hiiii idk if your requests are open but i would LOVE some age gap with frank castle?? also maybe some brat taming 🤭 feel free to disregard if this isn’t your thing, i luv your writing 💗💗
ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛ ꜰɪᴛꜱ
⋆.𐙚 ̊ Frank knows exactly how to handle your brattiness... and he has so much fun while doing it.
words: 3.1k
cw: nsfw, smut, established relationship, x reader, age gap (as always), reader being a brat, boot humping, hair pulling, language/swearing, frank castle being sooooooo so so so mean, a bit of degradation but also some praise, masturbation, a glimpse of pussy slapping
a/n: omg sorry this took soooo long. i hope u like it and thank you for the request !!! love love love !!! 🩶🥹
The silence in the car had teeth.
It had started two hours back, somewhere after the second "I'm fine" that very clearly meant you were not fine at all. Frank had been doing this long enough — not just the road trips, but dealing with your moods — to know the difference between fine and whatever this was.
Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Staring out the window like the passing scenery had personally wronged you. As far as Frank could tell, you had no reason to be acting like this. You just were a bit tired and the car seat wasn’t the most comfortable, but aside from that, you both knew you were just being a brat. You wanted attention, a lot of attention, and this was your way of getting it.
Frank didn't push, though. Pushing never worked, and he knew it. He just drove, one hand loose on the wheel, and watched you unravel in his peripheral vision one huffed breath at a time.
When the gas station sign came up, he just pulled in.
"You want anything?" Keys still in the ignition. Casual. Like it was a normal question and not a test.
"No." Too fast.
“You sure, sweetheart?”
“I said no, Frank.”
He didn’t say anything else. He just got out of the car, mumbling to himself.
This kid… So much trouble. Like a spoiled princess, always complaining… Gotta stop being so goddamn nice to her.
But of course he didn’t really mean it: he loved spoiling you and knew perfectly well that the reason why you were so bratty was his fault entirely, but he wouldn't have it any other way.
Inside the gas station, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright for whatever hour this was. Frank moved down the aisle without hesitation: he knew exactly what he was looking for. Sour gummy worms. The cheap, neon-colored kind you would always buy during road trips and that, of course, he always paid for. He grabbed a bag, then a bottle of Coke, then doubled back for a bag of marshmallows just in case the gummy worms weren't enough to fix your mood.
At the counter, the cashier rang him up without looking up from his phone. He probably would've wondered why the guy dressed head to toe in black with a broken nose was buying this much sugar.
Back at the car, Frank found you still in the same position: arms crossed, eyes forward, doing an admirable job of looking like you didn't care that he'd been gone for what felt like hours.
He tossed the bags onto the dashboard and set the bottle in between your seats. The crinkle of plastic was loud in the quiet.
You glanced at them. Then at him. Said nothing.
"Was craving something sweet," Frank said, reaching for the bag of gummy worms first. He didn't look at you when he said it, just tore open the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Didn't feel like driving another two hours without some sugar in me, y’know?"
"You hate gummy worms."
"Do I?" He popped one into his mouth, chewing slow, deliberate, this time making eye contact with you.
Your jaw tightened. He could practically hear the gears turning inside your head — the war between I want one and I already said no, so now I can't ask.
"Can I have one?" You finally spoke up, holding his gaze, too brave for your own good.
"Thought you said you didn't want anything."
"Frank."
He knew this was coming, and he was enjoying himself too much.
"You're cranky today," he said, plain. "Been cranky for two hours. Being a brat. You know it, I know it. So next time I ask if you want something, how about you just say yes."
You opened your mouth to argue out of pure reflex but nothing came out. Because he wasn't wrong, and you both knew it.
He held the bag out to you anyway. But as much as you wanted the food, you shrugged and looked away, crossing your arms even tighter.
"Never mind. I’m not really hungry."
Frank just huffed, almost a laugh, and zipped the bag back up without another word. He didn't argue. Didn't push. Just tossed it onto the dash, started the car, and pulled back onto the highway like the whole exchange hadn't happened.
You spent the next hour very pointedly not looking at the gummy worms sitting two feet away.
By the time the motel sign came into view you'd long since given up the bit, sneaking glances at the bag like it had personally wronged you by existing. Frank noticed but didn't say anything, because saying something would mean you won, and he couldn’t have that.
The motel room smelled like industrial carpet cleaner and the AC unit rattled like it had personal grievances, but it had a bed, and right now that was all that mattered to either of you.
You made a beeline for the bathroom first, already complaining about the shower pressure before you'd even turned the water on. Frank just dropped the bags by the door and let you have your moment.
"This pillow is flat as a pancake," you announced when you finally flopped onto the bed. "And I thought this was a double room, like, double beds, as in two—"
"You want another bed?" Frank asked, not looking up from where he was checking the lock on the door, then the window latch, methodical, the way he checked every room you stayed in.
"No, I just—" You huffed, flipping onto your back. "I'm just saying it's not great. It’s hot and you’re like a furnace."
"Noted." He just kept moving through his routine — bag down, weapon checked and tucked away — completely unbothered by your running commentary, which somehow annoyed you more than if he'd argued back.
"You're not even listening to me, Frankie." You knew using the nickname would soften him up.
"I'm listening." He sat on the edge of his bed, working a knot out of his shoulder. "You're complaining about a bed, what do you want me to say to that?"
You glared at him. There was something almost amused in the set of his mouth, like he could see exactly where this was going before you could.
You turned back on your stomach, pressing your face to the pillow and grunting against it.
Frank just looked at you.
“You’re like a little kid, you know that? Even my daughter behaved better than you.”
“Mhm.” You weren't even bothering to argue with that one. Comparisons to Lisa always made you soften a little anyway — the way his voice changed just slightly when he mentioned her, fond and a little rough around the edges.
"Come here," he said, after a beat.
"I’m so tired. I can’t move."
You could hear him reaching over, flicking the lamp off, leaving just the blue flicker of the muted TV. Then, the soft touch of his hand on your hair, and his fingers tangling in it… And then a sharp pull, making you lift your head and look at him, biting your lower lip to hold back a moan.
“I said come here, girl, c’mon.”
You got up.
Not gracefully: more like your body moved before your brain caught up with the decision, pulled along by the look on his face and the low certainty in his voice. You ended up standing in front of him, arms crossed loosely over your chest, suddenly very aware of how tired you weren't anymore. This is exactly what you were hoping for, and still you could feel your legs shaking with anticipation.
Frank didn't say anything right away. He just looked at you slow and unhurried, the kind of look that made you want to drop to your knees and just —
"You've been a handful today," he said finally, snapping you out of your thoughts. "The whole trip. Since we woke up, you’ve been complaining. Gas station. The pillow. The bed. The AC. You got a complaint about damn near everything that crossed your path today."
"I didn't complain about everything."
"No?" Both eyebrows up. He leaned back on his hands, completely unbothered, like he had all the time in the world to wait you out. "Run it back for me, then. Tell me one thing today you didn't have something to say about."
You opened your mouth. You closed it. Well, fuck. You couldn't think of a single thing, and the silence stretched just long enough for you to feel it.
"Mh. That's what I thought." His voice dropped a little and it made you stand a little straighter without meaning to, pressing your thighs together. "You know what I think? I think you know exactly what you were doing. Think you like seeing how far you can push before I say something about it. Do something about it."
"That's not—" you started, but it came out weaker than you meant it to.
"No?" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Then why are you still standing there instead of arguing with me? Shit, feels like I’m back in the Marines, baby, are you about to salute your Lieutenant?"
Your face was warm, and you genuinely didn’t know if you wanted to disappear from the embarrassment or take all of your clothes off for him.
"C'mere," he said again. He rested his hands on your hips and pulled you closer until you were standing in between his legs. "Let's see if you can behave for the next five minutes. You think you can do that?"
You hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"Use your words."
"Yeah."
Frank studied you for another second, arms folded now, letting the silence stretch until you started shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
“Get on your knees.”
You were embarrassed of how fast you complied, dropping to the floor before you could even question the command.
“Attagirl. Tell me why you were such a brat today.”
“I wasn’t —” You tried to argue, you really did, but you gave up as soon as you felt the vamp of his boot pressing against your pussy through the thick fabric of your jeans, making you gasp.
“What was that?”
You swallowed hard, closing your eyes, your hips unconsciously grinding against him. He just let you make yourself feel good with a smug grin on his face.
“I’m sorry.” You managed to whisper. “I’m so, so sorry, I was a brat because I wanted attention.”
Frank scoffed, genuinely surprised at how fast you were giving up. Normally you would still be trying to rile him up, calling him “old man” and refusing to listen. But it was adorable to see you so desperate, grinding against his boot like your life depended on it.
He almost felt bad about having to teach you a lesson. Almost.
“Don’t you know you can just ask for what you want like a big girl?”
“It’s more fun if you get a bit mad.”
That made him laugh. It was a weird thing, hearing Frank Castle laugh. You were very funny to him, apparently.
“Is that so?”
You nodded quickly, still grinding against his boot, feeling yourself get more and more wet, more and more desperate, resting your face against his knee so he couldn’t see how much you were enjoying this torture. But he knew. Without even looking at your face he could tell that this was exactly what you wanted, even if you were now acting shy about it.
Even if you had found the perfect angle to make the tip of the book hit your clit perfectly and you could feel the tension building on your lower stomach, you knew it wasn’t enough to actually give you any real satisfaction. You whined against Frank’s knee, hoping he would read your mind and at least allow you to take off your jeans.
“Quit your whimpering, girl.” His finger tangled on your hair again, making you look up at him. “You wanted my attention, so you got it. You don’t want anything else, right?”
God, you could cry.
He was so mean, and so handsome, and you were already so worked up from grinding him against him like a dog…
“You’re so mean to me, Frankie…” You pouted, hoping to make him feel at least a little bit bad for teasing you so much.
His grip on your hair softened, caressing your head very softly as his other hand moved to grab your jaw so you couldn’t look away even if you tried to.
“I know I am, baby… But I think you like it, because you’re still trying to make yourself cum all over my boot, huh?”
The words made you flinch, closing your eyes and quickening the movement of your hips, a burning sensation covering your body from head to toe. You hated that he was so right.
“That’s what I thought.”
The hand that was holding your jaw moved and suddenly the room was filled by the sound of a belt unbuckling and then a zipper opening. When you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of Frank palming himself over the thin fabric of his boxers: he was already painfully hard and you couldn’t help but licking your lips at the spectacle.
One of your hands moved to replace his and help him take his cock out, but he smacked your hand away.
“Tsk-tsk, baby, no touching. You do your thing, I’ll do mine, ok?”
“But I really, really want to feel you, Frankie, please…”
He ignored your pleas, his hand straying to his boxers, pulling down the waistband and letting his erection spring free right in front of you. You whined, your mouth watering with need and your hips still moving, chasing the orgasm that now felt closer than ever.
“I’m so sorry, baby…” He muttered, giving himself a few lazy strokes. “I wish I could let you use your pretty mouth on me, but I just can’t.”
The pout returned to your face, your brows furrowing as you kept looking at his hand moving up and down his length. It was impossible for you to look away, trying to imagine it was your cunt hugging his thick cock instead of his hand. He noticed your pained expression, which only seemed to make him stroke himself faster, motivated by your desperation.
“I know, I know, I’m so sorry… You see what you make me do? Be rude to my pretty girl…”
Your legs were starting to hurt but you just couldn’t stop grinding against the leather: the feeling of your own wetness making your panties stick to your skin, the pressure of the jeans’ seams, the implied humiliation of the situation…
“Are you gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna make a mess?”
Your face was once again pressed against Frank’s knee, flushed and covered in beads of sweat, so focused on your own pleasure, but you managed to nod, mumbling a soft “yesyesyesyesyes”.
“Yeah, I know, I know… Christ, you look good like that…” The sound of his grunts was like music to your ears, and knowing the effect you had on him was thrilling to say the least. “Gonna make me cum too, baby, being such a good fucking girl…”
His words were enough to make the movements of your hips more clumsy. You were biting your lip so hard you were convinced as soon as you released it would start bleeding, and the knot in your gut tightened and tightened…. Until your vision blurred, your entire body shaking with the explosion of pleasure that spread through you like a wave. Your thighs trembled and closed around Frank’s boot, pleasure surging through you from your toes to the back of your skull. You couldn’t help but to bite down on his knee, just hard enough to control the volume of the cry that left your lips as you came.
“Atta girl, that’s it…” His voice sounded far away, muffled by the sound of your own blood rushing through your body. “Fuck… So pretty when you cum— shit— ”
You opened your eyes and looked up just in time to see him already cumming, unconsciously tilting your head with the hand that was tangled in your hair. His cums spilled all over his shirt and on his pants, and even in your current state you had to hold yourself back from cleaning it all up with your tongue.
Both of you stayed like that for a few seconds, the only sounds in the room being your laboured breaths and the TV still playing faintly in the background.
You couldn’t help but to start giggling, covering your face with both hands. Frank looked down at you with a faint smile.
“What’s so funny, huh?”
“Nothing’s funny. I just—” You hugged both his legs, looking up at him through your lashes, completely enamoured. “I can’t believe you made me cum in my pants like a… I don’t even know. Like a desperate teenager.”
“Not too far from the truth.” He wiped his hand clean on his shirt and helped you get up, laying you down on the bed.
“I’m not a teenager.”
“No, but you act like one. And you were desperate.”
“Says Mr. Cumming From Watching My Girl Hump My Boot Like A Dog.”
Frank just huffed, giving you a pointed look as he got rid of his dirty clothes and changed into new ones before he started peeling your jeans off.
“Don’t start.”
You laid there letting him take care of you, still a bit out of it. Closing your eyes, you stretched your arms over your head and opened your legs, expecting Frank to also take off your ruined panties. Instead, when you opened your eyes again, you found him looking at your clothed pussy like he was seeing God.
“What?”
“Nothing. She looks pretty.”
You blushed a bit at that.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Lowering his face, he kissed the inside of your thighs, and then a bit higher, and a bit higher, and pressed his lips against the wet fabric that covered your cunt, making you gasp.
“All this for me, baby? Did you make this mess for me?”
You nodded, smiling shyly, and he tried but failed to hide his own smile.
“Yeah? You want me to help you clean it up, pretty girl?”
You nodded again, more enthusiastically this time.
“Mh, well…” The sudden sting of his hand slapping your pussy made you gasp and get up on your elbows. “Too fucking bad, you shouldn't have been a brat all fucking day.”
“Frankie!” You whined, laying back down on the bed, arms covering your eyes.
“This was supposed to be a punishment, girl. Maybe next time you’ll behave, huh? Think you’ve learnt your lesson?”
