reece

⋆｡°·☁︎ fluffff, you give frank a little haircut!, wc: 624

you have frank seated with his back to the bathroom sink, hair damp and dripping into his eyes. as much as you love the length, it’s been a while since he had a cut, and you decide you can do it just as well as a barber. frank, unable to ever say no to you, sat in the chair you set up without a single complaint.

you stand with a leg on either side of him, rubbing some shampoo between your hands as you look down at him. he looks calm and quiet, like always, but there’s a certain softness in his eyes.

his bare chest is warm against yours as you massage the shampoo deep into his scalp. he practically purrs like a pleased cat, the sound vibrating up through his chest and into yours. you press a kiss to his forehead, nails scraping through his soaped up hair. 

“feels good,” he grumbles softly, his hands sliding up your sides. thick fingers drum against your waist, unable to sit still even in this relaxing environment.

“yeah?” you coo. 

he hums.

you are ready to rinse him, but you decide the little massage can continue for a little while. your hands slide down to massage his temples a bit, and you relish in watching his creased brow and pursed lips melt away at the relief. 

you quickly scoop up some suds that slipped down threateningly close to his eyes before pecking his lips. “m’kay, head back…”

he obeys immediately, groaning softly at the twinge in his neck as he tips his head under the faucet. you lean forward, smushed right against his chest, to turn the faucet on and wash the shampoo out.

“hot? cold?”

“perfect, baby,” he murmurs, voice low. 

you rinse out the suds of shampoo and turn the water off. “ok, back up. time to cut…”

frank lifts his head. as you carefully trim his hair, tongue poked out in focus, frank just looks at you. his eyes don’t drift anywhere else, just lock intensely on your face. sharp snips of the shears you’d bought just for this are the only sound in the bathroom alongside frank’s steady breathing. you’d get flustered if you noticed at all–you’re way too focused on keeping your boyfriend looking sexy and perfect. not that even the worst haircut could ruin that face.

you finally look down to get a look at that face you love so much, and meet his sharp gaze.

you giggle, setting the scissors down and tilting your head. “you’re staring.”

“you’re about two inches from my face, sweetheart.”

you peck his lips before going back to your work. you just trim the ends of the long hairs at the top, and follow up on the sides and back with his clippers. by the end, his hair is damp but shorter, and looking great. you roughly dry it with your blow dryer, taking a good look once it's finally dry. He looks perfect. it’s just the length you like, just a little fluffy, and his jaw is popping…so sharp. he looks perfect.

“i love it,” you beam. “wanna see?”

you go to stand so he can look in the mirror, but he stops you. you squeal as his hands tighten on your waist and pull you all the way down into his lap. once you regain your balance, you laugh at his antics, running your hands through his fresh hair, admiring him.

he picks you up, massive hands under your thighs, carrying you out of the bathroom.

“frank,” you complain. “i need'a clean up the hair on the floor…”

“fuck no.”

you don’t have any hair to pull that night when he’s between your legs, but at least he got his trim!

⋆｡°·☁︎ 18+ mdni, fem!reader summary: frank always seems to put work before you. after a long, long dry spell, maybe you're not willing to let that slide anymore. warnings: smut!!, kinda toxic!frank x reader (they yell a lot), asshole!frank, like 60/40 smut y plot, asshole!reader, p in v, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, veeeery very slight noncon? (she kinda tells him to stop), frank is v vocal in bed word count: 4.9k a.n: my very first real smut fic! not rly proofread just skimmed over bc i got embarrassed.... idk what to think...hopefully i did big d frankie justice :')

your 7 a.m. work alarm is never exactly a delight, but this morning you woke up to a pleasant surprise. frank’s arm, warm and heavy, across your waist. he stayed the whole night, as far as you know, with no problems.

frank is cute when he’s asleep. finally calm, finally missing that perpetually irritated crease in his strong brow, the one you always try to massage out with your thumb when he’s close enough. his lips are parted and smushed against your sleep-warm shoulder, one arm thrown over you while the other supports his head from where it’s curled under his pillow.

the part of frank that isn’t exactly cute is the rock hard cock pressed against your hip.

you yawn quietly, turning off the alarm, surprised that it didn’t wake your boyfriend. something about you set frank at ease, allowing him to sleep through the night without those fucking nightmares, but the alarm usually woke him.

he must’ve been deep in what wasn’t exactly a nightmare, from how his hips moved in a slow grind against your hip, low grumbles escaping his lips from where they pressed against your skin.

you smile slyly at the opportunity, your hand trailing down his side to brush over the hardness in his boxers. he lets out a more audible moan at that, rolling onto his back, eyes pinched shut. you giggle at his apparent sleepy distress, carefully crawling to straddle his hips. by the time you’re rocking back and forth, kissing up his neck, frank is awake.

his pleased hum rumbles through you from where you’re pressed to his chest, and you smile at the sound of his voice, rough from sleep.

“morning…”

“good morning,” you respond between kisses to his throat.

he hums again, hands sliding to their favorite spot, your ass over your little sleep shorts. “y’know, it’s crazy. i was just havin’ a dream real similar to this-”

“yeah?” you grin, nipping at his earlobe. “hm, crazy…”

“isn’t it? i had this real pretty girl on top’a me, and she was-”

and the moment is spoiled by frank's phone. 

bzz bzz. bzz bzz.

it takes every drop of restraint in your body to stop yourself from groaning and banging your fists against the mattress like a tantruming toddler. frank gives you an apologetic kiss on the hairline before rolling you carelessly off of him, picking up the phone and murmuring gruffly into it. all the softness is gone from his posture and expression. by the time he's hung up, you're already on your feet, moving towards the kitchen. 

“baby, where y’going?”

you weakly mumble back something about coffee or breakfast. 

you hear frank pulling some sweatpants on before trailing after you, footfalls heavy in the apartment. for a man who otherwise moves like a shadow, he seems very comfortable in your home. “what's th’matter?”

you don't respond, embarrassment and irritation simmering under your skin. because it's not just today. it's every morning, every night, for the past five weeks. 

frank hasn't fucked you in over a month, and it's starting to kill you. 

you don't even understand how that's possible for frank, especially since it seems the man hasn't even noticed. he's suspiciously unbothered enough for you to suspect that he's seeing other women- even if you know he would literally never. not even a groan of frustration from him last tuesday when he was interrupted an inch away from being inside of you. what kind of man doesn't even have a single complaint within a month of abstinence? well, maybe some men can do it, but you didn't expect this from your frank. before this… dry spell, you hadn't gone two days without some kind of intimacy. frank was busy, but never too busy for you- certainly never too busy to bend you over. 

it's been killing you for weeks. even alone at home, your own fingers can't get the job done, and it makes you fucking sick. why do you have to depend on him for even this? you never had a problem touching yourself before, even while dating frank. now, after the month of torture, it seems nothing can bring you any pleasure. 

and your frustration, it's not really the sort of thing you can admit out loud! at the very least, you know frank will mock you for it. he'll have plenty to say about how needy you are. you're just too embarrassed and too stubborn to admit it. you won't take that from him, no sir. 

so you keep it in, stewing in your irritation as you aggressively make his morning coffee. the machine clatters in protest as you slam the pot under the drip, impatient. you hear your name from close behind you. rough. low. that sleepy gruffness to frank’s voice that would usually make you melt if you weren't so goddamn peeved. 

“almost done,” you say flatly, watching the coffee drip so slowly and decidedly not almost done. 

you hear an irritated sigh, and it makes your anger flare even more. he's going to be irritated with you?

“baby.” it's serious. annoyed. oh, fuck that. frank is close behind you now, but not touching you. you don't turn. “don't gimme this shit.”

you grit your teeth against some unnecessarily sharp response. 

“we were havin’ a nice morning, honey,” he grumbled. “don't fuck it up.”

you fuck it up?!

“me fuck it up?!”

you finally turn to glower up at him. 

“yes, you,” he responds. the fucking audacity. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you try not to get distracted by the size of them. “you walk outta the room and ignore me. now you're getting all pissy. i don't wanna deal with this shit, i want you to tell me what's wrong so i can fix it.”

you scowl. he stares. you say nothing, just turn back to your coffee pot which is now about halfway full.

“s'it date night or some shit?”

oh, fuck off. you ignore him.

“don't think s'your birthday…”

you're gonna kill him. 

“you got an appointment or somethin’?”

holy shit. 

“fuck, is it our anniversary?”

you slam your hand onto the counter and whirl around. “make your own fucking coffee!”

he just watches as you stomp back into the bedroom to get ready for work. you don't speak another word to each other for the rest of the morning. 

frank texts you throughout the day. double checking you made it to work safely. you give short, barely-there responses to each message. eventually, he offers a: ‘i'm not gonna apologize, i don't know what the fuck i even did’, which you leave on read, along with every other message he sends for the rest of the day. 

later that evening, you're exhausted from a day of working and sitting in your own anger, as well as in the embarrassment that had been creeping up on you all day. you'd acted like a bit of a psycho, you know. but frank had been pushing every single sensitive button. 

to your surprise, frank is in the apartment. he hadn't texted or anything- but, to be fair, you'd been ignoring his messages the last few hours of the work day. he looks up when you enter, face calm and revealing nothing. of course, he looked effortlessly sexy. tight shirt, loose sweats, hair damp from the shower. you wanted to choke him. 

“hi,” you say simply, toeing off your shoes and dropping your work bag. 

he exhales though his nose. “you gonna talk to me now?”

fuck, it makes you want to keep ignoring him. but you go and sit on the opposite end of the couch anyway, eyes trained on your hands. you don't respond, but you sit. 

“...please,” he starts, obviously trying to keep his voice even. you can tell he's annoyed, too. “just tell me what's botherin’ you. i can't try to fix it if you don't… fuckin’ tell me.”

you can't help the groan that comes out. you stand up, running hands through your hair. “god, frank! is it so fucking crazy for me to want you to just...know? to figure it out?”

frank stares at you for a moment, just… stunned. you don't realize how stupid that sounds until it's out of your mouth and frank is on his feet, too. 

“yes! that's crazy!” he exclaims, gesturing wildly, incredulity flooding his usually unexpressive face. “you want me to read your mind? i didn't get a fuckin’ manual for this shit! i come home, an’ half the time you're happy to see me, the other half you're pullin’ this shit! how am supposed to know? how?”

and the yelling is fucking with you. you can't hold it in. your face is burning with shame and anger and you just snap right back in his face. 

“maybe if you were ever home, you'd be better at being able to tell.”

“oohh, don't you start with that. i’m home when i can be,” he says darkly, pointing warningly at you. “don't fuckin’ start with that shit, you know i try and you know i'm home when i can be-”

“you haven't been trying very hard this past month-”

“you think i like that?!” he exclaims, eyes wide. “baby, i'm complainin’ to you every damn day about how much i wish i could be at home! but i can't! i go out there every day and do what i do so you don't have to worry about the fuckin' scum i put down! and this is the thanks i get.”

“yeah, thanks, frank.” you snort. “i’m not seeing much to be grateful for right now.”

he goes quiet after that, just looking. he's good at that. looking. it usually works on you, that intense gaze just heavy, suffocating you, crushing you, until you give in and apologize or whatever he wants. 

but now, you just look back. 

“tell me why you're mad,” he says calmly, eyes cold. 

well, fuck it. you admit it. 

“fine. i'm mad because you haven't fucked me in a month, frank. every time we get even close, you have some shit to do. every time i try to start something, you end it ‘cause of work, or 'cause you're tired, and it's fucking fine, if you're really tired, or even if you just don't want me, but i can't keep acting like it doesn't drive me crazy, because it does, it drives me crazy, and i feel like i'm going fucking psycho every night you disappear again and i end up sitting alone like a fucking clown.”

with that out in the world, you can't help but feel absolutely mortified. the back of your neck burns. your ears burn. your brain feels like it's burning, all the way down to your cunt which has been burning with need for fucking ages. 

and frank, unsurprisingly, makes it worse. 

something shifts across his face. not guilt, or even irritation. just surprise that slowly morphs into something soft…a stupid, patronizing smile. just a quirk at his lips, a softening of his eyes. 

“oh, poor baby.”

you immediately regret every single word you spoke. 

he slinks up to you, his hands finding your hips, thumbs sweeping your hipbones. 

“oh, my poor, sweet baby. you're pent up, sweetheart? that what's buggin’ you? why didn't you tell me sooner, huh? coulda’ taken care of that real quick.”

you grit your teeth. 

“you're right, girlie. i've not been doin’ my job good enough. i've not been takin’ care of my needy girl, huh.”

heat floods your face and you try to push him off, but he's like a brick wall. he doesn't even budge. “fuck off, frank.”

frank just laughs, and next thing you know, he's dipped down and the world pitches sideways. he has got you over his shoulder, taking you to the bedroom. his shoulder digs into your tummy and you scratch half-heartedly at his back. you're pissed at how pleased he is by all this, and how he laughed at you. you want to rip his hair out of his stupid head, or kick him in the gut where you currently have access.

“put me down,” you complain, squirming. 

“nope,” he says, sounding almost cheerful. “aw, if i'd known, baby.  all my girl needed was to get fucked to stop bitching? oh, i would've done it weeks ago.”

you scowl. “excuse you? bitching?”

he pats your ass with a broad palm before depositing you gently on the bed, standing tall at the foot. “yeah, baby. now, you gonna let me fix this? or keep fighting me?” you don't really answer, just turn your head away from his little smile, and he laughs, delighted. “who am I kiddin’, of course you'll let me.”

you plant a foot on his chest and push. “i hate you.”

“no…” he grabs your calf and squeezes it before guiding it down to the mattress, effectively opening up your legs. you fight against the grip, but it fails. “...you don't.”

his nimble fingers find the fastenings of your work pants, opening them easily before tugging them down your legs. you’re still glowering at him, arms crossed over your chest. frank effortlessly strips off his shirt, tossing it carelessly off the side of the bed. the room is dark, but you know each line of scarred muscle from memory. you don’t go to touch him, even though you’re aching to. broad palms slide to cup the insides of your thighs, cool against your heated skin. frank pushes against little resistance from you to spread your legs entirely, settling happily on his stomach with his face between your legs.

you’re waiting, just waiting for that stupid phone to ring and ruin your moment. waiting for him to pick work over you, again, like he always does. but, the phone stays blissfully silent.

“look at my poor girl,” he murmurs, face an inch from your pussy, breath tickling you. you really want to keep kicking him, but you can’t help your body’s reaction as you lean into the contact. you’ve missed this. it’s the closest his stupid mouth has gotten to your cunt in weeks. “she missed me, huh?”

“not really,” you still snap, reaching down to pull his hair a bit.

“not talkin’ to you, baby.” he shushes you, one hand lifting to take your wrist. he gives your pussy a light kiss, too light to give you anything at all. "m'talkin' to her..."

you don’t release his grown-out locks, and when he tugs your wrist, he ends up sharply pulling his own hair. satisfaction curls up your spine at how he winces, pulling your hand free and pushing it to the mattress. you lift your legs over his shoulders so your thighs frame his ears. you have a momentary urge to squeeze..and squeeze… but he quickly distracts you from that sick fantasy by diving in.

his tongue is almost unbearably hot as it swipes through your sticky folds, devouring you. it’s only then that you remember you’re not the only one who’s been starving for a month–frank’s been missing out on this, too. and it’s obvious from the desperation as he moans into your cunt, little whines and grunts and delicious noises that send fire licking up your spine. his eyes are shut dreamily like he’s having just as much fun as you are.

“mm, s’fuckin’ good, baby, taste so fuckin’ good.”

you let out a high whine, hands diving back into his hair, but now you’re there to hold on, not pull. 

his lips wrap firm and unyielding around your clit and he sucks hard. you yelp at the intensity of it, yanking on his hair. he releases you with a gasp, eyes flying open.

“that’s it, honey, pull. hard. make me feel it.”

you don’t think. you listen. you pull hard enough to lift his head, getting a good look at him. his eyes are dark and hungry, rimmed with red. his mouth and chin are shiny and soaked with your wetness, and he licks his hips with an obscene hum. it must be obvious that you’re admiring him, because you look just long enough for his mouth to start stretching into a smug smile. that irritates you enough to smash his face back where it belongs. pain shoots through you when his nose bumps directly against your clit, but you don’t care. you need to shut him up before he tries to say some more stupid shit.

and surprisingly, he doesn’t have anything to say to that. he just gets back to work, tongue swirling around as his fingers inch closer and closer to your entrance. he starts with one, and the stretch feels like nothing compared to what you’ve been craving. it curls and wiggles around, getting reacquainted with your soft insides. the second finger comes soon after, parting and curling and stretching. one of your hands releases his hair so you can bite your knuckles. you muffle a groan in your fist and it makes frank chuckle against your cunt, the vibration light and pleasant. the third finger is finally enough, and you let out a little whine at the stretch. he turns his head to drop a surprisingly tender kiss to your plushy thigh. 

“m’sorry,” he mumbles, and it’s not as patronizing as you expect. “gotta get my baby ready.” you almost soften when he goes and ruins it again. “she missed me,” he coos, lifting his head as his fingers drag slowly in and out of you. “pretty pussy missed me. still remembers the shape of my fingers, huh? she’s huggin’ me, baby, i think she missed me more than you do.”

asshole. you slap him across the cheek, and his face doesn’t even turn, he just laughs brightly. you let out another quiet sound when he pulls his fingers free, before biting down on your cheek so you don’t give him the satisfaction. he crudely wipes his fingers off on your thigh, and you smack your foot against his shoulder in retaliation.

“you know,” he murmurs softly, an idea sparking. “before i fuck you, i think you might need to get reacquainted with me. c’mere baby, i want your mouth.”

it crosses your mind to refuse, you don’t feel like he deserves it, but you decide to be merciful. you and frank switch spots, moving effortlessly around each other, always perfectly in tune, even when actively fighting each other. although, every minute it seems more like a one-sided fight. frank looks like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. 

“this is a peace offering,” you grumble. 

“thank you, mother teresa.”

you dig your nails into his thighs and he yelps.

“careful, castle, i'll bite it off.”

“you’d miss it too much.”

“i’ve managed for a month and half.”

“i dunno if i’d call what you did managin-”

you shut him up by taking his cock halfway down your throat, gripping the base in your hand. he groans, hands hovering around your shoulders, but not quite touching. surprisingly, frank isn’t the number one fan of getting his dick sucked. well, maybe that’s the wrong choice of words. it feels fucking heavenly, especially when you do it, but it comes with a certain lack of control he doesn’t love. fucking you is one thing, he knows he can stop if he needs to. with your mouth on him, you’re controlling the pace. he can’t really stop if he thinks he might be hurting you, and that’s one thing he can’t handle, even if you’re letting him. so, when he had you like this, he never touched. he barely even moved, unless you told him where to go. he surprised even himself with the request, but you seemed more than happy, from how you were drooling all over him.

you want him to feel it. you let your teeth scrape him to see how he gasps. you’re pissed, even as every second touching him burns the anger out of your veins.

“s’good, honey,” he breathes out. “s’real good…”

you roll your eyes, pulling back for a moment to see his hands floating on either side of your head. “frank, you can touch me.”

he huffs, hands slowly lowering to hold onto your neck, thumbs sweeping over the sensitive skin. you can't help a short laugh at the stiffness of his movements, and dip down to keep sucking him. you miss how the sound makes him light up. his pretty girl’s laugh. he loves it.

you suck softly on the head of his cock, tongue circling the sensitive area before trailing down the most prominent vein on the side. frank huffs out a breath, struggling to contain himself. 

he never lasts long when you have him in your mouth, which is reason number two why frank castle didn’t love head. His hands migrate to your hair, holding it in a makeshift ponytail in his grip as you moved up and down, up and down, spurred on by the occasional chopped up sentence from frank.

“fuck. oh, fuck. tha’s somethin’, oh, baby, yeah. yeah, yeah, yeah… don’t- yeah, there you go. you can take it, i know you can take it… oh, fuck, sweetheart.”

you know he's close when his thighs start tensing on either side of you, ridiculous quad muscles jumping. that’s right when your little ponytail gets a tug that pulls you off of him, accompanied by a breathless frank trying to regain some control.

“okay, okay, okay. stop, baby, stop. c’mere, come up here…”

you crawl up his body, tongue cruelly trailing a hot path from his dick all the way to his mouth. he’s staring, hot and heavy, into your eyes when you make it to his face. when you finally kiss him for the first time that night, it isn’t soft. it’s harsh and punishing still, teeth clacking, tongues shoving at each other. you dig your nails into his chest. his hand tightens on the back of your neck, hard enough to leave fingerprint-shaped bruises if he keeps it up. it’s not like the kisses you usually share with frank…all warm and wet and seemingly endless. this is hot. sharp.

“are you gonna fuck me, or do i have to do it myself?” you pant into his mouth, hips rolling impatiently against his hard cock. frank groans at the hot slide of your pussy against him.

he's got you flipped onto your back before you can even try anything, your thighs pressed against your chest, ankles dangling over his shoulders. he's got you folded in half, and the stretch in your hamstrings is fucking delicious.

"ready?"

"frank," you spit. "just get to it."

"oh, of course you're ready," he drawls. "i've been depriving you for so long, after all..."

he pushes some hair out of your eyes and you almost bite his finger off.

what you'd really like to do is slap him again, but you don't, because he starts pushing in. and fuck, maybe you weren't ready. he's huge- always has been, but after a month of nothing, it feels like the first time again. he's splitting you in two.

you refuse to make a single sound the entire time. shallow thrusts...getting a half-inch further with each one..

when he's fully seated, groaning hotly into your neck. he finally speaks again.

"you alright?"

better than alright. you've been starving for this for a month. you can almost feel him in your throat again, that's how fucking deep he gets. each little twitch of his cock inside of you sends a jolt up your spine...but you contain it.

“hm? is it in?” you grit through your teeth, through the stretch. “huh. feels smaller than i remember-”

frank just laughs, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back home, sending sparks through your vision. so hard, you slide up the bed, his palm catching the top of your head just before it slams into the wood headboard.

“still…feel…small?” he pants as he finds a punishing rhythm, arms flexing as he braces himself above you. hard. ruthless. the sound of how fucking wet you got is obscene, soaking his dick and even his thighs and lower abs. 

you don’t answer his question, focusing instead on how blindingly good it feels, on how he’s fucking you so hard the bed is shaking and your vision is blurring. you focus on everything but frank. the slipping threads of your earlier anger, the hurt when he'd shouted at you, the guilt when you'd shouted back. but you can't hold onto it for long.

frank fucks you like an animal. he fucks you like he's apologizing. he fucks you like he wants it to feel like if he'd fucked you every day of that miserable month.

eventually, his control begins to slip. he's hitting that perfect spot inside of you, tilting your hips up, fingers digging into your skin. he drops you suddenly, ass bouncing against the mattress, and his hands move to brace on either side of your head. you pick up the work for him, planting your feet to tilt up your own hips and greedily meet each thrust on your own. you're moaning, chest heaving, toes curling into the mattress.

you meet his eyes.

“you can say it,” he gasps, looking vaguely guilty even through the haze of pleasure. his eyes are shiny, with need or tears you can’t tell. “tell me you hate me, baby, i can take it.”

you want to. you want to stay mad, and tell him what he wants to hear, and hit him and cry. but it isn’t true. annoyingly enough, he has fucked the anger out of you, and you look at him, and all you see is your frank. frank, who could never even dream of hurting you, who does everything to keep you safe, who obviously didn’t choose to be away from you for so long.

“don’t hate you,” you cry out.

“don’t?” he chokes, confused.

“don’t, don’t hate you, frankie, i love you, baby, i love you so much.”

“oh, fuck, i love you too,” he grunts, fucking you even harder now. “love you so fucking much. shit, baby, my baby girl. gonna come, baby, m’close, gonna show y’how much i love you-”

his thumb finds your clit and he rubs, too hard, too good, it all just feels so fucking big, and you think you’re crying, and then he’s begging for you to come with him, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him beg before, and its building so fast, so good-

“please, please, my baby, i need it, i want to feel it, come for me, baby, m’gonna lose it. i need it so bad, baby, please-”

all of a sudden, frank’s babbling stops, and he goes so quiet that you think he might’ve finished even as his hips keep up the pace. you hear him huffing out a sharp breath with each thrust…only on closer listening, you realize its not a breath, but repeated, rhythmic grunts of your name, over, and over, and over.

and that’s enough. it feels like getting struck by lightning, or a tidal wave, or dying, or being enlightened, or everything at once in one perfect moment. pussy gripping him so tight he can barely even thrust, frank juts his hips helplessly as he comes hard and deep inside of you. it’s warm, and spreads through your whole body, feeling like nothing you’ve ever had before. frank collapses, his body crushing yours, arms holding you close. his forehead rests against yours, mouth agape, staring deeply into your eyes. all you can see is frank. all that there is, is frank.

you’re still pressed skin-to-skin, face-to-face, breathing each other’s air, when his phone goes off. that stupid, rhythmic buzzing against the wood of the nightstand. bzz bzz. bzz bzz. your stomach turns with irritation and sadness at the thought of this moment ending, and your fingers curl subconsciously around frank’s shoulders as if that will make him stay.

frank’s arms uncurl from their tight grip. his hand fumbles for his phone on the nightstand as he lets out a few wordless, frustrated grunts. you sigh, going to push yourself up with shaky arms…

…and frank throws the phone into the dresser. it bounces off the wood and clatters against the ground, still buzzing.

you can’t help the little giggle that escapes you, pressing your face into his neck. “that’s not going to stop it from ringing, you know.”

“i was trying to break it,” he grumbles.

“i’m glad you didn’t,” you mumble, rolling your eyes at his attitude. “we aren’t made of money, mr. castle.”

bzz bzz. bzz bzz.

the phone stops for a blissful moment of quiet. you sit in silence, his body still a comforting weight crushing you into the mattress.

"sorry i freaked," you eventually say.

"y'didn't."

"i did."

"well, sorry i yelled," he responds. "and sorry i laughed at you. never wanna make y'feel like you can't tell me whats wrong...that's how we end up in these situations."

you peck his lips, smiling. "i dunno. it was good by the end...maybe we should fight more often."

"i dunno, baby," he winces. "don't think my heart can take that."

so cute.

bzz bzz. bzz bzz.

"frank..."

he sighs, arms sneaking back around you, mouth seeking yours out again. he's getting hard again, you can feel it inside of you. his lips slot perfectly against yours, lingering and warm. this is a kiss you’re familiar with from frank…one you can’t help but smile into when he whispers:  

“mm. let it ring.”

...

⋆｡°·☁︎ 18+ mdni, fem!reader, frank keeps an album of reader's sexy pics, wc: 757

it was hour three of the most miserable stakeout of his life. frank was keeping an eye on a particularly ugly warehouse where he was told to expect suspicious characters entering and exiting every hour. so far, the most interesting thing he’d seen was a pair of rats scuttling across the dimly lit loading dock.

seven separate times, frank had considered quitting and returning home. comfortable, warm, home, where you probably were wrapped up in one of his t-shirts under layers of bedsheets that smelled like you and watching something stupid on your phone that only you would find funny after a shower that left you clean and warm and pliant and oh so you.

and there was the recurring problem. frank had been a skilled loner for years. sitting all by himself had never been much of an issue–in the depths of his revenge plot, the longest conversations he ever had were with the guy who supplied his guns, even in afghanistan he hadn’t been the most talkative.

all that changed when he met you. suddenly, he didn’t love solitude. he spent most of his very frequent alone time thinking about the next time he’d be with you. and oh, did he think. on particularly boring stakeouts like the one that had been killing him for the past few hours, he would allow himself a few minutes of distraction, letting his mind stray away from the task at hand and to you.

luckily for him, you were very willing to help spark his imagination when he was away from you.

and that is where the album came in. you’d shown him how to make the locked photo albums on his phone, giggling the whole time about how technologically inept your silly old man was. it was the only way you could get him to agree to holding onto the little gifts you sent him, no matter how much he wanted to. his skin would crawl at the idea of anyone else seeing what the secret folder contained. now, all he had to do was glower at his camera to unlock the album, revealing the photos and videos to him and only him.

they were…something.

it would seem to anyone that taking sexy pictures was your favorite hobby from the sheer number of pics he had in that album. you just couldn’t help yourself! it made you feel beautiful, for one, but it also brought you immense pleasure to read his stilted responses as he struggled to summon intelligent words. you liked that you could affect him in that way- your frank, the stoic, brutal punisher, reduced to just a few (mainly curse) words in reaction to you. just you, your body or your voice or your cute little lingerie sets bought with his money.

frank visitied that album not infrequently. nights like that one, so mind-numbingly boring, really left him no choice, the poor man!

on nights you were too busy or sleepy to send him anything new, he’d open up the album and settle on a picture of your soft tits, or satin wedged between your perfect ass cheeks, or your plushy lips pouting at the camera, or your manicured fingers slipping into lace panties…

he just couldn’t help it when he unzipped his tactical pants just enough to slide his hand inside, gripping his weeping cock which had hardened immediately when your sweet face had popped up on his phone.

he just couldn’t help it when your name was the only thing on his breath between hissed ‘fuck’ s and ‘need you, baby’ s.

he just couldn’t help it, not when you looked so pretty and he knew you were all his!

he just couldn’t help it, but he still tried to muffle his grunts, gritting his teeth, as he came into his fist and all over his pants.

his glazed over eyes would finally refocus long enough to see two guys slip out of the warehouse, skulking down the dark concrete towards an unmarked van in the corner of the loading dock.

so he’d wipe his hand, slip silently out of the front seat, and do his work. when he finally made it back to the van, blood on his hands now instead of the evidence of his activities, he’d see a text from his cute, considerate, effortlessly sexy baby girl.

miss you, baby. going to sleep now. see you at home!

and he'd respond with something short and sweet before speeding home to recreate his fantasies with a bleary eyed little you.

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