"End Addiction Or -- "

"End addiction or -- "

End addiction.

the bodyguard

[status: in progress]

summary: after a series of terrorist attacks in new york, an article you wrote calling out the cowardice of the organization's leader causes you to become a target, and frank castle is assigned to be your bodyguard. the resurgence of former flames and shocking sinister revelations will test just how far frank is willing to go to protect you. divulgences of his mysterious and convoluted past will make you question just how much you can actually trust him. will frank be your savior? or the reason for your demise?

a/n: a HUGE thank you to my love @thyme-in-a-bubble for that incredibly breathtaking header. this series was inspired by the absolutely lovely @lowkeythor's genius request for a bodyguard!frank x reader fic. it is a slow burn-so get comfy. this is a punisher series friends, so there will be mentions of violence and gore, as well as other mature themes. (there will eventually be spiciness bc i can't resist) if you'd like to be added to the tag list for updates, please let me know!

»— anything marked with an astrik contains explicit content. minors dni.

»— all work is my own. please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.

chapter one: it's my job

chapter two: take the day off

chapter three: trouble

chapter four: it's like that

chapter five: conflict of interest

chapter six: invasion of privacy

chapter seven: checkmate

chapter eight: sorry

chapter nine: stakeout

chapter ten: pancakes

chapter eleven: we got a problem

chapter twelve: confession

chapter thirteen: desire*

chapter fourteen: i got you

chapter fifteen: teach me*

chapter sixteen: an adjustment

chapter seventeen: a favor

chapter eighteen: first date*

chapter nineteen: personal

the bodyguard soundtrack

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

college! peter parker x fem reader.

18+ only !!! f! receiving oral sex. peter parker has an oral fixation i said what i said. in my spider-man era again.

peter was a weekly visitor at this point. sometimes, it was twice, but never more than three. three was pushing it.

Three said that Peter meant something to you, and you couldn’t have that. No, whatever this was between the pair of you was strictly transactional. It was Peter texting you late at night, the classic, you up? Gracing your screen, and every time, you would pretend to be annoyed.

As if Peter coming around to give you the greatest head of your life was an inconvenience. Tempted, the devil on your shoulder smirking, to type back, Jesus, again? but never doing it. Instead, you wrote: sure.

Still, it plagued your mind. He never asked for anything else.

It was as if he did this purely for himself.

“Oh fuck,” you mewled, clenching down tight. The hand that was wrapped around Peter’s brown curls clutched and tugged, and the unconscious movement earned you a chastised groan. It rumbled through your cunt, and the echo shot to your clit, making you close your eyes and lean back, wet mouth spilling his name into your dorm.

Peter liked hearing you.

Liked seeing you lose your mind with his head between your thighs, your pussy wet and throbbing from his mouth and fingers. It’s why he came around often. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even text, would just knock on your door -- looking sheepish from under his dark curls -- and just. Not. Say. Anything.

His silence was answer enough. You knew what he wanted. Or, needed, as you later figured out, as you saw how red he’d gotten when you told him he couldn’t come around for a bit. When you said something about focusing on exams, he’d come over anyway, whined, shuffled his feet and said, You can do your work, I just gotta…I’ll be quick.

The lack of explanation made your mind swirl. But regardless, you’d let him in and did your work with his head between your thighs. He’d tutored you, too, told you how to solve for x with his fingers inside of you. He’d said, if you let me make you come again, I’ll do your Maths work for the next week. After he’d left, you stared at the scene of the crime in pure silence.

Just…reflecting.

Peter fluttered his tongue over your swollen clit. Focused on swirling it around his tongue in sloppy, wet circles, and the thick desire that swelled between your thighs began to pool at your lower back, forcing you to arch up into it.

“Please,” you wept, even though he was giving you what you wanted. Flat on your back with his deft grip keeping your bare thighs open. It was 8 pm. He’d caught you just after your shower, so the smell of your shampoo and body wash wafted through the air – Lavender and pear.

Peter had spread you open and said you smelled like spring. You’d been far too turned on to comment on it. He grumbled into your cunt, and you managed to work out the word, more? You hummed, too drunk on him and wound tight to verbalise that yes, you wanted more. Wanted him to make you come, and come again, till all you could do was mumble his name and focus on your breathing.

He'd learnt how you liked it. Paid attention, and he was getting full scores as he pushed his tongue flat against your swollen clit and sucked. Your vision went white.

“Oh fuck – ohfuck, Peter—” you squirmed, but Peter was strong, and he held you to the bed with his vice-like grip, wordlessly saying take it take it take it.

He lapped at you, salvia drooling over your cunt and down his chin, soaking the sheets. He was always so careless. In moments like this, that nervous edge that always fluttered around him was gone, replaced by a visceral drive to either please you, or get what he wanted.

The two bled into each other.

His tempo was leisurely, but that didn’t stop the heat from washing over you all at once.

You clamped your thighs around his ears and moaned -- loud, so loud that you were sure the other students on your floor heard.

Still, the ache was erratic, “So good,” you sobbed, and you heard yourself, heard the near primal need in your voice, and the desperation made you embarrassed, made you cover your mouth with your palm and grip the sheets, willing yourself to cool it. 

“Move your hand, or I’ll stop,” he uttered against you, and your clit was so sore that the echo of his words made your eyes roll back. Peter must have seen, as he hummed a laugh, and kissed your inner thigh, “lemme hear you.”

Managing to gain some sense of sanity, you blearily blinked down at him, but all sense of stability you thought you had was wiped away when you saw Peter had his hand stuffed down his pants.

You dropped back onto the bed and sobbed.

You knew he got off on this, but Jesus Christ, you’d never seen that before.

“Gotta be kidding me,” you breathed, and Peter must have understood what you were referencing, as he buried his reddening face into your inner thigh. He let out a breathy chuckle, “’ M’sorry,” he mumbled, “usually I wait till I get home, but you’re just so hot.”

You had to stay completely still, or you’d burst. Usually, I wait till I get home?

Peter moved his face and began nuzzling the wet folds of your pussy. He bumped his nose against your clit, and you quietly choked.

Peter hummed, “couldn’t help myself.”

You figured he did something like that, but the admission made your thighs tense. You pictured him stumbling home – cheeks still wet with you – and tugging his pants down, quickly shoving his hands into his boxers and taking hold of his aching cock. Did he whimper when he came? Or was he silent, all tremors and low grunts? No. He definitely whimpered.

He was far too pretty to stay quiet.

The sudden desire to kiss him swept over you.

Reaching down, you tugged at his curls, wordlessly motioning him to move. When he did, you briefly saw the red of his cheeks and wet of his nose before you kissed him, all tongue, and tasted yourself on his pink lips.

Peter melted into you. Huffed your name like a sigh, and the sheer tenderness of it had you wrapping your legs around his back and pressing your bare cunt against his jeans.

He was rock-hard. Tentatively, you ran your nails over his chest, and dipped low, pressing between his thighs, cupping his bulge, and gently squeezing. Peter wept.

“Oh fuck,” he sobbed, as desperate as you imagined. With one hand in his hair and the other on his cock, you continued to kiss him, until the ache between your thighs became too much to bear.

“Make me come,” you whispered, “and I’ll put you in my mouth.”

Peter had never moved so fast in his life.

okay walk wit me sis.. 😌

make it fit connie.. or like fake sympathy condescending connie while y’all fucking.. FUCK I LOVE THAT SHIT.. 😩

ouu girl i’m walking! lemme see if i can get it to slight jog tho!

connie wasn’t oblivious to the fact he had a big ass dick. no, not at all. he’d spent most of his late high school and early college years figuring out where’d he’d fit on the inch chain as he liked to call it. most girls not being able to handle it or wouldn’t even attempt to tame it once they saw the monster that lay behind his sweats. many of his friends making fun of him that he didn’t get pussy but in reality, no one was bold enough to take it for him. not until he got his hands on you.

the girl at his university know for her unique street art. from the city and a splitting image of a bratz doll, who was never scared of a challenge felt she was ready to tame everything in life even her above averaged boyfriend.

that is until she found herself atop of him, positioned in reverse cowgirl to give her a man a view he’d never forget. thighs burning from riding dick splitting her open as she sank down a few inches onto him. “f-fuck i can’ttt .” finding herself scurrying back up to the tip, running the longtime lovin’ he was giving you. “thought you wanted it mamí? let papí give it to you.” connie teased, long thick dick hitting every stop imaginable inside of you. “s’too much!” you whined.

“too much..?” connie chuckled, grabbing ahold of your hips and taking a good look your tight two toned pussy wrapped around him. slick dribbling down his dick as you started to fill that emptiness inside you. “nah i think my good girl can take a lil more..” sinking deeper into that clamping hole of yours, moaning at the pressure of him slowly filling you up and sitting you down on his dick. “shittt.” relaxing your body as your walls loosening with warm slick and pulsing as you adjusted to his size. slowly molding to his curvature, filling you deliciously. connie knew it just took a lil work for you to get where you needed to be. “mhm, keep opening that pussy f’me, you right there mamí.”

giving you a final deep thrust that left your soft ass flush against his pelvis, leaving stomach full and mind in sex crazed haze. “fuck this pussy s’good.” groaning as he bounced you up and down his dick, removing his hands once he felt he set a steady pace for you. Inching your hips and down slowly trying your best to take every single inch. Connie landing a rough slap to your ass that left your body jolting from the stinging pleasure. “go down on it princesa, don’t be lazy.”

“thought you said you could take it.”

ass ripppling like waves as he met your hips and fucked himself up into you focused on that pretty pussy sucking every inch of him deeper than he’s ever felt before. nails digging at his thighs for dear life as your body bounced above his, “your so fucking deep” whine barely audible above the loud gushing of your pussy let him know that it’d take every inch happily. “s’ too muchhh! con—” fucking you down on him harder as he reached the spongey spot within that always started the waterworks. “awe that’s all you can take mamí..?” voice rough and full of feigned sympathy as he held up your ass mid air and fucked up into you hard, taking his pounding like a champ and meeting his rough thrusts. A smile creeping on connie’s face once you start riding out the literal high your body was about to reach.

“and you whining it too much, pussy the perfect fit for papí.”

frat peter has a mommy kink, he told me himself. ‼️

sex talk!

no, but he really did.

he let it slip one night, he had gotten a little wasted and couldn’t stop himself from hanging all over you. kissing your cheeks over and over until you pulled him up to his room.

it was a shift, a kind of hookup you hadn’t had before. he was the submissive, he was a whimpering wining mess below you, thanking you for fucking him so well, feeling so good around him, saying you’re so kind, always so, so, kind to help him out.

“i’m your baby, right?”

your hips didn’t stop, grabbing his chin you lock your eyes on his face. “course you are,” maybe he was drunker than you thought, he was being almost vulnerable. every time you thought you had him figured out, he’d send you for a loop.

baby brown eyes blinked up at you, looking for you to help him.

“so you’ll make me cum?”

“yeah,” you breathed it out, and connected your mouth with his, making out while you roll your hips and lightly bounce.

peters breath hitched, you rode him quicker but his hands gripped your hips to keep your slow pace. he wanted intimacy, feelings over actions, it was a first.

his body tensed beneath yours, hips bucking up as he curled into your body, his forehead glued to your chest, hands clutched your ribcage so tightly you hissed. grunting one word escapes as he’s come harder than he ever had before in his life

“mommy,”

it was soft, but you heard it. either he doesn’t care or he hasn’t realized what he said, holding his head to your chest you rock on him until he’s squirming with over sensitivity.

a kiss to your sternum, “please, mommy,” begging for the torture to end. you slow and ease off him gently, humming when he’s out, cold air noticeable.

hovering over his body his eyes are shut, you kiss the corner of his mouth, “you good?” he nods slightly, “mm hmm,” you kiss the same spot, “good, i’m gonna get a rag, hold on.”

the bed shaking when you move off, making a quick dash to his connected bathroom, and sitting on the toilet before wiping your thighs clean.

peter’s snoring when you return.

————

the next morning? oh you are for sure asking about this.

mommy kink? that’s a massive one, that’s one that doesn’t slip out, that’s one he’s been thinking on.

he may have escaped the questions last night but this morning, he was on his side, arm thrown over your waist as he slept. he was beautiful, he never let you get the chance to really fawn over him while he was aware of it, when he slept you could count every freckle and memorize every line.

your fingers ghosted over his lips before dragging down and pulling at the chain around his neck.

“you’re staring,”

why doesn’t it embarrass you?

“i am. you’re very pretty, mr. parker.” your finger sliding in and out of the ring around his necklace.

peter’s eyes blink open, he looks in yours and it’s a quiet moment. it’s like he’s thinking of a million things at once and trying to read you at the same time. the hand around your waist draws small circles, it tickles but you’ll cuddle with him as long as he allows.

“you didn’t finish last night.”

he’s testing the waters, subtly hinting he remembers. wondering if you’ll find him disgusting, leave him and tell everyone.

he’s never done it before. never brought it up to anyone before. he’s never felt safe or comfortable enough and right when he got a little too loose it spilled out before he could even ask you about it.

brushing small curls behind his ear, which pop right back up, “i didn’t. but it’s okay.”

“i’m sorry.” he’s never left you high and dry before.

your words had a double meaning, peter could see the twinkle in your eyes when you said it.

“there’s a first for everything, isn’t there?”

he shifted, you think you fucked up. you shouldn’t have pushed it, the one big scary thing he shared with you and you’re playing around with it.

instead he hovered over you, cupped your face and gave you the worlds softest kiss. it almost made you cry, the delicacy unlike anything else.

there’s a lot of walls and push back from peter but that kiss told you he fucking loved you.

“i better not hear anything about dating me for a month, i just gave you the ultimate girlfriend privilege."

it always made you mushy when he said the 'G' word, he avoided it at every cost so when he says it, it stands out.

your hand trailed down his chest, sliding over his abs you smirk.

"sounds more like the ultimate mommy-" his hand grabbed your wrist and pinned it down by your head.

"no. that's not how this works."

you wriggle your arm but his hold stays, "this is an absolutely only between you and me thing, and only in this scenario. we do not talk about this outside the bed, ever. i choose when it happens, and please, don't try to initiate anything with that word."

frowning, "so you'll tell me when you want me to be mom-"

"please stop saying it." he took a deep breath, "i've never... you know? with anyone. and it's not an all the time thing, i don't know. i'm still figuring it out."

you know what it was, "it's a when you want to be taken care of thing." peter's head tilts, he never thought of it that way but when he thinks about the times he'd held back the urge... yeah.

"i think you're right, trouble." then, a soft peck, "thank you, mommy."

"peter! you just said-" you take a sharp inhale as he kisses down your neck, humming when he trails down your torso, stopping when he reaches below your belly button.

"after last night it's only fair i treat you to breakfast."

TW: ED behavior

You’re driving Ghost crazy, and not in a good way.

He thought you were close, he thought he could trust you. Yet ever since you moved in with him, you’ve been keeping secrets.

He knows body language, and he definitely knows yours. It shocked him the first time he walked in on you cooking in the kitchen, only to be met with fidgety fingers and inconsistent eye contact. Odd. Nothing seemed out of place, so he just chalked it up to you being jumpy from suddenly sharing living spaces with someone.

But then it kept happening, and there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Wednesday night at 9:06. Sunday morning, 11:13. Sometimes it would happen several times in an hour, whenever he’d walk into the room. Over and over, something was giving you shifty eyes and a racing pulse, and it was driving him up the wall.

The common denominator is the kitchen, he knows that much. A cursory sweep comes up with nothing every time, so one day when you’re gone at work and he’s home, he goes all out. Bug detecting equipment, pulling everything out of the cabinets, scouring through cookbooks and the trash and every crevice he can find.

Nothing.

He’s able to put everything back in time, but he remains empty handed, and that makes him suspect that you’re far smarter than he realized.

And then he finally gets a break in the case. One day he’s walking around in socks, and it’s not until he’s nearly to the kitchen that the floor creaks under his foot, causing a flurry of movement in the kitchen. He crosses the space in just a few quick strides, as smooth as if he were making entry on a building, focus narrowed with freakish precision on catching you in the act.

His hand materializes on your wrist before you can let go of the thing you’re frantically burying in the trash. You’ve never seen him like this before, looming over you with his fingers clamped tight around your arm and his eyes crackling with energy.

Dammit. And you’ve always been so careful.

Ghost drags your hand out of the trash, and his eyes drop to the chocolate wrapper you have clutched in your fingers. He blinks at it a few times, just to convince himself he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

“What are you doing?” He asks slowly, his gaze coming back up to your hot face.

“I was… um… eating some candy.”

“Why were you hiding it?”

“Uh…” your mind races to find an acceptable answer, something that won’t make you a target.

“Wait.” Ghost scowls, releasing your hand and taking the wrapper from your fingers. “This is about your knobhead ex, isn’t it?”

“I-I guess.”

Ghost lets out the largest, most relieved exhale you’ve ever heard from him, closing the trash and slamming you into his chest so suddenly that it makes your lungs automatically release some air.

“I thought you were trying to kill me, love.” His arm tightens around your shoulders. “All this time, you didn’t want me to know you were eating sweeties?”

Your, “Yeah,” comes out muffled with your face still smashed against his chest.

“Don’t do that. Don’t hide things from me. You’re allowed to eat whatever you fucking well want.”

Oh, okay.

He fucks you good that night, no longer withdrawn into his own head. He sleeps like a baby, too, and kisses you sweetly off to work the next morning. For several days you catch him smiling and shaking his head a little every time he looks at you, like he just can’t believe you made him suffer like that over something so ridiculous.

And it seems like every time you sit down for dinner now, you’ll find a little package of your favorite chocolate sitting next to your fork. How he gets it there every time without you seeing, you have no idea. To be honest, you’re getting kind of tired of the taste, but you still smile at him and grab his hand from his thigh, leaning in for a little kiss before you take a bite.