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leahkenobi · 2 years

Text

between the crosshairs

frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 2k

summary: you did everything possible to forget the day that the devil of hell’s kitchen and frank castle had saved you. somehow, even your own repression of memories wasn’t enough to keep you safe from enemy arms.

warnings: allusions to sa, guns, kidnapping, reader witnesses a murder, mentions of blood, anxiety, mostly just cannon typical stuff, frank calls reader baby but relationship is undefined

a/n: alright. i’m not gonna act like i’m great at this whole keeping up with a blog thing, it can be quite a struggle for me. but i just got POUNDED with ideas for mr. frank castle thanks to @oliviajdjarin telling me to watch daredevil. so here this is. this is set during the daredevil s2 finale!

a/n 2: to preface this fic if you are reading this, i’m intending to turn this into a bit of a universe if that makes sense. like multiple fics within the same setting and relationship situation. idk. no promises, but that’s the intention. so i suppose this is the first part. if you would like to join the frank tag list lmk and i would be happy to add ya!

the walk home from josie’s was brisk and lonely. the snow was just beginning to flutter down and the wind was whipping it in your face. it was a safe journey you had trekked time and time again.

you stepped over broken glass and other littered items on the side walk and as muscle memory took over, your mind drifted.

he couldn’t be dead, truly, could he? if he wasn’t, where was he? was he safe now?

since the day frank had saved you from the hands of a kitchen irish member, he had been the only thing on your mind. granted, he had help from the devil of hell’s kitchen, but frank was who you always went back to. the way he had soothed you, the way he had taken care of those men who had tried to hurt you, who had tried to take something from you-

you snapped from the memories at the sound of glass crunching behind you. it wasn’t abnormal for others to be walking this street at the late hour, it had happened plenty of times. you moved in unison for a while until the steps behind you increased in speed.

you kept moving, increasing your pace as well, assuming that it was just someone in a hurry. surely they weren’t following you, right?

as the mysterious person on your tail increased their speed even more to match your own, you stuck your hand into your bag, fishing through it for the little pink pepper spray you bought before you had moved to the city.

you risked a peek over your shoulder to see a man with a black ski mask covering his face, and the only thought that came to mind was fuck, you could really use frank right now.

you stopped on the side walk, knowing that running was pointless. you would never outrun this man in heels, and if you could find that damn pepper spray and hit him with it, you could have a chance.

you pulled it out, turning to spray him just as he pulled out his gun, pointing it right at your chest.

your panic rose instantly. even during your altercation with the kitchen irish, a gun was never pointed at you. a whimper nearly left your throat as the man spoke to you.

“drop that fucking pepper spray, don’t say a word, and don’t fight. come easily and quietly, and we won’t have a problem,” the man said to you.

you didn’t release the pepper spray. you tried to push it down, tried to get it to work but the damn thing was jammed-

“i said drop it. drop it now, come with me. now,” the man said with force. every part of your body screamed at you to run, to fight, to do anything to keep this man at bay.

but he took a step closer, bringing the gun right to your chest, right over your heart.

“now,” he repeated. and the pink pepper spray clattered to the ground.

————————————

you were taken to a van filled with others just like you, others that had bound hands and terror written on their faces.

on the trip to wherever these kidnappers, or human traffickers, or murderers (hell you didn’t know) were taking you, an older man tried to stand up for himself, for all of you there. only to be shot through the head.

the fear you felt in that moment was inexplicable. your whole body was burning, your ears unhearing, your eyes watering and your mind running circles. this wasn’t real, this wasn’t real, it wasn’t real-

but it was. it was real and you were here in a van filled with screaming people and the smell of copper was filling the air and the blood was pooling around you.

and then you were being thrown out of the van, onto the cold concrete, knees scraping against it. only to be hauled up again and chased into a building, gun held to your lower back.

all sense of reality was pulled from under you. all you could think was survive survive survive. so you didn’t scream. you weren’t a nuisance. as they threw you into a room, you didn’t cry, you didn’t so much as flinch.

because the less you reacted, the less likely they were to kill you. when the kind looking blonde woman and the beat up man were being targeted by your captors, while they attempted to cut the man’s foot off, you sat stoically. completely unflinching, unmoving as the man screamed and the woman begged and the screams of others filled the room-

and then he was bursting through the window. the devil of the kitchen was here again, to save you all, to get you out. as he took out the men with guns, the other captives ran. as you remained on the ground, hardly thinking anything of the scene, the blonde woman grabbed your bound hands with her own. she shouted at you.

“get up, cmon get up,” she said frantically. her voice pulled you from your stupor, igniting you instinct to survive. she would lead you out, you would survive.

and you did. you made it out. you watched as the blonde woman went to her friend or boyfriend or brother, whoever he was.

you stood there in the middle of the street, unsure of what to do now. you were out, but your mind couldn’t move quick enough. you needed to go- get somewhere safe, but where? and how? where even were you?

your breathing rate must have increased because the nice man with the blonde woman approached you.

“hey, are you alright miss?” he asked.

you breaths kept coming out fast and labored.

“that’s okay, you don’t have to answer. my name is foggy, and that woman over there is karen,” he spoke softly, “can i cut these off of you?”

you nodded firmly, you needed out, needed free, needed to be away from here.

your hands were free, and slowly your breathe came back to you. you had needed the added freedom to move as you wished, and not feel like a captive, apparently.

“do you have a family?” karen asked, her voice kind and gentle.

you shook your head, “no, i-i not here.”

“that’s okay,” she said smiling faintly, “what about a boyfriend, or husband. maybe any friends?”

you shook your head. you had one friend, one who was unreliable, but somehow always there when you needed him. he had always been there, but he was gone now.

“alright, we can take you home,” she said, looking to foggy for help and confirmation. but his gaze was fixed elsewhere, focused in on the roof where some sort of fight was breaking out.

shots were heard by all of the people who were flooded in the street. loud, piercing gun shots. panic swelled in your chest once more, not sure of where the shooter was aiming.

but the shooter would never aim at you. no, that was his girl down there, his girl stood in between that lawyer and the blonde who he’d met through him.

that was his girl he saw in his crosshairs, shaking in the street, wrists bloody and red.

“y/n?” he muttered to himself quietly on the roof.

he wanted to run to you. right now, he wanted to jump from these buildings, climb down, get to you. you were bleeding and he needed to get to you, to keep you safe, protect you-

but he couldn’t. because he was dead. he was dead and he couldn’t just run into the bustling street filled with cops and strangers who had all known him as the punisher.

he couldn’t do anything as you were coaxed into a car with the lawyer and karen. he couldn’t get down there to stop the car, to get to you.

but he could meet them at the location. he could find you again. they would probably bring you home or to their office, maybe even karen’s apartment. he would find you, search all over this goddamn city to get to you.

————————————

karen spoke with you softly in the car, asking about where you lived and where you worked. you could hardly focus on what she saying to you, confused about why she needed to know what you did for a living. you couldn’t understand that she probably was trying to figure out who to call to check in on you- even if it was just a coworker, you needed someone right now.

eventually, you reached your home. foggy and karen helped you inside your apartment, carefully walking you up all the stairs to the quaint studio style living space.

as soon as you reached your door, you pulled out your spare key from under the welcome mat and began to turn it in the lock.

“um.. thank you for helping me and bringing me home. that was… that was very kind,” you said to the two of them.

foggy gave you a nod. “it was no problem, honestly. i’m just glad we’re both okay,” karen said. you couldn’t understand how you had both been in the same situation and you could hardly function while she was here, bringing you home. how you had both seen that man get shot, how you had both been in that room-

she cleared her throat. “here, why don’t you give me your phone so i can give you my number. that way if you need anyone, you have me to text or call,” karen said.

“okay,” you nodded softly and gave her your phone, cracked from having been in your pocket.

“try to get some rest,” karen said after entering her number and turning to leave.

“i’ll try,” you responded politely, knowing just how unlikely that was. these past few days had been too much. with frank, with work, with this now too, you couldn’t take anymore.

“g’night,” foggy shouted as he climbed down the stairs with karen.

you didn’t even have the energy to respond.

you pushed open the door to your apartment, ready to collapse on the ground instead of attempting to get to your bed. it was all too much, you just needed to lay down for a while.

as you closed the door behind you, your back turned to the room, you heard a voice you never thought you would hear again.

“y/n,” frank said.

you whipped your head. and there he was, standing in the middle of the room waiting for you. expecting you.

“frank?” you questioned, knowing the answer, knowing he was there, right there.

“frank,” you said again, moving in closer, a slight whine in your tone.

“frank,” you said once more as he crashed into you, holding you together as you sobbed into him, as all of the pieces you were holding together while those nice people brought you here fell apart.

“oh y/n,” he said, pulling you impossibly closer, his jacket brushing against your tee.

“please,” you said, not even sure what you were asking for at this point.

“shh shh shh,” frank whispered, “it’s going to be okay, i’m here now, i’m here.”

you clung to him, the fabric of his coat bunched under your hands. he was here now. it would be okay.

“i won’t let them hurt you again, y/n. i swear,” he said.

you only sobbed into him harder.

hours could have passed, but you would have had no idea. all you could feel was him, his body holding you up. his presence keeping you safe.

“i’ve got you now, baby,” frank said, gently pulling you off of him to look at your face. his callused hands met your soft face, brushing away the tears that hadn’t quite stopped falling.

“let me see,” he said, grabbing a hold of your hands and wrists.

he inspected them, raw and bloody from the restraints.

he tutted. “what did they do to you?” he spoke more to himself than to you.

he brought you to edge of the sink, lifting you with ease onto the counter. he examined your knees while he had you sat up there. bloody with bits of gravel, he knew that cleaning those cuts wouldn’t be fun.

“i’ll take care of you, y/n. i got you,” he assured again, and all you could do was lean your tired head against his shoulder.

taglist:

@oliviajdjarin

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle fic #frank castle angst #the punisher #punisher #daredevil #daredevil s2 #matt murdock #the devil of hell's kitchen #karen page #foggy nelson #castle #kastle #mcu #david lieberman

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zushigirl · 2 months

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“Your Karen is safe. Goodbye Mr. Castle.”

BAM!

A figure collides with the water. A human. He doesn’t move, doesn’t fight for air. Black clothes weighing him down like he’s covered in seaweed. Like he’s sinking.

Even from far away, the mermaid feels an electric current. A jolt of recognition. She propels herself forward, swimming towards him. Stretching out her hands to cup his. Looping her free arm under his left side. She swims forward.

Karen’s getting the hang of this mermaid thing. Chapter 3 is up on AO3🧜🏻‍♀️

#kastle #frank x karen #kastle ff #karen page #kastleff #kastlenetwork #frank castle #kastle fam is the best fam #kastleexchange #mermaid Karen #kastle fic

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kastleexchange · 8 months

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Trying to be realistic and not assume we'll get a forehead touch / see Frank gently cupping Karen's head in his palm, but if only

#kastle #how many can we put in fics it's like a kastle defining trope #bring them on

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capriciouswrites · 2 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Punisher (TV 2017), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Karen Page & Jason Todd, Frank Castle/Karen Page, Frank Castle & Karen Page, Karen Page/Frank Castle/Jason Todd, Frank Castle & Jason Todd, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page Characters: Frank Castle, Karen Page, Jason Todd, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson Additional Tags: Dead Joker (DCU), BAMF Karen Page, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Frank Castle, Protective Karen Page, Past Violence, reliving past trauma, Established Relationship, Pre-Relationship Series: Part 12 of fic as high as an elephant's eye Summary:

David calls Frank three times in about half a minute. It takes Frank longer to finish drying his hands then it does for David to call again — so when he picks up he knows it’s not going to be good news.

“Karen got grabbed,” David says, without bothering with any pleasantries — normally Frank would rib him about that, but instead he appreciates the directness.

#kastle #frank/karen/jason #gotta kill the joker as many different times as i can manage #if i don't explicitly say that the joker has died in a fic #feel free to assume he got killed off screen

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qqueenofhades · 1 year

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I know you haven’t written for Kastle in a long time but something with 18 and/or 39 pls?

The wet grass crunches and squeaks under Karen's shoes as she crosses the lawn, slick enough that she's almost tempted to grab at the nearby tombstones for balance. She doesn't; it feels vaguely disrespectful, even if the occupants are dead and long past caring. The night is cold enough to see her breath, dew beading and freezing on the branches of the old oak trees, and if she had any sense, she'd be at home, tucked up warmly with the window shut and the heating cranked. But when it comes to this -- when it comes to him -- well. She has proved that she very much fucking does not.

"Frank?" Her voice comes out as a hissing whisper, taut with anger and fear. "Goddamn it, Frank! Are you here?"

No answer, no sound, except the distant rumble of traffic from the Long Island Expressway and the hooting of an owl on the branch above. It's almost midnight, the moon is full, and it peers then and odd from the thick scrim of clouds, casting ghostly shadows over the well-manicured cemetery greens. It sends a portentous chill down Karen's back, but she can't be sure if that's from the setting or just the usual thing that comes of dealing with Frank Castle: the awareness of prompt and inevitable impending doom. Fuck, this is stupid. He's either gone, or wreaking havoc elsewhere, or possibly just dead in a ditch, which seems convenient for already being in a cemetery. She's almost about to raise her voice, to call and summon God knows what, when she sees a dark silhouette slumped against the wall of an old mausoleum, some prominent Gilded Age New York family. Something that is, however tenuously, alive and not dead. Then, wet grass or not, she runs.

"Frank!" Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ it is indeed him, and he looks even worse than usual. His black hoodie is stained with drying blood, his nose looks broken (again), and he's holding a torn-up piece of rag to his eye in a futile attempt to nurse down the swelling there. Fortunately, Karen has come prepared for this eventuality, and she throws herself to her knees, digging in her backpack for the first-aid kit. "Asshole," she hisses at him, hands already moving to tear open a sterile wipe and find some clean gauze. "Asshole!"

Frank grunts, not bothering to deny it. One corner of his mouth twists in a very wry smile. "Good to see you too, Karen."

"Shut up." Karen reaches out by reflex, running her hands up and down Frank's torso to check for especially serious wounds. Nothing's gushing blood, so he's probably not dying, but she's long lost her ability to tell in regard to him. "I really am going to kill you."

"Uh-huh." She hears him grunt a laugh against her ear, the warmth of his breath shockingly intimate in the chilly evening. "Sure you are."

Karen is tempted to smack him or something, just to make a point, but he does look bad, and while she gives him a withering glare, she restrains from further remonstrance. When she's sort-of patched up the worst, decides she really doesn't want to know what the fuck he's been doing (Frank stuff, as usual), she digs in the backpack, pulls out a thermos, and pours him a cup of black coffee. "I'm not going to do this again," she warns him. "I'm not your paramedic, or your nurse, or even your girlfriend."

"Noted." Frank sips at the coffee, winces when it stings his broken lip. There's a long pause. Then he adds, "Thanks for this, yeah?"

"Yeah." Karen sits back on her heels, wondering (as ever) what on earth she's going to do with this giant idiot. The moon comes out again, casting his face in rugged shadows, and she clenches her fists to avoid doing something stupid. "You're the worst, Frank."

He huffs something that might be a laugh, but doesn't want to commit too hard for fear of jostling a broken rib. She pauses, then settles next to him in the lee of the mausoleum, close enough to brush their shoulders. Almost wishes she'd brought a blanket, like they're two teenagers sneaking away to the cemetery at midnight to make out and doubtless fall victim to some lurid urban legend. But Frank is more than terrifying enough to chase away the Hook-Handed Man or whatever boogeyman is lurking around Long Island at midnight, and for a moment, she half lets herself relax. They sit there together, staring out at the neat rows of the dead. Then she says softly, "You scared the shit out of me."

Frank grunts again, this one in the tenor of an apology. She's very good at reading his wordless noises, the shift of his body against hers, the soft moments and unspoken meanings, and yet again, she debates whether to let that be enough for her, to pretend it is, even if it isn't. He passes her the thermos cup, their hands brush, and Karen can feel herself teetering on the verge of something she's very much going to regret. But that, unfortunately, isn't enough to stop her. She turns toward him, sees the silhouette of his face in the moonlight, his mouth opening in a question, and just fucking does it. Grabs the front of his filthy sweatshirt in both hands, crowds him roughly back against the stone, and kisses him like a fist to the face.

Frank jerks, makes a strangled sound, and briefly she thinks he'll wrench free like a sea serpent and sprint for the hills (or whatever passes as such in the New York suburbs) and never be seen again. But then he grunts, gasps, mutters, "Fuck, Karen," and doesn't manage, regardless of any feeble efforts to the contrary, to pull away. Instead he swings her around and presses her against the mausoleum, the two of them the only living things here and kissing, breathing, moving raggedly, clutching at each other, his callused soldier's fingers roughing and tangling in her hair, and she makes short jerking gulps like she's drowning and can't get enough air, enough of him. It goes on for five, ten, twenty seconds -- it might as well be forever, it feels that way. Then with an agonizing struggle -- she's not above noticing that and enjoying the pain it's clearly causing him to pull apart from her, as much as it does for her with him -- Frank breaks away. "Not now," he says hoarsely. "I just -- please, Karen. Okay?"

It's clearly meant to convince himself as much as her, and she manages a stiff little nod. Not now at least implies a someday, though she still likes to think that she's done wasting her time by hoping for him to come around. The coffee has spilled in the crush of their embrace, steaming gently where it soaks into the chilly earth, and she imagines the sleeping dead tasting a sip. She looks at her hands, since she can't look at Frank's face. Maybe it will never end. Maybe it will never let her be free. Maybe there will only ever be him.

"All right." Her voice sounds thin, artificial. "Fine. See you around, I guess, Frank. Whenever you turn up half-dead again."

"Karen -- " He reaches for her halfway, drops his hand. "I am -- for this -- tonight. Thanks. Thanks. You take care of yourself, okay?"

You too. Asshole.

"Sure." Karen stoops, picks up the fallen thermos cup, puts it back into her bag. "See you around, Frank."

She doesn't look back. She doesn't let herself.

#anonymous #ask #kastle #kastle ff #fic prompts #spooky season

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the-shining-river · 7 months

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Hell's Garden, Chapter 12

"Snap out of it, soldier. This is real, we're here. It's not a dream or hallucination, or whatever other bullshit you're telling yourself." He'd started to suspect as much, what with Curt's poking and prodding, the fresh gust of air as someone had opened the window, the sounds of the kettle and the microwave from the kitchen. That realization solidified and grew, churning in his stomach, making him sick with a sudden, crushing wave of emotion. And then he heard it, the quick, clickety steps in the staircase, belonging to the woman who'd burrowed under his skin and stubbornly made her home there. Karen.

Hell’s Garden, (46k words) Kastle post-Snap AU fic freshly updated on AO3!

#kastle #kastle fic #frank castle #karen page #beng's writing #hell's garden

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onebatch2batch · 8 months

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my love is an animal call kastle, ~9k

[ao3]

David makes a sympathetic noise. “Yikes. That bad, huh?” “No, uh. She doesn’t live there anymore.” “What?” “I said—“ “No, no. What? That’s not possible.” “What?” Frank furrows his brows. “Why?” “Frank, I looked her up yesterday. I saw her get home from work on the cameras last night. She definitely still lives there. I mean, maybe she just didn’t answer, but–” A trickle of ice water drips down his spine. He marks the gun on his hip, the blade in his pocket. His brain begins to whirl, remembering the face of the man in the doorway. “Someone answered the door. He said she didn’t live there anymore.” – A ghost of Karen’s past shows up to get revenge, and Frank owns up to his feelings for her just in time.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastle fic #kastleff #my writing

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heidiamalia · 5 months

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2 + 17 for the fic ask meme :)

okay so for some reason as tumblr does i guess i just never got notified you sent me something for this AHH

okay here goes -

2/ a fic you’ve re-read several times

oooooh gosh gotta run it back to my og's like an honorable mention because this one was one of those core memories, but beyond this point the series itself is just ash in my mouth.

the fallout by everythursday

Hermione learns about growing up through the redemption of Draco Malfoy.

i was lucky to download it when we still had access to the sacred texts [rip H&V] - but i'm sure ao3's got some orphan account with the numbers out there if ever the interest arose.

313k of war and smut and figuring shit out and it absolutely changed my life.

as a bonus to this question because now i feel bad its not a solid rec -

His Name is Stede - mercess [@spaceshipkat]

Ed never planned to see Stede Bonnet again, but after he learns Stede has been captured and is on his way to a short drop and a sudden stop, Ed declares no one gets to kill Stede but Ed himself. If that doesn't go as planned, well, Stede is far more wily than many give him credit for.

Or perhaps Ed is just a lying liar who lies.

-----

Ed’s breath caught, like a fist closing around his throat, at the sight of Stede there in the brig, wringing his hands and squinting through the shadows. He looked tired and weak, more like the sickly version of himself Ed had first met after he was cut free of the noose aboard the Spanish ship.

Most unfairly of all, he was still the most beautiful man Ed had ever seen.

if ever at all i can convince a person to witness [or endure, i know who you are, no pressure] this show, this would be the fic to have you be like whoah, okay, maybe. a post-s1 where i gasped when appropriate and shouted when i probably shouldnt have [3am rereads, i mean, yeah.] - reading this one with my heart in my hands gained me a deeply wonderful new friend along with it.

17/ a fic you wish you could read again for the first time

ughhhhh kastle fanfic writers are no fucking J O K E. we knew this.

what is left but a broken man - idekman

He's surprised by the amount of flowers at her grave.

He shouldn't be, really. Although Karen didn't have friends - or at least, not many. Murdock. Nelson. Ellison. And he was her boss before anything else.

He'd thought they'd been friends, too.

I kissed her, he thinks, a little desperately. It had just been on the cheek but he had hesitated, stayed there for a moment with that heat and that floral warmth that somehow radiated from her even in the chill air, and that had meant something. He thought it had. He had thought that, perhaps, she understood – understood that he couldn’t give her everything he wanted to, that he wasn’t ready, but that maybe some day he could be. That if he could ever have an after, he would have –

The thought is too painful to finish.

Karen Page is dead. Frank goes looking for her anyway.

i went into this one feeling like my heart was gonna be broken the whole fucking time but fuuuuuuck.

being able to walk with frank as we saw him discover karen in georgetown, in fagan corners, in his HEART! oh gosh i remember hitting this link and d e v o u r i n g this deep, sharp claw in to my chest with a grateful feeling.

ask me about the fic rec meme!

#heidi answers #it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined #ask games #fic recs #dramione #our flag means death #kastle

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uhthor · 6 months

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kastle content in the year of 2024 is making me lose my fucking mind… the way they left things in the punisher s2 is gonna make for such an angsty reunion and i am LEVITATING THINKING ABOUT IT

#liv rambles #the fic ideas are already coming back to me… i’m losing my fucking MINDDDDDDDDD #like… frank chose war over karen even when she offered him peace… she is not going to let him up that easily from that!#kastle #daredevil #the punisher

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leahkenobi · 2 years

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gamer

frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 500+

summary: just a little hc about frankie being a gamer (also, this may already exist out there. this is just my take on the scenario)

warnings: mentions of a bruise but all fluff

a/n: alrighty while i work on more stuff in this little universe of frank fics, enjoy this blurb/hc. also, this is the first time i’ve written something in this format. kinda enjoyed it, will def do it again. if you want to be added to a frank taglist, lmk! (this pic is from pinterest, credit to owner)

i firmly believe frank is a video games guy

@oliviajdjarin (shameless plug go check out her work!!) and i talked about this his mind just moves too fast for games like chess or checkers

when frank has the time he LOVES to get on his little playstation or xbox

he’s just so intense all the time this is his way to calm down and relax

he would def love games like call of duty

i could also see him enjoying nba 2k or fifa

he’s also like really really good at the games he plays

one day, you come home and it’s apparent that he’s had a long day

when you come through the bedroom door he turns his head from the tv where he is playing a game

he is propped up against the headboard of the bed and his hair is wet from the shower he clearly took and there’s a fresh bruise on his cheek

you smile at him and he gives you a little smile back

“how was your day, sweetheart?” he asks, as he always does

“not bad,” was your response

“come cuddle with me, yeah?” he asks

you nod and tell him you are going to go take a shower first

you take a nice shower, washing away all of the grime from the day

you come out of the bathroom wearing his black henley and a pair of sweats

he is so focused on his game it’s adorable, his thumbs moving against the controller

don’t look at his hands don’t look at his hands

you grab the book on your bedside stand and hop into your bed next to him, crawling under the sheets

you watch him play for a few minutes, grunting every so often out of frustration when he misses or something

you are scooting impossibly closer and closer to him as the hour passes, your book open in your hands

you are basically squirming into his lap he’s so close

he lifts one hand off his controller, letting you climb into his lap and then securing you in his arms with his controller out in front of your body

at this point the day is catching up with you so you put down your book once you are situated against frank’s chest

“tired?” he asks as you nuzzle into his chest

you nod against him

“well i got you now, baby. sleep if you’re tired,” he says, still playing the game

you begin to drift after a bit, feeling sleep start to take a hold

frank presses a gentle kiss to your forehead mumbling a soft “i love you”

you just barely catch it and respond, repeating his sentiments and immediately falling asleep against him

eventually he finishes his game and puts his controller on top of your book

he refuses to wake you from your much needed sleep, so he very very carefully slides down the headboard from his seated position so he’s laying down

you are still very much asleep on his chest after the shift and he could not be happier about it

he eventually falls asleep like that

you asleep on his chest is the only thing he needs to enjoy a night of bliss

taglist:

@oliviajdjarin

#frank castle #the punisher #the punisher 2017 #frank castle angst #frank castle fluff #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle fic #frank castle headcanon #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil s2 #foggy nelson #karen page #punisher #castle #kastle

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