The Favorites...

It was fourth of July at base camp and the soldiers at base wanted nothing more than to celebrate the freedom they were so adamant to protect, all over the Bagram Air Base soldiers and commanders were engaging in their own little celebrations, and this was no exception for Havoc three-three, Master Sergeant John Kinley’s own little team. You were new to the team assigned as their sniper expert and bonding quite nice with the boys, you were far from being a rookie and after a couple of assignments you had proved to be quite efficient in your job, you were in your element with the rifle and you were quick to guard their backs, you earned both their respect and their admiration. John Kinley, however, didn’t seem too impressed with you, being often reserved and closed off whenever you approached him, it made you wonder if he was the type of man who thought women didn’t belong in the military, but Tom Cat was quick to erase that assumption, when he revealed the Sergeant requested you by name, out of twenty men he could have chosen, he chose you.

You had a highly decorated career being an expert marksmanship, top of your class and an expert with the sniper rifle there was no doubt for a second those were compelling arguments for being chosen for his team, but during the couple of months being with them, he had barely crossed two or three words that weren’t orders or commands.

But despite all of that and with more than a couple of beers in your system you had agreed to JJ’s bet, confidently you walked over to the Sergeant’s table apart from the group, concealing something behind your back.

“Permission to approach, sir” you stand firm a couple of steps away from him, dropping the smile for a second to appear serious. Kinley looked at you over his shoulder, hiding a smirk at your demeanor.

“Granted” he nodded while hiding the smirk on his beer.

“Sir if I may” you walked closer to him, chuckling under your breath and tip toeing around him “the boys and I thought you aren’t looking festive enough” out of his sight you pulled out the top “Uncle Sam” hat from behind you and placed it firmly on his head, messing his tidy hair.

From their spot, the boys laughed loudly, Eddie cat calked the Sergeant whilst Jack-Jack looked mortified, the rookie couldn’t believe you pulled off the bet, or that the Sergeant was laughing along. John stood up, a smile plastered on his face as the boys hollered at him. He had been grumpy at the start of the celebration for who knows why. He stood away from the private party their team had gathered out the back of the main building at the base, with a barbecue courtesy of Eddie and loud music on Tom Cat’s boombox. But the boys messing with him, and perhaps the second beer he took, encouraged him to join in their celebration.

“Jizzy, didn’t I see a small tutu on your bag the other day?” he shocked the boys, but Jizzy immediately went to find it, sensing exactly what their Sergeant was about to do, or at least hoping.

The boys stood away from the tutu like it was radioactive, laughing while doing so, but the Sergeant had only one thing in mind.

“Parker” he spoke your last name without even looking at you, you had been laughing at the guys actions, hoping to see one of your fellow teammates wearing a tutu for the occasion but you were taken by surprise “Uncle Sam wants you” he joked, though he blushed underneath his beard, immediately realizing the poor choice in words, he didn’t intend it to sound so sexual but somehow the spark in your eyes thrilled him.

“I’m nothing but patriotic Sarge” you saluted him before taking the tutu from his hand.

The team turned into a bunch of wolves, or rather dogs, hollering and whistling while you made a spectacle out of putting on the red, white and blue tutu on top of your camo pants, giving a few twirls and saluting as if you were a USO girl. John had his eyes glued to you, unable to look away from your body and the intoxicating energy you radiated. You danced around; laughed, hollered and mocked about. You weren’t highly intoxicated, at least not on alcohol as you had barely touched the fourth beer for a while, but you were high on the adrenaline of celebrating with the men around you. It was a nice distraction; one they didn’t often have.

Close to lights out, the team had calmed down, some were already out drunk with bellies full, so there were just a couple still awake, tending to the fire cracking in the made shift grill they made on an old oil barrel. You were winning a card game with Tom Cat before he passed out on the table, you laughed at the light weight and quickly gathered his own marker from his pants and drew a small obscenity on his cheek. You chuckled admiring your work.

“What do you think Sarge, accurate?” you startled John, you hadn’t turn around to look at him, but somehow, you knew he was an admirer of your work.

“I think you were too generous” John closed the distance between you to admire your work up close. You laughed and added some details, Tom Cat felt the tingle and shivered “Jizzy, JJ” John called out to the guys, over by the fire “Take Tom Cat to the barracks” he commanded and they agreed, they were already thinking on heading that way, get some shut eye. Jack-Jack had been the first to pass out, he was next to the provisions on the floor, with Eddie guarding him while he stared at the night sky and smoking his cigar.

It was only you and John still awake. Not feeling that tired yet and not that drunk from the beers they decided to take a walk under the stars, the whole base was quiet and calm, most men having finished their celebrations earlier on.

You walked in silence for a while, it was far from uncomfortable, you enjoyed the fresh cold air of the desert and the tranquility that accompanied the base, though both of you knew that outside the perimeter it was far from tranquil you felt safe at that moment, not only for being inside the perimeter, but because you were next to each other. An odd but welcome feeling. Still feeling a slight buzz and the liquid courage of the beers in your system, you took a shot.

“Sir, about—”

“John, you can call me John” he interrupted, you had stopped walking somewhere near the garage compound.

“Right. John” you grinned “About what you said before, when I put on the…” you gestured to the red, white and blue tulle skirt still on your hips, blushing as you felt his eyes linger on you.

“I want you” he was quick to say.

“Yes” you smiled coyly but when you looked up to see him, you noticed a hunger in his eyes, an eagerness you hadn’t realized before. He hadn’t repeated his words from earlier; he was speaking about his needs right here and now.

Not even thinking about it for one more second, you closed the gap between them, your lips meeting hungrily, his beard tickled your face as he deepened the kiss, desperately eating you as if he had thought about it for a long time, eager to savor your taste from the moment you met. You backed up into the building until the heavy metal of a Humvee stopped you. John grabbed you by the thighs and lifted you up so you could wrap your legs around him, your back to the metal of the enormous muscle truck. His eager and cold hands found the hem of your beige shirt and slowly made its way up your hips to grab your breasts. His cold hands causing your nipples to perk up easily under his touch.

With your lips caressing his neck you jumped down from his hips, feeling his erection on the way down, John looked around to make sure the coast was clear before kneeling in front of you, surprised at the actions of the Sargeant you let out a gasp, from below John asked to keep quiet, pushing a finger to his lips, his eyes lit up with the faint light from outside, accentuating the blue in his gorgeous eyes. He quickly worked on undoing your belt and the buttons on the camo pants, only pushing away the tulle of the ridiculous skirt you were still wearing. He lifted your left leg and placed it on his shoulder to have a better view of your pussy, easily dividing your folds and practically salivating at your entrance. He let you know just how much he wanted to have you in his mouth by moaning between your legs. The vibrance of his moan sent shivers all over your body, you grabbed on from the frame of the Humvee, letting all your weight fall on your right leg and hoping for anything divine to not fall, letting yourself be lost in the sensations of his tongue in your delicate folds.

John caressed your leg as he worked her folds like an expert, rubbing his beard in your inner thighs and working slowly on your clit while in contrast roughly entering on your entrance with his tongue, sucking occasionally when you thrusted into his mouth and laying his tongue flat to settle your sensitive nerves. He kept licking and savoring every last drop of your juices like his life depended on it. You were not going to last long, and he could feel it, feeling your clit beginning to throb.

“I want you—” you managed to say in between quiet moans. John stood up, a smirk in his eyes, his beard soaked in your juices.

“That’s my line” he licked your neck and whispered in your ear.

John quickly undid his pants, his erection throbbing on his hand, he turned you around and pushed you to lay your chest on the seat of the Humvee, your ass on the air ready and desperate to feel him inside, he admired it against the night light, hoping to burn this sight of you in his memory before he spread your legs with his foot to allow for a better entrance and searching for your already deliciously licked pussy he guided his member inside, slowly at first, letting you adjust to the size, your moans burying on the cushion of the Humvee, he thrusted desperately, enjoying the size and very lubricated sides of your pussy, which he desperately desired since he watched you dance with the boys, he saw you thrust and move your hips and now you were doing it again but against his member. He grabbed on to the frame of the truck watching how you expertly thrusted your hips into him, backing up rhythmically as you fucked him, your ass rocking back and forward so deliciously, clasping on his lower belly, eating his cock all the way, balls deep. He wasn’t going to last if he allowed you to continue so he subdued you back on the seat, he stopped the thrusts to admire your bare ass, he squeezed and held your hips, closing your open legs letting your walls feel tighter around him, he thrusted painfully slow. He pulled his cock almost all the way and thrusted deep inside, slowly and forcefully. Enjoying every bit of it. Eventually he found your spot, that sweet G spot he hit with every deep thrust, his whole length deeper inside you than possible, you were so ready to reach the blissful glory of your respective orgasms, so he indulged you and thrusted harder and faster upon that spot until your legs were shivering, shaking and loosening their grip, your walls pulsating tight all around him, he thrusted once, twice more inside your already too overwhelmed pussy and pulled out just in time, releasing the white sticky substance on your thigh and part on the Humvee itself.

Frank and you are what other people around you would describe as a velcro couple.

Which is fair.

You’re pretty sure there hasn’t been a single day in your relationship where one of you wasn’t touching the other somehow. Frank’s hand at the small of your back while you brush your teeth. Fingers linked in grocery store aisles. Kisses stolen in hallways. Sleepy morning quickies and rough goodnight fucks because the man is insatiable and you are constantly aroused whenever his hands reach anywhere near your waist- which is constantly.

You live off him.

His touch.

His attention.

The weight of his eyes on you from across a room.

And Frank? Frank is somehow worse.

The man acts like prolonged physical separation causes him actual psychological damage. If you walk past him, he reaches for you automatically. If you’re standing nearby, eventually you end up tucked against his chest whether you remember moving there or not. Half the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it anymore.

Which means, honestly, the two of you are unbearable in public. Not in an obnoxious way. Just in a deeply obvious one.

The kind of couple that naturally gravitates toward each other in every room without even thinking about it. Frank standing behind you while you make coffee, chin on your shoulder, massive arms wrapped around your waist like he physically cannot start his morning unless you’re pressed against him. You absentmindedly stealing bites off his plate while he pretends to be annoyed despite immediately sliding the entire thing closer to you. Nobody has ever seen Frank Castle willingly share food before you.Now he hands you the last fry without even looking up.

Humiliating behavior, honestly.

And the touching never stops. If you’re sitting beside him, eventually his hand ends up on your thigh. If Frank’s sitting down anywhere for longer than five minutes, he’s tugging you into his lap automatically, barely interrupting the conversation while doing it. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world for a six-foot-three wall of muscle to casually manhandle his girlfriend into his lap in the middle of game night at Karen’s apartment.

“You know chairs exist, right?” Curtis asked once. Frank didn’t even look up from where his chin rested against your shoulder.

“Mhm.” That was the entire response. Meanwhile you were curled against his chest looking unbearably pleased with yourself.

It gets worse at home. Way worse.

Because the second the apartment door closes behind you two, personal space completely ceases to exist. You’re draped across him on the couch within minutes. Frank’s fingers hooked lazily beneath your shirt while he watches TV, absentmindedly tracing shapes against your stomach. Your legs tangled together under blankets. Slow kisses traded between conversations. Foreheads pressed together while brushing your teeth because apparently standing separately in the bathroom is unacceptable now.

And sleeping?

Forget it.

Frank sleeps like he’s trying to fuse your skeletons together. One arm around your waist. One leg thrown over yours. Face buried against your neck. If you move too far away in your sleep, he unconsciously follows until you’re tucked back against him again. Sometimes you wake up at three in the morning practically pinned beneath two hundred pounds of warm, snoring ex-marine.

And somehow you still sleep better like that. Frank claims he does too.

But you’re just as bad. Maybe even worse.

You are constantly reaching for him, hands slipping up his shirt to trace the outline of his muscles, hands drifting towards his pant buckle the second there's the semblance of privacy. You are a freak for this man. Everything he does turns you on.

Hands sliding up his chest while you compliment him. Kissing the corner of his mouth just to watch his expression change. Whispering filthy things into his ear while he’s trying to focus in public because you enjoy watching the exact moment his composure starts cracking.

Frank always starts out pretending he’s stronger than this. But the truth is Frank folds almost immediately when it comes to you. The second you start kissing his neck slowly or climbing into his lap with that look in your eyes, the man is done for.

Gone.

Especially when you get clingy about it. That’s what really destroys him. The way you seek him out first. Like you can’t help yourself. Like your body naturally gravitates toward his whenever you want attention or affection or him specifically. Which is often.

Very often.

So who can blame you when he walks out of the bathroom, smelling like cologne and wearing that tight suit of his ?

You look up from the vanity, pressing your earring clasp closed just as the door thuds behind him.

It’s unfair, honestly.

Frank always cleans up well, but suits on that man should probably qualify as psychological warfare. The dark fabric stretches tight across his shoulders, sharp enough to make him look even broader somehow, and the white dress shirt beneath it is rolled just enough at the forearms to expose strong tan skin and thick veins running down to his hands.

His hands.

Which already ruin your life on a daily basis.

And then there’s the smell.

Warm cologne layered over soap and Frank himself - clean but still distinctly him underneath it all. Your stomach flips instantly.

Frank notices immediately.

Of course he does.

His eyes flick toward you while he adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, and there’s a tiny pause when he catches the look on your face.

“…What?” he asks slowly. You stare at him for another full second. Then your eyes drag deliberately down his body. Back up again. Frank exhales once through his nose, already recognizing that expression.

“No,” he says immediately, pointing at you before you can even speak. “Absolutely not.” You blink innocently.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He’s trying to sound firm about it, but there’s already amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Which means you’ve already won, really. Your gaze drops again while he reaches for his watch on the dresser. Big mistake. The movement pulls the fabric tight across his back and shoulders, and your entire brain melts straight out of your ears. And god- you can see the firm outline of his dick pressing through those tight dress pants, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from dropping to your knees in front of him right then and there and wrapping your lips around him just to suck him dry- for what would be the third time today.

Jesus Christ.

You stand slowly from the vanity stool and walk toward him without breaking eye contact. Frank watches you approach with immediate suspicion.

“Baby.”

“Hm?”

“We gotta leave in twenty minutes.”

“I know.”

“You’re lookin’ at me weird.”

“I’m looking at you respectfully.”

“Bullshit.” You smile sweetly as your hands slide up his chest, smoothing over the front of his dress shirt. Even through the fabric you can feel the solid warmth of him beneath it, broad and steady and distractingly strong. Frank’s jaw tightens a little. “There it is,” he mutters.

“What?”

“That look.”

“What look?”

“The one that gets us banned from being on time to things.” You laugh softly, stepping closer until your bodies press together. Frank’s hands land automatically on your waist like muscle memory. Always there. Always touching you somewhere. Your fingers drift up to straighten his tie unnecessarily slowly.

“You look really pretty tonight,” you murmur. Frank snorts quietly.

“Pretty?”

“Mhm.” Your nails scrape lightly along the back of his neck. “Very pretty.” His eyes darken immediately.

“Careful.”

“You smell good too.”

“Baby.”

“And this suit?” Your voice drops softer. “Actually evil of you.” Frank’s grip tightens slightly at your waist.

“You’re startin’ shit.”

“Am I?” You tilt your head innocently before leaning up just enough to press a slow kiss beneath his jaw. The reaction is immediate. A rough inhale. His fingers flex against your hips.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. You hide your smile against his neck and kiss him again. Slower this time. Lingering just enough to feel the exact moment his composure starts slipping. Which is your favorite part. Frank tries so hard at first. That’s what makes this fun. Because he always starts out acting like he has self-control. Like he’s capable of resisting you when you decide you want his attention.

Meanwhile you know exactly how easy he is for you.

One kiss to his neck and the man starts looking at you like he’s fighting for his life. Your hands slide beneath his suit jacket, palms flattening against his chest. Solid muscle shifts beneath your touch, warm and familiar and addictive enough that you honestly don’t know how you’re expected to function around him daily.

“You know,” you murmur thoughtfully, “we could skip the event.” Frank lets out a low laugh.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” You pout slightly against his throat.

“But I’m a lawyer. I can make excuses professionally.”

“You are not seducing me outta your work thing.” You lean back just enough to look up at him.

“Feels like I am, though.” Frank visibly clenches his jaw. He shakes his head and pushes you away from him firmly.

"Baby, this is the first time i'm meeting your colleagues." You snort, smoothing your hands on the silky red fabric near your waist that has now been ruffled by Frank's bruising grip.

"No , it's not. You know Matt and Foggy already." You tease, turning around to lean over the vanity and check your lip liner. Frank scowls.

"Alright then. First time meeting them as a normal human and not someone that needs to stand trial for murder." he taps his foot on the floor. "What i mean to say is- these people are your friends. I want to make a good impression."

"Of course you will, Frankie. How could you not ?" Frank sighs, shoving his hands down his pant pockets, which does nothing to relieve the stretch around his groin, making your eyes drift down naturally, and your thighs clench.

"Well, for instance, they won't like me much if you're not behaving."

You freeze.

Frank immediately regrets the wording. He sees it happen in real time - your shoulders going still, your head tilting ever so slightly as your eyes lift to meet his in the mirror.

“…Excuse me?” you ask slowly. Frank pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean.” You turn around fully now, leaning back against the vanity with your arms folded across your chest. The silky red dress hugs your body distractingly tight, and Frank has to actively force his eyes back to your face. “Behave?” Frank sighs.

"Just for one night, baby. One night. Hell, not ever the whole night- just the few hours of the event."

You stare at him for a long moment.

Then slowly - very slowly - you narrow your eyes.

“Frank Castle,” you say with dangerous calm, “are you asking me to stop expressing my love for my own boyfriend?”

“I’m asking you to stop trying to climb me in public.”

“That feels oppressive.”

“That feels accurate.” You scoff dramatically, pushing off the vanity.

“One night?” you repeat softly.Frank nods cautiously.

“One night.”

“No flirting?”

“Within reason.”

“No touching?”

“You can touch me.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Normal touching.” You blink at him.

“Frank, define normal.” His jaw tightens instantly because he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“Baby.”

“Is thigh touching normal?”

“No.”

“Chest touching?”

“You already do that too much.”

“Kissing?”

“Not every five seconds.” Your expression turns genuinely offended.

“Frank.”

“What?”

“That is our culture.” A laugh escapes him before he can stop it. Low and rough and fond despite himself. You immediately perk up at the sound. Frank drinks you in - and god, a part of him is scolding himself for not taking you up on your offer to just stay home. That fucking dress on you is- well, it's doing things to him. The silky red fabric hugs every inch of you like it was designed specifically to ruin him. Tight around your waist. Dipping low enough at your chest that his eyes keep dragging there against his will. The slit along your leg flashes skin every time you move, and Frank is pretty sure he hasn’t had a coherent thought since walking out of the bathroom.

For a second neither of you moves. Then Frank sighs heavily, like he’s preparing himself for battle.

“Alright,” he mutters. “Rules.” You gasp softly.

“Rules?”

“Yes.”

“This is getting kinky.”

“Jesus Christ.” He drags a hand down his face while you beam at him. “No whisperin’ filthy shit in my ear in front of your coworkers.” You pout immediately. “No sittin’ in my lap during dinner.”

“That feels targeted.”

“No disappearin’ into bathrooms together.” You look horrified now.

“Frank.”

“And no givin’ me that look across the room all night.” You blink innocently.

“What look?”

“The one that makes me forget my own name.” A pause. Then your entire expression melts into delighted satisfaction. Frank groans quietly the second he sees it. Frank points at you instantly. “See? That face right there. That’s exactly why we need rules.”

-------

Unfortunately for Frank, his rules forgot to include dirty texts.

The venue is jam-packed. You have no idea how Matt and Foggy managed to fill up this venue, but they did. However, you lost Frank about ten minutes in. Matt dragged him off to talk about "life" which is obviously a stupid code word for whatever vigliante shit is going on in Hell's Kitchen.

And you are incredibly bored.

You watch the ice swirl around your cup, the little umbrella perched inside the fruity drink Foggy pushed your way now laying limp and damp. Across the room, Frank stands with Matt and Foggy, looking deeply uncomfortable despite the glass of whiskey in his hand. His suit jacket stretches distractingly across his shoulders as he listens to whatever Matt is saying, expression unreadable but clearly not enjoying himself. it does make your heart clench though. Because hes' trying - for you.

He knows how much you love Matt and Foggy. You grew up with Matt- and obviously met Foggy when Matt started bringing him around during his uni days.

Frank’s trying.

He really is.

Because this matters to you. These are your people. Your friends. Your world. And he wants them to like him. Which means he keeps trying to focus on Matt talking about neighborhood cases and Foggy complaining about paperwork and Karen laughing somewhere nearby.

Frank keeps glancing toward you between conversations. Not constantly. He's trying very hard not to. Which honestly makes it worse. Because every few minutes his eyes flick across the room automatically like he needs visual confirmation you’re still there, and every single time he looks at you, you catch him staring. The first few times, he recovers quickly.

Looks away. Takes a sip of whiskey. Pretends Matt wasn’t mid-sentence when Frank completely stopped listening.

But god, the sight of you in that fucking dress, sipping on your drink, talking to one of your old clients, it breaks him down into pieces.

He tells himself to stop looking. He doesn’t. The third time he catches your smile from across the room, it’s over. Matt is still talking - something about procedure, or patrol routes, or whatever legal-adjacent thing he thinks Frank is supposed to care about - but Frank is already gone mentally. His grip tightens slightly around his glass.

And you're not doing any better. It's like you've been physically restrained- only a great amount of distance will make you keep your hands to yourself. And it's taking every inch of your will to stay rooted in place. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs a little tighter under the table. It doesn’t help. Not even slightly. Because Frank looks unfairly good like this. Suit jacket open now, sleeves pushed just a bit higher like he’s forgotten they’re supposed to stay neat. The whiskey glass in his hand does nothing to soften him - if anything it makes him worse. Too controlled. Too grounded. Like he belongs exactly where he is and not, objectively, across the room from you. Matt says something and Frank smiles and answers lively. Foggy laughs at something and Frank reacts, grinning as he takes a sip of his drink.

Without thinking, you pull your phone out of your purse.

YOU i'm wet just looking at you

You watch as Frank's hand instinctively goes to his pocket when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, glances down, and immediately stills. Even from across the room, you can see the slight tension that settles in his shoulders. He stares at his phone before putting the phone back down, clearing his throat. You smirk, taking a slow sip of your drink before typing back.

YOU i need you inside me. like so fucking bad, frankie.

Frank's eyes lift from his phone, scanning the room until they land on you. The look he gives you is part warning, part something darker that makes your stomach clench. You bite your lip, enjoying this far too much.

YOU Remember this morning? When you had me bent over the kitchen counter?

You watch his throat work as he swallows. He shifts his weight slightly, and you know you're getting to him. Frank types something, then deletes it. Then types again. Deletes it again. He's half in the conversation with the others, half staring at his phone as if someone just texted him with extremely important news. So, just to add more fuel to the fire -

YOU [six attatchements]

The first image appears - it's you from a few weeks ago, sprawled across your bed in that black lace set he loves. The one he said made you look like something out of his dirtiest dreams. Frank's jaw tightens as he swipes to the next one. This time, you're on your knees, hands pressed to the bed in front of you, your breasts pushed up in the lace, and Frank runs his tongue over his teeth, as if remembering what the material felt like against his lips as he ripped it off. Matt notices Frank's distraction mid-sentence.

"Frank? You with me?" Frank clears his throat, locking his phone without responding to your texts. He slams his phone down, hands shaking, trying to hide the heat rising up to his cheeks. He clears his throat, one too many times, before grabbing his cup and downing all of it, breathing hard. You turn away from him, sipping on your drink, trying to not look too satisfied with yourself as you send him another final text.

YOU I want to go home right now and I want you to eat me out

God, if they were anywhere else, Frank would've dropped everything and dragged you home. One thing Frank loved more than you in this life ? Spending hours- and I mean hours- between your legs, holding your thighs apart, devouring you like a man who hasn't had access to fresh water in weeks of travelling in the dessert.

But here? Now? With Murdock and Nelson watching?

Frank's face is a study in self-control. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He picks up his empty glass, stares at it like it's personally offended him, and then sets it down with a click that's just a little too loud. He's trying to listen. He really is. Matt is saying something about… zoning laws? Frank nods along, but his eyes have that glazed-over look of a man running on pure instinct and pure spite. You can practically hear the thoughts screaming through his head.

Don't look over. Don't you fucking dare. You're doing this on purpose. You knows exactly what you're doing. Think about you moaning his name baseball. Think about the way you take all of him so well … dead puppies. Think about anything other than your thighs wrapped around his head.

It's a losing battle. His gaze betrays him, flicking across the room to you for the hundredth time. You catch it, of course. You always do. And you reward him by slowly, deliberately, crossing your legs. The silk of your dress whispers against your skin, and you see his throat work as he swallows hard. He looks away, but the damage is done. You've got him. Matt, bless his oblivious heart, is still talking.

"—so the precedent is tricky, Frank. If we can establish a pattern of negligence on the part of the landlord, we might have a case, but it's going to require a lot of footwork." Frank makes a noncommittal sound, a low grunt that could mean anything. His hand is clenched into a fist on the bar. Foggy, thankfully, seems to have picked up on the tension, or maybe he's just excited about the mini egg rolls coming around on a tray. He engages Matt in a side conversation about the merits of tempura versus fried, giving Frank a precious moment of reprieve. Frank doesn’t even realize he’s made a decision until he’s already acting on it. It starts small - subtle. A shift in posture. A slow exhale through his nose like he’s thinking too hard about something that absolutely does not require thinking. Matt is still mid-sentence, Foggy is laughing at something off to the side, and Frank is nodding at all the right moments while clearly hearing none of it.

Then his phone buzzes again in his pocket. He doesn’t look at it this time.

That’s new. Instead, he sets his empty glass down with controlled precision and clears his throat once. Twice. Like he’s trying to reset his entire brain.

“Everything alright?” Matt asks, head tilting slightly. Frank doesn’t answer immediately. Because across the room, you shift again - just slightly - and it looks like an accident to everyone else. But Frank knows better. He drags a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing faintly as if he’s just remembered something genuinely urgent. Something catastrophic. Something that absolutely requires him to leave this building right now or the world will collapse.

“…Yeah,” he says finally. Foggy pauses mid-bite of something fried.

“That sounded like a lie.” Frank ignores him. Already reaching for his jacket.

“I gotta go.” Matt blinks.

“Go?”

“Yeah.”

“Frank, we’re kind of in the middle of—”

“I just remembered that i left the oven on.” Silence. Even Foggy stops chewing. Matt slowly tilts his head.

“Your… oven.”

“Is on,” Frank repeats, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah.” You, across the room, straighten so fast your drink nearly tips. Foggy frowns.

"You started cooking before you came to an event ?" Foggy asks. Frank rambles, shaking his head, swaying on his feet.

"Yes, I did." He clears his throat. "Excuse me." Matt opens his mouth, then closes it again. Because even he can tell something about this is wrong, but he’s not entirely sure what. Frank is already moving. He doesn’t run. Frank Castle does not run out of social situations. He simply exits them aggressively with purpose. He’s halfway across the room in seconds, threading through people like he’s on a mission—because, technically, he is. You’re watching him approach now, eyes bright with something dangerously amused.

“Frank - ” Matt starts, but Frank is already gone from that conversation mentally. He reaches you. Stops just long enough to grab your wrist.

“Frank?” you ask sweetly, like you didn’t just dismantle his entire self-control with six images and a sentence that should probably be illegal. He leans in slightly, voice low.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” he mutters. You blink.

“Why the urgency?" There’s a beat. You stare at him.vFrank stares back, dead serious. Frank stares at you like you are the only stable object in a universe currently trying to kill him.

“We need to leave,” he repeats, voice low, clipped, absolutely final. You tilt your head.

“You already said that.”

“Yeah."

“And you also said something about an oven.” Frank’s jaw tightens.

“It’s still on.” You blink slowly.

“Frank.”

“What.”

“We don’t even own an oven that works properly.”

“That’s irrelevant.” Behind him, Matt’s voice cuts in—careful, confused.

“Frank, are you sure everything’s—”

“It’s fine,” Frank calls over his shoulder immediately, too fast, too loud. Then, softer, to you again: “We are leaving. Now.” You don’t move. You just look at him. And Frank—who has faced actual armed men without flinching—visibly loses another percentage of his sanity. You’re being half-dragged now, heels catching slightly as he steers you through the crowd with zero patience left for anything resembling dignity.

“And also,” Frank adds, as if remembering a second disaster mid-escape, “the kitchen’s on fire.”

“Frank.”

“And the dog is on fire.”

“Frank!" That finally breaks you. A laugh slips out, sharp and breathless, and Frank tightens his grip on your wrist like he’s punishing you for it.

“Stop laughing,” he mutters.

“You’re insane,” you whisper back, still laughing.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “Move.” Behind you, Foggy is openly wheezing now. Matt is calling your names like he might actually try to follow. Frank doesn’t slow down once. He gets you out into the hallway, door swinging shut behind you both with a heavy thud.

And the second you’re outside the noise, outside the crowd, outside everything— Frank stops. Turns to you. Looks at you in that suit, that dress, that expression that still has him absolutely wrecked even after all that chaos. Then he exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath for ten straight minutes.

“…You done?” he asks. You tilt your head.

“With what?” Frank’s eyes drop to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up.

“Playing with me.” You smile slowly.

“No.” A beat. Frank closes his eyes like he’s praying for strength he does not possess.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Knew that was gonna be the answer.” Then he’s already pulling you down the hallway toward the exit again—faster now, less controlled, like the last thread of his restraint finally snapped clean through.

And honestly?

You don’t resist. Not even a little.

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t explain. Just mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “never letting you bring a phone anywhere ever again,” and keeps moving like if he stops, he’ll lose the last shred of restraint he’s been clinging to all night.

You, unfortunately, look delighted.

The walk to the car is quiet in that charged way where neither of you can risk speaking too much. Frank opens the passenger door for you with a little more force than necessary. You slide in, smoothing down your dress like you haven’t just ruined a man’s entire evening with six images and a single sentence. Frank shuts the door. Hard. He gets in on his side a second later and just sits there gripping the wheel for a moment like he’s recalibrating his entire nervous system.

“You’re unbelievable,” he finally says. You tilt your head.

“You love me.” A beat.

“…Yeah,” he mutters, like it annoys him that it’s true. The drive is painfully slow. Not because of traffic—because Frank is driving like every red light personally insulted him. His hand keeps flexing on the steering wheel, jaw tight, eyes forward, but every few seconds his gaze flicks to you anyway. You’re not helping. You’re sitting there all soft and smug, legs crossed, fingers resting in your lap like you didn’t just set his brain on fire. Every time you adjust your position slightly, the fabric of your dress shifts, and Frank exhales like it physically pains him.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he says once.

“Doing what?” He glances at you briefly.

“Existing like that.” You smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh and shakes his head, like he’s trying to decide whether he’s in love or losing his mind. By the time you reach the apartment building, Frank is done pretending he’s fine. The elevator doors close behind you with a soft ding, and the second you’re alone, something in him snaps. It’s not gentle. Frank steps into your space immediately, hands going to your waist like it’s instinct, like he’s been holding himself back all night and the second he’s allowed, he just stops.

“Frank - ” you start, but it comes out breathier than intended when he pulls you in.

“Don’t,” he mutters. Then he kisses you. Hard. It’s not patient or teasing or even particularly careful. It’s the kind of kiss that carries hours of restraint and frustration and the memory of your texts still burned into his brain. His hands slide up your back, fingers tightening at your waist like he’s anchoring you to him, like if he doesn’t hold on, you’ll vanish again and he’ll lose his mind. You make a small sound against his mouth that only makes him groan low in his throat. He backs you up against the elevator wall, your back thudding the metal bar. You groan, and he slips his tongue in your mouth, hand tangled in your hair.

The kiss is all teeth and desperation, a frantic clash that tastes of whiskey and the lingering sweetness of your drink. His other hand slides down from your waist, over the curve of your hip, to grip your thigh through the silk of your dress.

"Frank," you gasp, pulling back just enough to breathe. He doesn't let you get far, just follows your mouth, kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring your mouth like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

"Shut up," he mutters against your lips, his voice rough with need. "Just… shut up." You obey without a second thought, and his hands grip at your ass as he presses you against his erection, one hand drifting up to softly wrap around your throat to keep you steady as you trying your best to not rid him of his clothes in this public elevator.

"I hope you know-" he breathes between kisses, "That the second we get into that apartment you're done for, woman." The threat is a promise, and it sends a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach. You can't help the small, breathy laugh that escapes you, a sound that's pure challenge. His eyes, dark and wild, meet yours. He doesn't like being laughed at, not now, not when he's this close to the edge. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your breath catch, not to hurt, but to remind you who's in charge here.

"Think that's funny?" he growls, his voice a low rumble against your lips.

"I think you're all talk," you taunt, your voice a whisper. "Unless you're planning on taking me right here in this elevator." His jaw works, and for a split second, you think he might actually consider it. The idea is intoxicating—being taken by him here, in this cold, metal box, the ding of the floors marking the rhythm of his thrusts. But then the elevator shudders slightly, a sign that you're approaching your floor, and the moment is broken.

"Fuck," he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you. "You're so fucking beautiful." he rasps, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip, gathering the smudged lipstick off your chin. Your lips graze his jaw, his soft spot, and he shudders against you, hands palming your waist as he drags your forward again. He groans, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. "You're going to be the death of me."

"What a way to go," you whisper, your hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair. You pull his head back, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and you feel a surge of triumph, hot and potent. Frank makes a sound that’s half warning, half surrender.

And then— The elevator dings. You both freeze.

Too late. The doors slide open on the next floor and a group of people step in mid-conversation, laughing, talking, completely oblivious to the fact that Frank Castle currently has you pressed against the wall like he forgot how elevators work. There’s a beat of silence. Someone clears their throat.

“Oh—sorry,” a woman says quickly, eyes flicking between you both like she’s trying not to assume anything. “Didn’t realize—” Frank immediately steps back like he’s been burned. You straighten your dress slowly, trying very hard not to laugh.

“Going up?” one of the men asks awkwardly. Frank nods once, jaw tight.

“Yeah.” The doors close again. The elevator is suddenly packed, way too small, way too bright, and absolutely suffocating in the worst possible way. Frank stands rigid behind you, one hand gripping the railing like it’s the only thing keeping him from continuing what he started, the other still steady on your waist, keeping you pinned to him, conveniently hiding his arousal. Everyone in the elevator is busy with something- too busy , in fact , to notice Frank's hand snake up the back of your dress. To notice the way his thumb presses against the cotton of your panties from behind. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping. His thumb is a brand, a point of searing pressure against the damp fabric, moving in slow, deliberate circles that are designed to drive you insane. You can feel the heat of his palm through the silk of your dress, his fingers splayed across your lower back, holding you in place. It's a silent, secret assault, a punishment for your earlier taunts, and it's working. Your knees feel weak, your breath catching in your throat.

"Frank," you whisper, your voice barely audible, a plea and a warning all in one. He doesn't answer. He just leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"You wanted to play," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "We're playing."

He presses his thumb harder, rolling it in tight, agonizing circles until you nearly forget there’s anyone else in the cramped, fluorescent-lit box. A bead of sweat slicks down your spine. You keep your gaze pinned to the floor numbers, refusing to blink, and let your lips part just enough for a slow, careful breath. Your pulse thuds in your throat, loud as gunfire. Frank moves with military efficiency—nothing wasted, nothing visible from the front. Anyone who glances your way will just see the two of you pressed a little too close, maybe think you are the couple that can’t shut up about each other for five minutes. His eyes are fixed on the cheap steel paneling, but the set of his jaw says he’s doing nothing but counting the seconds until this ride ends. You can’t stand still. The pressure of his thumb sends little electric shocks up your legs, and you press your knees together tight, shifting your weight from foot to foot. His thumb hooks over the side of your panties, softly moving the wet fabric to the side, his fingers tip dragging against your folds. You look back at him, eyes wide.

“Frank-” He tuts, shaking his head.

“Don’t make a sound,” he says, barely moving his lips. His thumb slides between your folds and finds the slick, sensitive swell of your clit, and you nearly loose your grip on the polite-lady mask you’d hastily reassembled after the other passengers had entered. It would have been embarrassing if you didn’t want it so badly. If you weren’t already soaked through and desperate for him. The elevator is practically humming with the small talk of strangers, some blather about brunch plans and the weather—shit that barely registers over the white static in your head. Guilt and delight warr in your belly as you feel Frank’s thumb work impossibly slow circles, every movement careful, controlled, just this side of mean. A bartender would kill for a hand that steady. He knows he’s tormenting you back for that stunt you pulled. You can feel the smug, possessive tension radiating off him, shoulders squared, jaw set. And you can’t do a thing about it except stand there and take it. There are only three more floors. That’s a mercy and a curse. Frank eases the tip of his finger inside you, just enough to make you breathe out hard, then curves it up and away with devastating precision. There’s a moment - a suspended half-second - where you genuinely think your knees might go, right here in the moving tin can, with the nice couple and the guy in basketball shorts two feet away. You press your tongue hard against your back teeth, every inch of your body straining not to react. The elevator dings. One of the guys steps out, the conversation behind you still going but probably about to drop off a cliff if any of them actually looked over. Frank doesn’t stop. His hand is careful and relentless, moving just so, like he can already hear exactly what it would take to make you lose all coherence and is timing it down to the wire.

Ding !

7th floor. Your floor.

You break away from Frank, who is smirking at you as you dash out of the elevator. The doors close and you slap his chest.

“What the fuck, Frank ?” He smirks at you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he reaches into your purse for the keys blindly.

“You started it, mama. Don’t forget that.” He gets the keys in on the first try, which he privately scores as a minor victory given the state of his brain. The lock gives a stutter, then the door swings in and he crowds you inside. The apartment is cold and dim, just the little orange lamp on the credenza flicking some warmth over the wood floors, but he doesn’t even bother with the lights. He just sets you against the inside of the door and kisses you again, arms braced around your shoulders like a barricade. There’s a laugh still trapped in your lungs, and he swallows it, one hand holding your chin steady, the other wandering—a little lost, a little starved—down the slick of your dress and into the thigh slit.

“Frank,” you say, muffled, but you’re already looping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself up, both feet off the ground, until his hands catch under your thighs. “If I had known this is what a simple text would get me… I’d have texted you before we even left.” You breathe into his mouth as he drops you on the kitchen counter, spreading your legs so wide you feel a twinge of pain in your hips bones. His large hands push up your dress, his eyes filled with hunger as he drops down to his knees, kissing his way up your legs.

“You’re fuckin’ evil, y’know that ? Hell, i was tryna get to know your friends- and you’re sending me nudes.” You scoff, helping him rid you of your panties for good.

“Not nudes. Explicit images.”

“Still.” He looks up at you and god- the sight of him. That suit, the watch, the very smell of him is intoxicating. Your pussy pulses at the sight and you whine. He frowns at you, but it’s harmless. “We had rules, baby. You said you would behave.” You laugh, breathless, finding his hair with both hands.

“Yeah, well. I lied.” You tip your head back as his lips travel higher. “I was going to.. but then I saw you across the room and all I could think of is how fuckin’ big you are and how full you make me feel-”

“Baby-”

“And how badly I needed you.” You gasp, looking down at him. He’s starting up at you with his lips parted, inches away from fully giving in. You can tell he’s a little bit ticked off- he did genuinely want to get to know your friends.

But you just scramble his brain.

You fuck him up to a point of no return, and god, how is he supposed to say no to you when a single graze of your skin against his makes him go hard like a teenager that cant control himself. He groans and before he can decide against it, he pushes his nose against your clit, his tongue lapping at your folds. You whimper, falling back against the counter, eyes rolling back, hand tangled in his hair. Your thighs wrap around his head and he has to stop himself from moaning at the sensation. Your stiletto heels dig into his back, and he softly hooks his arms around your thighs to drag you further against his mouth. He works his tongue in slow, devastating circles, not bothering with teasing because both of you know exactly what you want and how you want it. The scratch of stubble against the soft skin of your inner thighs is a threat and a promise—he’s not stopping until you shatter. The noise you make is animal, an open-throated whine that only eggs him on. It’s so unfair, how broad he is, how the span of his hands presses your legs apart until you’re splayed open on the edge of the counter, legs shaking from the effort of keeping yourself upright. You clutch his head in both hands, knees threatening to buckle even though you’re already seated, and all you can do is let Frank devour you like you’re his last meal. He’s always been greedy—never enough, never satisfied with just a taste. His tongue fucks into you, fast and slick, and then he pulls back, lips shiny, steadying your hips while his thumb finds your clit and just holds it there—a slow, grinding pressure that makes you see stars. He doesn’t stop. Not when your moans get louder, not when you try to clamp your thighs around his head, not when you plead and curse and dig your nails into his scalp. If anything, he redoubles his effort. Jesus Christ, he looks so good like this. The suit. The hands. The intensity of his focus. Like he could do this forever, just keep you pinned to the counter, legs spread, and eat you out until you forget your goddamn name. You come so hard you almost black out, vision blurring white at the edges, a sob catching in your throat. Frank doesn’t let up, not even as you shudder and gasp, his tongue flicking slow and gentle now, coaxing every last spasm out of you before he finally pulls back. His face is flushed, lips wet, eyes black with hunger. He stands up, licking at his lips.

He does not take his eyes off you as he rises, huge hands sliding up your quaking thighs, thumbs pressing bruises into the soft flesh above yout knees.

The suit is a mess now, tie askew, top button lost somewhere in the blur, and he looks gorgeous like this: rumpled, flushed, wrecked on you and by you. He leans close, breath hot on your ear, and you shudder when his zipper rasps down.

“You think you get to act like that, huh?” His voice is rough, gravelled. “You think you can just wind me up in public, send me pictures, get me hard for you like a fuckin’ teenager?” His knuckles drag up your inner thigh, just shy of too rough, and he grins when you flinch and then spreads your legs even wider for him.

“You proud of yourself?” You want to say yes but it comes out as a whine, his name wrecked. Frank’s hands—those enormous palms, the ones that had once broken a man’s jaw with a single punch—slide up your thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He keeps you wide for him, thumbs digging deep into the delicate flesh above your knees, a half-growl of approval rumbling in his chest as he looks at you: slick, open, and already starting to tremble from the aftershocks. He’s hard as a fucking rock, the outline of his dick straining so high against his pants that it looks comically obscene, threatening to tear clean through the expensive wool. Frank leans in, crowding you back against the cabinets so completely that you couldn’t slide away if you tried, his mouth at your ear again. “Gonna fuck you so good,” he mutters, and it’s both a promise and a threat. He’s promising to fuck you so good you never pull a stunt like that again- even though you both know you will.

This magnetic attraction between the both of you is palpable, always has been- and it’s not going away anytime soon. He shoves his pants down enough to free himself—fuck, he’s so hard it hurts just looking at him, the head of his dick flushed dark, thick veins standing out along the length. He gives himself a rough stroke and you feel the heat pool low in your gut all over again, greedy and desperate. You can hear how wet you still are when he lines up against your slick entrance and notches in, the stretch already making your legs shake. He doesn’t ease himself in, not really; he’s too big for that, and both of you know it, so the first push is bruising, the head splitting you open in a way that’s almost too much, but you can’t get enough of it. You whine, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. he groans at the feeling of your nails through the shirt, wanting to feel you against his skin. His hand comes up to roughly cup your cheek and jaw, pressing comforting kisses to your face.

“Y’alright ?” He rasps, hips softly nudging as he pushes himself in a little bit more. “S’not too much ?” You nod, though the gasp that escapes you sounds guttural. Every nerve ending feels inflamed, every cell in your body calls out for more. Frank isn’t even all the way in yet and already you want to sob from the stretch, the pressure, the feeling of being split open by a man who acts like he wanted to climb inside and fuse himself to you. “Good girl,” Frank says, voice breathy with restraint, eyes locked on the place where he disappeares inside you. He grips your hips, rolling them forward, and you feel him push deeper, impossibly so, the whole length of him crowding every inch of your insides. He watches your face, brow creased, and his own breathing staggers. The kitchen counter bites into your ass but you don’t care, didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world as Frank buries himself to the hilt. You could never get over it, how absurdly big he is. Frank's hand tightens around your hip.

"J's breathe through it, mama. That's it. Attagirl." He hums, softly rubbing circles on your hip as he works on unbuttoning his shirt with one hand- the need to feel your hands pressed against his skin is overwhelming, like a living thing burning inside of him.

Frank finally gets the last button undone and shoves the dress shirt off his shoulders—leaving the sleeves bunched at his elbows, but he can’t be bothered to care about anything except the need to get his skin on yours, to feel you clawing at his back, your hands trembling and desperate. He sucks a shallow breath in as you wrap your arms around his neck, your body going molten and loose as he rocks into you. The stretch is relentless in the best way, each thrust knocking moans out of you that barely sound human, each one making his cock twitch and pulse inside you like he’s seventeen again. He likes the way your hips fight him, instinctively trying to jerk back from the fullness, but he stills you with a hand wide across your stomach, holding you flush and tight against him.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grits out, voice pure sandpaper, watching the way you bite your own hand to keep from screaming.He fucks forward, slow at first but so deep you swear you could feel him in your ribs, and you lose all sense of time or place.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he grinds out, pacing himself only because he wants to draw this out, wants to ruin you completely. His praise goes straight to your head, between your legs, and you can’t help sobbing out his name. “So fuckin’ good for me. Always so good.” Every thrust rocks your body against the counter, your back arching, chest pressing against him. He’s barely pulled back before you’re clawing at his arms, pulling him deeper, loving the way his cock drags along every nerve ending, perfectly punishing. Frank’s rhythm is a hard, steady piston, helmed by those slabs of muscle for shoulders, and it’s all you can do to hold on, to ride the bright edge of pain-pleasure that he’s mastered like a science. He frames your face with both hands, fingers sticky where they’d just been inside you, and he kisses the side of your mouth like he’s trying to memorize how you taste after you’ve come.

“Always knew you were trouble,” Frank huffs, his voice shredded, “but I didn’t think you could ruin me like this.” He’s not lying. You see it in the way his gaze skips down your body, jaw flexing. There’s a reverence there—a kind of awe that you can make him feel this out of control, that he wants you this bad. God, you never should’ve gone to that stupid event.

You should’ve stayed here and done this, over and over again- all night.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He leans in, biting the corner of your jaw, and you feel his stubble burn against your cheek.His hand curls under your ass, hefting you closer, and you can’t contain the desperate moan bubbling up in your throat as the angle digs into that spongey spot deep inside you.

“Frank- mmph- fuck !” You whine, thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, sucking him in deeper inside you. He’s all muscle, all heat and hardness and relentless drive, his voice a low, cracked thunder in your ear.

“You know what you do to me? Fuck, you drive me insane. Can’t think straight, can’t walk into a room and not wanna take you apart.” There’s a possessive edge to the words, like he needs you to know how completely he’s ruined. He braces one arm beside your head and uses the other to pull your thigh over his shoulder, opening you as wide as you’ll go on the cold granite. You’re panting, slick and open and so wet you can hear it every time he pounds in, the slap of his hips against you obscene in the stillness. You feel him everywhere – in your bones, in your teeth, your skull buzzing with pleasure. Your eyes roll back and you press your hands to the hard planes of his chest.

“God, so good, Frank. Fuck-” You choke on a sob as he hits that same spot again. Frank’s grip is bruising and perfect, and he slams into you with a precision that’s half violence, half worship—like he’s trying to prove something, to mark you in a way that’ll hum in your bones for days. You can’t even catch your breath properly, not with how deep he’s fucking you, not with the way it keeps getting better every time, like he’s always been meant for this, for you. Your nails drag down his chest, scoring tracks over the ridges of muscle, feeling the sweat starting to bloom under his skin. He loves it, that feral scrape of pain and ownership, and he’s not even trying to hide how much.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re—” He can’t finish, not with the way you clamp down on him, not with how you melt under his hands. The words fracture into a choke and he just watches you, drinking in your desperation, the way your mouth falls open. Frank’s hand slides up, tracing the line of your throat, his thumb braced under your jaw, holding you still so he can see every flicker of pleasure on your face. He needs to see it—needs to memorize it, the way your mouth drops open, the way your eyelids fluttered and your whole body tense in his grip.

Jesus, he wants to live here, right at this edge, right in this moment where you can’t stop repeating his name, where you cling to him like you’d drown if he let you go. He loves that you let him do this to you, that you always meet him headlong, hungry, never shy, never pulling back. Every time, you let him take you apart and build you back up. He can’t imagine wanting anything else. Not ever. He presses his forehead to yours, sweat slick between your skin, and slows his hips just enough to make you whimper, to make you open your eyes and the look in them is pure desperation and unequivocal love.

“Yeah, baby ? Pretty girl wants to come ? Hmm ?”You nod, jaw clenched, lungs burning. You want to say something, anything, but all you can do is reach for him, clutch at the back of his neck, needing him impossibly close. Frank’s hand tightens at your waist, anchoring you as he drills into you—harder, deeper, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. You feel yourself spiral, every muscle tensing, pleasure spiking hot and bright through your core until it’s all you are, until everything narrows down to just him and the way he fills you.

“God, baby, look at you,” he says, voice a snarl softened into something starved. “So fuckin’ pretty, so fuckin’ sweet. Look at the way you take it. Always take all of me, don’t you? Fuck, I love you.” You make a sound, a wretched, greedy noise, and it’s so undignified but you don’t care. You’re nothing but need. Frank has you locked down with the weight of his hips, the crush of his chest, and the absolute conviction in his hands. For a beat, it’s just the two of you in the universe: the electric taste of skin; the ragged gasp of breath; the way you go molten when he grits out “so perfect for me, always my perfect girl, always.” The words are rough, more like a dare than a compliment, but with Frank you know it’s the highest praise in the world. You want to live up to it, want to be every bit as good as he says.

He braces you with one arm, holding you steady while the other hand comes up to your face, thumb rough and sweet at your cheek. You feel him shake - he’s trying so hard to hold back, to make it last longer. The silk of your red dress is completely crumpled now, bunched up so high on your hips that you fear no amount of ironing or steaming will bring it back to it's former glory. Frank reaches up and tugs the front of the dress down, revealing the heavy swell of your breasts he adores. He pulls the straps down your shoulders, baring you for him, filling his hands with you, like he wants to remind himself you’re real, that this is happening, that you’re his. He thumbs your nipple, and the sensation is so sharp it ricochets straight to your core, wrung out and raw and so close you could cry. He keeps his eyes fixed on you—hungry, reverent, desperate—and you see it in his furrowed brow and trembling lips, the way he’s holding himself back for you, for this, for as long as he can manage.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Frank mutters against your skin, voice gone hoarse with need. He bites just enough for you to feel it, then soothes the sting with his tongue, laving circles until your head tips back, eyes squeezed shut. “You love it, don’t you? Love when I take it all for myself.” You nod helplessly, nails digging half-moons into his shoulders. Your whole world telescopes down to the way he bites and sucks, the obscene, slick drag of him inside you, the counter edge cutting cold against your ass while everything else burns. Every nerve ending is tuned to his rhythm, every cell in your body screaming more, harder

“Come on, sweetheart. C’mon.” It’s a plea and a command. His face is right in yours, sweat beading at his temple, and you lose all sense of dignity, legs locking around his hips, dragging him even deeper. The next thrust is a knockout punch, a shockwave that rips through every cell, and you’re gone. The orgasm is blinding, a detonation that rips all language from your brain, replaces your veins with liquid fire. Frank is right there with you, his hands clutching so tight at your ass and thighs you know you’ll find fingerprints in the morning, every muscle in his body locked and trembling. He buries his face in your neck, groaning into your skin, breath hot and damp as your name slips out in a strangled, desperate whisper. He keeps moving, slower now but just as deep, coaxing every aftershock until you think you might actually collapse, arms and legs trembling with the wreckage of it. He grinds in, not letting you escape the fullness, and you can feel the twitch and pulse of him as he comes, cock jerking against your walls, his whole body shuddering through the release. The sound he makes isn’t even human – a raw, wrecked noise, like he’s breaking apart. His grip on the leg slung over his shoulder tightens and he groans.

“Fuck- fuck.” You whine at the overstimulation, your body jerking. Frank tries to gather himself, bracing against the countertop, but his vision stutters, blacks out at the edges. He rides the waves of aftershock, savoring the pulsing grip of you around him, the way your slick, overheated body trembles in his hands. There’s a cut on his knuckle—he must’ve knocked it on the edge of the counter in his rush to pin you down. He notices it only because you touch the back of his hand, thumb stroking soft over the abrasion, grounding him. For a second, there’s just the sound of both your harsh breathing, the sting of sweat in his eyes, the residual buzz of that elevator adrenaline. The world could go to hell outside and he wouldn’t care. Frank leans into you, presses his brow to your collarbone, waits for his pulse to come down.The world narrows to the ache of him inside you, still pulsing, and the warm, wrecked hush of your mingled breathing. He holds you there, his arm banded tight around your waist, his other hand still cupping the back of your head like you might tip off the counter and drift away if he lets go. He noses into the shallow of your neck, the scruff of his jaw scraping a path up to your ear.

“Jesus - fuck,” he mutters, barely audible.

You giggle, a hiccup of relief and disbelief, and the sound vibrates through his lips where he presses them to your collarbone. He kisses you there, soft this time—a thank you, a benediction. Your dress is a massacre, rucked past your hips, the straps sliding off your shoulders,yet to frank you’ve never looked more beautiful. He eases your leg off his shoulder and you whine, eyes flying shut. He shushes you, brushing your sweat damp hair away from your face.

“Hey.. hey.. You okay, baby ? You with me ?” You can’t answer, not at first. The aftershocks roll through you in dizzy waves, every nerve still vibrating. Frank’s hands are everywhere, broad and grounding, and you can’t remember how language works, let alone how to get your lips and your lungs and your brain to collaborate on a single word. He tuts.

“Baby, i need you t’talk to me. You alright ?” He asks, cupping your cheek and kisses your forehead repeatedly. You nod, gripping his wrist as you lean in to the affection, eyes fluttering closed. He holds you steady, breathing hard, still cradling your face like it’s the only thing that matters. His thumb skims your cheekbone, lingering in a slow, lazy sweep, and he searches your eyes for something—confirmation, maybe, or just the reassurance that you’re really, blissfully here with him. When you finally manage a word, it’s more a sigh than a sound.

“Holy shit.” Frank’s mouth curves into a battered little smile. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, then your jaw, then down the column of your throat, making a slow, careful inventory of everything he bruised or bit or worshipped. He relishes the heat coming off your skin, the way your pulse still goes wild under his tongue. You can feel the bruises blossoming already, and you hope they last.

He leans back to look at you properly, hair mussed, the collar of his shirt hanging half-off, body still flush against him. You let your face rest in his palm, cheek smashed against stubbled knuckles, and try to blink your vision back online. The kitchen tile is cool under your heels. The world wobbles and pivots, everything off-kilter but in a way that makes you want to laugh.

He kisses your forehead again, softer.

“That’s my good girl. Knew you could take it, huh?” His voice is smug but his thumb swipes a lazy, loving line over your cheek. Frank chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. He shifts his weight, still buried deep inside you, and the movement sends another wave of pleasure-pain rippling through your oversensitive body. You whimper softly, clutching at his shoulders as if trying to anchor yourself to reality.

"Easy there, mama," he murmurs against your temple. He grips your hips, kissing your forehead again. "Gotta pull out, sweet girl. Breathe f'me alright ?" You nod. Slowly, he pulls himself out of you, the drag sending your body into overdrive. Your eyes clench shut, nails digging into his biceps. Frank swears under his breath the second he feels you clench around nothing. His forehead drops briefly to your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut like even pulling away from you takes effort.

“Christ,” he breathes. Your body jerks at the loss of him, thighs trembling violently around his hips, and Frank is immediately there again—hands firm on your waist, keeping you steady while your breathing goes ragged.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, softer too. “I know, sweetheart.” You’re still floating somewhere several feet above your own body, head fuzzy and warm, every inch of skin oversensitive. Frank reaches down automatically, thumb stroking slow circles against your thigh, grounding you while he presses lazy kisses along your jaw.

“You still with me?” he asks again. You blink at him slowly.

“Unfortunately.” That gets a tired laugh out of him. Real this time. Deep and wrecked and fond.

“Unfortunately?”

“You nearly killed me.”

“Mhm.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “And whose fault was that?” You think about it seriously for half a second.

“…Yours.” Frank snorts.

“Absolutely not.”

“It literally started because you wore a suit.”

“You saw me wear the suit before we left.”

“And I suffered privately at first.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“You can’t prove that.” He shakes his head against your shoulder, smiling despite himself. There’s lipstick smeared faintly near the corner of his mouth now, and his hair is completely destroyed from your hands tugging through it. He looks ruined in the most spectacular way imaginable. You reach up weakly and smooth your fingers through the dark strands near his temple.

“You look pretty again,” you murmur. Frank groans instantly.

“Baby,” he warns.

“What? It’s true.” Your thumb traces lazily across his cheekbone. “Very pretty. All sweaty and mean.”

“I was not mean.”

“You fingered me in a crowded elevator.” His mouth twitches.

“…Alright. Little mean.”

“Mm. Criminal behavior, honestly.”

“Says the woman sendin’ me filth while I was tryna make friends.” You grin sleepily.

“Did they like you?” Frank huffs out another laugh and finally straightens enough to look at you properly. His eyes drag slowly over your face, then lower—taking in the state of your dress, the marks blooming across your skin, the completely dazed expression you’re failing to hide. And something in his face softens immediately.

There it is.

That look.

The one underneath all the heat and possessiveness and rough hands. The one that always catches you off guard no matter how many times you see it. Like he still can’t believe you’re real. Like loving you is the easiest and most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to him. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw carefully.

“You okay?” he asks quietly. The concern in his voice is so genuine it makes your chest ache. You nod, leaning into his palm without thinking.

“Better than okay.” Frank studies you another second like he’s making sure. Then he kisses you again—completely different this time.

Slow.

Tender.

Still hungry, because Frank honestly doesn’t know how to touch you without wanting more, but softer now. His mouth moves against yours with exhausted affection, stealing little breaths between kisses while his thumbs stroke along your waist beneath the ruined silk of your dress. You hum against his lips, melting instantly.

“There she is,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“My girl.” The words hit you right in the chest. You smile lazily, hooking your arms around his neck again.

“You’re clingy.”

“Says you.”

“I’m adorable about it.”

“You’re a menace.”

“But I’m your menace.” Frank’s expression immediately goes helpless in that way it only ever does with you. Like you’ve reached directly into his ribcage and squeezed his heart in your fist.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly. “You are.” For a minute neither of you moves. You just stay there tangled together in the dim kitchen, breathing each other in while the city hums faintly outside the apartment windows. Frank’s hands roam absentmindedly up and down your back beneath the dress, soothing now instead of demanding. Your fingers trace the warm skin at the nape of his neck. Eventually, you glance toward the hallway.

“We never ate dinner.” Frank follows your gaze for half a second before looking back at you. Then, without warning, he bends and lifts you straight off the counter into his arms. You yelp softly, clutching his shoulders automatically.

“Frank!”

“What?”

“You can’t just pick me up every time I say something.”

“Watch me.” You laugh, breathless, as he carries you toward the bedroom like you weigh nothing at all.

“I thought we were getting food!”

“We are.”

“When?” Frank nudges the bedroom door open with his foot, eyes already darkening again as he looks at you sprawled in his arms.

Touch (Sweet)

David Loki 

David is touch starved that is without saying

When you first start dating he’s hesitant with his touches. He’ll go for your hand then pull back, awkwardly kiss your forehead in public, things like that

However, the more you take the lead in it does he get comfortable reciprocating

He loves when you reach for him in public; rather its for his hands to intertwine or to rest your head on his shoulder if your sitting next to each other he likes you gravitate towards him 

He’ll be into minor PDA at first. Quick pecks and hugs 

The more you both date and depending on your preference, he’d feel safe to be more intimate in front of others 

Behind closed doors he loves that you love to lean into him, wrap your arms around him, be held by him

He’d love placing his head in your lap after a long day and having you run your hands through his thick strands. For him that would be more intimate than making out while you chatted

Though he loves to make out; the minute you start kissing you could make out with him for hours 

For him, touch is equivalent to safety so the safer he feels with you the more he’ll touch you 

Elwood Dalton

Dalton pre-UFC championship fight fucking loved touching

He loved laying claim on his women in public and would unabashedly fuck you in public places like bathrooms and alleys no regrets 

Post-UFC championship Dalton is a complete 180

He’s mindful of how he engages with you physically. He feels his touch is tainted with death so he keeps to himself 

So much it takes forever for you to realize he really, really, really, likes you 

Dalton would be sooo touch starved. The first time you move to hug him he just basks in it, pulling you to his chest, face hidden in your neck. Breathing your scent in, your warmth, the feel of your arms around him 

He lives for your hugs but when you kiss him game over 

He would always be mindful and reserved, he hates for everyone at Glass Key to be in his business, but he lives for a long and slow makeout session preferably behind closed doors

But he wouldn’t mind if it was also in public like at a beach 

Dalton loves to cuddle; he loves to fall on top of you on the couch and just melt into you 

Though he also loves it when you curl up in his arms because he loves protecting you

Bronco Beauregard

Bronco isn't necessarily needy in touches but also he loves to touch you 

A kiss when he feels like it, a smack on the ass when he sees you, poking your hips and drawing you to him he just loves body on body contact 

He also loves to tease you by rubbing his shadow anywhere on your body, leaving irritated marks against your skin because it's an excuse to kiss wherever there’s scratch marks 

Also Bronco doesn’t mind PDA but he also is mindful of it because of the line of work he’s in; he wants to make sure you don’t get profiled and used as leverage against him

That being said, he will 100% make out with you in public if he finds you look particularly sexy or after a long time away from you 

He loves days where the two of you can stay in bed and either cuddle or have sex. He especially loves being held by you after a bout of lovemaking 

John Kinley

This man is touch starved in that desperate, needy way

He spends months away from you so whenever he’s home he just needs to touch you 

It can be as simple as holding you from behind while you cook, his head resting on your shoulder 

Or having you sit on his lap while he's at work at his desk, having you read because he refuses for you to snuggle up with a book alone 

He just wants you to know he loves and needs you 

He loves to kiss. John is the kind of man who knows how to give you soft, sweet picks and build up to a full blown makeout session within a minute span

He’d also like to give you foot massages while you guys chatted on the couch 

Just simple acts of touch that lets you know that he’s here and is connected to you 

Rusty Sabich

Rusty, because he shouldn’t be touching you means that he will selfishly find any reason to have skin on skin contact

It will start out innocent - a brush of fingers here, arms lightly brushing when you work late together 

When he makes it obvious his intentions then he’d be more bold in public settings

Hand softly placed on your thigh, leaning into to whisper close enough to tickle your ear and cause goosebumps to explode down your neck 

When you got one on one time the soft nuances of his touch would become full blown obsession

Pushed against any surface he can, lips hungrily falling on yours

He’d be a neck biter for sure, hands digging into your thighs and ass

Desperate and needy 

Jamie Reynolds

Jamie loves touch, obviously, but he didn’t realize how much he loves intimate and mindful touch until he dates you 

He loves the way you hold him, he’s a big fan of being the little spoon when you two cuddle 

He loves to take baths together and to be held by you 

He loves that you make him feel safe enough to be held and cared for physically. His family doesn’t do hugs or affection so receiving it from you he realizes he needs it. Like a lot. 

He loves to hold your hand and draw you into hugs and make out with you slowly in very public places 

Like to the point that strangers ask you both to get a room 😊

He loves the way you like to hold him while he falls back into your lap and chat with you about all the things on his mind 

He especially loves when you ask him to hold you or comfort him; he loves being needed and wanting to care for you

Bonus Jake: 

Okay I normally don’t touch Jake because he’s real and I don’t fucking know lol

But Jake seems like he’d be mindful; very much super PG in public with you. If you wanted to hold hands he’d do it and he wouldn’t mind holding or kissing you but he’d always be aware of people watching and want to keep that to himself

Behind closed door I think he’d be super touchy

Def. holding you from behind while he teaches you how to cook a new recipe or help you chop something, head lazily hanging out on your shoulder

He loves when you fall on his chest, either resting your chin on his chest while you both chat or holding you while you both watch something together 

He seems like a person who loves to share kisses with you, soft and sweet but happy to make out if you were big into that too

_____

Briefly glancing around the vacant space before taking a seat at the counter, there you spotted none other than the regular customer that you, for lack of better words, had an embarrassingly massive crush on.

You still remembered two months back when the gruff-looking man had first set foot into the diner. It had been like you’d been transformed into one of those wooden dolls where you press a button at the very base and its legs just collapse.

You still weren’t sure if it was a gift or a curse that the establishment had swiftly grown into a regular spot for him to frequent, seeing as you now spent most of your days either eye-fucking him from a distance as he sat in your section, or stumbled over your words as you tried to take his order. You’d even dropped all of his change one of the times he’d paid, sending the coins clanging across the linoleum floor, only for him to duck down and join you on the ground, the simple kindness sending such a shiver down your spine that you had crashed your skull up into the table like the true stumble fuck you felt like whenever he was near.

And when you finally managed to force your feet to shift, the advice, that one of your coworkers had recently given you on your little predicament, echoed quietly on your lips as you exited the kitchen, “okay, be bold... be bold…” in a feeble attempt at hyping yourself up.

Your fingers dipped into the pocket of the little apron tied around your waist, fishing out a small notepad and pencil, before you neared the spot he sat at.

“Hi, Frank,” you uttered, offering him a smile as his eyes flickered up to settle upon you. 

“Evening, sweetheart,” he exhaled, the surely meaningless term of endearment that he had begun to drop into your short chats over the past few weeks still caused your ragged breath to hitch.

“You’re up late,” you briefly glanced to the round clock on the wall before reuniting your gaze with his unwavering one.

Tilting his head, the corners of his lips twitched slightly as he murmured, “yeah, well at least I’m not still stuck at work.”

“Touché,” you clicked your tongue against your teeth and wiggled the pencil in your grasp before asking, “so, what can I get you tonight?”

“Just some coffee,” his head nodded slightly as his gaze briefly averted, “and keep it coming.”

“Coffee as usual,” you slipped your notepad back into your pocket, “you and your endless cups of coffee, okay… perhaps I should just start pouring automatically whenever I see you come in, like it’s pavlovian or something.”

“Well,” his tongue fleetingly flickered out to wet his slight smile, “it would save me the breath, not having to ask for what I want if you just give it to me straight out of the gate.”

Heat promptly rose in your cheeks as your dirty mind played tricks on you and warped his words. Clearing your throat lightly as you swiftly choked on a tiny giggle, “uhm, yeah–, so, uh…” you stared down at the counter, though quickly darted them away when his hands that rested there began to distract you as well and make you that much more dizzy, “just the coffee, nothing else?” you uttered hazily as you then twisted around to snatch up the half-empty pot behind you and fill up a mug for him.

“Just the coffee,” he drawled quietly like a gentle crackling fire behind you.

“You sure?” you tilted your head as you spun back around and slid the cup across the counter towards him, “it’s Friday night. Why not go crazy and treat yourself to a piece of pie or something.”

Gliding his fingers into place around the warm mug, his eyes fluttered back up to capture your own, “I’m good, thanks.”

“Really? You don’t even wanna hear what the options are?” your teeth gently dug into your bottom lip, “I made them all myself, fresh this morning…”

Blinking back at you a moment, he then bowed his head as he gave in, “alright, sure, why the hell not.”

“Well,” you propped down your forearms on the counter directly across from where he sat, “there’s rhubarb pie with a meringue topping,” you uttered softly as you leaned against the table, slowly inching closer and closer to him, “there’s apple if you’re into the classics,” your gaze licked him up as your heart hammered in your chest like it was trying to escape, “and then today’s special, cherry pie…”

“Cherry, huh?” he hummed as he stared back into your eyes, even as you gradually tilted closer. You knew that if he dared to let his unwavering gaze stray, he’d surely be able to look straight down the neckline of your uniform from how you bent over the counter.

Dipping your vision down to his lips, you dreamily sucked in a breath as you added, “with extra whip cream on top…”

A smirk bloomed on his lips as an exhale then slipped from his lungs, “well how ‘bout that…”

The next thing you knew, it was as if your brain shut off completely as you then found yourself closing the short distance between you two and crashing your lips against his own. The kiss was short and rather clumsy before you then regained your senses and pulled back just as quickly as you had dived in.

“Oh my goodness,” you swiftly gasped as your hands soared up to briefly shield the lower half of your face, “I’m sorry, that was–, I shouldn't have just–, out of the blue without–,” you stumbled over your own words, “I'm sorry, please don’t tell my boss, I really need this job–”

But then, before you could crumble before him, Frank suddenly seized both sides of your face and pulled you back in for not only a kiss, but one that made your feeble attempt pale in comparison. Melting completely under the scorching warmth of his lips, you damn near crawled straight across the counter to scramble into his lap. However, when he finally withdrew, the kiss somehow seeming both as if it had stretched out an eternity, as well as only feeling like the blink of an eye, you stumbled slightly, and if it hadn’t been for his palms that remained on the sides of your jaw, you surely would have taken a nosedive right in front of him.

“Fuck…” you dizzily blinked back at him as only his hands cupping your features in a gentle grip kept you upright, “how–… how are you even better at that than I imagined?” your jello-like knees wobbled beneath you.

“Oh, you’ve spent a lot of time daydreaming about me kissing you,” he chuckled softly, “have you?”

“Well,” you sucked in a ragged breath as you noticed how the dull throb he always triggered between your thighs worsened, “it’s not just that my brain has been thinking about ever since you first came in here…”

“Oh yeah?” he shared your breath as his fingertips slowly strayed into your hairline, “what else has that pretty little head been thinking about, huh?”

And as the corners of your lips twitched into a smile, you gathered up the courage to utter, “…how about you come back here and I show you instead?”

With a soft smirk on his lips, his fingers then slipped from your face before he rose from his seat. Panting, your eyes tracked him as he took his sweet time making his way around the long counter to stand on the same side as you.

Tangling your fingers in his dark shirt as soon as he came in reach, you yanked him to you till his lips crashed against your own once again. Though the ravenous kiss didn’t last too long before you then tilted away as your legs began to bend and you sank down on the ground before him. You still stayed so close to him that your cheek pressed up against his thick thigh as you blinked up at him, a question twinkling in your eyes as your fingers slowly clawed closer to his belt.

But before your lips managed to part in order to ask for permission, Frank caught on and, as he breathlessly gazed down at your kneeling frame, offered you a nod.

Your mouth fell apart in an airy giggle as your stunned eyes widened at his girth that sprung forth as soon as you tugged down the zipper of his dark jeans.

It was soft, rather timid but sweet, as you began to pepper pecks along his length, smiling against the hardness as it twitched at your feathery touch before you soothed it with your glistening tongue.

And though you had a hard time ripping your gaze away from his cock, it more often than not drifted back up to Frank’s own stare as he leaned back against the counter.

When your lips eventually were stretched around his cock and drool was gurgling up your efforts as you bobbed your head, his fingers gently found your hair as his hips stopped resisting the greedy thrusts they craved in order to bury his dick further into your warmth.

A low growl rumbled in his chest when your sweet mouth became too much for him to bear, and he swiftly plucked you back up onto your feet. Spinning you both around till the counter pressed against the small of your back, he then picked you up and planted you on the edge of the tabletop.

Pressing your lips to his own, you then purred against his tongue as his touch wandered down your frame and disappeared up under the dress of your uniform to discover the soaked state of your panties beneath. To you, his fingertips fluttered over your covered core for way too long till he finally yanked the cotton to the side to sweep his touch directly against your aching pussy.

“Holy fucking shit,” you panted as he finally rolled your puffy pearl beneath the rough pads of his fingers, and you had to tilt away from his kiss a moment to reel in the ecstasy. Your nails dug into the back of his neck as you arched your back, though a smirk only bloomed on Frank’s features as he gazed back at your blissed-out features.

“You like that?” he uttered huskily, still so close that he shared your breath.

“I–, fucking–, yes!” you panted before reuniting your lips with his own just as a whimper crawled its way out of your lungs.

Soon his pinkie and forefinger flexed against your centre as the ones in between methodically pumped in and out of your pussy, caressing your velvety walls till you were on the verge of exploding.

But instead of unravelling and creaming all over his thick fingers, you gasped, “wait,” as you painstakingly yanked his touch out from beneath your skirt, “I-I need you inside of me, please, I wanna feel you, I can’t wait any longer,” a dizzy pout quivered at your lip as you begged. Answering your prayer, Frank then slid you off of the counter and spun you around for the curve of your ass to arch back against him.

“Then do it,” his deep voice tickled the shell of your ear as he slid a palm down over your frame before finding your clit once more in a rub that caused your eyes to roll, “go ahead, take what you want, sweetheart,” he uttered, encouraging your fingers to reach back to grasp his girth.

His digits kept on drawing patterns over your puffy pearl as you then slowly slipped his fat cock inside, “f-fuck…” you whined shakily as your eyes fell shut, your whole body freezing up for a second as your cunt clenched around the bulbous tip of him, struggling a moment before relaxing around his size and letting him in.

You felt his lips flutter against the side of your neck as the hand he didn’t have slotted between your trembling thighs, floated up around the curve of your ass, spreading his hand wide across it as he gently gathered up the skirt of your uniform to grant himself a peek of how you stretched for him.

“Atta girl, that’s it,” he groaned as you slowly began to move and fill your pussy up further, “you got it, sweet girl,” his own hips all the while staying locked and letting you control the pace, “keep going.”

Though it didn’t take long after you’d picked up a desperate rhythm, bouncing your ass back against him, that your upper body gave out, bending down over the counter and melting against it as you finally came undone, your loud moans echoing throughout the empty diner.

And though your greedy efforts tried to keep going through your high, your shaky movements still degraded into trembling rocks as you slowly tilted back against him till your sensitivity began to fade away. However, when Frank finally began to move, his palm first gliding up along your horizontal spine before he let himself go, a crinkle found your brow as your body jostled against the counter at each zealous thrust he offered you, his heavy balls smacking against your buzzing clit each time he bottomed out and the tip of him kissed the deepest parts of you.

However, as you fought to keep your eyes open and one of your hands fluttered back to claw needily against one of Frank’s belt loops, your hazy gaze suddenly snapped open as you spotted the figure out on the dark street that came marching directly towards the front door of the diner.

“Shit!” you yelped before you shakily shot up and, in your panic, shoved Frank down behind the counter before the patron could enter. Smoothing down your uniform as the door chimed, your eyes were wide as you squeaked, “hello,” doing everything in your power to seem completely normal and not let your stare stray down to the man hiding by your feet, his throbbing cock still glistening with your juices.

“Hi,” the elderly man offered a tight-lipped smile before glancing around at all of the empty seats and uttering, “are you still serving pancakes?”

And though in actuality you weren’t still serving breakfast at this hour, your mind swiftly short-circuited as you felt Frank sneak a hand up under your uniform, “s-sure, but it’ll take a bit,” you breathed shakily as his touch teasingly traced the mess between your thighs, making you shiver with each light pet, “it’s just me working here right now.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I don’t mind waiting,” the customer murmured, though just as he did, you sucked in a sharp breath as the gruff man kneeling beside you let himself tilt closer and grant himself a brief taste, momentarily parting your petals with his tongue as his nose nudged against your pearl, lapping ravenously at your leaky hole that still quivered for his cock, before his mouth then soared up and captured your clit, wasting no time to suck down on it making your entire frame jump jaggedly at the dizzying sensation.

“A-alright,” you puffed unsteadily as you watched the stranger take a seat in a far-off booth, “I’ll be right back,” you murmured and lightly shoved Frank’s head away from beneath your skirt before you shakily made your way into the back.

Clutching a hand over your chest as you tried to catch your breath, you didn’t get the chance to glance over your shoulder before you felt Frank catch up to you after he’d snuck into the kitchen as well.

“You are terrible,” you whispered through a hazy giggle as he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek, his beard still glistening from the greedy taste he’d offered himself.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he exhaled before you caught onto his shirt and dragged him around the corner with you, into the pantry at the very bottom of the kitchen.

Twisting you around to face him, he kissed you once more, though it only broke when he plucked you up off the ground to sit you up on the steel table that stood between the many open shelves, all brimming with dried and canned goods.

Slotting himself in between your legs, he stole one last peck before his fingers enveloped his girth and offered it a silky stroke. Glancing down between your thighs as you began to shimmy your dress back up, his thumb hooked in the gusset of your panties before it could stray back into place and cover you back up.

Letting a dollop of spit drop from his lips and down upon your glistening pussy as he continued to stare, he uttered gravelly, “you want it?” before he tapped the hefty weight of himself against your puff.

“Yes,” you panted as you too blinked down at how he dragged the bulbous head of his cock through your folds, teasingly tracing the seam of your cunt and making you squirm beneath him.

“Oh, yeah?” he tried to make you beg for it, flicking his hardness crudely against your clit, “tell me how bad.”

“So bad,” you whined as his teasing swiftly became too much for you to bear, “please, Frank,” you nearly felt yourself drool as your eyebrows knitted tightly together, “just shove it back in.”

Huffing out a short chuckle, “okay,” he then took your breath away as he didn’t just slide the tip back inside, but instead slammed the entirety of his length back inside, burying himself completely in your haven, “like that?” he smirked as you struggled to breathe.

“I-I–,” your eyes fluttered as your fingers soared up to dent his shoulders, “o-oh god… that’s so much…”

“What?” he grinned as he tilted closer to you for his nose to ghost against your own, “I thought you said you wanted it,” he murmured cockily before pulling all of the way back out, “is it too much dick for you, huh?” your dripping essence clung to his girth as he slipped out and some of your desperation even dribbled onto the tabletop below.

“It’s–, shit,” you tried to keep up with his dizzying game, but your molten mind just wouldn’t let you, “Frank, please just fuck me. I can’t–, I–, urgh!” a shrill moan promptly escaped you as he then sank back inside, making your eyes roll in your skull as he swiftly slipped into a slow yet rough rhythm, “f-fuck… thank you…”

Smiling against your breathless lips, he uttered, “god, you’re cute…” before his hips snapped against you, offering you long and deep strokes that made it tough for you both to last much longer.

Though once you’d both tumbled over the edge, your cunt choking his cock and milking him for all of his worth, the slow and smouldering kisses that drew out over your lips eventually faded as he slipped his length out of you.

Blinking back at him, your eyes widened slightly in gentle puzzlement as he then sank down before you and began to clean up the mess you’d both turned you into, holding your gaze and eating you out till you had no other choice but to clamper a palm over your mouth to keep quiet as he made you cum one last time.

Hand slipping from your lips as you fell back onto your forearms and caught your breath, you scarcely saw as Frank then rose back up to his full height, his lips briefly dancing up the length of your thigh on his way back up, before his gaze caught sight of the row of pies lined up on a nearby shelf. They were all mostly gone, though what was left was covered by a layer of cling film.

Stretching out an arm, he ducked a finger beneath the plastic that covered the last remaining piece of the cherry one and then brashly dipped his digit into the crimson berry filling, before bringing it up to his lips to suck it clean, the display of which somehow making your sensitive core throb once more for him as he let his tongue lap up the greedy taste he’d granted himself.

As his lips let go of his finger with a pop, a hum rumbled in his broad chest, “that’s good,” before his eyes flickered down to his digit and he twisted it into a different angle to lick up the remaining pie filling. Though as he savoured every last drop, his dark eyes flickered back to capture your stare as he then added with a soft smirk, “but I think I prefer the one that you gave me…”

Frank never had sex with you the day after having you the way he did last night. At most, he would only ever go down you with gentle healing laps through your folds, kissing his sorry's all through your lips and inner thighs with gentle suckles on your sensitive clit. And he was unwaveringly strict about it, he never played around when it came to your aftercare. Especially when you give yourself to him in the way that you do.

But god look at you

Your teary pleading doe eyes looking down at him begging for more as his head rested between your legs. "please baby, just one its okay I promise" you sigh at him, hoping he'll give in to the flutter of your eyelashes.

He sighs as he climbs his way back up next you, cradling you into his side with one of his big arms as his other palm cups over your pussy - warm and protective. You see the twitch of his nose as he looks down at you with his lips and chin glistening with your slick. His brown eyes dart between yours, torn between giving in and staying true to his word "sweetheart... you know the rules.." he coos, eyebrows furrowed.

"i-but i'm not too sore Frankie, pleeease, just-just want you" you whine softly as your hand snakes around his neck pulling his face closer to yours. You lick his lips tasting yourself on them before he opens his mouth and takes your lips into his. He feels your hole pulse when his tongue slips into your mouth. The tip of his middle finger resting just at your entrance, so close to getting sucked in. "J-just one finger baby please" you sigh, your hips with a mind of their own grind a little further down. The action makes the first inch of his middle finger slip in to your wet and wanting hole. Even just that little bit makes a gasp leave your mouth which Frank swallows with a kiss.

"honey..." he warns lightly, his resolve wavering - chest heaving. "p-please if it's too much i-'ll tell you" you whimper with another testing grind of your hips. He drops his forehead to yours and breathes out as his thick middle finger covered in your slick gingerly moves up and kisses your clit. Causing you to moan into his mouth "so wet baby, need you" you whisper - and he cracks. How could he not when you sound so sweet and desperate, your body writhing underneath him for his touch inside of you.

He lifts his head up slightly, kissing your forehead - his puppy eyes bore into yours "need you to tell me if shes too sore baby.. promise?" he asks softly. "mhmm promise frankie" you breathe out shakily, waiting and desperate. His eyes stay on you, scanning each of your features as he slowly inches one meaty finger in. You're so soaked that it just glides right in, so worked up that you could have come just from that first inch. Still a little sore and sensitive with the stretch, your eyes still staring into franks as your mouth forms a little O as you gasp. Frank doesn't even realise the way his face and mouth mirror yours - his eyebrows furrowed together, so focused on making sure you weren't in pain. When he's knuckle deep in you he stays still for a few seconds, eyes darting between your own.

"feel okay baby?" he asks softly

"s-so good" you mewl, with a small nod of your head.

He smiles - his baby, so desperate for him.

You feel him kiss his way back down your body, your legs splaying wider to accomodate his mass between your legs again. He starts working his thick digit in and out of you, keeping the pace slow and gentle. You feel his lips circle around your clit again causing your hips to twitch. "y-yesss frankie" you softly cry out. He feels the way your walls are pulsing around his finger, so soft and wet and warm.

Your fingers slide through his hair and grip on as your hips start bucking up ever so slightly. He knows you're close, but he keeps his fingers working at that same slow pace, drawing in and out of you as he pulls you closer to your release. "f-fra-ankie c-close" you breathe out. "yeah i know sweetheart, s'ok let go" he coos before sucking your clit into his mouth again.

He feels your walls flutter around his finger as his rhythmic sucks bring you over the edge. Your soft breathy moans fill the room as your hips writhe in his hold. "oh-god.. b-baby" you whine as he feels your cum coat his finger and his chin. He gently pulls his finger out when he feels your walls relax, sucking your juices from it before his tongue returns to your soaked pussy.

You feel the soft laps of his broad tongue through your folds, drinking up your cum as his soothing palms run up and down the outside of your thighs.

After leaving a final soft kiss on your clit and hole he makes his way up beside you again, scooping you up fully in his hold. You wrap your arms around his neck and take his lips to yours, kissing him slow and sweet with your taste all over him. "thank you Frankie" you coo softly, unable to stop the yawn that escapes you. "i love you honey" he smiles a little kissing you back.

He holds you tight to him, your head tucked under his chin as he rubs his palms up and down your back. Not even two minutes pass before he hears your little snores. "baby?" he whispers as he pulls apart slightly to look down at you - you're out like a light. Just needed your Frankie to make you cum so you could fall asleep he laughs to himself.

--

You take the liberty of making yourself at home by kicking your shoes off and walking further inside towards the kitchen, you set your bag on a chair and drape your coat over its’ back.

“Baby, that you?” he asks from the living room.

“Yeah, it’s me, honey” you reply walking over with a smile.

He leans back and manspreads against the couch after crouching over the files and documents all fanned out over his coffee table along with his gun holster and badge. You take in the sight of him, hair slicked back from his shower, dressed in a tight white tank that accentuates his muscles. He usually wears them under his button-ups, but you love it when he wears them in the house, paired with a pair of gray sweatpants.

“You look so tired, baby.”

“I am tired” he smiles reaching for your thighs to guide you closer and unspokenly invites you to sit on his welcoming lap.

You accept and lean against his broad solid figure, lazily draping one arm around his neck while your other hand rests against his chest.

“Too tired for me?” You smirk watching his eyes trail down your body to your crossed thighs.

“Never too tired for you, honey” he replies taking your knee and pulling it towards him to let you drape your leg over his as his other hands sits at your waist.

“I hope not” you chuckle and press your lips against his to properly say hello. “I missed you” you whisper.

“I missed you too, honey… Didn’t get to see you this morning.”

His eyes close as he nuzzles his nose into your neck, taking in the lingering scent of your sweet perfume as his palm glides up and down your thigh.

“I know. You spent the whole night on duty, so I figured we wouldn’t anyways. But we’re together now hm?”

“Yeah, honey. You’re right. How was your day, hm?” he questions lifting his head to admire the gentle details of your face.

He listens to you vent about your day, kneading your thigh as his other hand slowly rubs your back up and down. He listens thoroughly, making a comment here and there, asking questions as you go on, but the glimpses he takes down your shirt and at your thighs don’t go unnoticed by you.

They make you feel loved and desired although you decide not to call them out because you’re drinking him in just the same; eye roaming up and down his chest, fingers gently twirling the hairs that peek out from the top of his tank or delicately squeezing at his biceps as you mindlessly rub his strong arm.

“How about your day, baby?”

“I don’t wanna talk about my day, honey. Just…” he sighs closing his eyes.

You know how his job takes a toll on him. Being a detective means having to see and witness things that are generally hard to stomach, let alone forget. And, although he can never forget certain things he wishes he could, he’d rather treasure the moments you get to spend together because, not only are they too few, they help him shut the rest of the world out. These moments with you melt away all worries he carries as a detective and allows him to just be David, a loving and caring boyfriend.

“It’s ok, babe. You don’t have to,” you answer with a tender kiss to his forehead.

You let your kiss linger there for a moment as he groans contently, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you closer. You’re almost certain you could feel his dick hardening as your fingers comb through his damp hair.

You chuckle imagining how good and relaxed he must when you take care of him.

“Why don’t you put this stuff away then and order us a pizza? Or whatever you’re in the mood for? I’m gonna go shower.”

You move to try to stand up, but he shakes his head. His arms tighten around you and hold you in place.

“No, baby. Stay here with me. Wanna be with you” he pleads wrinkling his forehead as his brows pinch together. His hand rises from your waist and his palm rests against your cheek when his lips meet yours. “Missed you so much, honey. Feel so good when you’re with me.”

You smirk noting how his breathing hitches and his cock twitches when you kiss his forehead again.

Gently peppering his forehead with kisses, he exhales sharply clenching his jaw as he pulls your legs to fully straddle his lap. His hands greedily grope at your thighs, at your hips and at your ass, enjoying your body’s fullness through your stretchy leggings.

You pull your head back a bit, letting your fingers meet at the back of his head to continue their therapeutic scratching on his scalp.

“I haven’t even showered yet, babe” you whisper shyly concerned, fearing your natural scent might be slightly more noticeable.

“No, honey, no. You smell so good for me” he frowns with eyes closed and shakes his head. “Just wanna be with you right now.”

“Yeah?” you whisper letting him kiss on your neck as he grinds his hardened dick against your sex.

“Yeah, baby. Feel so good on me like this. Can you feel it?”

“Y-yeah” you answer breathlessly as you give in and grind your dampening pussy against his crotch. “I feel your cock, baby. Feels so nice and hard.”

“Yeah? You like how it feels like this?”

You nod licking your dry lips as you continue dry humping his clothed cock, whispering how you love his dick so much as it throbs in his sweatpants when his hands pull your leggings up to make your ass and mound more noticeable.

He groans gently biting at your collarbone as he relishes the friction your body provides. Panting softly, you move your hips faster as his hard dick rubs against your sensitive nub.

“Fuck, Dave. Right there… That feels so good.”

“Ride me, baby. Just like that. It’s ok, I got you.”

Lost in the intoxicating pleasure that is washing over you, he rests his forehead against yours watching your face contort as you chase your orgasm.

“Cum for me, baby girl. You can do it. Feels so good, right? You like it, don’t you?”

“Fucking love it” you whimper feeling it build in your core. “So close, Dave. F-Fuck!” you pant as his hands grip your hips to pull them closer. “Gonna-gonna cum!”

“That’s my baby girl. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

The pleasure snaps in your core as you moan and slowly still your hip to soothe yourself with slow thrusts against his dick.

Running his fingers up and down your obvious camel toe, he clenches his jaw realizing how wet your leggings are from the dry humping and your orgasm.

“Honey, can I rip these? Please? Please? I need to feel you.”

“But they’re new, babe. I just got them.”

“I’ll get you new ones, I promise. Promise you” he quietly begs with the softest voice. “I’ll get you a hundred if you let me rip these right now. I’m so fucking hard, it’s hurting.”

He might as well; you’re almost sure they’re ruined now from the slick that’s gushing out. 

The second you nod and approve, all eyes go straight to your crotch. You hold onto his knees as you angle your hips forward for him. David quickly gropes at the fabric, pulling it carefully away from your skin. Digging his finger into a small tear, he rips a hole into the middle of your leggings to expose your wet panties. 

"Hold them for me, honey" he asks, fumbling with his sweatpants to push them down enough to free his dick. 

You eagerly obey and pull your panties to the side to reveal your soaking cunt. With one hand on your hip, he pscoots you close as his other hand holds his cock to guide it against your folds. 

"Fucking..." he sighs closing his eyes as his head lulls back at the pleasure of your warmth against his cock. 

Taking advantage of the moment, you dip your head to kiss his neck but David's quick to capture your lips with his. He stills his kiss for a moment as he stares hungrily at you, letting his hands do the work of guiding his dick into your entrance. 

You smirk as you ease down slowly on his cock, watching how his mouth slowly opens into an O. The pained expression is purely based on the pleasure and self control he's got over himself to not cum right away. 

"Easy, baby. Easy." You remind him by pressing kisses to his forehead as you start to slowly move your hips. 

His hands squeeze at your hips and ass, so desperate to sink his fingers into your soft flesh. 

"Fuck, you're wet on my cock, honey. Can't hold back too long" he begs. 

"I got you, baby. It's ok" you pant riding his cock. 

You gently grip at his hair while his mouth mauls at your neck. The moans he elicits out of you are aphrodisiacal music that weave through his veins and make straight for his dick. 

He replaces your hand  with his, holding your panties to the side from behind with his hand resting against your ass. 

"Tell me you love me" he pleads, shutting his eyes hard as he feels his orgasm building. 

"I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much. Love every single bit of you" you pant heavily rocking your hips roughly against his. 

"God, don't stop, honey. Don't stop!"

I love you's spill from your mouth as you chase his release until you feel his broad  body tense under your arms that hug him, filling you with hot white cum. Noting the way he stills your hip from the sensitivity, you pause long enough to let him calm down and slowly regain your movements to help soothe him. 

Lifting his head, he kisses you, letting his tongue invade your mouth hungrily as his arms lock around your waist like a belt to hold your pussy on his bottoming out dick. 

_

David falls back in his seat as he looks out to the trendy condo that stands across the street from where he’s currently parked. It's a clash of the new and old, modern steel blended with old brick. There’s a large patio outside; it hosts an array of flowers and plants and the yard has enough room where there’s grass to sit in, enough space for maybe a picnic but that's it. 

A quick glance would make it look like any other house, except there's a bird seed catcher hanging from the porch rafters song with wind chimes that sing softly when a subtle breeze picks up. 

A touch of you. 

There’s a little car that’s been abandoned too; it’s a two door jeep with a cacophony of colors on it and it's obvious that whoever owns loves it. 

It’s his daughters. A touch of her. 

He pulls out his phone again, instantly moving to his messages where he finds the last one that you sent a day ago. You wanted to share photos of Isla, he hadn’t argued against it, and he looks down at the six you sent with a small smile that forms on his face. 

He has a daughter and she was absolutely perfect. 

He blinks away the other thoughts that have haunted him since he found out. He didn’t get to see you pregnant, swollen with the love that you both had created. He didn’t get to go with you to learn more about caring for a baby - lamaze class he thinks, and he didn’t get to help you with building a crib, buying a carseat, lamenting over a stroller. He didn’t get to hold your hand and tell you how fucking amazing you were as you delivered his child. Didn’t get to be one of the first people to hold Isla for the first time, cradling her in his arms. 

Two years of experiences lost. 

All because the two of you couldn’t figure out your shit. 

He thinks back to how he had reacted after you had told him about her. It wasn’t his finest moment but fuck, you don’t drop “hey before we fuck each other to kingdom come I had your child last year and she really wants to meet you” casually and not expect a guy to freak out. 

The truth was he had been, was still, hurt.

He thought you could tell him anything. 

He thought wrong. 

_

David doesn’t know what to say. 

He doesn’t know what to think. 

All he can do is stare. 

He stares so long that you move the phone away from his line of sight and breath out, 

“Please….say something.”

That snaps him. The phone is gone. The child is gone. 

His child. 

Your child. 

You both had a child together. 

His eyes flit up to yours. You look scared, but you’re also concerned. He exhales, takes a step away from you. Drinks in your car. A Volvo XC60, a new and nice one that offers safety and luxury all in one. He can see the faint outline of a car seat in the back now that he looks closely through the tinted windows. 

How did he miss this? 

He draws his eyes back to you, exhales. 

“When….was she born?” 

“In August. Last year.” 

“In London?”

“Yes.”

He ingests that information, closes his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally asks. 

It's the real question that lingers. Why did you keep this from him? Why would you think it's okay to keep something like this from him?

You’re quiet, so quiet he thinks you left. You’re standing there numb, shaking your head.

“I don’t know.” you finally whisper. You lick your lips as you look down at your phone screen, trying to grab words from your mind, 

“I wanted too the minute I found out. I knew she was yours. I hadn’t been with anyone for months. So long I forgot that I was off birth control when we…..and I was worried that you wouldn’t….you were so adamant I continue to live life without you I was just really confused.” 

David watches you back for a long time, ingesting that information. You weren’t blaming him and you weren’t blaming yourself but there was blame to be had and he also didn’t know where it laid. 

It would be easy to lay it on you. 

“Does she know about me?” he finally asks and you finally meet his eyes and nod. You’re crying, thick wet tears falling down your face. 

“I’ve told her about you since she was born. She knows you because I show photos of us, of you.” 

“Well that’s fucking something.” 

He runs his hands through his hair, has to move around. Place this frenetic energy somewhere. His brain is now working overtime, aware, activated to the part of him he utilizes when he’s on a case. 

“Your family knows.” A statement not a fact you confirm immediately. 

“Yes.” 

“You told them not to tell me.” 

“....yes.” 

He scoffs. Of course you fucking did. 

“Where is she right now?” 

“With Sam and his partner. He offered to babysit tonight because I told him I was going to finally tell you.” 

David wants to hit something and can feel a torrid of emotions tear through him. Something about that, you asking your family to hide it from him, hurts even more. 

“She’s the roommate?” he finally asks and you nod, 

“I wasn’t going to tell you over the phone David. I wanted to tell you in person, you at least deserve that.” 

“How thoughtful of you,” he doesn’t mean to sound nasty, he doesn’t but he’s barreling through a series of emotions and the one person who knew how to talk him down from them had been deceiving him for two years. He moves back until he’s flush against his car, finally saying what he felt down to his core, “You didn’t have the right Y/N, not the fucking right at all to not tell me about her.” 

“I know David, I know.” you break out into a full sob, shaking your head as you look at him. You don’t look to him for empathy, there’s that knowing glint in your eyes because you know as much as he did that you had monumentally fucked up. 

“I know I am terrible for keeping her from you and you from her. I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared and I don’t know David. I was stupid and afraid. I thought you….I don’t know what I thought. I moved back because the minute I had her, the minute they placed her in my arms. I wanted to make sure you both had a life together. I only didn't during the pregnancy because I didn’t know what to do, I was scared and….it doesn’t matter. 

I know what this means for me. I know that I broke your trust. I know that I may never have what I hope for us. But none of that matters because I rather you have a relationship with her if it can’t be me. You both deserve that.” 

He looks at you, drinks you in. Even ruined, tears staining your face and shame ebbing your eyes he knows what he wishes he could deny. 

He fucking loved you.

He still wants forever with you despite this betrayal. 

Even if you threatened to drive him insane. 

“I need to…I need some time.” he finally says and you nod, close your eyes as another sob escapes out of you. He sighs before moving closer to you, hesitating to touch you. He had to say what was really attacking his gut, what was really breaking him. 

“You’ve never lied to me.” 

You snap your eyes to him and shake your head, 

“I didn’t lie to you though David, I just didn’t tell you.” you counter with a shaky voice and he exhales. 

“I didn’t realize I needed to tell you that if you ever carried my child you should tell me. Not saying anything is just as bad as a lie.” he snaps back and you close your eyes and cry harder. 

He closes his eyes, exhales. He hates making you cry, even when things are your fault. He hates the way you fall into yourself, the way you make yourself smaller. The desperate way he can tell you want to reach out to him because his body naturally in response wants to reach out to you. Doesn’t even have to look at you to feel it. His eyes open up in a series of ticks as he looks over at you.

Devastatingly beautiful, snot and all. This whole night was so fucked. He gives in to intuition and gently moves to grab your hands, gives them a little squeeze.

“Let's try this again.” 

You look at him, fighting through your sobs as you shake your head, 

“David, I understand if you hate me. I’d hate me too.” 

He watches you accept the words, don’t look at him and he tips your chin back to him. 

“I don’t hate you Y/N. I’m fucking pissed. At you. At me. At fucking life. But I still love you. The joke of it all is I still fucking love you, every inch of you. But..I need to….you told me we have a kid together. We have a child. Her name is Isla like we-” 

The tears take him off guard, he isn’t expecting the wave of emotions to hit him as hard as it does and you squeeze his hand back.

“I know.” you whisper as he shakes his head. 

“I need some time.”

“Okay.” 

“I’m going to want to meet her. I want to be in her life. I want to be her father. That’s not negotiable,” you give a sigh of relief as he continues. “But us…..we need to figure out what this is. I need to figure out if I can…Do you understand that you asked every person I love to lie to me. Most of all, you kept this from me. I love you but fuck Y/N how could you have kept this from me?” 

The remaining words make you wince but you don’t deny any of them. Accept them as you whisper, 

“I know. I understand.” 

Your eyes tell him that you do; that you wouldn't try to convince him otherwise. That you had expected this outcome. 

“I fucking wish I could hate you.” he tries to kid but a small part of him does. It would make so much of this easier. You give a weak smile as you say lightly, 

“I’ve wished that since you broke up with me years ago David. Doesn’t stick sadly.” 

“For better or worse it would seem.” he mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours. Inhales your scent one last time before dragging his lips over your skin, memorizing the feel. Then he pulls away and leaves you.  

_

He didn’t talk to you for two weeks. Outside of his colleagues, and even those interactions were brief, he didn’t talk to anyone. He couldn’t. There was so much plaguing him. Sam had called and left voicemails and texts that went unanswered. Hell, even your mom had called checking in on him. 

He couldn't do it. 

He needed to ruminate, reflect, and question. Break it down like a case. Replay every interaction you’ve ever had with him. Question why you would keep something like this from him. 

Figure out what went wrong.

After a few days he’s able to deduct a few things. 

First - you probably thought he wasn’t interested in you in the same way he thought you weren’t interested in him. Despite the weekend in your dads study, neither of you discussed further what being together was like. You were logical and probably deducted that he came to you for comfort. That paired with the consistent way he has been pushing you away; insistenting that you live a life without him, ignoring the letters you sent minus the one he can by the end of the two weeks understand why you were hesitant to tell him. 

Fear was a helluva thing. 

It didn’t excuse it, doesn’t make it better, but he can understand. If the roles were reversed, honestly, he’d probably do the same. Maybe. You did end up telling him even if it took almost two years. And while there was a lot he was sad about missing, there was still so much more he could be a part of.  

He can only hope. 

Week three is him taking care of the little things that he never thought would matter. Like changing his life insurance; he wasn’t in the line of work where he could leave it to chance anymore. He made good money now, being the detective he was, and a large chunk of it went to savings. He figures he has to back pay you for child support even if you decline, which he knows you will, and navigates how he can support the other expenses that come with having a child. 

You weren’t going to live the life of a single parent any further.

Finally, he decides to reach out to the people in his life. He calls Sam first. 

“I’m sorry David, I really am.” Sam’s apology barrels out of him quick and fast and David chuckles as he walks in the grocery store. It's late, he figures it’s close to midnight, but he has no food in his home and now he feels he should at least be mindful of his health. 

He had someone relying on him. Two people, really.

“It's okay.” David says and Sam huffs, 

“No its fucked up. I love my sister but she can be so fucking dumb sometimes.” 

David chuckles as he exhales, 

“Yeah, she can be. But, to be fair, I -” 

“Listen we both know you two were playing the worse version of love tag,” Sam cuts him off before David can even begin, “The yearning, sacrifice bullshit you both did, do too each other is because you both don’t fucking think you deserve the other and that was cute when it was just you two but now with Isla…” 

Sam trails off and David frowns. Why did you think you didn’t deserve him? He asks Sam as much.

“I don’t fucking know dude. I think because when you broke up with her the first time she thought you wanted someone, something different. I don't think she ever fully recovered from it. She’s got an ego, my sister. And believe it or not, she can be pretty insecure.” 

David chuckles despite himself as he stops in the frozen aisle. There were healthy things in the frozen aisle right? 

“I don’t know about her being insecure but an ego; that I know she has. I think it's hot when she’s not hiding shit from me.” 

“Of course you do,” Sam hesitates but then says, “Listen, my mom and I have been urging her to tell you since she told us she was pregnant and especially when we learned it was yours.  She wouldn’t give in until she had the baby. Probably because…” 

He trails off and David stops in the aisle, basket forgotten.

“Becuase what Sam?” 

“I’m not trying to not tell you shit like my sister but also, that is actually shit she should tell you. I’ll just say it wasn’t an easy birth, it was scary there for a while.” 

David closes his eyes, shakes his head. He can’t handle that knowledge, not right now. 

“Noted.” he finally says and Sam clears his throat, tries to change the subject. 

“Anywyas, my sister has become more out of pocket than normal since she’s told you. I doubt she’s sleeping and taking care of herself. My mom has literally prescribed her anxiety pills but I know she’s not taking them. Stubborn woman.” 

“Is she..?” 

“She’s fine David. She’s just…listen I’ll only say it once and you make your choice. I respect it either way. She just loves you a lot man. She loves you more that you gave her Isla. She’s worried that her insecure little fuck up means she’s lost you forever. To be fair, she’s also accepted that if it does, its your right. She lost the right to have you the minute she didn’t tell you about Isla. That’s all. She says it doesn’t matter, can’t matter, because Isla is the priority. For as much as she wants you, she wants you and Isla to have a life together. That’s all.” 

That makes David feel a little better, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. At least you were aware enough to know that. 

He had sent a text to you a day after chatting with Sam. 

Can we talk? 

You respond back five minutes later with a phone call and he leaves his desk, steps out of the station to take it. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” your voice is light, sad but it still makes his stomach pitch in butterflies. He hates how much he loves you as much as he loves how much he loves you. He can hear noise in the background and he clears his throat. 

“How are you?” 

“I’m okay. It's Sunday so…taking it easy.” 

Was it? He didn’t know. He hasn’t tracked time since he left you in the garage. 

“That’s good. You deserve that,” he hesitates, “How’s….Isla?” 

It feels weird saying her name outloud, he’s only said it in his head, and it causes him to stutter. 

“She’s good. We’re watching Gracie's Corner and practicing our ABC’s.” 

“Yeah?” 

“She’s smart like you, our little Isla. And chaotic like me. She’s singing and dancing in just her diaper right now.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Uh huh. Can you hear her?” 

He can tell you move the phone closer to Isla because the faint sound of a toddler suddenly becomes very loud in his ear. It's the first time he’s heard her voice. She’s not really talking as much as she’s screaming, laughing, an occasional letter spilling out of her mouth. When she squeals mama in laughter he ingests the way you respond back with just as much amusement in your voice. He closes his eyes, listens to the way the two of you engage. 

He imagines what it's like to see it in person. Yearns to be there. 

When the phone is dragged away, Isla but a faint sound he whispers into the receiver, 

“When can I meet her?” 

“Whenever you want David. She’s yours too.” 

He exhales shakily, blows out. 

“I want to meet her soon. But I also think we need to talk about us.” 

You pause. 

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” 

“Can you meet for coffee this week?” 

“Yes,” you're quick to respond and he gives a relieved sigh. 

“Would Wednesday work?” 

“Yes,” another pause, “Would you……do you want to meet Isla too?” 

He pauses, stays still. Did he? 

Yes.

The idea of a child scared him. The idea of fatherhood scared him more. 

But the moment he saw her, learned about her felt like he’d been wasting time to have her in his life. 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. I’ll arrange to have her picked up early from daycare. Lets plan for lunch and we can meet at my place. She….does better meeting new people in familiar places.” 

“Okay.” he exhales, squeezes his eyes shut. This was real. This was happening. 

Which was why he was outside of your condo building the nerve to go in. He has a bouquet of flowers with him, an old habit. He had wanted you to feel like you lost him. He wanted you to feel just as shitty as you had made him feel. 

But he also knows, inevitably, he’ll come back to you. Because he loves you. Because you were the only person that loves him in ways he could never believe. Despite your faults, you were human. And you weren’t denying your wrong in this. That you had made a choice and it was the wrong one. He can forgive you for that simple knowledge. 

But perhaps, this time you both needed to move into a relationship slowly.  

He also has a stack of children’s books with him. Four. Where the Wild Things Are, The Day the Crayons Quit. When You Give a Mouse a Cookie because it's your favorite. Goodnight Moon because it's his. It's also the worn copy he had from his childhood, his mother had gifted it to him. He’s wrapped them in gift paper, tied them with ribbon with a bow on top. 

He hopes it kinda makes up for the Christmas he’s missed. 

The only one he will, he promises himself. 

He steps out of the car, into the humid afternoon sun. It’s eleven thirty but it's also nearing August, so the wet, thick air tangles with the sun in an uncomfortable way. He had to work this morning, and along with the gifts he brings in a gun case so he could place his weapon in it before Isla gets home. 

He didn’t want Isla to ever have to be near one but he also wasn’t going to chance not having it near him now that he had two women to protect. 

He walks up the steps to your condo, takes in the hanging fern in the large window. He can see into the space, you have the curtains drawn open and it exposes a large living room. It's nice at first glance. He rings the doorbell, grateful to see that it's linked to some kind of security system. He’d have to ask you more about that for the future. 

There’s movement on the other side before he hears you walk towards him. When you open the door he has to catch his breath; forgets how you always take his breath away. You're wearing a sundress, it has small floral designs on it and is a light sheer fabric. The top buttons are loosened, expose your bra and teasing cleavage and your hair is freshly wet, though dry enough to not trickle water down your neck. The dress reminds him of the one you wore on the first date together and that paired with the fresh scent of soap and roses makes him clear his throat as he watches you. 

‘Stay strong David. You both deserve to take it slow’ he reminds himself. 

“Hey.” he says and you watch him carefully, drinking him in from bottom to top. Lust peppers through your irises by the time your eyes reach his, though you shake your head and offer him a quiet smile. 

You were probably fighting the same thoughts. Lust and natural attraction was never a problem between you both. 

“Hi.” 

A breathy response from you that has his pants tightening. Yeah, you two were doomed lovers. How Shakespearean.

“Hi.” he offers a small smile back. 

“Do you want to come in? I just got out of the shower and was starting lunch.” 

He exhales, nods slowly. 

“Yeah, that would be great.” 

_

He probably should’ve prepared himself for being in your home. 

It's overwhelming. 

First, there’s the personality of you. It shows in the furniture you’ve picked out, the photos that frame the walls, the way the house even smells. Hard wood floors and rugs dance together. The couches look fancy but comfortable, lived in. Despite the fact that you're a single mom, your condo looks like you’re a successful woman who can live on her own. Is peppered with the adventures of a life abroad, a life lived. Feminine, quirky touches that are distinctly you.

Except, Isla was also littered around. In the photos on the walls  and the toys that have been organized to a corner in the room. There’s two blankets, it's obvious which is yours and which is Isla’s based on the designs on them. The shoe rack hosts your shoes and a few little ones that can only be Isla’s and his heart aches. 

He can’t wait to meet her. 

“David?” you’ve moved to the kitchen that’s just opposite the open living room. The kitchen is more modern, there aren't bricks but trendy tiles that line the walls. Modern appliances and nice granite that house nice lights. You have a bowl of salad that’s already prepped and you pull out bread, other ingredients for sandwiches. 

“Was thinking of making a tuna melt.” you say and David gives a quiet smile and nods, holding up the bouquet in his hands remembering it for the first time. 

“Thanks. I….. bought you flowers.”

You pause as you stop what you’re doing and take them in, then look back up at him. They are peonies and lilies, and he watches you brush away a forlorn tear as you give him a grateful smile. 

“Thank you David you didn’t have to….uhh let me put them in a vase.” 

He nods as you walk over to grab them from him, your fingers brushing his and you both exhale as you slowly look up at each other. You clear your throat as hesitantly pul your hand away from him, focusing instead on the gifts he cradles under his other arm, along with the gun box. 

“Are those for Isla?” you ask instead and he looks down, gives a shy smile. 

“Yeah I….I hope she will like…. I wanted to give her something too.” 

You smile at him, reach for his hand and give it a little squeeze.

“You’re already gift enough David. But she’s going to love that. She loves presents.” 

Your voice is soft as you look at him. There’s a strand of hair that’s gotten in your eyes, he moves to brush it behind your ear and you exhale shakily, biting your lip. His eyes naturally flicker down to them, imagining how soft they would feel and he exhales as he flickers his eyes back to yours. 

Right. Taking it slow. 

“Should I put them on the counter or….” he breaks first, shifting his eye contact to the island and you clear your throat as you pull away to find a vase in a cabinet. 

“Yeah that’s perfect.” 

After you fill up a vase with flowers, you start moving to make the tuna salad and he takes a seat at the island, placing the gifts and his gun case on the clean surface. 

“So Isla is going to get dropped off around one today. They have early release on Wednesdays and I usually work from home so I can snag her. But a friend at the school offered to drop her off so she’ll be here around then.” 

You say it over your shoulder and he hums in acknowledgement as you shift to the island to start chopping vegetables. 

“Y/N.” You begin with peeling carrots, chopping them quickly in cubes to avoid looking up at him. 

“Hmm.” 

“What were you hoping to achieve when you invited me to the art gallery a month back?” 

You pause, knife hovering over the vegetables. You inhale a few times before looking up at him. 

“I was going to tell you about Isla. Genuinely, I was hoping to over dinner. But then I was selfish, I wanted to be able to have a few more hours with you where you could still love me before I ruined it all. Ruined us.” 

In philosophy, the statement ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’ was something that he always took to heart. Eyes revealed so much, but especially with you. You had always held the habit of indirectly looking people in the eyes; it made you uncomfortable to be so intimate with most you had told him once. 

With him, you had always looked him back in the eyes, you never strayed. Looking at him directly was the one proof you needed in loving him. The only time you didn’t was when you were hiding something from him.  Or lying. 

You stare at him now, guilt ebbing your irises and he nods slowly. 

“Why did you think to keep her from me? Really?” 

You raise your brows and exhale, 

“I….misunderstood the difference between you wanting me to live my life with you not wanting to have me in your life. I was insecure. I was worried that I’d tell you that I was pregnant and you’d hate me for it. So I didn’t say anything because that seemed easier. Which was a joke. The more pregnant I became the more…” you taper off as you look off behind him before shaking your head, looking back at him, “Anyways, I had Isla and knew I had to tell you. I just was too chicken shit to do it over the phone.”

He watches you for a beat. Lets you stew in the discomfort before saying, 

“You’ve always been bad at dealing with stuff that is tied with emotions. You run from it as much as I do.”  

“I know.” your voice has hit that whiny inflection it does when you know he’s right and hate to admit it and he gives a soft smile. 

“At least you can admit you were being a chicken shit.” 

“Har har. I might be an ignorant asshole but I’m a humble one.” 

“Obviously.”

You give a small smile as you resume cutting vegetables and he exhales, 

“I forgive you, you know,” you cut a little slower because you can sense the but coming. “I forgive you. But I think we need to take things slow if we want to have a relationship.” 

“If you want to have a relationship.” you correct and he shakes his head. 

“If we want a relationship. No more putting the fate of our love in the other person's hands. It's what got us in this mess to begin with.”

You frown as you look at him and he sighs, 

“You can take all the blame you want, and to a degree you do have some of it for not telling me. But I do too. May not be as small as you think it is but you had made it clear multiple times you wanted to try to make us work. Even when we were settled in our new lives. I pushed you away. I made you feel unwanted. That’s on me. I can understand why you were afraid to tell me, even if its fucked up that you made the choice for me.” 

You watch him for a beat and slowly nod. 

“We gotta stop making choices on behalf of each other.” You finally say and he nods. 

“Yeah. We used to be really good at doing things together. Talking through things together. Making decisions that impacted each other together. I don’ know how or when we lost sight of that but we did. We can’t do that anymore. Not when we have Isla.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“I know I am.” 

“Okay, don’t get ahead of your detective. My ego can’t handle it.” 

He chuckles as you go back to prepping vegetables before you pause and shakily admit, 

“I want to be with you David. I want us to be a family. I still selfishly want that life we yearned for so long ago.” 

He leans over, places his hands over yours. Helping the soft tremor from your fear to calm. 

“I do too, baby. More than you know. But we gotta learn how to trust each other, yeah? Start from the basics.” 

You let out a shaky exhale as you flicker your eyes up to him. 

“For better or worse?”

“For better or worse.” he repeats and you nod. 

Yeah, he could do this. He could, because you were willing to too. 

It felt nice to have someone fight for him, to want him, to love him. He missed it. Even more, he missed doing the same for you.

_________

Imagine…..

Soft rays of gold and dandelion yellow find their way to your body, brush over your eyes causing you to squint and try to shift away from the light. You’re stopped by something heavy, something warm that intuitively drags you closer to him and even fighting through the heaviness of sleep you know it to be David. 

He’s been working a case, you haven’t seen him in almost four days but he’s here now. Must've quietly slipped in, a ghost to not disturb your sleep and you give a lazy smile as you give in to the morning rays. 

So much for sleeping in. 

Still, you could be lazy in bed. You could lay in the arms of your man as he nuzzled into your neck, giving a grateful sigh as you held him close to you. You could memorize the moles on the side of his face, falling down his neck as he breathed you in, breathed you out. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and pine, fresh and faint, a shower he must've taken straight from work. 

You loved him. 

You allow yourself to lay like that for what feels like hours before your stomach begins to rumble, legs getting angsty along with the list your brain is starting to build of things that need to be done. You shift trying to slowly ease out of bed, trying to escape the warm cage of your husband's arms. Except, like a flower touching the light of sun for the first time, he moves with you intuitively even in his sleep and drags you back to him, burying his head in your hair. His hips involuntarily push against you, the hard erection teasing your underside and you groan. 

Now you only have one thing on your mind. 

You know David won’t let you free now without waking, that any chance of sneaking away to surprise him with coffee in bed is lost. Instead, you take the opportunity to twist in his arms, to place tender kisses on his jaw, down his throat, hands moving down his exposed chest. 

He hums content, hips reacting to your touch but he stays asleep, exhaustion winning over anything else. You take advantage of the position to move down with your fingers, lips dragging against his skin, tasting him. When your mouth latches briefly across a nipple he hisses, shifts to give you more access though he remains in his sleeping stupor. You move lower, lower, until you find your prize, his cock springing free from the rigidness of his sweats. 

You don’t give him a chance to react. 

Instead your mouth latches over his crown, its pink and swollen begging for relief, and you moan appreciatively as you give his hole a kitten lick, tasting his precum. 

He wouldn’t last long. 

His eyes shoot open, mouth ragged as his mind tries to process what’s happening. You don’t allow him the reprieve, instead taking more of him in your mouth and he moans, hips slightly arching as he whispers, 

“Fuck.” 

He tries to blink down at you, his eyes trying to latch onto your form but years of reading reports closeup and an undiagnosed astigmatism causes you to be a mild blur and he’s desperate to find his glasses, to find you. 

You shake your head, humming as you take more of him, your mouth bobbing up and down his length as he swells larger in your mouth. The sigh of relief that spills out of him when he hits the back of your throat causing the walls of your pussy to clench but you try to ignore it. 

You wanted this to be about him. 

“Unh…baby…ungh I’m not going ... .to last. Been too long…” 

His plea is a whisper, begging for mercy as your hand wraps around him, grips him tight, saliva and precum the lubricant for his desire. He hated when you selfishly gave into his desire, always mindful, but you know he’ll make up for it later. 

He always does. 

You also don’t want him to see you;  you want him to focus on how good you’re making him feel. How he makes you feel. Your nose scrunches from the way his pubic hair tickles the top of it as you take more of him, desperately needing air but wanting to be consumed by him. He gives in, glasses forgotten knowing that you won’t let him have his way. 

That it's best to give in to the desires you both had for each other.. 

“Fuck, like that Y/N…just like that. You make me feel so good. You’re the only one who can make me feel this good..” 

His words are whispered prayers, they’re reverent, and you take each one like a gift. 

When your hand cups his balls he stiffens, hands grasping for your hair as he takes charge, fucking your mouth. It's only moments later that you’re greeted with his seed, the taste of him coating your tongue, the back of your throat, the pit of your empty stomach. He shouts out your name like a priest in a temple, its loud and resonates against the walls, causes your cat to shift from her place by the window to leave the room, disturbed again by your fucking. You drink him in until he has nothing left to give and when you pull away with a pop you look up at your man. 

His eyes are closed as he tries to regulate his breathing. His hair is disheveled, the dark thick strands that you love to run your hands through poking out in all directions. He’s older now than when you both first met, thirteen years will do that, and as he inches towards his mid forties you can see it more in his face. In the creases in his eyes, the laugh lines you’ve forced on him with time. 

You crawl up his body, biting your lip as you move to grab his glasses, handing him the thick black frames as he blinks them open, placing them on his face to take you in. 

You’re sure you're equally ruined - puffy lipped, cum and morning breathing mingling with his but he smiles at you in that way that causes your stomach to drop before cupping your cheek. 

“And what did I do to deserve that morning treat?” 

You smile back at him, soft and tender and shake your head. 

“Loving me as much as I love you.” 

Ocean orbs watch you, swallowing the way you look back at him. His eyes have always said so much more than his words ever could. Right now, they're telling you a lot. That he doesn't know what he's done to deserve you. That he's unsure that he does still deserve you, even after all this time. That he loves you back just as fiercely. But always, the lingering one that stains your heart - that he doesn't understand why you love him.

If only he knew.

Loving David was easy, even after all these years. Beyond his handsome good looks, he was just a good person. Mindful, thoughtful, compassionate. Smart, witty, funny. Even on hard days it just made sense, him and you.

You loved him. 

The way he draws you to him, cum and morning breath be damned as your tongues tangle, you know he loves you too. 

_

He’ll make breakfast, well, he’ll make coffee and get the things out for you to make breakfast. Out of the two of you, you were best equipped despite the many years you’ve tried to teach him. 

He’ll know that you went to the farmers market the day before like you always do in the summer, that you grabbed the produce you needed for avocado toast that he’s come to love, the coffee beans he craves when you brew it at home. 

In just his sweat pants he’ll stand in front of the coffee pot, a cup of joe freshly poured. No sugar, no cream for him. He’ll have poured yours too, heavy whipping cream just a drop, and be looking down at a physical copy of Conyers Bugle because he still liked to read what was going on in the small town despite the fact you both now lived closer to Philadelphia. A result of his promotion to PSP. 

His hair will be in disarray, nothing short of chaotic and out of place for him, except in the safety of his home. In the safety of you. He’ll be sipping the coffee with one hand, holding the paper and reading it with his glasses in the other and only looking up when he hears you pad into the kitchen, face freshly washed, teeth freshly brushed.

The sky blue shirt that drapes over your body, frames over your curves naturally causes his mouth to tug into a smile as he heatedly drinks you in. You smile looking back at him, knowing that the precum stain in the front of his sweats was but a warning for the kind of day you were in store for. 

You both have plenty to do - laundry, cleaning, meal prep - but you know the instant David looks at you it's a lost cause. 

He’s already decided you and your shared king sized bed is the priority. 

“I expect you to do the laundry later tonight then.” you break first as he chuckles, placing his coffee down and walking over to you. 

“Deal.” he whispers, before his hips land on yours. 

Yeah, you loved lazy Sunday mornings.  

_________