#Fc

[ineffablywriting]

favourite crime - part v

part v - peonies

prev parts: one, two, three, four

Alena sat on a bench across from Harry, a  wooden table separating the two of them at the local park. It felt like the small gap between them wasn’t big enough and yet, at the same time, insurmountable.  

To anyone watching they would look like strangers, and that shot a pang of loneliness right through Alena’s broken heart. 

It had never occurred to her this would be how she and Harry turned out. 

She’d imagined him to be the first person she told she was pregnant - not that he’d be the dad. She’d thought he was her person. Someone she’d have confided anything in. Instead here they were, near strangers living completely separate lives. 

“So,” Alena pushed the envelope towards Harry. They’d been offered a copy each but Alena had declined, stating she didn’t need a piece of paper to tell her what she already knew. “Are you not going to open it?” 

“Hmm?” Harry looked up at her, hands not moving from his sides. “Oh, you don’t want to do it?” 

“Not really,” she shrugged. “You might accuse me of switching the paper inside.” 

She knew she sounded bitter and tried to keep her emotions under check, but it was so hard. 

He’d smiled at her when they’d met at her doctor's office and tried to make small talk as they walked to the park together. Alena had hated it. Hated it because she knew what could have been. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Harry said, but his words held no weight. 

They were silent again for a minute and Alena was getting restless. She was about to push Harry again, when he cleared his throat. 

“Ok. I’ll open it, but before we do that I have a few things I want to say,” he spoke softly but with determination. 

Immediately Alena felt herself get on the defensive. She didn’t say anything, just waited for Harry to continue, but she already knew she wasn’t going to like whatever it was he was going to say. 

“Whatever the results in that envelope may be, I -,” he hesitated, as though he knew what he was about to say was going to be unwelcome. “I was hoping we could go back in time a little and have a do-over.” 

Alena stared at him astonished at the request. “You can’t be serious,” she laughed, the sound a little hysterical. 

“Just-just hear me out,” he held the envelope between his fingers twirling it round and round as he spoke. “The last few months have been rubbish without you. I just want things to go back to the way they were before this whole mess.” 

“Mess?” Alena repeated. She felt her anger start to build again, her body flooding with frustration again. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry tried to backtrack. “I just mean before the truth is out this is our chance for a clean slate.” 

And that was when Alena realised he still didn’t believe her. 

She stared at him, completely at a loss for words. Rubbing her eyes, she felt her shoulders slump as she let out an exhausted sigh. Alena was just so tired. “Harry, please open the envelope so we can get this over with. I’d like to think we’re mature enough to be able to navigate this without getting any more lawyers involved,” she spoke matter of factly, refusing to look Harry in the eyes as she alluded to one of their first interactions after Harry had found out Alena was pregnant.  

Harry clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying anything more stupid. 

He didn’t want to open the letter. His gut was telling him that once he opened it there would be no going back - that everything would change in a way that Harry wasn’t prepared for. 

But Alena wasn’t looking at him and didn’t want to hear him out so he had no choice. 

He swallowed back his words and slipped the piece of paper out and unfolded it, his eyes skimming over the words written there as his ears began to ring and his heart pounded loudly in his chest. 

Possibility of paternity: 99.9998 % 

He silently handed the piece of paper to Alena who put it down without looking at it. “I don’t need to see that to know the results,” she told him, still not looking at him. 

When Harry still hadn’t spoken after another minute, she started to stand up, wobbling a little to get her bearings as blood rushed to her head and she felt a little dizzy. 

That seemed to shock Harry out of his daze and he rushed over towards Alena, reaching out but hesitating before he touched her. He didn’t think he had the privilege of touching her anymore. 

Alena stepped away from him. “I’ll leave you to wrap your head around…everything,” she told him gently. She felt vindicated that the truth was finally out there, but he was still the boy she’d spent the majority of her life growing up with and that part of her felt sympathetic to the lost way he was looking at her right now. 

“Lena…I-” 

Alena cut him off before he could say anything else. “I don’t expect anything from you,” she reminded him. “But I’m not the villain in this. Neither is this poor baby,” she wrapped a protective arm around her stomach and Harry felt a tug somewhere in his heart at the action. “Neither is your family. They want to be a part of this baby’s life, and I’m not going to keep them from her.”

“Her?” Harry whispered, but he’d already known that. His mum had already told him. His brain was scrambled and every memory was running into each other. 

“Yeah, a baby girl,” Alena smiled softly. She was glowing. “I’m not keeping her from you either,” she added. “But I’m not going to force you into anything either. When you’ve decided what you want to do, you can reach out.” 

And then she walked away and all Harry could do was watch. 

-

Harry didn’t remember much about how he got home to his mum’s house. He didn’t remember much about anything after he’d watched Alena walk away and he’d picked up the little piece of paper that had just changed his life. 

His mum had found him sitting in his car in her driveway when she’d come back from work, engine still running. She’d knocked on the driver's side, a smile on her face until she saw the devastation on Harry’s. 

“What happened?” she’d asked him, her heart rate picking up speed at different possibilities.  

“I messed up, mum,” he’d told her, voice breaking. “I really messed up.” Then he handed her the piece of paper. Anne had glanced down at it, pursed her lips and beckoned him inside. 

Now he was sitting at the kitchen table, in the seat Alena had been sitting in only a couple of weeks ago, nursing a cold cup of tea as he tried to come to terms with everything that had happened in the last six months. Everything that he’d brought onto himself. 

“What do I do?” he looked up at his mum, feeling so much like the boy he’d been the day he’d first found out Alena was moving away - lost and completely at a loss for what to do. 

“That’s something only you can answer,” Anne told him, feeling for her son, but still not willing to let him entirely off the hook. He’d been selfish and hurt someone who hadn’t deserved it. 

“She wouldn’t even look at me,” he murmured. “I tried to keep her away from you and Gem! I accused her of lying, of trying to trap me,” he grew more and more aghast as he recalled all the things he’d said and done. “What do I do? How do I fix this?” 

“You don’t,” Gemma said, as she walked into the kitchen. She’d heard everything from the lounge room and finally decided to join them. “You can try, but you don’t deserve another minute of Lena’s time.” She didn’t even look at him as she walked past to grab an apple from the fridge. 

“You could be a bit more helpful,” Harry glared at her. 

“I could be a lot more helpful if I wanted,” she agreed with him. “But I don’t want to. Why would I make it easy for you? Do you think Lena had it easy?” 

“I’m your brother,” Harry said weakly, knowing it was a stupid point to make. 

“And Lena is carrying my niece.” 

“I -,” Harry started to respond but was cut off. 

“What, so you want to be a dad now?” Gemma glared at him. “Cause if I recall, you were adamant that you never wanted to be a part of this baby’s life only a couple of months ago.”

“Ok!” Anne stepped in between her children, there were too many emotions flying around and if she didn’t take control of the situation, she worried it would derail into something uncontrollable. “Stop it, the two of you. That’s no way to speak to each other. Gemma, your brother is clearly struggling, stop baiting him even more. Harry, Gemma is somewhat right - you can’t just decide when you want to be a father and when you don’t. That baby deserves better than always wondering when or if her dad is going to show up. Alena deserves better, as well. If you are serious about mending whatever you broke between you and Alena, then you need to find a way to prove it - to all of us.” 

Anne looked between her two kids, daring them to argue with her.

They both looked away, evading her eyes. 

It was silent for a minute before Gemma muttered something under her breath. 

“What was that, Gem? If you have something to say, say it loud enough so we can hear.” 

“If you want to make amends,” she looked directly at Harry as she spoke, a little hesitation in her words. “You should know, so things don't get awkward, and you don’t get your hopes up, Lena has a date this weekend.” 

-

Alena gave herself a final once over in the mirror before walking over and answering the door. “Hi,” she smiled up at James. He was taller than she’d thought he would be, with gentle eyes and a kind smile. “You must be James.” 

He nodded, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “And you must be Alena. It’s lovely to meet you.” 

They stood there for another couple of seconds and Alena wondered if she was supposed to invite him in. She didn’t feel comfortable inviting someone she didn't know yet into her space, but, before she could say anything, James held out his arm towards a car sitting idle on the road. 

“Shall we?” he gestured for Alena to take the lead. 

Alena smiled, locked up her front door and walked over to the small Volkswagon. There was a child’s seat secured into the back, with a scattering of baby clothes beside it. 

“Sorry,” James grimaced. “I didn’t have time to clean out the back and honestly, having spare clothes is always helpful. I never know when I’m going to need a change of clothes with Mia.”

“You’re fine. Please don’t apologise, I think it’s sweet. Besides, I’m sure if you give me a couple more months my car will look very much the same,” she joked, patting her round belly. “Probably much worse, honestly.”

James grinned, glancing over at her as he drove them to the restaurant he’d made a reservation at. “How far along are you?” he asked. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“About eight months,” she smiled down at her stomach as she felt a small kick. “And she’s a girl.”

James whistled. “Getting close there. Are you ready with everything yet?” 

Alena let out a snort. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” she admitted. It had only been about five minutes since they’d been on the road, but they weren’t driving very far and James was already looking around trying to find a place to park. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, turning his indicator on as a car vacated right in front of the restaurant. “That feeling doesn’t ever really go away,” he admitted. “Every time you think you’ve nailed something, you hit a new stage of growth and you’re back to learning everything all over again. It does get easier though.” 

They exited the car together and James gave his name at the door to the hostess who led them over to their table in front of a window at the front of the restaurant. 

“How old is Mia? That’s your daughter's name right?” she asked. She didn’t feel any sparks yet, but James was kind and it felt good to get out of her flat for the night.

“Yeah,” a fond smile crossed his face as he spoke of his daughter. “She’s almost two and a half now. We’re knee deep in the terrible two’s, but honestly, she’s a shining point in my life - despite all the tantrums.” 

“Do you have any pictures?” Alena asked.

James chuckled. “My whole phone is basically a shrine to her. I have pictures of her literally doing anything. Look,” he pulled out his phone and leaned across the table so Alena could see his camera roll as he scrolled. 

“You weren’t kidding,” she laughed. “Though she is adorable, so I don't think you can be faulted for having so many photos.”

They continued to chat, smiling and laughing the entire time. Conversation flowed between them so easily that Alena genuinely found herself relaxing and shutting the rest of the world out. 

They ordered their food and James continued to share baby stories, photos and videos as they munched through their appetisers. 

As they spoke, the conversation naturally made its way to how James became a single parent. Alena had been wondering, but she hadn’t wanted to pry and Gemma hadn’t given her any information. 

“When my wife died,” James was saying, “Mia and I were completely lost. Myself probably moreso. Mia had just turned one a couple months ago and she cried non-stop for days asking for her mum and I just didn’t know what to do. I felt like I was drowning, everything was so overwhelming, but every time Mia smiled at me I felt like I was coming up for air.” 

Alena frowned, her heart breaking as she imagined what it must have been like. She reached out across the table and held James’ hand. She could see how hard this was for him to relive, and wanted to offer a little bit of comfort. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said gently.

“No, it’s ok. You must have been curious, and Gemma did say she hadn’t told you anything. I also feel like I need to explain myself for what I’m about to say,” he smiled at her apologetically. “Mia’s mum, Julie, was the love of my life. We grew up together, finished high school as sweethearts and got married when we were twenty. When we lost her, my whole world collapsed and this is the first time I’ve gone out with someone, gone out on a date, since we lost her. And I just want to say thank you. It’s been so nice to get out of the house, have adult company, even if we just talked about kids the whole time,” he laughed. “But…” he hesitated, trying not to hurt any feelings. 

Alena smiled at him. “But there’s no spark?” she offered. 

James let out a relieved breath. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I would still love to hang out. And when your little girl is born, we can go on parent dates, but I just don’t see this going anywhere romantic.” 

“I totally agree,” Alena said. “I’m honestly relieved. I don’t think I can be in a relationship right now anyway. My life is kind of in the pits at the moment.”  

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked her. “I’ve just unloaded on you, it’s only fair I offer the same.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she admitted. “Well, no I do. But I don’t know how much I can tell you. There’s lawyers involved.” 

“You don’t have to give me specifics. You don’t have to say anything at all if you don’t want to.” 

Alena took a moment to gather her thoughts as their mains arrived. They thanked their waiter before digging into the food. After a few bites, Alena took a breath and started her story, keeping everything very vague but still letting off a lot of steam as she finally shared her story with someone who was not intimately involved in all the corners of her life. 

Neither of them noticed the man with curly hair sitting in the corner watching them laugh and share secrets as he pushed his food around his plate. 

Harry hadn’t known this was where Alena was going on her date, but when he’d seen them walk in, he hadn’t been able to look away. Hadn’t been able to get up and leave. He’d stayed sat in his seat, watching the torture unfold in front of him. 

-

Harry stood in front of Alena’s front door with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, suddenly unsure of himself. He didn’t know what he was doing here, but he hadn’t been able to get the image of Alena holding someone else’s hand out of his brain; the picture felt like it was burned into his retina. And even after Gemma had told him they’d decided they’d be better off as friends, he hadn’t been able to shake off the ugly taste of jealousy coating the back of his throat. 

So, after days of trying to convince himself to stay away, to give Alena some space, to come up with a bigger and better grand gesture, he’d thrown all caution to the wind and decided some flowers and a giant pot of honesty was going to be his best bet. 

But now he stood on her doorstep, and the bouquet felt ridiculous. Alena wasn’t the superficial type, and a simple bunch of flowers weren’t going to soften her heart to him. But Harry didn’t have much more to lose, so he took a breath and tapped on the door twice, heartbeat picking up speed and ringing in his ears as he waited for an answer. 

“Coming!” he heard Alena’s voice followed by some quiet cursing. Despite himself, Harry felt his lips turn up in a soft smile. 

When the door opened, Alena had a smile on her face. One that quickly dropped when she saw Harry standing before her. “Oh. It's you. What do you want?” she asked, blocking any entry into her flat. 

He cleared his throat. “Uh- these are for you,” Harry shoved the flowers towards her, movement jerky and awkward. 

Alena looked down at the flowers, then back up at Harry. “I’m allergic to peonies,” she told him, watching the colour drain from Harry's face as he quickly pulled them back away from her. 

“Shit! Do you need to go to the hospital? Do you have an epi-pen? Why am I just finding out you’re allergic to something!” he panicked. 

“I’m kidding,” Alena stopped him, just as he was about to call an ambulance. “I’m not actually allergic,” she admitted, feeling a little guilty.  

“Why the fuck would you say you were, Lena?!” Harry glared at her, rubbing at his chest, right over his furiously beating heart. 

Alena shrugged. “We all do stupid things,” she admitted. “You should know that better than most by now. Only some of us admit to it and apologise. I’m sorry I said I was allergic, that was a shitty thing to say. See, easy.” 

“That’s why I’m here,” Harry quickly said, jumping on the opportunity to segue into his speech. “I want to apologise.” 

“For what?” Alena crossed her arms over her chest. 

“For everything,” Harry said. “For so much. Please, can - can I come in? I don’t want to do it out here. I owe you a million apologies and just as many explanations,” his eyes were wide with earnest. 

“Fine,” she agreed, stepping aside and letting him enter. “But only because I have some things I want to say as well.” 

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eagerly. He had latched onto a small thread and he wasn’t going to let go. 

He followed Alena into her kitchen, feeling his chest clench at how much the place had changed. There were empty boxes of what looked to be a baby crib by the corridor, an unopened box with what looked to be a highchair in the kitchen, and a small bundle of baby clothes on the couch. He’d missed out on so much.

She led them into the lounge room, taking a seat in the armchair while Harry took the couch, making sure they were sitting separately and not next to each other. 

They sat staring at one another for half a minute before Harry broke the silence. “Ok, so, I need to start from the beginning. I’m sorry. I - I never wanted to be a dad, or, I didn’t think I wanted to be one, and you knew that. So when you told me you were pregnant even though we’d used protection every time, I didn’t believe you. So many people I know in the industry talk about how they’ve had groupies try to baby trap them into marriage or extort them for money, and I panicked. I didn’t see you as Alena, the girl I’d grown up with and knew better than she knows herself. I just saw you as - as, I don’t even know what I saw you as,” he admitted. “I let people get in my head. So I'm sorry about that, first and foremost.”

Alena didn't say anything, simply stared at her lap as she fiddled with her fingers, while Harry continued. 

“Secondly, I’m sorry for trying to keep you away from my mum and sister. You didn’t deserve that, and neither did they. I’m sorry for getting lawyers involved and I’ve already had them burn all the documents you’d signed. You’re family, Lena, and no matter what happens you will always be family. And family means we don’t threaten each other with lawyers and contracts.” 

“Thirdly, I don’t want to be like my father,” he said quietly. This was a secret he’d held his whole life. Something he’d never admitted out loud. “I - he’s the reason I never wanted to be a parent. I didn’t want to be him. And I worried that I would be, even if I tried not to be. So I decided I never wanted to be a dad. I can’t fail at something I never tried to be in the first place, you know. I love kids, you know I love kids, but I have always worried, always had this itch under my skin that what if I’m like him? What if there’s some sort of genetic predisposition and no matter how hard I tried, my kid would end up like me and Gem. And even if there wasn’t, my career isn’t exactly built for a family. I'm always travelling and away and I’d miss so much. So, I told myself I didn’t want kids. I didn’t want a family. I was happy with the way things were. But then mum showed me those ultrasound pictures and I watched from afar as your bump got bigger and all I could think about was all the things I was missing and all the times I was wasting. So, I know it’s too late, but I’d like to try. I want to try to be there, I want to try and be a dad, if you’ll have me.” 

Harry swallowed back the lump in his throat, silently begging Alena to look at him. 

She was quiet for so long Harry was losing hope once again. And when she finally spoke, it didn’t make Harry feel any better. 

“You didn’t believe me.” Alena started, looking up at Harry at last. When she saw his eyes, her heart continued to break all over again under his gaze. “You really didn’t believe me when I first told you.” 

“It’s not about who I believed-”

“Yes, it is!” Alena cut him off. “You believed everyone - you believed everyone - except me. You’d known Jeff for all of five minutes compared to our friendship, and you still trusted him over me. Gemma said you’re still contracted with him! After everything!” 

“Lena…I’m working on it, it’s not that easy to cut someone out…” 

“You cut me out pretty damn easily!” she yelled back. “You broke my damn heart, Harry. I was in love with you,” Alena admitted, glancing at Harry for a second before looking away from him again. It hurt too much to see him sitting in front of her again and not being able to touch him. “I was so in love with you, I waited for weeks for you to call me back and apologise and I would have forgiven you instantly. But you didn’t. You showed up at my door and continued to hurt me even more. You tried to take the only family I have away from me, you tried to punish me for something I had no control over.” 

“I know,” he said, reaching out for her. Alena hadn’t even realised he’d moved. “And I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know.”

She flinched away from him. “Please, please don’t touch me.” 

“Lena.”

“No. Harry, no. You don’t get to say anything right now. You don’t get to apologise. And you don’t get to look at me like that.” She clenched her hands into fists by her side to stop from hugging him into her chest. He looked broken. But Alena knew if she let him in now, if she let him affect her again, she’d only end up hurting herself more. “Please, stop looking at me like that.” She begged. “Stop looking at me like I’m the one breaking your heart, when you’ve already shattered mine over and over.” 

Harry clenched his jaw, getting ready to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness he didn’t even think he deserved. 

“I think you should go,” Alena said, finally standing up and moving behind the armchair, putting a physical barrier between herself and Harry. “I need some time to unjumble my thoughts. And I think you need to decide what you want as well, because you can’t just want to ‘give it a go’ at being a father, Harry. This is a permanent position, and you need to think about all the sacrifices you’ll need to make for her and whether you think they're worth it. Once you decide that, then we can figure out a custody arrangement.” 

She didn’t say anything about the tattered remnants of their relationship, and Harry didn’t disrespect her by trying to push his forgiveness. 

He accepted her words and with a final goodbye, turned and walked out the door. 

--

Sorry it's taken months! I have had a hectic life lately. Back at work full-time and juggling a toddler. Also I was unwell for about 2 months lol

anyway, here's a long awaited part 5! let me know what you think. Hopefully the next part won't take as long to post, but no promises. Especially since I'm also writing another fic atm that I've resparked some inspo for!

As always, please leave your thoughts!! xx

[forgrtashes-blog]

Wrong order - Gerald loves ice cream!

[swedenis-h]

Likes his boyfriend or whatever 🙄🙄

Extra for this post!

[tougedreaming]

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Someone pls sedate me. May I request Matt and Frank with a reader who bites them

Ohhhhhhh they’d be INTO this I fear. Thoughts below the cut! (I hope it’s ok I went a smutty direction with this. If you want something more fluffy I will happily write that too, just let me know!)

It’s widely known that Matt is a masochist, but Frank is too! And we all need to talk about that more. It would be good for society.

Anyways,

Whether it’s a sensory thing or a kink thing, the men might be surprised when you ask them but I think they’d READILY agree.

Matt is so turned on by the desperation lacing the edges of your question that he hands you a limb, cockily demanding that you “do your worst” while he thrusts into you.

I think Matt would looooove receiving hickeys. As much as he wants to mark his “territory”, his partner being possessive over him would be a HUGE turn on.

He’d run his fingers over the marks you left behind, working himself up allllll over again.

Frank on the other hand would be a bit more confused by your need to bite him, not that he’d object to anything you wanted from him. It wasn’t exactly going to cause lasting harm.

He’d let you gnaw away at him, grinning smugly when he could feel you moan against his skin “attagirl. Let it all out for me.”

Over time, you two would find a great rhythm. He would absolutely be working your need to bite into foreplay, exposing his shoulders/neck/whatever to you and raising an eyebrow. “Go on, doll. Know you wanna.”

This is all I have for now! Let me know if you want more!!

[interruptedtrance]

Want to recreate? (franco x reader)

Smut; 18+

word count: 1,0k

contains: nicknames (amor), franco finding out you are reading smut about him, breeding kink (the fic they are reading has cum pushed back into the reader, mentions of them in the fic), unlocking a door with a knife, female anatomy, franco being a tease, italics is the fic they are reading, just so it's a bit more clear

masterlist

“Hey amor, what are you doing?” franco says while moving to the couch where you are laying down and reading.

quickly you lock your phone and let it drop to your chest, moving your arms towards franco, motioning wanting a kiss. “nothing i was just reading”.

“what were you reading?” his brow raising.

“oh nothing much, just my book”.

franco gives you a confused glance, “you are reading it on your phone, when you have the book with you?”

you nod, “yeah”, while franco is moving the couch, he quickly snatches your phone and locks himself in your shared bedroom. “FRANCO, GIVE IT BACK” you yell, while running after him, not getting a chance to catch him, making you slam your palm against the door in frustration.

“franco, please don't read it!”

“WHAT IS THIS” he speaks after a few seconds, “why is he fucking the cum back into them with his fingers” he states in disbelief, you can only imagine what his face looks like now, his eyebrows raised higher than even, and his mouth covered by his hand.

quietly you move to the kitchen to grab a knife, and slide it into the slit of the lock, where you apply steady pressure to unlock the door. once the lock clicks open, you burst through the door and snatch your phone back from him. “oke, this is enough invasion of my privacy”.

“you read porn? ABOUT ME?” franco yells while gently but firmly wrapping his arms around your middle and bringing you to stand between his legs.

your face now heating up, with the quietest of whispers you confirm his questions.

“wow, i can't believe my own girlfriend reads porn about me, do i not please you?”

“no franco, don't be stupid” you say, “ i just wanted to know what people were writing about you”.

“and is it any good?” he teases, moving your hips to now straddle his lap.

where an idea crosses your mind, “why do you think our sex life is so great? where do you think i get the ideas from?” you question while playing with his hair.

his eyes flew open, “what-”.

“yeah, maybe we could recreate the one you were reading” you speak, while moving your lips closer to his, but not connecting them. “hmmm how does that sound?”

“the whole thing?” he stammers, him now looking up into your eyes, while his hands move under your shirt. “i wouldn't mind fucking you, cumming into you, and you having to keep my cum in”.

“yeah? so what are we waiting for?” you ask, before you got to finish the sentence franco has flipped you over so that you are now kneeling on the bed.

he moves his hands to your waistband, “can i remove these?”

“please."

while sliding down your underwear, he catches a wet spot in them, making him groan, “fuck amor, was the story this good?” he questions, moving one of his hands to your clit, gently circling it, making you moan.

“here amor, open your phone, and read to me what else i have done to you”, he speaks, while still playing with your clit.

“mhm”, you let out a breath, “you finger me next preparing me for your cock”.

“no, no, amor, read it out to me, the same way it’s written in the story”, the teasing of your clit never stopping.

“fuck fran, please just fuck me” you whine out.

“i don't think that's what it says in the story”, he now moves his fingers to run along your slit, “the sooner you read it out for me, the sooner i can do it amor”.

“fuck” you mumble lightly, making franco smile, you grab your phone, unlock it, and find where the smut begins. and you start to read “he gently circles your clit-” making franco move his fingers from your slit back to your clit, gently circling it, pulling a breathy moan from your lips.

“-making sure you are wet enough, and carefully slides two of his fingers in you-”, so franco follows your lead, he softly drags two of his fingers from your clit to your entrance, where he slides his fingers in, moving them rhythmically in and out of you, making you bite down on your own hand to keep focus on the fanfic you are reading.

“-he brings his other hand to your hips, and holds you up with it. the argentine slowly scissors his fingers, stretching you out for his third finger-” and with utmost care in the world, franco starts scissoring his fingers to stretch you out, making sure to always brush against your g spot.

the sensation makes you drop your phone for a second, releasing a loud moan from your lips. after a moment you catch your breath and continue reading. “-gently he adds a third finger, and keeps on thrusting until he deems you ready.”

“want us to skip this step amor, you are very wet?”

“yes please”. as soon as those words leave your mouth, franco removes his fingers from your hole, and brings them to his cock, stroking himself a few times. he climbs on the bed behind you, lines himself up with your entrance, and with one gentle motion bottoms out.

you start reaching for your phone again, when he interrupts, “that's enough amor, i have read this part, put your phone away, just focus on the pleasure”, his words pull a moan from you. while franco is pulling moans out from you, from his perfect pace and perfect hits to your g spot, he also brings one of his hands back to your clit, again gently playing with it.

all of the sensations combined, of his pace, of him hitting your g spot and him playing with your clit, without warning bring you to the edge. making you grab on to the sheets and moan francos name.

the sensation of your walls tightening around him, also brings him to the edge where he cums into you, once he catches his breath, he gently pulls out of you, brining two of his fingers to your entrence, to keep all of his cum inside.

gently he brings you down from the kneeling position to your stomach, so that you are now laying flat on the mattress.

“we are doing this again amor”.

[draumas]

ALISHA BOE 2024, ph. Iulia Matei

[mittnnz]

[britishgpwinnerlando]

Franco Colapinto and Lando Norris after the Azerbaijan Grand Prix

[serxndgifites]

Odessa A'zion at the 2025 Vanity Fair Oscar Party

[akoyaxs]

𝐀𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬 / 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

My favourite pieces from the movies + pinterest :)

[juunebuggy]

first rule of fight club is have fun and be yourself !! second rule of fight club is kiss your alter

[amazingbananabread]

`` She looks just like a dream...the prettiest girl I've ever seen... >_< ``

( Saiky belongs to @mitnnvy !! )

[lothris]

those hips do not lie

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Drunk on You

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: After losing a bet, Frank's drunk night turns into a nightmare when he accidentally leaves a VERY honest voicemail on your phone. (Prompt: "I need to see your phone.")

warnings: swearing, excessive drinking (do NOT do this.), Frank being affectionate

a/n: This wasn't requested by anyone, I just saw this prompt and immediately pictured Frank freaking out about a voicemail he left on someone's phone. A huge shout out to @gracethyomen and @madschiavelique who I forced into beta-ing this for me multiple times. As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thank you!

w/c: 6k (Yah, i know. I got carried away.)

Frank liked to think that he was decently romantic—so it was almost embarrassing that your relationship happened by accident. 

He didn’t possess a natural charm, like the one that Red always flaunted, but he could usually hold his own when he found someone attractive. Before…everything, his cocky attitude and unjustified youthful arrogance helped him flirt with Maria. Since the loss of his family, flirting was more of a pastime. Until you. 

From the moment you both met, Frank had known that you were different—that you were never meant to be a casual fling. It terrified him, at first, but after many many lectures from Curtis, he was ready to try a relationship again. 

Despite that fact, he could never seem to get the words out. 

Flirting with you was as easy as pulling a trigger, but being honest and open about his feelings? Never his strong suit. He was just thankful that Curtis believed in boundaries and David was oblivious, otherwise you would’ve gotten the news through the grapevine weeks before he blurted it out. 

It all started when David scolded him.

“Language, Castle. This is a family establishment.” His stern tone was completed with a pointed finger.

The two men were seated on opposite sides of the Lieberman’s sturdy dining room table, on the precipice of one of their classic “Family Dinner Spats”–a term Curtis had coined exasperatedly a few weekly meals ago. You, Sarah, and Curt were also currently at the table, nursing your wine while the kids played video games in the living room.

Smirking at David's tone, you raised a brow at the curly haired man. “Can you really call your suburban house an ‘establishment’?”

Frank chuckled at your attempt to defend him, his lips parting around the lip of his beer bottle in a smug smile.

“The house has been established, and there is a family present.” David snapped at you with a no-nonsense look. Looking at his wife incredulously, he threw his hands in a vague gesture. “C’mon Sarah, back me up!”

Sarah shrugged at him, grinning at his defeated groan. Shooting you and Frank a knowing look, she murmured, “We’ve all heard worse.“

Desperate for someone to agree with him, David glanced across the table pleadingly. “Curtis? C’mon man.”

Sighing, Curtis nodded, his lips twitching in a tiny smile. “You do have a foul mouth, Frank. There are children present.”

Frank scoffed, gesturing widely to the two teenagers in the other room.

Crinkling your nose as you stifled a laugh, you nodded solemnly. “They sort of have a point, Frank. Your vocabulary could make a sailor blush.”

Finally vindicated, David crowed, “You practically only speak in curses and grunts!”

The marine gaped. “Christ, I am not that bad.”

Smelling a game, David’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh yah? I bet you couldn’t go a week without swearing.

Sarah and Curtis took the vague challenge, and Frank’s responding bitter laugh, as their cue to leave the table, murmuring about cleaning up after dinner and chuckling to each other as they left. You, unfortunately, were far too intrigued to remove yourself from the conversation.

Good thing you were entertained, because David was far from finished with his accusations. “You know what? I don’t think you could even last a single day without that sinfully filthy language of yours, Castle.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but his jaw was tense. “Ya gonna make me a swear jar, Lieberman? What are you, my ma?”

David shrugged, pleased at how easily he was able to get under the hulking man’s skin. “Someone has to teach you some manners.”

You tapped a finger on your chin, meeting David’s roguish gaze. “He’s right though, a swear jar would never compel him to change.”

David crossed his arms. “And you have a better suggestion?”

Frank glanced at you, brow raised in curiosity, lips pursed.

You grinned manically. “Maybe a drinking game? Every curse word he says within 24 hours means he takes a shot.”

The technician erupted in bellowing laughter. “YES!”

Ignoring him, Frank smirked at you. “Tryin’ to get me drunk, sweetheart?”

You placed a hand over your heart in mock surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re chicken, Frankie.”

The large man bristled, straightening his posture as he shook his head. “Course not.”

David was glowing. “So you accept?”

“Uh—“ Frank’s hesitation was quickly settled by your adorable expression, your head tilted at him as you anticipated his next move. “Fuck, I guess.”

Practically screeching, David pointed a finger at the man, looking at you excitedly. “Oh my god, that counts right? That totally counts!”

Laughing as David practically began a victory dance, you raised your glass of wine. ”Let the game begin!”

What had he gotten himself into?

Unfortunately for his liver, the next 24 hours did not get easier.

With the combined efforts of you, Curtis, David, and the various CCTV systems of New York city, the tally landed at 52 curses in 24 hours.

“Holy shit, Frank,” You gaped at the final count, turning to him with wide eyes. “Were you even trying?”

Frank glowered, sinking further into the booth next to you. “Yes.”

“Well, we’re gonna need to change these rules a bit. Otherwise, you’ll need a transplant by next week.” You frowned, eyes glowing with the light of David’s computer screen.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft now, doll.” Frank muttered, the corner of his lips lifting up against his will.

“I’m always soft on you, tough guy.”Your words were earnest, causing Frank's throat to constrict. You raised a hand to pinch his cheek, seemingly unperturbed by his furious blush.

As if knowing he was ruining the moment, David returned to the table with a tray of half a dozen shot glasses. “Who’s ready to get wasted?”

Groaning, Frank dropped his head into his hands—his stomach already churning.

“New rules:” You announced, “No more than 7 drinks an hour.”

“Woah woah woah, who died and made you referee?” David scoffed.

“Everyone who has ever taken 52 shots in one night.” You retorted, refusing to change your mind.

While David began placing a row of tiny glasses in front of him, you took one of Frank's calloused hands in your much more delicate one. He raised his head to meet your serious gaze. “Hey, you do not have to do this. It was a stupid bet.” You were chewing on your bottom lip, his hand itched to cup your face and smooth the furrow in your brow.

“Um, he does so have to do this! I already put my card down. Drink up, asshole!” As David shoved the alcohol towards him, your arm shot out, acting as a barricade.

Looking at him with an inquisitive concern, you stroked your thumb over his knuckles. With a sigh, Frank grasped one of the shots between two fingers, downing it with a grimace.

David cheered. “Thattaboy! Drink up!!”

Biting your lip, you slid a single shot towards yourself and one to David. “If he’s going to do this, he’s not doing it alone. Drink up, Lieberman.” You teased, parroting his words before downing your own shot with a grace that was shocking and incredibly attractive. 

“Damn, that’s smooth. You shelled out for us.” You snorted, setting the shit glass back on the sticky table. 

Pouting at the tiny cup of clear liquid, David groaned. “I haven’t had tequila since college.”

“Sounds like you made a poor choice of beverage then. Drink!” You grinned at him, face warming as Frank slid an arm around your shoulders.

“She’s gotta point, Lieberman. You’ve dug your own grave. I ain’t drinkin’ another drop until you take that.” Frank smirked, eyes dancing with a mirth that you’d been missing.

“C’mon David!” You encouraged, the curly-haired man across from you finally nodding and downing the drink with a gag.

You and Frank cheered, laughing as he coughed in the aftermath.

“Alright, it’s gone. Your turn.” David nodded to the three remaining shots, crossing his arms impatiently.

Huffing out a breath, Frank tossed all three back, chasing the acrid taste with a swig of the beer he’d purchased himself without thinking. “There, ya fuckin’ happy now?”

“Thrilled.” David laughed. “We’re going to wait…15 minutes, and then I’m going to hustle you in pool.” Setting a timer on his watch, the engineer missed Frank’s exaggerated eye roll.

“Doesn’t a hustle require one party to not know they’re being hustled?” You asked, settling into Frank’s side with a smile.

“I could kick your ass with my eyes closed, Lieberman.” Frank snorted.

“Oh please, it's all geometry–I'm a whiz at geometry.”

Listening to them bicker, you couldn't help but smile. Sipping your beer, you crossed your legs, excited for the upcoming show.

As Frank's inhibitions grew steadily lower, you were joined at the booth by Curtis and Karen–both of whom were humored by the giant man's state, but not free of their own worry.

“Y’all trying to kill him?” Curtis chuckled, eyes focused on Frank's uncharacteristically wide grin as he slid into the booth across from you, beer in hand.

“Trust me, I’ve been negotiating Lieberman down all night to spare his intestines.” You huffed, your own gaze fixated on Frank as he lined up his next shot at the pool table, muscles bulging against his tight shirt as he bent over.

“See something you like?” Karen asked gleefully, lips curled in a smirk.

“Shut up,” You hissed, squirming in your seat as your body was hit with a flash of warmth.

“He's not making this easy for you, is he?” Curtis chuckled, sending Karen a knowing look.

“Does he always get so…touchy when he’s drunk?” You asked quietly, trying not to salivate as you got a perfect view of Frank's ass, his back turned towards you as he played his next turn.

Letting out a bark of laughter, Curtis shook his head at you.

“Oh stop it,” You groused, ignoring your friends' giggles as you slid off of the vinyl bench and made straight for the bar.

“Um whiskey. Neat, please.” You stammered out your order to the bartender, trying not to cringe at how disjointed the words sounded. Your mind was entirely preoccupied by the feelings you harbored for the man currently guffawing behind you. The scraping of glass on wood startled you out of your daydream.

Taking the glass from the bartender, trying not to meet their gaze as they eyed you suspiciously, you nodded a thank you.

Before you could return to your seat, a thick arm wrapped around your shoulders--a sensation that would've been horrifying had it not been accompanied by a familiar voice.

“When did ya start drinkin’ whiskey?” Frank's deep rasp ignited a heat deep in your gut, stealing the words straight off your tongue.

”I-I, uh didn't,“ You squeaked out, shoving the glass to Frank's chest. “I figured you’d want something other than mid-shelf tequila.” Looking up at him through thick lashes, your breath caught in your throat as you met his stare.

Frank's lips were tilted in a small smile, the tension he normally carried in his jaw nowhere to be found. His cheeks were flushed, his hair mussed from running his hands through it throughout the night. Boring into you, his beautiful ochre eyes crinkled with a happiness you rarely saw from the man.

A rough knuckle tipped your jaw upwards, shutting your mouth, which had apparently been hanging open as you admired the figure before you. “Somethin' on my face, sweetheart?”

Tilting his head, his eyes twinkled, his smile growing wider as you remained silent. “No, Frankie.”

“Good. C'mon, I need someone to cheer for me when I whup Lieberman's ass for a third time.” Frank snorted, pressing a kiss to your crown before taking your hand and dragging you towards the pool table.

The rest of the night flew by, a symptom of the intense focus you held on Frank's relaxed drunken nature. He'd been tipsy with you before, so you'd caught glimpses of this behavior from the man previously, but it would always catch you off guard to see him so...easygoing.

It wasn't that Frank wasn't affectionate, he was incredibly sweet, he just wasn't usually so forthcoming with his emotions. Nor was he normally content snuggling with you in public.

Rubbing his nose against your hair, Frank gave a sleepy hum before pulling back to down the rest of the ice water you'd forced into his grasp. His hand was gently gripping your waist, thumb tracing lines over your hip as your friends chatted. Frank was much too tired to be paying any attention, and your ability to retain any conversation topic flew out the window the moment his hand landed on your side.

Watching as his free hand lifted to clumsily scrub at his face, you frowned. “Wanna call it a night, Frank? You look ready to drop.”

“'M fine.” He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shit, you'd hoped the water would stave off the impending headache for now.

“The kid's right.” David remarked, smirking at your offended scoff. “If I'm beat, you must be half dead. I'll go close the tab."

"Can the rest of you make it home ok if I handle this one?" You asked, kneading at Frank's neck as he dropped his head to your shoulder with a grumpy huff.

"Yah, we can get David home in one piece." Karen promised, squeezing Frank's arm as she passed. "Goodnight."

"Ok, tough guy. You gotta get out so I can get out," You murmured, nudging the marine as carefully as possible.

Grumbling under his breath, he slid out of the booth, grabbing the table as he listed sideways.

"Christ, Frankie. Hold on, I gotcha." You grunted as he leaned against you, his weight shifting you off balance. Wrapping an arm around his waist in a motion similar to the one he'd made mere minutes ago, you shuffled towards the door. "Ok, Castle, you gotta work with me a little bit here."

As the two of you neared the exit, you heard an indignant squawk from the bar. "I OWE HOW MUCH??"

Chuckling softly, Frank's skull knocked against yours. "We'd better get outta here, sweetheart."

The two of you made it back to Frank's tiny apartment without incident, though the man was stumbling all the way. When you reached his front door, he snatched his keys from his pocket, tossing them at you without a word. 

Not expecting the projectile, the ring of keys hit you square in the chest, your chin following them as they crashed to the grimy carpet underneath your feet. Looking at Frank with narrowed eyes, you raised an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary?”

Frank chuckled quietly, his laugh as close to a giggle as it would probably ever get. His half-lidded eyes creased as he grinned at you. “Sorry,” The apology was undercut by the shit-eating expression on his face. 

“Drag your ass all the way home, breaking my back doing so–mind you,” You complained halfheartedly, your chest swelling with fondness as Frank’s raspy laughs continued. “And you just throw your shit at me.” 

Shaking your head, you let your smile betray you as he kissed your forehead. “You’re unbelievable, Castle.” 

“Thanks for puttin’ up with me.” His stubble scratched your skin as he spoke, his lips still resting against your temple. 

“Anytime, big guy.” Your eyes fell closed as his hand rubbed over your lower back.

After a minute, Frank spoke again. “Are ya gonna open the door, or am I gonna have to sleep in the hallway?” 

“Jesus Christ.” You groused, breaking out of his hold to squat down and grab his keys.

Just like that, Frank was back in stitches, shifting his weight to the door frame as his body shook with near silent laughter.

Shoving the key in the lock, you opened the door and shoved at him gently. "Get in there, goofball."

Shuffling inside, Frank beelined for the couch, collapsing onto it with his boots still on. Rolling your eyes, you followed him in, crouching by his feet to start unlacing his shoes.

Wriggling on his stomach, he craned his neck to look at you. “Whattya doin'?”

“Taking your shoes off, Frankie.” You explained without stopping your actions.

Grumbling, he flapped an arm at you clumsily. “Leave 'em.”

Huffing with exasperated affection, you ignored him. "You'll be more comfortable if I take them off, Frank."

You received a disgruntled noise in response, but his arm stopped moving. Face squashed against a throw pillow, his eyes were closed and his pink lips were parted--soft breaths slipping in and out of them every so often.

Finally pulling his second boot off, you sat back on your heels with a satisfied sigh. Standing as quietly as you could, you strode to the tidy kitchen.

Given that you were well-acquainted with Frank's place, you moved around the apartment with ease, finding the sparse first aid kit that he possessed and making a mental note to bring some supplies by soon. Sure, Frank would manage—he was the most capable man you'd ever met—but you wanted to make his life easier in any way you could.

Which is why you grabbed a few individually wrapped pain pills and placed them on the coffee table, along with a glass of water. Now for the difficult part.

"Frank, I know you're comfy like this but you have to turn to your side for me." You spoke softly, running a hand up his arm and pushing in the direction he needed to turn.

"Hngh..." Frank protested sleepily. "Why?"

Stifling a smile at the grumpy face he made, you continued to push. "C'mon, you big baby. On your side, so you don't choke and die overnight."

Huffing frustratedly, Frank flopped onto his side, glaring at you.

“Thank you. Do you need a blanket?” You asked, laughing indignantly when he flipped you off. “That was an actual question, asshole.”

Standing up, you took a step towards the worn armchair on the other side of the coffee table, nearly tumbling over when a force tugged on your wrist. Eyes closed again, Frank was poorly hiding a smile as he yanked your arm towards him with more strength than his inebriated self should have been capable of. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you feeling nice now?” You grumbled, balancing your weight over him precariously as you tried to escape his hold.

Tugging your arm again, Frank muttered a jumble of grouchy nonsense.

“Christ, Frank.” You snorted, rolling your eyes to the ceiling before sliding your palms underneath his shoulders to shift him over. Squishing onto the couch next to his head, you found yourself smiling as he wriggled towards you, settling his head into your lap with a relieved exhale. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a piece of work when you’re drunk?”

Your murmur was more for yourself than for him, but he responded nonetheless. “M’ria.”

It was far from the first time he’d spoken to you about his late wife, but hearing her name fall from his lips when he was in such a vulnerable state felt like a swift punch to the gut. Regaining your composure, you threaded your fingers into his hair. “Go to sleep, Frankie.”

As your nails softly scratched at his scalp, darkness crept into the corners of his vision, his eyes fluttering closed again.

The next few hours passed like fractions of a dream. A warm pliant surface beneath his cheek, a cool hand running through his hair. A whispered conversation and hushed groans. A loss of contact.

Somewhere in the haze of alcohol-induced fatigue, Curtis appeared, taking over your role as his babysitter. Curt was good at taking care of him...he was a lot less pretty than you were, though.

“Christ, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.” Curtis griped, insulted by comment Frank hadn't intended to share, shoving a bottle of some form of sports drink at him. “Drink this.”

Scowling, Frank took a long swig. As he was gulping down the sugary liquid, his eyes locked on a piece of fabric draped over the back of the couch. Setting the drink down, and nearly spilling it all over himself in the process, he grabbed clumsily for the coat, clutching it to his chest when his fingers finally landed around it. ”She forgot it.“

”What?“ Curtis, rubbing a knuckle between his brows, looked unamused.

”Her coat, Curt.“ Frank whispered, holding it out to show the other man. ”We gotta find her. She forgot it. It's winter.“

Shaking his head with a huff, Curtis dropped his head into his hands. ”I'm sure she'll be fine without it for a night. Go to sleep, Frank.“

Frank frowned, still focused on the piece of plastic in his hands.

Grappling his pocket, he eventually pulled out his phone and flipped it open, squinting at the bright screen as it powered on. Scrolling through the list of contacts, he found the one he wanted and dialed.

”Frank,“ Curtis sighed, but didn't stop him from calling you.

Receiving your voicemail, Frank groaned. “Sweetheart, you better not be frozen to death out there somewhere. You left your coat here. You gotta come and get it, ok? I don't want you to be cold.”

”Hang up and sleep, Castle.“ Called the medic from Frank's bedroom. When had he gone in there?

Ignoring his friend's explicit instructions, Frank sighed. “Please come back. I like having you here. You just...you take such good care of me, and I really don't deserve it, but you do it anyways, and--” The phone was snatched out of his hand.

“Frank says goodnight.” Curtis snapped into the phone before ending the call.

“Hey!” Frank glowered, fumbling for Curtis's hand to take the device back.

“Go to sleep, Frank. You can talk to her tomorrow. Trust me, you'll be grateful I took this away when you've sobered up. You don't need to be spilling your secrets to her over voicemail.“ Spreading a blanket over Frank, Curtis glared at him. ”Close your eyes, Marine. I am not playing games with you tonight.“

Rolling to his other side so that Curtis couldn't see him, he smirked at the other man's final snort. ”Real mature, Frank. I'm taking your bed. I'll be out to check on you every once in a while.“

As Curtis retreated into the other room, Frank waited impatiently, staring at the back of the couch until he heard a door close. Grinning in satisfaction, he withdrew his burner phone from his other pocket, opening it up and inputting your number.

“Sorry, Curt hung up the phone. I wasn't done talking to ya. I like talkin' to ya, it makes me feel...god, I'm bad at this. I dunno, sweetheart, you make me feel good...special. I haven't felt that way in a long damn time. But you just make it seem so easy. You make everything seem so easy...”

The intense rolling of his stomach is what ruptured his unconsciousness, igniting a spark of adrenaline powerful enough to carry him to the bathroom so he could collapse in front of the toilet.

God, he felt fucking awful. His head was pulsing with the beginnings of a migraine, his throat burned with acid as he emptied his stomach repeatedly. Moaning with regret, he slapped the lever to flush the toilet, sinking back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub behind him.

“Was wondering when that would happen. David owes me 20 bucks.” Curtis leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom with his arms crossed, smirking at Frank's evident misery.

“Glad I could help.” Frank muttered, digging the heel of his hand into one of his eyes in an attempt to offset some of the building pressure in his skull.

“You look like shit.” Curtis chuckled, passing him a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers.

“Fuck off.” Frank grumbled, rinsing out his mouth before throwing back a few pills.

“Well, clearly you're feeling more like yourself. Christ.” Curtis snorted.

“God, Curt, what happened last night?” Frank grimaced. 

“Besides you drinking enough to kill a racehorse? Not much. Unless you count me discovering your collection of burner phones as ‘interesting’.”

Curtis’s words were innocuous, but Frank felt a wave of dread crash over him at the implications. 

“What collection?“ He asked mournfully, hoping fiercely that Curt didn’t mean–

“The one you were using to call your girl.” Fuck. “Every time I turned around, there was a new phone in your hands. Can't say I didn't try to stop you from making an ass of yourself, you just managed to do it anyway.”

“Fuck!” Frank cursed. That was exactly what he was hoping to avoid. “Please tell me you're jokin'.”

“Unfortunately not, Frank.“ The other man laughed, but his brow pinched in sympathy. “You're gonna have some explaining to do, I expect.”

“Fuck me. What did I say?” He looked to his friend pleadingly, feeling like his impending doom was perched just over his shoulders.

“I didn't catch all of it, but the parts I heard were pretty damning.” Curtis rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Frank’s intense eyes.

Mustering the dwindling energy he had, Frank lurched to his feet, stumbling towards the door. Thankfully, Curtis caught him when his balance faltered after a few steps.

“Woah, shit, Frank! Where are you goin'?” Curtis chastised preemptively, letting Frank lean against him as he ambled to the foyer.

“To apologize, or delete that message. Whatever needs to be done.” Frank’s jaw was stiff, his voice gruff with fear and discomfort. Undraping his arm from Curt’s shoulders, Frank bent down to grab his boots, halting as the motion caused a spike of pain to shoot through his brain. Clenching his fingers around his thighs, he bit his tongue to keep from hurling again.

“Jesus, Frank. This isn't a goddamn military operation.” Curt scoffed, kicking Frank’s shoes closer to him with a grunt.

Frank huffed a bitter laugh. “You're right, that would be easier.” Squatting down, Frank shoved his boots on and laced them up.

“You need serious help, you know that?” Curtis sighed, only waiting a moment before slipping his own shoes on. “C'mon. I'll drive you.”

Tipping your chin up, you let the final dregs of your latte trickle across your tongue, silently begging for those few drops to contain the caffeine you'd need for the rest of the day. You were practically giddy with lack of sleep and the immense amount of sugar you'd dumped into the coffee to make it palatable–you weren't used to so many extra espresso shots.

After looking out for Frank at the bar, wrangling him on the journey home, leaving abruptly to accompany your distraught roommate and her accident-prone boyfriend to the hospital, and then staying with said roommate all night while her boyfriend got a cast put over his broken arm–you were understandably exhausted. And, if you were honest with yourself, a bit aggravated that you'd been ripped away from Frank when he was so unusually receptive to your affection.

It wasn't as if you could just call Curtis and ask to switch roles again, it was almost noon. Frank would probably be up and hungover by now–far grouchier than the cuddly lump he'd become last night when he passed out on your lap. No use to mourn that loss any further, you supposed. It wouldn't be that hard to make him agree to another bet, after all. 

Lounging on the couch, your eyes slipped shut for a moment, flying open in shock when you heard a knock at the door. Of course someone would show up right after you sat down. Inhaling deeply to keep from groaning, you dragged yourself off of the couch and to the door. Huh, speak of the devil.

Unlatching the door, you rested a hand on your hip as you took in the posture of the man before you. Frank looked awful, a perfect example of the saying “green around the gills”. He was slouched forward, barely meeting your gaze, and his complexion was so alarmingly pale that it was more translucent. Before you could ask what the hell he was doing on your doorstep, he spoke.

“I need to see your phone.” His tone was pained and especially gravelly, which made sense given how hungover he must be right now.

“Damn, Castle. Hello to you too.” You laughed, the humor of it not fully reaching your eyes as concern churned in your gut. Stepping out of the way, you allowed him to stride past you into the apartment. 

Looking over his shoulder at you sheepishly, he cringed. “Sorry, hi. Your phone?”

Well he’s clearly on a mission. You had to admit, you were curious what he was so riled up about. 

Your eyes narrowing, you gestured to where it sat on the counter, anchored by its designated cord. “It's charging. It died while I was running around last night and I just got home, so.” Frowning in confusion, you picked it up to show him. 

“Thank god.” Frank let his face fall into his palms, collapsing onto your couch. 

“Why do you need my phone, Frank?” Intrigue still piqued, you flicked a thumb across the screen to activate your phone.

Realizing he’d made a fatal error in his anguished haze, Frank swiveling in his seat, craning his neck just in time to see a massive grin break out across your face. “Shit wait–”

“Jesus Frank, are you ok? Why did you call me so many times?” You laughed, scrolling through the myriad of notifications you’d apparently missed from him. 

“Sweetheart I'm begging you–” Standing on his wobbly legs, he hurried to remove the device from your hands, but it was too late.

“You left multiple voicemails?” You looked at him with an almost pompous smile, clearly taking satisfaction in his downfall.

“Please don’t–” He made for your phone, but his reflexes were lacking. Spinning just out of his reach, you raised the phone above your head victoriously.

“Voicemail number one!” You announced proudly, pressing play on the recording. 

Frank’s voice sounded tinny through the small speakers, or maybe it was just being drowned out by the ringing in his ears. “You forgot your coat…”

“Aw, Frank, that's so sweet!” You spoke over the short message, your lip sticking out slightly as you looked at him with gratitude.

Stepping towards you with his palms displayed, he tried for a placating tone. ��Yup. That was all, no need to listen to any more of–”

“Voicemail number 2!” You crowed, darting out of the kitchen as he grabbed wildly for the offending phone once more. 

“Sorry, Curt hung up the phone...”

“This ain't funny.” Frank growled, scurrying after you into the living room “Turn those off!” 

“You left them for me!” You giggled, holding the phone to your ear and squealing with delight at his first confession.

“You make everything seem so easy–”

“Aw, Frank–”

“It's so hard for me to focus when you're around–”

By the grace of some higher power, his drunk rambling cut off. Nearly keeling over, he leaned heavily against the back of your couch. “Thank Christ.”

“VOICEMAIL NUMBER 3!” You said gleefully, practically dancing with joy as Frank resumed chasing you.

“Goddamn it.” He muttered. He should have known he wasn’t that lucky.

“I can't stop thinkin' about ya–”

His words were coming back to him now, and it was crystal clear that he had very limited time to retrieve the phone before your relationship with him was irreparably damaged. Nearly bowling your coffee table over, he managed to snatch the hem of your sweatshirt, but you simply slipped out of it and resumed your lap of the space. 

“I can never stop thinkin about ya–”

You leapt onto the couch and over the arm, making for your bedroom. How on earth were you this agile after last night? He was pretty sure this would be the last thing he ever did. 

“I hope you made it home safe–”

You stumbled around your bed frame and Frank saw an opening. 

“You shoulda stayed here with me–”

His eyes narrowed, vision tunneling like a predator’s. Frank bounded forward and your eyes widened as you realized he had you cornered.

“I'll always keep you safe–”

Finally, he arrived within the distance he needed, snatching you by the waist and spinning you into him. Your chests were pressed together, quivering with the force of labored breaths, but before he could hit the power button– 

“Cause, I dunno, I just love ya, sweetheart. I'd never let anythin' happen to ya.”

His world blurred, his heart pounding so aggressively it felt like it was creeping out of his rib cage. It was done. It was over.

Panting, you looked up at him with a furrowed brow. His heart sank as he watched the realization crawl across your face. 

“You...you love me?” You asked meekly as Frank took a step away from you.

His entire body felt like it was on fire, he couldn’t decide whether he needed to scream or be sick. An apology roosted on his tongue, but his mouth was too dry for the words to come out.

“You love me.” You murmured, looking at the phone as if it would explain his words for you.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinkin'–” He choked out, scrambling backwards sloppily so that he wouldn’t witness your pity.

“Frank–” You spoke softly, the sympathetic edge to your words cutting his composure like a blade.

“Christ, I'll just go, I'm sorry–” He whispered, his throat tightening with immense regret.

“Frank” Your fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist, turning him back to face you. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the rejection and subsequent loss of connection that he’d stupidly caused. But it never came. 

Instead, your free hand cupped his neck, pulling his lips to meet yours. His knees wavered, nearly giving out as your soft lips met his. He was bombarded with surprise and affection and relief. Pulling back from him, you rubbed a finger over his nape and smiled softly.

“I love you too.”

“You–” He was too shocked to even ask a full question. His knees finally gave out and he fell against you. 

“Woah, careful there, tough guy.” You chuckled, nudging him backwards so that he crumbled onto your mattress instead of taking you both to the ground. 

Listing sideways onto your mattress, he let you prod at his limbs until he was fully seated. Bile was swiftly rising in his throat, but whether it was from the chase or the resulting emotions, he was unsure. Swallowing roughly, he grimaced. 

Biting your lip, you let go of his wrist to stroke your blissfully cool fingers along his cheek. “Let me get you some water, ok? I’ll be right back.”

Eyes falling closed, Frank took a handful of measured breaths, lips twitching with a small smile despite his current agony. You loved him too. He had a feeling that he should be skeptical, but he was experiencing too much to consider that at the moment. For now, he would just accept this outcome, however miraculous it might seem. 

Hearing your soft footsteps back into the room, he opened his eyes–immediately regretting it when his head convulsed with a renewed stab of pain. Moaning softly, he scrunched his eyes shut, bringing his thumbs up to his brows to knead them in the hope it would lessen the ache. 

“Head bothering you?” Your voice was impossibly soft as you knelt by his side, gently prying one of his hands away from his face and pressed a cold glass into it. 

“Yah. Sorry sweetheart, didn’t mean to crash here.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. I already texted Curt and told him you’d be staying here for a bit.” Pulling back your sheets on the other side of the bed, you propped yourself up next to him. “Tired?”

Grumbling affirmatively, Frank tilted his head into your shoulder, rolling as far into you as he could stomach. “But we should probably–”

“We got all the time in the world, sweetheart.” You stroked his stubbled chin languidly, smirking as his expression relaxed beneath your touch. “Just sleep. After last night, we both need it.”

“God, I love you.” He murmured, throwing an arm over your hips and letting you nestle in close. 

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, Frank.” 

Frank made a mental reminder to buy Lieberman a beer the next time they went out. He’d never admit it to David, but he was beyond grateful that his uninhibited self had finally made a move. 

Feeling more content than he had in months, he let himself drift off to the sound of your soft breathing.

Thanks for reading!!