swamp fae

Warnings: Intense dom/sub dynamic, deep subspace, overstimulation, implied smut, emotional vulnerability, past partner neglect, gentle aftercare (bathing, cleaning, dressing, cuddling), protective!soft!possessive!Frank, hurt/comfort, mild language, healing

Summary: After an intense night together, Frank finds you trying to do aftercare by yourself. What starts as confusion turns into quiet rage and aching tenderness when he realizes you’ve always had to take care of yourself. That ends tonight. Because Frank Castle doesn’t let the woman, he loves float alone in space

xoxoxo

Your thighs were still trembling.

You couldn’t move without shaking—hell, you could barely breathe right. Your skin was flushed, sensitive, and your head felt like it was floating somewhere between reality and the stars. Everything echoed. Every touch still lingered like fire. Every whisper Frank had growled against your skin replayed like a prayer.

You were limp on the bed, sheets soaked beneath your hips, mouth parted, eyes hazy. Floating. Blinking fast like that would pull you down from orbit.

And yet—with what little strength you had—you stirred. Reached out. Fumbled blindly for the towel abandoned after Frank’s shower. You’d done this a hundred times before. Clean yourself. Ground yourself. Take care of the mess alone, like always.

Frank had collapsed beside you minutes ago, panting and sweat-drenched. But as soon as you moved, he blinked at you, brows knitting.

“Where you goin’, baby?”

“Just… cleanup,” you whispered. Your voice was floaty. Far away. “It’s okay. I got it.”

Frank pushed up on his elbow, eyes narrowing as he watched you shake your way through some kind of ritual he didn’t recognize. Water bottle. Wipes. The shaking of your fingers. The dissociation in your eyes.

“The fuck you doing?” he asked. Not harsh. Just sharp. Alarmed.

You blinked at him, confused by the question. “I always do this. I’m fine. I promise. I’m used to it—”

“What?”

Frank sat up completely. The mattress dipped. You stilled.

Then, soft as a confession, “No one’s ever really… done aftercare. I usually just do it myself.”

You meant it casually. Like it didn’t matter. But the shame was already creeping in, burning at your throat.

Frank froze.

Then, voice low and dangerous, “What do you mean ‘no one’s ever done aftercare for ya’?”

You swallowed. “They got what they wanted and would roll over or fall asleep or just leave… and I’d just clean up after, maybe get some water or take a bath if it was bad. It’s not a big deal. It’s normal.”

His entire body locked.

You watched him clench his jaw, drag a slow hand over his face like he was trying not to put it through a wall. “Fucking hell.”

“Frankie—”

“No,” he snapped. Then gentled instantly. “No. Don’t. Don’t you dare make excuses for that shit, baby. That’s not okay. You—fuck. You don’t do that to someone you just wrecked. You don’t leave them floatin’ in space tryin’ to put themselves back together.”

You looked down. “It’s not like they were all bad. I just… learned to handle it.”

His hand was on your face before you could finish—steady, warm, grounding. He tilted your chin so you’d look him in the eye.

“You don’t ‘handle’ it anymore,” he said firmly. “You don’t take care of yourself after givin’ me your whole fuckin’ body. I’m the one who took you apart—let me be the one who puts you back together pumpkin.”

He paused.

“You’re not fuckin’ doin’ that anymore.”

And then—just as quickly as the fire came—he softened. His thumb brushed your cheek.

“You’re floatin’, baby,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “You’re still up there. Let me bring you down safely, gently. Let me take care of my girl. ”

You nodded, dazed. And when you finally let go, your body slack against the mattress, Frank was already moving.

He picked you up—literally lifted you—and you instinctively curled against him, burying your face in his chest. His voice dropped low, soothing: “I got you now. Just breathe for me, dollbaby.”

By the time you reached the bathroom, the water was already running.

He climbed in behind you, settled you between his legs, your back to his chest. His arms curled around your waist like armor.

Frank whispered the whole time.

“You did so good for me.”

“You’re safe now.”

“You’re mine. Let me take care of what’s mine.”

“You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do shit on your own anymore.”

He washed your hair like you were something holy. Massaged your scalp with calloused fingers, gentle where others had been careless. He kissed the crown of your head after every rinse. Washed your skin with reverence. Whispered love into your shoulders, your knees, the delicate bend of your neck.

When he finally carried you back to bed—dressed in his soft shirt, wrapped in your favorite blanket—you were no longer floating. Just warm. Heavy. Safe.

He tucked in behind you, pulled you close like he was afraid to let go. One arm locked across your waist. The other cradled your head.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you mumbled, half-asleep.

His voice came fierce in the dark. “Yeah. I did. And I will. Every time.”

You fell asleep to the sound of his heart behind you—steady, solid. For once, you weren’t bracing yourself. You weren’t rushing to fix the mess. You were just held.

And Frank?

He didn’t sleep at all. He held you for hours—processing, aching—because you’d been forced to carry that hurt alone for too long.

And he’d be damned if you ever did again.

xoxoxo

If you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open for Bob Reynolds, Bucky Barnes, Frank Castle, and Eddie Brock/Venom <3

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Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 596

A/N: @kilibaggins hey! So it's been ages since you requested this on my previous account, @shaynawrites23, and I'm so sorry for the wait! I've been on a long life-hiatus and decided it was time for a fresh start. I don't know if you're still active on here but if you are, I hope you enjoy it! Hope you're doing well, my friend 💚

“Curse these stupid curtains,” you groan, flopping back face-down on your bed after your nth attempt to close them in a way they block out all the sunlight. But the previous tenant of your apartment was the type who enjoyed things that looked fancy or expensive but weren’t as effective as the cheaper version. These curtains were one such example–they were designer brand, according to the gold embroidery somewhere along the bottom, but they were slightly too small to cover the windows entirely. The previous tenant must not have minded, but today you decided you did.

Especially with your pounding headache.

You can’t help but groan again at how your attempts to sink into complete darkness by burying your face in the mattress, the pillow, or the blanket each prove unsuccessful. Even the slightest fraction of light feels like it amplifies the pain in your head, and the painkiller you took an hour ago has yet to take effect.

“You sure you’re alright, doll?” Bucky stands in the doorway of your bedroom, expression filled with concern and holding a glass of what you can only guess is more water for you. 

“No,” you grumble, now trying to cover your face with both your hands, but holding them there simply requires too much energy to allow you to nap and sleep off the headache. “Too much light and my head is killing me.”

“‘m sorry,” he murmurs sympathetically as he places the glass down on your nightstand and touches a hand–his cool, metal hand–to your forehead. “This help?”

It does, slightly. The cool sensation is just enough to ease the headache by a fraction, but it’s not enough relief for you. “Yeah,” you sigh, grabbing his wrist to keep his hand there. “But I know what would help more. Will you come lay on top of me?”

His brow furrows. “You mean lay with you? Sure, I can do that.”

“No, on top of me.” Batting away his hand, you lay flat on your back and open up your arms to signal exactly what you want. “Like a weighted blanket, or something. Please? It’d be comforting.”

Bucky Barnes, six foot hunk of a super-soldier, can’t decide whether to gently tell you he shouldn’t, out of fear he’d squash you like a bug on accident, or give in because you seem to really need it. But then you look up at him with the most pleading, puppy-dog eyes he’s ever seen, and all protests die in his throat. 

“Okay, darlin’, but if I get too heavy or you can’t breathe, you gotta tell me. Just push me or somethin’ and I’ll get off, yeah?”

You nod, eager to experience weighted blanket-boyfriend before he changes his mind. He’s got one arm on each side of your head as he lowers himself onto you, and not only do you get to enjoy the comforting way his body presses yours into the mattress, but the way his arms encase your head envelops you in the darkness you’ve been seeking your respite in for so long. He shifts slightly, just enough to hug you to him with an arm sliding under your back, but you don’t protest; you only need to bury your face in his shoulder to keep the light out. Your arms wrap around his waist and you sigh in contentment, whispering a muffled thank you as your eyes flutter closed.

“Anytime, doll,” comes the reply as he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

Your boyfriend was built like a god — broad shoulders, thick arms, and rock-hard abs that flexed under your palms every time he moved.

Tonight, he was lying on his back in bed, watching you with dark, hungry eyes as you straddled his waist. You were already soaked, and instead of sinking down and fucking him, you slowly dragged your dripping pussy across his abs.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, hands gripping your hips as you started grinding on him.

The hard ridges of his abs felt incredible against your clit. Every roll of your hips made your slick folds slide over the deep grooves of muscle, the friction perfect and filthy. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his massive chest for leverage as you rode his abs harder.

He flexed them beneath you on purpose, making the ridges even more pronounced. The wet sounds of your pussy gliding over his skin filled the room as you moaned, grinding your swollen clit against the hard planes of his stomach.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Using my abs like your own personal toy. So fucking wet for me.”

You whimpered, moving faster, chasing that pressure. Every time you rolled your hips forward, your clit caught perfectly on the ridges, sending sparks through your whole body. His hands guided you, helping you grind down harder as your juices smeared all over his sculpted stomach.

“That’s it, ride me,” he growled, eyes locked on where your pussy was sliding messily over his abs. “Make yourself cum all over me.”

The combination of his voice and the relentless friction finally pushed you over the edge. You came hard, thighs shaking as you ground down against his abs, soaking his stomach with your release.

The second he settles between your thighs, he’s already losing himself in it. Slow at first, like he wants to savor you properly. Open-mouthed kisses pressed against your inner thighs, his hands spreading you apart while he drags his tongue over your clit with a low sound in the back of his throat that almost sounds frustrated. Like no matter how many times he has you like this, it’ll never be enough.

And the worst part? He acts like he’s the one being spoiled. Every little reaction from you only makes him greedier. The twitch of your legs, the way your fingers slide into his hair, the breathy little noises you try to swallow down. He pays attention to all of it like he’s studying something important.

When you finally come apart for him, he doesn’t rush through it. Doesn’t pull away the second your body starts shaking. He stays there through every tremble, every pulse, drinking you in like he’s addicted to the taste of you specifically.

By the time he finally sits back, he doesn’t wipe his face immediately. He just licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste, eyes half-lidded like he’s high. His mouth is swollen and shining with your slick, lips parted slightly as his eyes stay on you the entire time, heavy and dark and still wanting.

You linger on him for hours afterward. He’ll be sitting in meetings, thumb pressed against his bottom lip while his mind drifts somewhere dangerous. Driving home with one hand tight around the steering wheel because he swears he can still smell you on his skin. Somebody will ask him a question, and he’ll blink like he’s just been dragged back into reality, thoughts still caught somewhere between your thighs.

It gets worse when the taste starts fading. He grows restless with it. Impatient. Checking the time too often, replying to messages too fast, already halfway gone mentally before the day’s even over. And the second he gets home, it’s more than obvious.

His bag barely hits the floor before his hands are on you, pulling you close with this urgency that makes your stomach flip. “C’mere,” he mutters, already guiding you backward, pulling your panties to the side. Like he’s been thinking about this all day. Like he’s been craving you all day. “Missed this,” he groans against your soaked folds, already licking into you again. “Been tasting you on my tongue all fucking day.”

He’s massive beneath you — broad chest, thick arms, powerful thighs that could easily pin you down if he wanted. But right now he’s on his back, letting you ride him however you want. His hands rest on your hips, not guiding, just holding you steady as you sink down on him.

You lean forward, bracing one hand on his chest, and bring the other down hard across his cheek. The sound is sharp. His head snaps to the side with the force of it. A low, guttural groan rumbles out of his chest as he twitches hard inside you. “Fuck… do it again,” he rasps, voice wrecked.

You slap him again, harder this time, watching the way his eyes flutter and his jaw clenches. His hips buck up sharply, driving deeper into you. The sting on his cheek blooms red against his flushed skin, but he doesn’t stop you. If anything, he looks drunk on it. “Harder, baby,” he begs, voice hoarse. “I can take it.”

You ride him faster, grinding down on him while you slap him again and again. Each hit makes him groan louder, his grip on your hips tightening as he lets you use him. His eyes stay locked on yours the whole time, dark and hazy with lust.

When you finally come, clenching hard around him, you slap him one last time, right as your orgasm hits. That’s what breaks him. He groans deep and filthy, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, thick and hot, pulsing with every slap you land.

Afterward, he’s breathing hard, cheek bright red, but he pulls you down against his chest and kisses you soft and attentively. His hand strokes your back gently, almost apologetically, like he’s the one who should be sorry.

“Again next time?” he murmurs against your lips, voice still rough.

You smile and kiss the reddened mark on his cheek.

these are technically headcannons i guess idk?

🤍 Makes you eat your meals infront of him, even when he’s finished he’ll sit across you and eye you till you scrape your plate clean. And if you try to get up before that? “sit back down, finish it, ain’t been eating enough” and when you do clean it all off he’ll be picking your plate up with a “that’s my girl” kissed into the top of your head

🤍 He’ll reprimand you when you don’t promptly tell him when something is wrong with your car. It’s his duty to keep you safe, don’t you know that by now ?

🤍 When you start skipping your work outs or Pilates classes he’ll be the one booking it and driving you to the Pilates studio and waiting outside till your class is done or dragging you outside to even just go for a walk with him (and he hates walks)

🤍 When he can see you running on fumes and working yourself into the ground he’ll put your laptop on lockdown for the weekend - won’t tell you where it is “don’t ask cos I ain’t telling, we’re going to bed” he orders and there is no room for negotiation “Frank it’s 8:30” he looks at you and just sighs your name “get into bed, now”

🤍 There’s moments when you get so wrapped up in what it is that you’re doing that you start ignoring cues for regular bodily functions - much like you ignore the warning lights in your car. He’ll see the way your legs squirm together, he’s watched you guzzle down all the water in your bottle and for some unknown reason you’re ignoring your bursting bladder? He’ll be infront of you once he’s had enough of watching your feet dance and your thighs squirm “go pee” he says it like a command and it’s like your cloud of distraction lifts “oh yeah” you chirp before you run off to the bathroom (low-key piss kink but more on that later ha ha)

-

Do I do one about how he is also kinda subby outside the bedroom hehe 🤭

sfw and nsfw

most are gender neutral but some are fem specifically

sfw

gn johnny would be an absolute sweetheart, he has that southern gentleman act about him that he doesnt even realise he keeps up sometimes. he’s an absolute charmer and his manners only make this better.

gn he would pull out a chair for you, open your car door, always let you go infront of him, insist on paying for you even if you were practically handing him money.

f very much a “yes ma’am” man, would refer to you as “his lady” or “his girl” - “gotta night out with my lady tonight,” “my girl would really love this.”

gn he wouldnt stop you from doing stupid shit with him or for your own entertainment (especially for the camera) but he would be biting his nails any time you would do anything more risky or painful.

gn whenever he would need to move you or move past you, he’d have his hand on your back with a “sorry, hun” as he’d squeeze past.

gn i dont think he would be an overly sappy boyfriend. he would have his moments, but he would truly view you as his best friend. he jokes around and can rarely take things seriously, but when its needed he will be serious and will be sappy with you.

gn kinda going off the last point - i dont think he would be huge into PDA. holding hands on a walk or a peck here and there would be right down his alley, but he wouldnt want to be all over you at all times when theres people around. behind closed doors is another story though lowk

nsfw

gn super into hickeys - he wouldnt cover you in them in super visible areas, but he wouldnt be opposed to having one or two on his neck of collarbones. your chest, stomach and upper thighs would have pink marks littered all over from him, he loves the idea of giving and getting them.

gn (lowk self indulgent here) he strikes me as like “a man who yearns is a man who earns.” he wouldnt be the type to jump your bones every other day, but he would want a bit of a buildup to sex; eyeing you and flirting with you, running his hands over your waist and hips when he’d get a chance, and eventually giving you puppy eyes and asking “baby, please,” once he was needy enough.

gn he wouldnt at ALL be opposed to being denied a bit, making him ask you nicely and exactly how you want before he would even unbutton his jeans.

f i dont think he’s great at munching, but he would do it for the love of the game. having you so close to him and the whole feeling and position of his face between your legs and his hair being yanked on while he essentially makes out with your pussy is so overwhelming and unbelievably hot to him.

gn he would love having you on top, being able to adore and see you fully while he’s as physically close as he could ever get to you makes sex so much better. he wouldnt be lazy, he would move you with him while squeezing your hips and sweet talking you in such filthy ways.

hashtag need that

this was lowk very self indulgent but i hope you enjoyed!!!

✦the easy life✦

✧･ﾟ:it looks good on him. The ease of a life without danger, the peace of a world where he sleeps through the night with you tucked into his chest, then wakes up in the morning and makes a real breakfast, in a real kitchen, with a real job and a sense that this isn’t going to end.

✧･ﾟ:there are parts that he resisted at first. The hair was an issue. He’d shave every morning with the same military focus he’d had on the road, and make you cut it in the bathroom the same way you used to in the bunker. But then he’d sleep in, snoring and cuddling you like a teddy bear, and the stubble grew, and grew, and grew. You didn’t remind him of the haircuts. He glared at himself in the mirror sometimes and rubbed his jaw, but then you kissed right over his beard and ran your fingers through his hair, and he melted in a second. 

✧･ﾟ:“i look old,” he grumbled one morning, holding you over him in bed. You giggled and kissed the tip of his nose. He scowled, squeezing your sides. “I ain’t joking, baby, I look like I’m damn near fifty-“

✧･ﾟ:“that’s because you are near fifty, De,” you murmured. “And I think you look very handsome.” You pet the top of his head, and he leaned into your touch. “Distinguished.”

“you look gorgeous in that outfit, sweetheart. gonna have to beat off all the guys who stare at you.”

“you’re bein’ a real pain in my ass today, princess. do i need to give you an attitude adjustment or something?”

“cookin’ me dinner, angel? christ, how did i get so lucky?”

“i love seein’ you in my clothes, dollface. love when they smell like you.”

“how was your day, honey? what’d you get up to while i was gone?”

“hey sugar, you mind bringin’ me another cup of coffee?”

“morning, sunshine. thought you were gonna sleep all day. was wonderin’ if i was gonna have to come rescue you.”

“slow down, pumpkin, you’re gonna tire yourself out before we start. what’s the rush for?”

“you’re my baby, right? yeah, yeah you are. so sweet, just for me.”

“i put away the laundry and did the dishes for you, ma’am. anything else on your honey-do list, or can i watch the game?”

╰┈> summary: your obsessed with biting deans biceps.

dean had long since accepted that you were weird.

at first he’d catch you zoning out during research, your chin propped in your palm, eyes nowhere near the lore book in front of you- instead staring at his arms. specifically, whenever he rolled the sleeves of his flannel past his elbows.

dean leaned back in his chair trying—and failing—to hide the smug grin spreading across his face.

“sweetheart” he teased, “you got a thing for muscles?”

you buried your face in your hands with a groan. “…its embarrassing.”

“nah.” his grin widened. “kinda flattering.”

then it started as a joke the first time you grabbed his arm during a movie marathon, frowned thoughtfully before sinking your teeth into the solid curve of his bicep- the toned skin rough under your soft lips.

“ow- what the hell?” dean groaned looking at the noticeable marks of your teeth dug into his skin.

“you just look biteable!” you whined, nudging your cheek into his bicep.

“…seriously? no wonder the hounds love me..”

you nodded with complete sincerity before kissing the mark gently like you hadn’t just assaulted him…

…now it was just… a thing.

dean would be sprawled across the motel bed after a hunt, sleeves rolled up and exhausted. you’d wander over without a word, curl up against his side, wrap around his arm with both hands and bite. not hard enough to hurt—just enough to leave the faint crescent marks and kisses that disappeared by morning.

“there she goes.” dean would sigh dramatically. “my little vampire, always gotta have somethin in your mouth huh?”

you’d hum against his skin taking in his scent- taking in him and refusing to let go while he’d try to keep up the fake complaints.

“y’know normal girlfriends kiss their boyfriends…”

“i do kiss you!”

“you also gnaw on me.”

“it’s affectionate.” you sigh while dean rolls his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck.

“…yeah.” he’d mutter unable to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth- unable to hide how much he actually enjoys the feel of your lips all over him.

Jeff Hardy Shy Headcanons

he’s jealous of any guys that talk to you, especially if they make you laugh

he’s always looking at you, but looks away before you make eye contact

uses any excuse to be around you