I can appreciate the idea of a super suave, dominant Frank Castle but in reality that man is touch starved and at your mercy.
- Frank Castle who has to shut his eyes the monent your hands are on himā in his hair, cupping his face, resting on his chestā his breath becomes laboured and his muscles tense.
- Frank Castle who doesnāt know where to put his hands. They are open at his sides at first, his fingers twitching before finally finding your back. And when they do, heās grasping at youā pulling you as close as he possibly can.
- Frank Castle who buries his face in your neck because he needs to immerse himself so fully in this moment that thereās no questioning whether or not heās dreaming. He needs to feel you, smell you and even hear your heartbeat if he can will his own to calm down enough to tell the difference.
- Frank Castle who is slow to initiate his own affection at first. Itās not that he doesnāt want toā itās that it feels so overwhelming to him that itās like diving into a cold plunge. So he starts off small with brushing your hair behind your ear, hesitant kisses to your cheek, and reaching for your hand to give it a squeeze.
- Frank Castle who never gets used to your touch. He shivers when you patch him up and almost canāt bear how much he loves your gentle hands trailing over his battered body. Its enough to numb the pain.
- Frank Castle who cannot sleep without you beside him. Or on him, ideally. At the very least, he wants to be holding your hand. Itās the only way to assuage his fear that he may wake up alone again.
- Frank Castle who b-lines straight to you after a hard day. The heavy door will fall shut with a thud and he wonāt even bother taking off his boots before storming into the lounge, dropping to his knees before you on the couch, and burying his face in your lap. His huge arms come around to hug your waist and he sits there with his eyes shut as you card fingers through his dark hair until his breathing comes a little easier.
-Frank Castle who can ask for affection simply by calling out for you in the right tone and you know he needs you to come sit in his lap for a while:
āBaby..ā
āSweetheart..ā
āHey sweet girl, yāwanna come keep me company for a bit?ā His baritone voice will rumble softly.
- Frank Castle who doesnāt prioritise sexual touch. Itās more of a bonus. A great bonus but if he had to pick between that or never being able to hold you again? Itās a no brainer.
- Frank Castle who is effected by your touch like its witchcraft. He goes from broody, moody asshole to teddy bear the second heās in your presence. Yeah, heāll restrain himself when heās around others and keep up the mask but unless theyāre dumb, the shift is noticeable.
- Peter Parker who teases Frank about how much nicer he becomes after even a tiny interaction with you.
You wander through the kitchen where the men are sitting to drop off some research youād been digging up to help. Saddling up beside Frank, you approach him with a soft hand on his back as you drop the papers on the bench.
He earns himself a small kiss to his jaw when he grumbles a warm āthank you, babyā and then youāre gone and itās like you took some of the heaviness of the room with you.
āAre we sure sheās not magic or something?ā Peter uses his screwdriver to point in the direction you left. āSeriously, she fixed you just like that. We should introduce her to Bannerā he might find her abilities interesting.ā
āCareful.ā Frank warns. Peter chuckles.
-Frank Castle who doesnāt mean to look at you with those big, sad puppy dog eyes but cannot help the way he melts around you. Your touch and your presence turns off his defences and the gruff man can finally say he has a space to breathe again.
ā¤ summary: frank always makes it his mission to distance himself from you. though his time, after another brutal night, something in him pulls him into your arms
ā¤ w/c: 2k
ā¤ warnings: blood, wounds, crying and feelings, frank's issues, kissing
masterlist taglist
You opened the door the moment the heavy thud was heard against the wood. You didnāt need to see who it wasāthe heart in your throat gave the answer way before you actually knew.Ā
Frank stumbled inside, fully covered in blood, which was already drying up on the sides of his face, on his clothes, and on the exposed skin of his arms. You took a sharp breath because it was the first time he let himself come to someone after another rough nightāyou knew that, and you didnāt even want to know the reason for that. You just stepped to the side, both relieved to see him alive and scared that any sudden movement might scare him away.Ā
There was no "hey" and no other words spoken when he stood in the hallway of your apartment, looking like a complete mess with an empty expression on his face. You closed the door softly, taking him in, assessing the visible damage, and realizing that, at least, there were no gun wounds and any other life-threatening injuries you wouldnāt be able to deal with.Ā
The gun in his right hand twitched slightly, clearly uncomfortable. Your eyes snapped down as the weird and cold shiver ran down your spine. Frankās eyes settled on you when he shifted from one foot to another, just a barely heard groan escaping his mouth when a particularly deep cut all along his right side shot a wave of pain and a gush of blood seeping through the ruined material of his clothes.Ā
You jerked your head towards the bathroom, and he complied. Silently again.Ā
Frank looked ridiculous in your crumpled, light bathroom. The dark clothes, the blood all over his face and body, and the gun he put on the counter near the sink, like he finally could let go of it and not be paranoid about needing it in his hand at all times. You were safe. He was so out of place, so dark in all meanings of this word, standing there and probably ruining your cream-colored carpet you didnāt like anyway.Ā
You didnāt speak when you pushed him back slightly so he could lean against the sink. You didn't speak when you tugged at his shirt, and he understood it instantly, pulling it off with a grunt and the wet sound of the material peeling off his damp skin. Half-naked now, the full extent of the damage sat right in front of youādark streaks of dried blood across the hard plane of his chest and stomach. A long, ugly gash running down his right side, smaller cuts scattered like someone had tried to carve reminders into him.
You let the cloth soak in the warm water and took care of his face first. You kept your eyes on the small cuts across his cheeks, on the split lip, and on the wound at the temple, like something heavy and rusting had met the side of his head and left a mark you sure would leave a reminder later. You looked at Frankās face, but it felt like you were looking straight through him because you knew you would crumble if you let your thoughts wander or your eyes meet his.Ā
Your chest felt heavy. You felt sick to the point that you wanted to bend forward and cry, even as your hands almost mechanically patched him up and cleaned what you could. He could tell what was going on in your headāhe looked straight at your face, at your distant eyes, at the way your skin looked duller from obvious worry, and a part of him hated himself for coming here and dragging you into the mess his life was.Ā
He watched you the entire time.Ā
Your hands were hesitant when you moved down to the upper body. The lacerations on all over his sides were brutal, ugly, and probably extremely painful to bear, still nothing Frank hadnāt experienced before, so you truly couldnāt understand why it was this time when he decided to show up. After all the time he distanced himself, after all the glances and tension that never led to anything serious, after his desire to always take care of himself and never be vulnerable in front of other people.Ā
Your mind started wandering. One of your hands held his side gently, almost absentmindedly in the way your fingers barely touched his skin, while another one disinfected the wound, cleaning softly and carefully around the flesh. Frank kept quiet, probably too used to this type of pain and maybe too proud to show that it still hurt like a bitch, and everything you could hear was just the slightest change in his breathing, the flare of nostrils when you pressed just a bit too hard.Ā
The tears came suddenly. You couldnāt even stop the way your vision blurred out of nowhere, the way your throat got tight when the fear and anxiety caught up to you. You tried to hold it in, to not show any emotion in front of his piercing eyes that surely caught every change, but it was hard to do once the first tear slipped.Ā
Another one rolled down your cheek, then a few more, and you couldnāt help but sniff, the sound of it echoing in the deathly quiet room. Frankās shoulders sagged a little bit, and he felt the nausea creeping up because he couldnāt stand seeing you cry. And since he was the reason? Yeah, he hated himself even more.Ā
āPlease donāt.ā His voice was gruff, almost scarily low. āNot because of me.āĀ
āIām worried about you. You know that.ā You said back bitterly, not looking up at him or getting distracted. Your hand lifted a little bit higher, finding a place on his chest, the skin warm and still a little bit sweaty.Ā
āYou shouldnāt.ā
"Well, I canāt change what I feel, Frank.ā Your eyes flickered up, finding him looking down at you with such intensity it made your stomach drop. He was too close, too attentive to you, and too real after everything that happened, and you couldnāt stop yourself from feeling how much you needed and wanted him.
His jaw flexed at your words, dark brown eyes bored into yours. One of his hands, the one that was still not in the best condition, still beaten up from a fight, came up to your face, thumb slowly swiping the tear from your cheek. You leaned towards it unconsciously, wincing as if it physically hurt youāand in a way, it did. It was almost wrong coming from him. Too gentle. Too deliberate. Like he was afraid the slightest pressure might break you the same way everything else already had.
āIām so scared for you.ā You whispered, the words cracking.
And then the dam broke.
The tears came harder this time, no longer quiet or controlled. Your breath hitched, chest tightening until the only thing left was the raw, helpless sound of it. You hated the way it spilled out of you, hated that he had to see it, but you couldnāt stop. Your body moved on its own, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against the warm skin of his shoulder, arms sliding up and around his neck as carefully as you could to avoid hurting him more.
Frank froze. His body stilled completely, as the fight in his mind was obviousāwhat he should do versus what he wanted to do. But you sniffed again, fresh and warm tears wetting his skin when you hiccuped helplessly against him, clinging like you actually couldnāt stand being away from him.
āSweetheart.ā His voice was gravel near your ear. A deep sigh escaped his chest when he gave in. Both of Frankās hands moved slowly to wrap around your middle, protectively cradling you against his chest. He leaned into you, burying his face in your hair, inhaling your scent fully for the first time, because the distance he forced between you prior to that had never allowed him to.Ā
āI hate this.ā You choked against his skin. āI hate what youāre doing to yourself. I hate watching you come back like this and pretend itās nothing.ā
His arms tightened, one sliding a bit higher to cradle the back of your head protectively.
āI know.ā He murmured, his voice low and rough with his own emotions he couldnāt hide anymore, nor did he try to. āI know you do.ā
āThen stop.ā Your fingers curled against the nape of his neck. āJustā¦ stop.ā
Frank didnāt answer right away, but he didnāt even have toāyou knew the answer already. His breath stayed warm against your skin, steady even though you could feel the tension still coiled through him. When he finally spoke, it was quiet enough that you almost missed it.
āCanāt.ā
You stayed there a few moments longer, relishing the feeling of Frank against you, who was just fucking aliveāagain, saved by the miracle, or faith, or just his craziness and ability to get out of any shit hole. You nodded, because you knew and didnāt expect anything else. Then, slowly, you pulled back.
Only you didnāt get far away. Frankās face was right in front of youābruised, a bit swollen, and completely unreadableā¦ But his eyes? God, his eyes looked at you in that almost desperate and aching way he had never let himself be. Something in him finally cracked open, and there was nothing but exhausted want and the quiet terror of a man who knew exactly what he was about to destroy.
The space between your mouths seemed non-existent. You felt his breath on your lips, overwhelming you in a way you couldn't explain or even understand yourself.Ā
So you reached first.Ā
You rose on your tip toes a bit more, finally closing the distance.Ā
The kiss was slow. Hesitant and careful. You felt the metallic taste from the split lip and the saltiness from your tears. Frankās hand came up to cradle your face again, thumb trembling once against your cheekbone before it steadied. You felt the way his breath stuttered when you pressed closer, the quiet, broken sound that escaped him when your fingers slid into the short hair at the back of his neck.
It hurt.
And not because it was roughābecause every soft press of his mouth against yours, every careful movement of your lips carried the weight of the situation. Of all the reasons why he made it his mission to stay away from you, he forced himself to leave and distance himself whenever he realized that the looks he gave you and the stuff that sat deep in his chest became too real and dangerous.Ā
When Frank finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His eyes stayed closed for a long second, as he was just soaking your presence in. When they opened, the desperation was still there, raw and unguarded.Ā
āIāll ruin your life, sweetheart.ā He said, voice low and rough, like the words themselves scraped his throat on the way out. āYou know that. Youāve always known that.ā
A small, sad smile touched your lips, and you felt like crying again. Your hand came up to gently stroke the side of his face, careful to not add anything to the pain, hating the never-ending punishments he wore like something he deserved.
āI know. But Iād rather risk it than feel like Iām dying when Iām not with you.ā
You didnāt pull away. Your other hand stayed against his chest, feeling the steady, stubborn beat of a heart that had gone through way too much and still wouldnāt stop fighting.Ā
āYou shouldnāt have said that.ā He murmured, voice wrecked.
āI meant it.ā
Frankās thumb brushed under your eye again, catching the last of the tears. For the first time he didnāt move away, didnāt run from the feelings that he had. He just stayed there, forehead to forehead, like the contact was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
āAlways so stubborn.ā He whispered,eyes flickering down to your lips. āThatās what scares me the most.ā
would that be too much to say that frank got a somewhat newer phone with a camera after you introduced him to the idea of sending nudes to each other?
like heās all about the efficient and safe old burners nobody can track down. but it takes just one sentence from you to make him go to some random store and buy a decent phone.
now, he's an old-fashioned guy and he would definitelly prefer to hear your voice rather than text, but something about dirty pictures that you send him while heās too busyā¦ shooting and hurting people? it gets him fucking going. he thinks that looking into that stupid little screen to see your dirty messages you still send him or, even better, some nudes from you might be the best part of his shitty days while heās on a mission.
frank likes the cute poses that you do, the pretty lace that always hugs your tits or assāthe one that he desperately wants to take off of you and will do so when he gets back home. the videos are the best, though, and if heās staying at some warehouse, heās happy to have something of yours to blow off the steam.
in return? yeah, you might have also shown him how to use the said camera and how to attach videos in a messenger. so once in a while, exactly when youāre aching and desperate, he might send you something backāhim jerking himself off, hand wrapped around the thick base, the tip swollen and leaking precum.
the image is grainy, so low quality it somehow makes the experience even better as you watch it with your own hand shoved down your panties. you watch the video, catching every grunt and every small and restrained huff of air you miss hearing against your ear. and when he comes suddenly, covering his own fist and lower stomach, you canāt help but reach the end too.
Ryan whelan who keeps a bandaid at all times in his wallet, bag, car, etc. for when naim picks his fingers to the point of bleeding but once drove himself home from work with a concussion because he was "completely fine"
spooning with frank after a long day and he lets you suck his fingers for self soothing you two end up dozing off with his index and middle finger in your mouth
frank teaches peter how to touch his girlfriend, and peter learns a little more than he bargained for. based on this. word count : 1.5k
cws .į no spoilers. bnd! peter, frank castle x f!reader x peter, established relationship between reader & frank, light overstimulation, vaginal fingering, frank ācoachingā peter, canon-typical references to violence / injury, a tiny bit of spideyskulls if you squintā¦ minors dni 18+
āLike that,ā Frank mutters, and Peterās fingers twitch inside you when Frank closes one hand around his wrist and angles it himself.
Peterās been trying very hard not to think about how fucking strange this is, though strange probably isnāt the right word when nothing about sitting here feels particularly wrong. If anything, it feels a little too easy having his thigh pressed against Frankās on the couch, his hand buried between his girlfriendās legs while Frank calmly teaches him exactly how she likes to be touched.
Youāre already soaked around Peterās fingers, two of them pushed deep enough that every slow pull leaves his knuckles shining with thick, glossy slick, and he can feel every little clench of your pussy whenever Frank adjusts his wrist. Peter keeps telling himself to concentrate on you because youāre the one spread open between them with your shorts somewhere on the floor and your thighs trembling wider whenever he curls his fingers, but Frankās hand is still wrapped around him, warm and steady and far too close to the aching line of Peterās cock, and that is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
āThere,ā Frank says, pressing Peterās wrist upward until the pads of his fingers drag over something soft inside you that makes your hips jerk hard against the couch.
His eyes stay fixed on your face when he adds, quieter, āFeel that?ā Peter definitely feels itāthe sudden flutter of your cunt around him the second he finds that swollen spotāand more importantly, he feels the way you squeeze around him immediately afterward, tight and greedy.
āYeah,ā he breathes, his face already embarrassingly warm as he repeats the motion on his own.
Peter has always been good at learning things quickly, whether it was school, fighting, or figuring out the exact point where somebodyās plan was about to fall apart, and supposedly the same miserable Parker trait applies here because after Frank shows him twice, he manages to find that spot again without help.
Your stomach tightens when he curls his fingers, your breath catching in a way that makes Peterās mouth go dry, and Frank loosens his grip just enough to let him repeat it. āKeep hittinā it,ā he murmurs, and Peter does, watching your expression change with every careful press upward, feeling the way your cunt swallows the digits.
Itās almost hypnotic, feeling exactly what makes your breathing catch and then doing it again just to hear the sound twice, to feel the clench of you around him. Peterās cock has been hard in his sweats since somewhere around the first minute of this, aching against his thigh while he pretends that having his fingers buried in you is not affecting him nearly as badly as it is, and then Frank reaches between your legs too.
Peter nearly stops when Frankās thumb settles against your clit with an ease that makes something hot and hungry twist low in his stomach because there is no hesitation in the touch, no searching or uncertainty when Frank already knows exactly where to put his hand and how much pressure you like. Slow circles have your thighs twitching around both of their wrists, your slick making wet little sounds every time Frankās thumb glides over the swollen bud, and Peterās fingers falter despite himself.
āDonāt stop,ā Frank tells him, closing his hand around Peterās wrist again before he can pull away.
āIām not,ā Peter whispers, which would probably sound more convincing if his fingers were actually moving.
Frank shifts closer until their shoulders press together and guides Peter back into the same rhythm, curling his wrist while his thumb continues moving over you in those slow circles.
Their hands keep bumping between your thighs, Peterās knuckles slipping wetly against Frankās fingers whenever your hips grind down into them, your cunt so slick now that every push of Peterās fingers makes a soft noise that seems to crawl straight beneath his skin. His cock throbs when you reach down and grab his forearm, nails digging in just enough to make him want to fuck into you properly, and somewhere between Frank showing him how to angle his fingers and you pulling Peter closer instead of pushing him away, something uncomfortable catches in his chest.
It has been years since touch meant anything other than somebody hitting him, grabbing him, knocking him through a wall or trying to drag Spider-Man out of the air, and now youāre holding onto him because you want his hand exactly where it isātwo fingers buried deep in your soaked pussyāwhile Frankās palm stays wrapped around his wrist because he wants the same thing.
Peter swallows hard when Frank presses two fingers over the back of his hand. āCurl āem,ā Frank murmurs beside him, making the movement for him again. āLittle deeper.ā
The words are meant for what Peter is doing to you, and Peter knows that perfectly well, but his body does not seem interested in the distinction when Frank leans closer, his chest brushing Peterās shoulder as he physically curls Peterās fingers deeper inside you.
Your cunt squeezes hard around them, and Peter has to clench his jaw to keep himself from making another noise. āRight there,ā Frank says near his ear, low enough that Peterās eyes nearly close, and the quiet āfuckā that slips out of him is impossible to take back.
Youāre getting wetter by the second, slick coating his fingers and running toward his knuckles while he starts pumping them with more confidence, following exactly what Frank showed him as he watches your body respondāthe way your hips start moving on their own, chasing the pressure from both hands.
Peterās free palm settles over your thigh when it begins trembling. āYou like that?ā he asks softly, rubbing his thumb over your skin as your answer breaks apart around his name.
Peter watches Frankās wrist flex before his gaze travels upward without permission, only to find Frank already looking at him. All Frank does is tighten his grip around Peterās wrist and push his fingers deeper, earning a sharp clench from you that drags a groan straight from Peterās throat.
The sound embarrasses him almost immediately, low and helpless in a way he cannot pretend Frank missed, but you only grab his forearm tighter as Frank says, āKeep going,ā and Peter nods before he even thinks about it.
Something about being told what to do by Frank makes obedience embarrassingly easy, so Peter does exactly what he was shown, working his fingers faster and curling deliberately every time he presses deep while Frank continues touching you beside him. Whatever caution Peter had at the beginning disappears as your hips begin jerking against their hands, and the wet sounds between your thighs grow louder with every movement.
āThaaatās it,ā Frank murmurs, and Peter cannot tell whether the praise is meant for you or him anymore, although judging by the way his stomach tightens and his cock throbs against his thigh, maybe it does not matter.
Your thighs squeeze around their wrists as your cunt begins fluttering around Peterās fingers, and his entire expression changes when he feels it happen from inside you.
āOhāfuck,ā he breathes, staring between your legs. āFrank.ā
Frankās thumb presses more firmly against you and his hand folds over Peterās wrist again. One final guided curl has your back arching off the couch, and Peter feels every tight pulse around his fingers when you come while he keeps moving just like he was told.
His free hand grips your thigh as a groan catches in his throat, and Frankās quiet command to keep moving has Peter obeying immediately, his fingers continuing through every clench while Frank keeps touching you until your legs start trying to close around their wrists.
When your body finally begins relaxing into the couch, Peter is breathing as heavily as though he were the one who just got fucked, his face flushed and his cock painfully hard beneath his sweats, the head of it leaking enough that he can feel the damp spot spreading against the fabric. His fingers are still inside you because nobody has actually told him to take them out yet, and he hates how much that fact pleases him.
Frank eventually releases his wrist, giving Peter enough freedom to start withdrawing his hand, but he catches him before he can pull completely away. Frankās thumb drags once over Peterās wet knuckles, slow enough that Peter feels every inch of it.
Your slick still coats Peterās hand half-curled from touching you, and whatever stupid little crush Peter had on Frank Castleās girlfriend has very clearly stopped being his only problem.
notes2u NOT the idea i was referencing in that other post but that will be coming soon because yesā¦ i really do enjoy peter and frank sharing reader š§š¾āāļøšæ
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