I just read your frank fic with spoiled reader and I loved it!
Can I request Frank with spoiled reader but instead she’s really sweet? Like the whole “spoiled but never rotten” thing?
grrrr i love him!! i love writing 4 this fine ass man so much i truly am still single cuz i just look at a man and go….but he’s not jon bernthal!!
Frank Castle who spoils his sweet girl to no end
Frank takes offense when people call you spoiled. You aren’t, he’ll argue, it’s what a good woman like yourself deserves. He hates it even more when you’re the one to say so.
He’ll bring you flowers home, smiling to himself just at the thought of your face brightening from such a small thing before he can round the corner to where you eat a snack in the kitchen.
“Frank?” You call out, hearing the door shut and the sound of his big boots being torn off. He puts them on the rack, because you asked once after he accidentally left them on the floor, and you’ve never had to ask him the same thing twice. The loose hinged cabinet? Tightened right up. The painting you wanted hung up? On the wall when you come back home from work. The laundry needs to be switched over and you have to leave? He’s got a timer on his phone.
But you aren’t spoiled, he claims, while he ties your shoes because you asked so nicely gleaming up at him with those sweet eyes. You didn’t want to bend over, how could he say no to his sweet baby? He just knows how to treat a woman right, and you say please and thank you all nice. He gets kisses on the cheek, too, often accompanied by a drawn out hug where you wrap yourself around him as tightly as possible.
“Yeah, s’me, baby,” He finally turns into the kitchen with a grin over his face, finding you sitting on the counter attempting to peel an orange. You see the flowers in his hand and your head falls back against the cabinet he fixed last week.
“Frank,” You scold softly, like there isn’t a grin growing on your face to match his. You take the flowers from him when he’s close enough, tilting forward into him. “Thank you.”
See. Not spoiled. A spoiled girl wouldn’t say thank you, especially not like that. Like it’s the nicest thing in the world, a fifteen buck bouquet of flowers from the grocery store.
“S’nothing,” Frank kisses your head, smiling down at you before letting his hand tangle over yours at the stems of the flowers. “Here, lemme see,”
You let him take them with no hesitation and then watch as he ducks to get one of the vases you keep under the counter.
“Frank,” You try again when he starts to fill it with water.
“What, sweetheart?” It’s always sweetheart from Frank. Always. Since the first day you met him, blushing all pretty and apologizing so sweetly for bumping into the booth he sat in. He’d grinned up at you, placing his mug full of black coffee back down on the diners table. Don’t worry ‘bout it, sweetheart, he’d said, little thing like you not hurtin’ nothin’, and you’d only gotten more bashful.
“I can do that, y’know,” Your legs kick against the counter. Frank scoffs, like the idea is unimaginable while he places the filled vase next to you.
“You want me to bring my girl flowers home and make her do the work with ‘em? Kinda man you think I am?” He cuts the stems, sprinkles the weird powder stuff into the water and places them in the pretty vase, the one he brought home with the first bunch of flowers he’d ever gotten you. What if you didn’t have one already? He couldn’t bear the thought of you having to go buy something because of him, even if it’s because of a gift.
“Thank you, Frankie,” Your swinging legs reach out to tap his thighs. He grabs your feet, hands trailing from the pedicured toes he paid for (like he does every month) up to your thighs. “They’re beautiful.”
“Always, sweetheart.” Frank cups your face, kissing your forehead. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones before he lets go and takes the orange from your hands. “Lemme see that,”
“Frank!”
“What?” He’s peeling your fucking orange for you, and is offended that you think it’s ridiculous.
“This—“ You cut yourself off with a stammer. “You spoil me too much.”
Franks eyebrows furrow, head jerking back like you’d tried to reach out and slap him, and he’s immediately pouting at your words.
“Kinda nonsense you talking about? No I don’t.” He holds a slice up to your mouth. It had all of the gross stringy bits peeled away, because of course Frank knows you hate that part.
Your eyebrows raise as you give him your best oh-really-now look. Says the man who buys you flowers just because and fixes your appliances after one ask and feeds you oranges he already peeled and will be making you dinner in an hour. Says the man who lets you sleep in everyday and fills your gas tank and pays for your nails and hair appointments and the groceries and every dinner date. Says the man who ties your shoes and hangs your wall decor. Says the man who kisses the ground you walk on and draws a minimum of two orgasms from you daily.
“You ain’t spoiled,” He reiterates, raising his eyebrows right back until you take the slice into your mouth. “You’re loved.”
