kie⋆˚࿔

“You look so beautiful, sweetheart” Frank says, watching you fix your lipliner in the car mirror you’ve flipped down, above your head. You’re parked outside your brother’s house, about to head into the family gathering you’ve been invited to, with Frank.

“Hm?” you ask, blissfully unaware of anything he’s saying, only concentrating on your makeup. You put your lipliner away frantically, and he watches you with the most gentle smile on his lips. His heart swells with that familiar ache of pure adoration. After all this time, you still make him feel like the luckiest man alive.

“Nothin’ baby” he whispers, mesmerised by way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You’re his angel. He straightens up, turning the car off, then looks back to you. “All okay now? Ready to go?” he asks, but there’s no sense of rush in his voice. If he could, he’d sit here and watch you all day. The quiet moments like this, just the two of you in the car, have become his favorite part of any outing.

“Mhm, let’s go” you nod, running your fingers through your hair as one final moment of preparation. You grab your purse, then open the car door to get out, placing one foot out after the other. You close it with a heavy click, and smile as Frank walks around the car and towards you.

His big arm trails around your waist and guides you steadily towards the house, till eventually you’re at the door, ringing the doorbell with an excited giggle.

“Sam!!” you squeal as the door opens, and your brother greets you with a hug. He pulls away, acknowledging Frank too. They’ve only known him for around three years, but they treat him like a life long family member. They love him like a son. Frank feels that warmth settle deep in his chest every time- the easy acceptance from your family still surprises him sometimes, a far cry from the lonely years before he had you.

Frank smiles at him, shaking his hand and pulling him in for a hug. “How you doin bud?” he asks with that gruff voice of his you love, and you can tell he genuinely cares for your family. Your heart warms as you step inside, hanging your coats and bags up as they catch up like old friends.

You turn a familiar corner, and you’re suddenly met by everyone else. Your mother is with your aunties, and before you know it, they’re throwing their hands up in excitement, rushing towards you. You say hi to your cousins, greet your crazy uncle, and finally get through everyone.

Frank walks around like an awkward teenager for a little while, before you eventually see him speaking to uncle Aron, nodding frantically, as if he’s forced to agree with him. You catch fragments of their conversation- something about old cars and the best way to grill steak, and smile at how earnestly Frank engages, even when your uncle gets carried away. The way he leans in, listening intently, makes you fall in love with him all over again. You smile to yourself softly, it’s nice to see everyone getting along well, especially with Frank. You know how his life has felt, without a stable family, and it breaks four heart every time you think about it. But you’re eachother’s, and every good thing you have- you want to share with him, including your crazy, crowded family.

The smell of warm food hovers out of the kitchen, and before you know it, you’re walking towards it. “Want any help mom?” you smile, watching her stir a pot. She turns to you, eyes flicking over your body, and just smiles. “Mom?”

“Yeah honey?” she asks softly.

“I asked if you’d like any help.”

“I’m alright sweetheart, go enjoy your evening.”

You furrow your brows together, wondering what she’s thinking. “What is it?” you chuckle curiously.

“Nothing honey, just- proud of you, I guess. Of the beautiful woman you’ve grown to become.”

You frown emotionally, pouting at her words. “Aw mama, I love you.” You take a few steps, throwing your arms around her forcefully as she stirs more ingredients into the pan she’s working at.

“Alright alright, I love you too” she laughs, wiggling out of your arms. “Now go catch up with everyone else.”

You linger a second longer, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with spices, before heading back out with a full heart.

~

The long dining table in the backyard is already buzzing by the time everyone settles down into their seats. Frank finds you outside and his hand is on your lower back again. “Alright sweetheart?” he asks, pulling a chair out for you. You nod with a smile, and he answers back, “Good.” He takes a seat right beside you, his solid presence comforting you.

Plates start to make their way around, piled high with roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, vibrant salads, and your aunt’s legendary lasagna. “This is delicious” you say, more times than you can count. Your family may be unconventional, but they sure can cook. Franks hand occasionally brushes your knee under the table like he can’t quite help himself. The subtle touches ground you, sending little sparks up your spine even in the middle of all the noise and chatter. You’re happy it does though, it’s like he’s reminding you he’s there every couple minutes.

Conversation flows easily, your uncle Aron starts with his crazy opinions, and you can’t help but look at Frank and laugh. Your cousins tease you about old family stories, and Frank listens with that focused intensity, like it’s his mission to know everything there is to know about you. He chimes in when asked about his work and eventually gets onto how the two of you met. He tells the tire story again, eyes soft on you the whole time. No matter how many times he’s told it, he explains it lovingly again, like it was the same day it happened. “She didn’t need my help, but I wasn’t about to let her go,” he says with a low chuckle that makes your heart flip. “I knew right there when she wasn’t interested, that she’s the one for me.”

You laugh softly, moving your hand to rest on his, already on your thigh. You’re filled by a warmth every few minutes, comfort and relief that this is real, that Frank really is family now.

Eventually, dessert comes out- warm apple pie with melting ice cream, the same one your mom made you when you were 14, crying that your friends were leaving you out. The air is filled with warmth and laughter, and for a minute, you’d give up anything to just stay in this moment forever.

As the sky deepens into twilight, the fairy lights glow brighter overhead. Your cousins kids dart around the yard with sparklers, squealing and chasing eachother, all while one of your aunty yells at them to be quiet. You’re mid-laugh at something your mom said when Ally, your brothers wife appears from inside, stepping outside of the glass double doors that lead to the garden. She’s smiling, gently rocking their six month old daughter in her arms. The baby is fussy, tiny fists rubbing at her eyes, like she’s just been woken up.

“There she is!” you squeal, jumping up to walk towards Ally. You’d wondered where the baby’s been, considering Ally had been downstairs with you all night. “I thought they’d hidden me from you cutie!” you coo, thumb brushing against the baby’s soft skin.

“She’s been sleeping upstairs the whole time,” Ally tells you, one hand moving behind her back, like she’s supporting herself to stand up. You can tell right there that she’s exhausted, and probably needs a break from being a mother all the times. You remember last year, and all the trouble she went through when she was still pregnant. The memories of those tough months make you even more eager to help, knowing how much a small break can mean.

“Here, let me take her for a bit,” you offer, already reaching out. You love children, and it would be good for her to get some rest anyways, so you figure taking her would be a win for both of you. Your sister in law smiles gratefully and passes the warm little bundle over. If it wasn’t for her face poking out of the blanket, you’d think that’s all you’re actually holding- a pile of blankets.

You settle your niece against your chest, one hand supporting her head while the other rubs slow circles on her back. Carefully, you sit back down in your seat, smiling at Frank as he watches you hold the baby so lovingly. She quiets almost immediately, nuzzling into your shoulder with a soft sigh. No more fussing, or rubbing her eyes. You sway gently side to side, murmuring quiet nonsense and pressing a kiss to her hair. The fairy lights catch in her wispy curls, and she lets out the sweetest little coo.

Frank goes completely still beside you. His usual confident posture melts away as he takes in the sight, something tender and almost sacred unfolding in his gaze.

You glance over and find him watching you with an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted, and that tough exterior he usually has is cracked wide open. He looks- vulnerable. His eyes trace the way you hold the baby so naturally, the soft smile on your face, the tender way your fingers stroke her back. It looms so natural on you, that sense of motherhood. His eyes don’t leave the pair of you, and something deep and warm blooms in his chest.

“Christ,” he breathes, almost too quiet for anyone else to hear. He leans in closer, elbow on the table, chin resting on his fist as he just- stares. Everyone else is still laughing and talking, sat around the table under the setting sun, but not Frank. This is the most beautiful moment he’s ever witnessed. The image of you like this, completely at ease with a baby in your arms- hits him square in the heart. It stirs something inside him he’s never let himself fully dream about before; you and him, years from now, with a little one of your own.

He thinks about a little baby girl of your own, with your smile and maybe his stubbornness. It all flashes past his eyes quickly, lazy mornings, tiny hands reaching for him, building the kind of family he never really had growing up.

Your aunties coo and snap pictures of you holding the baby, but Frank only has eyes for you. When the baby reaches out and grabs a strand of your hair, you laugh softly and carefully untangle her fingers, and Frank’s breath catches again.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, scooting his chair until his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you and the baby gently against his side. He’s careful, almost reverent, as he brushes a big, calloused finger along the baby’s cheek. She latches onto it with surprising strength, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a helpless smile. If watching you with the baby didn’t melt his heart, this sure did. He imagines those same tiny fingers gripping his own one day, trusting him completely, and the thought nearly undoes him.

The rest of the evening passes, covered by a golden glow. Frank stays close to you as usual, stealing glances at you every chance he gets. Although you’re his wife, sometimes it feels like he still has a teenage crush on you.

Later, as the sun is almost set, and people start heading out, you and Frank go outside to wave everyone bye. You’re a few steps away, laughing and chatting with your cousin near the garden path, completely wrapped up in catching up on old stories.

Frank sits alone on the patio swing, one foot planted into the grass to keep it rocking gently. Your niece is warm and small against his chest, her tiny fist curled into his shirt as she makes soft, sleepy sounds. He keeps one of his big hand supporting her head, the other rubbing slow circles on her back the same way he saw you do it earlier.

He can’t stop staring at her. The fairy lights catch in her wispy hair, and every little sigh she makes causes his heart to ache. His mind keeps drifting back to you at dinner, how natural you looked holding her, the way you swayed her in your arms. It cracked something open in him. Finally, he lets himself picture it clearly- you with a baby of your own. His baby. A house full of noise and family he never thought he’d get.

“Christ,” he breathes, barely audible, his thumb brushing her cheek lovingly. He carefully rocks the swing a little more, lost in the quiet moment. The gentle creak of the swing mixes with the distant laughter still floating from the house, and for the first time in a long while, Frank feels completely at peace with the idea of fatherhood.

A couple minutes later, Ally comes out to take her. Frank stands, hands you a quick glance as you finish with your cousin, then walks over. After final goodbyes, his arm settles around your waist as he leads you to the car. He opens your door, then gets in and starts the engine, still quietly replaying the whole evening in his head as you drive away.

On the drive home, the car is quiet except for the low hum of the radio. Your brother’s house fades in the rearview mirror, and Frank’s hand finds yours across the console, squeezing gently. You turn to him, giving a small reassuring smile. You can tell something’s on his mind.

As if he knew what you were thinking, his lips part to speak. “You looked real good holdin’ her,” he says after a long stretch of comfortable silence, voice low with emotion. “Got me thinkin’ about us. What that might look like someday.” He glances over, almost shy for a man his size. “A little one of our own.”

You squeeze his hand back without saying anything, warmth spreading through your chest. He lifts your knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss there as the trees and houses outside drift past. You always thought about a family, but you never knew about Frank’s thoughts. You feel more at ease now, knowing he wants the same thing. Knowing he would be an amazing father.

As it usually fucking is, the rain in New York is hammering down. It pounds against the rusty metal roof of the safe house you and Frank have been taking shelter in, and drips noisily through the cracks in the bricks. Besides the rain, the only other sound is the wind howling through the alley below. The air smells like damp concrete and has a faint metallic smell of iron that never quite washes out of places like this.

You lean a shoulder against the damp wall of the safe house, shifting your weight enough to take the pressure off your left side. You stand there, squinting your eyes in pain as your chest heaves and you try to breathe, acting like nothing’s wrong.

This is how it usually goes with you and Frank Castle. You’re partners in the shitty work no one else will do- the work that leaves scars on both your skin and soul. You move through the city like ghosts, making sure those people who deserve it are brought to justice. You watch each other’s backs, patch each other up, and sometimes when the adrenaline drains out of your bones and the silence is too loud, you end up tangled together on whatever lumpy mattress the safe house has, seeking that ephemeral pleasure without thinking about the next morning.

There’s no labels. No promises. You’re just two broken people who understand eachother’s work and can find a little bit of relief in the other’s presence.

And every time- whether it’s on the job, or even when you’re just talking about plans with a map spread across a table, you try to be the one in control. You straighten your back, keep your voice sharp and clench your jaw like you carry the same weight he does. You yell sometimes, and even push back when he barks orders at you.

And when you’re fucking- when he can feel how close you are around him, you lean in first and act like you’re the one holding all the power. Like you’re in charge of it all.

Frank sees it. He never says anything directly, but you catch the way his eyes follow you. You can see the knowing tilt of his head, and the way he lets you take the lead even when he knows you’re faking it. You haven’t got much, but being in charge is one thing you can have control of.

He knows you’re not as tough as you act. He knows you wear the defensiveness like armor, just like he does, to keep you safe. The difference is, his armor has been welded shut like metal for years- but yours is just painted on, and it cracks the second you’re alone. He doesn’t want you ending up like him, angry at the world.

Tonight, that painted on armour cracks before you even make it through the door of the safe house.

The job was actually supposed to be quite simple. There was a small group moving weapons through a warehouse in Queens, only three maybe four men with light security. It was an easy in and out, and your plan was quite simple. But plans never go right, and tonight especially made you know that.

You and Frank split up to cover the exits. He takes one side of the building, and you take the other. You hear shouting, then the crack of gunfire, and instead of sticking to the plan you both came up with an hour ago- to wait for the signal you both agreed on- you react on your impulse. You quickly jump over a stack of wooden planks, throw yourself over the fence line, and rush into the open space, thinking you can take multiple of them out before they turn their guns toward Frank.

But you misjudge the angle, and don’t see the guard posted behind you until it’s too late. A loud shot rings out, echoing off the concrete walls and vibrating through your head. Something slams into your side, and before you know it, your breath is knocked right out of your lungs. You stumble, catching yourself on a crate and bite down so hard on your lip you taste blood.

Still, you don’t cry. Don’t even make a sound.

Hastily, you raise your weapon and fire twice, watching the guard go down with a thud. You press your palm tightly against the spot thats burning from the bullet, and force your legs to keep moving. You have to keep moving, you can’t let Frank see your hurt otherwise you’re not in control anymore.

Frank joins you seconds later, checking the corners before he looks over at you with that same expression he always has. “All clear?” he asks, his voice rough and low, focused on the mission.

“Mhm, all clear,” you repeat back, and your voice comes out firm, a little unconvincing. You turn away before he can see the way your fingers are pressing harder and harder, the way your head is spinning a little. “Let’s get out of here.”

By the time you reach the safe house, the pain has settled into something that radiates out with every heartbeat. It feels like someone’s jammed a shard of glass into your ribs and twisted it. Your jacket sticks to your skin, heavy and damp, and you tell yourself it’s just rain. You tell yourself it’s just a graze, that it’ll stop bleeding soon enough. But you can feel that sticky, warmth of blood. Still, you’ve taken worse. It’s not like you can’t handle it.

Either way, you have to handle it. If Frank sees you hurt, if he sees you’re not in control, he’ll start treating you like something fragile. He’ll take over, and you’ll lose the ground you’ve worked so hard to hold- the ground that says you’re equal, not someone he has to protect. Because you’re fed up of it, feeling weak and unable.

So you keep your head high. You walk in first, flicking on the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and start stripping off your clothes like you always do. Acting like everything’s normal.

Frank trudges in and slams the door shut behind you, and it clicks into place with a heavy sound. He yanks off his vest, tossing it onto a chair and runs a hand over his face, that familiar frustration already building in his posture.

“That was reckless,” he says, not looking at you yet, but his tone is sharp. “You went in way too fast. You know what happens when we throw the plan out the window?” The disappointment oozes out of every one of his words. You hate it, especially the fact that he’s not even wrong.

You pause, your fingers hovering over the zipper of your jacket as you listen to him. You swallow hard, pushing the wave of dizziness back down. “I had it covered. Plus, they were turning toward you. I had to do something?”

“No, you guessed they were turning,” he snaps, finally turning to face you. His eyes are dark and his jaw is tight, like he’s holding himself back. “That’s gambling with your fuckin life- and mine too. That’s how people end up dead. You understand?”

You feel heat rising up your neck, and cross your arms over your chest, the movement sending a fresh jolt of pain through your side. You flinch, almost invisibly, but you hide it quickly by shifting your weight again. You push the pain down, focusing instead on proving your point, on showing Frank you know what you’re doing,

“Look, I said I had it,” you repeat, your voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I didn’t get hit, did I? Everyone’s alive and the jobs done. What else do you fucking want?”

Frank steps closer, and the air between you feels much heavier- it’s between conflict and something strangely more intimate. “I want you to stop acting like you’re bulletproof. Stop thinking you gotta prove something every time we step out that door. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

His words hit you harder than even the bullet fucking did. Because he’s right, and you hate it. What you hate even more is that you can’t let him see how much it hurts- both the wound, and his words. You want to yell back, to tell him you know what you’re doing. But when you open your mouth to speak, the pain spikes again, and your breath catches in your throat. You’re barely able to keep yourself standing straight.

You try to take a deeper breath to steady yourself, but the world suddenly tilts sideways. Your knees go weak, and you reach out blindly for the wall behind you, your bloody palm slapping against the brick to stop you from collapsing.

“I’m speaking to you.” he spits out, eyebrows furrowed. “Always thinkin you know better.” You can’t do much but shake your head and scoff, the pain in your side is stopping you from even thinking straight. Frank runs a rough hand over his face, frustrated at your lack of communication. “That was a really stupid fucking thing to do.” he says lowly, with a sigh.

You just close your eyes, trying hard not to physically wince at the burning pain in your side. You can hear him of course, but you’re using all of your energy to simply stand straight.

“Hey,” Frank’s voice changes a little, shifting from anger to warning. “You listenin? Don’t stand there acting like you can’t hear a word I’m saying.” He can’t stand when you’re like this, stubborn and proud, not accepting responsibility for anything.

“I’m listening,” you manage to say, but it comes out as a gasp, not the firm tone you wanted. Your hand slips down your side, and when you glance down, your stomach drops. The dark stain on your jacket isn’t small anymore. It’s spreading fast and soaking through the thick fabric of your jacket.

You try to pull your hand away and hide it behind your back, but Frank’s eyes are already there. He sees the way you fold, and the way your face goes pale, sweat beads all along your hairline despite the room being cold. Then his gaze drops to your side, and the color drains from his own face.

For a second, there’s no sound at all. Not the rain, not even your own breathing. Then he moves quickly, with purpose. “Oh shit.”

He crosses the room in three big steps, his hands coming up to your shoulders firmly- but not rough, not annoyed like before. “Lemme see,” he says, and the bite is gone from his voice, replaced by concern and panic.

“Frank, I said I’m-” you start, but your voice breaks. You can’t even stand straight anymore. Both your legs feel like jelly, and you can’t help but lean into his touch to steady yourself. “Fuck” you wince.

“Stop lyin to me,” he says, and his voice is softer, there’s no anger left, just urgency. His fingers find the zipper of your jacket and then pull it down carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. When he pushes the fabric aside, he sees the rip in your shirt and the glistening blood soaking through the fabric you tried to wrap around it earlier. Your skin is already bruising purple around the wound, and if you don’t treat it, it’ll only get worse

Frank freezes. His breath hitches, and his hands hover for a second before he pulls them back to look at your face. The familiar mask he wears every day shatters completely, and his eyes widen, then his jaw goes slack. All the frustration and lecturing vanishes in an instant, and they’re replaced by something raw.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re hurt bad…”

“It just grazed me,” you whimper, but even you don’t believe it anymore. The pain is so intense now that its became hard to think, or to focus on anything but the throbbing in your ribs. “I thought it was nothing. Didn’t really want to-”

“Didn’t wanna what?” Frank cuts in, but his voice is full of guilt more than anger. He slides an arm behind your back to support your weight, and the other one comes up to cradle your shoulder. He holds you steady against him, the expression on his face like one of a disappointed parent. “Didn’t wanna tell me? Didn’t want me to know you’re hurt? What the fuck were you thinking?”

He sounds helpless, and the truth is, that’s how he feels. If he could’ve done something he would’ve, but you never listen to him, and now he feels like it’s his fucking fault that you’re hurt like this.

“I didn’t want you to think I’m useless, okay?” you cry out, tears finally spilling. They’re not even from sadness, but from pain and the frustration of him seeing you this vulnerable. However much you tried to bury it, you’ve still ended up bursting. “I try so hard to be equal to you, and if I say I’m hurt- you’ll treat me like I can’t do it anymore. I have to be in control, Frank. I have to.”

He pulls you closer, trying carefully not to press against your injured side. He lowers his head until his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel the tension rolling off him, the regret pouring out of him.

“Control don’t mean hiding what hurts,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And you ain’t gotta prove shit to me, alright? You never have. I should’a seen it. Should’a known something was wrong instead of standing here yelling at you while you were bleeding out in front of me.” He swallows hard, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away the tear trailing down your face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean a word of it- I was just scared. That’s on me, not you.”

He guides you carefully towards the sagging couch against the far wall, and lowers you down slowly, propping a pillow behind your back so you’re sitting up. Every move he makes is gentle, nothing like the rough way he moves when he’s fighting.

“Stay there,” he murmurs softly. “I’ll go get the kit.”

He turns around and begins rummaging through the cabinet in the corner, pulling out the metal first-aid box. His hands are steady, because he’s done this a hundred times for himself and others. But you can see the way his jaw is still tight, and how his eyes flick back to you every few seconds like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he looks away.

When he comes back, he kneels in front of you, resting his knees on the cold concrete floor to look up into your eyes. You can tell he genuinely feels bad for being so angry with you, especially now that he knows you were hurting through it all. “This is gonna sting, but I gotta clean it out right. You can squeeze my arm, do whatever you need. Just don’t try to be tough now, okay? I’m here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and reach out to grip his forearm. His skin is warm and rough beneath your fingers, and it feels like the only solid thing in a world thats spinning out around you right now.

Frank works quickly. He cuts away the torn fabric around the wound and starts cleaning the area with antiseptic. You flinch and gasp, even dig your nails into his arm, but he doesn’t rush. He talks you through it the whole time, with his firm voice, and it makes you think about why you have such a soft spot for him.

“Easy,” he says. “I gotcha. Just breathe, that’s it. You’re doing so good. I’m right here.” He nods his head as you breathe, letting you know you’re doing well.

Once the wound is clean, he begins threading a needle. You feel the tugging at your skin, it's sharp and it stings- but eventually, the pain starts to settle into a duller ache, and the sound of Frank's voice keeps you calm. He doesn't rush the stitches, instead, he makes sure each one is neat before covering it with ointment and wrapping it tightly with a bandage.

Finally, he's done. He leans back on his heels, resting his hands on his knees, then lets out a shaky breath. His head is tilted downwards but his expression that's heavy with regret is unmistakeable. Your heart pangs. You know Frank is one rude bastard, but he genuinely is just trying to look out for you.

"Shoulda checked you first," he says quietly, staring at the bandage like it's his fault you're hurt. "Should've seen how you weren't moving right and fuckin helped. But no, I lectured you while you were trying to stand fucking straight. That's not how partners act, I don't wanna be like that with you."

You reach out, your blood stained hand trembling a little, and rest it against his cheek. He leans into your touch immediately, turning his face just enough to press a soft kiss into your palm. Despite the hard front he puts on, he's human too. He's sensitive, he's kind.

His stubble grazes the palm of your hand and your breath hitches, because it feels so domestic. Like you could maybe live a life together outside of this chaos.

"I wanted to be strong," you whisper. "I wanted to be the one leading, instead of needing help. It's stupid, I know"

"It's not stupid," he days softly, furrowing his brows.

Slowly, he shifts to sit beside you, careful not to hurt your side. He takes your hand and envelopes it in both of his calloused ones. “I know what it’s like to think you gotta carry everything alone. But that’s not how it works. Strength is knowing when you can’t do it alone and accepting help.”

He pauses, his thumb brushing back and forth over the back of your hand as his voice grows softer, more vulnerable. It’s something you rarely get to hear.

“You think I don’t notice?” he asks, a sad smile on his lips. “You try to push me away, act like you’re running the show. And I let you. Cuz I know it’s your way of showing you’re still fighting. But I also know the way you look at me like you’re waiting for me to decide you’re not enough.”

He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against yours again, as his voice drops to a murmur that’s meant only for you.

“You are more than enough. You don’t have to be the tough one to show that. You can be whatever- even if that means you’re hurting, even if it means you need me to take care of you. I don’t care who’s in charge. I just care that you’re here, and you’re safe, and you’re mine.”

His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, and for the first time all night, you stop trying to hold yourself up. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, as your arm curls loosely around his waist. You let out a content sigh, all the tension and fear draining out of your body.

Frank shifts a little to wrap a strong arm around you to support your weight. His other hand rests lightly over your bandaged side, but firm enough to let you know he’s there. He rests his chin on top of your head, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear.

“From now on, we talk.” he says softly, rubbing his thumb along the bandages. “If you’re hurt, or scared, you say so. If you need me, you tell me. No more hiding behind this tough act. Not when it’s us.” He tilts his head softly, like he’s waiting for you to agree.

“I promise,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Hey, it’s okay baby,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your hair, then another gentle one onto your temple. His lips then press against your cheek gently, as if to feel your skin. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t. That’s on me, not you.”

For a long time you stay there, just listening to the rain and the quiet sound of Frank breathing. The pain is still there but it feels muted by the warmth of his body and the comfort of his arms. He brings you water in a chipped mug, helps you sit up straighter when you shift, and keeps checking your bandage like he’s afraid something will go wrong if he stops watching.

As the hours pass, you start to shiver. Frank grabs the thick wool blanket from the chair and drapes it over you both, even tucking it in around your shoulders carefully. He doesn’t leave to go sleep in the other room, or even on the floor. He stays right there with his arm still around you, his body anchoring you into reality.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks softly, his voice nothing like what it was a couple hours ago. His question is genuine though, he knows you’re a strong woman, and that you always get back up.

“Yeah,” you murmur quietly, fighting to keep your eyes open. You’re exhausted after everything that went down tonight of course. “I am now.”

“Good,” he says, a small smile on his lips again, like he doesn’t want to admit to himself you have that effect on him. “Cuz I’m not letting you go anywhere for a while. You’re stuck with me.”

You grin slightly, exhaustion wearing you out. You move just enough to look up at him, and for the first time, you don’t feel the need to pretend to be something you’re not. You let him see you how you really are- hurt and tired.

“Either way,” you whisper, letting your eyes close slowly, “I still think I’m pretty good at being in charge.”

A gentle huff of laughter leaves Franks lips, and he brushes a lock of your hair back from your face, moving it behind your ear carefully. “Okay baby,” he murmurs, amused by your stubbornness. “You can be the boss tomorrow. Just let me take care of you tonight. Deal?”

You nod, eyes already drifted shut, feeling safe with the knowledge that you don’t have to wear your armor anymore. Not here, with Frank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Push her away you bastard. Save her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Frank, it’s okay-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been the same when it’s came to birthdays. He usually doesn’t want anything, he never causes a fuss; and in fact, he tries to avoid mentioning it all together. Of course when you started getting closer to him, you opposed to this. You told him you’re his ‘friend’ and you’re allowed, even obligated to surprise him every once in a while. Birthdays are supposed to feel special, even if he pretends not to care about them.

Of course, he thought the whole idea was ridiculous. So every time you’d mention it, he’d shrug and give you that familiar look, then say something like, “Y’know me, as long as I got you,” with that stupid grin of his that you absoloutely adore. You never fought him on it, just rolled your eyes and tried not to smile too much, muttering “Whatever, old man.”

But this year you wanted things to be a little different. Not anything over the top or dramatic like some huge surprise party, but a small gesture to show him that you love and value him. Just something to show him you’re grateful you have him, to spend another year by his side. Something intimate for the two of you. Candles, wine. Something like a picnic.

You wake up on and stretch, the morning light filtering softly through the curtains. After about half a second of consciousness, you realise it’s the day- Joel’s birthday, and the evening you’ve got planned for him is running through your head. You scramble out of bed, hastily flattening your sheets down and moving quickly to get dressed. Yes, you told yourself you won’t make today a big deal, but you can’t exactly help it, he never lets you do stuff like this.

Truth is, he doesn’t even know, so he couldn’t have stopped you either way. You open your drawers and throw on a little white dress, then start doing your makeup quickly. You can’t help but smile in excitement. Once you’ve puckered your lips up to put on some gloss, then unrolled your hair from those shitty rollers that do more harm than good, you start putting on your shoes.

Your eyes flick to the mirror to have a double take, and once you’re sure you’re ready, you grab your car keys and head outside the door. The drive to the shops is quick, you nod your head to the radio and tap your fingers on the steering wheel. The whole time there’s a feeling of warmth and excitement engulfing you. Eventually, you get to your first stop and park your car outside, getting on with the things you need to buy.

Once you’re done with the first shop, you get back in the car, tightening your seatbelt and starting to move through your list with a quiet smile.

At the bakery you pick up a fresh loaf of bread and a few croissants. In the supermarket you grab these gorgeous strawberries, his favourite herby cheese, and some olives. You tick off everything mentally, then shrug and run back to the aisle you just skipped. You grab a bottle of red wine, then run over and pick up some brownies.

Might aswell.

The last stop is the florist, where you get a small bouquet of white lilies and pink roses. Everything fits neatly into your tote bag once your list is complete. You load it into your trunk and drive home, already picturing the peaceful setup under the tree in your back garden. Back home, you unpack everything onto the kitchen counter, keeping it all neat and simple.

After a little while of humming along to the music in your headphones while you set everything up, you take a step back and admire the little picnic in your garden. You can’t help but crack a proud smile at yourself, for being able to actually pull this off.

You and Joel are a little complicated, you’re not together but you’re also not not together? After the outbreak, after meeting in Jackson, you established this strange relationship. He’s yours, and you’re his and you both know it, but neither of you have admitted it, whether because you’re scared or for some other unknown reasons. He runs errands for you, he helps you on patrols, he calls you baby. But for some reason or the other, you haven’t named what it is between you yet. You haven’t even had sex yet.

Joel arrives at your door eventually, and once you open the door with your glowing eyes and big smile, he knows something’s up. He sighs in acceptance as you pull him in, shutting the door behind him. “Baby-” he starts, hands on his hips in protest. You just wave your hand in his face, like you’re not willing to argue on this, then pull out a thin piece of fabric and hold it up to him.

“Turn around then” you giggle, and he has no choice but to do as you say. You stand on your tiptoes while you tie the blindfold around his eyes, before pressing a shy kiss to the nape of his neck, which is dusted with silver hairs. You pat him on the shoulder to say you’re done, and he straightens up with an amused grin, letting you guide him.

“Lord,” Joel chuckles, shaking his head as you drag him through the house, a blindfold over his eyes. You giggle, holding his arm tight, guiding his broad figure around tables and chairs to get to the glass double doors in your kitchen, the ones that lead to the back garden. “Baby I’m gonna trip,” he laughs, allowing you to push and shove him in the right direction.

“Shh you party pooper, we’re here” you pout, halting at the door, tugging at his sleeve to stop him from walking into the door, but probably a little too late.

“Ah shit” hisses Joel, rubbing his nose that just collided with the door. He steps back cautiously, a hand still over his face as he groans softly.

You clasp your hands over your mouth to stop yourself from bursting into laughter and say “Shit, I’m so sorry Joel,” as you choke through giggles. He shakes his head, just happy he can hear that sweet laugh of yours.

“That’s alright, can I take this stupid thing off my eyes now?” he grumbles as you watch him frown. You sigh, tugging on the sliding door to your garden.

“Okay, step” you instruct him, and he takes a wobbly step over the door. You laugh softly and tell him, “Yeah, whatever, you can take it off now” as he fumbles with the fabric and eventually pulls it off.

Joel blinks against the soft twilight that has wrapped the backyard in gentle shades of purple and gold. His eyes adjust slowly, landing on the corner you’ve created under the old oak tree. The stripy blanket lies on the grass, anchored by a few stones you’d gathered earlier. At the center, a jar holds the bouquet of lilies and roses you’d picked out for him, their petals releasing a sweet fragrance into the evening air.

Arranged around it are the fresh loaf of crusty bread, the golden croissants, and the bowl of glistening strawberries you’d bought. He lets his lips form a small smile when he sees the wedge of that specific cheese you know he likes, along with those fudgy brownies. The bottle of red wine sits beside two simple glasses, with the string lights you’d draped overhead now flickering in their reflection.

He stands motionless for a long moment, his broad frame silhouetted against the house. One large hand rises to rub the back of his neck, a gesture he has a habit of making when he’s caught off guard by affection. “What is all this?” His voice comes out low and gravelly, laced with that familiar mix of protest and underlying warmth.

You feel a rush of nervous excitement but step forward anyway, your white dress swishing softly around your legs. “Happy birthday, Joel. It’s not anything crazy or over the top. Just something small for- us. I really wanted tonight to be special for you.”

He exhales a long breath, shaking his head slowly, though the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, darlin’. I told you before—I don’t need fussin’ over. As long as I’ve got you, that’s enough.”

“I know you said that,” you reply gently, reaching out to take his hand. His palm is warm, rough from years of work, and his fingers close around yours without hesitation. “But I wanted to do it anyway. You deserve it- even if you say birthdays don’t matter.” Your eyes flick up to his softly as you ask, “Come on, sit with me?”

Joel holds your gaze for a beat, those deep brown eyes searching your face as if looking for a way out. Finding none, he nods with a fond sigh. “Alright. You win this one, bossy.”

You lead him across the grass to the blanket, watching with affection as he lowers himself down. His knees give a faint creak in protest, and he stretches his legs out in front of him, one boot heel digging slightly into the ground at the edge of the blanket. You settle beside him, smoothing your dress over your thighs, and reach for the wine. The cork releases with a satisfying pop, and you pour two glasses for you both, the rich aroma of berries filling the air between you as you hand him one.

You sit for a while, quiet and comfortable. You tear off chunks of the bread, spreading them generously with the cheese before offering bites to him. He accepts each one with a soft grunt of appreciation, his eyes lingering on your face more than on the food. You pop a strawberry into his mouth next, the juice staining his lower lip a faint crimson. Leaning in without thinking, you kiss it away, tasting the bright sweetness mingled with the salt of his skin.

“You’re spoilin’ me awful tonight,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you, his expression softer than usual.

“Good,” you whisper back, smiling. “You work so hard all the time, Joel. You take care of everyone- let me take care of you for once.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling in his chest like distant thunder, and takes a slow sip of wine. From there, the conversation unfolds naturally, like it always does between you two. You tell him about your day in more detail- the quick drive with the radio playing his favorite old country songs, and the way the bakery lady had smiled knowingly when you mentioned it was for a special occasion.

He tells you snippets about his own day, about the young apprentice who nearly crushed his thumb off, and some more talk about contracting and buildings and bricks. You love listening to him talk about his day, and you watch him with love as he speaks, barely hanging on to the words he’s saying. His shoulders loosen visibly with each passing minute, the tension he permanently carries easing under your company.

As the sky shifts fully from twilight to dark blue, and the stars begin to show, you scoot closer to him until your knee rests warmly against his thigh. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with intimacy and the kind of quiet understanding that only comes from deep love. Joel sets his glass down carefully on the grass and turns toward you, one big hand coming to rest on your waist, thumb tracing lazy circles through the thin fabric of your dress.

“Thank you,” he says after a while, his voice sincere and a little rough around the edges. “For all of this- the food, the flowers, the effort. Didn’t expect nothin’ like it, but it means more to me than I can explain baby.”

Your heart swells, pressing against your ribs. Baby. Unable to help yourself, you reach up and cup his stubbled cheek, feeling the familiar rasp under your palm, and before you know it, the words are slipping off of your tongue like honey. “I love you, Joel. So much.”

The words settle between you like a gentle spark. He goes completely still, his eyes widening slightly as they lock onto yours. Even though you’ve exchanged sweet words before, something about the care you put into this, the stars above and the vulnerability of the setting makes “I love you” land heavier. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“Yeah?” he breathes, the single word cracking with raw emotion. In the next instant, his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you onto his lap with that effortless strength that always makes your breath catch. You settle across his thick thighs, your dress riding up slightly as his hands anchor firmly on your hips, holding you close like you’re something precious and fragile. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply the scent of your skin, the faint floral notes of your perfume and the summer night air that clings to your locks.

“God, I love you too,” he murmurs, the words vibrating warmly against your collarbone. “So damn much it scares me sometimes. Don’ know what I did to deserve you baby.”

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers sliding into the silver curls at the nape of his neck, holding him just as tightly. His embrace grounds you, the steady beat of his heart thumping against yours. You stay like that for what feels like a long while, wrapped up in each others arms under the old tree. The string lights cast a soft golden glow over his shoulders as the faint breeze carries the sweet scent of the roses in the air.

Eventually, Joel shifts beneath you. He leans back a little, tilting his head upward to gaze at the sky. The constellations are clear tonight, scattered like diamonds across the dark canvas that’s the sky. His expression changes subtly- something distant and aching flickers across his weathered features as his eyes trace the familiar patterns. You watch him quietly, sensing the difference in his mood.

“Sarah used to love nights like this,” he says softly, almost to himself at first. “She’d bother me every night to take her outside with this little plastic telescope she’d saved up for. Knew all the constellations by heart- Orion’s Belt and shit.” His voice thickens noticeably, cracking with the weight of memory. “She loved the stars. So much. I’d forgotten how much I missed seein’ them through her eyes.”

You can see his eyes beginning to glisten as the fairy lights twinkle off them. What pains you is the fact that you know how hard he is on himself, how he’s trying so hard not to cry. Your own eyes sting in response, and so you cup his face gently with both of your hands, thumbs brushing tenderly over his jaw.

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice full of care. He doesn’t pull away, but his jaw clenches tightly, fighting against the rising tide. His broad shoulders tremble once, then again. You rub the nape of his neck gently to soothe him, fingers meeting his soft curls as your hands move up and down. “It’s okay Joel” you murmur softly, your breath warm against his skin. “You don’t have to hold it all in.”

He shakes his head softly, like he’s convincing himself more than anyone that he’s okay. “I’m fine, I just- I missed her y’know?” he asks, and his voice cracks. His eyes are threatening to let tears out, and he still doesn’t want to admit he’s in pain.

You can’t watch him hide from the world like this- hide from you. Gently, you move your hands to cup his face in both sides and whisper to him, “Joel, I’m here, just let it out.” At that, a teardrop rolls down his face as he blinks it away, but even then he’s shaking his head, wiping at his eyes nonchalantly. “Please Joel.” you whisper as you look into his brown eyes.

Finally, the dam breaks in quiet waves. His arms tighten around your waist as deep sobs roll through his chest, the grief buried for years finding release in the safety of this moment. You hold him through every croak, your fingers gentle and comforting in his hair, the other hand rubbing his back. He presses his face into your chest, his breath hot and uneven against you. Between his whimpers, you whisper reassuringly to him: “I’m right here,” and “You can talk to me,” pouring every ounce of gentleness you can into the words so he feels it.

The minutes stretch out, the quiet sounds of his crying blending with the rustle of leaves overhead. When the sobs gradually ease into shaky, uneven breaths, he finally lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening with grief, but there’s a clearer, lighter look in them now, as if a burden he’s been carrying has shifted ever so slightly.

“I don’t deserve any of this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Don’t deserve you. Not after all the ways I’ve failed.” You shake your head firmly but lovingly, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose, then each of his damp eyelids reverently. “I ain’t worthy of shit.”

Your lips brush softly over his wet eyelashes, over the last traces of his tears. “You do deserve this, Joel. You’re worthy of birthdays and picnics and stars and-” you pause to breath, exasperated. “You deserve the world baby, and I love you with everything in me.” You swipe your palms across his cheeks, gently drying the glistening trails that were his tears.

He lets out a shaky exhale and rests his forehead against yours. The air between your bodies feels heavy with everything you’ve shared- grief, comfort, love. Your mouths meet in a slow, lingering kiss that begins tender and reverent, full of all the things you haven’t managed to say yet. His lips are warm and slightly salty, tasting like tears.

Gradually, the kiss deepens, and his tongue brushes yours with need as his hands slide down your back, settling firmly on your hips and pulling you even closer against him. Your chest is pressed to his as he holds you, both muscular arms firm around you, covering you like a shield. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your skin.

When you finally pull back to part for air, foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling, Joel’s voice drops to a rough, but soft whisper that sends a shiver right down your spine. “Let me make love to you, baby.” he asks, eyebrows furrowed like he needs it.

“Yes,” you breathe immediately, your heart pounding hard. “I want you Joel.”

He captures your mouth again in an urgent kiss, his hands moving with purpose. With careful strength, he eases you back onto the blanket, the cool grass beneath you having a gentle contrast to the heat building between you. He hovers above you, his eyes shining with nothing but love. His calloused fingers trace the thin straps of your white dress, slipping them slowly down your shoulders one by one. He follows the path with his mouth, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone and the swell of your breasts until he tugs the fabric lower, and you’re bare to the cool night air.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs reverently, his mouth pressing wet kisses onto one of your breasts. His tongue licks softly, teasing and giving you attention until you arch up into him with a soft, needy moan. Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as he gives the other breast the same devoted treatment- sucking gently, just enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

His free hand wanders lower, bunching the dress at your waist before lifting your hips to pull the garment off completely over your head, along with slipping your underwear down your legs. The cool breeze kisses your hot skin, but his body quickly chases it away as he settles his broad shoulders between your parted thighs.

He kisses a slow, worshipping trail down your body, to your stomach, your hips, the sensitive crease where your thighs meets where you need him most. When his mouth finally reaches your core, you gasp sharply at the first touch. He licks a long stripe up your folds, humming deeply in satisfaction at your taste. “So sweet f’me,” he groans softly, the vibration sending pleasure through you. He closes his eyes and lets out a soft groan, yearning for you. It’s like there’s nothing he needs more in this world than you- nowhere else he’d rather be than between your thighs.

His eyes meet yours, and without losing eye contact, he moves his hand until two thick fingers tap against your entrance, like he’s asking for permission. You nod, eyebrows knitted together in desperation, and gently, he presses them inside you, moving them deeper excruciatingly slowly. His own mouth falls open in awe, and he looks back up to watch you, curling his digits expertly to stroke your sensitive spot.

“Joel- oh, fuck,” you whimper, your hips bucking up instinctively into his face. His lips seal around your clit as he watches your euphoric expression, and he sucks with perfect, gentle pressure. He holds you steady with one powerful arm across your waist, sleeves rolled up, showing the dusting of grey hair across his forearm.

“That’s its dollface, just feel it,”His fingers pumping in a steady rhythm as his tongue works relentlessly faster. Pleasure coils tighter and hotter in your belly with every movement of his fingers.

He adds a third finger, stretching you impossibly while his mouth doesn’t move, like his mission is to make you break. Before you know it, your legs feel weak. “Ah fuck, Joel please-” you moan, hips shaking around his head.

All he does is whisper “Shh, I got you.” into your heat, pushing your leg down firmer with his free arm. “Let go f’me sweetheart.” His voice is low, coaxing you to let go.

Your first orgasm hits you intensely- walls clenching hard around his fingers while you cry out his name, your thighs trembling around his head. “Good girl,” he whispers into you. He doesn’t stop, easing the high with soft kitten licks through every wave until you’re shuddering, only moving back to give your nub a gentle kiss.

He crawls back up your body, pressing his lips to yours so you can taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into it, hands fumbling at his chest to get off his shirt. He helps you, pulling it off to reveal his broad, defined chest- covered with scars you know the stories of, and a trail of light hair leading downward.

Your palms roam over his chest greedily, and you can feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your hand. He unbuckles his belt quickly, pushing down his jeans and boxers together to reveal his heavy cock. It stands flushed and hard and you can’t help it when your lips part in desperation, seeing him already glistening. You wrap your soft hand around him, stroking slowly with your thumb swirling over the sensitive tip until he groans like he’s in pain, his hips twitching forward into your grip.

“Fuck baby, I ain’t gonna last,” he groans, voice strained with need as he hovers over you.

You smile up at him teasingly, guiding the glistening head of his cock to your slick entrance. He lowers himself, following through with it. “Joel, I need you, please.” you beg.

He locks at you, eyes full of emotion. “Look at me, darlin’.” As your gazes hold, he asks gently, “Are you sure you want this?” Your breath hitches and you nod your head desperately. His heart aches at your visible need. Finally, he takes hold of his throbbing length. “Alright, I gotcha sweetheart,” he says understandingly, “let me take care of you.” With extreme care, he starts to push in slowly, inch by thick inch.

He stretches you open with that burning fullness and all you can do is moan. You feel like he’s about to tear you apart. A low groan tears from deep in his throat as he bottoms out, filling you entirely. For a long, breathless moment he stays there, forehead pressed to yours, your hot breaths mingling. “I love you,” he whispers weakly. “So fuckin’ much.”

He begins to move, back snd forth while his tip consistently hits that sensitive spot. The blanket beneath you bunches beneath you with the power of each snap of his hips. You cling desperately to his back, nails clawing at his shoulders as waves of pleasure spark up your spine. He fucks you like it’s his job, and keeps going, his hand trailing to your face, the other braced onto your side to keep himself up. “Joel” you whine desperately, “I need you- I need more.”

The stars shine silently overhead, the cool night breeze a contrasting with the wet heat between you, where your bodies join. Joel bucks his hips into you purposefully, the hand on your face moving to your mouth.

“Look at me,” he rasps again, voice rough. You obey, locking eyes as he thrusts, faster. The raw emotion in his gaze tightens something deep in your chest. He hooks his thumb into your mouth, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he fucks you. “That’s it baby, suck.”You close your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue around the digit as the rhythm of his thrusts grow more urgent. The obscene sound of skin slapping on skin fills the night air, mixing with your moans and whines.

Suddenly, he shifts angles, hooking one of your legs higher over his hip. The new position lets him hit that spot inside you, making you moan with devastating pleasure. Your walls flutter around his length, releasing slick as he moves in and out.

“Attagirl,” he encourages through gritted teeth, a bead of sweat formed on his brow. “Let go while I’m deep inside you baby,”

You shatter again with a broken cry, but around his dick this time. Joel lets go of a few strained curses, groaning as his thrusts become irregular while he chases his own peak. He bucks his hips into you a few more times, his thrusts powerful and deep and then buries himself as far as possible, closing his eyes desperately. “Fuck- I’m gonna-” he croaks, hips faltering as he repeats your name over and over again desperately. “Baby- you feel too good, please-” he begs.

You whimper, overwhelmingly full with his final deep thrusts, and noticing that he’s close, finally say, “Mhm, let go inside me.” At that, noises you’ve never heard from him escape his lips, and he breaks- spilling hot and thick cum inside you with a long, groan of your name. His hips twitch through the aftershocks, filling you completely as he kneads one of your breasts, desperate for anything to hold on to.

He collapses carefully over you, supporting his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you while he tucks his face into the curve of your neck. You stroke his back in lazy circles as you both come down from your high, hearts pounding together in sync. After a few minutes, he rolls onto his side, pulling you flush against his chest.

His fingers trace affectionate patterns along your spine while you nuzzle your face against himc, pressing soft kisses to his collarbone and shoulder. “Best damn birthday I’ve ever had,” he murmurs eventually, his voice sleepy as his hands move down to rest on the swell of your ass.

You smile against his warm skin. “We’re not even done yet, old man.”He lets out a soft, rumbling chuckle that vibrates through both of you as hands begin to wander again. One hand rests on your ass, the other reaching to hold your breast and teasing the nipple until it peaks under his thumb.

Fresh heat stirs low in your belly, after you’d thought it impossible considering how hard he just fucked you. You tease him right back though, nipping at his jawline, biting and licking at his stubble. Soon he’s helping you sit up on him while he lays back. You sink onto him with a relieved sigh, pressing both hands to his chest to ground yourself. This round is slower and more loving, his hands maps every inch of you reverently: the dip of your waist, the valley between your breasts. When you begin grinding, he praises you, knowing it’s what you need right now. “That’s it sweet girl, just like that.” he coos, letting you take the lead and give yourself the pleasure you need.

Much later, when the night air turns cooler and the sky is dark, Joel gathers you into his arms lovingly and carries you inside the house, with your legs wrapped securely around his waist. In the bedroom, he lays you down on the bed with gentle care, like you’re an angel laying beneath him. The third time is lazy and unhurried. Your bodies move in perfect, familiar rhythm, fingers intertwined, soft gasps filling the quiet darkness. It’s like you’re savouring the pleasure, wanting it to last forever as you gasp breathlessly against eachother mouths.

You eventually fall asleep wrapped in his arms, his steady heartbeat like a lullaby against your ear. The smell of vanilla, sex and him linger warmly on your skin as you lay, intertwined together.

When morning light spills through the curtains the next day, you open your eyes to find Joel propped on one elbow, watching you with lovingly, a seriousness in his gaze. His fingers trace lazy circles along your cheek and jaw, his expression relaxed, unlike anything you’ve seen in a long time.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, meaningful. “For last night. For seein’ all of me- the good and bad parts. For lovin’ me anyway.”

You lean up to kiss him, sweet and full of promise. “Always, Joel. Happy birthday.”

Considering you’re already on his doorstep like an idiot, with a pie in your hands and a bullshit excuse ready to go, you figure there’s not that much more to lose. You steady the pie against your hip, smoothing down your hair with your thin fingers. You take a deep breath before hesitantly rapping your knuckles against the door.

knock, knock, knock.

You hold the pie steady with both hands again, heart pattering in anticipation. Truthfully, you’re thinking about turning around and calling it a day, but you hear a gruff, “yeah, yeah, I’m comin’, hang on.” and then shuffling behind the door. Before you know it, the door swings backwards, and the man who’s been living in your head the past few nights is stood there.

He hooks a hand above the doorframe, like he’s bigger than the frame itself, and nods at you, that same polite, friendly expression on his face. “Hey,” he says, “Everything okay sweetheart?” His gaze flicks over your body before settling on the pie in your hands, his eyebrows tilted slightly in confusion.

There’s a second where you just stare at him. Up close, he looks exactly the same as always, that worn flannel, those rough hands. The kind of man everyone on the street waves to. The kind of man whose house you definitely don’t show up to unannounced at eight thirty. You shift the pie against your hip. “Uhm, I made too much pie.” you say quickly. One of his eyebrow lift as he asks, “That right?” His tone isn’t suspicious, but there’s clearly confusion beneath it. Like he’s trying to figure out why this girl from a street down is standing on his porch.

“Yeah, and it’s um, cherry,” you add, because apparently that helps. His mouth twitches amusedly. “Well,” he says slowly, “that explains absolutely nothing.” Heat creeps into your face and you start blabbering, “I just thought maybe-” You stop yourself. “Well my aunt said you live alone- and I felt bad- and so I had extra pie and then-”. Waving around his hand, he cuts you off and asks,“Your aunt gossips about me?” The second you spoke, you wish you could reverse it. “Well yeah, but she gossips about everyone” you say nervously, and that gets a chuckle out of him.

The porch light hums softly overhead, and suddenly, you become hyperaware of everything, the cold night air, the warmth of the pie bleeding through its tin and the fact that he’s looking at you like he still hasn’t quite figured out what this visit it. He watches you carefully, thinking about his choice of words and finally nods his head at his door, “Alright sweetie, you better come in then, it’s freezing out.”

He moves to the side to let you step inside, then shuts the door behind you with a click. By natural instinct, you begin observing everything you see. You scan his hallway with your eyes; his house is clean, it has this warm, comfy feel, and- is that a plant? Not that you’ve been thinking about Frank (well?), but you wouldn’t have thought he’s a plant guy.

You smile to yourself as he leads you into his living room, walking infront of you. As he walks past his rustic timber table, he taps his fingers on it gently, like it’s an old friend. “You can put the pie here sweetheart”, he says gently, in a paternal tone. You do as he suggests, placing the warm tin down onto the table and stay stood up, scratching the back of your leg with your other foot.

He watches you attentively, clearly wondering why you’re so nervous when you were the one who showed up at his door. “You alright?” he asks, tilting his head forward slightly. You glance up at him, startled out of your thoughts. “Oh- yeah, sorry,” you mutter with an awkward smile. He just shakes his head, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips as he heads toward the kitchen, like you’re some unintentionally hilarious kid amusing him without even trying.

For some reason, that gets under your skin, the idea that he might see you as childish, and you have to physically stop yourself from frowning as he walks back. “Plates,” he announces proudly, holding one in each hand like a trophy. You smile like you’re in pain- “Plates,” you repeat dryly, lifting your brows sarcastically.

Frank sets the dishes down on the table, even pulling out a chair for you before turning back with a thoughtful look. “Oh, want anything to drink?” he asks, and honestly, you’re still intimidated by him and the fact you’re actually here. “Uhm, sure,” you say shyly, as you sit down in the chair he pulled out for you, trying to seem a little more outgoing. He shrugs lightly, “What do you want sweetheart? I’ve got milk, uhm- tea if you want,” he says, gazing off at the ceiling in concentration while he thinks.

You nod along as he speaks, his voice smooth as the polished timber table between you. “Have you got any whiskey?” you ask quietly, looking up at his manly figure. He frowns immediately. “Ain’tcha a little young for that?” he asks, perplexed. You glare at him with a sigh. “You’re so not funny,” you mutter, scooting your chair closer to the table to get comfortable.

He scans his eyes up and down your figure. “I’m serious; besides, whiskey with pie?” he asks with a grimace on his face. His hands are on his hips as he speaks, and you can’t help but scan your eyes over his muscles, over his broad chest pulling on the fabric of his shirt, like it’s about to tear any minute. “Oh, I don’t want any, I don’t even like cherries that much.” you shrug, running a finger around the edge of your empty plate.

He raises an eyebrow, tracing his tongue over his teeth as he watches you curiously. “What? It’s too sweet.” you protest, wondering why it’s a big deal. His eyes flicker over you, and suddenly the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. “Huh, you made too much of a pie you don’t even like?”

Your lips part to answer him but you realise you’re stuck. His stupid smirk only gets wider when you don’t say anything, and he folds his arms across his chest. “Right then.” he says softly. You look down at your plate, suddenly very interested in the lack of food on it. “I just thought you might want some.” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows again and asks, “Even though you don’t like it?” he asks. You finally look at him again, “Well- I can bake things I don’t like.” you shoot back quickly. He studies you for a second too long, eyes narrowed with a quiet amusement, then huffs out a laugh through his nose. “Alright then.”

The room goes quiet after that, hot and awkward in a way that makes your stomach twist. You pray he doesn’t think you’re some weirdo who knocks on peoples doors with pies. God, you’re losing your mind. He glances between you and the untouched pie sitting on the table before turning around and leaving the room, his footsteps hushing as he walks away. You throw your head in your hands- you’ve actually made him walk away.

After a moment, he enters the room again with two forks in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. He places the glass onto the table with a clink. “Well, if I’m gonna eat pie from some kid who accidentally made too much, I’d hope it’s safe.” He slides one of the forks across the table toward you, and you reluctantly pick it up. He sees your hesitation and tilts his head slightly, leaning onto the table with his arms holding his weight as he stands. “You really don’t like cherries?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, muttering, “Not really,” and somehow his face softens. He nods, pulling a chair out and sitting down, “That’s alright sweetheart.” He pulls the dish towards himself, lifting up his fork. His eyes flicker to yours for a moment before he cuts himself a piece, carefully moving it to his plate. Your eyes can’t peel away from his every move, and he can tell. Slowly, he lifts his fork to his mouth and takes a bite of your pie. He nods as he chews, eyes closing for a moment. Of course, you can’t help but smile proudly, he actually likes it. He likes the pie that you made.

Once he’s finished the first bite, he looks up at you, wagging a finger. “Tell you what, you sure can make a pie kid.” he says appreciatively, taking another bite. “Thank you,” you reply, the tips of your ears flushing red. He notices it course, but quietly continues eating his pie. You take the glass of milk on the table and raise it to your lips, just to give yourself something to do. Eventually, he finishes his pie, and slides the fork down onto his plate. He doesn’t let go of it straight away though, his eyes lifting back to yours instead. “So,” he says slowly, “You gonna tell me why you actually came here, or are we sticking to the pie story?”

You open your mouth, then shut it again when you realise you have no follow up lie prepared. Heat crawls up your neck and he catches it immediately. “Is it so hard to believe I wanted to do something nice for a neighbour?” you ask defensively, the room suddenly feeling really hot.

He looks over to your almost full glass of milk and pulls it across the table, stopping it in front of himself. His eyes flick over your lipgloss imprint on the rim of the glass, and he lifts it to his lips, taking a painfully slow sip. He intimidates you, but for some reason you can’t look away from him. Slowly, he swipes his thumb over his lip, now tacky with your lipgloss. You swear your stomach physically flips at that.

With a low grin to himself, he stands up, stacking the dishes and glass onto each other. He gives a small nod to you and turns to leave the room again, presumably taking the dishes to the kitchen. You hear the rushing of water and the clinking of dishes. He’s really washing up right now? When there’s literally someone at his house?

You roll your eyes, frustrated at yourself more than him. You had one chance and now you’ve blown it. You’re gonna go home and live with the fact that tonight will haunt you for the rest of your life, and he’s gonna forget about you next month. Mention you on dates, simply remembering you as that loser kid who showed up to his door with a sad cherry pie.

You sit at the table, sulking about the past twenty minutes and eventually, you hear Frank’s footsteps getting gradually louder as he walks back into the room. He’s rolling his sleeves back down when you catch his eye. “Oh, you still here?” he asks casually, like your presence isn’t all that important to him. You frown confusedly as you scoot your chair back to stand up and say, “Well, where else would I be?” While he watches you move, he shrugs indifferently, leaning onto the wall behind him. That boils your blood. “Thought you’d have gone.” he says coolly. You bite the inside of your cheek, looking for a smart answer, but you can’t find one.

The thing is, he’s right. You should be gone now, because it’s not like you’re friends or anything? You just brought a pie and a stupid excuse to his house, you don’t even have a reason to stay.

The longer the silence drags on, the more obvious it becomes that Frank’s right. You should probably leave. He’s already had some pie, your excuse for coming over was bullshit to begin with, and now you’re just hovering in his living room looking ridiculous. Frank watches the thought settle over you and, unlike before, the careless expression on his face softens slightly around the edges.

“Hey,” he says, quieter this time, like he can tell you’re starting to feel embarrassed. “I’m messing with you.” You glance up at him uncertainly. He’s still leaning against the wall, relaxed as ever, but there’s something steadier in his expression now, less amused and more patient. “You get embarrassed too easily sweetheart,” he says softly, observing your face. “That’s not my fault,” you mutter, barely making eye contact.

A small laugh leaves him at that, low and easy. “Nah, I guess it isn’t.” Your eyes drift towards the half eaten pie on the table and your face warms all over again. “You didn’t have to eat it, you know.” you say quietly, cringing at yourself. “Course I did.” He shrugs like it’s obvious. “You brought it all the way here, and I couldn’t refuse it from a sweet girl like you.” he says simply. You shrug, insides churning with heat.

You feel like you’re losing your mind, so you cross your feet to give yourself something to do. “It was a stupid idea.” you breathe out. Frank nods, his eyes not leaving your turned down face. “Maybe yeah,” he admits, “but it was nice.” The words catch you off guard because he says them so simply, and yet you still can’t understand what he means.

He notices the way you go quiet after that and shakes his head faintly, pushing himself off the wall. “Stop hovering around like you’re about to get told off.” he sighs, gesturing his head to the chair you previously abandoned. You hesitate before sitting back down slowly, and he watches you for a second with that same knowing look he’s had all night. “You know,” he says casually, “you could’ve just said you wanted to stay.” Immediately, you look down at your hands, your body flooded with embarrassment. “I didn’t know if you wanted me here.” you mutter, like it’s hard to speak. Frank’s expression shifts at that, softer now in a way that makes your chest ache a little. “Kid,” he says, almost amused, “if I wanted you gone, you’d know.”

You feel like you’re going insane to be honest. Only now, you’re realising what a dumb idea it was to come to his house in the first place. He probably couldn’t care less about your crush on him if he found out, he thinks of you as some ‘kid’ anyways. But you’re not, and you’re desperate to prove it to him. Your mind races at a million miles a second, desperately thinking of something to say to end this awkward moment. But it’s not your words that break the silence. Your ears perk up like a puppy when you hear his deep, low voice. “You wanna tell me why you’re really here darlin’?” he asks, trying to coax the answer out of you.

You should’ve known what you got yourself into when you tapped on his door. When you entered his house with your little cherry pie. Heat grows at the bottom of your stomach, and you’re desperate to hear more of his low, manly drawl.

He tips his head to the side, and you lose all feelings in your legs. “I’m, well- I wanted to,” you begin, your mouth suddenly filled with dust. Frank just smirks that low, teasing smirk and whispers, “There’s nothing to be scared of sweetie, just tell me the truth.” You swear he’s doing it on purpose, he has to know the effect he has on you, especially when it’s so clear on your face.

“Hm?” he taunts, stepping towards you slightly, and your breath catches in your throat. There’s still a metre between you, but your skin is actually radiating heat now. “Well I just wanted to come and see you.” you choke out, eyes glued to the floor. “Hey,” he says, voice barely a whisper, “look at me when you’re speaking.” The way he says it makes your heart stop, and not because he says it in a patronising way, but because it’s like he’s teaching. Like he cares about you, like he wants the best for you.

Your eyes slowly unstick from the floor, moving up to meet his and he cracks a smile. “Alright good,” he nods, his arms crossed over his chest. Your stomach flips at his authoritative tone when he asks, “Why’d you wanna come see me then?” You’ve already got yourself into this shit, you think, so you might aswell tell the truth. “I thought you were handsome,” you shrug, “I wanted to get to know you a little- everyone talks about you.” you say bluntly, heart pounding in your chest at your own directness.

“S’that so?” he smiles, stepping away, walking towards his tv, which has a bottle of some fancy wine and a half empty glass of it placed besides it. You watch him grasp the bottle and lift it to his face. He huffs a short laugh through his nose and says, “That’s funny.” but you assume it can’t be anything that amusing.

He places the bottle back down while his back is to you, and picks the glass up like a feather, before raising it to his lips. You’re still wondering what he’s chuckling about? He turns back to look at you, the distance between you much wider now, while taking slow sips of the wine, like he’s choosing the words that are gonna leave his mouth very carefully.

His eyes flick over to the pie on the table for a second before he looks back at you. “Could’ve just knocked on the door, honey.” he says, stepping back towards you. You roll your eyes immediately to hide how badly he affects you, and of course he notices it. You’re just praying he can’t see you pressing your thighs together beneath the table. But he just says calmly, “You didn’t have to make the pie excuse up.”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, it sounds so much sillier now that the words are leaving his lips. Your gaze meets his as you smile, and his heart warms. “You’re a pretty girl,” he whispers, returning your smile as he sips his wine. You blush at his words, but you can tell there’s a ‘however’ incoming. He lowers the glass down, parting his mouth to talk. “But I’m way too old for you sweetheart.” he breathes out. Slowly, you shake your head in protest. “You can’t just decide that for me.” you say, finding your voice. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, not used to you being opinionated before. He likes it.

“Yeah?” he asks. “I’m not the boys your age sweetheart, I don’t do the shit they do.” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I know,” you start, “I’m tired of the boys my age.” you huff, hands holding your head as your elbows rest on the table. He doesn’t answer that, just turns towards a window and keeps taking small sips of that stupid wine. You can’t help but stare at his back, and the muscles of his arms. Imagining what they would look like holding you down. His arm wrapped around your waist, his mouth on your neck, his-

For goodness fucking sake.

You sigh, breaking the silence filling the atmosphere by pushing your chair back with a creak. Frank turns around slowly to see what you’re doing. “Why?” you hear him ask, the atmosphere of the room so thick you could cut it with a knife. “Why what…?” you raise a brow as stand up straight, patting you skirt down.

He doesn’t even say anything, just watches you with narrow eyes and somehow, you’re compelled to walk a few steps across the room and sit on his leather brown L-shaped couch. It’s like he’s challenging you silently, daring you to leave, but of course you won’t give in.

As you slump onto the couch, he takes a couple steps over, finally standing right at your feet. “Why are you tired of boys your own age?” he asks, like he’s genuinely curious. You look up at him, chest suddenly feeling tight. “Hm?” he urges, and you tell him awkwardly, “Well, they’re idiots,” you sigh, “and they don’t make me feel good.” Frank raises his eyebrows, clicking his teeth, as if to say he’s not surprised.

You don’t expect to feel so flustered by telling someone about your love life. It feels like your chest is growing tighter, especially when he asks so casually, “Yeah? They don’t know how to take care of you?” while shaking his head, like they’re commiting crimes.

You shake your head slowly, wishing he would stop talking and actually get on top of you. Your heart is pattering like a drum as he stands in front of you, but what you don’t expect him to do next is crouch down to get level with you. “You ain’t satisfied darlin’?” he coos as he sits eye to eye with you, his voice barely a whisper. You don’t know what to do but shake your head, and that’s what you do.

Your eyes drift away into your lap as he sits there and observes, like he’s never seen someone as small and sweet as you. “Hey,” he breathes out, and your eyes move up to meet his. The heat in your stomach is expanding, moving dangerously lower and Frank orders you plainly, “Open your mouth.”

You obey of course, opening your mouth, waiting patiently for what he’s going to do next. As your soft lips part in anticipation, he lifts his glass of wine to your lips, tilting it forward for you to have a sip. The acidic, earthy taste floods your tastebuds, and you realise why he found the bottle so amusing.

It’s Pinot Noir. And it has strong notes of cherry.

You swallow the wine, your doe eyes never leaving his. Slowly, he raises his hand to your mouth, wiping your lip dry with his calloused thumb. “There,” he says, “because you’re such a big girl and apparently you drink.” Even when he pulls his hand away, your lip burns with the reminder of his touch. He slowly gets back up, pushing his hands on his thighs to stand, and walks to the armchair opposite you. Carefully, he takes a seat, finally placing the glass of wine down onto a coffee table beside him.

“What then, you think I could treat you better, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning forward to brace his elbows against his thighs. The shift in posture does something unbearable to you, the casual spread of his legs and the way he leans in making heat coil low in your stomach. Everything about him is making you wet, and you can’t help it when your breath hitches at him leaning forward like he’s telling you off.

Suddenly you feel far too aware of him, of the weight of his attention fixed entirely on you. When you don’t answer, he tilts his head slightly, his voice firmer this time. “Wanna answer me when I talk to you, hon?”

God, that goes through you. You feel so dirty, but when he talks to you like he’s in charge, you just feel like melting. You nod “Mhm” submissively, but you’re just met with his fixated gaze. “I asked if you think I’d be better than those idiots.” he says calmly, waiting for your answer. You hear him this time, and not wanting to disappoint him, you answer back, “I- yeah. yeah I do” all hesitantly.

He nods slowly, dwelling over your words. “Okay,” he says steadily, dragging out every word, “and what makes you think that?” He frowns with those gorgeous eyes of his, waiting for your answer. “Well, you’re surely more experienced.” you start, and he nods as you speak, showing you he’s listening. “And you’re a gentleman.” you breathe out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Your face flushes as he watches you with that brooding stare.

He lifts his wineglass and drains the last of it in one swallow, setting it down with a soft clink. A sigh slips from him as he turns your words over in his mind. “Well, darling,” he says at last, rubbing a hand over the stubble along his jaw, “I don’t know what to do with you.” You aren’t sure what possesses you then, what loosens the thought from wherever the fuck you’d buried it, but the next words spill from your mouth before you can stop them.

“Whatever you want.”

Suddenly, your mouth feels full of honey, thick and suffocating, as though it’s sealing your lips shut and stealing your ability to speak. You want to apologise, to tell him what you said was stupid and immature, but no matter how hard you try, your mouth refuses to move. You want to run too, but you can’t. The honey is spreading through you, sinking into your muscles, weighing you down from the inside out.

Frank’s expression softens as he says, “Sweetheart I know, but I’m so much older than you.” There’s sympathy in his voice, quiet understanding that makes it seem like he knows exactly what it is you want from him.

Of course he wants it too. There’s nothing he wants more than to fuck you right here, to keep going until you’re a breathless mess beneath him, trembling and begging. The thought alone nearly undoes him. But you deserve better, and he knows it.

With a strained groan, he drags a hand down his face, the conflict written plainly across his features. “Look, you’re young, honey, you should have someone your age.” he says with a weary sigh, shaking his head as though he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

You whine, frustrated. Frustrated that he’s a good man with morals. But that’s not what you need right now. Right now you want to forget everything, to feel nothing beside his rough hands on your skin. “Please.” you sigh, the need between your legs spreading upwards and around. Your tits ache, your thighs ache, your heart aches.

“Darling, you have to understand I’m experienced okay? he sighs, “I don’t want to be taking advantage of you.” You watch him with your big eyes, waiting for him to change his mind, to reconsider it. He throws his head down, rubbing the back of his neck, and you can tell he’s contemplating it.

He leans back again with a low chuckle. “Honey, you’re killing me.” Before you can stop yourself, your thighs press together for the second time that night, a small, instinctive movement. Frank notices immediately. His eyes flick downward, lingering for a moment before lifting back to your face, amusement softening his expression. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs gently, almost pityingly, “you’re aching, ain’tcha?”

Somehow that makes you even wetter. That pitying, condescending tone that laces his every word. You were annoyed earlier that he treats you like a child, yes. But you’re so hot and bothered now, drowning in need that you couldn’t care less. As long as he agrees to fuck you, he can treat you however he wants.

A quiet whimper slips past your lips, and Frank realises how much you need it. There’s a slow change in his expression then, and amusement gives way to something quieter, more curious. “Oh sweetheart,” he chuckles softly, like he’s finally accepted it. You whine, your whole body aching for him, and he leans back on the armchair with a soft creak, beckoning you over with the flick of two of his fingers.

Tentatively, you stand, legs peeling away from the brown leather of his couch with a faint sting. As you take a few small steps toward him, he leans back even further, as if he has all the time in the world, sprawling his legs apart slowly. He shifts his hips, creating a space between his thighs on the couch, and your legs nearly become limp at that basic act.

But god, he’s the epitome of a man. Rugged, handsome, caring.

Frank tilts his head to the side, watching you stand infront of him like a little deer caught in headlights. “Yeah sweetheart?” he asks, adjusting his hips purposely. “Please” you mewl, face screwed up in frustration as you stand in front of him, begging without words. He just smiles at you understandingly and it drives you nuts. How he’s able to be so calm when you’re bursting with need. “Please what?” he coos, “Tell me what you need and I’ll give you it,” he finally breathes out, patting at the space free between his legs.

You want to crawl into his lap, but when you move closer to him, he moves his hands to your hips, guiding you carefully to sit between his legs, with your back to his warm chest. He runs his palms down the length of your arms, prickly with goosebumps. His head is right beside yours as he leans forward, and when you feel his warm breath fanning on your neck, your mind goes blank. “I need you to touch me,” you whine, on the verge of tears from how sensitive you are.

All you can hear is him breathing, and your core aches in desperation and need. Slowly, one of his large hands settle possessively on your thigh, sliding the hem of your skirt up slowly, calloused fingertips tracing the sensitive skin there like he’s got all the time in the world. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling your back flush against his broad chest so you can feel the steady heat of him, the solid muscle beneath his flannel.

You whine, feeling like you’re about to explode if he doesn’t just touch you. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice rough and warm. “Just let me take care of that ache f’you.” The words slip out so naturally it makes your breath hitch, heat flooding your cheeks. His fingers keep traveling higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and finally he turns his head a little, looking for confirmation that you want this.

You whine “mhm” before he even gets the words out, and slowly, his fingers start to rub soft circles on your inner thigh, before silently slipping beneath the thin fabric of your panties. You’re already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and he lets out a quiet, appreciative groan when he feels it.

“Fuck, darlin’. This little pussy’s drippin’ for me already?” he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating past your neck. “Such a needy girl, comin’ over here hopin’ I’d touch you like this.” Suddenly, two thick fingers glide through your slick folds, spreading the wetness, teasing your entrance without pushing them in yet. He circles your clit lazily, applying just enough pressure to make your hips twitch. All the while, he’s watching your face, taking in your every reaction.

You whimper, head falling back against his shoulder, and he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. “That’s it. Let me hear those pretty sounds. You been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you sweetheart?” he coos, voice barely above a low groan. But he’s still not giving you the pleasure you crave- just touching you softly.

Then, he pushes a meaty finger into you, stretching you open until you’re moaning. If his finger is this filling, what would his cock feel like?

A second finger slides into your heat, and he pushes his digits in slowly, feeling you suck him in tightly, inch by inch. He curls them just right and the stretch is perfect- his fingers thick and experienced as he starts moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you gasping. He pumps them steadily and his thumb finds your clit, beginning to rub slick circles while his other hand holds your hip firmly in place, keeping you right there in his lap.

“Goddamn, you’re tight,” he praises, his voice gravelly with lust. “Squeezin’ my fingers so good, sweetheart. Oh, those boys didn’t know what to do with a girl like you.” He curls his thick fingers again, stroking that sensitive spot over and over, and your thighs start to tremble. You can’t take it anymore, his fingers mixed with those dirty words spilling out his mouth. “But I know. I’m gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Just let go f’me.”

As he painfully forces a third finger inside you, your head falls back on his chest. You moan louder, grinding down against his hand and chasing your pleasure. He keeps that same steady pace, whispering filthy praise right against your ear as you become wetter and wetter. “Look at you, ridin’ my fingers so desperately. So wet I can hear it, darlin’.” he whispers into your ear. He knows what he’s doing.

The pressure coils tighter in your belly and heat spreads through your whole body. His thumb words rapidly at you clot and his fingers thrust deeper as he holds onto you, moving them perfectly. “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re close, cum f’me.”

Before you know it, your back arches, breath coming in gasps as the orgasm crashes over you. Pleasure explodes through every nerve, your walls fluttering and squeezing around his thick fingers while he keeps stroking you through it, murmuring low praises the whole time, “That’s it, good girl… just like that.” until you’re shaking and whimpering in his lap, completely shattered.

His fingers stay inside you as the last of your orgasm ripples through you, your walls still fluttering around them. You’re trembling in his lap, head heavy against his shoulder, and he holds you there with one strong arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand continuing with slow, gentle strokes in and out of you, to ease you down from the high.

Fuck. What the hell am I doing?

The thought hits him like a freight train even as his cock strains painfully against his jeans, throbbing at the way your soaked pussy is still gripping his fingers desperately. You’re so damn young and soft and sweet and looking up at him with those trusting eyes like he’s the answer to every ache you’ve ever had. He should stop. He knows he should stop. You deserve someone closer to your own age, some kid who doesn’t have years of rough hands and a lifetime of mistakes behind him.

But God, you feel like heaven. Wet, hot, and so responsive, soaking his palm and making those little whimpering sounds that go straight to his dick.

She came over here with a goddamn cherry pie, for Christ’s sake. She’s barely more than a girl, and here I am knuckle-deep in her like some dirty old man.

His jaw clenches. He slowly pulls his fingers free with a squelch, but your pussy is desperate and so reluctant to let them go. His fingers are glistening with your release as he watches the way you feel so empty once they’re pulled out of you. That sight nearly breaks him right there. He brings his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers clean with a low, involuntary groan, savoring the taste of you- sweet and salty- before the guilt comes back twice as bad.

“Jesus, sweetheart…” he mutters against your hair, voice rough. His free hand strokes soothing circles over your thigh, pushing your skirt back down gently like that small act of modesty could somehow make this better.

She trusted you enough to walk through your door. You’re supposed to be the responsible one here. The adult. Not the guy who fingers his neighbor’s young niece on his armchair after one slice of fucking pie.

You shift in his lap, still breathing hard, pressing back against the obvious bulge in his jeans, and Frank hisses through his teeth. His hips twitch once before he forces them still.

Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare take this any further.

He’s painfully hard, aching to replace his fingers with his cock and bury himself inside that tight heat until you’re crying out his name. He wants to ruin you for anyone else, to show you exactly how a real man takes care of a woman. But that’s exactly why he can’t. You’re not some experienced woman who knows what she’s getting into. You’re the girl from down the street who blushes when he calls her “sweetheart” and bakes him pie because she heard he lives alone.

His chest tightens with the conflict. Part of him- the darker, hungrier part, wants to flip you over, spread your legs wider, and fuck the innocence right out of you until you’re shaking and addicted to his touch. The other part, the one that’s kept him a quiet, respected loner all these years, screams that he’d be no better than every other selfish bastard if he does.

“You okay, darlin’?” he asks softly, pressing a kiss to your temple even as he argues with himself. His voice is steady, but inside he’s going insane. His egos inflated by making you come so hard, but he’s full of shame at how easily he gave in to touching you in the first place. He wants you. More than he’s wanted anyone in a long time. But he’s not sure he can live with himself if he takes any more.

You’re trembling in his lap, breath ragged, head heavy against his shoulder. But the pleasure only increases the ache between your legs. It’s not enough. You need more.

You whine softly, twitching restlessly, grinding back against the thick bulge pressing into your ass. “Frankk” you moan, the sound coming out needy and broken. Your hips roll again, desperate. “Please- I need you. I need you so bad.” you cry. He lets out a low groan, his arm tightening around your waist like he’s physically holding himself back. His fingers slip out of you slowly, leaving you underwhelmed and empty, clenching around nothing. You sense the trouble he’s having and the tension in his body, but also how his dick is hard against you even as his breathing grows ragged.

“Honey,” he mutters, voice strained, “you don’t know what you’re askin’ for. I’m so much more experienced, I-” You turn in his lap, straddling his thick thighs so you’re facing him. Your hands claw at his flannel shirt and you whine, “I know Frank. I know, but I need you inside me- please, Frank. I need you now.”

His jaw clenches, eyes burning with lust and that heavy guilt. He grasps your chin as his thumb brushes against your lower lip. “Use your words then, darlin’. Tell me what you need.” he drawls. Heat floods your face in embarrassment, but the hot need between your thighs wins. You look him in the eyes, voice shaky but determined. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up- please.” you whine, desperate for him.

Frank exhales like your words just winded him. For a long second he just stares, clearly battling with himself. You can see the conflict in his expression- the good, responsible man fighting that raw, animalistic need to ruin you right here. Your eyes meet his and you stutter out, “I came here knowing my intentions,” you whisper. “I baked that stupid pie because I wanted to get alone with you. I’m not some fucking kid who doesn’t know what she’s doing. I wanted this.”

Something inside him finally snaps. A low groan rumbles from his chest as he stands up slowly, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms around his neck, and he carries you down the hallway without another word. He takes you up the stairs, his feet making every wooden step creak. Then he turns, and you can see that you’re heading towards a door.

His bedroom door creaks open. The room smells like him- that faint leather and that laundry detergent mixed with a deep, masculine, scent that makes your head spin. His bed is large and sturdy with a heavy dark wooden frame, covered in rumpled navy sheets that look like he’d been tossing and turning in them. A small lamp on his bedside table casts a gentle, golden glow over everything, highlighting the simple space. It feels safe. Intimate.

He lays you down on the bed with surprising care, but his eyes are bright with fire. Without wasting any time, he starts to rip open his buttons, before finally yanking off his flannel in one rough motion to reveal the broad, muscled chest you’d fantasised about for weeks. As you lay back, propped up in your elbows, his hands move to you next, peeling your skirt and soaked panties down your soft legs, then tugging your top off and unclipping your bra until you’re completely bare beneath him, and all of your clothes are pooled together on a the floor.

Your mouth isn’t that far away from beginning to water as you watch his muscles work to undo his belt. His fingers frantically work at the clasp, and once it’s undone, he’s hastily pulling off his jeans and throwing them to the side to join the growing pile of discarded clothes. You lay on his bed, too needy to even think of being self conscious, and he’s crawling onto the bed, his frame covering yours.

“You sure about this, hon?” he asks one final time, hovering over you, his voice struggling with need. As he moves closer, his thick, heavy cock rests against your thigh, already leaking and throbbing. “Yes,” you breathe, pulling him down by the shoulders. “Please Frank- I need you.”

He curses under his breath before smashing his lips into yours, finally giving in and kissing you deeply. Your mouths are clashing together, his tongue between your lips, but he finally pulls away like a starved man- ready to move on. One calloused hand spreads your sensitive thighs wider as the other one finds his dick and hastily lines it up with your dripping core.

The blunt, swollen head of his cock nudges your slick entrance, and then he pushes in slowly, stretching you open inch by inch as he lets out low groans, in awe at how good you feel. Your cunt greedily sucks him in, needing him even deeper.

“Oh, you’re so tight,” he rasps against your mouth with a screwed up face, his forehead pressed to yours. “Takin’ my cock so well- good girl, keep breathing.” he groans out, watching your every reaction and expression. You gasp at the overwhelming fullness, and your nails dig into his shoulders while he bottoms out inside you. He turns still for a moment, letting you adjust while he murmurs praise right against your ear. “Such a sweet pussy squeezin’ me like that. You feel amazing sweetheart.”

Then he starts moving. His thrusts rock the bed beneath you, every powerful stroke dragging perfectly against that sensitive spot inside, his experienced hips rolling with precision. One hand grips your thigh, holding you open for him, while the other is beside your head.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he commands softly. When your eyes lock with his, he leans down and kisses you again, slower, tongue sliding against yours as he fucks you deeper. “You feel so good wrapped around me. Been fightin’ this urge, tryin’ to be a decent man, but you make it so hard.” he shudders, his lips glistening with your saliva.

You moan loudly, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist. The heavy weight of his body presses you into the mattress, filling you completely- it’s everything you’d imagined and more. He angles his hips and keeps hitting that perfect spot until you’re crying out with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping filling the once quiet room.

“That’s it, darlin’,” his voice is low, “let me hear those pretty noises,” he growls, thrusts growing harder and more possessive. “This is what you wanted, ain’t it? My cock stretchin’ your needy little cunt open.” you let out a vulgar moan as his shaky breath fans over your face. You swear you’re gonna cum, just from his voice. He lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah? You like hearin’ me say filthy things sweetheart?” he grunts, knowing you can’t answer back. You just nod, eyebrows knitted together in desperation. “Oh- you’re such a good fucking girl for me.” he says in awe.

His dirty words and the raw pleasure you feel push you closer to the edge again. Frank can feel it- the way you flutter and squeeze around him. He reaches between the place you’re connected, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing hot, sticky circles onto it. You moan as he keeps driving into you.

"Attagirl. Cum all over my cock this time," he praises, his voice low and filthy. You can't help but moan at his dirty words, you're actually fluttering around him now. "You're mine tonight, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you until you can't cum no more." he groans, hips thrusting into yours still. You head falls back in ecstasy, senses overwhelmed- you feel like crying, or screaming- maybe both.

As your legs begin to shake, Frank notices it and starts frantically rubbing your clit even faster, his fingers wet and sloppy. The coil in your belly snaps hard. Pleasure crashes over you in waves as you cum hard around his thick length while you moan his name, your body shaking under him. Frank groans deeply, thrusting through every pulse, his own control fraying as he continues moving, trying to chase his own release while whispering more praise against your damp skin.

"Fuck darlin'-" Frank groans all broken, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his hips stutter. He thrusts once more, before he loses control. Then, he slams deep into you and stays there, pulsing thick and hot inside you as he cums hard. His dick throbs with every move, filling you up while he holds you tight against him, murmuring ragged praise between shaky breaths. "Good girl, takin' everything so perfectly for me" he praises. You feel that thick, hot spend ooze out of you, creating a messy white ring around the base of his cock.

You’re both panting messes, and for a long moment, the only sounds are your shaky breathing and the faint creak of the bed as he slowly relaxes on top of you. He stays buried inside you, not daring to pull out yet- instead, he just presses lazy kisses along your jaw while his hand strokes soothingly up and down your side. You clench around him, having aftershocks. You’ve never been fucked like that. With care, with understanding.

Eventually he lifts his head a little, his deep brown eyes searching yours with that familiar mix of satisfaction and lingering guilt. "You alright, sweetheart?" he asks softly, brushing damp hair from your forehead as he looks down at you. You nod, smiling up at him sheepishly, still shy and warm all over. "Mhm- more than okay. I wanted this, Frank. I still do." you whisper, your big sweet eyes looking into his.

He lets out a long breath, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna kill me, y’know that kid?” he sighs. There’s a tired, affectionate look on his face now. “I’m too old for this shit” he chuckles.

You bite your lip nervously, and Frank runs a finger over it to smoothen the skin of your lip. He looks into your eyes for a moment, before tilting his head softly. “I’m gonna pull out, okay sweetheart?” he tells you, wanting you to be comfortable through it all. You nod, not excited for the overwhelming emptiness to consume you. Frank trails his hand down to meet your pussy, and his fingers become soaked in the mixture of your juices. He pulls out slightly, only a couple inches, watching your face for confirmation. When you nod quickly, he pulls his hips back, robbing you of the feeling of fullness.

He shifts away, to stop hovering, and then slumps down beside you with a content sigh. You tilt your face in his direction, face flushed and fucked out. “Thank you.” you manage to pant, chest still heaving from your two orgasm.

Frank shakes his head modestly, but you can tell there’s still a sense of shame in his expression. “Frank,” you sigh. He meets your gaze silently, eyes curious at what you have to say. “Thank you for making it good for me.” you whisper, suddenly feeling self conscious that you’re done, and just laying down besides him without clothes, your whole body visible. “That’s alright hon, you deserve it,” he smiles softly, admiring your bare body.

You feel his rough hand slowly move over your stomach to rub it, and life suddenly doesn’t seem so bad. You giggle softly, the sound muffled against his chest as you burrow deeper into his embrace. Frank’s arms tighten around you in response, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “Stay tonight,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Stay with me.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. He exhales, long and slow, like he’s been holding his breath in for too long. When he pulls you closer, there’s no hesitance in it- no careful distance or restraint. He just holds you, warm and certain, wrapping his arms around you like he doesn’t intend on letting go. The faint, sweet taste of cherries lingers on his lips from the pie you’d nervously brought over earlier, the one he happily tried while you watched with hopeful eyes.

You came here convinced you’d be leaving with an embarrassing rejection and a quiet walk home. Instead, the man that no one has ever properly known is holding you like you’re something precious, something he’s been waiting for.

There's a knock at the door. You raise your head suddenly, someone's at the door? Confused, you walk towards it, moonlight lighting up the dark hallway of your house through the glass panes on the door. You open it, looking up, and of course it's him. The same comforting, distant man you can't stop thinking about.

"Frank?" you furrow your brows softly, you didn't expect it to genuinely be him at the door. The cold breeze brushed your bare arms as you stand at the door in your shorts and camisole. His eyes flicker up and down, taking your presence in. He doesn't say anything. Still, you're a kind woman, you're understanding, and so without questioning anything you tell him softly, "Come in" with a gentle nod of your head towards inside your house. You gesture him inside, shutting the door with a click behind you. He walks in with his broad figure, hands in his pocket awkwardly as if you're the one who's showed up to his house in the middle of the night. He's looking at the floor like a child being scolded and so you ask him, "Hey, is everything okay?"

He looks up slowly at your kind face, he doesn't want to disappoint you- or for you to think less of him. "I uh-just, couldn't sleep" he finally mutters, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "Just- wanted to hear your voice I guess." His voice is low, it's as if he hasn't spoken to anyone for a while. You watch him understandingly, not an ounce of judgement in your face, and you just nod. "Come. Sit down for a bit" you tell him, walking towards your couch, your own arms crossed, a natural sort of defence mechanism- though of course, Frank has never hurt you. He'd never dare lay a hand on you.

He sits down on the couch, the whole thing moving slightly lower with his weight. You hover near him, still stood up. "Want something to drink?" you ask him softly, and he shakes his head. Leaning back on the couch, he says softly, "Nah, 's alright, just came to see you."

Of course he says that. And of course your stomach starts doing fucking backflips. You shake your head, walking into the kitchen anyway. He sits there alone for a moment, eyes following you, watching as you work your way through the kitchen like an angel, skin as soft as snow, biting your lip in concentration.

You come back with two glasses and some whiskey, placing them down with a clink. His puppy dog eyes follow your slender fingers as you let go of the glasses. They continue scanning over your body as you finally take a seat opposite him, pressing one of your knees to your chest and resting your chin there. You sigh softly as you watch him.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" you ask softly, watching him carefully.He throws his shoulders up softly, shrugging. It's not the first time he's done something like this. For years it's been obvious to you that he has a soft spot for you, but no action has ever been taken. And you curse yourself endlessly for it, but you feel something for him too-even though you can't tell what exactly. He shakes his head, grunting, "It doesn't matter, I'm used to it".

You continue watching him. Something about his presence as a whole just has a hold on you. You want to be there for him- to help him. So you ask him the only sensible thing in your head, "You wanna talk about it?" He watches you through half lidded eyes, shaking his head silently as he leans forward a little, his forearms on his legs, "Already said, just needed to see you."

You don't know what to do but nod. You breathe out a soft, "Okay" and sit there, still hugging your knee on your seat like a worried child. The truth is you're tired. Tired of begging, of trying to be there for people who clearly don't want you. Tired of being rejected and never understood. Your eyes start to wander around your living room, the warm glow from your fireplace lighting everything up, including Frank's eyes.

He tilts his head the slightest, watching your every move and of course, he knows somethings wrong. You continue sitting there, wondering what to say or what to do. You get chills from the way you can tell he's watching you closely. So why won't he just fucking say something? It's not like he has any trouble in the female department?

Except he doesn't want anyone who isn't you. Most people are shit scared of him, they think he's about to snap any moment. But not you. No, you see him for who he really is. A man in pain, who's always making mistakes to just help what he thinks is right. And you, you're kind and gentle and smart- everything that's the opposite of the world he knows.

After a few minutes of quiet besides the soft crackling of the fire, he chooses to break the silence. He can't watch you just sitting here, disassociating from everything. You're still hugging your knee, sitting in that position on the couch. Finally, he murmurs softly, "What's goin’ on?" And without really moving, your eyes flick to him and you shrug your shoulders. His heart patters softly at your dismissive tone.

He can't sit here and watch you suffer silently. Especially since you would never do that either. He frowns softly and rumbles out, "Hey, talk to me." And as if a light switch suddenly flicks in your head, you gain awareness and turn your head to him. Not entirely convincingly you tell him, "I'm okay, really." and drop your knee from beneath your chin, your feet both on the floor awkwardly.

You realise he's here because he was upset and so you look back up and ask him, "Tell me what's up then, why couldn't you sleep?" He watched you like you just spoke some foreign language and mutters, "That's not fair." You just stare at him confused.

God, why is he like this?

For some reason you're already infuriated, anger bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out. "What do you mean that's not fair? You show up to my door past midnight and you won't even tell me what's wrong?" you spit out. Frank frowns, he hates seeing you like this, hates that he's caused you to feel like this. You see his face soften and instantly feel bad. That's the kind of effect he has on you. So you breathe out, "Look I'm sorry- I've just had a shit day." Which is a lie of course, every day is shit. Everyday that you go on, unsure of your feelings towards Frank, unsure of what you want.

He blinks slowly, giving you space, letting you get your feelings out. “Don't be sorry," he says gruff but softly, shaking his head. A quiet moment passes and he says "C'mere," gesturing to the empty space beside him. Hesitantly you get up, trudging towards him like a dog with a tail between its legs. You sit down next to him, embarrassed now that you raised your voice at him. And the worst thing is that he stayed calm, he let you yell at him. Because that's the kind of man Frank is.

You stare ahead at the floor, Frank looking at nothing but you. His eyes trace over your face, your soft hair- that little figure of yours that's so angry inside, your chest going up and down softly as you breathe. He hesitates, then parts his lips slightly and whispers, "Talk to me." You look up slowly, turning your head to face his weathered face which is full of concern for you, and you protest, "This isn't about me- you're the one who's upset."

Frank lets out a soft breath. "God you're stubborn" he huffs, and you can tell he’s genuinely annoyed. You don't say anything back and he continues watching you. "Just let me be here for you." he whispers, almost begging, like he needs to help you. Like he can't live knowing you're upset. You shake your head, voice shaking as you say, "For Christ's sake Frank, I don't need your help- I don't need you." Except you do. Your eyes begin to glisten as you ramble, threatening to start spilling tears and Frank frowns, repeating, "Hey hey, shhh" as he gently moves his calloused hand onto your forearm.

You shake your head, fighting back tears and trying to get out of his reach, "I'm fine- go away, I'm fine." You pull your arm away, voice quaking. The same way he let you shout at him, he's letting you use physical force on him. You keep spitting out that you're fine-you don't need anyone or anything, and all the while, Franks hand gently moves to the side of your face, holding it in his palm. You croak out once more with glistening eyes, "I'm fine" and then break down at his soft touch.

Tears run down your face as you shake your head, trying to stop crying. Frank watches you heartbroken, his brows are furrowed and it looks like he's only a few moments away from crying too. "Oh poor baby" he whispers, pulling you close to him, his big arms wrapping around you warmly. "Let it out, I'm here" he says, voice barely above a whisper. He wants to protect you from everything, from everything that hurts you, but he can't, and that's what bothers him. He needs you to need him.

You try wiping your tears with the back of your hand, but they continue streaming down your face. You make the mistake of looking up at Frank because as you lift your head slowly- your, big sad doe eyes break him. A soft gasp leaves his lips and he whispers, "Oh, sweet girl," as if he's in pain watching you cry. Effortlessly he pulls you onto his lap, his big hands wrapping around you as if he can shield you from the world. He tilts back his head to get a better look at you, leaning back on the couch and adjusting you to make sure you're comfy. "I know you’re hurtin’, just let it out" he breathes.

His broad chest presses against yours as he holds you, one hand on your back, the other caressing your hair. You cry your endless tears and he gently lifts your head with his hand beneath your chin. "I'm here, just talk to me, please." he says softly, eyebrows knitted together in concern. Eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears you stutter, "God I'm just so alone. I'm so alone Frank- I don't have anyone." He looks like a sad little puppy at hearing that.

"That's not true baby, you have me" he frowns, tilting his head to get a better look at you, resting his hand on the side of your face. His other hand runs up and down your back soothingly, and you nuzzle your face into his hand. But he’s not yours, you remember. "Don't call me that Frank" you cry, pulling your head back and shaking it.

God, his heart aches watching you cry.

He watches your quivering lip, waiting for you to explain, and you glare at him, your words drowning in tears. At last, your voice breaks when you say, "Not when I'm not yours."

Oh.

He shakes his head silently, sitting up a little more and adjusting you in his lap. "Don't say that." he whispers, taken aback and heartbroken. “Just- don’t-” he mutters, unsure of what to say. He wants to be yours. God knows he does. But it's not that easy, he can't bring you into his life, because he knows that anyone he loves gets hurt.

He moves his palm across both sides of your face gently, wiping off the tears that are leaving salty, hot trails on your skin. Your voice breaks, barely holding together as you try to speak. "Frank," you cry shakily, your breath catching in broken, wet gasps. He barely blinks, just taking in this sight of you- broken and defeated. "Yeah i know, I'm here."

He doesn't bother wiping away the tears that soak his collar, he just needs to be there for you. As he holds you close and roams his hands up and down your back, you hiccup a little, your violent sobs much less now. "That's it, you're okay" he whispers sweetly, his touch gentle and caring. You sniffle in his chest as he reassures you, your stomach fluttering. Oh how you hate the way he makes you feel, as if you're not in control of your own body.

"Frank," you whisper again, breathlessly, the only remnants of your crying being your puffy eyes. "Yeah sweet girl? talk to me" he murmurs, moving a strand of hair that's stuck on your wet face behind your ear. You don't say anything, just let yourself melt back into him, your face in the crook of his neck, legs on either side of him. He lets his hands fall to your sides again, but lower this time- on your hips. He holds them with both hands, as if you'd disappear if he let go.

Your lips part slightly at his touch, you’re aching all over for him. Franks big hands stay there carefully, burning through the fabric of your shorts. Gently he rubs your sides and your breath hitches. Of course, any noise that slips out of your mouth almost kills him. His brows are furrowed as he tries to absorb every reaction you’re giving him. He needs to make you feel good. So, he takes your little gasps as a sign that it’s okay, and gently trails a hand lower, till it meets your thigh. As if his life purpose is to make you feel good, he applies a little more pressure to his touch, watching your face carefully, waiting for another reaction. Waiting for a sign that you want this too.

"This okay sweet girl?" he asks, hands tracing over your thighs reverently. You whine "mhm", leaning back into him. His lips part in awe at your little noises- he needs to hear more. You gasp softly at his hands kneading your hips then moving to your thighs. "Frankk" you whine desperately, core pressing into him a little. This is what you meant, how you can't control yourself when you're with him. He nods understandingly, whispering with his rich voice, "What is it sweet girl?”

Your head lolls to the side, brain turning into mush as your core heats up on his lap. As if doesn’t already make you lose control of your own body- he’s whispering these sweet names in your ear. You can't help it, but your hips rock forward ever so slightly, trying to satisfy that blooming need between your aching thighs.

The moment your hips move, his breath hitches. His entire body goes still as he feels that tiny movement against his lap. He senses your need, and it sends a bolt of desire through him. But he doesn't rush. Instead, his hands stay still for a second on your thighs, then slowly slide up to press against the curve of your waist. The gentle pressure of his palms keeps you right there in his arms, needy and warm. Then his voice drops lower and he whispers against your ear breathily, "Attagirl, let me know how you feel, okay?”

His sweetness is making you melt, and all of your senses are being blinded by pure need right now. You whimper desperately, almost panting as you buck your hips again and Frank says softly, “Take what you need.” You let out a small moan at that, and he realises just how much you need him. You grind your hips against his a few more times, needing to soothe the white hot ache between your legs, but nothings working and you’re getting frustrated. Your eyes begin to water again, but out of desperation now, not sadness. You throw your arms behind his neck, looking for something to hold onto and keep bucking your hips onto his, desperate for anything that will give you friction.

“Frankie,” you moan helplessly, frustrated at yourself, at not being able to feel good. He watches you reverently, as if you’re an angel on his lap, rough hands still moving gently on your sides. “I know baby, dyou need my help?” he coaxes, slipping a hand near the edge of the waistband of your shorts. When he calls you baby again, your heart clenches. He doesn't want to push, or overstep with someone as sweet as you. You lifts your head just slightly, eyes glassy and vulnerable and then nod, slow and shy, but honest, “Please, I need you”. Your eyes start watering again with need, you’ve never felt so alone- so desperate for Frank to just take care you.

“Hey, hey don’t cry doll” he coos, frowning as you pout sadly. You stare into his solemn eyes, desperately waiting for him to take action, but instead, he softly presses his forehead to yours. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” he whispers, his tone as sweet as honey. He moves his head back a little, enough to see you clearly and wipes away another one of your tears with his thumb. “You’re my girl and I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” he reassures as his hand creeps beneath your waistband now.

Of course- he’s still a gentleman with morals and so he asks with the utmost respect, “Can I take these off?” as his fingers creep under your sleep shorts, brushing past the soft lace of your panties. You all but moan, “Yes- please” in desperation, and that’s enough for him. He instructs you firmly, “Lift your hips f’me,” and carefully holds you up with one arm, the other one working at your waist, pulling your shorts down your thighs. “Can I take these off too?” he checks, his pointer finger hooked under the soft lace. You nod your head urgently and with that, the scraps of fabric are at your ankles, then discarded on the floor. He has a job to do.

His breath gets lost in his throat, mouth almost watering at the sight of you, but he tries to be as respectful as possible. “There you go doll, what else dyou need?” he asks adoringly, his hand moving to hold the back of your neck. He stares at your face, all sweet and vulnerable, and has a violent urge to kiss those soft pink lips of yours. You part your mouth to speak, but before any words can come out, Frank leans forward, and presses his lips to yours with such care, you’d think you’re made of glass.

You don’t remember your eyes shutting, just him pulling back tenderly from the kiss and your eyes opening to see his. Like you’re the most valuable thing ever, he leans back in and places a kiss beneath your ear. You gasp as he peppers your neck with soft kisses that eventually turn into hot, desperate ones when he can’t control himself. He nibbles at your neck, leaving little marks, then soothes the pain with his tongue, licking at your neck like he’s never felt a woman this sweet before. “You taste so sweet,” he groans, and the heat between your thighs aches as you sit bare on his clothed lap. Your cunt is dripping at the thought of him inside you. His fingers, his dick- anything as long as he’s in you.

You press your hips down on his lap urgently, marking his jeans with a visible wet patch where you’re sat on his thigh. Desperately you start rocking your hips back and forth, searching for the friction you so badly need. Frank groans in awe at how beautiful you are when you’re in need, and he groans, “That’s it, get yourself off on my thigh baby,” as he busies himself with kissing your neck. His hands scramble at the lace of your pyjama top, itching to pull it off. His eyes flick to your scrunched up face as you chase your pleasure, the fabric rubbing on your clit deliciously, and since you don’t protest, he helps you out of your thin top. Hastily, his manly hands search for the clasp of your bra on your back, and with a click, that’s also off and thrown to the floor.

His hands are urgently on your back, covered by your flowing hair as he runs them over your skin desperately. His eyes scan over your angelic body, skin soft and so so beautiful. He has to stop himself from kissing every square inch of your body, but he can’t help himself entirely, so he presses his face between the valley of your breasts and inhales, trying impossibly to be closer to you. Both his arms are wrapped around you protectively, helping you move back and forth to chase your high as he inhales that warm, sweet scent of your skin. He moves his head back to meet yours and pants, “That’s it dollface, keep going f’me.” You let out a lewd moan, signalling how close you are to him and he mewls softly, his dick bulging in his jeans as you ride his thigh. “That’s my girl, you’re almost there.” he praises as you continue writhing back and forth.

Your breathing’s irregular and your vision is blurry from pleasure, and fuck you’ve never needed him so badly. You squirm, so close yet so far, but when his stubble brushes your breast as his lips clasp around your nipple, you’re gone. An obscene moan leaves your mouth as you quiver on his thigh, legs twitching, mouth wide open- and then you can hear Frank praising, “There she is, that’s a good girl.” as you come down from your orgasm, his mouth still pressed to your tit as he holds your body to his. “You’re so beautiful sweetheart,” he pants, relieved that you feel good, ignoring the bulging ache in his jeans. You sigh tiredly, chest heaving as you come down from your high. “mmm thank you Frank,” you murmur, hair stuck to your forehead, eyes puffy from crying, and he answers, “Anything for you doll.”

You watch his broad figure beneath you, and find it amazing how someone this manly can be so soft with you. You love it about him. As you watch him pant selflessly, not wanting to take anything from you, you almost lunge at him. Quickly, you connect your soft lips to his own, wanting to taste his mouth properly now. His tongue slides between your mouth, your lips clashing as you try desperately to feel eachother even closer. You kiss the corner of his mouth, licking at his stubble, imagining how it’d feel between your thighs- how his warm tongue would work between your folds as you moaned, pushing his head lower in desperation. Frantically, you lean back and moan, “I need you Frankie,” as you move your hands over his shirt, on his chest. It’s not like he isn’t yearning to have you too, because he is. There’s nothing more he needs right now than to feel you sucking him in, to feel your walls flutter around him as you cum for the second time, but he needs to hear you say it.

“Use your words sweetheart, what dyou need?” he coos softly, like he’s talking to a child, rubbing your inner thighs. You fall into him, soft tits pressing into his chest as you whine. “I need you inside me- please.” you beg, and he purrs admiringly, pressing gentle kisses to the underside of your breast. “Is that it baby? You need me to take you?” he coaxes, hand cupping your breast, covering it entirely. He kneads it carefully and you moan, barely able to get out an “uh huh” at his touch. “Good girl, that wasn’t that hard was it?” he teases, tapping you on the side of your thighs, signalling for you to lift them.

As you hold your hips in the air, he undoes his belt, pulls down the zipper of his jeans and swiftly tugs them off. He nudges your hips back down and the soft flesh of your ass meets his muscly thighs again, but without clothes between you this time. Need overflows your senses and you moan as his glistening dick hits the sensitive skin of your thigh. You claw at his shirt, and the side of his mouth lifts into a smirk as he pulls it over his head effortlessly. “You’re so needy ain’t ya sweet girl?” he coos, massaging your hips, moving his hands to the roundness of your ass. “Fuck- so soft” he groans, eyes closing for a second to compose himself.

“Please, Frankiee” you wail, pressing your tits to his broad chest, your nipples like mountain peaks. “Shhh, I know” he murmurs, leaning forward and flicking his tongue under your ear. “I’m gonna take care of my girl.” he whispers into your neck, and that makes you swoon. His chunky fingers trail down between your thighs, and he runs his middle finger through your slick folds, holding it up as a string of wetness hangs from it. “Oh, you’re dripping baby,” he coos with adoration, “Don’t even need my fingers”.

He moves back, cupping your cheek with one calloused hand, the other reaching for his aching dick. He pumps it a few times, face scrunching up in desperation to enter you. His eyes flicker to yours hopelessly and his voice cracks as he says, “Let me make love to you sweetheart.” You nod, a painful need blooming in your body, your heart aching at his softness. As needy as ever, he moves your hips with care, nudging your dripping entrance with his swollen tip. You gasp at the contact, needing more, although he hasn’t even had the chance to enter you fully yet. He groans, eyes closing as he bites his lip, pushing himself deeper inside you. “Oh god- you’re so tight f’me,” he shudders, stretching you out painfully as his breath hitches.

So gently, he pushes your hips down until you sink on him fully, and he bottoms out in you with a shuddering groan. “Ahh fuck, is this okay sweetie, does it feel good?” he asks, considerate of you. You nod rapidly, eyebrows furrowed in despair, needing him to move. You moan, hips twitching, desperate for some friction. “Frankie I need you to fuck me,” you moan, hands on his chest. He growls at the way you say that, hands holding your hips as he whispers “Shit, I know baby- I’m gonna take care of this pussy so well.” You can feel yourself getting even wetter around him, if that’s even possible. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he reassures, pressing another wet kiss to the line of your jaw.

Slowly but surely, he does start moving. He lets out deep groans as he holds your waist, grinding you on his lap. You can’t wait, you start urging your hips back and forth faster and he tuts at you, whispering dirtily, “Oh, I didn’t know my girl was so needy f’me.” But he understands you need it- need him, and so he starts to buck his hips faster for you. He wraps his arms around you like a human shield, and with his hold on you, starts lifting you. You moan, not wanting to leave, you haven’t even had anything near enough and you can already feel his thick cock sliding out of you. But as you’re about to protest, he quickly slams you back down with urgency. A vulgar noise leaves your mouth as your skin slaps back down onto his. He groans, desperate to make you feel good, he wants to be here for you. He needs to show you you’re not alone, show you that he lov-

You gasp, head thrown back in ecstasy, you can’t think about anything but his arms around you, his breathy whispering into your ear. “Frank,” you cry, emotions pouring out of you. He’s like heaven, he’s your heaven. He feels like home, gives you stability, makes you want to live, to start a family even. You wanna be his, to give him everything and love him till you’re dead. You moan as your tits bounce up and down; Frank worshipping your body, unable to say anything with how pussy drunk he is.

He groans as you clench around him, coating him with slick as you move up and down. He feels different when he’s with you. He feels capable of- change? Capable of being soft and sweet unlike how life has treated him the last few years. He wants to love you forever. At every sound of your skin slapping, a different stage of your lives flashes past his eyes. Watching you walk down the aisle with tears in his eyes. Moving into your first home together. Remodelling your kitchen as you laugh, faces covered in paint. Having a baby together.

“I-” Frank gasps, the words he wants to say sticking his mouth together. “Fuck,” he groans, so close to the edge, “baby- fuck, I love you.” Your arms are around his neck while he makes love to you, desperately holding onto him. You’re scared you’ll drown if you let go, especially when those words leave his mouth. Your heart stops, your eyes glisten and you whine out, “I love you too Frank.” He presses gentle kisses to your neck once you say that, scared that he’ll start crying if he looks at you. He holds onto you like you’re his anchor, and finally, tilts your head so his eyes can meet yours.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he whispers emotionally, voice breaking. “You’re my whole life baby” he tells you, every word leaving his mouth dripping with love. He helps you lay on your back on the sofa, still connected with you at the core and continues making love to you. With every thrust of his hips you moan into his neck. He pants in your ear as his chest hovers over you, and he mutters sweet nothings into your ear incoherently. You can tell he’s close because he’s not making sense anymore. “Fuck- I’m so lucky to have you baby,” he grunts, jaw clenching together as he stutters, “mm I’m so close.” Your legs are stiff too, and you realise you need to cum again. Frank sees it too and like the gentleman he is, he makes you his priority. “Oh babydoll,” he coos, moving a hand from your side to the sensitive skin between your legs. He smiles endearingly and says, “Let me see that pretty face,” as he tilts his head.

You meet his gaze, but you’re in despair, needing release. He slips his middle finger just below your dripping folds, feeling his dick slide in and out of your drenched pussy. “I’m g’na make you feel so good.” he utters, pulling his hand away from where you’re connected. Your stomach flips when he brings it to his face, spits into it and lowers it back down to your throbbing cunt. He wipes the glob onto your clit, looking up to see your screwed up face. “You okay sweet girl?” he pants and you nod urgently, trying to urge yourself closer to him as his dick tortures your gummy walls. His saliva drips down your pussy as he checks on you, but once you nod, his hand is right back to work. He moves his thumb over to your sensitive nub and starts rubbing gently.

You shudder, pleasure overflowing out of your body as he rubs your clit, his length still dragging in and out of you. You move your hands onto his back, desperate for something to hold onto, to anchor you. Frank shudders at you clawing at his back- your grasp is so desperate, it makes him feel cherished in a way he's never known. Your breath hitches as your mouth falls open, and Frank starts talking you through it, knowing you’ll fall apart any minute. “That’s it, I’m right here, let go,” he encourages while he continues rubbing quick circles. Your moans become increasingly louder, your breathing irregular and you’re on the verge of coming undone. Franks groans at the sweet sounds you make, struggling but managing to get out the words- “Fuck- I’m g’na cum.”

He hasn’t made a fuss about himself, hasn’t been doing this to make himself feel good. Never- you’re always his first priority, and tonight was about making you feel good. About showing you that you’re not alone- no, you’re cherished and loved by so many people. By him. He groans in short gasps, his breathing uneven as he reaches the edge. “Frankie- I’m so close” you whine, your hands trailing down to the nape of his neck. Your fingers are slipping through his short hair as he moans, both of you looking like a desperate, sweating mess. His cock keeps drilling into you and finally you shriek, hips bucking and thighs shaking as you come apart around his dick.

As your head falls to the side while your drenched pussy convulses around him, he groans into your hair, asking for permission as if you’re his goddess. “Doll, I’m so- mph, fuck- I’m right there,” he starts, unable to get a whole sentence out straight. “Please- umph- please let me fill you up.” he stutters, throbbing as his thrusts become sloppy. You breathe out, “Please,” into his neck and with a vulgar groan, his hips stutter and you shudder at a warmth filling you up.

There’s something about you that makes him want to be good. As he holds you like there’s no tomorrow while his hips twitch into yours, filling you, he realises how much he needs you. You’re his angel, his salvation- and there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you. Not a single thing, just so he could see you smile, see you feel good. “You’re okay baby, I’m here.” he groans in ragged breaths. He caresses your tits as you both come down from your high, both of you trembling messes. Your breathing steadies slightly as he kisses you, shows you how much he cares. His spend seeps out of your pussy, which is stuffed entirely, and dribbles down his length. Franks eyes trail to where you’re connected, and with a raspy voice he says, “You look so beautiful like this baby.” The corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiles softly, rubbing soft circles on your cheek with his thumb. He adores you with his whole heart. He’s in no rush to go or to leave you. Instead, he holds your warm body close, and skims his mouth up and down your neck. Not kissing, not licking, just letting his lip brush over your skin.

He links an arm beneath you, pulling you off your back to sit up straight and straddle him again, still keeping you plugged with his length, all while his rough hands move to your hair and he runs his fingers through the soft, silkiness of it. “You did so good f’me doll, so good” he purrs, nudging his nose against your jaw, “My good girl.” God, everything he does is so intimate, so sensual. Doing this; for Frank anyways, isn’t about fucking. He wants to make love to you. He wants you to feel comfortable enough to fall apart right there in his lap. And fortunately, he succeeded at that, which means you did feel cherished. “Feel okay sweetheart?” he asks, holding you head with his large hand, the other running along your jawline. You nod sheepishly, cheeks flushed as he smiles at you.

“Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about baby.” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You love this about him, the fact that he’s actually taking care of you. “Feel better baby?” he asks, brushing his thumb beneath your eye, as if to catch a tear but you’re not crying. “Mhm, so full.” you whine, glancing down and he nudges your head back up, desperate to see your perfect face. “That right?” he smiles teasingly. “My girl feels all filled up?”. Your cheeks flush pink and he watches you lovingly.

“That’s how I wanna see you baby. Not sad, not talking down on yourself”. He watched you thoughtfully, tone a little more serious then before and you nod. “Okay?” he asks, and you nod, a small smile on your lips, “okay.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead as you close your eyes, and whispers, “Good girl”. As your heart flips, he leans back and says, “Let me help you clean up baby”, rubbing a hand over your thigh. You nod, knowing he’s gonna have to pull out, and after a few more gentle kisses, he helps you onto your back again, his calloused hand over your stomach as he says, “okay, you ready?” You bite your lip, nodding and he starts to pull out- a grimace on his face. As his dick pulls out with a wet pop, his load oozes out of your hole and onto the couch. “You did so good baby, I’m so proud of my girl.” he says in his raspy voice, moving away from between your legs, standing up. He watches your perfect figure lying back on the couch, and tells you, “I’ll be right back.” before walking out of the living room.

He comes back after a few moments, holding one of your shirts, a glass of water and a cloth. You smile in awe, heart aching at his attempt to give you aftercare. He leans down, sitting on his knees on the cold floor, setting the glass of water onto the coffee table with a clink. “Can I help baby?” he asks softly, holding up the cloth. You smile giddily and say, “Yes, please”, and then his paws are on your legs again and he whispers, “Spread your legs f’me sweetheart”. If he hadn’t already just fucked the life out of you, you would’ve been needy again, but instead you open your legs for him, revealing your glistening cunt. He raises the damp cloth, moving it between your thighs and starts gently rubbing at your pussy. “There you go” he whispers, one hand pushing your thigh down to have access while the other holds the cloth. Carefully he cleans you up, electricity running through you when the cloth rubs on your sensitive nub. He places the cloth to the side, not breaking eye contact as he presses the softest kiss to your clit. You shudder, still having aftershocks from your second orgasm.

“Thank you,” you whisper and smiles, placing his hands on knees, and getting up. He moves back onto the couch, pulling you close to his side and tells you, “Lift your arms for me”. You do as he says, and ever so softly, he pulls a clean shirt over your head, gently pulling your arms through the sleeves. He kisses your forehead and wraps an arm around your waist, breathing softly into your hair. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth and he whispers your name sweetly, before breathing out, “I love you”. You nuzzle your face into him as he holds you and you tell him, “I love you too.” His manly hands stroke your hair as you cuddle and he sighs in content. Somehow, he managed to change your night that started out with tears and despair into a night filled with love.

“I’m sorry you felt alone baby. But just know I’m here for you now. I’m yours, and I’d do anything and everything for you.” You listen to his deep rich voice as he holds you, trusting his every word. “Oh Frank,” you whisper, closing your eyes against him. He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against your bare shoulder.