#300 club | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedrito-friskito · 2 years

Note

Hi, congrats on 300! You deserve it (and more)!

Could I cheat a little and get 🦥 and/or 🍑 with idiots to lovers and Frank Castle? (or whatever you're inspired to write - I love the way you portray Frank) 💕

idiots to lovers I LOVE THIS….I had so much fun writing this wow okay here you are darling 💗 thank you so much!!!

lonely hearts club - frank castle x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence/injuries, frank’s a bit of a softie, p-in-v sex, oral (f receiving), general yearning

✨kay’s 300 follower celebration✨

It’s been a really long couple weeks. Excruciating, painful, drawn-out, minutes ticking by like hours kind of long. And even that’s an understatement.

With a sigh, you lower your face into the fold of your arms, resting atop your knees. The chair beneath you is ratty and old, one of those fold-up metal things that looks like something out of the seventies, the plastic arms worn grey where they once might have been white, holes in the weird nylon fabric from many a cigarette butt letting the dirty ground dot your ass.

But it’s a seat, at least, and you keep yourself firmly planted, staring into the fire before you. Flames lick across the stacked logs, ashes and coals smouldering orange and grey beneath. As you watch, he gets up, grabs a fresh piece of wood from the stack in the back of the motorhome, tosses it on top of the rest. The fire crackles, sparks imploding upwards and raining through the air, a cascade of orange that has your eyes tilting up, past the flames.

To Frank.

“Ya cold?” he asks, and as if on cue, a shiver passes through you. You yank on your sleeves, pulling the flannel past your wrists, bunching the fabric in your hands. You grit your teeth, shake your head no, but then your teeth chatter together, your jaw vibrating painfully. A moment later, there’s something warm draped around your shoulders, and you can’t stop yourself from pulling it closer, mouth going dry when you realize what it is: his coat.

“But you…?” you mumble, lifting your head. You can barely form words, you’re so exhausted. The mattress in the back of the motorhome is less than comfortable, and while Frank’s been nice enough to let you have it to yourself most nights, you’ve froze your ass off for most of them, and you feel like you can’t shake the cold.

“Don’ worry about me,” he shrugs you off, waving a hand at you as he stalks back over to his side of the fire, swigging his beer before he settles into his own chair. Your gaze lingers on him for a while before sliding back to the fire, watching the flames change colour, the new piece of wood catching quickly while the one underneath collapses into coals.

Nearly three weeks ago, you were standing in a bar. Normal girl, normal life; lacklustre love life and standard 9-to-5 that made you want to yank your hair out most days, but kept food on your table and a roof over your head.

Standing in a bar with a friend who you thought you knew well. A friend who turned out to be mixed up with the wrong crowd of people, because before you had a chance to blink, a gang of men burst through the door, guns raised. Bullets flew, zipped past your head, one skimming your shoulder just enough to make you shout. You finally did blink, and your friend’s body was hitting the floor, a large fist was curled in the front of your shirt, and you were hauled up and over the bar, tossed like a rag doll over the edge and landing on your side. Your head hit the tile hard, your vision went blurry, and that was that.

You woke later in the back of the motorhome you’ve since called…home? The clothes you’d been wearing in the bar were gone, replaced with a rumpled flannel shirt that was two sizes too big and a pair of sweatpants that you had to roll three times just to keep on your hips. You phone was cracked, the screen beyond repair and the device generally useless, and you sucked in a breath when you propped yourself up, your shoulder barking in pain, and peeled back the flannel just enough to see a bandaged wrapped expertly around the top of your arm.

“Didn’t need any stitches,” a low, husky voice had called, and you’d turned to see him standing on the asphalt, the back doors of the motorhome open, revealing the city docks, New York a blip in the distance. “Just a graze; you’ll be fine.”

“T-thank you,” you stuttered out, wiping at your face, sighing when your fingers came away black with smudged make up. “Who…who are you?”

To your absolute shock, he’d stuck his hand towards you. “Frank Castle, ma’am.”

You’d took his hand in yours hesitantly, but something in you had jumped at the way his fingers were warm around yours. “Hi, Frank.”

He nodded. “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t know how you managed to get yourself mixed up with the Dogs of Hell, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out of the state and stay that way, you understand me?”

Your mind churned, the events at the bar surfacing. Your friend, the bullets, your quick flight over the bar. “I didn’t…” You trailed off, shook your head. “I can’t—I don’t…” Your breath started to hitch in your through, your chest going tight with every inhale. “I’m not—”

“Hey,” Frank had called, voice going surprisingly soft and soothing. “I’m gonna help you, all right? That’s what I do. Look, are you from New York?” When you shook your head, he nodded. “Okay, where’d you grow up, huh? Where d’your folks live?” You rattled off your home state and town, and he nodded again. “All right. It’ll take us a while to get there, but I will get you there, okay? You hear me?”

Your eyes had gone unfocused, ears picking up on his words but the sound of gunfire was echoing through your head. Then there were strong knuckles beneath your chin, tilting your face back, his handsome mug filling your vision.

Shit. Handsome.

“You hear me?”

You nodded.

That was almost three weeks ago.

Travelling with Frank turned out to be…educational. An exercise in restraint, both to keep your near instantaneous attraction to him at bay, along with your consistent annoyance with how gruff and sometimes downright rude he could be.

You bickered more than anything, falling into a strange routine. He got your coffee order wrong every time, to the point where you were starting to wonder if he was doing it on purpose. Every bathroom stop was a battle, especially in the second week when the crimson tide came to say hello and you asked him to pull over twice in three hours.

“Jesus, maybe you should stop drinking all that lemonade.”

“Maybe you should shut your fucking mouth and pull over.”

His brows had raised at that, jaw going tighter than you’d seen it thus far, but he pulled over at the next gas station without a word.

The motorhome had some semblance of a kitchen, and a few days into your journey, you’d forced him to stop at a grocery store so you could pick up a few essentials and eat something besides cans of beans and tuna. You discovered quickly that Frank loved breakfast. He’d fight you for the last pancake every time you made them, no matter how adamant you were that the chef got the last one, and his attempts were pitiful compared to your own, so you’d become the breakfast cook, a job you took seriously.

The first time you made him French toast, however, you were surprised he didn’t keel over and die of pure happiness. It seemed to be like an olive branch, of sorts, because after that, he was more…open with you. Less gruff, less business, more friendly. “Y’know, my wife,” he started as you hit the road that day, his hand curled around the top of the steering wheel, head lolling towards you as he spoke, “she used to make breakfast like that every Sunday. The kids’d be watching cartoons and shit, making a mess, I’d be half asleep upstairs or whatever, and she’d call us all down. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, the whole nine yards. Every Sunday, without fail. I miss that. Breakfast.”

You didn’t miss the way his other hand had curled into his jeans, nails digging into the fabric so hard you were almost shocked it didn’t rip. Not really knowing why, you reached across to peel his hand away, sliding your fingers through his. “Sounds nice.”

He let you hold his hand for a solid minute, your fingers woven with his, thumb swiping across the meat of his palm. Frank kept his eyes on the road, head tilted to the side, but then grumbled something you couldn’t make out and pulled his hand away like you’d burned him. The rejection stung, and you’d pushed yourself out of the front seat and stormed away to the bed in the back of the motorhome, blinking away the hot tears that formed.

It had been awkward ever since that, the both of you dealing in two words or less, often going hours without speaking. Breakfast was reduced to gas station coffee and stale donuts, your French toast moment nothing more but a memory shoved in the back of your mind.

But now, his coat draped around your shoulders, the now-familiar scent of him invading your senses, the air feels different. Your eyes lift from the fire to find his dark gaze watching you through the ripples the heat creates in the air, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Your fingers curl deeper into the fabric of his coat, rubbing the corduroy between your knuckles.

“It’s cold out here, Frank,” you call, your voice a whisper above the crackling fire.

He shrugs a shoulder, eyes squinting, but even through the flames, you can see the goosebumps rising on his bare forearms, the dark hair dusting his skin rising to stand on end. It is cold, and suddenly, enough is enough. You can’t stand the space between you a moment longer.

Frank watches as you get to your feet, the shitty chair folding in on itself the second you push yourself out of it, plastic collapsing into the dirt. You feel him track you around the fire, his gaze never wavering from you, and you don’t look away, watching him just as intently as he’s watching you.

Without a word, his coat still around your shoulders, you reach your hand out towards him. Silently, you’re willing — begging — him to take it. You’re not sure you could take this rejection a second time.

But slowly, wrist twitching against the cold, he lifts his hand, fingers engulfing yours. His palm is surprisingly warm against yours as you curl your hand around his and tug, pulling him out of his chair and onto his feet. “What are you doin’?” he asks, and for a moment, you wait for the other shoe to drop. Wait for him to pull himself away and push you further than you already feel like you are, but he doesn’t.

You’re both silent as you turn, leading him towards the motorhome, taking the few steps up the open back until you reach the bed. He’s still watching as you shrug his coat off, letting it drop to the floor as you pull the back door closed, sinking the two of you into moonlight-streaked darkness.

Frank doesn’t say a word as you settle both hands on his shoulders, pushing lightly, and he goes pliant beneath you, sinking onto the edge of the bed. He’s still just watching, that dark gaze following your every move, and it sends a zap of something electric through you.

Finally, he speaks, repeating his question. “What are you doin’, darlin’?” he asks, and your entire being clenches at the pet name. Darlin’.

You lift one leg, planting your knee beside his hip, and his hand curls around your thigh a second later, thumb swiping across. “Keeping you warm,” you whisper, your voice laden with every feeling you’ve had towards him over the last few weeks. “You gonna let me?”

Frank grunts when you lift your other knee, pulling yourself up and into his lap, settling easily, hips slotting against his. He’s got both hands on your waist now, fingers trailing beneath your flannel, and you can feel the goosebumps rising on your skin. “Ya sure, sweetheart?” he whispers, and you teeth sink into your bottom lip. You look up at him through your lashes, and he lets out a little groan, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, thumb hooking across your lip until you release it, pad skimming the bitten skin. “Fuck.”

“Do you want this?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer, spurred on by the lust in his eyes and the possessiveness in his grip on your body. “Do you want…me?”

His eyes are glued to your lips, but as the question passes your lips, they flick up, meeting yours, something bright flaring in the dark depths. His thumb drags down your chin, caressing the curve of your throat before he slides his fingers into your hair. “You’re damn right I do.”

The kiss is surprisingly soft. You were expecting his lips to be soft, unfairly full as they are, but there’s a passion behind it you weren’t ready for. He kisses you like he’s drinking you down, like he’s exploring the very depths of you, as though his mouth and his tongue and his teeth will let him know you better than any words ever could. It has your breath hitching in your chest, hands curling around his head, his ears slotting between your knuckles, short hair sliding softly against your fingertips.

His other arm goes tight around your waist, keeping you against him, your hips pinned to his. You mewl when his tongue dips between your lips, tangling with your own, letting you breathe in the taste and scent and feel of him. The high-pitched noise makes him pull back, and you whine, chasing his mouth, already desperate to feel his lips again. “What is it, darlin’?” he asks, hand moving from where it’s knotted in your hair to brush a strand from your forehead, knuckles grazing your cheek as he does so. “What d’you need?”

“You, Frank,” you whisper, and your knees slip a little wider, lowering yourself further into his lap. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

His pupils blow at your words, dark brown completely encompassed by black, and you know you’ve flipped a switch. You tilt his head up, gaining better access, peppering kisses across his cheeks and jaw, dropping your hips against his once and then drawing back up. He doesn’t let you get far, both hands on your hips, dragging you back down onto his hardening lap. His mouth surges up to yours, all teeth and tongue now, your bottom lip caught and released, and in a flash, your back hits the bed.

Frank drags your sweatpants down your legs, moving away to let you kick them away before he’s pushing your knees wide, lowering his mouth to your inner thigh, nipping at the thin skin enough to make you toss your head back. One hand keeps your leg lifted for his assault, and the other trails up your other leg, inching closer to where you’re hot and wet and waiting. Wanting.

Without warning, he rips your panties to the side, fabric tearing easily in his grip, and he tosses them over his shoulder, slides both your knees over his shoulders, and covers your pussy with his mouth.

The groan you let out as his tongue drags along you echoes through the night, and you’re suddenly grateful for the random roadside stop. There’s no one around for miles; no one around to hear the obscene noises coming from the motorhome.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans out before sealing his lips around your clit, sucking at the bundle of nerves until your back arches off the bed. His hands curl around your thighs, fingers massaging your muscles, and then he lowers his mouth, pushing his tongue into the deepest parts of you, one hand moving to allow his fingers to rub perfect circles at your clit. You dive a hand into his hair, yanking at the longer strands on the top of his head.

“Frank.”

In the moonlight streaming through the window, you see his eyes flick up, dark and shining and pinning you in place. The corner of his mouth quirks in a grin as he licks into you, and that’s all it takes.

Your thighs practically vibrate around his ears, and he carries you through the orgasm, licking and tasting and sucking until you’re so overstimulated you feel like you could cry. You give a heavy push to his shoulder, but the moment he leans up and over you, planting his hands on either side of his head, you’re reaching for his belt buckle, frantically undoing his jeans and pushing them down over his ass.

He takes over when your hands keep shaking on his zipper, and he’s out of his boxers in a moment, leaning back on his knees once their dealt with to pull his shirt off. Your mouth fills with saliva at the sight of him before you, all ripping muscle and biceps the side of your head. You had no doubt he was fit, but even you couldn’t have imagined this.

Frank leans over you again, and you can’t stop touching his body, your hands roaming him like he’s a map you have to follow with your fingers. He’s so warm, and when you move south, fingertips skimming his hipbone, a shiver runs through him. You can’t help but smirk to know that the effect you have on him is close to what he does to you, and your knees widen around him, jaw dropping as he lowers himself to you.

You can feel how hard he is, cock tapping your drenched slit as he situates himself. He plants his elbows beside your head, hands bracketing over the top of your head and threading in your hair. He drags his hips over yours once, teasingly, grinning down at you when you whine. “Needy lil’ thing,” he murmurs, lips finding yours again easily. “C’mon, sweet thing; you need me so bad, put me inside you, yeah?”

You nod, the feeling growing frantic in your chest as you reach between your bodies. You savour the groan that passes his lips when you curl your fingers around his cock, and you lift your hips, angling just right until the tip of him notches at your entrance.

“F-fucking hell,” he stutters, his forehead dropping against your cheek. “S’wet, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to reply, barely, before he rolls his hips and slides into you all the way. One thrust, and you’re filled to the hilt, your almost-words choked off into a moan as his cock drags along all those white-hot nerves inside you. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, that’s what you needed, huh,” he grunts, and starts to find his pace, hips slamming into yours, the sound of his skin hitting yours filling the small space. “S’what I needed too, darlin’. Been needin’ you so bad.”

The bed rocks with the movement of your bodies, which you know in turn has the motorhome shaking, and a bubble of laughter threatens to crawl out of your throat at the notion of it all, at the absurdity of everything except the beautiful man above, inside, around you.

It’s replaced with a gasp, however, when he gives you a particularly hard thrust that jams his cock against that spot inside you, making your limbs go taut for a fleeting moment.

“S’that it, sweetheart?” he asks, pulling his head back enough to look at your face. “Tha’s the spot, huh?” He thrusts hard again, deeper this time, and you choke on your own breath. “Ahh, yeah, that’s it right there.”

He hammers into the spot over and over, and you’re lost, gone, tipped over every edge you’d been precariously balanced on. It sweeps through you like a tidal wave, every muscle going insanely tight before relaxing into bliss. Frank must have been close, must have felt you clench as hard as you did, because he’s following you shortly after, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, breathing heavy as a different kind of warmth spreads through you, his hips stuttering with it, your name choked between his lips as he cums.

Twenty minutes later, and you’re still lying there, Frank sprawled on your chest, head balanced against your sternum, your hand in his hair. He’s still nestled inside you, and despite the ache in your hips, you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You can’t do it.

You know things will be different in a few days, once he gets you where you need to be, once you’re home safe and sound. It’s the smart thing to do, you know, the best option for your current situation. But lying there, the comforting weight of him pinning you to the mattress, fingers trailing your ribs and warm breath fanning your chest, you can’t help but think that maybe the complete opposite is what’s really good for you.

“Hey, Frank?” you call softly after a while, hand wandering down to run a finger over the curve of his ear. He doesn’t reply with words, just a soft grunt. “What if, instead of taking me home, what if you and I…what if we just…kept going?”

He lifts his head then, peers down at you in the dark. He looks glorious like this, body streaked with sweat and moonlight, his mouth swollen from your kisses and his eyes shining. “You wanna stay with me?”

Your face feels hot instantly. “I mean, if you’ll…if you’ll have me.”

Frank drops himself back onto you, slides both arms around you and rolls to the side, collecting you against his chest and kissing you soundly. “Well then, I guess I’m not lettin’ you go, darlin’,” he murmurs into your lips, letting you drink the words from his lips. “Not anytime soon.”

—————

frank castle tags: @saintmurd0ck @moonlarking @mindidjarin @freshabogados @steadyasthe-flowers @whosfrankie @ancientbeing10 @currentobsessionrabbithole @grounderprincesslookspissed @simple_lovebot @itwasthereaminuteago @williamjzanders @maddiewinchester @winchestershiresauce @enchantingqueenkitten @lunarpenumbra @minxsblog @bluestuesday @eatommo @a-zterisk @randomwords3000 @i-simp-much @trinkets01 @greeneyedblondie44 @blkwayne @dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @dropsofprecipitation @mrssarahpaulsooonn

I have a taglist! if you’d like to be tagged in future works, please fill out this form!💕

#kay’s 300 follower celebration #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle au #jon bernthal #the punisher #the punisher smut #my fics #the punisher au #frank castle fluff #frank castle angst #lonely hearts club

312 notes · View notes