I write sins and tragedies

DISNEY+ DAREDEVIL: One shirtless scene per season with zero whump and lasts for a few seconds at most 💔

So obviously this man has an oral fixation. The lollipops, the peanut butter spoon, the ice cream scene. How he can’t stop talking, rattling off bantering quips even in serious situations. You know and love it. Braxton likes to keep his mouth busy at all times, and that takes on several different connotations as you get to know him. 

You make a habit of carrying candy on your person whenever you spend time with him. Every time you see him starting to get antsy– shifting around in his chair, fingers drumming on the countertop– you offer him something. 

“Want a Dum Dum?” you ask. 

Holding the lollipop out to him, twirling the stick between your fingers enticingly. He turns to you, a flint of a smile. 

“Thanks.”

He plucks the candy from your hand and unwraps it in a blur, tucking the dome of sugar directly into his cheek. The stick lolls between his parted lips, his throat bobbing and cheeks hollowing as he sucks. You can’t help the flush that rises in your cheeks at the sight of it. It’s impossible to deny that one of the reasons why you keep the lollipops on hand is because he looks damn good with one in his mouth. 

You giggle. 

“What’s so funny?” Braxton asks. 

Turning to you with a dark eyebrow cocked in curious interest, and that tug of a smile is back. Giving you goddamn butterflies without even trying. 

“Wouldn’t eating a Dum Dum be considered cannibalism for you?”

Braxton scoffs out a laugh.

“Oh fuck off, kid.”

“I told you not to call me that,” you intone with a frown. 

You’re not that much younger than him, but he never lets you forget his additional years of experience whenever he’s got the chance. When Chris isn’t around, he likes to cling to his elder status as much as possible. 

“Noted, kid,” he responds.

Braxton never settles anywhere or with anyone for long, but he's quick to get used to you and your offered confections. He'll never state it outright, but he always appreciates the thoughtfulness of the gesture. Can’t tell when you picked up his habit, or that it even was a habit in the first place, but you’re keen. You notice, and it’s like you can read him better than he can read himself, sliding him a sucker whenever he’s nervous.

You’ve practically Pavlov-ed him as a result. Now every time he sees you, his mouth starts watering. Thinking of all the sweet things you can offer him. 

So it’s no surprise when you find out that his mouthy disposition carries over into the bedroom. Braxton learns your body through his mouth. Nibbling your earlobe. Raking his teeth over your jaw. Leaving love bites all over your throat and chest, which you always chastise him for the next morning, but also never ask him to stop doing. He catches you once, examining your reflection in the foggy mirror after a shower, tracing the mottling marks with the tip of your finger as a smirk tugs at your lips. 

You’ll never forget the first time you slide your thumb into Braxton’s mouth in the heat of the moment and the growl that sounds through his chest in reaction. He’s sitting against the headboard, hands gripping your hips as you ride him, and you swear you feel his cock twitch inside you in response.

“You like that?” you ask. 

He doesn’t need to say a word for you to know he loves it. You look down to find his gaze has gone all doe-like, big dark eyes shining with reverence as he nods. 

So you bear down harder, with your hips and your hand, coaxing your finger farther back against his tongue, pressing into the soft muscle. It doesn’t take long before you’re both cumming, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it almost aches, the gloss of saliva following your thumb as you pull it slowly out of his mouth and bring it down to his chin to wrench him in for a sloppy, sated kiss. 

And when he’s in charge? Prepare for that mouth to ruin you. Braxton’s favorite thing to have in his mouth is your cunt. No contest. He’ll get you pinned on the mattress, burly forearms locked down over your stomach, and suck on your clit until you’re swearing you can’t take it anymore. Back bowing off the bed as another orgasm tears through you, wailing his name towards the ceiling. 

“Brax, please–”

“Sh, sh, sh,” he’ll hush you, resting his cheek against your thigh. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. She’s fucking weeping for me.”

It’s astonishing just how wet you get on nights like these, slick with your arousal and his spit, so wet you can feel it cooling against your thighs, see it shining on his chin, sense it soaking into the sheets below. You twitch as Braxton drags his index fingertip through your slit, collecting the evidence of his words and bringing it to his lips. 

“Taste just as pretty as you look,” he’ll tell you. 

You’d be surprised at how, even when his mouth is busy, Brax still manages to run it to the moon and back. It’s as maddening as it is pure lighter fluid to the smoldering heat between your legs. He starts to lower his face again and you can’t contain the mewl of tortured need which spills from your throat. You hands snatch into his hair for some sense of stability, tugging it between your fingers.

“I can’t take anymore, Brax,” you babble, “can’t…”

Braxton smacks your inner thigh, his touch just firm enough to counter your indignance. 

“Oh you poor baby,” he mocks you, smoothing his palm soothingly over the tender skin. “Are you really gonna complain when I’m being so good to you? I think you should come again, just to prove how grateful you are.” 

“F-f-fuck off,” you stutter, head collapsing back against the pillow in sweaty defeat. 

But with your hands still in his hair, you find yourself tugging him closer. A rumble of approval sounds through Braxton’s chest as he readjusts his grip on you, gathering your cunt close to his mouth. 

thank you twt mootie for indulging me ofc luv u bb 🫶🏽

A/N ~ These were running through my head and I had to get them out here. Enjoy! For more Frank, check out my master list.

Summary ~ Mini blurbs/headcanons about the sweetest moments between you and Frank.

Frank Castle is such a cinnamon roll. Soft where it counts, sweet in all the ways no one would expect.

Every morning he’d bring you tea exactly the way you like it: a splash of milk swirling into the perfect warm colour and two sugars melting as he stirred. He always handed it to you with that quiet, satisfied little nod, like taking care of you was the best part of his day.

By the time you came downstairs, dressed and ready for work, your lunch would already be waiting on the counter: packed neatly, wrapped with care, like he’d put real thought into every detail.

Then, there were the notes. Gosh, the notes. He’d tuck those tiny post-its inside your lunch or stick them to the lid, each one written in his rough scrawl. Whenever the women at your office caught sight of them, they would melt on the spot, sighing over how lucky you were:

“You’re beautiful.”

“I loved the way you smiled at me this morning.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re going to get that promotion.”

Then, there was the one that always turned your whole face hot:

“Can’t wait to get you out of that dress tonight.”

That one never failed to make you blush, even hours later.

___

Frank was protective. He had to be, training had carved it into him, etched it into his DNA.

So on girls’ night, while you were out laughing and bar-hopping with your friends, Frank stayed in. He’d be settled on the sofa in all dressed in all black, one foot propped on the coffee table, remote in hand, phone resting beside him. The room would be quiet except for the soft hum of the TV and the occasional blink of red on the screen.

The tracker he’d tucked into the lining of your purse. It pinged every so often, your location shifting on the map. He wasn’t trying to cage you; he’d never stop you from living your life but he needed to know you were safe. Needed to know where you were and who might be around you, especially on nights when drinks flowed and strangers blurred together.

It wasn’t about control. It was about peace of mind. You were his light in a world full of darkness and keeping an eye on you was the only way he knew to breathe easy.

___

Frank was a flower guy. He’d come home with a brightly coloured bouquet in his hands, the petals almost too vivid to be real.

“What are these for?”

“Just…” he’d shrug, sliding them into your hands and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

___

You volunteered at the school’s little league games, handing out water and snacks. Your friend’s kid, the one you were a godmother to, asked if you knew anyone who could step in as assistant coach, since the current one was retiring. You couldn’t think of anyone.

Frank knew all about the little league. Every Sunday, over the lunches he made, you’d talk endlessly about the kids: how Sammy did this, little Joe did that. He could see how much they meant to you. The way your eyes sparkled, the way your voice softened. Those moments were when you were happiest and he loved watching you come alive.

So, when you mentioned the assistant coach leaving, he noticed the subtle drop in your tone, the tiny shadow that passed over your face. You explained that you didn’t know anyone who could help until they found a replacement. Frank didn’t know why but it tugged at him refusing to let go. You hadn’t spoken of it again for the rest of the day. That night he lay awake shirtless, one hand behind his head, you curled against him as he stared at the ceiling; turning over thoughts of how he could help, how he could make it right.

He could see Frank Jr., that perfect smile, those big, bright eyes smiling back at him. Was he trying to tell him something? Frank didn’t get much time with his own kids but he had promised FrankJr. he’d watch him play ball, that one day he’d be a pro if he wanted to be. That day never came and Frank had made peace with it. Looking at you, so peaceful in your sleep, he made a decision to ensure his favourite smile never left your face.

The next Sunday morning, you were about to leave the house, reaching for the keys in the bowl as you headed toward the door.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

Frank’s voice called from behind you. You turned, frowning in surprise.

“Do what?”

“I’ll coach the team.”

Your eyes widened and you squealed, throwing yourself into his arms, laughter spilling over.

“Yeah, yeah… don’t get too excited,” he teased but the warmth in his voice and the softness in his eyes betrayed him.

Needless to say, the kids loved him. From the way he laughed with them, to the small, patient guidance he gave, he fit right in.

For Frank, seeing you happy, seeing the kids smile, made it all worth it. 

____

Bernthirst Movie Madness - Sexiest