summary: you come home to your boyfriend hammered and clingy. secrets are revealed.
pairing: frank castle x fem!reader
warnings: reader throws up, literally all fluff n loving, frank being the bestest<33, touch starved reader, a little talk about reader punishing herself, frank uses all the good pet names😋 and he cooks!!
note: i’m back from being banned😭🤭 i had so much fun n i’m so proud of this so if anyone is mean I WILL CRY. and i’m sorry there’s no readmore line again but tumblr is all buggy and deleting bits every time i put one in:((
“Fr-Frankie!” Your voice slurs as you worm your way into Frank’s lap, your head lolling with the effects of the alcohol. Your mini dress rides up as you climb and he presses his fingers into the soft curve of your hip, drawing you in. You settle into him with a smile.
“Hi, pretty girl,” he chuckles. He didn’t know what exactly to expect when you came home hammered at 2am, but it wasn’t this. You’re not overly fond of affection at the best of times, pretty much avoiding contact altogether, so for you to be initiating this at all, zero coaxing involved, is strange.
“I missed you,” you giggle, craning into him as he pushes the hair from your sweaty face. A hum rips from your throat and you hook your arms underneath his on the sofa. He brushes his nose across your jaw.
“I missed you too, baby. You feelin’ alright?” he asks, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead; you’re hot to the touch. You nod, pressing your nose to the juncture of his neck and inhaling; you’re met with the scent of slight sweat and the last tinge of cologne from the previous day.
“So pretty…” you say, your hand reaching out to stroke Frank’s face in bewilderment.
“The pr-pre-prettiest.” Your words start to merge into one and he shushes you, soft lips grazing your temple.
“My girl is prettier,” he answers, voice dripping with sincerity. You frown, head shooting up to meet his eyes.
“Who’s your girl?” you ask, the beginnings of tears getting stuck in your throat. In your inebriated state, you have honestly forgotten that Frank is your boyfriend. “I’m- I’m gonna f-fight her.”
“What’re you gonna cry for, baby? I’m talkin’ ‘bout you.” He keeps his tone light, cupping the back of your head with his calloused hand.
“Silly thing. Why would I want anyone but you?”
“‘Cause I never wanna cuddle,” you pout. He shakes his head.
“I don’t care about that. Sure, it’s nice to cuddle, but I want you to be happy most of all.”
“Can I tell you a sec-secret?” you whisper, although it’s comically loud - almost louder than your normal speaking voice. You hiccup, pestering your way further into his lap.
“Y-yeah. Scared you’ll get annoyed so I don’t say anythin’. Wait for you to ask.” His expression softens and he kisses your head. He never realised that you might be depriving yourself of touch to punish yourself, or worse, because you thought you’d be irritating him. He can’t get enough of you.
“Oh, baby. My baby.” Drawing you closer, his body engulfs yours completely; you mumble something halfheartedly, curling into him. Everything seems to shake ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly and you’re sure Frank doesn’t notice. He catches your expression, brow furrowing. His closeness has you breaking into a full body flush. “You’re shaking, darlin’.”
“Jus’ don’t let go of me,” you whisper, pressing your face to his chest.
You stay like that for a while, cradled in his arms, eyes closed, until your stomach lurches uneasily. You blanch, dry heaving.
“Gonna be sick.” You retch, trying to scramble free of Frank’s grasp and run to the bathroom. Instead, he lifts you with virtually no effort, sitting you in front of the toilet and gathering your hair at the nape of your neck just in time for you to start emptying your stomach contents. He soothes you with the softest voice, kissing the back of your neck and whispering encouraging words despite how disgusting you must look right now.
“Attagirl,” he murmurs, “What a good girl.” Your eyes flutter closed and you slump against the toilet seat, breathing heavily. He immediately lifts you, flushing the vomit away and closing the seat; just that helps the nausea ebb away as the seconds pass. He perches you on the seat, wiping your sweaty face with a cold cloth and grabbing the toothbrush you keep at his apartment at all times. He spreads a little toothpaste over the bristles, parting your lips with his thumb and brushing them gently.
“Good girl, let’s rinse your mouth,” he coos; you oblige without thinking, letting him hold you up by the waist and wipe your face with a towel. Your body goes completely lax and he cushions your head with his shoulder, handling you as though you’ll break at any second.
“Love you,” you mumble, hooking your legs around his waist as he hoists you into his arms. He makes for the kitchen with you securely in his hold.
“I love you too. You feel a bit better now?”
“Let’s get you some water and something to eat, pretty.”
“‘m not hungry!” you squeak, hiccuping drunkenly, although you’re considerably less plastered than when you got home.
“You don’t have to eat it, but it might help soak up some of the alcohol, alright?”
“‘kay…” you trail off, worrying your lip between your teeth.
“What you thinkin’ about, hm?”
“I can hear the gears turning. C’mon, out with it.” He kneads your side with sympathetic fingers, squeezing and releasing, squeeze, release.
“‘s it okay if I wanna touch more? Like cuddle ‘nd hold your hand?” Your voice is a fragment of its usual volume and you wince, preparing yourself for the rejection before he even has time to react.
“How could I say no to that, hm?” The relief at his statement is palpable. “If you wanna hang onto me forever like a little koala bear, I wouldn’t say no to you. You know that, baby. I want you to have everythin’ you’ve ever wanted.”
“Jus’ want you,” you murmur, peppering a trail of kisses over his face and neck. “Love you so much.”
“C’mon, my pretty. Whatcha fancy to eat?” He smiles, setting you down on a stool, hands out to catch you should you wobble tipsily. Once he’s sure you’re steady, he moves to the fridge. “How about some eggs?” You shake your head, nose scrunched.
“They make me feel sicky.”
“Alright, darlin’. How about pasta?”
“Pasta sounds good, Frankie.”
You admire him shamelessly as he busies himself with your meal, ogling his thick biceps and his sharp jawline. The black t-shirt he wears hugs him just right, exposing his muscular physique to you.
“You enjoying the show, darlin’?” he drawls amusedly, sending you a cheeky wink. You flush, averting your eyes.
“C’mere, pretty girl.” His arms open and you wobble off of the stool and into his embrace. The affection, still so abnormal to you, makes you tremble.
“I’ve gotcha, baby. Not lettin’ you go anytime soon.”
Finally, when he’s finished making the pasta, something you never thought someone would do for you, let alone at half past two in the morning, he sets it onto the table and sits down, inviting you into his lap. You clamber onto him, hands roaming his chest. You’re eager to feel his skin on yours, fingers splayed over his throat and under his t-shirt. This new found appreciation for his touch has made you greedy and Frank is in heaven.
“Should’a gotten you drunk sooner if I knew you’d be this needy, baby.” He beams at you, dotting kisses over the entire expanse of your face. With his free hand, he spears a piece of pasta with a fork and lifts it to your lips. “Here, darlin’.” You take it gratefully, humming.
You eat in silence until you’re full, pushing the bowl away and curling your body into Frank’s.
“I couldn’t sleep without my girl anyway.”
You giggle; the lilting sound compels Frank to kiss you, his lips melding against yours like a puzzle piece.
Before he can find it in himself to move you, you’re fast asleep against his shoulder, snoring softly with your arms underneath his t-shirt, cool against his warm skin. You cling to him even as you sleep soundly.
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