Summary: Just a little fun thing, teasing, playing with Frank's beard, brat behavior.
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings: mentions of, suggested smut, reader being a brat, teasing, banter, strong language
A/N: A little piece for day one of the @bernthirst-events Beardthalbash! I don't usually write for bearded Frank so I'm excited to finally have something for everyone who enjoys that version of him the most.
“That okay?”
Frank clears his throat, chin pressed against his chest when he glances down, watching as you get comfortable in bed, resting your head on top of his chest.
“Mhmmm.”
You mumble quietly, a small smile while you push your face against his body. Your eyes shut for a moment before you finally turn to look up at him.
“Yeah?”
His fingers brush over your exposed back as a follow-up to the question, and you hum quietly at the gentle touch.
“Yeaaah.”
Pulling yourself up slightly, you brush the side of his neck with the tip of your nose. His body warm against yours, his touch comforting as always, his heartbeat loud under your chest.
It takes you a moment to open your eyes again before you wrap your arms around his neck. A loud moan slips past your lips as you stretch on top of his body and his hips buck up slightly at the sound.
“Really, Castle?!"
You tease with your eyes now wide open, and he scoffs. Looking off to the side, he shakes his head before turning to face you again.
“Don't get cocky.”
He warns jokingly, and you smirk at the words, pushing your ass up a bit before grinding down against the bulge between his legs.
“Or?”
“Or you're gonna find out.”
Rolling your eyes, you discard his failed imitation tactics and repeat the movement, pushing the bridge of your nose into his neck before brushing your lips gently over the skin. Frank grunts, moving his hands down your back before you speak up again.
“Really, Frankie? That's the best you got, hmm?”
Your tone slightly lowers now as you trail small, innocent at first, kisses up the side of his neck before nipping the skin with your teeth. With a huff, Franks moves his hands up and down the back of your thighs, tightening the grip right under your ass, holding you in place.
You breathe out a short laugh, pressing your lips higher and higher up his neck before he lifts his head up, inviting you to continue.
"Oh, thank you, Frankie, that's so sweet."
You mumble in a mocking tone and he attempts to protest, but the sensation of your lips against the side of his jaw successfully distracts him from any further discussion.
His hips rock underneath you, and you push your core into the bulge. With a sly smirk, you watch as his lips part and his mouth falls open. Your eyes scan every inch of his face when, suddenly, you spot something.
“Oh, shit.”
Within a second, both of you freeze completely. The tone of the moment slips through his fingers as Frank attempts to decipher what caused your sudden reaction.
“What?”
He glances down quickly, but you push his face to the side. Keeping your hand on his cheek, you hold the man in place. Pushing yourself up, you move closer to his face, inspecting his jaw.
“What is it?”
Confused, he repeats the question, making an effort to turn his head back to face you, but you hold him down in place one more time.
“Shut up.”
“Will you just-”
He starts again, but you ignore his attempts to put together a full sentence and quickly sit up on the bed next to him. You lean down and with your eyebrows pulled together in a concentrated expression, you push some of the beard hairs to the side, focusing on one tiny spot on the side of his jaw.
“Damn.”
You mumble, and Frank decides that's enough. Turning his face to look at you now, he demands answers.
“Will you tell me what the fuck it is or-”
It's already too late, you've decided what to do and nothing this man could do would stop you now. In one swift motion, you pinch the side of his face before quickly pulling your hand back.
"God damn it!"
Frank covers the area with his big palm, eyes open wide, the look of absolute and utter confusion on his face.
"What the-"
He starts, but you cut him off.
“Gray hair.”
You explain with the most nonchalant demeanor you could possibly pull off right now, holding up the small gray hair like a trophy, presenting it to its owner with an expression full of pride.
“You had a gray hair.”
It takes him a couple seconds to respond, and he does it in the most Frank Castle way possible.
“Right.”
Pushing your face off to the side and down onto the bed, he shoves your head into the pillow before he moves over to the side of the bed and stands up.
“Fuck you.”
“WHAT?!”
You ask, giving up on any attempt to not burst out laughing.
“It's not like I’m making it up! Look!"
You lift your hand up, proudly presenting the hair once again.
“Yeah, okay, you keep that.”
“Yeah?!”
“Be my fucking guest, sweetheart.”
You scoff, turning to lay on your back again when he walks towards the door to leave the bedroom.
“Okay, so, let’s see.”
You start, and he frowns, turning back to check what you’re going to do this time.
Lifting your hand up in front of your face, you begin to count on your fingers.
“So... you talk like an old man, you act like one?”
He scoffs, shaking his head and glaring back at you, unimpressed.
Frank speaks up, taking a step towards the bed. His eyebrow rises slightly, his words firm, his voice sharper than before. Silence fills the room for a moment, but only a moment. With a loud, theatrical sound, you continue.
“Frank, you're gonna get all greeey and wrinkly and oh my god, your whole beard, your HAIR?! Jeeeesus you're gonna look so old-”
And with that, he's had enough. Wrapping his hand around your ankle, Frank yanks your body toward the end of the bed, leaning over you in a, what you assume he thought was, threatening way, before he spits out a question.
“You done now?”
Your jaw drops with the sudden, unexpected motion, but the bratty smile quickly finds its way back onto your face.
“What do you think, Old Man?”
In that moment, you knew if looks could kill, you'd be dead.
“You just can't keep your mouth shut, huh?"
"Why don't you make me."
He scoffs loudly, shaking his head at your tone.
"Yeah, okay."
***
With tears rolling down your cheeks and your thighs shaking as you do your best to push your legs together, panting, you roll onto your back and watch him for a second. Standing next to the bed, Frank tucks his cock back into his boxers and pulls his jeans back. He clears his throat loudly and crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyebrow raised as if he's expecting an apology, like he really thinks you'll give him that.
“Oh so-”
You draw in a deep breath, attempting to calm the loud panting as you push yourself up to look at him.
“So, I guess you fuck like an old man too?”
He scoffs, louder than before. Looking off to the side with a satisfied smile, he shakes his head before turning back to face you.
“Yeah, okay.”
He glances down, just in time to catch the way your muscles spasm at the memory of what just happened.
“Guess we'll talk about it when your legs stop shaking, sweetheart,"
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It's been a while since our last event, and we wondered if you'd be interested in a new one. We were thinking about doing something easy, with no particular themes or prompts. But also, if you're interested in a new event, we thought about giving you the opportunity to give us some ideas if you have any. But first…
Do you want a new Bernthirst Event?
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Voting ended onAug 7, 2024
Send us an ask here or on our respective blogs @darlingshane and @anna-hawk if you have ideas or other stuff you'd like to see.
Summary: Frank comes back from a job and once again you're the only person he can ask for help.
Word count: 1.5K
Warnings: Strong language, angst, blood, strong language, mentions of violence.
A/N: Day three for the @bernthirst-events BeardthalBash. Frank again! Thank you @chelseasdagger for the help, couldnt have done it without you!
No plans. That was the plan for the night. Nothing to do, nothing to think about, just you, your TV and a couple of big blankets on your couch. Frank made sure to let you know beforehand that he would be ‘handling some bullshit’ job today, so you assumed you weren't supposed to sit and wait for him. You knew he'd be okay, he always was… Still, it was difficult to just tell yourself to go to sleep; to get in bed when you know he is away, close your eyes, and just pretend everything was completely fine. No matter how much he'd reassure you and no matter how much you trusted him with this, it never really got easier.
You do your best to keep your mind busy. With a TV show in the background, you get around to some of the work related things that need to be dealt with. With multiple things around you to focus on, you managed to keep your thoughts in place, keep your mind occupied for the better part of the evening.
That is, until now. Looking towards the front door, a response to the quiet click of the main lock, you breathe out deeply, relieved. Frank grunts loudly, stepping into the apartment before you hear the heavy duffle bag hit the wooden floor. You smile, watching him wrestle with his combat boots in the dark for a moment, and you part your lips to greet him but the words freeze, stuck in your throat the second Frank hits the light switch.
“Shit.”
His eyes meet yours, and it's clear he didn't expect you to still be awake, waiting for him. No matter how many times it happened before, he still never let himself expect this of you. The light, despite his wishes, reveals his current state to you and your stomach drops instantly. His face, hair and beard are covered in bruises and blood, some of it dried, some of it still fresh. Same with his knuckles, his hand shaking slightly. The dark stains now impeded in the fabric of his clothes, the few bandages now soaked in the maroon liquid tied around his upper arm.
A frustrated:
“Jesus fucking Christ, Frank.”
Is all you manage to muster up as you push yourself off the couch and quickly cross the living room to get to him.
“Are you-”
“I'm fine.”
He cuts you off quickly and attempts to squeeze past you. But you stand your ground, blocking the way and not letting him brush this whole thing off like he usually would.
“Doesn't fucking look fine.”
You try to keep your eyes on his, but he never looks at you. His gaze focuses on nothing in particular, just off into the distance, past your head.
He mumbles and in a perfect representation of the irony of the universe, a dark drop of blood drips from his nose and onto the wooden floor. You quickly reach up to grab his face and make him look up at you, but Frank Castle is not really a great choice when it comes to practicing your reflexes with. In one quick motion he dodges your hand and his fingers wrap around your wrist. He's faster than you are, stronger, but he glares down at you into your eyes, unintentionally giving you what you wanted.
“Frank.”
You speak up firmly, glancing around his face. Your eyes scan the damage in more detail now that you got him to look at you. The dark, multicolor bruises look deeper than the ones you'd normally see on him. The cut on the bridge of his nose as well as the one on his lips are now dried. But the blood from his nose is still fresh, slowly dripping down just to stop on his dark facial hair. Even with the thick beard, you see his jaw tighten as you move your hand closer to his face.
“Frank, this doesn't look fine.”
You point out, and he lets go of your wrist. The guilt grows heavy in his chest as your voice shifts from angry and frustrated to clearly worried.
“Just let me do this, okay?”
Your voice softens even more when you notice him actually trying to listen to you, not just acting on his Frank Castle pride. He swallows hard, closing his eyes, and you watch his jaw tighten before he nods slowly, his eyes focusing on something behind you again.
“Yeah?”
Asking again you want to ensure it's a conscious decision, something he thought through and wasn't just pushed to accept.
His features soften and his shoulders drop. His eyes scan around your face, his lips part slightly, but the words never leave his mouth. He doesn't have to say it, not this time. You know now that he means it.
“Okay.”
You agree, nodding in the direction of the living room.
“Right, couch.”
Without a word, Frank makes his way over to the couch while you step into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit from under the sink. After taking the necessary precautions to make sure everything is as sanitary as possible, you set all the tools down on the table. Frank straightens up slightly, clearing his throat while he watches you prep everything. You go over the list in your head. At this point, you've done it enough times you're pretty sure you'd be able to stitch him together with your eyes closed. Turning to face him again, you scan over the clothes on Frank's body. Once again, your attention focuses on the deep, dark stains in the fabric.
“Yours?”
You ask, throwing your leg over his lap in an effort to get closer to the wound and bruises on his face.
“... Some of it.”
He admits, and you nod slowly, leaving that confession without a smartass comment this time.
“Okay.”
Brining the clean, damp cloth up to his face, you hold his chin up gently with the other hand. Turning his face slowly from side to side, you focus on attempting to clean up the damage as much as you can.
Focusing too hard to notice the change in Frank's demeanor, you don't see the way his eyes fix on you. Watching as your eyebrows pull together or how you bite down on your lower lip, how your head tilts gently to the side as you offer your time and attention to him. His hands move from the couch to the back of your thighs, holding you firmly close to him. The slow movement of his rough fingers acts as reassurance, a silent confirmation that your presence is wanted.
“Hurts?”
He shakes his head slowly, responding to the quiet question when you switch from the cloth to some disinfecting wipes.
“How many were there?”
Frank hesitates for a moment and you pause, watching him turn his head to the side. He swallows hard, and once again you feel the tension rise throughout your body.
“Frank.”
"Don't."
"Frank."
You repeat firmly.
"Leave it."
He warns, but you couldn't give a fuck about his intimidation tactics anymore.
"Frank, how many?"
You push, not necessarily sure why you needed to know, but part of you just wanted him to be honest with you this one time.
“Twelve.”
He grunts, a barely audible whisper.
“Twelve?! Jesus, Frank…”
No response this time. With his jaw clenched, he reaches for the wet cloth in your lap.
“I can do it if-”
“No.”
You pull your hand away quickly. You knew he could handle it, he proved it many times before, but at the same time...there were too many close calls. Too many times you sat by his side, waiting for him to wake up again, unable to even take him to some hospital. Three guys? Four? Shit, you watched Frank take out seven or eight people alone but, fuck, twelve? How?
“No, I got it…always do.”
You focus once again, now visibly upset, brushing your fingers through the curls of his beard and your eyebrows pull together. With a loud sigh, you attempt to get the dried blood out of the thick hair.
“You don't have to-”
“Frank, stop. Just fucking- just stop.”
The room immediately falls completely silent. Frustrated, you damp the cloth into the bowl of warm water again before lifting your hand up to his face again.
“I said I’ll do it. So I will do it, and then I’ll stop fucking bothering you with this. So just fucking, let me do this!”
You finally snap and Frank pulls his hands away, lifting them up, attempting to provide the needed space. Closing your eyes, you sigh loudly before hiding your face in your palms.
The couple of minutes of silence feel like hours as you attempt to slow the pounding in your chest.
Frank whispers your name softly, carefully.
“I'm sorry.”
He follows, and you move your hands down, your eyes now on his. There is no attempt to avoid your gaze anymore. His lips parted, his head moving gently from side to side as his breath hitches.
“I'm sorry, okay?”
He continues, his fingers brushing over your wrists gently.
“I'm sorry about this..I-I-I-”
You let him speak, trying to read his thoughts, to understand what he's trying to say before he actually does.
“This isn't…I shouldn't just-”
His body is completely tense again as he fumbles with the words, not sure how to properly articulate his own thoughts.
“I'm just…I'm sorry.”
Although repeated once more, the words never lose their meaning.
“Don't…don't be, just…”
You manage to get the rest of the blood out of the hair on his face.
“If you die. I'm gonna kill you.”
Glancing up into his eyes again, you catch his small smile and the tight grip inside your chest loosens.
He nods slowly, pouting as he does. His hands are back on your body, thumbs slowly rubbing against the sides of your body.
“Make sense.”
“Good.”
With a quiet sigh, you move back to check the progress.
“Done?”
He asks and you blink a couple of times.
“What?”
“Is it-”
“Oh, oh no, you need a fucking shower, Castle. This is not coming off.”
He nods, agreeing with your words, before turning to look towards the bathroom.
