A/n: Does anyone think Franks got a hair pulling kink? Because I do.
Requested by @atari-writes for some Ticklish! Frank.
Word count: 555
Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader
Warnings: Mature language.
“What the hell are you watching?” Frank says, and you feel the bed dip as he crawls beside you.
You scooch up a bit, and say. “My strange addiction,” before reaching your arms up, and pulling frank down onto you. “This guy’s in love with his car.”
There’s a low hmm in the back of Frank’s throat as he situates himself. Turning over to rest his cheek on your stomach, one arm thrown over your hip, Frank’s as content as he might ever be.
But, he’s always like this with you, because you’re endgame as far as he’s concerned.
“How’s that strange?” He thinks for a second. “I know a few guys like that, got a whole career outta’ it.”
He’s about to say you know Samson, on 5th? When you start racking your nails through his hair. Slow, and deliberate, and all good. Okay, yeah, just-you start at the crown and dig, and tug, and scrape all the way down to where his buzz cut starts thinning.
He’s pretty sure you say something about the guy fucking his car, but what you’re doing is so damn good that it just rolls off. “Mhm,” He’s got it low and grainy. “Keep doin’ that, sweetheart.”
He starts rubbing loose circles into your thigh, and then—oh and then—he lifts up his head, turns, and kisses across your abdomen. Right over your pussy.
Okay, so Franks’ got a hair pulling thing, and now you’re just finding out about it? Shame.
You gently scrape your nails all the way to the nape of his neck, and then he’s bending away. Neck curled back a bit, and he makes a little Ooooohh sound.
You frown as he says. “Yeah, Baby, don’t do that.”
“Why? Do you have a bruise?” You lift up, and push him so his head is resting on your lap instead. “You need some ice?”
“What, no, Y/n-” you test the waters again and glide your nails over his neck and the fucking giggle that climbs its way out of this man? Priceless.
“You’re ticklish!” Franks up and away from you, still on the bed, because he knows your evil ass is about to fucking run with it.
He leans forward and holds both of your hands, which would be cute in all manners if the word, if he didn’t press them against your thighs. Restraining you. “Baby, sweetheart, now I’m not ticklish.”
“Then let me tickle you.”
“……okay I’m a little bit, but let’s both just be adults and—”
He was so wrong for not actually holding you down, because then you’re wiggling out of his grasp and launching at him. Hands out and wiggling.
You land in him and, on instinct, he wraps his arms around you. His back hits the bed, and you’re just everywhere, tickling him on his neck, and under his arms, and down his sides, and goddamnit he’s in tears now.
“No wait I—” there’s a pause for hysterical laughter and then. “Baby, Baby, wait, I’m serious I AHAHAHAA!”
He gains some sort of composure because he’s got hands on you, grabbing your wrist and flipping so he’s on top, legs on either side of your body.
“So you wanna play?” He’s out of breath, chest heaving a bit with a crazed smile on his face. “Okay, let’s play.”