an eye open, realizing the sun had already crept halfway across the room.  

“Hi, Frankie,” you whispered, snuggling closer to his warmth. 

“Hi, sweet girl.”  

His soft smile sent a pang through your chest. Grey had begun sprouting in his beard and around his head, little patches that reminded you of his mortality. The scar on his forehead had been healing for so long that you could barely see it anymore. Only in the soft glow of the morning did it sit starkly on his temple, reminding you of the violence that brought him here. The past had a funny way of following you. 

Frank kissed your head before climbing out of bed, shuffling around the bedroom in search of his jeans. He always left them hung over the back of his desk chair, but he never seemed to remember that fact when he was running late. 

“They’re on the chair, Frank.” You murmured, shifting your head onto his pillow. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving his hand. He sent you a sheepish grin when his gaze caught on the jeans, exactly where you said they’d be. 

You rolled your eyes, softly giggling.  

“I told you.” You said, watching him pace back and forth across the room as he got dressed. 

“I know. You’re right.”  

“I’m always right.” You teased. 

“Damn straight,” he said, leaning over to kiss you again before heading to the kitchen. 

The familiar sound of Frank making coffee and finding a granola bar to inhale was rhythmic enough that you dozed off again. A firm weight against your back startled you awake, but it was just Frank setting your coffee down on the nightstand and pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder.  

The distinct sound of horse whinnying outside the back window brought your thoughts to today’s most pressing issue: the pregnancy. Months ago, one of your horses began acting strangely. Usually a docile and friendly mare, she’d begun nipping at Frank when his back was turned, among other signs of irritability. You worried yourself sick over it until Frank brought a vet out, and it was confirmed that she was, in fact, pregnant. 

“D’ya think today’s the day?” You asked. 

“Not sure.” Frank shook his head. “Vet’s coming by later today to check on her.” 

“Do you need any help today?” 

“No, sweet girl. You just sit your pretty ass here and drink your coffee.” 

“Yes sir,” you joked, sitting up. “Have fun. Be safe.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Frank kissed you once more before heading out the backdoor towards the pasture, grabbing his hat off the hook on his way out. 

The sight of Frank in a cowboy hat was...dreamy, if you were honest with yourself. You’d never considered it, especially when you lived in the city. If you’d asked yourself 10 years ago about Frank in a cowboy hat, you would’ve snorted with laughter at the ridiculous thought. Now, it was a staple for working in the sun throughout the day, and you relished every delicious second he wore it, especially with the beard and longer haircut. 

When the vet pulled up to the house later that day, you met her at the edge of the pasture. A quick walk took you to the barn, where Frank was idling outside the horse’s stall. There was that cowboy hat again, sat perfectly on his head, begging for your attention. 

You smiled at him, eventually sitting on a bale of hay as Frank and the vet talked. 

“She’s got a few more days, I bet,” the vet said, glancing over at you. “Call me when labor starts and I’ll walk you through it.” 

You nodded along, even though you knew Frank would be the one doing most of the work. You enjoyed working with the animals, but you also thought Frank needed the repetition of the work to keep his body from growing restless. Though, looking at the mare in her stall, you’d both probably have to be here for the birth. That was certainly a two-person job. 

“We will,” you replied, standing to walk the vet back to her car. Frank pressed a sweaty kiss to your temple as you moseyed past his tall figure, tipping his hat at you. That damned hat. 

Later, after Frank had come home for the day and showered, you curled up on the couch next to him, still thinking about your mare. Crickets hummed outside, a stunning array of melodies that you could never hear in the city. You’d never imagined such a peaceful evening being the norm for you or Frank. Chaos seemed to follow you everywhere in the city, but the world seemed at rest here. You didn’t realize how much you and Frank needed that until you had it. 

“She’ll be okay, right?” You asked, leaning your head on Frank’s shoulder. 

“She’ll be fine,” Frank agreed, squeezing your knee. “She’s strong, like you.” 

He cleared his throat, seemingly working himself up to speaking again. 

“What is it, Frank?” 

“I think I want one.” 

A crease appeared between your brows.  

“A horse?” 

“A baby.”  

Frank stared at his hand, still resting on your knee. A sudden urge to hug Frank overtook your ability to breathe. Such a vulnerable admission from an impenetrable man.  

“You want a baby?” You asked softly, cupping his cheeks so that he’d finally look at you. 

“With you. A family, only if you want that too.”  

Tears glistened in his eyes.  

“I thought you didn’t...that you wouldn’t want...because of...,” you trailed off, biting your lip. It was hard to describe the overwhelming feeling of adoration you had for Frank in these moments. “Of course I want a family with you, Frank. I didn’t know you wanted one. I’d give you anything you asked for.” You paused, looking between his tired eyes. “I want this too, though, for the record.” 

“You do? Are you sure?” He searched your expression for any signs of hesitancy. 

“Of course, Frankie,” you smiled at him, kissing away the tear on Frank’s cheek. 

“It’s safe here,” he started, blinking the relentless ghosts of his past away, “It’s home. I didn’t think we’d ever...I didn’t know this is how it would feel.”  

“I know, Frankie,” you nodded, kissing his cheek. “You’re going to be such a good dad.” 

“I don’t think I remember how to be one anymore,” he said with a heartbreakingly soft voice. “But I want to try again. With you.” 

“You’ll be perfect, Frank. Everything will be perfect.” 

He nodded, eyeing you with such intensity that you suddenly felt very warm. His gaze held all the years you protected one another, every bullet he’d ever fired, every hour of rest he’d gotten since moving to the countryside with you. It was the kiss he planted on your head every morning before heading out; the warmth of your sleeping intertwined bodies every night. It was fate forcing the two of you together, hoping you’d never let go. 

Frank pulled your chest against his, gently cupping your cheeks. A silent tear slid down your face, stopped by the soft press of Frank’s lips against yours. You leaned into him fully, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him closer, closer, closer. Frank didn’t hesitate. His tongue slid into your mouth, engulfing your body in heat. He kissed you as if it was the last time he’d ever get to hold you in his arms, slowly taking in every bit of you, savoring the feel of your skin against his.  

After years of being haunted by chaos and violence in New York City, constantly running from one place to the next, Frank always made sure to revel in these moments. Since his unofficial retirement, he had all the time in the world to make you feel seen, heard, and loved. The guilt of how tumultuous your relationship had been at the beginning weighed on him, even now. Forgotten dates, weeks of no contact, and gruesome injuries marked the first few months of your relationship, but you were a patient person, and Frank was a good man. You’d forgiven him a long time ago, but Frank was a masochist at heart and constantly punished himself for being absent all those years ago. 

Warm bloomed in your chest at Frank’s attention. He kissed the corner of your mouth, trailing down your jaw and along your neck until he found the spot that always elicited the sweetest sounds from your lips. The breathy moan you let out was music to his ears. He chuckled into your neck, nipping at the skin with his teeth.  

“Do you want to start trying now?” He teased, swiping the tip of his tongue over your racing pulse. 

“Yes,” you breathed, involuntarily arching your back. 

He kissed his way up your neck, pausing when he made it back to your lips. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, still teasing, but watching you for signs of hesitancy. 

“Yes, Frankie.” You nodded, gently kissing the bridge of his nose.  

A small smile played on his lips as he gently lifted you into his arms and carried you to the bedroom. His arms, sun kissed and strong, laid you on the bed with such softness that you found yourself wiping tears away. 

“What is it, baby?” 

“I’m happy that we’re here,” you sighed, watching understanding dawn on Frank’s face. 

Even now, after years spent together, you couldn’t fully understand what Frank went through. When you met him for the first time, he was nothing but a bloody, broken mess. You had spent the first year slowly breaking down his walls, begging to comfort the broken man inside. When he finally let you see the black pit in his chest, he expected you to run, but you didn’t. Violence was the only language he remembered until he met you. 

“Me too.” 

He smiled down at you, tugging your sleep shorts down your legs. A small gasp escaped his lips when he realized you weren’t wearing any underwear.  

“You spoil me,” he murmured, kneeling to the ground as he wound his arms around your thighs. 

“I kno-,” you gasped as he swiped his tongue through your slit, eyes rolling back in your head as warmth overtook every nerve in your body. 

He circled his tongue around your clit, chuckling when a whine escaped your throat. Your slammed your eyes closed, arching into his touch. His tongue sent shivers down your spine, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It was downright sinful.  

You ran your fingers through Frank’s hair, tugging on the slight curls. An image of Frank earlier in the day flashed through your mind. It was the thought of that damned cowboy hat sitting so perfectly on his head that sent you crashing over the edge, shuttering in the dim bedroom. Frank’s small grin had become a wide smirk. 

“Oh shit,” you gasped, heaving. 

“You okay?” He ran is thumbs over your thighs in a soothing motion. 

“It’s that fucking cowboy hat.” 

Confusion sparked in Frank’s eyes before understanding washed over his features. You eyed his annoyingly handsome face, hoping he wouldn’t tease you about your fantasy. He kissed your knee and stood, stalking out of the room. He returned moments later, cowboy hat on. 

“Oh, Frank,” you nearly moaned at the sight. 

“Do you like the hat, baby? Want me to keep it on while I make you feel good?” 

You gulped, nodding. 

“The hat stays on during sex,” you joked, grinning. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, tipping his head toward you in acknowledgement. 

You were in for a wild ride. Literally. 

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