Gif source: Frank
Imagine having an emotional relationship with Frank where you’re the one he comes to after a rough day and one night it spills over into a physical relationship.
——— Request for anon ———
You always saw Frank Castle at his worst. When exactly his company had become routine, when you had stopped being startled by his unannounced presence in your home, you weren’t entirely sure. It had happened, but you weren’t exactly regretful of that. In fact, you relished for the brief moment of excitement that laced your veins at the sight of him, even after a week of having not seen him at all.
You would fix him up best you could, feed him a hot meal, keep him company. Half the time, you’d rant to him about your crappy day-job, telling him all about things that really did not matter when put in the perspective of what he had seen that night. Still, Frank listened, and part of you felt like he maybe needed to hear a little bit of your mundane annoyances.
Somewhere along the way, his silence opened up, and he’d come to talk with you over your day, keeping the focus off of however rough his own had been. You hoped to take his mind off of it, even for the short spans of time you saw him. Deep down, you knew your ache to lift his mood came from a deeper place, where you kept the feelings that had blossomed for him locked away.
“If Patricia gets too bad, you just give me a call,” Frank jokes about the coworker that always seemed to come up with something to pester you about, his crooked smile only slightly hidden as he sips at his black coffee.
You snort at the thought, collecting the empty plates from the small table, “Wouldn’t that be the sight! ‘Patty, meet my friend Frank Castle— Oh, yeah, did I mention he’s on the lamb?’ What I’d give to see the look on her face! That would get her off my back!“ Your smile turns bittersweet as you set the dishes in the kitchen sink, starting to wash them off, “If only it were that easy… Wish I could do something to help you out.”
Frank peers across the kitchen at you, over his coffee. You feel the weight of his stare, suddenly regretting the comment and focusing further on the dishes in your hand.
After a moment, Frank states matter-of-factly, “You’ve already helped me out. More than once.” You roll your eyes at that, the sarcasm that itches at the back of your throat quickly subdues as you notice the serious look in his eyes as he reads your unconvinced stare, “No, really. How many times have you patched me up? Kept me from going off the deep end in more ways than one? You’ve done more than enough for me, and you didn’t have to do any of it.”
You hold his gaze, your own tone soft as you reply, “Yes, I did.” There’s so much more behind those words, and you both know it. There’s no way he’s oblivious to the feelings you have for him, and you aren’t stupid enough to believe he’s treated you completely platonically this whole time, either.
You expect him to brush off the mood that was starting to permeate the room, just like all the times before. One of you had always done it, either too scared or simply not ready enough to take whatever this was between you to the next level.
But he doesn’t, he holds you there with his gaze, an almost pained expression in his eyes as he debates with himself far longer than you’d expected before, suddenly, he stands from his seat at the table, the chair scraping against the tile. The sound of it hasn’t quite finished reverberating by the time he makes his way towards you in the kitchen, stopping only when he’s close enough to take your breath away.
“Why?” stuns you, making you look up at him with the same confusion as if he had two heads, no doubt. Frank just repeats, “Why do you have to?” Your breath is strangled in your throat as you avert his gaze, looking back towards the dishes with determination, but you know it’s too late. He’s seen the embarrassment in your face, the truth behind your eyes.
“You’re really gonna’ make me say it?”
Frank’s hand on your shoulder turns you back to look at him as it smooths to your jaw, his raised brow urging your response, “Why?”
“Frank, you know,” you murmur softly, caught off guard by his proximity and his hand hot on your skin. Your eyes flick down to his lips, your heart skipping at how close they were. “Don’t pretend you don’t know I’m in love with you.”
He looks almost hurt, his fingers against your jaw caressing you gently as he strains, “You can’t be.”
“I am,” you begin, leaning towards him slowly, closing the gap that you felt he wanted to close, too, but wouldn’t dare to. You glance to his eyes, catching his uncertain look as he takes one last try at holding back from falling against you, your lips ghosting against his when you repeat, “I am.”
You almost forget about the running faucet when your gentle brush of a kiss at his lips is pressed back against by his own as he gives in, holding you to him as he kisses you back with just as much passion to tell you he wasn’t devoid of similar feelings to yours. If anything, you knew in that instant that he, at least, wanted you.
For right then, that’s all you needed.