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The clock on your wall ticks past midnight, its soft rhythm in the back of your head. You've been pacing the living room for almost an hour, unable to settle after the reports running through the streets- another brutal night for the punisher: bodies found in places, blood on the streets. These few years of knowing Frank, you'd seen enough darkness in this city to know the moment when worry twisted into something that kept you from sleeping. Especially when it involved him. And it was happening now.

The first aid kit sat ready on the kitchen counter, stocked with everything he might need. You told yourself it was just habit. But deep down, you know it wasn't. It was months of attachment and building love that had you waiting like this.

Before you know it, he knocks three repeated bangs that rattle the door in its frame. Your heart beats against your ribs- you know that knock. You cross the room quickly, your bare feet slapping against the cool wood as you hurry towards the door, then throw it open without checking who it is. Of course, it’s frank who fills the doorway, rain dripping down his bleeding face and off his black jacket as he clutches his front in pain.

Blood streaks his temple, and his posture tells you that his pain is fresh. His shoulders are hunched, and it breaks you, seeing him in so much pain, but his fists are still clenched like he's ready for anything.

He doesn't wait doe you to invite him in, he just steps inside, tracking mud across your rug with his boots. The door slams shut behind him, sealing the two of you in the dim glow of your lamps. Your cozy apartment- with its mismatched couch and bookcases suddenly feels invaded, and it makes your chest tighten. This is your space-he's come here, bleeding and broken, like always, waiting for you to fix him. And the worst thing is you wouldn't want it any other way. You need him to need you like this.

"Frank," you say, as you hurriedly move toward the kit. "Shit- are you okay?” Your breath hitches, “Just- sit down before you bleed all over my floor.” You sigh as you look through the kit. “God, why do you do this shit to yourself?” you frown, hurt at seeing him in this state. Hurt is an understatement, his pain is your pain now.

He ignores your suggestion, and shrugs off his jacket with a grunt. You can tell he’s hurting. It hits the chair with a wet slap, revealing his dark shirt underneath, which is torn and stained dark red across his ribs. His deep eyes sweep the room once, then lock on you. You gasp softly at the state of his chest. For a split second, something vulnerable flickers in his eyes, buried fast under layers of anger and not caring. Only for a second though. "Didn't come here for a damn lecture. Or your pity." he sighs, looking away.

You frown in confusion, but grab the antiseptic and gauze anyway, anger already simmering low in your stomach. Months of this. Months of him showing up half fucking dead, letting you patch him up, then vanishing like you don’t mean shit. You'd fallen for him in these months- in the rare times his hand would brush yours for a beat too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke of the past. You’ve become hopelessly in love with a man who carries revenge like it’s armour. But tonight, something feels different. You aren't in the mood for his shit.

"Pity? That's funny" you say calmly, balancing the gauze along with other things in your arms. You step closer, about to reach for the hem of his shirt. "You show up at my door looking like this, and I'm meant to ignore it?" You sigh, closing your eyes before opening them and taking a deep breath to calm down. “Just let me help, Frank. Stop being stubborn and sit down."

“Whatever” he sighs, hovering above the chair, watching you ask you walk over. Something about you just makes him feel different. You make him want to be different. You reach your hand forward and whisper, “Just let me help.”

That seems to ignite something in him. He catches your wrist before you can touch his shirt, his grip firm but gentle. Rainwater drips from his hair onto your floor and god, is he is sight to see. "I can handle my own shit.” he begins, not even raising his voice, which throws you off. “Don't need you playing nurse like I'm some stray dog.”

Strangely, the words sting, but you pull your hand free. "I've been here for months helping you and sitting through your silences when you disappear. And you call it playing nurse?" Your voice rises, sharp with frustration that had been building too long. "Just let me look- you're bleeding through your shirt, for fuck's sake."

He doesn't move, towering over you in your own kitchen, watching your gentle face twisted into frustration, deep down he wants to be gentle with you, tell you it’s okay, and thank you darlin. But he can’t. Who will it be helping to get you more attached to eachother? Instead he stays silent, the air thick with the tang of blood and rain. Finally, he let you peel the fabric aside. The slice is deep enough to need stitches, and you aren’t sure you can do them without him flinching.

Your hands work quickly, cleaning the edges of his wound with the antiseptic that makes him hiss through his teeth. Your touch is meant to be clinical, but your fingers linger on the scarred skin around his wound, feeling the heat of him. God, you love him. Even like this. Especially like this.

But the sadness doesn't fade. It coils tighter as your hand shakes, holding the needle to his skin. You begin stitching him up, the once quiet room filled with groans and cursing. Frank tilts his head back in pain, with a groan of, “Ah fuck.”

You gently wrap a bandage around the stitched up wound, trying to be soft despite your frustration. "There. Now tell me why you came if you're just gonna push me away again."

Frank straightens up, wincing, and paces a little in the small space. The rain lashes harder against the windows, mirroring the tension between you. "That's what this is." he chuckles. "You wanna collect people who are broken. Fix them." His voice is flat, rough as concrete. Your eyes water instantly at the accusation, hot tears pricking unbidden. It hits like a slap, after all the nights you'd stayed, all the quiet ways you'd shown you cared.

He notices the glistening in your eyes, the way your lashes clump together with moisture. Internally, Frank curses himself to hell.

Christ frank, you piece of shit. She’s standing there heartbroken because of you.

The thing is, he loves you hopelessly, like a drowning man loves air, but he’s gutting you to save you. He needs to push harder. Make you see you deserve better than him. Than his suffering and pain. But his face stays the same, no crack in his armor. No softness.

"And they all leave eventually," he goes on, relentless. "Even the ones who don't die first." Your eyes are glistening, you're trying so hard not to cry- but his words are killing you. "Maria did what she could with what I was. You? You're young. Got years ahead of you, and they don't have to end in blood darlin’."

For fucks sake, why does his brain work like this?

"You gotta leave, or I drag you down with me. That's the truth. Being strong means cutting this off before it poisons you too." He shakes his head, looking down before dragging his palm down his face in frustration. He's still pacing back and forth.

Tears are spilling down your cheeks, but your anger is stronger. You swipe them away angrily, stepping infront of him to block his pacing. You wish he would just listen, just reason.

"You show up here bleeding and expect me to just fix you and send you off?" Your voice climbs and you're shouting now, echoing off the apartment walls. "I'm not collecting anyone- I'm here because I care- more than you fucking know. I see you under all this rage. I see you as the man who fights for innocent people, even when it costs you everything." You feel hysterical, flailing your hands around, trying to get something into that thick skull of his. "Let me help carry it, stop acting like being a man means suffering alone."

He looms closer, his dark eyes blazing. "You don't know the half of what I carry. Sweetheart, I push because I don't want to hurt you. Strong is handling my war alone. Not leaning on some kid who has a life ahead of her."

"Kid?" You shout louder, shoving at his chest with both hands. He doesn't budge, but the contact sends sparks through you- anger and that hopeless pull. "I'm not some fucking teenager. I've sat with you when you had nothing. Don't you fucking dare dismiss me like that." Your voice cracks with raw emotion, tears streaming freely now. The apartment suddenly feels smaller and you can't breathe. "If I'm such a burden, why the fuck do you keep coming back?"

The argument spirals back and forth. You pace after him, pouring out your heart. How his silence hurts more than words, how his rare touches leave your heart aching. Frank counters in that low, gravelly rumble talking about the blood on his hands, the enemies who’d target anyone close to him. "Darlin, I’m too old for this fantasy you're spinning. You'll wake up and see.”

“Fantasy?” You yelled, voice hoarse but fierce, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I’ve bled worry for you every time you’ve vanished! I’ve cleaned wounds that should’ve killed normal men! I know your pain, Frank, and I still choose to stand here and reason with you.”

He grabbed your wrists again, holding them steady against his bandaged ribs. His heartbeat thunders under your palms betraying the uncaring mask he’s put on. Inside, the love claws at him. You’re everything. Your fire, your stubbornness, the way you see him. He’s in love with you so deeply it terrifies him. But you’re young. He’ll ruin you.

Push her away you bastard. Save her.

“Why do you care so much?” he finally growls, the question shooting out of his mouth like a bullet. Your face drops. “Why the hell do you keep doing this to yourself- to me?”

The moment swells, emotions fill the room. Your chest heaves, tears burning down your cheeks. All the months of swallowed feelings explode suddenly. “What the fuck do you want me to say, Frank? That I’m in love with you? That seeing you like this kills me? That I would do anything for you, even stand here and shout because I can’t fucking walk away?”

His lips part as you shout, but nothing can leave his mouth. He watches you spit words out furiously as you cry, and all he can say softly is, “darlin’-” while he is still holding your soft hands against his chest.

“Don’t fucking call me that” you cry, face screwed up in anger and sadness as you try to get out of his clasp, but you can’t. “For months, every goddamn time you fucking showed up like this, every scar I’ve touched- it was love! And it hurts like hell because you won’t let it in! It makes me feel like a fucking idiot Frank. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Your words echo like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. Silence fills the air right after. His grip tightens slightly on your wrists, his plain expression slipping for a heartbeat. His eyes widen with raw pain and his jaw clenches against the shoot of emotion that goes up his chest. That same agonising love roars inside him, matching the depth of yours. He loves you achingly, you’re a light in his shitty world. But that only makes him have to push you further. You’re too young, too good. He’d destroy that light.

He releases you slowly, stepping back like your confession burned him. “Look, you’re not thinking straight,” he says, his voice edged with frustration, as he forces the words out like it hurts. “What do you know about love? You’re young. This isn’t love- it’s just attachment. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you sweetheart, full of possibilities.” He looks at your tear stained face as you stand in front of him, and his heart breaks at your sweet face. “I know what love is- you don’t. Love breaks you. I’m pushing you away because I don’t wanna drag you into my hell.” A heavy sigh escapes him, and his shoulders slump, showing how defeated he is.

All the while, you shake your head, violent tears still running down your face. “You think this doesn’t break me Frank?” You swipe furiously at your eyes, not wanting to cry anymore. He already thinks you’re a kid and you can’t add on to that. “You pushing me away hurts, no matter why you do it. My heart aches because of you.”

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face again in frustration. He doesn’t know what to do in this shitty situation, he cares for you so much, but he just can’t risk it. “I can’t have this conversation.” he says calmly, turning around, a hand on the back of his neck.

“Of course.” you scoff bitterly. “Why am I even surprised.”

He shakes his head, broad back still to you as he scratches his neck and says defeatedly, “Just cut it out.” Your breath hitches in disbelief, you just can’t understand how someone can be so fucking stubborn. “You’re too young and that’s the end of that.” he says, but his words kill him too.

You feel your blood boiling again, and you don’t know whether to cry or shout or hit him. “Fuck you frank.” You finally say, fighting back the endless tears. “Fuck you for hiding behind that, using my age as an excuse.” You sniffle, moving your hair out of your face. Frank turns back to face you, his broad chest glistening ever so slightly, and it’s like he’s punched in the gut again when he sees your beautiful face crying. You see his expression falter, and his eyes sadden. “What are you so fucking afraid of?” you finally whisper demandingly, watching his broad figure move towards the glass table besides his chair and lean over it.

As he hovers over the table, he slouches forward, holding himself up with his muscular arms, his head lowered. “Just stop it” he sighs, defeated. He’s trying so hard to bottle it all in. He calls your name softly in protest, begging you to end this conversation.

But you won’t accept that shitty response. “No, answer me.” you demand.

“I said cut it out please.” he groans, and it’s like he’s holding himself back from something.

You shake your head, “No, why are you so fucking scared to let me in?” you shout.

And abruptly, you hear a shatter. Your eyes search for Frank and you forget everything. Once they find him, all you can see is red. The table beside him is in pieces, and his hand is in a fist, blood dripping onto the empty frame, and the floor. “Frank.” you gasp, your breath hitching.

“Because I care about you too much.” he roars, and you realise you’re terrified of him in the moment. “Everyone I love dies. ‘Cuz of me.” he shouts, wincing as he holds his bleeding hand in the air. “If anything happened to you I’d never fucking forgive myself for it.”

Your lips part, and you want to talk but you’re left with no words in your mouth. No air in your lungs. The only thing you can say is the cursed name that’s had a hold of you all these months. “Frank…” you gasp, walking towards him. He turns his head, eyes threatening to spill tears, but he doesn’t shout or dismiss you, or even walk away.

You move your hands to his bare chest, trying to be careful with his stitches, and his now bleeding hand. “Frank,” you say again softly, “look at me.”

And how could he ever deny that soft voice of yours? You’re the only light in his life at the moment, the only thing he thinks of besides pain and hurt and regret. You’re his only escape. He turns his face to you, looking down at your doe eyes and croaks out, “I can’t lose you too.” with a soft shake of his head.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather yourself together. “You won’t Frank,” you say softly, taking hold of his forearm and guiding him to sit back down on the chair. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, almost to yourself more than him. He sits down, yearning for you as he watches you sit infront of him, pulling out more bandages and things of the sort.

He’s so tired. So tired of being himself, of pushing you away, of regretting his choices. You’re all he wants, and he’s selfish enough to know it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll take any action. No, you deserve better. You deserve someone young who can give you what you want. Someone who is capable of loving and caring.

He groans as you pulls the shards of glass out of his hand, putting them to the side with a clink. You work gently of course, but with the you-shaped wound in his heart, everything is too much to bear today. He nearly cries when you pour alcohol over his hand, throwing his head back with a low wail. “Shh, I’m sorry.” you whisper, hushing him gently.

He straightens himself up as you grab some bandages, watching your slender fingers work quickly to unravel it. Eventually, you put your hand out, asking for his in return. Slowly but surely, he gives you his wounded hand, grunting as you start wrapping it up. He stares at you carefully as you finish the task, and strangely, raises his hand to his head, with yours still holding his. His eyes flick to your face without you seeing, then with a tilt of his face, he presses the most gentle kiss to your hand. “Thank you.” he croaks, and a pang of emotion shoots through your heart.

“That’s not fair,” you say softly, not moving your eyes away from his. He lets go of your hand slowly, like he’s suddenly aware of what he’s done, and whispers, “I know.” You nod your head disappointedly, turning away and walking out the room, your footsteps growing more distant.

You don’t know what to do, or what you can do, but lock yourself in the bathroom to stop and breathe. Because God knows you haven’t been breathing properly with him here, like this. He curses quietly to himself as he hears you leave, wondering what the fuck is wrong with himself, why he’s doing this to you- to himself.

Once you’ve locked the bathroom door, you turn to the mirror and give yourself a shitty smile. You breathe slowly, feeling stupid for letting a man do this to you. Except he’s not just a man, he’s Frank and you care for him, maybe you even lo- yeah. But your emotions are stronger and before you know, you’re sniffling, gently dabbing at the mascara under your eyes. The past hour has been insanity. And you’ve witnessed scarier things of course, but this? Finally telling Frank how you feel?

You’d only just stopped crying too, but now you’re hovering over the sink, hot tears dribbling down your face again, silently this time.

Franks head perks up, and he can hear you shuffling around the bathroom. He doesn’t stand get up to check, but he can hear you sniffling. Not only is he angry at himself for being the reason for your tears again, but the worst thing is, you’re alone in the bathroom, trying to hide it. You’re in there trying to be silent. He doesn’t want you to feel like you have no one, because you have him. He would do anything for you. He’d die for you, live for you, even live for you.

He wishes he could tell you that. Tell you what he wants most in this world is to be yours and live with your beautiful heart everyday. But he can’t get close to you, closer than he already is, because he’ll hurt you. He can never protect the ones he loves, and if anything happens to you, he won’t see the point of living anymore.

Before he can realise what he’s doing, he’s stood up, and his feet have led him to the bathroom door. He lifts his hand to knock, before stopping himself and letting it fall to his side, too conscious of his own every move now. He squeezes his eyes shut in concentration, then calls your name, trying hard to sound softer. “You alright?”

You sniffle an unconvincing “Yeah,” and he furrows his eyebrows in frustration with himself. “You sure darlin’?” he calls back, and your heart clenches.

“I’ll be two secs,” you say, carefully pressing your finger to the corner of your eye, drying up rogue tears. You smile again at yourself in the mirror, tucking your hair behind your ears, and stepping towards the door. It clicks open, and Frank is greeted with your red raw face.

“I’m sorry.” he says, eyes flickering as he looks over you. He wants to talk, but his mouth is glued together. You shrug, wiping your eye again, acting like it’s no big deal. Like he isn’t breaking your heart by just standing there. “Frank, it’s whatever.”

He shakes his head, and he’s quickly filled with emotion too. “No, it’s not.” You look up at him, eyebrows furrowed a little, patiently waiting for him to talk. His mouth opens, and your heart patters in anticipation. But it just closes. You nod, feeling like a fucking idiot again, stepping to the side, and walking away. He freezes, standing in the empty door frame, eyes hovering over the spot you left.

Frank remains rooted to the spot long after you’ve brushed past his bare torso. The doorway feels too small for all the things neither of you can say. You make it halfway down the hall before you hear him move behind you. “Hey,” his voice is quiet, almost uncertain. You stop, but you don’t turn around. “Please,” he whispers, the word hitting harder than it should. You look back slowly, and Frank’s still standing there, shoulders tense, hands hanging uselessly by his sides.

“What?” you ask, and the exhaustion in your voice surprises even yourself. His jaw tightens. Then loosens. Then tightens again. You almost laugh at the repetitiveness of it. “That’s exactly what I mean.” you sigh, shaking your head, and his eyebrows pull together. “You keep looking at me like you wanna say something.” you shrug exasperatedly. “And then you just- dont?”

He glances away, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks genuinely stuck. Not awkward, scared. The realization only makes your chest hurt more. “Forget it,” you mumble, about to turn away.

“Wait” he says, the reply coming fast enough to stop you. You freeze as he takes a step forward and soon enough, you’re stood in front of eachother. He raises a hand and lets it rest on the side of your face. “Oh god,” he sighs, and you can’t help but nuzzle your cheek into his warm hand. He lets his hand slide lower, smoothing over the line of your jaw, then gently moving it higher, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “Darlin’,” he groans, as you look up at him with those pleading eyes.

He moves his hand to the back of your neck, fingers laced between your hair, the other hand creeping to the small of your back. Frank pulls you closer, and for a moment you’re relieved, this is all you’ve been thinking about for the past few months. But it’s not fair for you, when this isn’t even real.

His lips brush over your hairline, but he doesn’t kiss you. He just lets you feel him, loving you without having to say it. “I’m so sorry baby.” he sighs, softly tilting your head back to look at him, hand still in your hair. “I only push you away to keep you safe. I can’t live without you- I can’t risk losing you.”

“But you won’t lose me Frank,” you sniffle, “I already said, I’m not going anywhere.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head as he looks away.

“You don’t know that sweetheart. The world fucks over everyone, even if they’re good.” He looks back down at you, eyes skimming over your soft lips, your glistening eyes.

“I know Frank, but you can’t live in fear.” You press yourself against his bare skin again, inhaling his comforting scent. “You have to try. Is your fear stronger than the love you have?” you ask him, desperation dripping off every word. He’s silent, reflecting on your words, before he shakes his head.

“No,” he says firmly, lowering his face, letting his lips meet yours. The kiss is desperate, like he’s been holding back forever. You groan into it, splitting your lips to let his tongue slide wetly over your bottom one. His hand is still on the back of your head, keeping it safe as he walks you both to the nearest wall, pressing your body against it. He devours you, need pouring out of his mouth, out of every part of his body.

Frank presses his calloused hands against the wall, trapping you between the cold surface and his muscular chest. His mouth trails to your jaw, peppering wet kisses along it, moving down to your neck. You moan as he kisses you passionately, his lips on your collarbone now. He’s exploding with desire, needing to love every part of you. His hand hooks beneath the hem of your sleep shirt carefully, and once you whine, “please” he slips it off, lifting your arms to get it over your head.

“My sweet girl,” he moans in awe, his mouth loving every bit of you now, jaw grazing over your chest, creeping lower over the fabric of your bra. “I’m so sorry,” he mutters. He presses a kiss to your breast over the lace, lowering himself to lick and nibble down your sides, over the flat of your stomach.

“You’re an angel baby,” he whispers, hands on your soft thighs as his mouth trails lower. He’s on his knees, looking up at you with those deep brown eyes as you slip your fingers through his short hair. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Please Frank,” you whimper, and he doesn’t waste any time.

“i know baby, I know,” he coos, hands moving up, caressing your skin beneath your sleep shorts. “I’m gonna take care a’ya okay?”

You nod desperately, brows knitting together as he starts to pull your little shorts down your legs. His eyes flick up to yours again as he hooks his thick finger into the side of your panties, making sure you’re okay with everything. He drags them down slowly, with excruciating care, then stuffs them in the back of his jeans as you look down at him.

He’s level with your core now, hands on the back of your plush thighs as he pushes his soft lips to your inner thighs. “Frank” you gasp, and he continues dragging his lips over your thighs. His stubble grazes the skin of your inner thigh, sending a wave of shock through you as you whine, needing him closer.

His breath is hot against your skin as he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “Easy, baby. I got you.” Gently, he squeezes the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you steady as he finally moves his mouth higher. Slowly, his tongue drags a hot trail up your slit, savoring the your sweetness with a deep groan that makes your knees buckle. You cry out, fingers tightening in his short hair as he licks again, a little firmer this time, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking it gently between his lips.

“Oh god- Frank,” you moan, hips twitching toward his mouth. He doesn’t pull away. Instead he keeps lapping at you, tongue flicking and swirling to explore every fold while his calloused hands keep you pinned to the wall. His stubble scrapes deliciously against your inner thighs with every movement, making your back arch even more. He looks up at you through dark lashes, eyes heavy with adoration as he watches your lashes flutter and your chest heave.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your core, the words muffled as he slides a thick finger inside you, curling it till your face is screwed up. “Let me hear how good it feels.” he coaxes, adding second finger and pumping slowly, his tongue working at your clit in devastating strokes. Your thighs tremble around his face, pleasure hot in your belly as he worships you, completely lost in the taste and sound of your pleasure.

You haven’t came yet, but he moves back, pressing a kiss to your clit and pulling back. You whine, breathless and needing release, but he just stands back up on his feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You deserve better than a wooden floor baby” he says gently, tilting his head as he strokes your cheek. “Could you show me to your bedroom? Is that okay sweetheart?”

You nod bashfully, unsticking yourself from the wall as he watches your beautiful body. He presses a paw to your lower back, respecting your bare body, and follows you as you start walking towards your bedroom. He’s right behind you, his expression softening at the sight of your room. It’s sweet and warm, just like you. Your bedding is white and pure, a few stuffed animals scattered around it. Your bedside table has a book in it, with a cute little alarm clock, and a photo frame of your family. The walls are decorated with more pictures, and posters too. He can’t hurt you, not when you’re still young and pure and have a beautiful life to live.

“Thank you for letting me in your room darlin’, it’s beautiful” he smiles, rubbing your back. You shrug sheepishly, cheeks flushed as you mumble, “mhm.”

“C’mere,” he whispers, pulling you close again, but then hoisting you up, hands holding your thighs steadily. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” You wrap your legs around his waist, throwing your hands over his neck as you’re almost skin to skin, besides that damn scrap of fabric you have over your breasts. Before you know it, he’s loving on you again, lips all over your neck, under your ear. He’s whispering apologies into your neck, telling you how much he needs you, and how sorry he is. He forgets about his stitches, ignores the pain of you rubbing against them because his pleasure overpowers it.

He takes a few steps towards your bed, carefully leaning forward to place you on your back. “Oh babydoll,” he croaks, looking at you like you’re a gift for him splayed out on the bed, an angel of some sort. “You’re so beautiful.”

He places his hands on both sides of you again, leaning down to kiss you passionately, like he can’t live away from the taste of your mouth. His hand trails down your body, then skims back up, hovering over your chest. “Can I see you fully, baby?” he asks. Once you nod, he lifts your torso ever so slightly, so he can unclip your bra, and throws it off to the side. His lips part in awe as he sees the soft swell of your breasts, and he runs his hand across them both. “You gotta have the most perfect tits I’ever seen sweetheart.”

You can’t do much but blush again, and then moan when his mouth is leaving wet trails over your chest. “I think they need some lovin’ too” he coos, hand cupping a breast and beginning to knead, the other one tucking your hair behind your ear. “That okay sweet girl? That feel good?”

You whine “mhm” desperately, unable to form words with how overwhelmed you are with need. “I’ll make you feel so good doll, don’t you worry your little head,” he says, pulling away, hands trailing to his belt. You watch his muscles flex as he works at the clasp, then pulls it off, unbuttoning his jeans now. You don’t know how you managed to control yourself to not pounce at him till now, while he’s been walking around your house all night, shirtless.

He’s bare now besides his boxers, and those are only on in respect for you. You shift yourself up a little, head on your pillows and he climbs into your soft bed, his chest hovering over yours again. “Tell me what you want sweet girl. I’ll give you anything you ask.” he coos, brushing your cheek with his thumb again.

“I need to feel you,” you whimper, and he nods, lifting you up and sitting you onto his lap. He presses another gentle kiss to your hairline, cherishing you so softly.

“Are you sure doll?” he asks, making you know that you can take it slow. “You’re still young, we don’t have to rush.” You shake your head firmly.

“I’m sure Frank, I want you to make love to me- please.” you say, leaning further into him, your skin pressed warmly together. You’re careful not to press against his stitches, so as not to hurt him. He groans, hands resting over the swell of your soft ass cheeks while you straddle him.

“Alright, since you’re saying it so sweetly.” he smiles, tilting his head to look at your shy face. “Just like this?” he asks, looking down at the two of you, bodies pressed together.

“Yeah,” you agree, as he admires your beauty, “I wanna feel you while we do it.” He smiles softly at your words, nodding as he gives you another gentle kiss, this time on the side of your mouth. He lays you back, freeing himself to pull off his boxers, then moves back beside you, his back pressed against your headboard. His cock rests stiff and sore on his thigh, and he gently pulls you onto his lap. You can feel his need under you, but he doesn’t rush anything, only goes with what you want.

You gasp when your hot need finally meets his, and he lets out a low groan, feeling you wet against him. “Whenever you wanna start,” he whispers, like it hurts to speak, and places his manly hands on the sides of your waist. You nod, lifting your hips so he can free himself, and he takes his cock into his hand, breath stuttering as he groans. “Okay, now sweetheart?” he asks, affection on every word that leaves his mouth.

“Please Frank, I want you so badly,” you whine, and he nods, one hand beneath your ass, the other guiding himself to your entrance.

“Alright baby, shh shh sh” he whispers, sliding his sore tip back and forth against the slick of your pussy. His eyes meet yours again and he says lowly, “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?”, checking to make sure you’re ready. He knows realistically- it’ll hurt. He doesn’t have much of an ego, but it’s obvious he’s big, and he knows that without proper care, you’ll end up sore and gaping afterwards.

His mouth falls open with a low groan as he finally slips inside you, gently pushing you down onto his dick, inch by aching inch. “There’s my girl,” he croaks, caressing your sides as you finally sink into him fully, plush ass against his thighs. “Fuck- you feel amazing doll.”

You moan at the feeling of being overwhelmingly filled, needing something to be your anchor. All you can do is press your hands against his chest, careful not to move the bandages right below. You shudder in pleasure, and Frank tells you softly, “I’m gonna move now sweetheart.” He starts to buck his hips up into yours, and your eyes close in pleasure.

“Oh god,” you moan, feeling him deeper at every buck of his hips. Frank groans throughout it, whether because of the pain beneath his chest, or this pleasure- you don’t know. You lean forward, wanting to feel his body around yours, and he gets the memo. Carefully, he leans forward, off the headboard so that he can hold you. His big, bear arms wrap around your torso, and he ignores the shooting pain beneath the bandages. “I want my pretty girl in my arms,” he says quietly, only for you to hear, stroking your back as he keeps you covered with his arms.

You grind back and forth a little, trying to make it easier for him. The friction on your clit is driving you insane, and all you can think of is to keep moving to reach that pleasure. “You’re doing so well f’me,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “My best girl.”

His words go straight to your core. All you wanted was to be his girl, and now- you just might be. You keep grinding, chasing your high as he makes love to you, hands caressing your back. “I can’t lose you,” he croaks into your ear as you move, “you’re my whole life.”

“Frank.” You moan as you feel the pleasure building, your body loosening with contentment, knowing you’re safe here- with him. “I’ll always be here, I promise.” His manly arms squeeze around you even tighter, like he can’t risk letting go of you.

You moan helplessly, on the verge of release, and Frank can tell. “That’s it, we’ll get you there” he reassures, helping you grind on him. He leans further into you, holding you skin to skin as his cock drags up and down your walls, filling you completely. He leaves wet trails all along your neck with his mouth, your hair tangled around his face. Neither of you can think of anything, just the feeling of eachothers bodies.

“Frankie,” you moan crudely, your hips slacking, “mm- I’m so close.” He nods understandingly, pushing your bodies forward to rest you on your back, making sure not to pull out. He strokes your forehead with his thumb, softly dragging his lips along your jaw as he whispers, only for you to hear.

Frank keeps a thick arm braced beneath your back as he gently lowers you down, never once slipping from your heat. The shift changes the angle instantly- deeper and fuller. You gasp sharply, legs falling open around his hips. He follows you down, covering you with his broad body like a warm shield, careful of the bandages on his chest but refusing to let even an inch of space come between you.

“Easy, baby, that’s it,” he murmurs, voice low with adoration. His forehead rests against yours, eyes locked on your face like he’s memorizing every bit of you. One of his big hands slide down to grip the back of your thigh, spreading you wider for him. “Gonna take care of you now. Just let me make you feel good.”

He starts moving again, slow at first, but eventually building with purpose. He fucks you deeply, thrusts dragging his cock against that spot inside you over and over. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked pussy fills the room, but Frank doesn’t seem to notice anything except you. His free hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly across your bottom lip.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Wanna watch my pretty girl come apart for me.”

You try to keep your eyes open, but it’s hard when every thrust punches the breath out of you. He’s so thick and deep, hitting places that make your back arch off the mattress. Frank groans softly each time you flutter around him, praise dripping off his every word.

“Attagirl, you’re taking me so well.” He leans down to kiss you, his tongue slowly tongue sliding against yours in time with his hips. When he pulls back, his voice is wrecked. “That’s my baby. Let it build, okay? I gotcha.”

His pace quickens just enough, still loving and controlled, but relentless. He angles his hips to grind against your clit with every thrust, the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing perfectly against your sensitive bundle of nerves. The pressure inside you coils tighter faster than you expected. “Frank- frankie-” you whimper, hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “Come on, angel. Come for me. You’re so close, I can feel it.” He reaches between your bodies, calloused thumb finding your clit and circling it with firm strokes. The sensation of his thick cock driving into you deep, and his thumb working at you shatters the little control you had left.

Your orgasm crashes over you hard. A broken cry tears from your throat as your body seizes up, thighs shaking around his waist. Waves of pleasure rip through you intensely, your pussy clenching desperately around his length. Frank keeps moving through it, fucking you through every pulse, his voice keeping you conscious.

“There she is, that’s my girl” he coos, stroking your cheek through it, “keep going, baby, let me feel it all.” His thrusts grow a little sharper, chasing the way you grip him, but his hands ate gentle, stroking your sides, cradling your face, whispering endless praise against your skin. “I’ve gotcha. I’ve always gotcha.”

Even as you break down around him, Frank doesn’t stop moving. He rides out every aftershock with you, slowly, kissing the tears of overwhelming pleasure that escape the corners of your eyes.

When you finally start to come down, body lump and exhausted, he stays buried inside you to the hilt and holds you close, murmuring loving words into your hair. “You did so good f’me.”

You whine like a desperate animal, brain mush from the pleasure. Softly, his thumb brushes beneath your eye again, collecting the stray tears. “I’m sorry for pushing you away baby.” Your breath hitches as you’re caught off guard by his words. “You’ve only been good to me sweetheart, you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“It’s okay Frank,” you say quietly, “you were just trying to keep me safe.” He nods as you speak, but you can tell he disagrees. He inhales deeply, clearly upset with himself.

“But I wasn’t, was I? I was only hurting you more.”

“Frank,” you start. You know he’s right, and that his actions weren’t logical at all, but you also know he’s sorry now, and that there’s no changing the past. You don’t want him to dwell on things that have already happened. You’re good now, you wanna keep it that way.

He cuts you off, shaking his head. “No baby, I was wrong.” He sighs, still holding himself above you, he’d crush you if he fell. “I’m gonna spend every day making it up to you, okay? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay Frank, it’ll be okay,” you reassure him, moving the back of your hand across his cheek.

He leans down, kissing your mouth softly, before moving back. Gently, he starts to pull out, hushing you as you moan at the feeling of being empty. “Easy baby, easy.” He flops down onto your side, dick still hard, his tip blazing red.

“Frank,” you say, a little shocked, leaning onto your side, “you didn’t cum.” He shakes his head, dismissing the sentence.

“Wasn’t about me, s’bout you doll.” You frown, sitting up as you watch him, selflessly just laying on his back. “What baby?” he chuckles, looking at you pouting, “it’s not important.”

“Of course it’s important!” You protest, sitting there with your arms crossed. He just chuckles, sighing relievedly, knowing how much he loves his girl. He lies there on his back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, a thick arm draped over his eyes, cock still heavy and against his stomach, glistening from you. He looks completely content just having taken care of you. But that’s not fair.

You crawl to him slowly, thighs still weak. He lifts his arm just enough to peek at you when the mattress dips under your weight. “Baby?” he murmurs, voice rough. You don’t answer with words. Instead you lean down and press a soft, open mouthed kiss to the underside of his cock. Frank’s breath catches hard, and before he can say anything, you drag your tongue up the full length of him, them taking him into your mouth.

A deep groan rumbles out of his chest the second the wet heat of your mouth envelopes him. His hips twitch upward instinctively before he catches himself. “Fuck-”

You don’t let him protest. You want to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. One of your hands wrap around the thick base he barely fit inside you earlier, stroking with slow bobs of your head. Your tongue swirls around the tip as you suck gently, then firmer when his groan turns into curse words.

Frank’s hand finds the back of your head, not pushing, just resting there, fingers threading through your hair like he needs something to hold onto. “Jesus Christ, baby- you don’t have to-” You hum around him, taking him deeper and relaxing your throat as best as you can. The vibration makes his thighs tense and his other hand fists the sheets beside him.

You pull off just long enough to look up at him, your lips shiny with him. “I want to, Frank. I want you to cum.” His eyes are dark and whatever he was going to say dies in his throat when you sink back down, working him with eager strokes. You pour every bit of love and gratitude you feel for this man who just spent his time making sure you came apart first.

His breathing grows ragged, hips starting to rock up into your mouth despite his desperate effort to stay still. “Ohh- you’re so good, angel. So good to me.”

You moan around his length, the praise making heat bloom low in your belly again. His groans turn deeper, and mofe desperate, the hand in your hair tightening “Baby- I’m gonna-” he warns, voice wrecked. You pull away, taking him in your hand and working him until he’s shaking.

Frank comes undone with a groan that seems to rip out of his soul, his hips stuttering as thick pulses of cum spill across his stomach. You keep touching him through it til he’s trembling and panting beneath you, whispering your name between shaky breaths.

When he finally starts to soften, you pull away, pressing a gentle kiss to his abs before crawling up his body. Frank immediately hauls you against his side, arm wrapping around you like he never wants to let go. His heart is hammering under your cheek.

“Christ, doll,” he rasps, pressing kisses to the top of your head, your temple, anywhere he can reach really. You nuzzle your face in his side, wishing you could just melt into him. You breathe together, heartbeats synchronised as you lay on your soft bed. “Hey,” he whispers softly, “you okay?”

You nod a quiet “mhm”, opening your eyes and giving him a small smile before you nuzzle your head back into him. “Of course I am.” But despite the calmness of the moment, he can’t stop thinking about what just happened before.

“I’m sorry for everything” he says quietly, almost ashamed, “you didn’t deserve none’a the shit I put you through.” His words throw you off guard slightly, your brain still caught up in the softness of this moment.

“Frank, it’s okay-”

You got to protest, but he doesn’t let you. “I pushed you away when I shoulda been grateful you even wanted to help me." He runs a rough hand through your hair again, letting it rest on your back. "You deserved more than that. You deserve love and gentleness." He sighs softly, the next words hesitant to leave his mouth. "I know I'm not exactly the epitome of that, but I'm gonna try."

"Frank," you call softly, hand smoothing over his bandages carefully, down to his stomach. "Thank you." But he just sighs, like he's still disappointed with himselt.

"I hurt you, and I'm gonna make it up to you every single day, if you let me."

“I know Frankie," you whisper, kissing his side, "you're a good man, you're just stubborn. He chuckles softly, nodding at your words as he circles his thumb on your back.

"Yeah baby, I'm a stubborn bastard. And a stupid one, pushing your sweetness away like that." He sighs again, but the weight is lifted slightly off his shoulders. He feels like he can breathe again. A quiet moment passes as he watches your face, lashes fluttering in the moonlight shining through your window, the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

"You know I love you?" he says quietly, breaking the silence filling the room.

Your heart patters softly at his confession, not because you didn't know, but more because you're surprised he's admitted it to himself. "I love you too Frank" you breathe, closing your eyes against him. "I promise you won't lose me."

“I know I won’t baby. Not if I can help it.”

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, holding you a little closer. For a moment, neither of you says anything, content to listen to the quiet hum of the night. "Good,” you murmur, a small smile in your voice.

As you’re wrapped in each other's warmth, the weight of your old fears feels a little bit lighter, and before long, sleep finds you both. You drift off, Franks arm still steadily around you, keeping you close to him.

The office you already got used to after years of working here still smelled like burnt coffee, old paper, and the particular, weirdly attractive and familiar poverty that Nelson & Murdock had never quite managed to outgrow. The table listed a bit to the left, and the blinds hung crooked and barely saved from New York’s sun. The air conditioner was actively making sounds like it was dying in slow motion. 

Frank Castle sat in the client chair in front of you just like he usually did—legs spread wide, boots planted firmly to the ground, and leather jacket still zipped halfway even though the room was disgustingly warm. That permanent half-scowl sat on his face, the one that said he was already fed up with this sick world and was only here because the alternative involved more paperwork than even he could stand.

You were at the table, files open in front of you, legal pad filling with notes in your tight, efficient handwriting. Matt stood behind your chair, close the way he always was when the conversation turned serious—one hand resting lightly on the backrest near your shoulder, the other holding a folder he didn’t actually need because he knew Frank’s backstory more than anybody else. Foggy had dropped some additional files that could help the case, made one nervous joke about “our favorite free-walking criminal," and then quickly vanished after Frank’s heavy glare under the excuse of a new witness.

You flipped a page, eyes scanning the text with precision.

“The DA’s inventory list doesn’t match the bodycam timestamps. There’s a six-minute gap right when the second team entered the warehouse. Either their equipment glitched or someone got creative with the edit.”

Frank’s voice was low and rough when he finally spoke again. “Or they were busy planting half the shit they’re trying to stick me with.”

Matt’s tone stayed even, the careful lawyer voice he used when the client was the kind of man who answered most problems with a gun and not law, and Frank Castle was exactly that kind of man. “We’re not arguing they planted everything. We’re arguing the warrant was overbroad and the confidential informant is conveniently dead. That gap helps us create reasonable doubt.”

You glanced up to see Frank’s reaction, but his eyes were on you, not Matt—dark, assessing, looking like he had something on his mind he didn’t want to share.

“You write that down already, counselor?” He asked after your eyes stayed on him for a few long seconds, trying to throw you off with another sarcastic comment you weirdly missed after him going no-contact for the few past months. “Or still deciding if I’m worth the ink?”

Your brow arched, and you answered in that faux-sweet tone. “Already did before you even finished the sentence. Come up with something different next time.”

A short, humorless huff of air left him. Almost a laugh. Almost.

You looked away finally and went over the DA’s statements one more time. You and Matt spent about twenty more times trying to find the loopholes, getting the information out of Frank, who seemed to be way too unbothered for someone who got in this type of trouble again, and trying to puzzle the pieces together. 

You ran your hand over your face again, feeling more uncomfortable and on edge with the way Frank was staring at you with dark and hooded eyes, to the point that you thought that something was wrong with you. But you ignored him. 

Matt's phone rang suddenly, and he excused himself into another room, his hand glazing your shoulder into a silent supportive gesture—the one you knew too well and that told you to be safe while he was away. You gave him a tight smile, the one you were sure he could feel even as he was already at the door to the smaller office. When he came back less than two minutes later, the set of his shoulders had changed completely.

“I have to go.” He said, already reaching for the cane even though the three of you knew it was mostly for show at this point. “Now. Something’s come up.”

You looked at him. “I’ve got the rest of this. Go.”

He hesitated, head just barely tilting to Frank, who sat as still as he could, with that same unreadable expression on his face, and it made your lips just barely curl into a smile.

“You sure?” He sensed the tension in the room he couldn’t read properly, but there was no way of asking it discreetly. 

“I’m sure. Don’t worry.” 

Matt nodded briefly, hands fumbling with a tie he would probably drop somewhere on the way. He moved towards you hurriedly, kissing the top of your head before he stumbled back towards the door. You mumbled a soft “be safe," but he was already out. 

The silence that fell on the office felt different. It was almost eerily quiet and weirdly charged, or maybe it was just your own anxious way of reading the situation because Frank Castle was now sitting with arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were no longer fixed on you but on the old and poorly looking painting Foggy put on the wall “to add some entourage,” jaw set tight. 

You drew your eyes away from him. You sat back down against the chair, pulled the next folder closer, and started annotating the witness statements again. 

You didn’t look up when you asked the next question.

“The informant. Did you ever have direct contact with him, or was it all through third parties?”

Silence.

You waited a beat, then glanced up.

Frank was watching you. Not the papers. Not the door. Not the damn painting anymore. You. Those hard, dark eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that felt like being pinned under a scope. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. Rougher. 

“So you and Red, huh?”

"Matt and I what?” You asked bluntly, tapping the tip of your pen against the paper. 

“Ah, cmon.” Frank’s hand waved in your direction when he pushed further back into his seat and threw one foot over another. “He stands beside you like he’s afraid I'm gonna jump over the damn table. His hand around your chair, the kiss on the head like a good ol’ couple. Don’t bullshit me.”

You stared at him blankly, not really understanding the reason behind the sudden interest nor liking where the conversation was going. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frank.” The chair cracked under you when you leaned back, the papers now almost forgotten in front of you because your whole attention captured a man who was currently looking at you like you told him some kind of a joke. “Matt is my friend. My best friend. We care about each other if that’s what you mean.”

He snorted a laugh, a bit bitter if you read it correctly. “Yeah, friends. Right, right.” His tongue poked through his cheek when he looked for a second away from you, the leg dropping back down on the floor and jumping almost anxiously. Something you knew Frank never was seen doing—being anxious or showing emotions. Caring. 

“What, Frank, you don’t believe in friendship between man and woman?”

Frank’s eyes stayed locked on yours for a long second after the question left your mouth. The half-scowl didn’t soften. If anything, it deepened around the edges, like the idea itself irritated him on principle.

“Friendship between a man and a woman.” He repeated, voice low and dry. “Nah, not happening. You wanna tell me y'all are this lovey-dovey just for the sake of a damn friendship? Gonna deny there was a kiss or two, something more?”

You exhaled sharply. You leaned slightly forward, briefly resting your forehead against the palm of your hand. The conversation was totally tiring you out. “You know what? Yeah, we kissed.” Frank laughed, nodding briefly, like it was something he already knew but still didn’t want to hear from you. “A few months ago, when we were half drunk. Regretted it the next minute and agreed to never bring it back because it felt awfully wrong.”

Frank’s mouth pulled sideways. The look he gave you was pure skepticism mixed with something darker and more personal. “Yeah, yeah. Felt wrong and all that shit.” The movement of his leg didn’t stop, as if it were the only way to get his restless energy out while he was sitting in that small room with you. “You kissed the Big Foggy too? He gotta be your friend, no?”

“You’re reaching." You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t mean I kiss all of my guy friends.”

“What, you got a lot of ‘em?”

“Frank!” You huffed a laugh, standing up from your chair and going to the cabinet with files. You looked through the folders. All the colorful ones. All carefully sorted out. Pretended to read the handwritten notes on the sides that either you or Foggy had clipped there. All while you were painfully aware that you weren’t actually looking for anything—there was nothing in these files that could currently help Frank’s case. You just needed to step away for a second from him, his pressure, and that look in his eyes that made your stomach drop every time. And something told you that he knew that too. 

He followed shortly after. His presence was felt physically when he came closer towards you, heavy boots eerily almost silent against the cheap linoleum. 

“It’s like—” You started again, before your mind could fully catch up and think for a fucking second, which, apparently, was not your strong suit when Frank Castle was around. “We’re what? You and me. We are kind of friends, right? That’s what friends do—save each other’s asses. And you always show up after disappearing for weeks. And we’ve never—” You laughed, looking down at the random file you took—a lawsuit an old lady won against her landlord. What a fucking joke.

Frank leaned against the cabinet just a few centimeters away from you, hands deep in the pockets of his tactical pants. He looked down at you, at the papers, at your hands with the kind of mockery you couldn’t understand. 

“You’re not my friend, counselor. Never were and never will be.”

Your hands stilled. Your breath caught for a few seconds when a weird, really hurting pit formed in your stomach. 

“Oh.” You furrowed your brows. “Right.”

Your throat felt tight because he was still there, still looking like he was seeing right through you. And for the first time, Frank did manage to leave you speechless—you really didn’t have a smartass comeback to that one. 

His head dipped lower just a bit to look in your face, but you refused to give him the pleasure of it.

“Oh, give me those goddamn papers, you ain’t reading shit.” He yanked the folder out of your grip, carelessly shoving it back on the shelf. Crooked, wrong spot completely. The papers and sticky notes were wrinkled, sticking out ugly and not the way you liked to keep them. Yeah, you would have to fix it a bit later, you thought, keeping yourself busy with something to not think about stuff that did not belong in your head. 

But Frank was still close. He didn’t step back. He didn’t focus his dark eyes on anything else like you wished to. Hell, now, with the way those words that so easily left his mouth, you only wished for him to go away, to wait for Matt or Foggy to continue his case so you wouldn’t have to feel this shitty. 

Frank shifted his weight softly, pushing away from the shelves and straightening his posture. He looked down at you, assessing, now that you didn’t know what to do with your hands or where to look. His dark clothes and expression on his face made everything feel even more intimidating. 

He took one step closer towards you. You looked up, furrowing again. Another step. You took one back more on instinct for being face-to-face with someone than from actually not liking the closed proximity. 

“Frank—“

“Are you scared?” His voice was low, eyes fixed on yours when he took small steps towards you. “Of me.”

“Wh—I’m not.” Your pulse started picking up, eyes looking over his face, over the few healing cuts across his cheeks and on the brindle on his nose. Up close you thought that Frank smelled like a mixture you didn’t think you ever could like—worn-out leather, gunpowder, and something like shaving cream, or maybe it was his shampoo. You swallowed when the realization hit 

“I kill people. I hunt them down and hurt them. Why aren’t you scared?” Frank backed you against your own table, the one that creaked when the back of your thighs pressed against it, the one where not even ten minutes ago you sat and interrogated the man who was currently making your heart want to jump out of your chest.

“Because they deserve it. B-because you won’t hurt me.”

The side of his lip curled slightly, barely for you to notice. “You so sure about it?”

Frank was now almost pressed against you. Your hand came up to rest against his chest more out of instinct when he leaned forward. He stood there, all solid muscles, almost caging you in with the way his legs were spread on each side of yours. He looked down at you, at your parted lips and your eyes that seemed a bit glazed with fog now. He debated his next movement, thinking that maybe he should just fucking leave, just let you be and not interfere in your normal life. He didn’t deserve this, you, after all. But sometimes, after the long nights and the months of thinking about you, your warmth, your kindness, and your smile, he felt like he was being cut open without you. 

His hand came up slowly and almost hesitantly, like he was still deciding whether he wanted to step over the invisible line. You didn’t move away when his large and calloused hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushed over your cheek in such a gentle way you didn’t even think he could manage after all. Your eyes fluttered softly, then looked down at Frank’s lips that were too close now, too tempting.  

You felt trapped, in a way, but you didn’t feel the need to get out. 

“Yes. Yes, I trust you.” Your voice sounded small, softer than you even intended to, but you could care less about it when he was right there.

Frank's forehead rested heavy against yours. His lips were inches away, and you could feel his warm breathing against your skin. He stepped closer to your body, hand on your face sliding just a bit further back until his fingers curled in your hair at your neck. He tilted your face up, a bit higher and in the way he liked it. 

You trembled at the feeling. Your eyes were running around his face, searching for answers, way too lost in what was going on, but seeing only the hungry and somehow longing looks in his eyes. 

“This goes against any rule in my book. Against any fucking boundary I set for myself after—after all that shit, y’know?” Frank’s voice was raspy, thick with emotions he hated to share but at the same time couldn’t hold back because somehow it felt more and more wrong being away. Letting other people touch you, being with you when he could've…tried. For you. 

“I know, Frank. I understand.” 

“You always do, smart girl.” He hummed with a slight smile. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, breath warm and uneven against your mouth, the hand in your hair holding you steady like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go even a fraction.

For a long second neither of you moved.

But then you jerked your head a bit forward, and your lips touched for the first time. Frank groaned like it was physically painful to have you like that, to feel the softness of your mouth against his. When he deepened the kiss, when his tongue swiped softly over your lower lip, your body weight sank just a little bit—your body obedient and compliant in his hands as only soft sounds died against his mouth. Frank’s other hand lifted you effortlessly onto the table, a few papers crumbling under your ass, but you didn’t care. Not when your legs parted softly for him, not when he stepped into the given space, making it feel like he was consuming you fully.

Then the jealousy slipped out of him, low and bitter, the way truth always did when Frank Castle stopped filtering it, and he pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss only enough for him to speak.

“Red gets to touch you like that.” He muttered, his thumb stroking once along the edge of your jaw. “Kiss the top of your head. Hug you. And I sit across that goddamn table each time pretending I don’t notice. Pretending it doesn’t—” He cut himself off, jaw flexing hard and his thumb stilling against your skin. “Doesn’t carve me up every single time.”

“Frank—“ It sounded more like a half-moan.

“I disappear every fucking time.” He interrupted you, voice almost bitter when he started rumbling again. “I hide to do my shit and hope that it’s gonna help me forget about you. Because I can’t ruin another good thing that I have.” Your breath hitched at his words. “But I see you every time I close my eyes, every time I’m bleeding like a fucking stray dog on the street and want to end it. I come back here and you’re still you, and I don’t know if it’s a gift or a damn curse.” Frank’s free hand found your waist, fingers spreading wide over the curve of it, possessive and careful at the same time. “And Red’s all friendly, and good, and—shit. And I wanna put my fist through a fucking wall because for me it’s you. Always fucking you.” 

You laughed despite the sudden pain in your throat at Frank’s words. Your hand was still pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, fingers fumbling with the metallic zipper, pulling it down a little bit when you shook your head slightly. Your nose brushed his, and he groaned. 

“He’s not your competitor. I promise. I think he knows I have my eyes on you.” 

“Yeah?” He shifted forward, the hard outline of him now evident through the front of his jeans, pressing softly against your inner thigh. 

“Mhm.”

 “That’s good, ‘cuz I ain’t sharing.”

Frank kissed you this time, his lips capturing yours almost greedily, as part of him now knew that it was something you both wanted and craved. He groaned into your mouth, slight stubble itching your skin, hand on your neck tilting your head backwards, and another one pressing harder into your waist, then barely slipping lower to rest over your ass. 

You felt on fire, and that feeling was spreading fully through your body. You felt him hard and ready pressed against you, and you finally made a move to lock your legs around his hips. It seemed to change the situation in the room, because suddenly all the noise of the busy Hell’s Kitchen was nonexistent, any worry or problem that Frank Castle got himself into was pushed aside just for now. 

You pulled the zipper of his leather jacket all the way down, your hands instantly finding home over the hard contours of his chest, sliding slightly under the shirt to trace warm skin that had a history of suffering through pain. Frank’s hands moved lower too. He still kissed you like his life was dependent on it, but the need to touch you more, to finally have you was more than he could bear. 

His lips left yours, trailing down against your jaw to your neck, nibbling at the skin and breathing your scent in—the one that always seemed to cling to him every single time he was around you. His hands found the little buttons on your flowy blouse, opening one by one with delicacy because he didn’t want to ruin something so pretty. It flopped to the sides when he stopped at the place it was tucked into your skirt, revealing the swell of your breasts in a lacy bra and the flushed skin he couldn’t wait to taste. 

“Been thinking about you for so long.” 

Your breath hitched, lushes fluttering against your cheeks when a breathy moan slipped past your lips. You slid your nails slowly down the planes of his stomach, feeling every single rigid muscle moving under your fingertips. You reached Frank’s belt, tugging him closer. The buckle clanged softly when you pulled at it, being way too distracted with Frank’s mouth sucking soft marks against your collarbones. 

“You can have me.” You breathed, hiking your legs higher up his thighs. He nodded, pulling himself up to rest his forehead against yours again, both your mouths open slightly with uneven breathing. Frank’s hands slid lower, glazing the sides of your thighs, pulling your pencil skirt higher until it was bunched awkwardly around your hips. 

You were almost bare for him. The pulse in between your thighs was impossible to resist, and you couldn’t stop but roll your hips forward towards his hand. His fingers found you wet, your slickness seeping through the lace material at the front, making him groan low at the feeling. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, honey.” You hummed in response, rolling forward again. The table creaked resistantly under you, but neither of you cared when his fingers pushed the lace to the side, slid the fingers over your wetness, and then pressed against your pulsing bud. “Won’t let you go. You’re mine.”

"Please—I need it. I need you so badly.” You whispered. Your hand tried to push his pants and underwear down, but he didn’t let you. Frank’s hand pushed yours away, and you obediently threw them over his shoulders. You heard the fumble of the clothes and felt the shift when he stepped a bit closer. Then the feeling of the warm and thick head of his cock running through your fold made you shudder. 

He pushed inside slowly and carefully, but the feeling still made you gasp. He was thicker than you expected, stretching your poor self more than you thought you could take. You whined helplessly, hand shooting down to press at his lower abdomen because it felt suddenly too much. 

“Frank! I— Oh God!” 

“Sh-h. Easy, baby. Easy. Let me take care of you.” He shushed you, feeding his cock inside with slow and small rocking movements. Inch by thick inch, he disappeared inside of you, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, before he captured your lips again and made your mind go fully blank. “Feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking—shit, I've been wanting this for so fucking long. Shouldn’t have, but I did.” He rocked softly, making the table creak again and again in tune with his hips. 

Something rolled down on the floor. The papers were crumpling under the weight and movement of your body, but that was a problem for later. Frank was fucking you softly, holding your face in one hand and almost possessively rubbing your thigh with another. It felt almost too slow, too intimate, and too intense for a man like him. Everything felt almost surreal, almost too good to be true, because your pulse was beating loudly in your ears, your eyes couldn’t seem to focus on his concentrated and handsome face, and your legs trembled from how good his cock felt inside of you. 

You clumped around him harder, bringing out low and almost restrained groans from his mouth. He worked you up slowly, pushing deep inside until his hips were flushed against yours and then driving back to leave you whimpering and clenching desperately for more. It seemed too fast the way your orgasm was approaching you. But the years of tension, the years of hidden feelings, worry, and pure want, were probably the reason for that. 

The coil in your tummy felt too tight, the warmth spread through your body the second Frank’s thumb pressed against your clit. You moaned his name softly, shattering like glass. Your velvety pussy pulsed around him and sucked his cock back inside like she was greedy. And he couldn’t resist it himself. He came with a deep and guttural, almost painful moan, a few strokes later, stilling while the warmth was spilling inside of you. 

For a few long moments you both were just breathing. You were pressed against each other, tangled together like you couldn’t find the power in yourself to pull away. His hands were gentle when he rubbed your aching thighs, his movements were slow when he pulled out and made you whimper at the loss. Frank put your underwear back and tugged himself in with that weird, satisfied look in his dark eyes. 

He then stepped forward again, leaning closer to you and glazing your lips with his.

“Still think we’re friends, sweetheart?”

“Shut up, Frank.” You couldn’t help but laugh, still catching your breath, still feeling like you were floating somewhere.

“Yeah, that’s the snappy mouth I missed so much.” Frank kissed you again. Slowly, deeply, letting himself have one thing that mattered to him now. 

Then the sound came. Both of your ears caught the soft sound of tapping. Cane. It came from outside the office, and then the door opened, and Matt was standing there, holding it closer to his chest. He stood near the entrance, silent for a few seconds, assessing the situation. Then his lips spread in a small, almost knowing smirk. 

The office probably smelled like sex, you realized in horror, and you were still half naked, still with Frank looming over you against the poor table. The heat crawled up your neck when you tried to move, and a solid man made out of muscle didn’t let you.

“I guess that explains the heartbeats.” He snickered. “It was either that or you two trying to kill each other.” 

You wanted to vanish. 

“Oh god.” You mumbled, briefly covering your face from shame.

Matt stood there. Not judging, not mad, but you still felt that Frank got tense beside you. Matt’s head tilted slightly to the side, and you knew already that he was looking now at you. “You okay?”

Frank huffed a laugh, like it was a bit ridiculous to imply that anything that happened here was against your will. But your hand found his instantly, and he made himself bite his tongue with a snarky comment. “Yeah, Matt. I’m totally fine.”

Matt nodded to your word but didn’t move. He was facing the both of you like he was waiting for something else. And then Frank spoke.

“How much shit can you actually see, Red?” You looked back at him, a bit surprised. The scowl found its way back on his face, his eyes dark and focused on your best friend like he was now his enemy. The hand that wasn’t in yours found your waist and turned to your back so Matt would only be able to see your back. Frank’s eyes briefly looked down, and you followed his gaze—your blouse was still open, your skin flushed and marked slightly with his teeth. 

“Enough to know that your pants are still undone.” Matt mumbled with a smile, finally turning around and going to the smaller office. “We still have to work on your case, Castle. So I will be waiting for you both here… when you are done.”

You laughed, embarrassed like never before, resting your head against Frank’s shoulder. He mumbled something under his breath, but his hands came up around your middle, slow and soft when they sprawled on your back.