There's a knock at the door. You raise your head suddenly, someone's at the door? Confused, you walk towards it, moonlight lighting up the dark hallway of your house through the glass panes on the door. You open it, looking up, and of course it's him. The same comforting, distant man you can't stop thinking about.

"Frank?" you furrow your brows softly, you didn't expect it to genuinely be him at the door. The cold breeze brushed your bare arms as you stand at the door in your shorts and camisole. His eyes flicker up and down, taking your presence in. He doesn't say anything. Still, you're a kind woman, you're understanding, and so without questioning anything you tell him softly, "Come in" with a gentle nod of your head towards inside your house. You gesture him inside, shutting the door with a click behind you. He walks in with his broad figure, hands in his pocket awkwardly as if you're the one who's showed up to his house in the middle of the night. He's looking at the floor like a child being scolded and so you ask him, "Hey, is everything okay?"

He looks up slowly at your kind face, he doesn't want to disappoint you- or for you to think less of him. "I uh-just, couldn't sleep" he finally mutters, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "Just- wanted to hear your voice I guess." His voice is low, it's as if he hasn't spoken to anyone for a while. You watch him understandingly, not an ounce of judgement in your face, and you just nod. "Come. Sit down for a bit" you tell him, walking towards your couch, your own arms crossed, a natural sort of defence mechanism- though of course, Frank has never hurt you. He'd never dare lay a hand on you.

He sits down on the couch, the whole thing moving slightly lower with his weight. You hover near him, still stood up. "Want something to drink?" you ask him softly, and he shakes his head. Leaning back on the couch, he says softly, "Nah, 's alright, just came to see you."

Of course he says that. And of course your stomach starts doing fucking backflips. You shake your head, walking into the kitchen anyway. He sits there alone for a moment, eyes following you, watching as you work your way through the kitchen like an angel, skin as soft as snow, biting your lip in concentration.

You come back with two glasses and some whiskey, placing them down with a clink. His puppy dog eyes follow your slender fingers as you let go of the glasses. They continue scanning over your body as you finally take a seat opposite him, pressing one of your knees to your chest and resting your chin there. You sigh softly as you watch him.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" you ask softly, watching him carefully.He throws his shoulders up softly, shrugging. It's not the first time he's done something like this. For years it's been obvious to you that he has a soft spot for you, but no action has ever been taken. And you curse yourself endlessly for it, but you feel something for him too-even though you can't tell what exactly. He shakes his head, grunting, "It doesn't matter, I'm used to it".

You continue watching him. Something about his presence as a whole just has a hold on you. You want to be there for him- to help him. So you ask him the only sensible thing in your head, "You wanna talk about it?" He watches you through half lidded eyes, shaking his head silently as he leans forward a little, his forearms on his legs, "Already said, just needed to see you."

You don't know what to do but nod. You breathe out a soft, "Okay" and sit there, still hugging your knee on your seat like a worried child. The truth is you're tired. Tired of begging, of trying to be there for people who clearly don't want you. Tired of being rejected and never understood. Your eyes start to wander around your living room, the warm glow from your fireplace lighting everything up, including Frank's eyes.

He tilts his head the slightest, watching your every move and of course, he knows somethings wrong. You continue sitting there, wondering what to say or what to do. You get chills from the way you can tell he's watching you closely. So why won't he just fucking say something? It's not like he has any trouble in the female department?

Except he doesn't want anyone who isn't you. Most people are shit scared of him, they think he's about to snap any moment. But not you. No, you see him for who he really is. A man in pain, who's always making mistakes to just help what he thinks is right. And you, you're kind and gentle and smart- everything that's the opposite of the world he knows.

After a few minutes of quiet besides the soft crackling of the fire, he chooses to break the silence. He can't watch you just sitting here, disassociating from everything. You're still hugging your knee, sitting in that position on the couch. Finally, he murmurs softly, "What's goin’ on?" And without really moving, your eyes flick to him and you shrug your shoulders. His heart patters softly at your dismissive tone.

He can't sit here and watch you suffer silently. Especially since you would never do that either. He frowns softly and rumbles out, "Hey, talk to me." And as if a light switch suddenly flicks in your head, you gain awareness and turn your head to him. Not entirely convincingly you tell him, "I'm okay, really." and drop your knee from beneath your chin, your feet both on the floor awkwardly.

You realise he's here because he was upset and so you look back up and ask him, "Tell me what's up then, why couldn't you sleep?" He watched you like you just spoke some foreign language and mutters, "That's not fair." You just stare at him confused.

God, why is he like this?

For some reason you're already infuriated, anger bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out. "What do you mean that's not fair? You show up to my door past midnight and you won't even tell me what's wrong?" you spit out. Frank frowns, he hates seeing you like this, hates that he's caused you to feel like this. You see his face soften and instantly feel bad. That's the kind of effect he has on you. So you breathe out, "Look I'm sorry- I've just had a shit day." Which is a lie of course, every day is shit. Everyday that you go on, unsure of your feelings towards Frank, unsure of what you want.

He blinks slowly, giving you space, letting you get your feelings out. “Don't be sorry," he says gruff but softly, shaking his head. A quiet moment passes and he says "C'mere," gesturing to the empty space beside him. Hesitantly you get up, trudging towards him like a dog with a tail between its legs. You sit down next to him, embarrassed now that you raised your voice at him. And the worst thing is that he stayed calm, he let you yell at him. Because that's the kind of man Frank is.

You stare ahead at the floor, Frank looking at nothing but you. His eyes trace over your face, your soft hair- that little figure of yours that's so angry inside, your chest going up and down softly as you breathe. He hesitates, then parts his lips slightly and whispers, "Talk to me." You look up slowly, turning your head to face his weathered face which is full of concern for you, and you protest, "This isn't about me- you're the one who's upset."

Frank lets out a soft breath. "God you're stubborn" he huffs, and you can tell he’s genuinely annoyed. You don't say anything back and he continues watching you. "Just let me be here for you." he whispers, almost begging, like he needs to help you. Like he can't live knowing you're upset. You shake your head, voice shaking as you say, "For Christ's sake Frank, I don't need your help- I don't need you." Except you do. Your eyes begin to glisten as you ramble, threatening to start spilling tears and Frank frowns, repeating, "Hey hey, shhh" as he gently moves his calloused hand onto your forearm.

You shake your head, fighting back tears and trying to get out of his reach, "I'm fine- go away, I'm fine." You pull your arm away, voice quaking. The same way he let you shout at him, he's letting you use physical force on him. You keep spitting out that you're fine-you don't need anyone or anything, and all the while, Franks hand gently moves to the side of your face, holding it in his palm. You croak out once more with glistening eyes, "I'm fine" and then break down at his soft touch.

Tears run down your face as you shake your head, trying to stop crying. Frank watches you heartbroken, his brows are furrowed and it looks like he's only a few moments away from crying too. "Oh poor baby" he whispers, pulling you close to him, his big arms wrapping around you warmly. "Let it out, I'm here" he says, voice barely above a whisper. He wants to protect you from everything, from everything that hurts you, but he can't, and that's what bothers him. He needs you to need him.

You try wiping your tears with the back of your hand, but they continue streaming down your face. You make the mistake of looking up at Frank because as you lift your head slowly- your, big sad doe eyes break him. A soft gasp leaves his lips and he whispers, "Oh, sweet girl," as if he's in pain watching you cry. Effortlessly he pulls you onto his lap, his big hands wrapping around you as if he can shield you from the world. He tilts back his head to get a better look at you, leaning back on the couch and adjusting you to make sure you're comfy. "I know you’re hurtin’, just let it out" he breathes.

His broad chest presses against yours as he holds you, one hand on your back, the other caressing your hair. You cry your endless tears and he gently lifts your head with his hand beneath your chin. "I'm here, just talk to me, please." he says softly, eyebrows knitted together in concern. Eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears you stutter, "God I'm just so alone. I'm so alone Frank- I don't have anyone." He looks like a sad little puppy at hearing that.

"That's not true baby, you have me" he frowns, tilting his head to get a better look at you, resting his hand on the side of your face. His other hand runs up and down your back soothingly, and you nuzzle your face into his hand. But he’s not yours, you remember. "Don't call me that Frank" you cry, pulling your head back and shaking it.

God, his heart aches watching you cry.

He watches your quivering lip, waiting for you to explain, and you glare at him, your words drowning in tears. At last, your voice breaks when you say, "Not when I'm not yours."

Oh.

He shakes his head silently, sitting up a little more and adjusting you in his lap. "Don't say that." he whispers, taken aback and heartbroken. “Just- don’t-” he mutters, unsure of what to say. He wants to be yours. God knows he does. But it's not that easy, he can't bring you into his life, because he knows that anyone he loves gets hurt.

He moves his palm across both sides of your face gently, wiping off the tears that are leaving salty, hot trails on your skin. Your voice breaks, barely holding together as you try to speak. "Frank," you cry shakily, your breath catching in broken, wet gasps. He barely blinks, just taking in this sight of you- broken and defeated. "Yeah i know, I'm here."

He doesn't bother wiping away the tears that soak his collar, he just needs to be there for you. As he holds you close and roams his hands up and down your back, you hiccup a little, your violent sobs much less now. "That's it, you're okay" he whispers sweetly, his touch gentle and caring. You sniffle in his chest as he reassures you, your stomach fluttering. Oh how you hate the way he makes you feel, as if you're not in control of your own body.

"Frank," you whisper again, breathlessly, the only remnants of your crying being your puffy eyes. "Yeah sweet girl? talk to me" he murmurs, moving a strand of hair that's stuck on your wet face behind your ear. You don't say anything, just let yourself melt back into him, your face in the crook of his neck, legs on either side of him. He lets his hands fall to your sides again, but lower this time- on your hips. He holds them with both hands, as if you'd disappear if he let go.

Your lips part slightly at his touch, you’re aching all over for him. Franks big hands stay there carefully, burning through the fabric of your shorts. Gently he rubs your sides and your breath hitches. Of course, any noise that slips out of your mouth almost kills him. His brows are furrowed as he tries to absorb every reaction you’re giving him. He needs to make you feel good. So, he takes your little gasps as a sign that it’s okay, and gently trails a hand lower, till it meets your thigh. As if his life purpose is to make you feel good, he applies a little more pressure to his touch, watching your face carefully, waiting for another reaction. Waiting for a sign that you want this too.

"This okay sweet girl?" he asks, hands tracing over your thighs reverently. You whine "mhm", leaning back into him. His lips part in awe at your little noises- he needs to hear more. You gasp softly at his hands kneading your hips then moving to your thighs. "Frankk" you whine desperately, core pressing into him a little. This is what you meant, how you can't control yourself when you're with him. He nods understandingly, whispering with his rich voice, "What is it sweet girl?”

Your head lolls to the side, brain turning into mush as your core heats up on his lap. As if doesn’t already make you lose control of your own body- he’s whispering these sweet names in your ear. You can't help it, but your hips rock forward ever so slightly, trying to satisfy that blooming need between your aching thighs.

The moment your hips move, his breath hitches. His entire body goes still as he feels that tiny movement against his lap. He senses your need, and it sends a bolt of desire through him. But he doesn't rush. Instead, his hands stay still for a second on your thighs, then slowly slide up to press against the curve of your waist. The gentle pressure of his palms keeps you right there in his arms, needy and warm. Then his voice drops lower and he whispers against your ear breathily, "Attagirl, let me know how you feel, okay?”

His sweetness is making you melt, and all of your senses are being blinded by pure need right now. You whimper desperately, almost panting as you buck your hips again and Frank says softly, “Take what you need.” You let out a small moan at that, and he realises just how much you need him. You grind your hips against his a few more times, needing to soothe the white hot ache between your legs, but nothings working and you’re getting frustrated. Your eyes begin to water again, but out of desperation now, not sadness. You throw your arms behind his neck, looking for something to hold onto and keep bucking your hips onto his, desperate for anything that will give you friction.

“Frankie,” you moan helplessly, frustrated at yourself, at not being able to feel good. He watches you reverently, as if you’re an angel on his lap, rough hands still moving gently on your sides. “I know baby, dyou need my help?” he coaxes, slipping a hand near the edge of the waistband of your shorts. When he calls you baby again, your heart clenches. He doesn't want to push, or overstep with someone as sweet as you. You lifts your head just slightly, eyes glassy and vulnerable and then nod, slow and shy, but honest, “Please, I need you”. Your eyes start watering again with need, you’ve never felt so alone- so desperate for Frank to just take care you.

“Hey, hey don’t cry doll” he coos, frowning as you pout sadly. You stare into his solemn eyes, desperately waiting for him to take action, but instead, he softly presses his forehead to yours. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” he whispers, his tone as sweet as honey. He moves his head back a little, enough to see you clearly and wipes away another one of your tears with his thumb. “You’re my girl and I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” he reassures as his hand creeps beneath your waistband now.

Of course- he’s still a gentleman with morals and so he asks with the utmost respect, “Can I take these off?” as his fingers creep under your sleep shorts, brushing past the soft lace of your panties. You all but moan, “Yes- please” in desperation, and that’s enough for him. He instructs you firmly, “Lift your hips f’me,” and carefully holds you up with one arm, the other one working at your waist, pulling your shorts down your thighs. “Can I take these off too?” he checks, his pointer finger hooked under the soft lace. You nod your head urgently and with that, the scraps of fabric are at your ankles, then discarded on the floor. He has a job to do.

His breath gets lost in his throat, mouth almost watering at the sight of you, but he tries to be as respectful as possible. “There you go doll, what else dyou need?” he asks adoringly, his hand moving to hold the back of your neck. He stares at your face, all sweet and vulnerable, and has a violent urge to kiss those soft pink lips of yours. You part your mouth to speak, but before any words can come out, Frank leans forward, and presses his lips to yours with such care, you’d think you’re made of glass.

You don’t remember your eyes shutting, just him pulling back tenderly from the kiss and your eyes opening to see his. Like you’re the most valuable thing ever, he leans back in and places a kiss beneath your ear. You gasp as he peppers your neck with soft kisses that eventually turn into hot, desperate ones when he can’t control himself. He nibbles at your neck, leaving little marks, then soothes the pain with his tongue, licking at your neck like he’s never felt a woman this sweet before. “You taste so sweet,” he groans, and the heat between your thighs aches as you sit bare on his clothed lap. Your cunt is dripping at the thought of him inside you. His fingers, his dick- anything as long as he’s in you.

You press your hips down on his lap urgently, marking his jeans with a visible wet patch where you’re sat on his thigh. Desperately you start rocking your hips back and forth, searching for the friction you so badly need. Frank groans in awe at how beautiful you are when you’re in need, and he groans, “That’s it, get yourself off on my thigh baby,” as he busies himself with kissing your neck. His hands scramble at the lace of your pyjama top, itching to pull it off. His eyes flick to your scrunched up face as you chase your pleasure, the fabric rubbing on your clit deliciously, and since you don’t protest, he helps you out of your thin top. Hastily, his manly hands search for the clasp of your bra on your back, and with a click, that’s also off and thrown to the floor.

His hands are urgently on your back, covered by your flowing hair as he runs them over your skin desperately. His eyes scan over your angelic body, skin soft and so so beautiful. He has to stop himself from kissing every square inch of your body, but he can’t help himself entirely, so he presses his face between the valley of your breasts and inhales, trying impossibly to be closer to you. Both his arms are wrapped around you protectively, helping you move back and forth to chase your high as he inhales that warm, sweet scent of your skin. He moves his head back to meet yours and pants, “That’s it dollface, keep going f’me.” You let out a lewd moan, signalling how close you are to him and he mewls softly, his dick bulging in his jeans as you ride his thigh. “That’s my girl, you’re almost there.” he praises as you continue writhing back and forth.

Your breathing’s irregular and your vision is blurry from pleasure, and fuck you’ve never needed him so badly. You squirm, so close yet so far, but when his stubble brushes your breast as his lips clasp around your nipple, you’re gone. An obscene moan leaves your mouth as you quiver on his thigh, legs twitching, mouth wide open- and then you can hear Frank praising, “There she is, that’s a good girl.” as you come down from your orgasm, his mouth still pressed to your tit as he holds your body to his. “You’re so beautiful sweetheart,” he pants, relieved that you feel good, ignoring the bulging ache in his jeans. You sigh tiredly, chest heaving as you come down from your high. “mmm thank you Frank,” you murmur, hair stuck to your forehead, eyes puffy from crying, and he answers, “Anything for you doll.”

You watch his broad figure beneath you, and find it amazing how someone this manly can be so soft with you. You love it about him. As you watch him pant selflessly, not wanting to take anything from you, you almost lunge at him. Quickly, you connect your soft lips to his own, wanting to taste his mouth properly now. His tongue slides between your mouth, your lips clashing as you try desperately to feel eachother even closer. You kiss the corner of his mouth, licking at his stubble, imagining how it’d feel between your thighs- how his warm tongue would work between your folds as you moaned, pushing his head lower in desperation. Frantically, you lean back and moan, “I need you Frankie,” as you move your hands over his shirt, on his chest. It’s not like he isn’t yearning to have you too, because he is. There’s nothing more he needs right now than to feel you sucking him in, to feel your walls flutter around him as you cum for the second time, but he needs to hear you say it.

“Use your words sweetheart, what dyou need?” he coos softly, like he’s talking to a child, rubbing your inner thighs. You fall into him, soft tits pressing into his chest as you whine. “I need you inside me- please.” you beg, and he purrs admiringly, pressing gentle kisses to the underside of your breast. “Is that it baby? You need me to take you?” he coaxes, hand cupping your breast, covering it entirely. He kneads it carefully and you moan, barely able to get out an “uh huh” at his touch. “Good girl, that wasn’t that hard was it?” he teases, tapping you on the side of your thighs, signalling for you to lift them.

As you hold your hips in the air, he undoes his belt, pulls down the zipper of his jeans and swiftly tugs them off. He nudges your hips back down and the soft flesh of your ass meets his muscly thighs again, but without clothes between you this time. Need overflows your senses and you moan as his glistening dick hits the sensitive skin of your thigh. You claw at his shirt, and the side of his mouth lifts into a smirk as he pulls it over his head effortlessly. “You’re so needy ain’t ya sweet girl?” he coos, massaging your hips, moving his hands to the roundness of your ass. “Fuck- so soft” he groans, eyes closing for a second to compose himself.

“Please, Frankiee” you wail, pressing your tits to his broad chest, your nipples like mountain peaks. “Shhh, I know” he murmurs, leaning forward and flicking his tongue under your ear. “I’m gonna take care of my girl.” he whispers into your neck, and that makes you swoon. His chunky fingers trail down between your thighs, and he runs his middle finger through your slick folds, holding it up as a string of wetness hangs from it. “Oh, you’re dripping baby,” he coos with adoration, “Don’t even need my fingers”.

He moves back, cupping your cheek with one calloused hand, the other reaching for his aching dick. He pumps it a few times, face scrunching up in desperation to enter you. His eyes flicker to yours hopelessly and his voice cracks as he says, “Let me make love to you sweetheart.” You nod, a painful need blooming in your body, your heart aching at his softness. As needy as ever, he moves your hips with care, nudging your dripping entrance with his swollen tip. You gasp at the contact, needing more, although he hasn’t even had the chance to enter you fully yet. He groans, eyes closing as he bites his lip, pushing himself deeper inside you. “Oh god- you’re so tight f’me,” he shudders, stretching you out painfully as his breath hitches.

So gently, he pushes your hips down until you sink on him fully, and he bottoms out in you with a shuddering groan. “Ahh fuck, is this okay sweetie, does it feel good?” he asks, considerate of you. You nod rapidly, eyebrows furrowed in despair, needing him to move. You moan, hips twitching, desperate for some friction. “Frankie I need you to fuck me,” you moan, hands on his chest. He growls at the way you say that, hands holding your hips as he whispers “Shit, I know baby- I’m gonna take care of this pussy so well.” You can feel yourself getting even wetter around him, if that’s even possible. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he reassures, pressing another wet kiss to the line of your jaw.

Slowly but surely, he does start moving. He lets out deep groans as he holds your waist, grinding you on his lap. You can’t wait, you start urging your hips back and forth faster and he tuts at you, whispering dirtily, “Oh, I didn’t know my girl was so needy f’me.” But he understands you need it- need him, and so he starts to buck his hips faster for you. He wraps his arms around you like a human shield, and with his hold on you, starts lifting you. You moan, not wanting to leave, you haven’t even had anything near enough and you can already feel his thick cock sliding out of you. But as you’re about to protest, he quickly slams you back down with urgency. A vulgar noise leaves your mouth as your skin slaps back down onto his. He groans, desperate to make you feel good, he wants to be here for you. He needs to show you you’re not alone, show you that he lov-

You gasp, head thrown back in ecstasy, you can’t think about anything but his arms around you, his breathy whispering into your ear. “Frank,” you cry, emotions pouring out of you. He’s like heaven, he’s your heaven. He feels like home, gives you stability, makes you want to live, to start a family even. You wanna be his, to give him everything and love him till you’re dead. You moan as your tits bounce up and down; Frank worshipping your body, unable to say anything with how pussy drunk he is.

He groans as you clench around him, coating him with slick as you move up and down. He feels different when he’s with you. He feels capable of- change? Capable of being soft and sweet unlike how life has treated him the last few years. He wants to love you forever. At every sound of your skin slapping, a different stage of your lives flashes past his eyes. Watching you walk down the aisle with tears in his eyes. Moving into your first home together. Remodelling your kitchen as you laugh, faces covered in paint. Having a baby together.

“I-” Frank gasps, the words he wants to say sticking his mouth together. “Fuck,” he groans, so close to the edge, “baby- fuck, I love you.” Your arms are around his neck while he makes love to you, desperately holding onto him. You’re scared you’ll drown if you let go, especially when those words leave his mouth. Your heart stops, your eyes glisten and you whine out, “I love you too Frank.” He presses gentle kisses to your neck once you say that, scared that he’ll start crying if he looks at you. He holds onto you like you’re his anchor, and finally, tilts your head so his eyes can meet yours.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he whispers emotionally, voice breaking. “You’re my whole life baby” he tells you, every word leaving his mouth dripping with love. He helps you lay on your back on the sofa, still connected with you at the core and continues making love to you. With every thrust of his hips you moan into his neck. He pants in your ear as his chest hovers over you, and he mutters sweet nothings into your ear incoherently. You can tell he’s close because he’s not making sense anymore. “Fuck- I’m so lucky to have you baby,” he grunts, jaw clenching together as he stutters, “mm I’m so close.” Your legs are stiff too, and you realise you need to cum again. Frank sees it too and like the gentleman he is, he makes you his priority. “Oh babydoll,” he coos, moving a hand from your side to the sensitive skin between your legs. He smiles endearingly and says, “Let me see that pretty face,” as he tilts his head.

You meet his gaze, but you’re in despair, needing release. He slips his middle finger just below your dripping folds, feeling his dick slide in and out of your drenched pussy. “I’m g’na make you feel so good.” he utters, pulling his hand away from where you’re connected. Your stomach flips when he brings it to his face, spits into it and lowers it back down to your throbbing cunt. He wipes the glob onto your clit, looking up to see your screwed up face. “You okay sweet girl?” he pants and you nod urgently, trying to urge yourself closer to him as his dick tortures your gummy walls. His saliva drips down your pussy as he checks on you, but once you nod, his hand is right back to work. He moves his thumb over to your sensitive nub and starts rubbing gently.

You shudder, pleasure overflowing out of your body as he rubs your clit, his length still dragging in and out of you. You move your hands onto his back, desperate for something to hold onto, to anchor you. Frank shudders at you clawing at his back- your grasp is so desperate, it makes him feel cherished in a way he's never known. Your breath hitches as your mouth falls open, and Frank starts talking you through it, knowing you’ll fall apart any minute. “That’s it, I’m right here, let go,” he encourages while he continues rubbing quick circles. Your moans become increasingly louder, your breathing irregular and you’re on the verge of coming undone. Franks groans at the sweet sounds you make, struggling but managing to get out the words- “Fuck- I’m g’na cum.”

He hasn’t made a fuss about himself, hasn’t been doing this to make himself feel good. Never- you’re always his first priority, and tonight was about making you feel good. About showing you that you’re not alone- no, you’re cherished and loved by so many people. By him. He groans in short gasps, his breathing uneven as he reaches the edge. “Frankie- I’m so close” you whine, your hands trailing down to the nape of his neck. Your fingers are slipping through his short hair as he moans, both of you looking like a desperate, sweating mess. His cock keeps drilling into you and finally you shriek, hips bucking and thighs shaking as you come apart around his dick.

As your head falls to the side while your drenched pussy convulses around him, he groans into your hair, asking for permission as if you’re his goddess. “Doll, I’m so- mph, fuck- I’m right there,” he starts, unable to get a whole sentence out straight. “Please- umph- please let me fill you up.” he stutters, throbbing as his thrusts become sloppy. You breathe out, “Please,” into his neck and with a vulgar groan, his hips stutter and you shudder at a warmth filling you up.

There’s something about you that makes him want to be good. As he holds you like there’s no tomorrow while his hips twitch into yours, filling you, he realises how much he needs you. You’re his angel, his salvation- and there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you. Not a single thing, just so he could see you smile, see you feel good. “You’re okay baby, I’m here.” he groans in ragged breaths. He caresses your tits as you both come down from your high, both of you trembling messes. Your breathing steadies slightly as he kisses you, shows you how much he cares. His spend seeps out of your pussy, which is stuffed entirely, and dribbles down his length. Franks eyes trail to where you’re connected, and with a raspy voice he says, “You look so beautiful like this baby.” The corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiles softly, rubbing soft circles on your cheek with his thumb. He adores you with his whole heart. He’s in no rush to go or to leave you. Instead, he holds your warm body close, and skims his mouth up and down your neck. Not kissing, not licking, just letting his lip brush over your skin.

He links an arm beneath you, pulling you off your back to sit up straight and straddle him again, still keeping you plugged with his length, all while his rough hands move to your hair and he runs his fingers through the soft, silkiness of it. “You did so good f’me doll, so good” he purrs, nudging his nose against your jaw, “My good girl.” God, everything he does is so intimate, so sensual. Doing this; for Frank anyways, isn’t about fucking. He wants to make love to you. He wants you to feel comfortable enough to fall apart right there in his lap. And fortunately, he succeeded at that, which means you did feel cherished. “Feel okay sweetheart?” he asks, holding you head with his large hand, the other running along your jawline. You nod sheepishly, cheeks flushed as he smiles at you.

“Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about baby.” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You love this about him, the fact that he’s actually taking care of you. “Feel better baby?” he asks, brushing his thumb beneath your eye, as if to catch a tear but you’re not crying. “Mhm, so full.” you whine, glancing down and he nudges your head back up, desperate to see your perfect face. “That right?” he smiles teasingly. “My girl feels all filled up?”. Your cheeks flush pink and he watches you lovingly.

“That’s how I wanna see you baby. Not sad, not talking down on yourself”. He watched you thoughtfully, tone a little more serious then before and you nod. “Okay?” he asks, and you nod, a small smile on your lips, “okay.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead as you close your eyes, and whispers, “Good girl”. As your heart flips, he leans back and says, “Let me help you clean up baby”, rubbing a hand over your thigh. You nod, knowing he’s gonna have to pull out, and after a few more gentle kisses, he helps you onto your back again, his calloused hand over your stomach as he says, “okay, you ready?” You bite your lip, nodding and he starts to pull out- a grimace on his face. As his dick pulls out with a wet pop, his load oozes out of your hole and onto the couch. “You did so good baby, I’m so proud of my girl.” he says in his raspy voice, moving away from between your legs, standing up. He watches your perfect figure lying back on the couch, and tells you, “I’ll be right back.” before walking out of the living room.

He comes back after a few moments, holding one of your shirts, a glass of water and a cloth. You smile in awe, heart aching at his attempt to give you aftercare. He leans down, sitting on his knees on the cold floor, setting the glass of water onto the coffee table with a clink. “Can I help baby?” he asks softly, holding up the cloth. You smile giddily and say, “Yes, please”, and then his paws are on your legs again and he whispers, “Spread your legs f’me sweetheart”. If he hadn’t already just fucked the life out of you, you would’ve been needy again, but instead you open your legs for him, revealing your glistening cunt. He raises the damp cloth, moving it between your thighs and starts gently rubbing at your pussy. “There you go” he whispers, one hand pushing your thigh down to have access while the other holds the cloth. Carefully he cleans you up, electricity running through you when the cloth rubs on your sensitive nub. He places the cloth to the side, not breaking eye contact as he presses the softest kiss to your clit. You shudder, still having aftershocks from your second orgasm.

“Thank you,” you whisper and smiles, placing his hands on knees, and getting up. He moves back onto the couch, pulling you close to his side and tells you, “Lift your arms for me”. You do as he says, and ever so softly, he pulls a clean shirt over your head, gently pulling your arms through the sleeves. He kisses your forehead and wraps an arm around your waist, breathing softly into your hair. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth and he whispers your name sweetly, before breathing out, “I love you”. You nuzzle your face into him as he holds you and you tell him, “I love you too.” His manly hands stroke your hair as you cuddle and he sighs in content. Somehow, he managed to change your night that started out with tears and despair into a night filled with love.

“I’m sorry you felt alone baby. But just know I’m here for you now. I’m yours, and I’d do anything and everything for you.” You listen to his deep rich voice as he holds you, trusting his every word. “Oh Frank,” you whisper, closing your eyes against him. He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against your bare shoulder.

rain taps softly against the cabin roof, against the windows, against the world outside, creating that peaceful sort of white noise that makes it impossible to know what time it is. the room is dim and gray, wrapped in the kind of soft rainy light that makes staying in bed feel less like laziness and more like a perfectly reasonable life decision.

under the blankets, everything is warm. your feet are tucked beneath the comforter, your head resting against frank's chest, one of his arms around your waist while the other is trapped somewhere beneath the pillow. at some point during the night you'd apparently stolen most of the blanket, because it's wrapped around you like a cocoon while only half covers him. somehow he doesn't seem to care.

you stir first, pressing your face deeper against his shirt for a moment before opening your eyes. frank is still asleep, or at least he looks asleep. his breathing is slow and even, his jaw relaxed in a way it rarely is when he's awake. outside, rain continues falling through the forest surrounding the cabin. the trees sway gently in the wind, their dark silhouettes visible through a gap in the curtains.

it's cold enough outside that the windows have started to fog slightly around the edges. meanwhile inside the bed feels impossibly warm. you shift your legs, searching for a more comfortable position, and accidentally brush against a colder spot in the sheets. immediately you pull back with a small shiver. the reaction is tiny, barely noticeable. unfortunately, frank notices everything. his eyes open immediately.

"cold?" he asks, voice rough from sleep.

you smile. "good morning to you too."

"you cold?"

"maybe a little."

his arm tightens around your waist before you've even finished speaking. then he shifts, pulling you closer until you're practically draped across him. one large hand slides slowly up and down your back through the fabric of your shirt, sharing warmth without even thinking about it. you feel his chin settle lightly on top of your head.

"c'mere," he murmurs. "lemme warm you up." there's something so simple and automatic about the way he says it that your chest immediately feels lighter. you tuck yourself closer against him and feel his arm tighten a little more.

"better?" he asks after a minute.

"a little," you admit.

"little?" he repeats skeptically. "a little aint enough."

"frank, i'm fine." you smile up at him and hide your face in his neck.

the rain continues outside while the room remains perfectly still. frank's fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm beneath the blanket, absentminded and comforting. eventually you glance up and discover he's looking at you. he kind of look that says he's checking whether you're comfortable. checking whether you're happy. checking whether you're still cold.

"what?" you ask.

"nothin'."

"you're staring."

"so what? can't stare at my girl anymore?" he lets out a sleepy huff that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh. then his gaze drifts toward the rain-covered windows. "don' wanna get up," he mutters.

you blink. "what?" he doesn't answer. "did frank castle just admit he doesn't want to get out of bed?"

now he looks annoyed. "don't start." frank simply pulls you back down onto his chest before you can continue arguing. "discussion over."

the rain grows heavier as the morning continues. every now and then water slides down the windows in long silver streaks. the cabin feels smaller in the best possible way. cozy. sheltered. hidden from the rest of the world. neither of you has checked your phone in hours. there's nowhere to be. nobody expecting anything.

just the two of you wrapped beneath warm blankets while the weather does whatever it wants outside. frank's hand remains settled against your back the entire time. whenever you shift away even slightly, he unconsciously follows.

when your feet brush against his legs, he immediately moves closer. at one point you try creating a little distance just to test something. less than thirty seconds later his arm automatically pulls you back.

"you know you're clingy, right?" you tell him.

he looks genuinely offended. "says the person usin' me as a pillow."

another long silence followed, the comfortable kind. the kind married couples have after years together where neither person feels pressure to fill every second with conversation. rain taps against the roof. the blankets are warm. frank's fingers lazily trace circles against your shoulder while your eyes drift toward closing again.

every so often one of you says something random. comments on the weather. wonders whether there's enough coffee downstairs. debates whether breakfast counts as brunch if neither of you gets out of bed before ten. the conversation goes nowhere and somehow that makes it perfect.

you leaned in for a kiss slowly, hesitantly, like you weren’t sure if frank would even allow it. but the second your lips touched his - soft and chaste, the air between you shifted.

frank didn’t hesitate for long. within a breath, he deepened it, tilting his head just slightly to angle better and pressing back. his large hands slid from your cheeks down to cradle the sides of your neck.

his lips moved against yours with tenderness. each press was deliberate, a soft parting of mouths before meeting again deeper this time, testing how far you’d let him go.

the kiss lingered - long, peaceful and unhurried. frank’s mouth stayed warm and patient against yours. frank shifted carefully beneath you, not pushing you down or pulling you closer too fast, but simply adjusting so he could hold your body better.

his right arm slid around your shoulders while his left hand came up to rest low on your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades, cradling every curve gently as if afraid of breaking something precious.

eventually you tilt your head up and find frank already looking at you again. this time neither of you says anything. he simply brushes a strand of hair away from your face before pulling the blanket a little higher around your shoulders.

"there," he mutters.

"frank, I'm not cold anymore."

his expression softens slightly. just enough for you to notice.

eventually, despite neither of you wanting to move, the promise of coffee becomes impossible to ignore. it starts with frank glancing toward the bedroom door, then toward the window, then back at you as though calculating whether staying in bed is worth the caffeine deprivation.

judging by the reluctant look on his face, the answer is very nearly yes. unfortunately, you know him well enough to recognize the exact moment he gives in.

"okay, let's go, c'mon" he lets out a long sigh, the kind that sounds personally offended by the existence of responsibilities, and carefully shifts upright.

cold air immediately slips beneath the blankets, making you pull the comforter tighter around yourself. before standing, frank pauses long enough to tug the blanket around your shoulders, making sure it's wrapped securely despite the fact that you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

when you point this out, he simply ignores you. his hand briefly squeezes your shoulder as he climbs out of bed, and for a moment you find yourself watching him move around the room while snow continues drifting outside the window.

the cabin feels warm and cozy, the kind of place that encourages people to move slowly. sunlight filters through the clouds in pale silver beams, catching on the snow-covered branches outside. everything feels peaceful in a way that seems increasingly rare.

downstairs, the cabin is even cozier than the bedroom. the fireplace has long since burned down to embers, but the lingering warmth remains, mixing with the scent of cedarwood and old pine.

the kitchen sits beside a large window overlooking the forest, and through the glass you can see snow piled high on the porch railing and scattered across the surrounding trees. while frank starts the coffee maker, you begin gathering ingredients for breakfast.

neither of you is particularly talkative yet. it's the comfortable quiet of two people who don't feel the need to perform wakefulness for each other. mugs are set on the counter.

drawers open and close. somewhere outside, a bird lands briefly on a branch before disappearing again. by the time you begin mixing ingredients, the smell of fresh coffee has started filling the entire cabin.

frank appears behind you before you even realize he's left the coffee maker. one moment you're focused on cooking, and the next two familiar arms are wrapping around your waist from behind.

"clingy frankie"

"shush" his chest settles against your back, warm even through both layers of clothing, and his chin comes to rest lightly on your shoulder.

he simply stands there holding you while you continue trying to work around him. it would be easier if he moved. significantly easier. unfortunately, frank seems perfectly content where he is.

every time you shift to reach something, he shifts with you. every time you step sideways, he follows. at one point you attempt to open a cabinet and discover that doing so while dragging an attached six-foot-tall man around the kitchen is surprisingly difficult.

still, you can't really find it in yourself to complain. there is something deeply comforting about the quiet weight of him against your back. one of his hands remains loosely clasped over your stomach while the other occasionally rubs slow circles against your side.

he doesn't seem to need conversation this morning. just proximity. every now and then you glance over your shoulder and find him watching you with that soft, sleepy expression he only ever wears in private. his eyes follow your movements around the kitchen.

when you smile, something faint and almost invisible tugs at the corner of his mouth. it isn't quite a smile. more the beginning of one. the possibility of one.

by the time everything is finished, steam curls from both mugs of coffee and the entire kitchen smells warm and inviting. outside, snow continues falling in lazy drifts, transforming the forest into something that looks almost unreal.

the two of you settle at the small wooden table near the window, and for a while the only sounds are the clink of silverware and the occasional creak of the cabin settling around you. sunlight briefly breaks through the clouds, scattering diamonds of light across the snow outside.

"your hands are cold." frank mentions.

"they're fine."

he reaches over and grabs one anyway. "cold." frank rubs his thumb across your knuckles.

you find yourself staring out the window, mesmerized by the view. when you look back, you catch frank watching you rather than the scenery. his gaze shifts away almost immediately when he realizes he's been caught, but not before you see the softness there.

there is something about winter mornings that seems to make time slower. breakfast stretches comfortably into late morning. coffee is refilled. conversation drifts lazily from one topic to another without any urgency. plans for the day are mentioned and then abandoned.

"you're smiling." you point out. he looks away toward the trees. which only proves your point. "frank."

"what."

"you like me."

he groans immediately. "married you, didn't I."

"that doesn't answer the question."

"pretty sure it does." he lets out a breathy chuckle as he kisses your temple.

neither of you seems particularly interested in doing much beyond existing in the same space. eventually you push your chair back and start gathering dishes, only for frank to stand at the exact same moment and quietly take the plates from your hands. there isn't any discussion about it. there rarely is.

he simply takes over with the calm certainty of someone who has already made up his mind. while he carries dishes to the sink, you lean against the counter watching him for a moment.

there is something oddly domestic about the sight. sleeves rolled up. shoulders relaxed. warm winter light filtering through the kitchen window while snow falls outside. frank standing at the sink washing dishes should not affect you as much as it does, and yet it always seems to. perhaps because it is such a normal thing.

he catches you watching and lifts an eyebrow in silent question. you shake your head with a smile he narrows his eyes slightly, unconvinced, but returns to cleaning anyway.

when the dishes are finally done, you carry your coffee onto the front porch. the cold greets you immediately, crisp and clean without being unpleasant. the wooden boards creak softly beneath your feet as you settle into one of the large chairs facing the forest.

from here, the view is breathtaking. endless trees draped in white. snowflakes drifting lazily through the air. distant hills softened by winter haze. the world looks untouched. peaceful. as though someone has pressed pause on everything beyond the cabin.

you wrap both hands around your mug and breathe in the scent of coffee while watching the snowfall. for several minutes you're alone, listening to the gentle hush of winter. then the front door opens behind you. you don't need to turn around to know it's frank.

his footsteps are instantly familiar. slow and steady across the porch boards. a second later he appears beside you carrying his own mug, and rather than choosing the empty chair farther away, he drags the closest one directly beside yours before sitting down.

the legs scrape softly across the wood. close enough that your shoulders touch. close enough that you can feel his warmth even through your coat.

for a long time neither of you says much. the silence isn't empty. it's shared. the kind of silence built through years of knowing each other. frank leans back in his chair, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug, his gaze fixed on the snowy landscape stretching beyond the porch.

the cold has painted a faint flush across his cheeks. his expression is calm in a way few people ever get to witness. there are no sharp edges here. no tension. only quiet contentment. every now and then he takes a sip of coffee, and each time he lowers the mug his shoulder brushes lightly against yours again.

"if a bear showed up right now, what would you do?"

frank looks at you over his mug.

"why."

"just answer."

"depends."

"on what?"

"whether he's bothering us."

you immediately start laughing. "you're gonna evaluate the bear first?"

"maybe he's minding his own business."

"frank."

"what."

"that's insane."

eventually you shift closer, resting your head against him as you smile. immediately frank adjusts without looking away from the scenery. his arm drapes across the back of your chair. his shoulder angles slightly toward you.

somehow he manages to make the space between you disappear entirely. you watch snowflakes tumble through the trees while warm coffee heats your hands and winter air nips gently at your face. behind you, the cabin glows with warmth. ahead of you, the forest stretches endlessly beneath fresh snow.

and sitting there together, wrapped in winter silence and the comfort of familiar company, it becomes impossible to imagine a place you'd rather be. some mornings aren't memorable for anything extraordinary. just coffee, snowfall, a quiet cabin in the woods, and the simple comfort of sharing it with the person who feels most like home.

Frank wasn’t a very heavy sleeper. You’d worn him down, over the years together. He was a man trained to stir at the slightest bump in the night; the upstairs neighbor stepping onto the fire escape, the AC whirring to life after a preprogrammed period. A man whose nightmares steered him away from falling asleep at all. It’s taken thousands of weekday mornings snoozing his alarm to get to the worksite, weekends turning them off altogether (who chooses to wake up at eight on a Saturday?) to turn Frank into a homebody. To convince him to spend weekend mornings pliant, limbs heavy and warm under a duvet like his were now.

So, he doesn’t rouse immediately when you touch him. It’s only when your fingers thread into his dark hair that he lets out a low sound, some mix of a heavy sigh and a grumble. Like a pitbull, you think again.

Frank only shifts slightly, his arm remaining anchored over your legs, but his face moving back to nose against your skin; this time, your hip, a move the hem of your underwear. The heatwave has you ditching your matching pajama sets, the ones Frank claimed made you look like a little Grandma. You’d given his shoulder a smack for that one.

“Morning, sleepy.” You mutter, gently scraping your nails across his scalp. He grunts in reply, cracking one almond eye open to peer up at you.

You smile down at him. He manages a lazier, more crooked one at you, and drops a kiss to your hip. His eyes close at the contact, and don’t reopen. When Frank finally opens his mouth, his voice is gravelly, slow to start. “..What time’s’it.”

Giving the clock on his nightstand a glance, you hum. “About eleven.” A longer, more sustained grumble from him. Much time passes like that, your fingers against his scalp, him making little effort to resist falling right back asleep, periodically making quiet and involuntary noises, grunts.

“Your hair’s getting long, Frankie.” You murmur eventually, with a tilt of your head. Another one of those old man sounds in reply. “Maybe you need a trim.”

“Y’think so?”

“Mm. We can get it done before breakfast,” you push the hair from his temple, internally considering the exact cuts needed.

“Sounds good.” But, he doesn’t move an inch. A minute passes, you in your own thoughts, before you catch his breathing evening again, and the subtle part of his lips.

“..Frank.”

“Uh.” He grunts, a muscle in his cheek jumping. You bite back a laugh.

With your fingers in the hair at his forehead, you gently tug his face away from your hip. “You’re falling asleep again.”

Frank cracks an eye, mumbling. “..m’awake.”

“Oh, are you?” You can’t hide a grin now. He makes an affirmative sound. Looking up now, you look around the bedroom. Morning light infiltrates through the thin white curtains, one of your many additions to his previously barren apartment before you. Where the sheets once only smelled like his cologne and faint musk, there’s a hint of your favorite linen spray and traces of the nightstand candle you like to burn in the evenings.

Well. That’s all what a deep breath of the space tells you, before you shuffle out from under the trap of Frank’s arm and stand with a small sigh. You stretch your arms above your head, twisting slightly to relieve the sleep-stiffness, and glance over your shoulder at Frank. Still in bed, laying in about the same position, though your absence made him shift further onto his stomach. The difference is that his eyes are open, only slightly bleary from sleep, and free of any hard creases or hardness. The only lines around his face now are the perpetual ones, from half a lifetime spent squinting and grimacing. There’s a softness, a near reverence to the way he watches you, bearded cheek against the fitted sheet that’s still bearing the impression of where your body was.

“You getting up, or what?” You hum, dropping your arms to your sides and turning slightly.

Frank nods simply, eyes not leaving you as he props a bent arm under his head, tucks his chin into the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, yeah.” A pause, where you grin and he huffs through the nostrils. He finally moves to lift himself up. “..Yeah. Getting up.”

—

“don’t leave it too long,” Frank reminds.

“I know!” You snip, both in tone and, well, wielding scissors.

He sits backwards on the closed toilet lid, his bare back to you. You’ve laid a dish towel over his shoulders, catching some of the brown strands of hair that fall as you cut. Being a hairdresser comes with exponential benefits; one being that you get to do your man’s hair exactly how you want it. He doesn’t complain too much.

It’s wet as you cut, you comb up sections to trim layers into with the shears you keep in the apartment. Your shared bathroom is quiet, save for sparse, unforced conversation and the sound of hair being snipped.

“Curt wants me to go back to one of those veterans.. group circle, things.” Frank mentions, offhandedly. He knows better than to give into instinct and bob his head as he speaks; with how long you’ve been together, he’s been reprimanded enough to learn.

“Yeah?” The subject would be touchy, if it were anyone but you.

“I think I might.”

“That would be good for you.” You agree. The conversation doesn’t die, but pauses for a good time. You move around him, taking more sections of hair with the comb. When you begin to trim the hair that falls around his temple, he turns his face to give you easier access.

You can feel his eyes on you, breaking through your concentration. You spare him a brief look. Sure enough, there’s that unreadable stare. “What?”

Frank shrugs, eyes averting to the far wall, you, who forgot that you were supposed to be giving him a brief look. “Nothin’.” You squint at him, then back to the task at hand. Stepping around him, you dust some hair off the skin of his back and reach for the other side of his forehead. He turns his face again for you.

Still staring. It’s practically tangible. You try to bite back a smile by the inside of your cheeks, cutting away as he speaks, “Damn gorgeous woman.”

You let out an easy laugh. Everything felt easy, when it was just the two of you. “Trying to compliment your way into a free haircut?”

Frank huffs at that, the corners of his lips turning up. “I thought livin’ together covered that.”

“Nope. Gotta pay the bills, y’know.”

“.. I pay those.”

“Whatever- turn around.” Frank shakes his head at you, but is unmistakably smiling as he turns on the lid to face you. He tips his chin up. That look hasn’t left his eyes; sweet content. Comfort. Some kind of quiet love, that couldn’t be louder to someone who knows how to read it on his features.

“Y’think I should shave it?” Frank mumbles, trying not to work his jaw too much as you bring the scissors to his beard. You scoff in disbelief.

“I’d kill you.” He laughs from the chest, brief and real. It’s a well known fact that you adored his gruff look. You only trim the facial hair, and you’re done in a minute. Carefully lifting the towel from his shoulders, you shake out the loose hair into the small trash bin beside the toilet as he stands to full height.

You can’t, and can never, resist raking your eyes down Frank’s chest, to his shoulders and arms; the movement of well-earned muscle under scarred skin as he makes his way to stand in front of the sink mirror.

He squints at his reflection, rubbing a large paw of a hand down his beard and turning his head this way and that. Coming to stand on tiptoes behind him, you reach up and shake out the freshly cut hair. He grumbles in interest, though there’s a crease between his brows.

“Left it kind of long, huh, sweetheart?”

You rest your hands on his shoulders, tipping your face up to peer at him through the mirror despite the height difference. “It looks better like this.” He grunts, noncommittally, his eyes moving from the haircut to you. “I’m the one who has to look at you, Frankie.”

A smile, toothy and lopsided, creases Frank’s features at that. He crosses his arms around his chest, covering your hands on his shoulders and muttering with a slight squint at you through the glass; “Well, you’re the boss, mama.”