#Frank castle little sister

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Welcome to my Masterlist 💌

hi, i'm murphy. my requests are always open - feel free to send any ideas or thoughts you have - i'll always read them all.

note - all of my fics are reader insert. no use of y/n. i don't write for real people, only characters <3

Last Updated - April 19th

❁ - over 1k notes

✯ - a series

Characters I Write For.

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist. 3k Celebration Masterlist. Valentines Masterlist. 5k Celebration Masterlist.

Moodboard Masterlist. My Ao3.

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Top Gun: Maverick

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

The Orange. ❁

You and Jake share an orange. He's in love with you.

For Eternity. (Part 2 of The Orange.)

You and Jake share an orange. He's never loved you more.

North Star. ❁

It's New Year's Eve. Jake is tired of waiting.

I Know Places.

Jake always joked that he'd kill for you. One fateful day, he does just that.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin & Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Why Choose?

A drunken game of spin the bottle gets a little heated. Why choose, when you can have both?

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Dr Cupid.

Mickey Garcia passes out in hospitals. Luckily, this time there's a pretty nurse there to catch him.

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Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Lessons in Love. ❁

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

Honey Girl. ✯❁

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Trick or Treat.

You love Halloween. Bucky loves you.

Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.

Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.

Stucky

Letters to the Moon.

Steve is gone. The love you and Bucky have for him isn't.

Wishbone.

You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.

Frank Castle

There's Always Tomorrow.

Frank knows you better than you know yourself. It's a blessing and a curse.

Multi Talented. ❁

Frank shows you exactly what you deserve.

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Criminal Minds

Luke Alvez

Wherever You Are. That's Where Home Is.

Luke might be a mind reader. Only with you, though.

Vice. ❁

Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.

Spencer Reid

Web of Lies. ✯

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep one from you.

Cowboy!Spencer ✯

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Narcos

Javier Peña

Self Control. ❁

Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.

Yes, Mr President.

There's an endless amount of things you shouldn't do as the President of the United States. Defiling the Oval Office is definitely one of them.

Western Nights. ✯

You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.

Jealousy, Jealousy. ❁

Javier Peña doesn't share.

Two Murphy's and a Peña.

Javier knows Steve's sister is off limits. He's never been one to follow the rules.

After Hours.

You and Javier are stuck in the office in the middle of a heatwave. You're hot in more ways than one.

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Triple Frontier

Time. ❁

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will each have their own ways of helping you heal.

Tethered. ❁

The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.

Tranquility.

You're not good at keeping secrets from the boys. Turns out, Will isn't either.

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to the four boys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the guys told you they loved you.

Will Miller

Champagne Fuelled Confessions.

You come home drunk, and have something burning you need to tell Will.

Best Friend's Brother.

You've known Benny for years. You've had a crush on his brother Will for years, too.

Frankie Morales

Find You.

A bad date brings Frankie Morales to your door at the perfect time.

Rain Soaked Romantic.

Frankie will run across town in the rain if it means finally telling you how he feels.

Santiago Garcia

This Is The Way It Always Goes.

Santiago always comes crawling back. You convince yourself this is the last time - but you both know that's not true.

Precious Girl.

A chance meeting with your Dad's best friend at 2am.

Benny Miller

Adrenaline.

Ben needs a way to work off his post match energy. You.

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The Last of Us

Joel Miller

Pretty When You Cry. ❁

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

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Succession

Stewy Hosseini

Clandestine. ✯

You and Stewy know it's wrong. So why, pray tell, does it feel so right?

Fully Clothed.

Being Stewy's assistant has its perks.

Consequence.

Stewy's actions have unexpected consequences.

Needy.

You've been waiting all day for Stewy to get home. He loves it.

Play Pretend.

The classic fake dating trope, with a twist.

The Place Where It All Began.

You reunite with Stewy at your high school reunion. Turns out, he's been waiting for you, all this time.

Risky.

The thrill of being caught makes it all the more exciting.

Kendall Roy

Me and You.

You quit as Kendall's assistant. He's been waiting for this day.

Illicit Affair.

You're Matssons wife. You're also in love with Kendall Roy.

Forced Proximity.

The classic only one bed trope, this time with your emotionally unavailable boss.

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The Bear

Carmen Berzatto

The Roommate Collection. ✯❁

A collection of fics based on being roommates with Carmen.

Vienna.✯

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

Carmen. ❁

Carmen. Your Carmen.

Denial. ❁

Carmy can’t keep pretending.

Mechanic!Carmen.

Inspired by that picture of JAW in a crop top.

Perfectionist. ❁

Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks. Especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.

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9-1-1

Evan Buckley

Lightning Strike. ❁

The two of you deal with the aftermath of Bucks trauma.

Fire Hazard. ❁

The story of your firehouse nickname - and Buck unable to handle you in a sundress.

Evan Buckley & Eddie Diaz

The Look of Love. ❁

You, Buck and Eddie are absolutely, undeniably, head over heels in love with each other. It seems like everyone can see it except for the three of you.

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Sons of Anarchy

Jax Teller

Heatwave. ❁

You cut Jax's hair. He can't keep his hands to himself.

Sundress Season.

It’s sundress season. Jax can’t keep his hands to himself.

Filip 'Chibs' Telford

Teach Me How to Ride.

Chibs is teaching you how to ride (in more ways than one).

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Miscellaneous

Steve Harrington

Cherry. ✯❁

The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Someone Borrowed, Someone Blue.

An engagement party, your childhood best friend, one too many glasses of champagne. What could go wrong?

[princessfbi]

“Tummy kisses” 🤲 ‼️

Tummy kisses

Eddie woke up over heated with a numb arm and cotton mouth which he only got when he mouth breathed in his sleep. Something that only happened when he was down and out in a deep sleep where you didn't move even if the earth was shaking and the house was on fire which, admittedly, was not something that happened to Eddie very often. Never say never but Eddie was used to be a light sleeper.

Eddie was always up and moving at the scent of coffee by the time he was sixteen and could drive his sisters wherever they needed to go. The resentment of having to be up before the sun was always tampered a little bit by the fact that his mom would let him have a cup even when his sisters always whined about it. He always drank it black back then even though he'd preferred it with a little bit of creamer because drinking it black was how "adults" drank it and Eddie had prided himself on being an "adult". Sleeping light had transferred into his years in the army and war then to fatherhood and firefighting. Now, knowing what he knew from therapy and all those self reflection exercises Frank made him do through eye rolls and gritted teeth, he could begrudgingly admit that maybe the underlining current of anxiety that skated up his spine might have something to do with the fact that he couldn't remember the last time he slept like a rock but whatever. That wasn't the point.

The point was that he'd been out like a fucking light and he couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

Hell, he couldn't even remember shutting his eyes.

But it all came back to him in fragments by the soft rise and fall of the body beneath him.

A soft snore whistled from above him and Eddie knew it was because Buck had somehow managed to fall asleep on his back again. He always preferred to sleep on his side for that very reason but the couch was too small for both of them stretched out like they were. And yet somehow they made it work.

That felt like a statement that could describe their entire relationship Eddie thought if he was being honest.

Buck had been stretched out on the couch watching some documentary he'd been so patiently saving for when he didn't have to stop and start because they had a shift or a school pick up or errands and work out to run to and from. For the first time in a long time, they had forty-eight hours just to themselves in Buck's loft where Eddie didn't have to pack a bag to stay over anymore because he had a space in the closet and spot on the sink with his normal toiletries.

Eddie had kissed Buck with the insistence that he go watch while he cleaned up dinner and for once Buck hadn't bothered to hide the excitement from his smile when he asked if Eddie was sure. Buck's affinity for documentaries was not something he shared but it had taken a lot of fumbled versions of the conversation for Eddie to vocalize that he didn't mind when Buck indulged in them while he was there. That he liked the quiet and getting to just spend time with Buck without having to carry on a conversation.

When the dishes had been cleaned, Buck's attention had been fully captured by the... whatever it was he'd been watching. It wasn't that he didn't care. It was just Buck had so many interests at one given time that if Eddie tried to keep up with all of them he was pretty sure his head would explode.

Besides, Buck was his boyfriend now which meant apparently, Eddie was allowed to want things without having to pay a price for them. Things like cuddling with his boyfriend on the couch after they'd had a delicious dinner while he watched a documentary about some castle or something.

He had crawled onto the couch and bullied his way into Buck's space without so much as a grunt of displeasure from said boyfriend. Buck had merely gotten comfortable before Eddie had settled his weight on top of him and wrapped his arms around Buck. Buck's fingers had eventually found his hair and it had been lights out for Eddie.

Apparently for Buck too since the TV had turned off but the lights to the kitchen and the soft glow from the loft above were still on.

Eddie wiggled his arm out from being pinned between Buck's hip and the couch and squinted at the time on the oven. They still had a few hours left and Eddie knew that a few hours would be enough to save them both from a backache they wouldn't be able to shake if they stayed there.

Eddie ducked down and pressed a kiss to the sliver of skin where Eddie's hand had shoved up under Buck's t-shirt in his sleep. Buck's stomach was soft beneath his lips and Eddie couldn't help but indulge in a few more kisses before he reached up and rubbed his palm to Buck's chest.

"Baby," Eddie said, his voice croaking from disuse.

Buck sighed in his sleep but refused to wake up and Eddie pressed a trail of kisses up from his stomach to his chest as he climbed up Buck's body. He didn't stop until he was up his throat and to his chin, sitting up so he could straddle Buck's hips and kiss his lips over and over again.

"Wake up, baby," Eddie said between kisses as Buck groaned. Blue eyes appeared from beneath tiny slits as Buck scrunched up his face and Eddie huffed out a laugh as he brushed a thumb over his birthmark. "C'mon. Let's go upstairs."

[amhrosina]

Sneaky Link (Billy Russo x Castle!Reader)

MASTERLIST // TAG LIST REQUEST

A/N: Nonnie, the way i RAN to my computer to write this. You’re a genius! Here you go! 

Request: Oke so hear me out please...So, Billy Russo and Frank Castle's sister in a backstreet relationship. I know i know it's lame, but i can't imagine Frank's face when he finds out that his sweet-not-so-innocent sister fuck his asshole-but-charming best friend.. Hope you like that idea <3

Summary: Billy finds himself in trouble with his best friend, Frank, when Frank finds out he’s been messing around with you, Frank’s sweet and innocent sister.

(Warnings: Smut at the beginning, oral (fem receiving), reader is called good girl, cursing (lots of cursing), Frank and Billy get into a physical fight with each other (lol), fluffy Billy, not canon obv)

“Oh fuck, Billy. Just like that. Don’t stop.” You moaned, arching your back. Billy’s tongue was currently making you see stars for the third time that evening. The soft comforter on your bed was soaked in sweat, and Billy wasn’t letting up anytime soon. 

“You like that, baby?” He mumbled, circling his tongue around your clit. “Gonna cum again, princess?”  

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, yes.” You breathed, squeezing your eyes shut. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably on Billy’s shoulders, who was somehow smirking and still managing to inch you closer to your release.  

“You’ve been such a good girl today. Cum on my tongue, princess.” 

The moan you let out was unholy as Billy focuses all of his attention on your clit, sucking and licking in perfect tandem. Your body seized as your third orgasm of the day rushes through you, a spark of fiery lust traveling down your spine. Billy doesn’t let up until you physically shove his shoulders away, heart pounding and ears ringing.  

You gulp in air, turning to lay on your stomach. Billy’s soft hands run up and down your spine in soothing strokes.  

“You did so good, baby.” He mumbled into your ear, planting a soft kiss on the back of your neck.  

“You are going to be the death of me, Billy Russo.” You responded, resting your cheek on your folded hands. 

“You love it.” He scoffed, chuckling.  

You push yourself towards the edge of the bed, searching for your underwear in the trail of clothes that started at your front door and ended by your bed.  

“Where are you going?” Billy made himself comfortable, stretching out on the sheets and resting his hands behind his head.  

“I told Frank I’d meet him for drinks. That’s where I was headed when you knocked on the door. And now,” you check the time on your phone, “I’m very late. If you leave before I get back, lock the door behind you.”  

Billy’s frown is evident as you toss articles of clothing around trying to find your dress. You knew bringing up Frank would cause some anxiety, but you really were going to meet Frank.  

“When are we going to tell him?” Billy asked, pointing out the dress that he’d carefully laid on the armchair before ravishing you. 

Billy and you had been messing around for months now, all behind Frank’s back. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of Billy, but Frank had always been protective of you, and you were sure he’d be less than thrilled to find out his best friend had been fucking his little sister for the better half of a year.  

It hadn’t started on purpose, you reasoned. Frank, you, and Billy had been drinking at a bar when Karen had called Frank, frantic about something. Frank had hurried off, leaving you and Billy to your own devices. Three shots later and Billy was pulling your top off in the bar bathroom.  

After that encounter, you’d avoided spending any time alone with Billy, but Billy’s charming and handsome and so good at kissing, so your resolve only lasted a few days. Since then, Billy and you had been sneaking around Frank’s back, stealing glances at each other when Frank wasn’t looking, and sneaking kisses when you could get away with it.  

It started as a casual hook-up, but it certainly didn’t develop as one. You and Billy were together. You cooked dinner for each other, went out on dates when you knew Frank wouldn’t stumble across the two of you, and spent most of your free time at each other’s apartments. He brought you flowers every week and referred to you as his girlfriend to his employees at work. You’d even gone to the Anvil Christmas party, albeit as Frank’s plus one, but you were still there, celebrating Billy’s accomplishments with him.  

“Did you hear me? When are we going to tell him?” Billy’s voice brought you out of your thoughts.  

“I don’t know.” You responded honestly. At this point, no matter how you did it, Frank would be upset that you’d hidden it from him. 

“Do you not want to be with me?” Billy rarely sounded insecure, but in that moment, you could feel the insecurities rolling off him. You moved towards the bed, cupping Billy’s cheeks and kissing his nose.  

“Of course, I want to be with you, Billy. You’re everything to me. I just don’t know how to explain that to Frank without him trying to murder you. And then me.” you added, pressing your forehead to his.  

“We should tell him soon. I don’t like hiding things from him. We’ve always trusted each other.”  

“I know. We’ll tell him soon. I promise, okay? But I really have to go.”  

Billy nodded, kissing your cheek and standing.  

A knock at the door had both of you on alert. You moved to answer it, but Billy stopped you and held out his shirt in his hands. You looked down and realized you were still naked, minus the underwear. A sheepish grin crossed your face as you threw the shirt on. 

You swung open the door, ready to tell whatever solicitor that you weren’t interested, but you stopped short when you exchanged glances with your brother, who looked rightfully concerned. 

“Where the hell have you been? I waited for you for over an hour, and then you wouldn’t respond to my texts or calls, so I thought ‘Oh she must be getting murdered. Then you open the door with this ridiculous smile on your face, like you aren’t incredibly late for something!”  

Frank stormed through the door, and before you can respond, takes in the fact that Billy is standing in your bedroom doorway, shirtless and guilt-ridden. Frank turned and looked at you, glancing down at your shirt and then back at Billy, who is holding his hands up innocently. Frank’s face is stoic, but you can see the rage churning in his eyes. The apartment is so quiet you can hear Billy’s breathing from across the room. The calm before the storm, apparently. 

“’the fucks wrong with you, you bastard?” Frank charged at Billy, who only lifted his hands higher to try and push Frank away from him.  

“Frank, stop!” You yelped, trying to figure out how to stop Frank from killing your boyfriend. Frank slammed Billy into the wall, punching Billy in the jaw.  

“It’s not what you think. I’m not just-” 

“Just what? Fucking my sister? I thought you were different, Billy. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Frank’s fist connected with Billy’s face again, and you let out a yelp as blood starts to trickle down Billy’s face.  

“Frank, stop! It’s not like that! He’s my boyfriend, Frank! We’re not just messing around!”  

Frank freezes, mid-swing, and turns to look at you. He’s very clearly confused at your confession. 

“Your boyfriend?” Frank drops Billy, who slumps against the wall and lets out a wheeze. “What do you mean, your boyfriend?” 

“I mean, he’s my boyfriend, Frank. We’re together. And we should’ve told you, but I knew you’d react just like this, like a fucking psycho, so I didn’t say anything. And I made Billy promise he wouldn’t say anything to you. If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”  

“You’re together?” Frank looks between you and Billy, shaking his head. “Like together, together?” 

“Yes, now can I please go put some pants on and trust that you’re not going to pummel his face in?” 

“I need to talk to you.” Frank points at Billy, who stands and wipes the blood from his face.  

“Yeah, alright.” He responds, nodding.  

When you make it to your bedroom, you can hear the muffled sound of Frank speaking. He still sounded angry, but at least he wasn’t actively trying to punch Billy anymore. You searched through your drawers until you found an old pair of sweatpants, slowly pulling them on. You wanted to give Billy and Frank enough time to talk it out, but you didn’t want to leave them alone for too much longer.  

You creeped through the doorway, where you found Billy sitting on your couch with an ice pack pressed into his jaw, and Frank, searching through your fridge.  

“Is everything...good now?” You asked tentatively, looking back and forth between your boyfriend and your brother.  

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna see any of that lovey-dovey shit. I’m not happy about it, but I can’t stop you from being an idiot.” Frank responded, pulling three beers out of the fridge and setting them on the counter.  

Billy gave you a small smile, but grimaced when pain shot through his jaw again. You could already see the bruises blooming on his face.  

“Okay...do you want to watch a movie?” You asked, trying to play it off like this was a totally normal night.  

Frank handed you a beer, then handed Billy one.  

“Sure, princ- Um.” Billy cleared his throat and said your name. Frank rolled his eyes and sat down next to Billy, which left you the seat next to Frank. You tried not to roll your eyes at Frank’s choice of couch cushions and flopped down next to him. It was going to be a long movie.  

When Frank finally left hours later, he sent you a pointed look on his way out the door. He had barely looked at you or Billy the entire night, but you considered it progress anyways. It was better than physically punching each other.  

Billy had stretched his legs out on the couch, propping his head up on a pillow.  

“So that went...well?” He questioned, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” You rushed to his side, trying to get a better look at the bruises forming on Billy’s face.  

Billy waved a hand and shrugged. “If all I got was a couple licks to the face, I call that a win. He’ll come around.”  

Frank did eventually come around, but he certainly took his time. For the first month after his discovery, he wedged himself inbetween you and Billy as often as he could. Whether it be on the subway, in a bar stool, or at your house, Frank always managed to separate the two of you. It was frustrating, but Billy assured you that he would take the time he needed to get over it and come around.  

When Billy took your hand to pull you out of the way of a fast-approaching cab one night, Frank eyed your intertwined hands, and then looked away, pretending not to notice it. You squeezed Billy’s hand in celebration but didn’t say a word. The first time Billy kissed you in front of Frank, he had gotten an emergency call from work and had to rush out of the bar you were sitting in. He had planted a kiss on your lips without thinking about the present company and bolted out the door, leaving you with a very red face.  

Frank had taken a sip of his beer and continued the conversation you were having before Billy’s departure. The small victories were few and far between, but you and Billy were patient.  

Finally, what felt like months later, Frank made a joke about Billy being your boyfriend, and you felt like you could finally relax. Billy clearly made you happy, so Frank got over it. Later that night, you were wrapped in Billy’s arms in your bed, half-asleep and listening to Billy’s voice as he read from your favorite book.   

“You know,” Billy mumbled to your sleeping form, “I hope Frank doesn’t react the same way when I ask you to marry me.”  

He chuckled as you snuggled into his chest, unconscious to the world around you. You and Billy hadn’t spoken about marriage, but he had clear intentions with you. He wasn’t going to let you get away.  

He leaned over and clicked the lamp off, sending the room into complete darkness.  

“Goodnight, my love.” He sighed, kissing your hair. “I can’t wait to say that to you for the rest of our lives.” 

Tag List:

@alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @purple-amaranthe @raajali3 @emiemiemiii @messymissy @mossexe

[ginnysgraffiti]

(long) imagine.

i'll work on other characters :)

how would timmy's characters declare to you?

&. LEE

it wouldn't take much or little.

in reality, it is unpredictable.

he would be able to perceive this strong connection between you from the first moment, of course, but he would be so tormented by the thought of spilling all his paranoia on you that he would prefer to live with it.

however, you certainly can't say that he doesn't commit, because he would give you sooooo many signals.

the way he looks at you, like the most delicate creature capable of willingly climbing into his dented pickup truck, the way he would smell your hair, prepare your meals if you were to stop at his sister's place.

i mean, he would give you so many signals that your hypothetical doubt would be extremely out of sight.

he would seek constant attention, sometimes in a very desperate and childish way, and then add his usual flirting and perhaps stealing kisses on your cheek or nibbling your fingers.

he would always search for a way to kiss you, but then, due to extreme contradiction and lack of morals, as soon as you get too close he will do everything he can to turn away and hide his embarrassment, lowering his head and rubbing his messy curls against your lips instead of actually support your boldness.

he would probably declare himself on a desolated hill away from the noisy traffic or rush hours of the city, or perhaps in some gas station or even in some mcdonald's while you both enjoy your burgers at 10pm.

however, even though it may seem like a frank and decisive action, he would immediately need cuddles and small kisses to confirm that he is not just an extreme burden to you but the guy you desire to date.

he would immediately call his sister, in tears, to tell her the news.

&. PAUL ATREIDES

paul would do anything to catch your attention.

anything.

to him, you are absolutely not just any fremen.

he would offer to train you, train you in the art of the sword even if he knows well you are absolutely better than him.

he'd help you put on your stillsuit, but he'd quickly walk away if you gave him a strange look, as fremen wear suits are commonplace at all times.

he would call the largest sandworms to show you his dexterity and now habit in the act. he would invite you to ride it with him, hoping that you would hold his waist and not try to challenge him in the best ride.

he's obsessed with the way you ride worms.

of course, he would see you in his every vision. happy, perhaps provocative or exciting visions that he just wants to see come true.

his stiff, masculine and proud composure would slowly collapse in your presence, that's for sure.

paul would even feel so scared of coming out in a way that might go against your fremen tradition that you'd find him with stilgar every day, talking like two best friends dedicated to gossip, while he would have asked him for professional advice that he would never have revealed to you.

he would finally declare under a warm and cosy night under a sky full of bright stars while your bodies lay and melt between fluffy sand dunes.

&. HAL

there's no need to specify or even explain it: hal would make you live in luxury.

but i mean, luxury.

even if you had never broached the topic openly or even just shared the idea, you knew he wanted you as a queen.

the queen. his queen.

he would always find a way to carve out time for you, whether for horseback riding in the damp woods around the castle or for little night chatting after dinner.

he wasn't a man of many words, you knew it well and you took note of it since the beginning.

however, his tone was always sincere with you, as he even indulged in light rivers of alcohol when you were in his company, he always trusted you.

he loves how you treat him.

not like the king, not like any of the high ranks he was labelled with.

just like the man he was, the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

this turned him on like hell, because you craved him as a person, you wanted him as a man, and you treated him like your closest friend.

hal, in fact, would never declare himself with sappy words. he's a man of action, that's for sure.

however, we're talking about you, and that means he would slip out the topic during a delicious dinner, followed by a quick and double-meaning suggestion to join him in his room once full.

finally, hal would make such an elaborate speech that your eyes would get watery.

[hier--soir]

on the ropes

pairing: boxer!frank castle x f!reader summary: a dive bar, a stranger in an alley, and a punch to the kidney. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] boxer!frank au, explicit descriptions of violence, blood, injury, creepy men at bars, harassment, angst, anxiety, hints at trauma regarding violence. word count: 6.7k main masterlist a/n: a little boxer frank castle series that i’ve been playing around with for a minute now. i have fun writing it, so thought i’d share x

“Millie, what the fuck?”

A body jostled roughly into you, and you stumbled forward with a huff, casting a disgruntled look over your shoulder.

“What?” your friend stared at you. The room was dark, but the shadowy yellow light did little to hide the way she batted her eyelashes in an awful attempt at faux innocence.

“You said we were going for drinks,” you spoke slowly, arms raising to fold tightly across your chest. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the less than desirable company.

The bar she brought you to was crowded. Packed to the brim like a tin of sardines, full of men gripping bottles of beer and shouting to be heard over the god awful music. The second you walked in with Millie and her brother, you’d known something was amiss.

Normally when Millie invited you out it was for cocktails or a bottle of wine, and often at chic rooftop bars that you could hardly afford to be in – never a dingy dive bar with sticky floors and pictures of shirtless men covering the walls.

They were framed, at least—the pictures—denoting a clear sense of veneration and pride from the owner. Covering almost every square inch of the walls around the bar, depicting sweat covered men. Some bleeding, some flexing their biceps; some holding another man in a headlock. Your stomach rolled each time you dared to glance at the décor and caught sight of blood or bruising.

“We are having drinks,” Millie responded sheepishly.

On cue, her twin brother, Ed, wandered back from the bar and handed you a glass of rosé. He looked decidedly casual, wearing a soft pair of shorts and a thin white t-shirt. A backpack rested on his shoulder. You narrowed your eyes, wondering why you hadn’t questioned his outfit at all until that moment.

“I don’t know if it’ll be any good,” he frowned. He had the type of voice that made it sound like he was always on the precipice of clearing his throat. “It’s the only wine they had.”

You scowled, looking back to his sister with raised eyebrows. Ed nursed a glass of water while he peered around the bar, sizing up the men stationed across the room.

“Okay,” she grimaced. “Look, I knew if I told you earlier you wouldn’t have come, and I need you here for support!”

“Support for what?” your voice had risen to a mouse-like squeak at that point. Inside of your chest, your heart had begun thrumming a little faster, and the echo of it rushed faintly in your ears.

“I’ve told you before,” Millie tried. “You know, about Ed doing these boxing games?”

“Boxing match,” Ed corrected quickly. Your eyes flicked between them, and you stayed silent, praying that she wasn’t going to say what you thought she was.

“Boxing match,” she remedied easily. “And so tonight is actually his first big fight, and he wants me here of course, and I want you here—”

“Millie,” you gaped. “I don’t do blood, seriously, I can’t. This—this is not my sort of thing, and I-I’m sorry but I don’t particularly care to see your brother beat someone up.”  

“There won’t be any blood!”

“Well, there probably will be blood.”

“Ed,” Millie hissed. “Not helpful.”

He held his hands up and sent an apologetic smile sizzling in your direction. “C’mon, kid, this is my big break! You’re practically family; we need you here.”

You stared for a second, silently willing the racing cogs in your brain to slow down so you could think. Not for the first time, you realised how alike the twins looked. Even in the dim bar, their choppy flaxen hair shone where it streaked across their foreheads, and their soft almond shaped eyes held you in their gaze, like a mother held a crying child. So comforting, and so fucking encouraging.

Trust us, their eyes sung. Stay with us.

They reminded you of the twins from The Shining, using their silent benevolence to lull you into a false sense of security before you ultimately met a grisly demise.  

God damnit.

“So what, it’s like some kind of fucking Fight Club?” you asked slowly. “Is this even legal?”

The siblings shared a quick look before Millie gripped your elbow. “You don’t need to worry about that. There’s a ref, and coaches – it’s safe.”

“Jesus Christ.” Her words didn’t reassure you in the slightest. You took a large gulp of your wine, lips puckering at the acidic taste. They watched on warily, awaiting the news that you would be leaving, going home to curl up in bed with your cat and watch re-runs of I Dream of Jeannie. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Couldn’t bring yourself to disappoint two of your closest friends.

“I’ll stay,” you vowed begrudgingly.

Millie whooped, the wine in her glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim as she raised her hands triumphantly in the air. The sound garnered a few looks from men around the room, and you shrunk away at the attention. They all seemed to be at least twenty years older than you and Millie. Adjusting your feet on the ground, you downed the last of your wine and tried not to gag as it slid down your throat.

“I just need a minute, though,” you exhaled, discarding your empty glass onto the closest table. “Need to get some fresh air before whatever is about to happen, happens.”

“Okay but don’t be long,” Ed fiddled with the strap of his backpack. “We kick off downstairs in 20 minutes.”

You gave him a quick nod, and for a second you tried to picture him throwing a punch. When you found yourself unable conjure the image in your mind, you turned to walk outside.

The bar was tucked away in a side street, and the only way in or out was nestled twenty metres down a dank alleyway that reeked of something metallic. A red neon sign buzzed above the doorway, and worked as the only indicator that the location was a place of business. The low electric was somewhat comforting, as you took up a spot on the opposing wall.

New York in early March was no more delightful than if it had still been the middle of Winter, and you shuddered at the press of cool bricks against your back. A cool wind rushed past you, snaking underneath the gaps in your clothes and whispering cruelly against your skin.

Nonetheless, you’d always enjoyed the cold. Any excuse to layer clothes until your skin was warm and pleasantly itchy beneath knitted material. Friends chastised the way you left your window ajar all year round; didn’t understand when you explained that you can’t sleep unless there’s a slight breeze. The chill was a welcome reprieve – something familiar to greet you as you stepped out of the bar. Having to warm yourself up always felt kinder and more loving than having to cool yourself down. Hot chocolates and weighted blankets in Winter were a heartfelt embrace, while ice cubes and swimming in Summer were futile efforts.

Cold air, you cruel mistress. I will never be able quit you.

Your phone buzzed every few moments, displaying the latest update in an incessant stream of texts from your roommate about how the radiator in your apartment was playing up again. A frustrated huff escaped your lips, and you put it away without responding.

There were a few men out there, cigarettes dangling between chapped lips as they shared mumbled, gruff conversation. For a moment, you wished you had one. To light a fire in your throat, to bring that heartfelt embrace. You shoved the thought down, reaching for a piece of gum in your purse instead. Numb fingers found the small cardboard packet after a moment. You fumbled with the wrapper, struggling to get it open, until a low voice gave you pause.

“You here alone?”

Your fingers froze, the piece of gum tumbling back down into the dark abyss of your bag. Suddenly you were hyper aware of a presence standing much closer to you than before. Cigarette smoke swirled in the air, seeping out of the burning cherry and drifting past your face. You resisted the urge to inhale.

The guy was lanky, with greasy hair and a word tattooed across his neck that you couldn’t quite make out. “You a mute or something?” he chuckled unkindly. “I asked you a question.”

Your eyes flashed up to his, frowning. The conversation amongst his friends died down, and you could feel them watching your interaction, quiet chuckles leaving smirking mouths as their friend hovered over you. If you just closed your eyes again, you were sure you could imagine you were at home in your bed; that you’d left the bar like you wanted to, could feel the warmth of Cynthia curled up and purring against your calf while Barbara Eden and Larry Hagman chattered away in the background.

“Hey,” he groused, taking a step closer. “It’s not polite to ignore someone when they’re tryna be friendly.”

The calming image disappeared, gone in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“Is that what you’re doing?” you steeled yourself, squaring your shoulders and attempting to pretend as though your stomach was churning inside of you. “Being friendly?”

“Oh, so her highness does speak,” he leered, lips pulling back to reveal a crooked smile and a missing tooth on the left of his mouth. “This isn’t a good area y’know? Bad idea for a thing like you to be out here all own.”

“I’m not here alone,” you muttered, flattening your back further against the wall.

“No?” he raised an eyebrow. It had a slit in it, a puckered white scar marring the skin beneath his hair. “You look pretty alone to me, doll.”

“I’m n-not,” the words rattled out of you. You focused on inhaling slowly, letting the crisp air expand your stomach, but another stilted exhale spilled out anyway. “In fact, the guy I’m here with will knock out all the teeth you have left if you don’t leave m—”

“Is that fucking right?” he interrupted, advancing a step closer. Your heart thundered in your chest, blood thundering in your ears. Your lungs tightened, all thoughts of breathing techniques evaporating in your mind as panic slowly took over. His friends were still laughing. The hand holding a cigarette lifted toward you, the burning end suspended dangerously close to the bare skin of your chin.

“Johnny, why don’t you fuck off and leave ‘er alone?” a rough voice cut through the alley. You flinched at the sound of it, but didn’t take your eyes off the man.

“Mind your business,” he snapped in response. Spittle struck your cheek and you cringed as it settled on your skin.  

“I mean it,” the voice came again, from somewhere deeper in the alley, to your right. “Get the fuck outta my sight or you won’t like what happens.”

The man—Johnny—spared a glance in the direction of the voice, and only then did he hesitate. The smirk on his face drooped, mouth hanging open as he fumbled for something to say, boots scuffing against the ground as he took one hasty step away from you, and then another.

“Hey man,” he said in a low, wary voice. “I didn’t realise. No harm done, alright?”

“Not yet,” the voice responded plainly.

Johnny gave a short nod, dropped his cigarette onto the ground and stamped it out with the tip of his boot. His friends weren’t laughing anymore. With a jerk of his head, he led them back inside, and only when they were all gone did you allow your shoulders to relax. A dull ache had started up behind your left eye.

You scraped trembling fingers against the brick on either side of you, finding solace in the way the coarse material snagged against your numb skin. But a shuffling sound to the right made your ears prick up, and your head darted in the stranger’s direction. The man walked closer to you, almost entirely obscured by shadows. Your eyes strained, trying to see him clearer, but he leant against the wall and kept his head trained straight ahead at the closed door of the bar. Faded orange letters on the door read Hasta La Muerte.

A grey hood was pulled up over his head, working as an accomplice with the darkness to obscure his facial features. But he was tall, and broad, that much was evident, and the red glow of the sign exposed the bare skin of his hands. Faded purple and blue bruises blossomed over the hills of his knuckles, small cuts and scabs decorating the spots where thin skin covered bone. The chill on your skin seemed spread through your insides at the sight of it; wariness filling your stomach until your muscles clenched tight, bracing yourself for another antagonising encounter.

“He’s right.”

His voice sent a shot of heat through your chest, eviscerating the cold until you could feel your palms warm, sweat beading across your skin. 

“What?” Your voice was quieter than you cared for it to be. You felt so small, suddenly. 

“Place is a shithole,” he gestured loosely at the bar entrance. “Filled with scumbags. You shouldn’t be here.”

The stranger made a step to move inside, hand raising to push open the door. 

“Not safe for a thing like me?” you emphasised the word with a curl of your lip, vaguely unsure what had inspired you to continue an interaction that had already ended.

But you did know that Johnny had made you feel so powerless, like an ant he could squash beneath his boot if he felt so compelled. Whereas this man was entirely uninterested – he almost seemed bored with the whole thing. And it spurred something inside of you.  

His stance tightened somewhat, and you watched him roll his shoulders back slowly.

“Yeah,” he spoke, still facing the door. “Something like that.”

You couldn’t pinpoint what compelled you to speak again. and if you were to retell the story, you were sure you’d be ashamed of yourself for pushing, for not letting go and simply thanking him. But maybe that was the thing – maybe it was because he had saved you from that guy, whether it came from a place or care or not. Or perhaps it was because he spoke quietly, didn’t raise his voice. Something about him seemed trustworthy… safe.

“Why are you here then?” you rushed out. Heat soared through your face as he paused, head tilting to the side to spare a glance in your direction. “If it’s as bad as you say.”

As he moved, the glow of the sign lit up his profile. You stilled, eyes widening a fraction as you caught sight of his face for the first time. He watched you out of the corner of his eye, and didn’t speak for a moment.

A mottled purple bruise shone beneath his cheekbone and travelled across the bridge of his nose. His jawline was sharp, the muscle underneath the skin twitching as his teeth clenched together. He still didn’t move, allowing you a moment to rake your eyes over him, to devour the imperfections and discolorations of his abused face. Almost as if he wanted you to see – wanted you to know that his warning wasn’t made up of empty words.

You were no stranger to violence, and all the ways it could manifest. Painfully familiar with the way blues and reds and purples and yellows could discolour skin until natural hues were all but gone. Well acquainted with discerning the difference between an injury inflicted by oneself or another, if only you looked closely enough. It was something you’d grown up considering—the juxtaposition between defensive and offensive wounds, and the way one chose to hide or not hide them.

The way he moved was so nimble, so quiet. That hood was tucked up over his head, and yet hands were bared to you, exposing himself in a way that said this is what I will allow you to see; this is what I can control.

And somehow, amidst the brutality of it all, he was handsome. Dark eyes—so dark they almost seemed black under the humming red glow—and a strong, crooked nose with a bump along it, as if it’d been broken at some point and never reset properly. He looked fierce, and maybe not as safe as you’d first thought.

You swallowed thickly.

“Pays the bills,” he clipped. You let a noncommittal hum vibrate inside your mouth. He works here.

It made sense, you supposed, that he was a bartender. It matched his rough exterior; gave clarity to the guys from before being so cautious of getting on his bad side. You pondered how his face had gotten so fucked up; considered that maybe a patron had gotten out of line recently, and had perhaps taken a swing at an innocent hospitality worker.

It was almost comical, the lengths your brain went to in order to rationalise his appearance.

“I actually live pretty close to here.” Why are you still talking?

“Is that your way of inviting me over, sweetheart?” His shoulders shook with a short, silent laugh. “I’m flattered.”

“What?” you stiffened, gaze darting to his torn knuckles once more. “No, no. I’m just—I’m saying I know the area.” He caught the movement of your eyes and tucked his hands into his pockets after all.  

“Well, if you live so close,” he said. “You should go home.”

A short, indignant scoff rushed from your nose. “I can handle myself,” you muttered unconvincingly.

“Oh yeah?” he snorted, demeanour shifting into something that bordered on incredulous. All nerves you’d once felt seemed to have vanished, and yet you were painfully aware of how his stature dwarfed your own. You swore you saw him roll his eyes, perhaps taking note of the same thing. “My bad, hot shot, I’ll stay out of your way next time.”

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket, and you tugged it out quickly. Millie’s picture lit up the screen and then disappeared, and your eyes darted over the notifications.  

meet me downstairs

it’s about to start. where are you?

please don’t tell me you left

“Go home,” he repeated finally. Tone softer this time. “This isn’t the place for you. I mean it.”

You looked up from your phone. He had turned his head almost entirely, giving a full view of his face. Short dark hair peaked out from where his hood had fallen back an inch. His face looked solemn; lips pressed together tersely.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly. “Maybe I will.”

With one final look in your direction, he pressed his hand firmer against the door and stepped inside, leaving you alone with the cold air once more.

You gave it five minutes before you followed him inside.

Tacky stairs led to a large basement. To floors and walls made of concrete slabs that brought an extra iciness to the space. A chill that was eradicated, however, by the sweat and body heat that emanated from the mass of men crowding the room, jostling against each other as they shouted and yelled and geared up for the show.

Animals.

Excited chatter drowned out the low, droning music that played from speakers in each corner of the space. You spied men handing each other cash, speaking in hushed tones, placing bets on what was about to happen. You wondered if anyone had bet on Ed. Tried not to think about the possibility of them betting on his opponent.

Millie was front and centre, standing beside the ring with a shorter man that you didn’t recognise.

“Where the hell were you?” she asked, handing you a fresh glass of the sickening wine. “It’s about to start.”

“I told you,” you raised the glass to your lips, glancing at the bald man hovering by her shoulder. “I needed some fresh air.”

“This is Rodge,” she followed your gaze, introducing you quickly. “Ed’s trainer.”

You shared a polite nod, but no words were exchanged. Rodge’s eyes were trained on where Ed stood, hopping up and down on the balls of his feet and stretching his arms. A navy mouthguard rested behind his thin lips, matching the shorts he wore. You’d never seen Ed shirtless before, and he was lean, almost as lanky as you’d expected him to be. But he had a sleeper build of sorts. Clear firm lines of muscle protruded through the skin of his arms and stomach, hinting at a strength that you’d never expected him to possess.

“Have you seen him fight before?” you asked.

“Loads of times,” she nodded. “He’s got this, don’t worry.”

You nodded absentmindedly, attention stolen by a tattooed man dressed in black entering the ring. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and your fingertips tingled sharply, as it they’d each been pricked by a small, invisible needle. He raised a hand, and the crowd quietened a fraction, all eyes turning to him. Silently, he motioned to someone on the other side of the ropes. And with a sinking feeling in your stomach, you watched Ed’s opponent step into the ring.  

He had his back to you, but you allowed your eyes to trail over his figure, sizing him up in an attempt to gage how much of a risk he posed. He was dark haired, and he looked strong. Stronger than you cared to admit. Small black shorts clung to his upper thighs, but his torso was bare, and very little of his body was left to your imagination. His back was broad, the muscles in his shoulders shifting with every movement he made. A few scars littered his bare skin, defacing otherwise unmarked flesh.

The dark-haired man stretched his arms over his head, bending them this way and that, flexing the muscles in his biceps and triceps as the crowd jeered. His physique was different to Ed’s.

Where Ed was discreetly muscular, this man was imposing. He stood a few inches taller than Ed, and was obviously a decade older, showing a clear advantage. And then as he lowered his arms and flicked his head to the side to listen to what his coach was saying from outside of the ring, and you caught a glimpse of his face.

Crooked nose. Bruised cheekbone.

It was like you’d been punched in the stomach yourself.

You glanced uneasily at Millie, but she had her eyes solely on Ed, fists clenched by her side as she muttered inaudible words of encouragement. Movement in the ring drew your attention once more.

It can’t be. He was a bartender, for god’s sake. Or… you had just made that up in your head and decided it was true.

Pays the bills, he’d said. But he’d never said what exactly he was doing to make money.

“Shit,” you breathed, hands shaking as the man from the alley turned to face Ed and you saw him in all of his glory.

With bated breath, you watched the two men meet in the middle of the ring and knock their boxing gloves together. And then before you could prepare yourself, it had begun.

Ed threw a punch instantly, the force of his glove whipping the man’s head to the side. Millie let out a shrill whooo and you flinched, stomach coiling as he retaliated, delivering a heavy blow to Ed’s ribs.

He grunted, stumbling back from the force of it. It seemed like he wasn’t expecting such a fast response, and in his surprise, failed to block the next two punches sent his way. First to his ribs and then a quick second to the side of his face. A lump formed in your throat, and nausea twisted inside of you as blood and spittle flew from Ed’s mouth, painting the mat like a Jackson Pollock. For a moment you feared you might truly be sick.

The blood didn’t deter the man, who advanced on Ed like a predator, caging him in against the ropes. He didn’t let up for a second, delivering punishing blows wherever he could find a gap in his opponent’s defence.

“Come on, Ed!” Millie hollered, and your head snapped to the side. Her eyebrows were drawn tight in the middle of her forehead, mouth hanging open anxiously.

As if he could hear her, Ed propelled himself forward, colliding with the other man. They grappled for a second, both searching for purchase, but Ed had his arms wrapped tightly around the other man. What the fuck?

“What’s he doing?” you asked, but nobody could hear you over the roar of the men in the room. They clambered around the platform from all angles, getting as close as they could. Spit flew as they shouted profanities at the fighters, faces reddening as they bellowed with all their might.

Rodge yelled something inaudible at him, but Ed persisted, planting his feet on the ground and pressing his chest against the other man’s. And then the man’s body jolted to the side and he was stumbling to the ground, a loud grunt echoing through the room as he held a gloved fist to his waist. The referee shouted and everything stopped for a second as the man rested on the mat. Cold dread flooded through your veins as you noticed the way he glared at Ed. Even in the light, his eyes seemed black. The men around you were roaring, and harsh boo’s reverberated off the walls of the basement.

“What the fuck just happened?” you asked breathlessly, looking to Rodge for an explanation.

“He punched him in the kidney,” Rodge ground out, arms folded across his chest. He seemed to be glaring at Ed as well, although you couldn’t tell if that was just his face.

“Okay so?” you questioned cluelessly, eyebrows raised. The man rose slowly and walked to his corner of the ring, where someone held a water bottle to his lips.

Rodge ignored you, stepping toward the ring where Ed was waiting for him.

“He can’t do that.” Millie told you anxiously, staring wide eyed at her brother. “Why the fuck would he do that?”

It appeared as though the words Rodge had for Ed were of a similar sentiment, based on the way he was cowering under the bald man’s glare. Blood dribbled out of his nose in thin lines, and he wiped them away with his glove, leaving a crimson streak smeared across his cheek. You held your breath and looked away.

After thirty seconds the men gathered in the middle of the ring once more, and you attempted to quell the anxiety that swelled inside you. But as much as you internally begged for it to end, the second round began and the sound of gloves smacking skin hit in your ears. And you couldn’t bring yourself to not look.  

Because, god, it was a sight to behold.

The dark-haired man was back on his feet, and he was furious.

He moved quickly, twisting and ducking around Ed, never giving him a moment of respite as he sunk his fists into his flesh. He found all of his weak spots and targeted them in a second, attacking with finesse, and knowing all the right moments to pull back and block Ed’s futile attempts to return a punch. He was too fast, too agile, too big. And when he struck, it was brutal, every single time.

Sweat seeped through the thick material of your shirt, sticking it to the skin of your back. Everything was too hot, too loud. You felt lightheaded as you watched Ed take another hit to the face, blood spurting as his head jolted to the side.

It was disgusting, he was disgusting. It was animalistic, it was brutish. And yet you couldn’t stop watching him.

Sweat shone on his shoulders as he moved, shimmering under the harsh white light dangling above them. You could hear him grunting through the black mouthguard covering his teeth; could see how the corded muscles in his abdomen clenched and shifted beneath his skin with every movement of his arms. It was painfully mesmerising.

Ed’s body hit the ropes and bounced back towards the man, and a gloved fist met his already bruising ribs. The air rushed out of your lungs, chest aching as if you were the one who’d been struck.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” you said, but Millie didn’t hear you, too busy shouting mindless instructions at her brother.

Sucking your lips into your mouth, you looked back just in time to see the man swing his fist upward into the bottom of Ed’s chin, snapping his head back. And when he fell, intercepting the mat with a sickening thud, he didn’t stand back up. A harsh, guttural shout came from the man’s mouth, so loud it felt like your body vibrated. Whether it was a triumphant battle cry, or a sound of exhaustion, you weren’t so sure, but you didn’t take your eyes off him as the referee counted eight seconds and then gripped his forearm, raising it in the air to signal him as the winner.

A deafening cacophony of sound rose from the crowd, louder than you’d heard it all night. Praise mixed in with heckles of abuse, and yet the man stared into the crowd as if it were all below him. His chin was raised in the air, blank eyes gazing into the swarm of people, flitting from face to face as if he were still trying to process the victory. It was nonchalant, as if the entire thing was no big deal to him. As if he hadn’t just beaten someone to a pulp. And then suddenly, those dark orbs were on you. Your entire body stiffened, eyes widening as you held his gaze. His eyebrows quirked into a soft frown, chin lowering as he squinted a little, perhaps trying to determine whether you were the same person from the alley or not. But his gaze shifted away just as quick, and you relaxed somewhat, relieved to have escaped the intense scrutiny. His glistening chest heaved with breaths of exertion, and you watched as he gave a single jostle of his fist in the air, before turning to exit the ring. 

Rodge led Ed out a side door, Millie rushing behind them with his water bottle gripped between her slim fingers. The red colour of her acrylics shone against the black plastic. You stumbled behind them as fast as your feet would carry you, but your body felt light, stomach shifting inside you like you were on a boat, a feeling that had you swaying from side to side; set aimlessly adrift in the teeming crowd. Like a small fish against a strong current, you wormed through thick arms and tall torso, finally slipping towards the door tucked so discreetly against the back wall. When you plunged through it, and the door had clicked shut at your back, you found yourself alone in a long hallway.

A multitude of closed doors decorated the path ahead, worn silver handles shining below the brassy light on the roof, taunting your uncertainty. Soft murmurs rose from somewhere in the distance, but boisterous cheers still rang in your ears, and you couldn’t pinpoint the exact location of the voices. An image of Ed hitting the mat swum through your vision and your first step faltered, palm colliding with the wall in an effort to steady yourself.

Your throat was thick as you swallowed, but the ball of anxiety stayed lodged in the top of your chest. You began to walk, ears pricked in hopes of recognising a familiar voice as you passed by the first set of doors. Millie or Ed—hell, even Rodge would do.  

You’d only made it a few steps when one of the doors smarted open, the hinge creaking painfully loud. The expectation that Millie was about to step out and greet you brought a welcome relief flooding through your veins, and your shoulders relaxed somewhat.

“Thank god,” you muttered.

And then stopped short, feet planting on the ground as the person fully entered the corridor.

Definitely not Millie.

Not for the first time that night, you were struck by how large he was. In fact, it was probably the hundredth time the thought had crossed your mind.

One hand gripped an ice pack to his waist, right where his kidney sat, and the other rubbed a small towelette across his chest, absorbing the sweat that still shone across his pecs. A pink mark covered his unbruised cheek, a stinging reminder of Ed’s first punch. Black, unruly eyebrows twitched in recognition, and the hand gripping the towel paused as he assessed you.

“What the hell are you doin’ down here?” he bristled. His voice was deeper than it had been earlier. Rougher.

You didn’t respond for a moment, eyes glazing over as they flicked in a constant loop from his face to his bare chest, his arms, his thighs. His bicep flexed as his hand tightened around the ice pack.

Jesus Christ, you thought. Get a hold of yourself.

“M’serious,” he griped. “If someone finds you down here when you’re not supposed to be, you’ll get your ass handed to you.”

He was more intimidating now than he had been earlier. Expression frustrated—almost pissed off—as he stared at you. It was a stark contrast to the interaction in the alley, where he’d kindly but firmly told you to get the fuck out of here.

The memory of Ed hitting the mat reared its head once more, and you flinched.

The ball of anxiety seemed to grow another inch, inspiring a low throbbing sensation behind your sternum. It screamed at you, pounded against your bones and hollered, you don’t know this guy, what the fuck are you doing? Sweat dampened your palms, and you allowed your eyes to dart down the hall over his shoulder, just for a second, before looking back at his face. Where the fuck is Millie?

Something shifted in his demeanour then. His eyebrows softened a touch, the corners of his mouth relaxing.

“You okay, hot shot?”

Heat soared through your belly at the nickname.

“Uhh,” your voice was a higher pitch than normal, and you cleared your throat quickly. “Yeah, yes, ‘m good.”

He nodded once, face unreadable. “Did you see it?” Black eyes watched you closely.

“Yeah,” you wiped your palms on your jeans. “Yeah, I saw.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

The tip of a pink, wet tongue slipped out of his mouth to swipe along his lower lip. So fast you almost missed it. Your face felt hot.  

“And what’d you think?”

You thought you could see the smugness in his eyes. The way his chest puffed out a little, knowing you’d seen his victory. You hated how pleased he seemed to be with himself… almost as much as you hated yourself for noticing how soft the inside of his elbows looked; for wondering what the sweat on his neck tasted like.

“I thought it was awful,” you told him truthfully. His smirk faltered a little, the spark in his eyes dimming as he stared. “I… I didn’t want to be here.”

He contemplated your response for a moment, eyes shining curiously as they ticked down your body, giving you a swift once over before flashing back up to your face. You shifted uneasily under the scrutiny.

The bag of ice crunched in his grip as he readjusted it against his side. For a split second he cringed, lower stomach tensing as he modified his footing, leaning most of his weight on his other side. The sight of his pain intrigued you. It had such a flawed, human quality about it. Something as real, as universal as hurt seemed to bring him back down to earth – to the same lowly reality that normal people lived in; ones who weren’t made of brick and couldn’t throw their fists with a god-like agility.

For as long as you could remember, you’d believed that any person who made the cognisant choice to inflict violence, was dangerous. And yet, your feet didn’t move. Couldn’t bring yourself to side-step his broad figure, to dash down the hall and bang on the doors until a guardian angel in the shape of Millie appeared. Because after a few short moments alone with him, away from the crowd and the bright lights and the fighting mat, you remembered why you didn’t feel the need to. Safe.

“But you stayed,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. An indisputable fact. Indeed, you had stayed.

“Call it morbid curiosity,” you muttered, scuffing the tip of your shoe against the ground.

He opened his mouth to respond, but you were already speaking. “Do you know if Ed’s okay?”

“Who?” he frowned. Your face mirrored his, confusion zapping through your body. However, the train of thought was interrupted by the door swinging open, and another man’s head dipping into your line of sight.

“Alright, we gott—” the man cut himself off, mouth hanging open as he caught sight of you a few metres away. “Oh.”

He was tall, taller than the boxer, with dark skin and black hair shaved short. Lips peeled back to reveal teeth, and you realised he was smiling at you. A polite, comforting smile. You recognised him from the fight; standing beside the ring, holding a water bottle to the boxer’s mouth in between rounds.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, gaze darting between the pair of you before landing on his friend. “But we need to talk.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of the words but didn’t tear his gaze away from your face. A splotchy, deep red mark had formed on his side of his stomach, hinting at how hard Ed must’ve punched him.

“’M Frank,” he said abruptly.

You blinked.

Frank.

Frank, Frank, Frank.

A name to put to the violence.

The man in the doorway glanced curiously at you, his eyes soft. After a long stretch of silence, in which you did not respond, and did not offer your own name up, a low scoff erupted from Frank’s mouth and that almost familiar smirk slid back across his lips.

“I get it,” he let out a low chuckle, a sound that echoed a simmering tone of disappointment. “Can’t go around giving your name out to just any scumbag.”

You cringed at the word choice. But as you went to defend yourself, to tell him your name, to say anything, he had already turned his back, readjusting his ice pack as he disappeared through the doorway.

It banged shut behind them, a whoosh of air rushing into the corridor with the movement. Alone once more, you took a steadying breath. The lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered once, a low hum emanating from it, and then a faint tap tap tap. You glanced up to see a small, black moth flapping it’s wings in earnest, repeatedly knocking against the warm glass of the bulb.

And then that soft, lilting voice was calling your name. You saw the blonde hair first, then the acrylic nails.

“Millie,” your feet carried you down the hall to where she stood, hanging halfway out of an open doorway.

“C’mon,” she hurried back inside. “We’re taking Ed to the hospital. They think he might have a concussion.”

You caught a glimpse of him inside the room. Rodge was wiping a damp cloth over his face, trying to clean away splashes of dark blood that stained his chin. Vacant eyes burned a hole into the ground, and the corners of his mouth turned down as he murmured something under his breath. Millie crouched to rest a sympathetic hand on his knee.

You spared a final glance down the hall, to the spot where you’d stood with Frank only moments before. Perhaps you were curious to see if he’d reappear – if he’d stalk back out and demand to know your name after all. But he didn’t, and you could hear Ed beginning to cry. So you did what Frank had done; turned your back, and let the door close behind you.

[petertingle-yipyip]

BIGGER PERSON - BILLY RUSSO

Pairing: billy x castle!reader (established relationship)

Word Count: 1,741

Summary: When Frank’s sister finds out that a) her brother’s alive and b) her boyfriend is supposed to kill him, the conversation quickly turns bad.

Your brother, Frank Castle.

Months had passed and his death still didn’t feel real. You had seen the headstone, found a church that was willing to give the infamous Punisher his last rites. Even though Frank didn’t really care for religion towards the end of his life, your parents would’ve wanted it done so you made sure of it. You sent them the blessed crucifix from the private ritual.

You were frozen in place as the news story played out on your TV. The job Billy was working for the senator, the one he claimed was to protect from the unknown bomber, was also intended to protect him from Frank. Frank, the alleged accomplice to the bomber, was being framed - yet again - as public enemy number one.

You paused the screen when the channel was playing video from a cop car that very clearly showed your brother’s face and pulled your phone to text Billy. But as your finger was finding the conversation, you realized he would very likely lie to you again. He lied about the job to begin with, so why would he owe you an honest answer now.

So instead, you paced your living room until he finally made it home.

When you heard the door open, your grip tightened on the remote and you felt the urge to throw it. Either at Billy or close to it, you didn’t care, but you refrained from either. He walked in and said his usual greeting, moving in to kiss your cheek but you shoved him off.

“Tell me you didn’t know.” You said tightly, hoping the anger in your stare was enough to burn him.

“What do you mean?” He asked, a slight nervous chuckle pairing with the words.

“The bombings. All of it is being blamed on Frank.” You continued.

“Frank?” His brows furrowed and you had the urge to shove him again.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”

“No, I- I’m not.” His hands went up in surrender. “I want to finish this discussion, really. But honestly, baby, I’m too damn tired. Can it wait till later?”

“So my brother is alive and I find out by chance from some news story and you want to talk about it later?” You said angrily, gesturing to the paused screen that still displayed the photo captured from a police car’s dash cam.

“Can we not do this, Y/N?” Billy sighed and dropped on the couch, covering his eyes.

“No, I think we should.” You snapped. “That is my brother, Billy. If there was even a rumor that he was still alive, you should’ve told me!”

“It was just a rumor.” He enunciated, still not looking at you. “I hadn’t heard from him so how was I supposed to know it was true?”

“You still should’ve told me!”

“I’m sorry!” He shouted, standing suddenly and. pausing you to take a small step back. “What am I supposed to do about it now? What- What- What do you want from me?”

“Jesus.” You sighed and put your hands up in surrender. “Nevermind. It’s just my brother, right? Who cares? Not like I had a right to know but hey.”

You stormed off to the bedroom and ignored Billy’s muttering as you left. You didn’t even need Billy to confess that he knew or that he was helping Frank hide. All you wanted was an honest apology, but he couldn’t even do that.

The days went on and you still said very little to Billy. You still did your usual routine, breakfast and coffee ready before he went to work. Dinner either on the way or finishing on the stove when he got home. But outside of that, or answering a direct question he asked, you were busy with a book or a new TV show. Anything really that meant you didn’t have to say anything to him.

It was right before his TV interview about the attack on Senator Ori at the hotel, which they were attributing to Frank. He had came out and asked if his tie looked okay and you said “Sure, it’s fine” without facing him.

“Jesus, Y/N/N. How long you gonna act like this?” He complained.

“I shouldn’t have to be the bigger person.” You spat back, still keeping your back to him. “I shouldn’t have to bend to keep us on track. Let me ask you this, Bill. That guy with the- the eye thing. He having you go after Frankie?”

“Y/N…”

“I swear to God I will walk out that door.” You threatened and turned to face him. You watched his eyes dart between yours as he took in your expression. “Everything you’ve been doing lately, was it all about Frank?”

“Yeah...”

“Catching him?”

“Yeah…”

“Killing him?”

You didn’t even know how you managed to get that question out but you did. It felt as if your throat had tightened and the three short syllables were rung out of your voice box like water out of a towel.

“Yeah…” He answered, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart grew heavy in your chest and it nearly felt

like it had stopped beating.

“And you wonder why I’m pissed off.” You said flatly, pushing past  and leaving him behind you.

“Baby, it's just business, alright? Nothing personal.”

“It should be personal!” You turned and shouted. “That’s my goddamn brother!”

“You want me to apologize for doing my job?” He asked sharply.

“Yes!” You threw your arms forward. “Apologize for trying to kill my brother!”

“It’s my job!”

“Well excuse me for thinking you cared about me more than a fucking paycheck.” You put hands up in surrender and turned away, back into the kitchen.

“C’mon, babe.” He sighed, hurrying after you. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s always up to me, even when it shouldn’t be.” You complained. “You want me to take the blame for a fight and I do. I do because I love you and I always think it’ll be the last time.”

“Y/N…” He said your name softly, confused even. As if he had barely realized what the routine with you had become.

Argue about something, sometimes petty and sometimes not. Then you’ll make up when you apologize, but nothing changes. It was a vicious cycle that Billy was completely oblivious to, until now.

“I think that maybe next time you’ll be the bigger person cause I’m sick and tired of carrying the burden of every argument.” You shrugged, tears forming in your eyes that you ignored. “Keep moving my boundaries so you don’t cross lines, keep quiet when you yell. All cause I thought I had to to make it last between us.”

“I… I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He took a moment to think over his next words. It felt like a very defining moment for your relationship. He never meant to make you feel that way, and knowing he had was arguably the worst pain he’d ever felt. How did he not notice? How could he do that to you?

“Tell me how to make this right.” He said softly, gently reaching to take your hand. You looked up at him while you let your hand sit in his. He looked at you with wide, soft eyes that were begging for forgiveness. “I’ll do anything.”

“You think it’s that easy?” You countered with a small challenge. “Billy, you’ve been hunting down my brother for a man who doesn’t care about you. That guy will throw you under the bus as soon as he needs to, just like everyone else. But my brother? You know damn well Frank would’ve done anything to protect you. He never would’ve don’t this to you.”

“No… He would’ve.”

“Why?” 

He looked towards the ceiling and sighed heavily. Your stomach felt tight and your blood ran warm with anticipation while you took a step back, taking your hand away from his.

“What did you do?” You urged.

“The carousel.” He began and that knot in your stomach grew tighter.

“You were there?”

“No.” He looked back to you, a silent plea in his expression. To hear him out, to believe him, to forgive him. “No, I wasn’t, I swear.”

“You didn’t shoot him? Or Maria? Or the kids?”

“No, I wouldn’t do it.” He shook his head and you could’ve sworn you saw tears in his eyes. “I said no.”

You were quiet as things began to click and you knew it reflected in your eyes as Billy’s expression changed.

“But you knew… You knew they were coming after my brother and that’s why we went out instead of me going with them.” You realized and the thick weight of betrayal slammed into your chest so hard you thought the bones would break. “How fucking dare you stand in front of me.”

“No, Y/N, please. Let me-“

“Let you what?” You cut in sharply and your hands tightened into fists at your side. “Let you explain? What is there to explain when you just admitted to knowing that your worthless fucking friends were gonna kill my family and you did nothing?” Your voice grew to a scream as you rambled.

His eyes shot to your hands and he took a step back from you.

“My niece and nephew, Billy!” You shouted. “They were kids! And Maria, she loved you. And you just let it happen.”

“I couldn’t do anything.” He spoke quietly.

“You’re kidding, right?” You laughed in disbelief. “You could’ve warned him!”

“He wouldn’t have believed me!” He reasoned.

“Y’know what.” You took a deep breath. “Just get out.”

“Y/N..”

“Aren’t you late for your interview?”

He opened his mouth to speak but the glare you gave him kept him quiet. Instead, he collected his things and went to leave.

“I didn’t want all this.” He called from the door. “It wasn’t supposed to end up this way.”

“Yeah, you worked so hard to keep it from me.” You countered. “Good luck when Frank finds out.”

The door closed soon after and you found your phone. You scrolled your contacts until Karen’s name popped up. You had met the woman when her friends were defending Frank in court and you two had stayed decent friends. You texted and said you had seen the news about Frank and asked if she could help you get in touch with him.

karen (lawyer): just put flowers in the window

[frankcastlescumslut]

A House in Nebraska

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: gore, violence, minor character death, amy bendix (lol), language, angst!!, eventual smut

summary: He was afraid of you. Afraid that you had made up your mind and had enough of him, that this was the final straw. But the worst thing, he decided, was the possibility that this, that he, was enough for you—that you would pledge your loyalty to a man like him. To a life like this.

a/n: hey! I’ve been sitting on this idea for months and finally ready to work on it :) this will definitely be a two-parter(maybe more), but I’m selfishly enjoying this little AU loosely following season 2!!!!

next chapter

comments/reblogs/likes are so appreciated, I love to hear your thoughts <3

“So… how did you guys meet?” “Stay still.” The strong stench of rubbing alcohol burned your nostrils as you leaned over, her foot tapping mindlessly beneath her crossed legs. “You didn’t answer my question.” “Amy,” you interrupted, her blue eyes baring right back into yours. “If you want me to paint your nails, sit still.” She huffed at that. You were used to it by now, never taking her attitude personally because being sixteen was hard enough, so you paid no mind. It was almost reminiscent, a painful familiarity with the way she embodied your sister, but you chose to forget the feeling like your life depended on it. In a way, it did.

Her nail disappeared beneath a glossy black polish, the surrounding skin also falling victim to an unsteady hand. She let out a sigh and continued to count the number of stripes on her socks.

“We met in Nebraska.” “Nebraska?” She sounded disgusted, and the small room filled with laughter. “What the hell is in Nebraska?” “Absolutely nothing.”

Ghosts. Distant memories. Everything was in Nebraska.

It’s where he found you, hiding as some housekeeper in a shitty motel. You were both running from things neither of you cared to talk about while sober, so you didn’t, but he kept looking for reasons to come back.

He blamed it on the esteemed breakfast, a vending machine honeybun, but you saw through him like he was an apparition haunting your strained heartstrings.

Come with me, he asked. Where to? You didn’t really care.

You were in too deep by the time you made it to Michigan—you both were, and yet neither one of you would admit it. There was something sacred about the secrecy and inability to label what you both knew was love, or something like that; it was too precious, and you avoided any chance at jinxing it.

“But you two are together, though, right?” Amy was obsessed with knowing everything. You think it’s her way of pretending that everything was fine. Fine.

“No.” “Oh.” She straightened a bit, and you didn’t miss the way her brows furrowed. “That disappoint you?” “A little.” “Good,” you smirked. “You’re too nosey.” “I call it a healthy amount of curious.” Her back hunched again, and she watched the way your eyebrows scrunched over her fingers. “You guys are shit at hiding it, anyway.” You chuckled at that, manually manipulating her hand to inspect your work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh come on,” she says matter-of-factly. “You guys fuck.” “Amy!” You could feel your eyes bulging from their sockets. “I knew it!” She clapped her hands before jumping from the mattress. “You don’t know anything.” “Oh come on,” she searched your face, expecting to find any confirmation to her assumptions, instead finding your lack of eye contact disappointing. “Not even once?” “No,” you lied. “Happy?” “Not really.”

The mattress failed to hide the sound of her disappointment as she threw her body onto the spare bed. You allowed yourself to find amusement in her attitude long enough to sift through a dirty duffel bag, keeping your mind occupied with something other than Frank’s absence.

Gaining Amy meant losing Frank. Hour by hour, piece by piece, chunk of flesh by chunk of flesh. The waiting never grew easier, but you adjusted, just like you always do, ending up in motels that smelled like damp polyester and cigarettes.

“I’m starving,” she groaned, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’ll get something soon.” Your stomach gurgled in agreement.

Static crackled throughout the room, momentarily stunning you, before being replaced by a weather report.

High of 89 today with an 80 percent chance of rain, folks! Grab an umbrella and stay dry!

You laughed to yourself at that—stay dry—like you ever left those shitty rooms.

It was bittersweet with Amy. You missed the sun. You missed the late night diner runs. You missed waking up to forehead kisses and soft touches. You missed the easiness of it all, pretending to be two normal people that had two normal lives, and now you were confined to a room that reeked of nail polish and gunpowder. A prisoner and caretaker.

“What do you want for dinner?” you asked, attempting to lighten the mood. “Huh?” “Dinner,” you stated. “I’ll go when—“ A knock at the door ended your conversation. “Amy,” you locked eyes with her, “get in the closet.” Your voice dropped to a whisper as you pointed the gun towards the door. “No, it’s fine!“ She practically leapt from the cheap mattress. “Closet. Now.” Your arm aches almost as much as your stomach as Amy reaches for the door handle. She was so far away, it seemed, and your legs felt cemented to the floor. “I ordered food,” she smiled, opening the door to reveal a woman holding a box. “See?”

It felt like you were staring at one of your polaroids; Amy looked pleased, beaming at you with a sense of accomplishment that she got dinner. That she could do things. That she didn’t need your help—Frank’s help. Her smile was radiant, and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for her.

“You can keep the change,” Amy offered the woman a handful of cash before turning to you with that same naivety.

Stupid, stupid girl.

You knew it was coming, and yet your stomach still dropped when her smile faded and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Amy’s lips moved frantically, but you were too focused on the way the woman’s gun left imprints against her temple.

Stupid, stupid girl.

The woman looked satisfied, puffing out her broad chest while Amy tried to talk her way out of it. “Kid,” you commanded her attention, ignoring the way you could hear Frank’s voice in the back of your head. She stared back at you, tears welling in her eyes, and you hoped to God that she would understand what you meant as you meticulously cocked your head towards the closet.

The stranger wasn’t an idiot, and she shuffled backwards, somehow digging the gun further into Amy’s head. “If you try anything funny—“

Point. Shoot. Kill.

Amy flinched as warm blood decorated her cheeks like a crimson blush.

You wish you could embrace her and muster out a lie—that it’s all over, that everything is okay now, that things can go back to normal, but you can’t, so you pull her into the room. “Closet, now.”

She listened, for once, ducking her head and hurrying to the small space Frank had designated as hers. A part of you selfishly wished she had fought back against your order. Maybe then things would feel normal, and you could pretend that the brain matter surrounding the door frame was some maximalist’s creative direction. Maybe then you could imagine that the body below you was just a rolled up carpet that was being discarded because it was too much of an eyesore for the motel regulars.

You pretended, ignoring the corpse’s vacant gaze as you patted its body, shoving any remaining bits of your humanity down as you pocketed a wallet and fully loaded gun.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

It was one of the first lessons you had learned while on your own, and one that Frank never let you forget. He was right, unfortunately, and heavy footsteps reiterated the importance of the mantra as they approached your temporary home.

There weren’t many places for you to hide, but you made it work, you had to. The bathroom was small and smelled like mildew, but you couldn’t care about the dangers of black mold when you had a target on your back. The gun felt lighter in your hand this time, and your posture felt natural as you crouched against the bathroom wall.

Time didn’t exist in moments like this. The moments where the world sounded like warm, rushing blood and high pitched screeching. Moments where you become reduced to your primal state, clenching jaw and eyes blown wide as they study the mirrored motel room. Moments where you held your breath, watching and waiting in anticipation of who would barge into your temporary sanctuary, noting the constant footsteps..

The footsteps never stopped, not even as they stepped over the limp body and pooled blood. You foolishly hoped you would have been met with the familiar darkened gaze, that he would lift you by your shoulders and tell you that you did good, but the man that barged into the room was ruthless. Cold-blooded.

His gun was already drawn, spraying the mattresses and walls with bullets and fury, sending drywall crumbling and flaking onto your head and shoulders.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

You inhaled, not even considering it could be the last time your lungs expanded to its full capacity, before glancing in the mirror a final time.

You looked like a version of yourself you had buried long ago—a version that hadn’t emerged since you had left home. It was reminiscent of something you fought to avoid, but you couldn’t run this time, not as the pang of gunshots echoed throughout the motel room.

He moved quickly, and you wondered if he was trained on the same basis: shoot first, ask later. He wasn’t the first one you had encountered, trigger-happy and determined, and you knew they always ran out of bullets quicker than they should.

Your golden opportunity sounded like a few seconds of silence followed by a huff of air leaving your lips before you reached around the corner, catching the man off guard as you unleashed three rounds towards his rigid frame.

“God damnit!” he shouted as a bullet ripped through the meat of his thigh.

His eyes were black, rolling into the sockets like a blood hungry shark, and you genuinely thought his teeth would crumble under the pressure of his clenched jaw.

The bathroom was no solace; you were cornered, backed into a cage like an animal waiting for its turn to be brought to the slaughterhouse. Surrendering wasn’t an option. It didn’t exist for people like the one hunting you—for people like Frank.

The thought of Frank coming back to your makeshift home, littered with blood and bodies, made your stomach churn. It meant you failed, that you weren’t capable of keeping up with him, and it was embarrassing. You failed him; you failed Amy, and you failed yourself once again, though that mattered little anymore.

Your golden moment was quickly interrupted by the sound of grunting and a continuous stream of popping inching towards your hiding place. The wall exploded and ceramic tile flew towards your face before you realized what was happening, and you instinctively receded towards the small spot between the toilet and cabinet.

“Come on out, honey,” he called. “Can’t hide forever!”

You could tell he was hovering outside the remnants of the doorframe, probably waiting for you to crawl out so he could pretend to be merciful by putting a bullet in your head, but his labored breathing told you everything he wasn’t. Your guess was a severed artery, and although he should be down by now, you learned to never underestimate a man with nothing left to lose and steadied your gun on the edge of the counter.

“Just tell me where the girl is and we can figure this out like adults!” “Like adults?” You called out, scanning the bathroom for anything that could help your situation. “Sure,” he huffed out. “We can play house after this. What do you say?”

The toe of his boot peeked around the corner, and your body moved before your mind could catch up.

The man let out a guttural scream and folded in half, instinctively grabbing his bleeding foot. You wasted no time yanking the cheap plastic shower curtain from its holdings before leaping towards the assailant.

He looked like a beached shark, thrashing beneath the fogging curtain, but felt more like a mechanical bull as you held onto him with your thighs, tightening your grip around the curtain.

It happened quickly. So quickly that you hadn��t registered the throbbing pain in the base of your skull as you crashed into the already crumbling drywall. You weren’t sure how he stood, how he gained enough momentum to fling you off of him, but your mind and body remained disconnected as he towered over you.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” the man coughed, failing to cover his mouth. “Where’s the girl?”

This wasn’t supposed to be the end. This was humiliating, and yet there you were, blinking away stars and choking on dust. You attempted to sit up straight, regaining your dignity, before your knuckles hit the familiar carbon steel.

There was only one shot, and you prayed Amy had made it out and ran as far away from you as she could—this wasn’t a place for young girls, yet you felt small enough in that moment. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

He fell with a great thud, nearly landing on top of you. His mouth and eyes were still open, completely unsuspecting of his demise, and you were hypnotized by the crimson dripping from the bullet-sized hole in his forehead.

It was seamless, and you think Frank would have been proud had he walked in through the blown out door, but he doesn’t. Nobody was coming.

“He talked too much.” Her voice startled you, and you instinctively reached for the gun. “Whoa,” she warned, “it’s okay, it’s just me.” She showed her palms, emerging fully from the small closet.

“Amy,” you whispered, afraid that she was just an apparition.

“You okay?” She knew it was a stupid question the second it left her mouth, but she asked anyway—she at least meant it.

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing yourself to your feet. “We have to leave.”

“Leave? What about Frank?”

You had already limped across the room, adding the new guns and wallets to the duffel bag, and didn’t need to see the confusion on her face to know she was skeptical of your plan. “He’ll find us,” you tried to believe yourself, but you knew he would understand.

You’d had this conversation before; if anything were to happen to him, you and Amy were to find a Madani somewhere in New York. It was a 10 hour drive, but you were confident you could make it in six if you left now.

The room felt smaller with two bodies and crumbled drywall littering the floor. You could ignore the claustrophobic feel, but Amy stood frozen in place, studying the tread marked puddle of blood beneath her feet.

“Hey,” you started, “look at me. Look at me, Amy.”

She was pale, her eyes sunken into their sockets. It was impossible to make sense of how she looked so young, yet so hardened at that moment, but there wasn’t enough time to wonder. “Amy, we have to go, okay?” Her cheeks were soft beneath your palms. You tried to pull her from her trance, begging her to come back to the shitty motel room of death, but she stayed tucked away in the safest corner of her mind.

“You’re bleeding,” she muttered. “What?” “Bleeding. You’re bleeding.”

Her eyes led a trail to the soft curve of your waist. Your shirt stuck to your skin with an uncomfortable warmth, and you pretended it didn’t ache when you placed a few fingers over the gash.

You wanted to laugh at the irony, deluding yourself with a false sense of accomplishment. It was always too good to be true, and you were reminded of the cruel fact that things could always be worse as the sound of heavy footsteps pulled you from the pain. Amy ran towards the familiar hiding spot without being told, and your heart broke into smaller pieces.

It was getting old, the pointing and shooting and killing. It was getting old, and you were tired of calling the shots—you were tired of waiting for Frank to come back.

Fuck him. Fuck him for leaving you. Fuck him for leaving Amy. Fuck him for making you add two more heads to your roster.

Your arm ached as you leveled the gun, and you let out a sharp cry as your skin pulled in separate directions, the cotton of your shirt peeling from the wet wound. It was a matter of seconds before you would claim your next victim, but all you felt was the burning rage towards the man that left you in this position. It was automatic at this point; all you saw was a threat, so you acted, unloading rounds until all that remained was a busted door frame and tear stains against your grimy cheeks.

“Shit,” he whispered, not even acknowledging the body that he stepped over. “No no no, what happened?” He strung a hand behind your neck, forcing you to watch the way his eyes scanned your face. He meant well, you think, but you couldn’t look at him, especially as he thumbed through the tears that escaped your waterline. “Where’s the kid?”

God damn him. “Closet,” you choked out.

He was gone as quickly as he came, and your knees took the brute of the fall with a thud, masking the sound of the closet doors falling as Frank ripped them from the hinges. The stars in your eyes glistened, your peripheral shrinking, and you weren’t even sure if he was real. If he had actually come back, if he had actually left you on the floor, face to face with your bloody work.

“You okay, kid?” He crouched to her level, but she quickly uncurled herself, practically jumping from the small space to push past Frank and joined you on the damp carpet. “Are you okay?” she asked, her brows furrowing as she studied your face. “I’m fine," you whispered, bracing yourself against the mattress to hoist yourself to your feet. Frank hovered, like he usually did, unsure of his place between the two of you. His anger was palpable, and you made yourself as small as possible, limping towards the disheveled duffle bags. He watched you, noting the way you winced with each step. It killed him, knowing that his shit would eventually catch up to you, too, but he gulped it down, turning his attention towards Amy.

“I’m sorry,” Frank started, grabbing Amy’s shoulders before bending to her level. “I’m sorry this happened. I shouldn’t have left.” “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Seriously. It could’ve been worse.” “Yeah, you coulda been killed. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Alone. The bile rose from your stomach and burned the lining of your throat at the indirect insult.

“I wasn’t alone,” Amy snapped at Frank before sinking into the mattress. “Look, this is all my fault. I was the one that ordered food, she didn’t know.” It was humiliating having Amy come to your defense like that, even though she was right. Frank’s stare burned, and your feet involuntarily took you to the destroyed bathroom to escape his attention. “What?” He spat. “I mean, really. I probably would have died but she handled them.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “It was actually kinda cool.” “There’s nothin’ cool about this,” Frank hissed. “C’est la vie, I guess.” “C’mon,” he ordered. “Pack up.” “Everything’s already ready.” She motioned towards the perfectly lined duffle bags that you had assembled.

He didn’t have much to say. He was almost relieved at the fact that you were ready to leave him. You could make it on your own, he knew that much. You were strong enough, but a part of him wished you didn’t have to be—that you didn’t have to deal with his shit.

Amy watched as he shifted his weight outside the bathroom door, his fingers flexing and clenching in anticipation.

His heart broke as he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the busted mirror, your head hanging low as you sat on the edge of the bathtub.

He was afraid of you. Afraid that you had made up your mind and had enough of him, that this was the final straw. But the worst thing, he decided, was the possibility that this, that he, was enough for you—that you would pledge your loyalty to a man like him. To a life like this.

“Time to go,” he finally knocked against the remaining wall. You were quick to listen, pretending that you hadn’t been crying, and you pushed past him. The carpet squelched beneath your stride, and you ignored it long enough to pull Amy into your chest, focusing on the sweet smell of her shampoo. She stayed there for what seemed like forever until she became cognizant of her flickering facade. “You okay?” you whispered, nodding your head as if you could somehow convince her she was. She followed suit, swallowing down any trace of emotion that threatened to spill over, but her eyes betrayed her. Frank had seen enough.

It was too much—too much of a reminder that he had failed again, that his perpetual failings would always result in the loss of a life. Your commitment to Amy’s safety was evident; it was a continuation of what you couldn’t give your sister, and he was ashamed that he brought you back to the place where he met you. “Let’s go,” he cleared his throat. You listened, as you always do, breaking your moment of respite with Amy to shove two heavy duffle bugs over your shoulder, not caring to look behind you as you head towards a bulky van. Amy watched you disappear, shuffling her feet in frustration. “You really should take it easy on her.” Frank said nothing, instead sifting through the empty pockets of corpses. “Hey,” she kicked the limp hand, forcing Frank to stop his search. “I mean it. Lighten up.” “You done?” He stood, completely towering over Amy. His jaw clenched against his will, yet she held his gaze. “Be nice.”

“Time to go.” He didn’t wait for her, so she watched her footing as she tiptoed over the broken bodies.

She lingered in the doorframe, committing the bloodbath to memory. It was fucked that she had to—that the motel room reeked of blood and guts instead nail polish remover and pizza. But that’s how these things went, and you watched from the safety of the van as she slammed the door shut on that dirty fucking room.

You pretended that her clumpy mascara was still intact as she climbed in the van's backseat. She pretended you didn’t jump at the sound of Frank slamming his door closed as he slid into his seat. He pretended that this wasn’t his karmic debt catching up to him.

A caravan of fucking liars.

“Where are we going?” Amy broke the uncomfortable silence, and you held your breath. “New York,” he said with a sigh.

New York, a Madani, and a caravan of liars.

There was a poetic moment of silence and anticipation, and then the engine roared to life.

next chapter

[once-upon-an-imagine]

could you do a dialogue with remus lupin where the he's dating james' twin sister who is also in gryffindor and james finds out because someone caught them sneaking out of the castle and took a picture and posted it on social media (i know they didn't have technology at hogwarts but whatever) and he gives remus permission to date his sister (as if remus needed his permission) but he gives them a bunch of rules like no kissing in front of him and they can never hangout if he's not there because he's very protective. just something very fluffy and sweet. wow i just realized how long that was. sorry!

omg yes! I changed the social media thing though but I hope you still like it 😁

"Would you care to explain to me what this is?!" James said, bursting into the Common Room and slamming a picture on the table.

"A photo of Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, and Alice that Frank took yesterday?" you asked, confused.

"Not that! In the background! Is that you kissing Remus? Why are you kissing my best friend?"

"Really? I thought Sirius was your best friend" you said, trying to sound confused.

"Well, Sirius is my oldest friend- No! Wait! Don't change the subject!" he snapped as Sirius, Remus, and Peter walked inside. "Oh, there he is! Do you have anything to say for yourself?!" James glared at you.

"Yes" you said, taking a deep breath as the other three guys looked at you confused. "Sirius, James said Remus is his best friend-"

"What?!" Sirius asked, genuinely looking heartbroken.

"No, that's not what-! Very funny!" James glared at you as you tried not to laugh.

"Jamie, what do you want me to say? I'm dating Remus" you said as if it was nothing.

"What? Since when?" James said, looking between you and Remus as Remus walked closer to you and held your hand.

"A couple of months" he said, kissing your head.

"WHAT? And you didn't tell me?!"

"We actually had a bet to see how long it would take you to figure it out" Peter laughed, handing Sirius two chocolate frogs. "I bet they could get away with it until we graduated" he informed him.

"What? No! Okay, who else knows about this?"

"Literally everyone" you informed him.

"So, you just hid it from me?" he asked, sadly.

"Prongs, it wasn't like that. We just... we weren't sure how you were going to take it" Remus said, truthfully.

"Yeah, Jamie, it was my idea. I knew you would get all big-brothery and-"

"I am your big brother-"

"You are SEVEN minutes older than me!" you glared at him. "But... I love Remus" you told him.

"You- you love him?" James asked, smiling a little.

"And I love her" Remus said pulling you closer to him.

"Alright, I have come to my decision" James informed everyone.

"What do you mean a decision-?" you asked.

"You have my permission to date my sister" he told Remus.

"I don't really... need your permision" he frowned.

"But! I do have a few rules-"

"You do know there is no way we are following any-" you started.

"No kissing in front of me! That is disgusting" he continued, ignoring you. "And no hanging out if I am not present!"

"That is definitely not going to happen" you laughed.

"I'm serious!"

"Okay, fine, Jamie" you rolled your eyes. "I'm gonna go meet Lily and tell her how I cannot hang out with my boyfriend without my brother then" you said, kissing Remus' cheek and squeezing his hand before you left the Common Room.

"Right, and I'm gonna go... to the Library" Remus said before he quickly followed you.

"Well" James said, sitting down on the sofa. "I believe I handled that pretty well" he said, smiling proudly.

Sirius and Peter looked at each other before they sat down in front of him.

"Mate, you do know they just played you, right?" Peter asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Lily is sitting right over there with Marlene" Sirius pointed out. "And Remus didn't even have his bag with him" he laughed as James widened his eyes.

"Shit! Give me the Map!"

"Moony has it" Sirius shrugged.

"That bloody prick!" he said, getting up and started to walk out of the room.

"What are you gonna do? Look around for them in the entire castle?" Peter asked.

"If I have to!" James yelled before he was gone.

"I thought you had the Map" Peter said, looking at Sirius, confused.

"I do" he said, taking it out. "Moony gives me chocolate every time I keep Prongs away from them" he laughed.

[enretrogue]

𝗔𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗟 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 𝗙𝗜𝗖 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗦 (𝟭)

.☘︎ ݁˖ = BLACK/POC WORKS | 23' FIC REC M.LIST

MCU

BUCKY BARNES

Bumblebee Series: 1 ⎢ 2 ⎢ 3 ⎢ 4 ⎢ 5 ⎢ 6 ⎢ 7 ⎢  — @angrythingstarlight .☘︎ ݁˖

Soft!Dark!Mafia!Bucky x Runaway Bride!Reader — @angrythingstarlight .☘︎ ݁˖

Peachy Sweet: 1 ⎢ 2 ⎢ 3 ⎢ 4 ⎢ 5 ⎢ 6 — @straywords .☘︎ ݁˖

FRANK CASTLE/THE PUNISHER

Apple Bottom Jeans (+Billy Russo) — @bubuslutty

#15 w/ Frank Castle — @bits-and-babs

Bambi With Fangs ⎢ 2 ⎢ 3 — @bubuslutty

Bring Me Home — @frvnkcastles

Bakery AU — @devils-dares

Love Language (+ Billy Russo) — @bubuslutty

Imagine #1,044 (+ Shane Walsh) — @komotionlessqueenmm

Primal — @darlingshane

Instagram AU — @amhrosina

You’re Everything I Never Knew I Needed — @lemon-world1

Cowboy!Frank — @rrestrella

Really Bad Week — @chvoswxtch

“Come here…Hey! I said come. Here.” — @bullet-prooflove

Sanctuary — @glossysoap

Biting Truth — @narcolini

Soft Morning Sex w/ Frank — @amhrosina

Cutesy Blurb — @thyme-in-a-bubble

Frank w/ An Inexperienced Reader — @amhrosina

STEVE ROGERS

His Inheritance: Chapter 26 ⎢ Chapter 27 — @jtargaryen18

FRANK CASTLE + MATT MURDOCK

Spelling Out “I Love You” — @amhrosina

Baking w/ Matty and Frankie — @chvoswxtch

An Unexpected Delight — @amhrosina

TWD

GLENN RHEE

CDC — @collecting-stories

Feel Me — @nikkisheep

Never Stopped Looking — @glennrheesworld

Sex w/ Glenn — @strgrlxox

PEAKY BLINDERS

LUCA CHANGRETTA

Busted — @mlmxreader

Our Scars — @arzennn

MICHAEL GRAY

Behind On That Cute Date ⎢ Chocolate Pie — @anonymooseforever007

ALFIE SOLOMONS

Airport Snow — @there-goes-thefighter

Angel of Birmingham — @darkdevasofdestruction

Quid Pro Quo — @scorpiussage

THOMAS SHELBY

Dragon’s Den — @pherelesytsia

Afternoon Shelby Chaos ⎢The Boys ⎢Dad!Tommy ⎢Mr. Giraffe — @teenwolf-theoriginals

Mama Bear — @dlmlufics

Arthur + Cards — @dlmlufics

Big Sister Bess — @dlmlufics

Escape to Me — @daisyblinder

GEN. PEAKY BLINDERS

The Proposal (Shelby!Reader) — @anonymooseforever007

TGM

COURT GENTRY/SIERRA SIX

Take a Nap Amidst the Storm — @lloydsbitch

Home — @welcome-to-my-multiverse

SIERRA SIX + LLOYD HANSEN

Ready for Destruction (Prologue) — @holylulusworld

STRANGER THINGS

JIM HOPPER

Handcuffed — @thisfanisgonesorry

Taking Control — @call-me-little-sunshine84

Workplace Gossip — @darling-i-read-it

Batch of Cookies — @sunnylands-world

Hopper x Sleepy!Reader — @ddejavvu

DBF!Hopper — @ddejavvu

Final Essay — @keerysteacake

Plain Old Man — @ddejavvu

Out of the Woods — @mypoisonedvine

DBF!Hopper — @empresskylo

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

Hii I was wondering if maybe you could write a one shot with Aemond Targaryen. The reader has awful nightmares almost every night and he comforts her. Thanks :))

THE BARATHEON CURSE ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! It makes me so happy to know that you requested my writing! I love this idea! He does ( lowkey ) give off this vibe of 'fuck each and every one of you, expect my wife and my sister. they're chill..' <3 pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader prompt: It's said there is a curse on the Baratheon woman.. WARNING! Mentions of blood, war, loss of a child, incest & death ( The things you can expect from Game of Thrones / House of the Dragon ) word count: 900+ words

Letting out a small snort at Aegon’s terrible joke, she strokes her stomach out of habit, hoping to capture the moment her baby kicks. The pregnancy had been a rough one. But, then again, all pregnacy’s in her family were rough. It almost seemed like someone had put a curse on the woman of the Baratheon house. Forcing them to have rough pregnancies. 

Wincing as the baby kicks her a little too hard, she bites her lip to hold back the small groan that threatened to escape her lips. She couldn't let them know or else word would get to Aemond. He’d then be running around the castle in a panic. Threatening guards and scrambling to get the Maesters’ himself. 

“My child will not sound like that!” Y/N laughs, pushing through the pain.

“Considering who his father is, it is to be expected.” Aegon teases, “Just you wait, when you give birth⎯that babe will be spouting out poetry about taking their revenge on all those who have wronged them!” 

“Aemond does not do that!” Y/N argues, shaking her head with a smile.

“He does so.” Helena adds, with a light giggle.

Biting down on her lip, she shakes her head with a pout, savoring every second of their conversation. There were rare occasions where everyone got along. Where it seemed like they were a normal family.  Aegon was sober and surprisingly bearable. Helena was full of jokes and laughter, not shying away. Aemond wasn’t brooding in the corner, but rather adding the laughter with dry jokes. It was these rare moments that she kept close to her heart. 

“Not you too, Helena.” Y/N groans, shaking her head. 

“Only teasing you, dear sister.” Helena giggles, “It is all in good fun.” 

“Teasing me? A poor helpless pregnant woman? Have none of you any shame?”  Y/N wails dramatically, clutching her heart in mock pain. 

“As if you're helpless, were you not the one to send Ser Cole running back to our mother with his tail between his legs?” Aegon teases, making Helena’s giggles grow. 

There may have been some truth to his words. But, she wasn’t going to confirm nor deny that it did happen. She didn’t need rumors to fly around about it. She didn’t want Aemond to be forced to deal with those kinds of whispers whenever he was in Court.  It was insulting and not needed. 

“Only because he dared to make comments about my pregnancy.” She waves off, “I will not have some lap dog insult me while I carry a future Targaryen ruler.” 

“Ah! Yes, the Baratheon curse..” Aegon nods, leaning back.

“Indeed, how has your pregnancy been so far, dear sister?” Helena questions, “Aemond has kept you locked up, I hardly see you anymore.”

Tensing up at the question, her hand flys to her bulging stomach, her nerves growing at the innocent question. It was horrid. Throwing up every morning. Constant night terrors. Her body aching after doing the simplest tasks. She hated every second of it⎯and to be quite frank, she was relieved that she was just weeks away from her due date. 

But, she feared it as well. Many of the Baratheon women⎯whether related through blood or marriage⎯died in childbirth. Their child would live, but they wouldn’t. They had a higher death count in childbirth than any other house in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It made her blood run cold at the thought of giving birth. 

“Rough, but all's well. Do not worry.” She lies, nodding her head with a forced smile.

                                                      ⎯¤⚔¤⎯

Lifting up her nightgown, she eyes the painfully dark bruises that littered her stomach, a growing feeling of dread filling her.  She could not avoid it any much longer. Biting her bottom lip, she lowers the sheer fabric, her eyes still glued to the mirror. Aemond in the background, fiddling with the buttons on his vest. Taking a deep breath, she tries to gather the strength and confidence to start the dreaded discussion. 

“Aemond?” She calls, earning a hum. 

“Yes, my dear?” He asks, still fiddling with the buttons. 

“I was chatting with your siblings earlier today..” She hums, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Whatever Aegon said, just ignore him⎯” He huffs, rolling his eye. 

“No. No. It’s nothing like that. It was about my pregnancy, you see.” She nervously chuckles, “They asked how it was and it got me thinking..”

He pauses, his whole body tensing up. They’ve had conversations like this before, early on in her pregnancy. But, Aemond always shut it down before they really got into it. His face would pale and his hands would shake, he’d trip over his words.

She knew it scared him⎯Hell, it scared her. But, she felt like it needed to be talked about. Turning to him, she places a hand on her stomach, using all of her strength to keep pushing on. 

“What if I die?” She whispers, scared of his reaction. 

“I thought I told you not to speak of⎯” He argues, shaking his head. 

“No, we must. It is something we cannot avoid any much longer, Aemond.” She argues, her voice booming. “We⎯I grow closer and closer to my due date. We need to discuss this now, before it’s too late.”

“I don't⎯” He argues, but she cuts him short.

“Then let me speak! Even if you do not want to, let me talk about it. Because I cannot go on any longer brushing it off.” She bellows, “I have night terrors about this Aemond! Night after night it tears me apart and I cannot just brush it aside because you are scared!” 

Tears build in her eyes, the stress of the entire pregnancy crashing down on her shoulders all at once. It was all too much. Slowly falling to her knees, he rushes after her, trying to soften the blow before it’s too late. Her hands clutching her belly. She lets out a loud wail⎯not of pain. But, a wail of sadness. She had lost many family members growing up. Her cousins. Her sisters. Her Aunts. Her mother. All because of something going wrong in birth. 

“Are you alright? Is it the babe?” He questions, his whole body tense.

“No. It’s just⎯”

“Take your time.” He argues, “Do not force yourself to speak.” 

Nodding her head in understanding, she takes deep breaths to calm herself, there was more that needed to be said. If she didn’t get it out now, she’d probably never get the chance to do it again. Blinking away the tears, she meets his eye, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she struggles to speak.

Shakingly reaching out, she cups his cheek, her thumb brushing away the tears that fall from his sapphire eye. She had to be strong for him. For her babe. Taking one last deep breath, she rested her head against his chest, her hand on her stomach.

“Every woman in my family has suffered. But, we continue to bear children as it is our duty and with that there are risks⎯And there is a high chance you will have to pick between me and the babe.” She whispers, “You need to be the one strong enough to pick because I do not want to be the one to have to do it for you.”

“I do not⎯I can not⎯Do not make me pick.” He shakes his head.

“It is not a matter of not wanting to, it is a matter of having to do your duty. As my husband and the father of our child. You need to know which one of us to save when the time comes.” She argues, shutting her eyes.

“You. It will always be you.” He whispers, “We can always try for another. But, I cannot bear to lose you.”

“You can always remarry⎯” 

“No. You are my wife, my only wife. I will not marry again, not even if the King commands it.” He argues, “You will always be mine. No matter what.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hi I was wondering since I think you do platonic writing cause you did younger sister to Peter quill headcanons

Can I request Frank Castle x teenage daughter reader headcanons ❤❤

hii!! yes ofcc!! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

FRANK AS YOUR DAD HC’S

frank castle x teenage daughter reader

im gonna say you're an only child, just for the sake of the hc's. maybe also, it's just you and frank, so no mum in the picture (though you're welcome to think opposite) 

so.. 

— no matter how old you are, you're still his little girl. you'd always be his little girl

— you'd be the light of his life, his reason for living. you're the only one he cares about, and if he lost you, he'd have nothing

— he gets a little too overprotective, shielding you. maybe excessively so

— has to meet every guy you date. makes them come to the door when they pick you up. probs something about them having to call him sir. def does that thing where he asks their intentions. maybe tries to scare them off. I imagine you running upstairs to get your bag, and your date and frank are left downstairs, and frank's just staring him down and being intimidating, waiting for him to run out and leave 

— as you're leaving, he'd say, "I know what boys like that are like. be careful princess," your bf would just gulp, kinda shitting himself, and you'd be like, "dad! I'll be fine," (bc you've heard it all before. maybe you're saying the words same time as him) then he'd shout to said bf as he's getting in the car, "have her back by 10, or I'll break your neck," something like that, but not so corny

— he's very strict with curfew, no later than 10pm. but it's not to punish you, just out of fear etc

— he finds it hard to let you be a teenager, to let you out. he knows that he can't protect you from everything, and needs to let you spread your wings, but it's hard - he's getting there though !! he's got better at it

— he's def taught you how to take care of yourself across many aspects so that you never have to rely on someone: how to change a tire, how to fix a part on a washing machine, how to use a gun, how to fight, how to change oil. all the things you need in life, he's taught you

— maybe car stuff isn't your thing, but you go along with it as you don't want to upset him. so every sunday, you're both in the garage working on his old car (but it's actually a gift he's gonna give you when it's done)

— you have takeouts every saturday night, watching crappy tv at the same time. maybe you wanna watch your show, and he doesn't, saying how he “doesn't wanna watch that shit,” but you tell him, “too bad,” and put it on. he'd secretly enjoy it. maybe asking if after dinner you wanna stay downstairs and watch another ep, saying how the tv's bigger blah blah, but it's actually so he can watch more

— he says things like "don't you love your old man?" when he asks you to do something you don’t wanna do

— he def shouts up the stairs to you if your music is too loud, "for the love of christ. turn that shit down,"

— but he's the best dad ever, and you know it 

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

[munsonownsmyass]

Loving You Easy

Frank Castle x reader

Warnings: Oh, well... Plus size reader, insecurities, kissing. SMUT! oral (f receiving), fingering, bodyworhsip, praise, Frank saying 'Good girl' is a warning in itself, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl tho), creampie, cockwarming if you squint. And a little surprise.

Notes: So... Besides that little cameo in my Billy fic, I've never written for Frank. First full fic for him. Have I nailed his character? Probably not, but I still like what I made. Please be gentle.

And yes... This was super self-indulgent, I'm so sorry 🤣

This is part of the Thirsty for Cox april challenge, where we had to choose a song as inspo for our fic. My song was Loving You Easy by Zach Brown Band.

Words: 3.2 K

It’s the day most girls dream about their whole lives. The day they will go through countless of bad dates and the wrong men for, just to find the one guy that completes them. The one guy she can’t imagine living without.

This was that day. Dressed in white, looking more beautiful than ever. The wedding dress so beautiful it brings tears to your mother’s eyes. The hair and makeup flawless accompanied by a smile that would make even the darkest days brighter.

Unfortunately, this was not your day, but your sisters. While you were stuck somewhere between horrible dates and unfulfilling one-night stands, Jessie had found the love of her life. Matt was perfect. Lawyer, devilishly handsome and so kind and thoughtful.

And you were happy for them, you really were. But you could feel that little pang of jealousy, wishing you could have the same one day. And honestly, you didn’t even care about the big wedding and the whole ‘feeling like a princess’ thing. You just wanted someone to love and who would love you in return.

Sighing heavily, you adjust your dress one more time, looking into the mirror. Not even maid of honor, but that’s okay. Behind you the rest of the bridal party is giggling and having a great time worshipping the bride. Leaving silently, without them noticing, you walk outside to get some air.

“Need a drink?” A gruff voice asks, and you look up into a pair of brown eyes. The guy gives you a sideways smile, holding out his beer.

“What makes you think I’ll share a beer with a stranger?” You question, taking in his features. Dark brown hair, dark stubbles along his chiseled jaw and very kissable lips. Very handsome and definitely the type of guy you’d hit on at a bar. Of course, followed by a rejection, because a guy like that would certainly have someone.

“I’m following you down the aisle in 15 minutes, so we’re hardly strangers, princess.” He smiles, retracting the beer and take a sip, looking out over the beautifully decorated backyard of your parents’ country estate.

“I take it you’re Frank then?” You smile, stepping closer to him. Your eyes meet and he offers the beer once more and this time you take a sip of it.

“Yep. Frank Castle.” He extends his hand, and you shake it, giving him your name in return. For a while you just sit there, passing the bottle back and forth while making small talk, until your mother comes looking for you.

“Oh, Mushy, there you are.” She checks your makeup, visibly frustrated and takes the beer from your hands. “Would it kill you to act a little more ladylike, at least until after the reception?” Your mom walks back in, shouting for you to get ready. Frank gets on his feet, getting ready to go in with you.

“’Mushy?’ That’s not the most flattering nickname, I’ve heard.”

“Ah, well… I’m the chubby black sheep of the family.” You shrug, trying to seem unaffected even though you hate the nickname. Jessie had always been the pretty and skinny one, a real pageant queen kinda beauty, where you were not.

“Those are the best kind of people.” Frank winks at you with a soft smile, before you are both called inside.

The party is at full swing, and everyone is having a great time. Foggy have just given his best man speech, laughing with Matt and Karen, Jessie and the other girls are dancing, while you hide in the corner with a beer. In a glass of course, your mother almost giving you the evil eye when you tried drinking out of the bottle.

“Hiding from your mother?” Frank asks, stopping in front of you. You just nod, patting the chair beside you.

“Yeah, she can be scary.” You laugh as he sits down. Raising your bottle in a silent toast, you both take a drink of your beers. “I’m also hiding from my uncle. He always asks me to dance.”

“You don’t like to dance?” Frank asks with a soft smile.

“No one wants to see this-” you gesture towards your body, “twirl around the dancefloor.” You try to laugh it off, but by Frank’s expression you know he’s not buying it. He’s seeing right through you. He stands up, extending his hand to you.

“Come on, princess. Dance with me.”

“Frank, I…”

“One dance, that’s all I’m askin’.” He doesn’t remove his hand, just steps a little closer, insisting for you to take it.

You’re trying to come up with a polite way to turn him down, when it dawns on you. Here’s a gorgeous man willing to dance with you and you wanna say no? Are you crazy? Just when you take his hand, the band starts playing one of your favorite songs. Leading you out onto the floor, Frank takes a hold of you, swaying you softly to the music.

You make loving you easy

You make loving you all I wanna do

Every little smile, every little touch

Reminds me just how much it all makes

Loving you easy

As Frank swings you out and pull you back in, making you giggle, you notice how your sister is watching you. Hell, a lot of them are. This is why you don’t dance, unwanted attention. But still, you got to admit there’s one upside to it. Frank’s eyes looking into yours, his hand on your waist.

“Everyone is staring.” You whisper, looking to the side where your sister is whispering something to Matt, who only smiles.

“Probably ‘cause you look beautiful.” He muses, giving you another one of his cheeky smiles. Damn, is it even legal to be so handsome? You’re about to make a rebuttal, when Frank speaks. “And I mean it.”

Without warning, he dips you down towards the floor, making you squeal, probably drawing the attention of people around you. But you really don’t care, only focused on Frank.

Bursting through the door to your childhood bedroom, Franks lips never leave yours as his hands run down your body, caressing your soft curves. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re drunk.” You giggle softly, kissing him passionately. He pins you against the wall, grinding his hard length against your heated core. You reach out for him, idle fingers unbuttoning his shirt. In a frenzy of hungry kisses and touches, your dress and his suit is soon spread all over the floor as you fall onto the bed with Frank on top of you.

Frank kisses his way down your body, licking and nipping at your sensitive skin. When he reaches between your thighs, he places soft kisses before diving in like a man starved. You gasp at the first contact, the feeling of his tongue making you shiver. But he slows down, wanting to take his time with you.

Slowly, he adds a finger, then another, stretching you open. Expertly he licks up your folds and sucking on your clit, leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him. “You taste amazing, princess. Making such pretty noises for me.”

“Fuck… Frank…” His name is barely a whisper, but it’s enough. Frank devours you like a man possessed. He finds that sweet spot in you that makes you see stars. With his name on your lips, you come.

More. You want more. “Please, Frank. Please fuck me.” You beg him, body writhing under his touch, your need for him strong, overwhelming.

On his way up you body, he makes sure to kiss every inch of skin, caress every curve. “So fucking gorgeous.” He mutters under his breath, placing another soft kiss between your breasts before he once again claims your lips.

His cock is at your entrance, begging to enter. He pushes in slowly, making you gasp as his thick length stretch you open. His eyes find yours so he can see your face twist in pleasure as he pushes deeper. As he bottoms out, you both pant in unison, his forehead against yours.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. Shit…” He rolls his hips a few times, fucking you slowly. You whimper softly, wanting nothing more than for him to move faster, harder. You don’t even care who might hear you, lost in the feeling of him, wanting more.

Franks is so lost in you, not wanting this to end. He kisses you hungrily before he snaps his hips harder. As you close your eyes in pleasure, he looks at you. How your face twists in pleasure, how your body move under him with every thrust. You’re so fucking beautiful, and he wants nothing more than to stay like this for hours. Wanting nothing more than to hear you moan his name over and over.

All day you’ve been talking and all day he’s been thinking how your smile was the prettiest he’s seen in a long time and how he wish you could see the beauty in yourself that he could see. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he already knew he’d want more than just today. He’s been burying his feeling for such a long time, but you make him want to live again.

He can feel himself getting closer, so lost in how good you feel, how good you make him feel. He pulls your leg up, pushing deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. “I’m close. Please cum for me, baby.” He drives his cock deeper and harder, reveling in the way you moan. “Be a good girl for me and cum.”

His words wash over you, the praise pushing you over the edge. You scream out in pleasure, digging your nails into Franks shoulder. It’s only a few more thrusts before Frank comes, pushing in deep as he empties himself in you.

Frank puts his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from your highs. You kiss him deeply, holding him close. You can already feel yourself wanting to see Frank again, but you wont get your hopes up. A guy like that is probably swarmed by women, many prettier than you.

You look away, hating your intrusive thoughts. As if he can read your mind, Frank cups your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes as he kiss you passionately. “That was something else, sweetheart.”

“Something good, I hope.” You bite back with a grin, making Frank smile. That damned smile. Fuck, he is a gorgeous man.

“Very good.” He smirks, kissing you softly before pulling out gently. After he helps you clean up, he surprises you by staying. He had his own room, but he lays down beside you, pulling you into his nook. You talk for a bit, about nothing important really, but it’s still one of the best nights of your life.

-

When you open your eyes, the sun is so bright it almost hurts. Or maybe it was just your head. You really shouldn’t have drunk all those beers with Frank. Your memory flashes back to the two of you, sitting outside in your parents gazebo with a ton of beers between you, listening to each other’s stories.

You look to the side and your heart drops. The other side of the bed is empty, Frank nowhere to be found. Even his clothes are gone from the floor. So, yet another one-night stand then. You’re starting to get too predicable, and you hate it. With a heavy sigh, you start to get dressed, getting ready for breakfast. There’s a soft knock on your door and you reluctantly open.

To your surprise, you find Frank outside the door, dressed in new clothes and looking ravishing. “Wanted to pick you up for breakfast.”

“Oh, I thought…” You begin, but stop yourself.

“That was I was just gonna up and leave?” He shakes his head, leaning against the doorframe. “That ain’t my style, princess.”

You smile in surprise, walking out the door to follow him downstairs. Many of the guests have stayed over and the venue from last night had been turned into a breakfast buffet. Your parents had spared no expense for this wedding.

“Look, ‘bout last night, I-” Frank begins, but you stop him with a soft hand on his arm. Ever since your dance last night, you had feared this was too good to be true and when he kissed you after a few dances and too many beers, you knew it was probably only the alcohol talking. So it was better for you to stop him, than to be stung by his rejection.

“Frank, you don’t have to say anything. I’ve already heard it all. ‘It was fun, but let’s keep it to one night’, ‘You are cute, but I’m just not ready for a relationship’ or ’It’s not you, it’s me’. It’s okay, I get it.” You put on a fake smile, willing yourself to look into his eyes. “I’m not the kind of girl men wanna date.” You turn, just wanting to get away.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted a coffee when we get back to the city.”

You stop, not even sure you heard him right. Did he really, this gorgeous man, want to see you again? For a date? In broad daylight in the city? You look at him and the expression on your face makes him laugh. Suddenly, you’re speechless. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Beer and pizza then? I know you like beers.” He closes the distance, smiling as he looks into your eyes. And you just nod, smiling wide, already looking forward to your date.

Two years later

Frank is standing in the kitchen making you breakfast. It had been two years since he met you. The best two years of his life. After Maria and the kids he never thought he could be happy again. Especially with the things he had done, with all the blood he had on his hand and all the lives on his consciousness.

But you had accepted him, accepted every flaw and loved him for the man he was, the man he had been. You never saw all the bad, only saw him. That morning after Matt’s wedding you had chosen him and still to this day, you woke up every morning and still chose him.

Your footsteps sound on the stairs, your sweet yawn filling the air. You had been tired lately, so he just let you sleep in today, wanting to surprise you on your anniversary.

You always complain about how awful you look in the mornings, never believing him when he calls you beautiful. But you are, inside and out, the most beautiful woman. Even with your hair in a messy bun, mouth ajar in a huge yawn as you sit down, his hoodie covering your beautiful curves, he would still say that nothing compares to you.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He says with a smile, pushing your tea over the counter towards you. With a grateful hum, you take a sip of the tea, eyes never leaving him as he continues making breakfast. Putting the utensils down, he fumbles with his phone as walks around the counter and extends his hand to you.

“What?” You ask, but then the music of a familiar song fills the air. Loving you easy, the first song you guys danced to. You don’t even argue, just take his hand and let him swirl you around the kitchen as the pancakes bake on the pan.

As he swings you around the kitchen, you sing along to the song that has become your song. You love mornings like this, thinking life can’t really get any better than this. Frank place soft kisses on your neck, finding that one ticklish spot you have, making you giggle.

But the smell of burned pancake pulls his attention back to the stove, cursing as he throws away the ruined pancakes. With your help, you quickly get the rest of the breakfast ready and fill your plates before sitting down at the table.

“So, what’s our plans today?” You question before taking a bite of your pancakes, moaning over how great they taste.

“Somethin’ that makes you sound like that.” He grins, sipping his coffee as he winks at you. Breaking of a piece of your pancake, you throw it at him.

“Alright, alright.” He huffs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Dinner at that fancy Italian place, a movie and then back here. I want your wrapped around me all night.”

“That can be arranged.” You grin, biting your bottom lip. He gets up and stops by your side to kiss you, before he walks to a drawer and take out a small gift.

“Here, sweetheart.” He places the gift in front of you and carefully, you start to unwrap it. Inside is a small box. Opening it, you find a small blue dog collar with a shiny little dog tag.

“You said you wanted to expand our little family.” He says softly, pulling his chair closer and sitting down. “We’re going to pick him up tomorrow.”

You throw your arms around him, kissing him hard. You and Frank already had a dog, a beautiful Pitbull rescue named Red (Frank thought he was so clever with that one), but you both loved dogs and knew you wanted more.

“Actually… I was thinking the same thing, when I made your gift.” You say nervously, standing up to get your gift. Frank just laughs, taking the gift from your hands when you return to the table. He tears the paper off, stopping completely when he holds the stick in his hands.

You’ve been so nervous to tell him, so scared of how he would react. You knew losing his kids had been a pain worse than death, not sure if he ever wanted to have a child again.

When he still hasn’t said anything, his eyes still fixed on the positive test, you get anxious. “Frank, please say something.”

Tearing his eyes away from the test, his beautiful brown eyes find yours. You can see the tears threatening to spill. “I… I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Yeah, but… Only if you want to.” You whisper, looking down at your hands fiddling with the hem of your sweatshirt. You feel Franks hands on your face, cupping your cheeks so softly. Bringing your gaze to his, you see the small smile on his face.

“I should have bought a ring instead of a collar.” He laughs, pulling you into a kiss. Wrapping his arms around you, he brings you closer until you sit on his lap. One hand moves from your back onto your belly. Nothing there to feel yet, still the notion makes you warm.

“I love you, Frank.” You kiss him again before snuggling closer to him.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He whispers into your ear, holding you tight. Things might not always be easy and things were going to change, but one thing that would always remain was your love.

You make loving you easy

you make loving you all I wanna do

Every little smile, every little touch

reminds me just how much it all makes

loving you easy

TFC girls: @e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @realfernmayo @pedrito-friskito @mindidjarin @mattmurdocksscars @saintmurd0ck @idrinkcoffeeandobsess

Tagging: @lucy-sky @darlingshane @boliv-jenta

[anjaelle]

The Girlfriend Experience

Pairing: Frank Castle x Black! OFC (Cori)

Tags: Mild Age Gap (Mid-late twenties OC/mid-thirties Frank), Frank Corrupting an Honest Woman, Frank being a smug piece of shit, choking, spanking, marking, hair grabbing, Fingering

Summary: Frank, ever the menace, convinces Cori that it's okay to break rules.

Word Count: 3.3K

a/n: This started out as one thing and turned into something completely different. I started this in Fall 2022 and I'm just now finishing it. Congratulate me now.

(Gif Source)

She very rarely visited her brothers shop. At least, that was the case these last few years. She could understand why Brandon's chair was so popular: He was funny, he was skilled, and he was adept at charming the masses.

She could remember learning how to do shape-ups and trims as a teenager just from watching him work while she did her homework. Sometimes she'd listen in on the barber shop discussions with mild intrigue. They'd talk about sports, and women, and...more sports. Sometimes they'd talk about whatever show or movie they'd watched last night.

It was like watching a foreign entity in an enclosure from a distance, if she was being honest.

Quiet and pensive, she was able to fly under the radar for the vast majority of her teenage years. Sure, sometimes boys would talk to her when she visited. And she'd shyly respond before burying her head back into the books. As she got older and started working in the shop part-time, she noticed the looks even more. For the most part, she could brush them off. But every so often someone would cross the line and Brandon would put his foot down to make it clear that his little sister was off-limits. That was the agreement, and that was the rule.

Then Frank Castle showed up.

Cori wasn't sure when Frank became a regular. While she was juggling grad school and work, she didn't really have time to visit her brother anymore. The first time she met HIM was when she had to fill in for Brandon, and Frank scoffed at her supposed ability to cut and style his hair the way he liked.

That was usually the case with new clients. The incredulity used to piss her off, but now it was just tired.

Unlike previous clients, however, Frank watched her carefully as she worked. It was mildly unsettling, if she was honest with herself, because she wasn't used to people watching her the way she watched others. It didn't help that he had the world's best poker face.

It took 2 more visits before he finally spoke to her in something other than one word responses and grunts.

When her brother had to leave to pick up his kids, she offered to stay and take care of Frank. Despite how intimidating he initially seemed, he exuded a sense of safety that made her trust him. The space was empty and quiet, save for the gentle buzz of the clipper as it glided over his hair.

"What's Cori short for?" He asked, suddenly. She was caught off guard by the question. Something fluttered in her stomach at the gruff way his voice handled her name and she felt her hands hesitate.

"...Corinthian." She responded, plainly. He raised a brow at her and she shrugged, restarting the clippers to even out the back of his hair.

"You're fucking with me."

"Am I?" She chanced a small smirk at him in the mirror and their eyes met. He smirked at her in response. Then an uncharacteristic chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"What's it really short for?"

She gently tilted his head forward to trim the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Nothing. I'm named after my father." She confessed. He hummed, satisfied by the answer and comfortable with the silence that followed.

After that, they would always greet each other whenever she came by the shop to visit. He said her name with a level of cool distance that she didn't buy for a second.

She wasn't sure if her brother ever noticed the soft smile that crossed Frank's features whenever she walked through the door.

---

"You had me in your phone as 'Big Guy'?" He asked, grinning, "Kinda lazy, huh?"

She crossed the room and sat cross-legged on her bed, suddenly hyper aware of how everything in her small studio apartment looked. Despite this being Cori's home, she felt out of her element. After all, meeting clients after hours was a no-no. It was rule number one above ALL rules.

But, of course, Frank always found a way to make her break her own code of ethics.

She picked at her thumbnail and shrugged, "I don't know. What else was I supposed to call you when I didn't know you yet?"

He didn't answer, but he shut the door behind him and slipped his boots off, neatly placing them in the corner. Cori was grateful he remembered THAT rule, at least. As if reading her mind, he glanced down at his clothes and grumbled something about rain.

"You could've rescheduled," she offered, "I wouldn't have minded. This isn't worth walking in the rain for."

He answered by shaking the damp growth of curls from his forehead, "You know you're the only one who knows how I like it. And it's not like I know what you do when I'm not around. You probably gotta--I dunno...go to class or somethin'. Save baby animals. Tutor orphans. Shit like that."

At this, she rolled her eyes and rested her chin in her hand, shooting him a tired look as he moved to pull his wet gray hoodie over his head and shoulders.

"I'll have you know I live a very interesting life," she averted her gaze as his Semper Fi shirt briefly rode up, revealing his treasure trail and and light scarring on his stomach, "I'm young, I'm pretty. The world is my oyster...or whatever."

She sighed, not even believing her own lies. Her life consisted of work, and staring at her business management books until the words started to blend together in a puree of intellectualism. She couldn't even remember the last time she wore a cute outfit and went to the club. Or the last time she texted her friends. She made a mental note to do both at some point as she rolled onto her stomach and reached under her bed for her toolkit.

"You don't gotta have an interesting life," he said, watching her do gymnastics in an effort to find her things, "Boring's good. Boring's safe."

Her hand swept across the floor until her fingers brushed the shoebox, "Who says I want to be good and safe? Maybe I could use a little bit of danger in my life. It'll give me interesting stories to tell, at least."

Pulling the box from its hiding space, she looked up to see Frank leaning up against the wall, watching her intensely with an amused look on her face, "You don't mean that. If you saw the insane shit I saw..."

There was a pregnant pause between them, with Cori feeling like she was missing something and Frank refusing to finish his statement. She jumped to her feet, choosing to break the silence.

"You want some water or something? I also have iced tea, ginger ale-"

"Water's good."

"Is tap alright?"

"Do I seem like the Perrier type?"

She offered a small smile as she turned the faucet on and waited for the water to cool, "Maybe a little."

He guffawed.

"Did you wash and condition this time?" Cori asked. She eyed his hair, already knowing the answer.

"No."

"Why not?" She handed him the glass filled halfway with ice water, and his eyes locked onto hers. She nearly dropped it.

"I guess I kinda like it better when you do it," he held her gaze as he took a long sip from his glass. She deadpanned.

"So what you're saying is you forgot."

He pulled the glass from his lips and grinned at her, slyly.

"You think Imma liar?"

"...I'm not entertaining that with a response."

She wasn't sure what he did for a living. Unsurprisingly, he wasn't one for storytelling and evaded doing so by listening to Cori ramble on about her life. Was his day-to-day so full of turmoil that the mundane seemed like reprieve? All she knew was that he was in the military a while back, and that his wife passed away. She would make up scenarios in her head where he was a boxing champion or a spy.

Big, broody, and decorated in scars and dark bruises, Frank seemed wildly out of place in her small, pink decorated bathroom. She made sure to grab the chair from the kitchen, as well as a towel, a comb, and HER expensive shampoo and conditioner that he certainly wouldn't repay her for.

"You owe me extra for this," she warned, glancing at him from above as he tilted his head back over the sink, "This high quality shit is expensive, Castle."

He hummed his response and closed his eyes as she ran the detachable shower head over his dark hair. The moment the warm water touched his scalp, he sighed in content. And the sigh went straight to her coochie, much to her annoyance. The feeling intensified as she lathered up his hair and he peeked an eye open to look at her.

She knew Frank had grown used to her. His barber shop persona was fascinating. He'd argue with her brother about sports team rankings and drafts. Then the deep rumble of disapproval that blossomed from his chest every time her brother mentioned an athlete he hated made her shift in her seat.

Once upon a time, Frank claimed that she was way too serious. And, thus, he enjoyed pushing her buttons for his own sick enjoyment. Cori understood that he wasn't really like this with most people. He fell into the habit of flustering her on purpose. Especially around the other guys in the shop, though they never seemed to notice.

She had the upper hand when he was in her apartment, to an extent.

The very first time she washed his hair, he stiffened at her touch and it took a while for him to visibly calm down. He admitted to her that it'd been a while since someone else washed his hair, and he wasn't used to it. When she asked him if he wanted her to stop, he shot her a long, intense look before telling her he was fine.

He confessed to her during his second apartment visit that his "profession" made him wary about most things, including touching and...overt closeness. Of course, those weren't the words he used. He mumbled something about offensive hands and defensive moves. She asked for clarification and he evaded the question.

She wasn't sure what their relationship was now. But there was a noticeable shift. Cori's fingers gently massaged his scalp, and she hummed something to herself. His shoulders relaxed, a small smile graced his features, and he opened his eyes again to watch her as she worked the comb through his hair. She was keenly aware of it, but she shyly avoided his gaze, focusing instead on rinsing out the last of the conditioner.

"Up." She commanded, in a hoarse whisper. He sat up and her eyes followed the water that dripped down his neck, staining his shirt. She knew he noticed. She chose to play stupid. Cori towel dried his hair, beginning at his neck and working her way up to his hair that fell over his dark eyes. She worked in silence, lost in her own head until he lightly grabbed her wrist.

"Com'ere," he said with a head tilt. She eyed him curiously, and he laughed. "I'm serious, Cori. C'mon."

She sighed, pretending to be tired but internally intrigued. The minute she stepped in front of him, he gently pulled at her arm.

"Closer..."

She stopped fighting the smile forming on her face as she rolled her eyes and shuffled an inch closer.

"A little closer," Frank coaxed.

"You're so obnoxious." Cori mumbled, but stepped an inch closer anyway, refusing to give him the benefit of direct eye contact.

His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into the space between his legs. She was surprised to find her hands moving of their own volition: one resting on his thick shoulder and the other gently brushing the droplets of water from the side of his face with the soft towel.

"There ya go.” He looked up at her with mischief in his eyes, "You gonna stop avoiding me, now?"

"I wasn't avoiding you," Cori grumbled.

She was absolutely avoiding him. She continued to towel try his hair as he rubbed small circles into the small of her back.

"It's not gonna work, Frank."

He snorted and she couldn't even blame him. She didn't sound the least bit convincing. He cocked his head to the side and licked his lips.

"Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Cor?"

"Yes."

She combed her fingers through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face. Anything to avoid looking directly at him. With his hands on her, and the close proximity, Cori wasn't confident in her ability to hold out for much longer.

"Sweetheart, you're killing me," her breath hitched. He leaned forward, pressing his face against her soft stomach.

Cori was always startled by how quickly she blacked out whenever he got into her head. She couldn't remember climbing into his lap and tangling her fingers in his damp hair as she kissed him. His hands roamed from her lower back, slipping beneath her cotton shorts to grab her bare ass in his large calloused hands.

"Shit. You were ready for me, huh?" He chided.

"Shut up."

The only fleeting logical thought floating in her empty, horny head was the question of how the chair could handle their combined weight. His tongue slipped between her lips and he let out a low groan that pushed the thoughts away just as quickly as they arrived. Cori rocked her hips against his lap as Frank smiled against her lips.

"You're so smug," she mumbled, moving to kiss along his jaw. Her hands slipped under his shirt and her nails walked along the hard lines of his stomach. He sucked air between his teeth. He worked her shorts down over her ass and she pushed his shirt over his head, tossing it into the empty tub beside them.

She kissed down his neck and chest, pausing only to examine the numerous scars and fading bruises decorating his skin.

“Do they hurt?” Cori asked, tenderly. She hovered her fingers over a reddened mark that appeared to be the most recent of his injuries. He clicked his tongue dismissively.

He flattened her hand on his chest under his palm, “See? I’m good, baby. You don’t gotta worry about me, I’m not fragile.” He dragged her hand slowly down his torso, and the muscles in his stomach reflexively twitched in response. Cori swallowed hard as she felt the length of him harden between her thighs.

“Oh…” she managed to whisper, under her breath. He curled his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her down for a slow kiss. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she sighed contentedly into his mouth. As if moving of their own volition, Cori’s hands worked to drag her nails over his sensitive length beneath the coarse denim. As she toyed with the head of his dick through his jeans, his hands roamed around her stomach and reached up to grab her breasts under her shirt.

“Fuck…” She started, instinctively arching her back and abandoning the zipper she’d begun working on. She pressed her hands over his, urging him to touch her more, “…that feels…”

She struggled to get the words out as he pushed her shirt up over her breasts to tease her nipples between his fingers.

“Use your words, baby,” he coaxed. When he wrapped his lips around her right nipple and reached between them to tease her clit, a hoarse cry rose from her throat.

She whined, rocking her hips against his hand. Her head lolled back and it took everything in her to keep from falling off of his lap. A strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer, so she couldn’t wriggle away, “Please…”

“Please what, Cor’?” He slipped his index and middle fingers deep into her pussy, curling them against her. She gripped his shoulder, digging her nails into his skin.

“God god god,” she whined, pitifully, "right there."

He watched her work herself into a frenzy, exuding the air of semi-smug amusement. She wanted to slap the grin off of his face. She could barely remember why he was here in the first place. Maybe he planned this all along. Then he smacked her on the ass—one sharp quick smack—and all she could do was allow her brain to short circuit. She managed to pull a deep groan from him--one that rumbled throughout her body and made her shudder--when she dragged her nails along his scalp and a grabbed some of his damp hair in her fist. The groan dissolved into a low laugh, and he sucked air between his teeth.

"Harder." He commanded. She complied, giving his curls a sharp tug as she rolled her hips in his lap. An almost primal grunt resonated from his parted lips that she swallowed with her own. Cori reached down again to make another eager attempt at undoing his zipper, and he stopped her, grabbing both of her hands in one of his.

"Are you talking to anyone else?" He suddenly asked.

Cori felt like she was in a thick fog and she'd lost all memory of every word she'd ever spoken. She took a deep breath as if trying to register where she was.

"...I don't think so." She slurred through the haze.

His fingers stilled between her thighs and she pouted, shifting her hips to chase the oncoming climax. She could almost taste it, it was so close.

"You don't think so?" He pressed his thick thumb against her clit, and her thighs tensed around him. She was positive he could feel her heart pounding.

"Frankie please..." She arched her back.

"I can find out if you are, Cor'. So speak up."

A small grin pulled at the corner of her mouth when she locked eyes with him. She could almost drown in the darkness of his gaze. It excited her. She wasn't talking to anyone else, it's not like she had the time. But a part of her wanted to lie just to see what he would do. He quirked an eyebrow at her like he wanted to devour her whole. All he needed was the confirmation he wanted, because they both knew he didn't like sharing.

She decided to risk it, "What if I am?"

"Are you?"

"Maybe."

His fingers pressed against her g-spot and her body jolted in response, leaving small aftershocks in its wake.

"Don't fucking play games with me." He licked his lips and picked up the speed of his thumb on her clit, "Is someone else making you come?"

She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

"Use your words." He demanded.

"No, baby."

She felt his dick jump between her thighs at the term of endearment. He curled her fingers against her g-spot again, and then again. And he pulled her flush against him when her legs began to shake and she tried to run from the pleasure

"I'm the only one that makes you feel this good, right, sweet girl?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yessss." She chanted, digging her nails into his arm. "Oh, ffffuck!"

He whispered in her ear, talking her through it as she came and leaving hickies on her neck. Cori shuddered hard in his lap and throwing her head back so hard she nearly tipped over. She was sure her neighbors thought she was getting murdered in her bathroom, and she knew she'd have to face the curious looks the next time she ran into them in the hall. But as she came down from her high and dove into another deep kiss after he licked her off of his fingers, she couldn't bring herself to give a shit.

Frank suddenly stood up, wrapping her legs around his hips to carry her back to her bedroom.

"Wait, your hair." She mumbled between kisses, "I have to--"

"Fuck the hair," he grumbled, tossing her onto the mattress, "You can do it tomorrow morning."

[mags-writes]

Sunlight || Part III

Summary: frank offers his shoulder for you to cry on

Series Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical swearing, first time writing x reader, no use of y/n, no beta readers we die like ray nadeem

Pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

PROLOGUE/MASTERLIST || PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV

Three weeks had gone by. Three weeks of you and Frank dancing around each other while trying not to tip off Matt that there was something going on.

But was there? Frank seemed so in control over every fiber of his being that you doubted anything was actually going on. Then there were the days that he got home before Matt. He would stand behind you, towering above you, and give your shoulders a rub with his rough hands. He handled you like glass, like if he moved too suddenly you'd bleed. He'd help you cook dinner and tell you how beautiful his lunch was that afternoon, that the only thing missing was your company. He'd pick up when you started getting a cramp in your hand from cutting up enough vegetables for three people and rub his thumbs in soothing circles to make it go away. Then Matt would walk through the door.

Something was going on. That was for sure, even if you doubted it sometimes.

The first time you saw Matt leave the apartment in the middle of the night, you kept your breathing even and didn't move a muscle. You weren't surprised when Frank's phone woke you up a couple hours later and he left in a hurry as well. The next day when you woke up to Matt with a frozen bag of green beans to his jaw, you scolded him like an older sister. The topic of Daredevil had never come up in your mind until then. You didn't know if it was even him to start off with and if it was then who else knew? Did Foggy and Karen know like back in your dimension? Did Frank?

Matt lied straight through his teeth with a guilt-ridden expression. He fell down the stairs. Allegedly.

Other Matt tried that lie once. Only once. Before you ripped him a new asshole. And it led to you becoming his girl in the chair. It also led you to own your own firearm after some kidnappings put you in the hospital once the bad guys found out Daredevil was running around with an earpiece.

You stopped what you were about to say, Frank rounding the corner after hearing your voice echo through the apartment. You took a deep breath and accepted the gracious gift of hindsight.

"If you're lying to cover up the fact that you got punched by someone-" You were about to start a rant again when Frank chuckled.

"Who'd be cruel enough to punch a blind guy?" He said, coming closer and taking the bag off of Matt's face. "What'd you do? Fall down some stairs again?"

Oh.

Oh, Frank knows. That's why he calls Matt 'Red'.

You willed yourself for the love of god to play it dumb. Like you didn't just put the pieces together. One man before you was blind, but despite being a walking lie detector, he wouldn't be able to see your face. The other, while he admitted to being dense, could read people better than you could ever hope to.

"Whatever," You mumbled, throwing your hands up and going around them both to start your normal routine of making your coffee that had been laid out by Frank and making them lunch. "Bro code, I get it."

"Sweetheart-"

"No, it's fine." You interrupted because if you didn't then you'd fold like a lawn chair. "Have each other's backs. That's what friends are for."

You heard Frank sigh and one of them walk away.

"Hey," Frank said, putting both of his hands on your shoulders and coaxing you to turn around. You put up a little fight, stirring your coffee before Frank put more pressure and you relented with your eyes down. "Hey, hey. Look at me, hm? Look at me."

You huff, snapping your eyes up with a hint of anger.

"He forgets I know what it looks like when he lies." You said.

"Okay, so what do you think happened?" He calmly asked, and you knew exactly what he was doing.

"I don't know!" You brought your hands up in front of you. "But it's the same shit excuse the other Matt gave me every time he showed up with a beaten-up face and a limp."

Frank frowned, probably turning over the question of why Matt hadn't told you his secret.

"When did your Matt become 'other' Matt?" You froze, not expecting that question in the slightest.

You stuttered, stumbling over your words, starting a sentence and breaking off at the first word before shutting your mouth and intently looking at his chest. It wasn't hard, he was tall enough that you fit perfectly under his chin and your head rested against his chest.

You took in a sharp breath. "I don't want to go back." Frank reached out, putting his hands on your biceps, squeezing comfortingly and you brought yours to his chest, scrunching the material of his work shirt in tight fists. "All of you take for granted how safe you are here. You don't get it, I've looked up all the bad guys from my dimension, and nine out of ten times they're not here. I'm safe here."

"What about your Matt?" Frank asked, frowning like he didn't quite get it. "He's like your brother."

You look back at him at that. Matt was in his room, most likely listening in. If you said what you wanted to say then he would hear. You stuttered slightly again, getting frustrated that you couldn't get the words out.

"He doesn't see it that way." You finally got out, avoiding Frank's eyes again and you lowered your voice as tears started to gather. "He's been more Catholic whore than having Catholic guilt these days. He went through Clair and Karen and nothing's been the same since. I turned him down and I thought that we had moved passed it but right when I was brought here he brought up the topic again. I-Frank, I'm not safe there-I don't want-"

You started to cry then, sniffling and fighting off the tears as hard as you could.

"Hey, hey." Frank soothed, putting his hand behind your head and bringing you to his chest, rubbing your back with the other hand. "It's okay, doll. You don't wanna go, you don't have to."

"What if he shows up? What if he comes here and-"

"I won't let him." He squeezed tighter. I won't let him take you from me. "I won't let him make you do anything you don't wanna do."

Frank nearly sighed in relief when he remembered he was supposed to be convincing you that Matt wasn't Daredevil. Your use of 'other Matt' had thrown him so harshly that he couldn't stop his curiosity. He wondered for a moment that if you had been hiding that detail from them all then what was it like with Karen and Foggy?

You pulled back suddenly, wiping at your face and groaning for a second before shaking your head and looking up at him.

"Okay. I'm fine." You said. "Go drink your shit coffee." You started lightly pushing him away. "Go, I've got lunches to make."

Frank took a hold of your hands with a small smile, giving the upside of your palms a kiss each to the scars you refuse to tell him about that sat in the middle. Your face softened at that. A small smile fought its way to your face as he then leaned in to kiss your forehead. You had to quickly turn back to your coffee at the look he gave you, a look that he had been giving you more and more frequently, especially around Matt.

Not long later you finished up their lunches and they were sitting on the couch waiting patiently for you to bring it to them before they left. Just as usual you walked over to Matt first, him reaching out for the container and putting it in his bag then you moved to Frank who did the same. This time Frank stood first, giving you another kiss on the forehead and saying his goodbyes which confused you as Matt was usually the first out the door.

You cast a look down at Matt who by now was twiddling his thumbs as he waited for Frank to leave. Once the door was closed and Frank's heavy steps had faded he stood up.

"I'm sorry about before." He said earnestly, and you knew he was telling the truth. "I didn't mean to stress you out."

"I just-" you cut yourself off, pausing and thinking for a moment, remembering that he had absolutely heard everything you tearfully confessed to Frank. "I don't want you to lie to me."

"And I don't want to lie to you." He came forward, bringing you into a hug that you went into comfortably.

"Does it have something to do with a case?" You asked into his chest. "Are you in danger? Do we need to call the police?"

"I'll explain everything to you tomorrow night." He said as if he had just decided it at that moment. Like he was desperate to make you happy. "I promise."

He kissed the top of your head. Memories of your brother's all doing the same rushing to the surface of your mind. Memories of Matt doing the same when you were growing up. You never told him your brothers did that, never told him what it meant for him to do it. Never told him that other Matt had stopped.

"I'm not going to be coming home tonight." He said, pulling back.

"What?" You frowned harshly and he could hear it in your voice making him wince.

"Tomorrow night, remember?" He put both of his hands on your shoulders to calm you. "I just have to take care of some things tonight and hopefully it'll be sorted by tomorrow."

"And if it's not?"

"Then you'll hear about it." He said with a smile.

"What? On the news?" You said stressed again.

Matt laughed, bending down to pick up his bag.

"Let's hope not." Was his answer.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Writing Update - Alley Cat (And Ideas)

I've written 3,300 words so far for Part 16 - Debrief. Matt decided he wanted to be POV for this chapter. Also staring Foggy Nelson being a good friend.

Preview Snippet:

“Nah,” Foggy said. Matt could hear the smile in his voice. “Just us avocados tonight.” “We’re not just avocados, Foggy,” Matt teased. “We’re the best avocados in this city, remember?” Foggy laughed. “Damn straight. But right now, this avocado needs a beer.”

I think its about half done. I know what happens but actually getting the words on paper has been slower than I'd like.

Part of that has been IRL stuff like helping my mom bake stuff for her club's bake sale and meetings - her health doesn't allow her to bake as much as she used to. I don't mind helping and the quick breads and cookies sold well.

But I think an equally large part might be that one of my muses' favorite methods of procrastinating is coming up with new ideas. Going to write some separate posts about these ideas but here is a little preview:

DAREDEVIL

The Broken Hearts Club (Vigilante! Reader has sex with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen on Valentine's Day. Not for the last time. It's supposed to be just sex, some comfort while both of them struggle with loss but they start catching feelings . . . Background: The Snap - Foggy and Karen were dusted, Reader lost her boyfriend to side effect of the Snap)

A Fragile Thing (Reader has just discovered that she is pregnant but before she can tell her husband Matt, he disappears along with half the universe . . . )

Sanctuary (Doctor! Reader has a rather unusual patient. John Doe is unconscious, badly hurt and half-naked and the priest who brought you to him claims to have found him like that . . . and when he wakes up, John isn't any more forthcoming than the priest . . . Diverengence: Father Lantom and Sister Maggie realize that Matt needs more medical care than they can give him. )

The Punisher

Port in a Storm (Reader meets Frank Castle when his truck breaks down during a nasty storm. Soon after finds herself in the crosshairs of an ugly conspiracy that threatens not only her life but the lives of her children).

Kin

A Brand New Ending (Reader and Michael had been on-again, off-again for years but that might soon change. Provided certain members of his family stop messing things up . . . and becoming a father for the second?/third? time doesn't scare him off)

Spider-Man

Legacy (Reader is daughter of Matt Murdock. When he disappears during the Snap but many of his enemies don't, she is loathed to have all his hard work in Hell's Kitchen destroyed. Becoming a lawyer will take time but punching crime in the face? That she can start right away . . . meanwhile Peter is also trying to uphold the legacy of his own mentors . . . Divergence: Tony Stark is dusted instead of Peter)

Adrift (Reader disappeared during the Snap. When she comes back . . . her friends are all five years older now and she has brand-new sibling . . . then she meets two other lonely souls - Peter Parker and Spider-Man. Post Spider-Man: No Way Home).

UPDATE: Links to Ideas Posts for these stories have been added.

[oscarseyebrow]

as 2022 has come to an end, the fandoms family 🫰🫰discord server took part in a little ‘hall of fame’ event, in which they were encouraged to recommend their own work that they were proud of from this year, as well as recommending others they had enjoyed, too.

it was lovely to see so much positivity and praise for our fandoms and i’ve been very excited to share these with you! if you would like to get involved and join our server, please drop me a message and i can send you the invite link.

now, without further ado, i hope you enjoy these recommendations as much as we have! please remember to check all warnings listed on individual fics/artwork.

fanfiction

Souls Heal Less Readily - @words-are-fireproof | Javier Pena x F Reader

The Favorite - @flightlessangelwings | Javier Peña x F Reader x Comandante Veracruz

Let Go - @flightlessangelwings | Joel Miller x F Reader

Notes on Tutoring - @honestly-shite | Dave York x F Reader

Adversity - @the-ginger-hedge-witch | Frankie x Ezra x F Reader

La Estrella de mi Vida - @flightlessangelwings | Javi Gutiérrez x F Reader Haalur - @words-are-fireproof | Din Djarin x F Reader

Enkindle - @oscarseyebrow | Din Djarin x F Reader

Fragments - @einno-arko | Din Djarin x F Reader

Seed Pearls - @zinzinina | Din Djarin x F Reader

Mutual - @the-scandalorian | Din Djarin x F Reader

Between The Wars - @mylifeisactuallyamess | General Hux x GN Reader

Upon the Throne - @saradika | Boba Fett x F Reader x Fennec Stand

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing - @eupheme | Obi-Wan x F Reader

Aphelion - @oscarseyebrow | Poe Dameron x F Reader

The Pink and Blue Ribbon - @the-little-ewok | Poe Dameron x F Reader

The Holiday - @dailyreverie | Poe Dameron x Reader

Homecoming - @astroboots | Frankie Morales x F Reader x Santiago Garcia

Mythos - @acourtofsnakes | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x F Reader

Undercurrent - @oscarseyebrow | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x F Reader

A Suitable Arrangement - @moon-kn1ght | Billy Russo x F Reader (x Frank Castle)

Yuánfèn - @writerwrites | Steve Rogers x Reader

Darkness At The Edge - @moon-kn1ght | Matt Murdock x F Reader

A Lizard Dog, A Banana Boat, And a Cassette Tape - @pumpkin-stars | Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

Darkness At The End of My Love - @acourtofsnakes | Eddie Munson x Reader

Penny For Your Thoughts - @eupheme | Alfred Pennyworth x F Reader

It's Meant To Feel That Way - @writerwrites | Andy Barber x Reader

Reunion - @pumpkin-stars | Geralt of Rivia x GN Reader

artwork

Steven Grant - @pumpkin-stars

Weeknights Frankie - @mjpens

Space Sisters - @manofbeskar

Din Djarin in the waters of Mandalore - @mjpens

Don't be afraid - @stealyourblorbos

shops

TheHouseofApollo