I know the tails would most likely just fall off at some point as they grow up but,, would u guys hate me if I continued drawing them with it even when they’re adults
Frank experiences cuteness aggression or something like it
FLUFF, fem!reader, reader described as having hair and having smaller hands than Frank, Frank manhandles her but in a sweet way
A/N- not proof read, vibes only, GIF not mine
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“Cuteness aggression” is the closest explanation Frank can come up with when is comes to describing the way he feels about you sometimes.
Often, he thinks “cuteness agony” might be more apt in his case.
Because his instinct isn’t to squeeze you or shake you.
He has to fight the urge to drop to his knees and pound his fists into the floorboards. His heart squeezes like it’s giving out and there’s been a few times where he’s sworn he has felt the back of his throat tighten like someone had been laying in wait with a garrote wire to finish him off.
Specifically, this is what happens to him when he returns home to find you asleep.
There is just something about seeing you in that vulnerable state— feeling safe enough in his home, amongst his presence, to let yourself shut off entirely.
If he was honest with himself, it was your most attractive state.
He loves bearing witness to your bravery and the few times he’s seen you throw a punch it’s sent shivers up his spine but this? You warm and safe and comfortable with no guard up? Nothing beats that.
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It’s storming when he returns home on a Friday evening.
The streets were rife with enough noise pollution to overload a metalhead. Heavy rain, traffic honking, sirens, people yelling, laughing, drunkenly singing— it was a lot.
But the clicking of your apartment door behind him as he arrived home was like an off switch.
Suddenly he was engulfed in warmth. The light was dim, illuminating the space in a welcoming, orange glow unlike the glaring, cold advirtisments and street lights he’d just freed himself from.
He slips off his heavy boots and sets down his things. He even manages to take off his jacket— all habits you had instilled in him.
“You need to let yourself be comfortable sometimes, Frank.” You’d lulled one night as you peeled the stiff layers off him.
“Give yourself space to breathe. And let it be here.” He lets out a low, gruff chuckle at the memory. His girl has always wanted the best for him.
Stepping further into the home, his eyes find you quickly.
Sunken into the couch, hair tousled, blanket bunched in a loose fist at your chest, lips swollen with sleep and expression unmarred by even the memory of stress.
His own brows unfurl from their neutral, tensed state and he lets out a deep, purposeful breath.
It feels like his body is being pulled to you.
He wants to see.
He wants to inspect the way your other arm is curled under the pillow and listen for any sounds you might make. He wanted to feel the heat radisting from your soft skin. He wants to take the time to etch this picture into his memory just like all the other times he has returned home to find you like this.
His girl. Safe. Warm. Waiting for him.
His eyes close in a long blink at first but then as the wave hits him once more, he’s scrunching his face and clenching his fists before composing himself as best as he can.
When he opens his eyes he is looking up at the ceiling, wondering what he ever did to deserve this.
Before he knows it, he’s pulling back the coffee table, grateful for the vintage rug you scored on marketplace for silencing the groan of the wooden legs as he makes room for himself and then he’s kneeling. Slowly, ignoring the ache in his knees as he sinks to the ground, now eye level with your sweet, sweet face.
His brows pinch upward in the middle and his eyes become pools swimming with only you.
“Look at you.” He rumbles.
Tentatively, he reaches a calloused hand out and brushes a thumb over the high point of your cheek, close enough to feel the tickle of your lashes.
At that, you make a small sound. Almost imperceptible if his senses weren’t so fine tuned to you and your needs.
It’s close to a whimper. A happy sound. Welcoming, almost.
It causes him to close his eyes and turn his head away again as he clenches a fist, almost doubling over on himself as he tries to compose whatever it is you are making him feel.
He still isn’t quite sure.
“You okay?” You croak.
His head snaps back to you and you’re looking at him with sleepy, concerned eyes. Unraveling a hand from the warmth of your blanket, you reach for him.
The breath he lets out is shaky and a selfish part of him is relieved you are awake enough for him to pay you the attention his heart is screaming to give.
“Yeah, baby. Yeah..” his voice rolls through you just like the thunder outside. “M’fine.”
You smile softly. Swollen lips pulling into a pleased grin and you let your eyes relax back with the heaviness of sleep.
“Y’looked hurt for a second.. scared me.” You mumble.
He’s taken to cupping your hand in both of his. Grateful than ever to feel your touch but devastated you had to sacrifice the warmth of your blanket to give it to him.
“No. Just—“ his eyes soften into those twinkling pools again. “Just can’t cope with how happy it makes me to see you like this, sweetheart.”
You shoot him a lazy, humoured grin as if to ask what on earth be means.
“Y’make me go all stupid.” He chuckles, the laugh low and heavy, rumbling from his lips and into your hand that he holds close enough to kiss.
“I do?”
He nods with another low laugh.
“I see you sleepin’ or loungin’ around, readin’ a book by the window and god..” he lowers his head for a beat before finding your eyes again.
“Makes my chest tight.”
“In a good way?” You ask oh so softly.
“Baby..” he sighs. “In the best way.”
You giggle drowsily and look up at him adoringly. You think for a moment and then make a weak attempt to pull him closer as you lift up the blanket with your other hand.
He chuckles again for the nth time time that night.
“Now y’know I’m not gonna fit.”
“Don’t care.” You protest. And despite his better judgement, he caves. Because of course he does.
Frank Castle sits on the edge of the couch, twists his body to scoop up yours, and expertly manoeuvres you atop him as he nestles down into the cushions with a grunt all while you laugh.
“There.” His voice rumbles under your cheek as he readjusts the blanket back over you before settling into position.
“This what y’want? Hm? Your old man more comfortable than the couch?” His arms curl around you and the added weight is delicious.
“Much.” You muse, instantly more at peace. You tilt your head up and press a lazy little kiss to his jaw but that isn’t enough. He meets you halfway and you find his lips for another.
“You comfy? Because you might be stuck like this for a while.” You warn teasingly though he knows you mean the truth. He strokes your back and you feel his heart melt into a peaceful rhythm.
