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a/n: a shorter one while i'm working on the peaky blinders dating headcanons. it's kind of a new version of something i did a while back... enjoy reading♡
°•♡the way Matt sees you has nothing to do with light or color. To him you are warmth and rhythm and scent and the thousand tiny sounds that make up a soul. He knows the exact cadence of your footsteps on the stairs: how they lighten when you’re happy, how they drag when the day has been too heavy. He can pick out the particular hush of your breathing when you’re pretending to be fine. He maps the subtle shift in your heartbeat when you walk into a room and realize he’s already there waiting for you... you are never just “there.” You are a living constellation of details no one else could ever read, and he spends every quiet moment cataloging them like they’re sacred scripture written only for him.
°•♡every night his hands find your face like a ritual he never wants to break. His fingertips learn you all over again: tracing the arch of your brow, the curve of your cheekbone, the soft give of your lower lip, like he’s afraid the city might have stolen even one millimeter of you while he was gone. He’ll tilt his head, listening to the way your pulse jumps under his thumb, and just smiles. “There you are,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with awe, as if you’re the only miracle hell’s kitchen has ever offered him. As if touching you is the closest he’ll ever get to feeling heaven.
°•♡mornings are sacred to him. He wakes before you, always, but he lingers in bed just to feel you slowly come back to consciousness: the soft hitch in your breathing as you stir, the way your heartbeat steadies when you realize he’s still there, the sleepy smile that tugs at your lips before your eyes even open. He presses his face into your hair and breathes you in like a man starved for peace, murmuring good morning against your skin in that low, gravel-rough voice that still makes your pulse skip. For those few stolen minutes, the devil doesn’t exist. There’s only Matt, warm and wrapped around the only person who makes waking up feel like a blessing instead of another day he has to survive.
°•♡he loves the way you smell after a shower - clean and warm and unmistakably you. He’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck and just breathe you in, letting the rest of the world fall away until all that exists is the steady drum of your heart and the faint trace of your shampoo. Sometimes he just stays like that for what feels like forever, because in those moments the roar inside his head finally quiets. You become his sanctuary, the one place where the devil can lay down his horns and simply be Matt. Flawed, exhausted, and completely in love.
°•♡in his mind you glow. Not with light he can see, but with a presence so vivid it cuts through every other noise in the city. When you laugh, the sound paints the darkness gold. When you’re angry with him (and god knows you have every right), the heat in your voice still feels like sunlight on his skin. Even your silence has texture: the soft one when you’re reading, the heavier one when you’re worried about him, the comfortable one when you’re both tangled in bed and the world is finally quiet enough for him to rest.
°•♡he notices everything you think you hide: the way you bite your lip when you’re trying not to cry; the tiny hitch in your breath when you’re proud of him but don’t want to say it yet; the way your fingers tighten around his when the nightmares creep too close. He never calls you out on them unless you want him to. Instead he simply holds you closer, presses a kiss to your temple, and lets his heartbeat answer yours: I’m here. I see you, all of you. And i’m never letting go.
°•♡Matt loves the way your body fits against his when you’re both half-asleep. The way your breathing slowly syncs with his, the way your fingers unconsciously trace the scars on his chest as if you’re memorizing the map of every fight he’s survived. In the dead of night, when the city is still loud but your presence drowns it out, he realizes this is what peace feels like: your heartbeat steady against his ribs, your warmth bleeding into all the cold, empty places inside him. You make the darkness feel safe.
°•♡after the worst nights, when the suit is torn and his body is a map of fresh bruises, he comes home and lets you pull him into the shower. The hot water stings, but your hands are gentle as they wash blood from his skin. He stands under the spray with his forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed, letting your scent and your touch ground him. No words are needed in that moment; your steady breathing tells him he’s safe, that he’s home, that he can rest for a few hours. You never flinch from the violence written on his body. Instead, you kiss every new mark like it’s proof he came back to you again.
°•♡when you dress up for a date, it makes something deep and possessive bloom in his chest. He can hear the whisper of fabric against your skin as you move, the soft metallic click of the zipper, the way your heels change the rhythm of your steps into something confident and elegant. When you finally step in front of him, he reaches out slowly, fingers trailing from your wrist up to your shoulder, learning the new silhouette of you. “You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, even though he’s never seen the dress - because he can feel how your spine straightens at his words, how your breath quickens, how your scent deepens with a hint of perfume you only wear for special nights. For him, you’re brighter than any skyline could ever be, and he spends the entire evening hyper-aware of every head that turns toward you, quietly reminding the world with every touch that this radiant soul chose the blind devil waiting in the dark.
°•♡rainy nights are his favorite. The city hushes under the downpour, and suddenly he can hear you even more clearly: the soft patter of your bare feet, the rustle of blankets as you curl into him, the way your breathing matches the rhythm of the rain against the windows. He traces slow patterns on your arm and lets the storm outside mirror the one that used to live inside his chest - until you quieted it. With you, even thunder feels like a lullaby.
°•♡he feels your love like a tether. Even when he’s out there, leather and blood and sirens screaming, he can sense the faint pull of you across the rooftops; the way your worry vibrates through the night, the way your relief washes over him the second he slips back through the window. You are his compass in the chaos, and no matter how dark everything gets, one thread of you keeps him from getting lost in the devil.
°•♡when you say his name, he's done for; not Matt the way the rest of the world says it, but the soft way it leaves your lips when it’s just the two of you. Sometimes it’s a laugh, sometimes a moan, sometimes a broken plea in the middle of the night, and each version feels like a different key unlocking another part of him. He’s convinced no one else on earth has ever made his name sound so cherished.
°•♡at the end of every night, every fight, every confession whispered in the dark, he comes back to this one truth: you are the only thing in this world he doesn’t need eyes to believe in. You are the steady heartbeat beneath the roar of the city, the warmth that survives every shadow, the voice that calls him home when the devil tries to keep him. In a life built on pain and penance and secrets, you are the single, perfect miracle he never saw coming and will never let go of. He may never see your face the way others do, but he sees you more completely than anyone ever could: every flaw, every light, every quiet strength, and he loves you with a devotion so fierce it borders on worship. You are his redemption. His peace. His reason to keep fighting... and his reason to come home. Always.
Your feedback and criticism is greatly appreciated; feel free to leave a comment, it means more than you know♡
Thank you for stumbling onto my blog, enjoy reading💫
Hiii! Firstly, I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOOOVE your writing-- I've basically marathoned your fanfics they're just too good! Secondly, I have a possible request regarding a certain Alfie Solomons 👀 Possibly a fic where Alfie is head over heels for reader from the get-go? Like, the Shelbys send reader to talk to Alfie because they know he'll respond to her better and he's all 'I'm gonna make you my wife' and she's like 'uh huh, that's great, anyways--' sort of 'one fell first, but the other fell harder' style? Idk if that makes aaany sense but I hope it does
Anyhoo, THANK YOU FOR THE AMAZING FICS~!! I hope you have a super lovely week! 💗
Hi friends! Long time no see, I know it’s strange coming back like this - but the sirens have beckoned me. And I am weak.
Dear Anonymous, thank you for this prompt and PLEASE forgive me for not coming to this sooner. But we are here now! I am so glad you like my stories. It’s so much better when I get to share with you guys.
I hope this delivers! It’s been a while for me 💕
Your Idiot
Alfie Solomons x Fem Reader
Warnings: None
What is the worst thing about the Shelby family? Is it their vicious cuts that blind? The brutal business practices?
Some would say it’s Shelby face itself. Hard and cold one minute. Warm and alluring the next. Intoxicating either way, all the time. While the Shelbys are terrifying and blood thirsty, it did not drive away the droves of lovers and hopefuls from those Shelby doorways. There should be a “Shelby Lovers Anonymous” for all the women that your brothers have seduced. Ada had broken many a heart before her marriage as well, but you - no one got even a toe in the door.
Not that you weren’t as beautiful as your siblings. Far from it. Your beauty and poise was well regarded. It was your public demeanor. They called you an Ice Queen. Which truthfully was funny, because you were the most gentle and affectionate one of the family. Sweet and tender to those who knew you truly. But that sweetness had a critical and assessing eye. You held a more ‘guilty until proven innocent’ mindset. Many had tried to win your affections; gifts, poems, outrageous declarations, one had even threatened a duel with Tommy if he could not have you. But much to the mirth of your family, nothing phased you. You were loving, and had love to give, but no man had truly swept you off your feet. You doubted that one ever would.
Saturday morning. 9am sharp, you were scheduled to meet in Camden with a certain Alfred Solomons. Rarely did you meet with “business” partners without Tommy. Only when the deal needed a special touch to seal it did you get sent in. A sweet smile (falsified or not), a gentle hand guiding the pen and promise. Allegedly Mr. Solomons had nearly put Arthur and John’s head through a window at the last business meeting, and you were deemed the most capable of smoothing things out with the big brute. Had you ever met him? No. But the fact that you were still deemed the best choice to make amends tells you that your brothers must have truly mucked it up.
So there you go, stepping oh so regally out of the car, clothes perfectly pressed and tailored, a right glittering star amongst the cosmos and chaos of Camden. A basket of gin and fine French wine under your arm as a peace offering. Solomons was said to be usually at home on a Saturday morning, so you had made the executive decision to go straight to his home. Optics of a young woman going to a bachelor’s home sans chaperone be damned.
A prim knock on the door brought forth a stout old woman with the sweetest face on earth, with a crisp floral print dress. Your heart ached, she looked like your primary school teacher. “Good morning ma’am, may I help you?”, she chirped.
You nodded, “Good morning, I’m here to see Mr. Solomons. I’ve been sent to deliver some goods to him. I believe he’s expecting me - I’m Miss Shelby.”
“Oh yes yes yes. The younger one aren’t you? Yes I have been expecting you. Come come.”
You were ushered into the fold by the older woman - the housekeeper Mrs. Fitz you would come to find out. Taking your hat and over coat, she beckoned you to the study on the second floor.
It was certainly a bachelor’s home, but kept tidy by the craftsmanship of Mrs. Fitz certainly. Books were piled in various corners, with notebooks and pens scattered throughout, “I do tell him to simply put things back where they were but… you know I think his mind moves faster than his body I really do. God forbid I touch some stacks because I ruin his ‘system’. Bless him. He’s strange but a lovely man. I wish he’d find a nice girl but he tells me he’s too busy and a woman would touch his things. I mean what nonsense truly…”
She prattled on but you could not help but laugh quietly. You loved it when the housekeepers gossiped. That’s where all the good information lay. But she didn’t speak of him like the wild animal she had always heard of. No she spoke of an… eccentric bachelor. She may as well have been paying a visit with the matchmaker and a new client.
The walls a wash of deep green, and dark wood flooring and crown molding. It felt deep and rich, like an expensive chocolate or your favorite dish on Christmas Eve. It felt luscious and hearty in the home. Making it difficult to keep your guard on full attention. Mrs. Fitz knocked on the second door you passed and announced, “Mr. Solomons sir, I have a Miss Shelby here.”
“Yeah alright.”, a voice rumbled through the door and into your chest.
Mrs. Fitz smiled and whispered, “He was raised in a stable so don’t be offended by his manners.”
You stepped through the door and were amazed. From floor to the ceiling were books tucked in shelves. On the floor there were several piles of various lengths. On the wall and opposing the desk was a large fireplace, lowly crackling but perfuming the air with its wood. In front were two plump seats, begging to be of use. Hulking over the desk on the other side, was your host.
Imposing. That’s what you would say. But it was more than that. As tall as Arthur, but where Arthur was wirey, this man was a solid brick wall. The muscles of his back undulating like the waves of the sea underneath a linen shirt. Arms filling out the sleeves that were pushed up to expose strong tattooed forearms.
But he looked a right mess. As he turned to you, it looked like he hadn’t had a proper haircut in months. His beard wild, and shirt half done. His eyes were vast and … just staring.
“Who the hell are you?”, his voice rumbled.
“…Miss Shelby?”
“Tommy’s sister? The unmarried one?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, screwing up his mouth. “Nah that can’t be right.”
“But it is.”
“No it can’t you see because every Shelby I’ve met, instantly gives me an ulcer, even the Ada girl. The Shelbys got this little superiority complex that just right pisses me off - you… you don’t have that look so therefore you cannot be a Shelby.”
You stare at him as he rambles on in the strangest tangent you have ever heard. His bejeweled fingers catching and throwing the light all around him. You felt your eyebrows draw together as you were trying to figure out what he is saying.
Interrupting him you cut, “Mr. Solomons… that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.”
Alfred Solomons breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked, “Did you just call me stupid?”
You nodded vigorously, “Yes because that sentence made no comprehensible logic. Do you talk like that all the time?”
“No one has ever called me stupid and lived darling.”
You stuck your arms straight out at your sides, spirits clinking in their bottles, “You going to shoot me then? Go ahead, then I don’t have to explain why your logic is absolutely ridiculous.”
Alfred turned in a circle, as if looking for someone to jump out and say this was some sort of prank. Because this woman came in - into the King of Camden’s study - and called him stupid. And was not afraid of consequences. No one clarified for him, but he did see the glitter of a bottle. With a thick finger he pointed, “What’s that in the basket?”
With a roll of your eyes, you pulled out the two bottles, “Gin and French wine. Compliments of the Shelby family. I was asked to apologize and make amends for my brothers’ foolishness a few days ago.”
Something about your irritated face and pursed lips made Alfred want more. He wanted you to get angry again. “So your way of apologizing for your brother’s foolishness… was to come into my house and call me stupid.”
“You don’t want the apology and spirits, I’ll take them with me.”
Not what he wanted.
“No no darling you … damn… you sit down there and let me get us some glasses.”
“Mr. Solomons I really should be-“
“Alfie darling call me Alfie. And you must stay and take a drink with me. You’re apologizing to me now aren’t you?”
“Mr. Solomons it is 9 in the morning.”
“Perfect time to begin in getting to know each other better.”
He started with the wine, which is possibly the better of what he could’ve opened. As you sipped your wine, you tried not to notice how he was devouring you with his eyes, “Why haven’t we met before dear?”
You look at him through the wine glass. He looked like an absolute wild man. “I don’t typically go to the parties thrown by my family. And I haven’t needed to come to any business meeting.”
“I think I would’ve enjoyed the meetings more if you were there darling.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Something really good to look at. Especially when you get tetchy.”
You squinted your eyes. Who the hell did this man think he was? You allowed the silence to settle around you. The room was comfortably warm, and the fire continued to crackle and snap. You forced your heart to settle down, Mr. Solomons had launched your heart rate upwards as soon as you had locked eyes with his stormy eyes.
You weren’t able to meet his eyes right now. Which was unlike you. You prided yourself on being able to stare down men and keep them pinned. But with this Mr. Solomons, you felt a lurch in your stomach, and a desire to … run?… punch him? Punching him sounded good right now.
But Mr. Solomons, little did you know, had already decided that you would be his wife. One way or another. Even if he had to sign a shit contract or 10 with the Shelbys. From the moment you called him stupid and scrunched your nose at him, he wanted you. He wanted more than anything for you to howl and stomp your feet in anger at him. He wanted to kiss you fiercely, and dote on you. He wanted to watch you devour him whole.
And Alfie was a man of action.
“Just to let you know… I’m going to marry you Miss Shelby.”
You coughed on your wine, trying to catch your breath, but your brain was becoming scrambled eggs.
“I beg your pardon?”
Alfie smiled deliciously behind his beard. Sitting down his wine and leaning in his chair he repeated, “I’m going to marry you. I know quality when I see it.”
“Did you not just threaten to kill me moments ago?”
“No I said that no one had yet called me that and lived. But the way you threaten me… well I won’t get into that yet till you accept my ring.”
You stood up quickly, “Mr. Solomons you are the most brutish, uncouth, unmannered being I have ever met.”
He pointed at you with a wink, “You just said three words that mean the same thing.”
You felt your cheeks get hot. And when did the air leave the room? You stepped forward, “I should slap that hideous beard right off your stupid face.”
He just preened, “Oh darling please don’t tease.”
You turned swiftly, walking towards the door, “I assume the apology is accepted. Good day Mr. Solomons I hope to never see you again.”
As you walked down the wooden steps you felt his lumbering feet following you, “Ah Miss Shelby why are you running from destiny? I felt it, you felt it. Come now don’t run away from a good squabble.”
You grabbed your coat, and we’re about to grab your hat when it was so quickly plucked from your hands by his paw. As you turned you immediately ran into his chest. Soon you were pressed between the door and his strong body. He held the hat above your reach, “When can I see you again?”
“Give me my hat this instant.”
“You’ll get your hat when you tell me when I get to see you again.”
“Beast!”
“For you alone. Now… dearest tell me where to find you. Or I’ll have to hunt you down myself.”
You stared right into his eyes with fire, and his stormy eyes was molten with adoration. Pure adoration. It made you sick… you think.
You pushed his chest, to no avail, and spit out, “The Garrison tomorrow at 7. In the back room. Don’t annoy me by being late. And take a shower, you disgust me.”
He smiled warmly, placing the hat so gently on your head. “I’ll get a haircut this afternoon.”
You nodded. You hated his face. You hated his bushy beard and eyebrows. And his open shirt and tattoos. You hated those dark eyes with his long blonde lashes. You hated his mouth and that smile that just reeked of devotion. And most of all you hated that he was the only man who had actually made you feel something other than pity.
You fix your hat on your head, even though it was perfectly put on to your great irritation. And push him again with all your might, making Mr. Solomons chuckle. “Good try darling. I’ll see you soon.”
By the time you reach your bedroom that evening after dinner, there is a large bouquet of tropical flowers. The card, in quick and splotchy writing read,
For my rare flower.
I promise to behave.
Forever your devoted (soon to be) husband,
Alfie
You roll your eyes. Yet you keep the card propped on your vanity. As a trophy of another easily kept man you tell yourself.
So what if you spend more time on your dress when going to the Garrison?
Nothing new for our adorable couple of idiots, who are up to their adorable antics.
All the women in Y/N’s life had warned her that pregnancy wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park.
Her body would change, she’d struggle to walk, sleep, and recognize herself in the mirror, and with her hormones completely haywire, she would undergo internal changes too.
The tears had taken her by surprise the first time. Alfie had been caught off guard as well, panicking and rushing over to ask what was wrong, only to discover it was because she’d dropped a spoon.
You would have thought she’d killed the poor kitchen utensil, there it lay on the floor, and she simply couldn't bring herself to pick it up.
With patience and tenderness, never once mocking her overreaction, her husband had picked up the spoon, washed it, and handed it back with a kiss on her forehead.
He took her other emotional outbursts just as seriously, brushing aside Y/N’s apologies, she couldn't understand why she was crying so much over such trivial things.
By her eighth month, things seemed to be settling down a bit. At least, that was Alfie’s impression, since his wife no longer cried in front of him.
Y/N didn't know if she was doing it on purpose, but her tears would wait until she was alone to come pouring out like a waterfall, usually when the source of her sadness wasn't even there.
Because after several months, it was Alfie who was causing her pain, unwittingly, and surely unintentionally.
As she entered the final stretch of her pregnancy, he had started to pull away. He didn't force her to stay cooped up at home, but he had asked her to go out less, and he almost never accompanied her during the rare times he was actually home.
When they were finally together, Alfie wouldn't touch her unless absolutely necessary. A helping hand when she seemed on the verge of falling or needed support to walk, holding her close in bed when she clung to him, pleading.
Using his fingers and his tongue, he gave her as much pleasure as possible, never once undressing himself.
Y/N didn't understand, or refused to. She was afraid to have that conversation with her husband, terrified of hearing that he no longer desired her now that she had changed so much.
After all, he had said he didn't want children until fate decided for them. And even though he had ultimately made the decision to keep the baby, he might be regretting it now.
If Polly were still around, she’d know what to do. It was strange not being able to call her anymore. There was Ada or Grace, of course, but without really thinking about it, Y/N had turned to the person she had always trusted most.
"… I’m not sure I’m the best person to handle your problem."
"Thomas. I just want a hug and some advice."
"I can advise you on horses and business. The rest is really a job for Arthur or Ada. I can get them over here if you like."
"Thomas…" his sister sobbed, blowing her nose for the hundredth time that day.
He sighed, a long, drawn-out sigh, but stood up nonetheless to take his little sister in his arms. With anyone else, he would have remained cold, but he could deny her almost nothing.
That didn't mean he was equipped to handle the situation. He had seen their sister, and later his wife, in similar states, but he had always left it to the women to deal with. He felt a mix of honor and helplessness that Y/N had turned to him.
With his characteristic calm, Tommy listened to her lamentations, nodding as if he understood. And in truth, he understood a little.
"I’ve been saying since you got engaged that your husband is an idiot. You can't have forgotten that Alfie Solomons is the king of morons, and completely crazy about you. You two really have a communication problem, and that’s saying something, coming from me."
"You think I’m worrying over Nothing ? But he doesn't touch me anymore !"
"Tikni phen. When I tell you that man is ready to die at your feet, you can believe me. You just need to talk about it, and everything will be fine. I’ll call a car so you can…"
"TREACLE ! THOMAS ?! Open up, I know my wife is in there !"
Just because Alfie wasn't with Y/N didn't mean he didn't know her whereabouts, he still had his men follow her everywhere.
He had dropped everything the moment he learned she’d gone to see her brother. That wasn't surprising in itself, but he’d had a bad feeling. He’d sensed something was wrong for days.
And so, he found himself on his knees before Y/N, checking to make sure she wasn't hurt, devastated by her tears, and desperate to know what was going on.
Thomas started to stand up to leave them alone, but his sister grabbed his hand, holding him in place as she poured out all her fears.
"… Love, forgive me. I thought I was doing the right thing to protect you. You’re an easy target out there in your condition, and I… The other day, some old hag asked to touch your belly, and I thought I was going to rip her hand right off. I can't help it, I feel like someone’s going to steal you away from me, you’re just so radiant."
"I look huge and hideous."
"Hey ! Nobody talks about my beautiful wife like that."
"You don't touch me at all anymore…" she sobbed.
"That's not true ! We do plenty of things !"
"You stay fully dressed !"
"I want to go to my office." Thomas sighed.
"Because I don't want to hurt the baby with my… You know ! I know it doesn't work like that, but my cock shouldn't get anywhere near our child ! My hands and tongue are enough ! Do you think I enjoy having to finish in the bathroom ? I miss you; I want to have you all the time !"
"I really want to leave this room."
"So you aren't ashamed of me ? You still love me and want this baby ?"
"If anyone should be ashamed, it's me. I'm a lousy husband, just as I'm going to be a horrible father. I'm so sorry, my sweet treacle. I love you. I'd sing it to you every day for the rest of my life."
"Oh, Alfie… I'm sorry."
"No, it's me, love. You're very vulnerable right now. We've always had communication issues."
"That's the first time I've heard that."
"Shut up, Thomas. I should have told you my fears instead of letting you imagine the worst. It's always the same, I screw up, you run off to your family, and I have to come crawling back to get you. That's going to change ! You'll never have to worry again !"
They kissed passionately, as if sealing the promise, amidst sounds of disgust from Tommy, who was still trapped by his sister's grip. He could have easily broken free, but he didn't want to upset her again.
It was a relief to him when they quickly decided to leave. He muttered that he had always found it amusing when the couple tormented Arthur, but that, after the experience he had just been through, he would no longer allow it.
He also whispered in Alfie’s ear that if he ever saw his little sister crying because of him, hormones or not, he would end up buried in a vacant lot.
The empty threat made the King of Camden laugh, he didn't react, too busy showering Y/N with love and adoration, refusing to let go of her for even a second until they were inside their home.
"… Do you really think I’m glowing ? And that people are going to try to snatch me up ?" his wife whispered as he took off her shoes to massage her feet.
"Love. I’m not blind, even if my eyesight has gotten worse with age. People turn their heads in admiration when you walk by. I’ve heard those young hussies at the bakery wondering how I got so lucky. And that moron Ollie, who’s terrified you’ll fall and hovers way too close whenever you come in, that’s my fucking job ! Nobody touches you."
Exhausted as she was, Y/N couldn't help but laugh at her husband’s adorable absurdity, and because he was tickling her feet. That spurred him on to spout even more nonsense, just because he’d missed the sound of her laughter.
During the final month of pregnancy, Alfie stayed glued to his wife’s side, leaving her no room to doubt that she was the most important person in the universe, and ensuring, just as he’d promised, that she wouldn't have a single worry.
Well, except perhaps on the day of the delivery, when she’d end up breaking his hand while screaming and swearing he’d never touch her again. But aside from that moment ? Not a single worry.
୨ৎ Frank Castle isn’t the type of guy to take you to the most fancy fine dining restaurant, he’s the man who’s going to take you to a dimly lit family owned restaurant on some corner of a dodgy street. Where he knows all the staff by name and it’ll be the best meal you’ve ever had in your life
୨ৎ Frank Castle isn’t the type of guy to buy you fancy designer bags and shoes because that’s ‘just what you do’. No, he’s the type of man who’ll buy you that cardigan you really liked but then put it back on the rack because you said it was “too expensive for a cardigan”.
୨ৎ Frank Castle isn’t the type of guy who’ll buy you a dozen long stemmed red roses for Valentine’s Day. He’s the man who’ll find the one florist in the city who has Rhododendron’s and buy you a bouquet of that because he knows that’s your favourite.
୨ৎ Frank Castle is the kind of guy who’ll call your coffee order ‘hipster shit’ because you get it with an alternative milk. But he’ll never not stop at your favourite cafe and bring you one anyways.
୨ৎ Frank Castle isn’t the kind of guy who’ll tell you he loves you every second of every day. He is the type of man who shows his love by following through on promises and making your life easier in practical ways.
୨ৎ Frank Castle is the kind of man who gets your name tattooed across his chest in response to you buying a necklace with a little “F” charm on it because wtf else is he supposed to do?
୨ৎ Frank Castle is the type of man who listens, observes, studies and learns and you’re his favourite subject.
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the days are long n the nights are hard ──Frank Castle
summary: A quiet night at home with your daughter while Frank is deployed.
pairing: marine!frank x wife!reader
tags: pre-series. domestic angst. slight fluff like 🤏 this much. young parents. firstborn. letters. texts. voicemails. sad, really sad. pet names. lemme know if i missed anything!
wc: 1.1k
A few months ago, this was enough.
A healthy child. A great husband. A pretty house with space for your kid to run around.
But looking around the dimly lit nursery while the crickets sing somewhere outside, you can’t quite push down the hollow feeling gnawing in your chest.
Your daughter is curling up under her blankie, finally satisfied with her daily mission to turn the house into her personal rock concert. You rub small circles on her back while your free hand traces over your husband’s handwriting on the papers in your lap.
The letters are crinkled at the edges, smudged with faint fingerprints of dark grease, and decorated with a few damp spots. Frank is… well, Frank. Just leave it to him when you want a love letter to sound like a military report.
“Can you send more photos? The one in my helmet liner got a little sweat stain.”
“I already scheduled your car check before I left. Make sure they don’t rip you off.”
“Got the care package you sent today. Don’t know what I’d do without you, Mrs. Castle.”
The sudden buzz of your phone makes your heart jump. You turn to reach for the screen, but that flicker of hope quickly fades when you see the sender.
It’s just your best friend.
You swallow a lump of disappointment, opening the group chat to reveal a blurry fifteen-second video they sent. Your friends are dancing under the flashing neon lights, surrounded by loud, ear-blasting music that used to be your whole world. Seeing this now somehow feels like you’re watching from a different lifetime.
You shake your head fondly, turning the volume down before it can wake the baby as you type back.
“don’t do anything i wouldn’t ;)”
The reply comes quickly. “sure, grandma 🙄”
A small laugh escapes you, making the munchkin stir. You pat her back gently, cooing until her breathing slows and she settles once more. Only then do you kiss her forehead goodnight and finally retreat to your own bedroom.
Worn papers shuffle inside the shoebox as you close the lid. With the letters put away, the silence pressing on your shoulders feels heavier than ever. You look around for something else that needs doing. Nothing.
The house is clean. Kid’s sleeping. Work’s done.
It doesn’t take long before you climb into bed and open the chat with one person you actually want to talk with. Especially this late at night when the world is dead asleep outside, and you’re wide awake under the sheets.
Last message: 5 days ago
Jul 07 - 15 photos attached
Jun 28 - my presentation 😈
Jun 25 - pediatrician :(
Your thumb skips past the recent texts, hovering over the screen for a moment before you press play on the video you already know by heart.
Jun 03 - BABY SAID DA.mov
Your laughter cuts through the heavy air, bouncing off the walls when the lens focuses on your daughter, who is clutching the couch with both hands. A little frown that looks exactly like her dad’s deepens between her brows, making you smile all over again.
“Da!” The tot chirps on screen, pointing straight at the camera.
Blue light washes over your tired features as the eight-second clip freezes on the frame of you grinning, your cheek squished against the girl’s. One’s grumpy. One’s happy. One’s missing.
You drag Frank’s pillow into your chest, burying your nose into the fabric to drown out the empty space beside you with the lingering scent of your husband in the threads. It still amazes you how quickly he became home. Three months was all it took.
Unable to sleep, you scroll through the string of saved voicemails and tap. The familiar voice fills the room like it never left.
“Hey, sweetheart… It’s like three in the mornin over there, I think. You’re probably sleepin now.” A weary sigh from him mingles with yours.
“Sorry I missed the doctor’s appointment. Did the rash go away? Curtis here said lettin it air out can help– Huh?” Someone shouts in the background, distorted by static.
“Copy that. Uh… sorry, baby.” His voice drops. “We’re rollin out. Tell the squirt Daddy loves her, and you. Bye.”
You start the next voicemail, listening to the constant rustle and hiss bleeding through from the other side of the world.
“Hey, pretty girl. It’s freezin here tonight. Check the thermostat before you go to bed, yeah? Lil boss still keepin you up all night?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone.
“Tell her Daddy’ll be home soon and uh… he’s bringin her back a souvenir if she promises to stop givin the big boss a hard time, alright?”
Click. And the next one continues.
“[...] Billy tried to steal your cookies. Told him he’d lose a hand.” People protest over the line, drawing a laugh from Frank. Your fingers dig deeper into the pillow.
“Okay, okay, I shared with the guys. I can literally hear you naggin from here. Sharin’s carin, whatever. They said send more homemade stuff, too. MREs suck… but y’know. Just ignore ‘em, baby. Don’t wear yourself out. Love you.”
You tap the screen again before silence can swallow you whole.
“Hey, it’s me. Listen, I can’t stay long or Gunner’ll have my head.” A rough laugh follows through the speaker. He sounds distracted and a little breathless.
“We’re headin out to a new site, so I’m goin off the grid for a few days. I’ll call when we get there. Kiss my baby girl for me. Keep the doors locked. Don’t miss me too much, okay, sweet girl? I’ll be home ‘fore you know it.”
The last audio cuts out, and in the sudden absence of his voice, the low hum of the thermostat only seems to make the room feel colder.
You curl up in a bed that has no business feeling this big as your gaze drifts to the wedding photo on the wall before settling on the gold band around your finger. The ring never leaves your hand, catching every soft light when you move, but it still spends most nights without its match.
With blurry eyes and shaky thumbs, you swipe up the keyboard and type out the words that will never go through. Then you toss the phone to the nightstand and roll onto the other side of the bed, chasing the warmth that’s been gone since you said goodbye.
Before long, sleep slowly pulls you under, offering a little break before you have to get up and do this all over again.
On your blank screen, a new note joins the others in your drafts:
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Boyfriend!König who’s camera-shy. you can never get a good picture of him, hands always moving to cover his face or ducking out of frame last second. he insists he won’t look good on camera, vehemently denying your pleading for just one picture. he’s got a sixth sense for dodging your phone, lips pressed thin as heat rises to his cheeks while turning away. you fussing over how handsome he is while trying to get a good angle leaves him flustered, brow knit as his large hands move to cover the back of your phone. it’s only when you lament over not having a picture of him to look at while he’s away does he give in, embarrassed when you perk up and smile at him. if it means making you happy he’ll stiffly stand still for a picture, palms sweaty and smile tight. you find he’s less nervous taking selfies with you, but you’ll never see his eyes looking at the camera, icy blues focused solely on you instead
Hi darling! You already covered gender roles dynamics here, but I have another aspect in my mind. My mother is really altruistic in her relationships with my father (her mother and all women in my family is the same). It means doing everything for a man, while he's just drinking beer and watching football. So I had an idea: maybe Frank and the Reader inviting her parent over to their house and the mom starts bossing the Reader around, saying "why your man doing lady stuff" while Frank is like "i have hands i can chop veggies myself" or "i know how the dishwasher works i can do it myself". Any thoughts what can happen? hehe
I think Frank is a real charmer with parents and he's careful not to make family dynamics more difficult for you but getting too involved, unless the offense was too egregious.
Now, that's not to say that Frank wouldn't artfully deflect or defend, but he wouldn't outright pick a fight at little jabs.
So if your mom made a comment that you should be making dinner, Frank might say "Nah, I'm a bum ma'am, don't deserve to be waited on like that," while he gives you a wink and squeezes your hip.
Or if she says "That's a woman's role Frank. Why are you doing women's work?," Frank might say "What good am I if I can't do enough work for the both of us ma'am?" with the biggest and most charming grin on his face. He'd add "Your daughter is the hardest workin' woman I ever met. Must be real proud of her, huh?" and looking pointedly to your mom to demand a yes out of her.
He's really not stirring up trouble but he's not letting her get away with shit.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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"Honey and lavender cream. Sweet, intriguing..."
This started off as a leyendecker style study, ended up as lucanis drinking his coffee and me rendering that cloud of smoke for wayy too long rip
-☕🪻🍯🐝-
[ get him as a print here!]
$WAGALICIOUS @manfuckthisimout - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
