#frank castle x oc/reader series

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Black eyed & Blue ||

Chapter 1 - Skull & Crossed Wires

Frank Castle x Female Reader/OC

Notes: I'm posting this first short chapter in my Frank Castle and female OC/reader mini series in the hope that it will spur me on to finish it! I have some other chapters written already just need to get them where I want them and write some more. 😊

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, biting, general vampire themes, fluff & smut, frank being protective, Matt makes an appearance.

Please comment and let me know what you enjoy or would like to see as the story develops and I'll see what I can do!

Frank managed to limp his van to the nearest garage before it crapped out entirely. He had cleared it out after his latest 'road trip' back at the safe house. It wouldn't do any good if the mechanics found any of his arsenal…

He left them with the keys and said he'd check back in a couple of days. Leaving a cell number was out of the question too, he still wasn't quite comfortable leaving much of a trace even if he was now 'Pete'.

He walked up to the shop office two days later, hopeful he could throw down a few hundred and get going. A fraught looking gangly guy was having an in-depth discussion on the phone as he entered. He passively waved Frank in the direction of the garage floor, pulling the phone away from his mouth and yelling towards the doorway.

"Blue! Customer!"

Frank gave him a semi-polite nod and headed through the side door where his van was jacked up, a pair of dark blue Converse sticking out from underneath.

"Uh, right. Guess it ain't ready yet." Frank ventured.

"No shit Sherlock." A voice came from below.

"Can see why you got Shaggy on the front desk there, customer service ain't your thing huh?"

The feet peddled their way out from under the van to reveal a woman with her hair tied up out of her face with a blue bandana. She had an oil-smudged face, and chipped sky blue nail polish on her fingers. Her mouth dropped open as she pushed herself up and took in the figure of Frank standing over her.

"Oh fuck- I mean, shit! Damn! Fuck!" She winced. "I'm really sorry mister… thought you were Ray winding me up again. Sorry, I'm trying not to cuss as much but, um…"

Frank couldn't help the sly smile from spreading across his lips.

"Think you're doin' well enough. Don't you worry about it. Maybe uh, you can gimme an idea when she'll be ready?"

She got to her feet, wiping her oily hands on her dirty coveralls, which were also blue.

"Well, that's the thing. I'm still waiting for a part to come. I woulda called you to let you know but, uh, you didn't leave a number so…

"Yeah, don't have a phone." He scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Kinda hate all that tech shit y'know."

"Wow. Well, okay old man, I'm not sure exactly when it'll arrive, our supplier is vague at the best of times, I really wanna find someone better but…"

Frank couldn't help grumbling a little. He was keen to get back on the road, after all, biker gang ass wasn't gonna kick itself. "Then I guess 'i'll just keep comin' back every day till she's ready."

Blue smiled politely. "Once it's here I'll get it fixed as fast as I can but if you refuse to have a phone like us regular people I guess that's just what you'll have to do. See you tomorrow then?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah. See ya tomorrow."

The next day Frank dropped by the garage late afternoon, he'd had a particularly rough night chasing down some dregs of the Dogs of War that refused to go down easily.

"Jeez, what the heck happened to you?" Blue asked, looking up and seeing the dark bruises around his eyes as she heard him come in. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking? Those are some shiners."

"Walked into the side of the door when I got up during the night to piss. Bein' how I'm an 'old man' an all," Frank deadpanned back.

"No shit. You gotta be more careful, looks a bit like someone belted you right in the kisser!"

Frank shrugs.

"To be honest I wouldn't be too surprised if they had. Don't take this the wrong way but you've kinda got one of those punchable looking faces, mister..?"

"It's uh, Pete." Frank replies with a slight chuckle, only slightly offended. "And is that so?"

She holds out her oily hand for him to shake. "Hi Mister Pete. They call me Blue. And yeah, I mean you're real good looking and all but-" she stopped as Frank shook his head and laughed.

"Jeez, I really gotta stop running my mouth around strangers! I am so sorry…"

Frank holds up both hands giving her a smile, it had been a while since he had laughed as much. "Hey, no worries. Punchable and good lookin'? I'll take it. So, Blue, huh? No need for me to ask why I guess. "

She returns the smile, scuffing the toe of her shoe into the ground shyly. "I just like the colour."

Frank clears his throat. "So uh, there any news on that part yet?"

"Oh! Yeah, um it might be tomorrow but…"

"Might not?" Frank finishes with a slightly tense shrug.

"Yeah, really sorry about this, Pete. I'd even go as far as to offer you a free coffee in apology but our machine's bust, and even if it was working it tastes crap anyway."

"Don't worry about it. Alright well, guess I'll seeya tomorrow again."

Blue gave him a little wave. "Yeah, seeya tomorrow Old Man, hope I've got some good news for you then."

Frank just shakes his head, smiling to himself as he leaves the garage and sets off back home.

The next day, when Frank turns up, Blue's face is bright with the biggest smile, and it only got brighter as she saw what 'Pete' had in his hands.

"Hey!" She greets him animatedly and it makes him feel a little warmer inside.

Frank nods then hands her one of the carryout cups of coffee he has. "Hey, didn't know how you take it but I got some sugar and milk here too if you want, seeing as your machine is broken an all."

Blue beams, her fingers brushing briefly over his as she accepts it. "Oh, thank you so much! And no, that's great, straight up is perfect, so kind of you, thanks Pete!"

Frank shrugs. "S'nothin'."

She takes a hearty sip and then remembers what she was about to say. "Good news by the way, the part arrived this morning! I'm about to get on it right now, shouldn't take too long if you don't mind waiting?"

Frank nods, finding a space to sit nearby. "Yeah, sure, if you don't mind me watching you work."

She disappears under the van. "Actually, gives me the chance to ask what the hell you've been putting this poor van through, you gotta take more care of her if you don't want to run her into the ground."

Frank huffed. "Yeah, just been real busy, y'know, and my work takes me all kinds of places, some uh, rough terrain."

"What kind of business are you in Pete?"

He scratches the stubble under his chin. "Uh, removals, pest control, odd jobs. That kinda stuff."

"A Pete of all trades?" Blue suggests, and Frank has to laugh.

"Yeah," again he feels the rare smile stretch his face as he strokes his stubbled jaw. "Somethin' like that."

It wasn't till later, when he was on the road again rummaging through the glovebox for the map when his hand landed on the tin of sweets. He took them out, curious seeing the note stuck to the lid.

'Something to sweeten you up, old man :)

-Blue'

He chuckles to himself as he opens the tin and takes a candy.

[bellaxgiornata]

Bella's Masterlist of Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Michael Kinsella, & Sam Winchester Series & One Shots

I am currently working on multiple series and fics for Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Michael Kinsella, and Sam Winchester. I've updated my Masterlist so that each link will bring you to a separate, organized Masterlist for each specific character because there are just so many now! There's also some "bonus" characters I write for listed at the bottom of this Masterlist (Henry from Eat Locals and Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead). Always feel free to chat with me about any of the fics or characters I'm writing for. Y'all know I'm chatty!

I post new fics/updates multiple times a week and all of my stories are available fully on tumblr and my AO3. If you'd like information on my tag lists you can find that here.

**I do not currently accept story requests because I have too many ongoing projects at the moment!**

Bella's Tuna-Tober Masterlist [Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, and Michael Kinsella]

Collection of Short Blurbs [Baby related one shots & blurbs featuring Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, and Michael Kinsella]

Masterlist of Matt Murdock Fics and Series

Masterlist of Frank Castle Fics and Series

Masterlist of Michael Kinsella Fics and Series

Masterlist of Sam Winchester Fics

Masterlist of Daryl Dixon Fics

Additional Characters:

Henry (Eat Locals) x Fem!Werewolf!Reader Mini Series

Forbidden Love [Installment List]

[petertingle-yipyip]

world class sinner - frank castle (masterlist)

season 2

pairings: billy russo x reader , frank castle x reader , punisher x exodus

summary: with daredevil dead, exodus returns from Quantico unsure of who she should be. fighting nightmares and deja vu, small sparks threaten to revive something saved for matt murdock before a shocking betrayal rattles New York’s two most dangerous vigilantes.

(1) - deja vu : Being back in the Kitchen almost immediately pulls her back into a fight. But without Matt, what has she become?

(2) if he had been with me: Further and further her humanity goes as Y/N commits herself to Frank Castle's crusade. Small moments threaten to bring her back, but how can she when there's nothing worth it... Or is there.

(3) haunted: Can’t breathe, can’t turn back. Y/N continues to walk the fragile line of her morality while finding an uneasy comfort in the presence of Billy Russo, despite being haunted by Matt Murdock’s memory. But reuniting with Frank Castle makes it little less miserable.

(4) aftermath: A quick run nearly turns disastrous when a bold move goes wrong. An attempted reconciliation between friends turns nasty, all because the aftermath of Midland Circle still lingers in Y/N’s actions.

(5) build god then we'll talk: Temporary alliances form on one side before fighting off an ambush from the other. All the while, dots are connecting for more than one player as the game grows more and more dangerous.

(6) so what now? : Limits are pushed and more secrets pile up as she continues to pretend on both sides. When they creep closer to one another, can she maintain all of her lies and save face or will she be forced to pick what relationship matters most?

(7) so it goes… : All eyes on her, a skilled illusionist. Playing the field for information gets what she needed but could threaten the relationship keeping her afloat.

(8) beautiful liar : A breaking point, new alliances, and seeds of mutual trust show Y/N who is and who isn’t on her side.

(9) bad omens: Lingering omens finally register and truths are revealed through blood, bullets, and betrayals.

(10) is it over now?: A long time coming, one fight comes to a bloody conclusion. Another lurks in the near future, and the connection between two friends and two lover is severed.

(11) sinner: It all comes down to one final night, where’s it all began. One who thinks he’s a god versus the one who once scared the Devil and the Punisher. The Devil wasn’t wrong after all to fear the evil she delivers.

(epilogue) i know it won’t work: After a couple weeks, Y/N decides to open Frank’s letter.

[amhrosina]

Two Ghosts Part 1B (Frank Castle x OC)

Series Masterlist - Read Premise, Warnings, etc. here!

Pairing: Frank Castle x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature

Read it on: AO3, Wattpad // Follow me on: Instagram

Previous: Part 1A - Chemtrails // Next: Part 2A (coming soon!)

(1B) - Always an Angel

A/N: Just a quick reminder that all of the chapters that have a 'B' after the number take place in the past, prior to Frank's death. All the 'A' chapters are present day for Lucia!

Lucia was seven hours into her double shift at the diner when her favorite regular walked in. It was three o’clock in the morning, his typical arrival time, and the diner was starting to clear out after a busy Saturday night rush. Her favorite regular - she called him this because she didn’t know his actual name - sped toward the booth he’d unofficially claimed as his months ago when he’d first stumbled in, punch-drunk and beaten to a pulp. They’d exchanged only a handful of words since then, mostly about the specials and once about the pancakes, and that’s what Lucia preferred.

She gathered a menu and utensil set, even though she knew he would end up ordering the same thing he always did, and made her way toward his hunched figure. Most of the other waitresses were wary of him, some outright afraid of the man, and Lucia could see why. He was massive, covered head-to-toe in muscle that stretched against the fabric of his clothes, and had a gleam in his eyes that dared you to try messing with him. He was a scary looking dude. Lucia thought he was handsome, and he’d never given her any trouble before, so she gladly took his table anytime he came in.

“Hi.” She said softly, placing the menu on the edge of the table. “The usual?”

He looked up from his hands, and Lucia steeled herself in order to not cringe away from the swollen, painful looking bruises littered across his face. 

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head once. “And some coffee, if it’s not too much trouble. Please.” He added after a pause.

Lucia politely smiled, “I’m brewing a fresh pot now.”

He nodded again, returning his focus to the table in front of him. He was her favorite regular for this exact reason. He never said more than he needed to, opting instead to observe the people around him. He also tipped well, which never hurt.

Lucia went back to the counter, eyeing her other tables, all of which were mostly self-sufficient and rarely needed her intervention, favorite-regular’s included. After she dropped his coffee and food off, she didn’t see the point in wandering from table to table when so many booths in her section were empty or being used by loners, so she pulled the book out of her backpack that she’d been avoiding opening since it was assigned. 

Shakespeare was not up Lucia’s alley, so to speak. As an English major, she knew she’d have to study him and other playwrights eventually, but she much preferred the draw of a classic novel. She’d been assigned to read and analyze Hamlet for her final semester project, which wasn’t as terrible as some of her peer’s assignments, but annoying, nonetheless.

She read through the first act over the next hour, stopping every so often to refill coffee cups, run food, and process payments. She made notes in the margins of things to revisit when she was home later, and realized, after the diner felt unusually quiet, that she’d been sucked into the story and hadn’t noticed the comings and goings of the people around her. 

Her favorite regular caught her eye, and she jumped up, embarrassed that she started reading so intently when he was clearly trying to get her attention. She hurried over to him, apology on the tip of her tongue.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

“You a fan?” He asked, nodding to the book still grasped tightly in her hands. She didn’t even notice she was holding it until he pointed it out. She had meant to leave it with her backpack. 

“Oh, um, sure.” She tried hard to keep eye contact with him, but his gaze was unflinching and focused solely on her, so she inevitably ended up flicking her gaze at things around her as she spoke. It was one of the things that used to drive her mom crazy. “Are you?”

He bobbed his head once, opening his mouth to say something and then decidedly closing it before opening it once more. “A friend gave it to me to read a few months back. Said it would help with-,” He cut his sentence short, glancing away from Lucia. “Anyways, you reading it for some kind of class or something?”

Lucia bit her lip nervously. Since she’d first served this guy, they’d exchanged only a handful of words, and now he was asking her about her reading habits and education. 

“I’m, uh, I’m an English major.” She stumbled, subtly kicking her left foot into her right. It was never more apparent to her that she could not act like a normal human being than at that moment. Was it because the stranger, who had become a fixture in her routine, was handsome and smiling at her, or because she was truly incapable of conversing with another human without being weird? She worked the night shift for a reason.

“Looks pretty new.” He said, referring to the state of the book. “Can I see it?”

He was observant. Lucia had purchased it a few weeks before in a bookshop in Brooklyn. She handed it to him, noting the gentleness in his movements. He was overly aware of how scary he probably looked and was actively trying not to frighten her. Her heart warmed at the effort.

“It is. I had to buy the sparknotes version of it too, because I thought all the important stuff might go right over my head.” She laughed at herself as she spoke. He couldn’t hide the grin creeping onto his face.

“I’m Pe-Frank.” He cleared his throat. “I’m Frank.”

Lucia tilted her head curiously and smiled. “Well, hi Pe-Frank. I’m Lucia.” She stuck her hand out. “It’s nice to finally have a name for you other than “favorite regular.”

She had added the last part accidentally and immediately blushed. 

“Favorite, huh?” Frank looked pleased, and Lucia impossibly blushed an even brighter crimson than before. 

Before she could respond, the unmistakable sound of a large group of drunken party-goers stumbling through the door cut her off. She smiled apologetically before approaching the new table, a little disappointed that her conversation with Frank was over. For all she knew, the interruption would force him back into his shell, never to be heard from again. 

After tending to the table, which took a form of patience Lucia had grown all too familiar with being a night shift waitress in New York City, she was finally able to turn back towards Frank, only to find the booth completely empty. Disappointment flooded through her, and she couldn’t really pinpoint the exact cause of it. Frank was still, mostly, a complete stranger to her. Why is she so upset about his sudden disappearance?

She noticed, upon approaching the table, that Frank had stacked up his used dishes in a similar way to how she did it. He had also left her copy of Hamlet on the table with a fifty dollar bill sticking out the top of it. She had completely forgotten that she’d given it to him to look at. She took the bill back to the register, grinning at the incredibly generous tip he had left her. Favorite regular, indeed.

-

A few days later, Lucia was knee deep in the early morning rush when Frank appeared again, haunting the same booth he always sat in.

“It feels weird to see you in daylight.” Lucia said as a greeting, setting a menu down on the table in front of him. 

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you.” He grinned.

“The usual?” She prompted, fiddling with the laminated menu. He made her inexplicably nervous, especially when he managed eye contact with her for longer than a few seconds.

“Thought I might try somethin’ new.” He shrugged. “What do you suggest?”

“Well, pancakes are half off on Tuesdays.” She felt bare under his gaze. It felt like having her soul stared at. 

“I like pancakes.” He absentmindedly tapped the table with his knuckle.

“You do?” She perked up. 

“I do. I really like pancakes.” He said, and Lucia noticed something different buried deep in his tone. He couldn’t possibly be flirting with her, could he?

“Anything else I can get you?” She asked.

“Some of that world-class coffee you guys advertise so much.”

Lucia stifled a laugh. “I���m not sure about its global standings, but it’s hot and ready 24 hours a day. That okay with you?”

“Just the way I like it.” He winked at her. Yes, he was certainly up to something. 

She walked away from the interaction with a flush crawling up her neck. Why couldn’t she just be normal? Why did this, again, stranger have such an exhilarating effect on her? And why, all of the sudden, had he taken an interest in her of all people? 

Lucia didn’t get a chance to think about it, though, because her section was packed. She hurried from table to table, running food to and from the kitchen, refilling drinks, and pretending to be interested in her customer’s anecdotes when really, all she wanted to do was talk to Frank more. When she finally made it back to his table, she was flushed for an entirely different reason. 

“You read any more of that play?” He asked, taking a large bite of his pancakes. He let out a moan as he chewed, and Lucia couldn’t stop the giggle from bubbling out of her at the sight of him so thoroughly engrossed with pancakes. 

“A little. I’ve been working doubles so I haven’t had a lot of time.” She realized she was wringing her hands again and forced her hands to rest on the table in front of her. “Do you like the pancakes?”

“Love ‘em.” Lucia didn’t doubt that Frank was being completely honest about that. The look on his face showed pure ecstasy and not much else. “You gonna be here tomorrow night?”

Lucia nodded, absentmindedly biting her lip. “I’m always here.”

“What time do you get off?” He continued, finishing the last bite of pancakes on his plate. 

Lucia didn’t know why, but she answered truthfully and without any hesitation, which was a big no-no in this city. Frank wasn’t even the first guy that week that had asked her the same question. 

“6am.”

“Mind if I walk you home?” He smiled a disarming smile at her, and she realized, after a moment, that she was smiling back at him. 

What if this man is a serial killer?

“Sure.” She said, again wondering why she was so at ease around him. Everything she was doing was against her better judgment, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from continuing. 

“It’s a date, then.” He winked, and she was sure she could feel her entire heart in her throat. 

Later, when she collected his neatly stacked dishes from the now abandoned booth, she noticed something strange. Her eyes flicked between the book on the table in front of her and the book, twenty feet away, sticking out of her backpack. They were the same, and yet, the copy in front of her was clearly used and well loved. Understanding dawned on her as she picked up Frank’s copy of Hamlet.

She flipped through the pages, uncaring that she was in the middle of an incredibly stressful breakfast rush. The margins had been filled to the brim with neat, analytical notes in what she could only assume was Frank’s handwriting. A sticky note had been stuck to the very first page with scribbles that sent Lucia into a giddy haze when she read it.

From: your favorite regular

Figured you could use this for your class. You’re my favorite, too.

-

Frank was waiting by the diner entrance at exactly 6am, and Lucia did her very best impression of someone who was not overly excited about this walk. Before her shift, she’d considered trying to make herself look more presentable, but figured he had only known her in her diner uniform and wouldn’t mind seeing her in it again. 

Lucia had expected their first encounter outside of the diner they were so used to seeing each other in to be an awkward one, but Frank wasn’t really the type of person to make things awkward. It probably helped that they had something specific to discuss - the paper she’d been putting off writing for weeks. 

“I’m thinking about analyzing it through the lens where Hamlet is actually the true villain.” Lucia said, walking beside Frank. “Like I know Claudius is the obvious choice, but Hamlet is just as impulsive and reckless.”

“You’re probably onto something there,” Frank agreed. 

“I only got the idea after reading your notes. Has anyone ever told you you’re sort of a genius?”

Frank chuckled earnestly, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that.”

“Well, I’m happy to be the first. Frank, you’re a fucking genius.”

Their walks became somewhat of a regular occurrence after that, and even after Lucia’s paper was due and they no longer had to spend their walks discussing the moral and ethical dilemmas of Hamlet, Frank continued to show up for Lucia. Lucia had never experienced a friendship like the one Frank consistently offered her, and while that terrified her, she couldn’t find it in herself to shy away from him. He was her friend, and she was his, and they were happy to spend their mornings together, learning each other inside and out.

“Dogs or cats?” Frank asked her one brisk morning, arching an eyebrow at her. “There is a wrong answer to this, by the way.”

Lucia rolled her eyes, giggling. “I never had either growing up, so I don’t have a preference.” At Frank’s incredulous look, she laughed again. “I’m neutral! I’m Switzerland!”

“The correct answer is ‘dogs’, in case you were wondering.” Frank added. 

“Ah, okay.” Lucia teased, “I’ll write that down.”

Comfortable silence followed them down the sidewalk, and Lucia tried to remember if anybody else had successfully managed to make her feel like a normal human being after so many interactions. 

She was not used to people wanting to spend so much time with her. She’d long since accepted that she was the kind of person people wanted in their lives only for brief moments, holding tight and then letting go as soon as she’d fulfilled whatever role they needed her to play at that point in their lives. Not with Frank, though, who seemed just as content to walk beside her in silence as she worked through her confusing thoughts, no matter how often she fell silent without realizing it. 

“You don’t talk about your childhood much.” Frank pointed out, nonchalantly shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“There’s not much to say.” Lucia said truthfully. She’d moved on from that part of her life and hadn’t thought about it much since.

“You got parents?” He asked, gently probing her into opening up.

“I did.” She shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on her feet. “I still do, I guess.”

Lucia took Frank’s silence as encouragement to keep talking, though they were entering a territory Lucia was not entirely comfortable thinking about.

“They weren’t nice to me when I was younger.” She struggled to find the words that could express the intense dread her parents were responsible for. “I mean, it wasn’t just ‘not nice’, it was mean.” Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. Had it always been that loud? She swallowed thickly. “I was fifteen when I came to New York. I haven’t talked to them since I left. I can’t-”

Frank’s scent enveloped her, and she realized she had stopped walking, curling into herself on the sidewalk as the sun crept behind them. Frank was standing close to her, concern written clear across his face. Lucia inhaled deeply, trying to regulate her breathing. She would not have a panic attack in front of Frank. She would not.

“Breathe. It’s okay.” He ran a finger across the inside of the wrist she hadn’t realized he was holding. “I get it. Just breathe.”

They stood there for several minutes, gazing at each other while Lucia learned how to breathe again. All the while, Frank ran his fingers along the inside of her wrist at a steady pace, matching her shaky breaths.

“You get it.” Lucia mumbled, repeating Frank’s words back to him, as if it had taken her those several minutes of dissociating on the sidewalk to process what he’d said. She raised her eyebrows in question. She wouldn’t ask outright, but she couldn’t deny the fact that she was now even more curious about Frank’s past. He was elusive on his best days, and completely secretive on his worst.

Frank looked more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him. His jaw clenched, unclenched, and then clenched again. He broke his gaze away from hers and took in their surroundings before finally flicking his eyes back down to her curious gaze.

“I’m sorry the people who hurt you were the people meant to protect you.” He finally said, sighing. “I couldn’t protect someone I loved once, and I’m still haunted by those memories.”

Lucia nodded, content with the tidbit of information he’d chosen to trust her with, but he continued talking, seemingly unable to stop once he’d started.

“I had a wife.” He briefly closed his eyes, willing the ache to stay in his chest. “And kids. Before I started coming to the diner.”

“Had?” Lucia whispered, horrified by the implication of his wavering voice.

“They died.” He stated simply, shrugging, as if their deaths weren’t the catalysts for the man he’d become in the aftermath. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh, Frank.” Lucia sighed, and before she could stop herself, began mirroring the comforting touch that had calmed her down moments before against his skin. “Thank you for telling me.”

And she left it at that. He would, eventually, expand on the information he’d just revealed to her, but at that point in time, surrounded by the rising sun and New York’s earliest risers, she was content with just knowing Frank a little more than she had the day before.

Frank appreciated this about Lucia more than he could ever admit to out loud.

-

The long story did eventually come out, and Lucia surprised both herself and Frank when she continued making plans with him after she learned of his transgressions. He had not, of course, been as thorough with his retelling as he could’ve been. He decidedly had left out the gore of it all, instead focusing on just the events that had led him to that diner for the first time.

He told her very little about his family, deeming it a topic that simply hurt too much to talk about, but she knew, probably better than anyone, the depth of his love for his family, and how entirely empty Frank felt when he thought about them for too long. She took it in stride, encouraging him to be as honest as he felt like being. Frank was, quite simply, astonished at her ability to compartmentalize it all.

“How can you just accept that I was a murderer before I met you?” He had asked her one night over a shared plate of pancakes.

“It was another life. Another you. I don’t know that version of you, Frank, but if I’m honest, I think your actions were justified. Either way, it’s in the past.” She replied, shrugging.

In reality, Lucia was in so deep with Frank that he could’ve been committing the murders in front of her, and she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to push him away. Frank was different from any person she’d ever met before. He was soft in his interactions with her, touching her in places she’d never felt a gentle caress in her life: across her cheekbones to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, along her lower back when they were navigating a crowded subway car, and across her wrists when she was feeling overwhelmed. She was quite convinced that he could kill the Pope and be forgiven by breakfast the next morning.

Both felt as though they’d known each other for much longer than they actually had. What was a month or two in reality felt like years in the dreamlike haze they’d drawn around themselves, separating them from the rest of the world. Neither Lucia, nor Frank, could explain the bond between them or why it had grown to be so fierce, but it was a welcome change in their lives. Very quickly, they’d gone from strangers to friends to something, and though they hadn’t addressed the growing tensions between them, it came as neither a surprise, nor an unwelcome advancement, when Frank leaned down to kiss Lucia for the first time outside the diner one morning.

She was certain her hair smelled like a mixture of bacon and hashbrowns, and she hadn’t gotten a chance to fix the rumpled fabric of her uniform yet, but he didn’t seem to care. She had walked directly into his arms, as if they’d done this a thousand times before, and accepted his kiss with ease. He’d taken her hand in his and whisked her away, because they had done this a thousand times now, and began the journey to Lucia’s apartment.

“What about you?” Frank asked later as he led her across the street. They were amidst a philosophical discussion that had seemingly sprung out of nowhere.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What do you want out of life?“

“What I want…” Lucia paused, seemingly lost in a memory so potent that it had completely darkened her features, creasing her brow line in a way that Frank had come to recognize as sorrow. He waited for her response patiently, quietly observing the wringing of her hands before she finally opened her mouth and said, “I want to be kind.” 

Embarrassment washed over her. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It’s a ridiculous answer, and surely not the one he was looking for. She blinked up at him, a little wary of his reaction. Would he laugh at her? Call her an idiot for saying something so illogical?

Whatever she was expecting never came, because moments went by, and a small smile appeared on his face before he asked, “And your biggest fear?”

This time, she didn’t have to think about her answer. It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

“I don’t want to end up alone.”

They both had unanimously stopped walking moments earlier, though neither of them could remember making the decision to do so, and as they blinked at each other in the middle of a seemingly abandoned crosswalk, an understanding passed between the two of them. They were so alike in ways they couldn’t yet fathom. 

Lucia, who had spent her entire life searching for a single person to see her, who had grown up in a family that didn’t know how to love her or her damaged parts, who struggled to breathe under the scrutiny of her own gaze in the mirror every morning because it reminded her so much of her mother’s. 

Frank, who felt as though he’d been drowning since his family had died, sucked into a violent cycle of grief that, when unmasked, was actually all his love searching for a place to call home again.

Neither moved, and yet the world felt like it was shifting underneath their feet. The sharp blast of a horn, courtesy of a very pissed off taxi driver trying to get around the oblivious pair, was what brought them out of their stupor. Lucia laughed loudly, something she rarely allowed herself to do, and tugged Frank to the other side of the street.

Series Tag List:

@telepathay @messymissy@123passwort@lemon-world1@itwasthereaminuteago

Frank Tag List (Let me know if you want to be removed from being tagged in this series!):

@xleiaorgana@blackwidownat2814@emiemiemiii@mylifeispainandiloveit@mossexe@fightmilk@spikedhe4rt@fictional-hooman@babyslyth@legocity2@quackson03@certifiedhunter@deliciousfestsalad@dumb-fawkin-bitch@thatgirljayy@hiyabyeyababy@theesexystallion@scoliobean@myguiltypleasures21@fxlsealarm@evyiione@gpenguin666@desert-fern@ginnysculture@ryebreadsworld@laaundromat@coacaiyne@niki-is-a-thing@kelp-dreaming@ladymercury8@joalslibrary

[divineecelestial]

Hey, I know I completely disappeared and didn’t update any of my series’, BUT would any of you guys be interested in reading an almost 30k Frank Castle f!reader fic? It was originally an OC fic, but if you guys would prefer a self-insert one, I can edit it.

Please let me know what you guys think! And yes, I will eventually upload another chapter of Instrument of War 😭

[vigilxnte-shit]

disclaimer: these may not all get done just due to how busy i will likely be come october, but i want to get at least some of them done! if i have the motivation this will likely lead to writing my first-ever smut maniacal laugh

you can see the list of prompts here and join in the challenge yourself if you’d like! additionally, the tuna team discord server is always accepting new guppies, message me or @madschialevique if you’d like to join! now to find thirty-one thematically relevant taylor swift lyrics that work as titles…

@pastafossa is the BEST for putting this together! everyone make sure you go give pasta some love if you haven't already!

as always, minors DNI, and for my non-minors all starred fix are the spicy ones!

reading to each other (matt murdock x reader )

flower crowns (michael kinsella x reader)

“i feel real when i’m with you” (peter parker)

“are you blushing?” (matt murdock x oc)

begging* (matt murdock x oc)

love bites (matt murdock x reader)

nightmare (young frank castle x sister!oc) [STRICTLY PLATONIC/FAMILIAL]

“you can sleep here tonight”- chapter 2 of i choose you and me, religiously (matt murdock x oc)

anxiety (matt murdock x reader)

a hug that lasts a little too long (pattinson!bruce wayne x oc)

tears (astarion x oc, hosted on @/astarionenthusiast)

“you remembered?” (michael kinsella x reader)

playful kiss (peter parker x reader)

sleep talking (matt murdock x oc OR pattinson!bruce wayne x oc)

“are you jealous?” (matt murdock x reader)

accidental kiss (peter parker x oc)

“i’m not leaving you” - chapter 2.5/flashback 1 of i choose you and me, religiously (foster brother!frank castle x younger sister!oc) [STRICTLY PLATONIC/FAMILIAL]

pillow fort (peter parker x oc)

touch starved (matt murdock x oc)

high heels (matt murdock x oc)

fainting/collapsing (matt murdock x reader)

“you haven’t done anything wrong” (astarion x reader, hosted on @/astarionenthusiast)

“if you won’t take care of yourself, i will” (pattinson!bruce wayne x oc)

“shh, do you want them to hear us?” (peter parker x oc)

playing with their hair (matt murdock x reader)

“you’re not fine” (matt murdock x adhd!reader) [hopefully part of a series] {read as: i got diagnosed two weeks ago and this is an outlet for me}

 overheard confession (matt murdock x oc)

sharing an umbrella (pattinson!bruce wayne x reader)

forehead kiss (matt murdock x reader)

“take it off. slowly”* (matt murdock x reader)

blanket hog (peter parker x oc)

[bullet-prooflove]

The Holiday Bingo Card is Complete!!!!

Here is what we have coming up!

26th Nov: Saint Michael - Frank Castle x Reader - Frank returns something important to you - BINGO SQUARE: GIFT EXCHANGE

1st Dec: Montana - Cowboy!Terry Bruno x Reader - Terry doesn't expect to receieve a holiday card from you. BINGO SQUARE: HOLIDAY CARDS

2nd Dec: Better - Bobby Goren x Reader - You're trapped in a car with a broken heater in the middle of winter. BINGO SQUARE: SHARING A SCARF

3rd Dec: Look After You - Johnny 'Coco' Cruz x Reader - Coco takes care of you when your struck down with a cold. BINGO SQUARE: COLD/FLU SEASON

8th Dec: Black Satin (NSFW) - Bishop Losa x Reader - Bishop finds a surprise when he's helping you with the holiday gifts. BINGO SQUARE: HOLIDAY SHOPPING

10th Dec: Home Alone (NSFW) - Priest!Joe x Reader - Joe doesn't expect a guest this Christmas. BINGO SQUARE: SPENDING CHRISTMAS ALONE

11th Dec: Candy Cane - Chibs x Reader - You turn out to be a distraction whilst gift wrapping. BINGO SQUARE: FLANNEL PJS

13th Dec: Heaven in Hiding - Mike Duarte x Reader - You find Mike hiding out during the holiday party. BINGO SQUARE: WORK HOLIDAY PARTY

15th Dec: End of the Line - Hank Loza x Reader - You and Hank make a realisation about your relationship. BINGO SQUARE: HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

16th Dec: Gingerbread - Bishop Losa x Reader - Bishop comforts you when you discover your limitations. BINGO SQUARE: BAKING

19th Dec: Snow - Bishop Losa x Reader - Bishop asks you a question that's been on his mind recently. BINGO SQUARE: PLAYING IN THE SNOW

20th Dec: The Fight Before Christmas - Sam Abrams x Reader - Sam and get into a fight after he discovers you've been keeping a secret from him. BINGO SQUARE: THE FIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

23rd Dec: Traditions - Angel Reyes x Reader - Angel goes overboard on Valeria's first Christmas. BINGO SQUARE: DECORATIONS

24th Dec: Special Delivery - Tig Trager x Reader - Tig's babymoon doesn't go as planned. BINGO SQUARE: WINTER CABIN

26th Dec: Hot Chocolate - Alden Parker x Reader - Alden and you discuss what happened a few nights ago. BINGO SQUARE: FIRST SNOW

27th Dec: This is the Year - Juan 'Juice' Ortiz x Reader - Juice takes his new years resolution very seriously. BINGO SQUARE: RESOLUTION

28th Dec: LakeTahoe!Series Part One: Black Bear Lodge - Manny x Reader - You meet Manny in a lodge in Lake Tahoe. - Companion piece to End of the Line. BINGO SQUARE: SLEDDING

31st Dec: Fireworks - Taza Romero x OC: Ben Harrison - Taza discovers why Ben hates New Year's. BINGO SQUARE: NEW YEARS

2nd Jan: BlackIce!Series Part One: Black Ice - Frank Castle x Reader - Frank returns home after hearing about your accident. BINGO SQUARE: ICE

7th Jan: Mount Shasta (NSFW) - Taza Romero x OC: Ben Harrison - Ben surprises Taza with a trip away. BINGO SQUARE: BLIZZARD/SNOWED IN

[tuiccim]

Okay, friends, I took a little bit of a break, but now I am ready to get to work again. I have a one-shot in the works, but I need your help picking my next series.

[menacing-menace-rat]

Requests welcomed ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

I'm dying to write for some Fandoms but I don't feel confident enough to write a full series yet so I need some help. Can someone send me some requests and I'll trying writing some fan fic stuff for you.

Shows I want to write for:

DC

Any of the main 7 of the justice league

Nightwing

Red Hood

Red Robin

Damian Wayne (platonic only)

Miss Martian

Most Gotham characters

(If there is any other DC character you want just ask I love DC and will probably do it 🤗)

Marvel

Any of the main 6 Avengers

Most Daredevil characters

Frank Castle

Bucky Barnes

Sam Willson

Joaquin Torres

John Walker

Vision

Scarlett Witch

Most of the X-Men

Peter Parker

(I'll write for most Marvel characters as well so don't be scared to ask.)

Hannibal (NBC)

Hannibal lecter

Will Graham

Better call saul

Lalo Salamanca

Sandman

Dream

Death

Shameless

Lip Gallagher

Fiona Gallagher

The other siblings would only be platonic stuff.

Umbrella Academy

Any of the 7 siblings and possibly the sparrows as well.

Star trek the next generation

Data Soong

Will Riker

Deanna Troi

Worf

Geordi La Forge

Types of stuff I'll write:

Headcanons

One Shots

Very Small fanfics

Reader inserts

Different characters together

Some crossover stuff just depending

Things I'm comfortable writing:

Romance and smut (with of age characters)

Darker themes (I don't scare easy)

Yandere

Fluff

Angst

OC stuff (please give me as much info as possible. Please info dump bestie 💖)

Hurt/Comfort

More notes

If you simply want to talk about these Fandoms I'll happily listen. I'd be glad to hear your thoughts on shows and characters as well.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Requests Info

Hi all!

If my requests are open, and you wish to make one, please check out this post first.

REQUESTS CURRENTLY CLOSED! (March 2024)

Thanks you for making your request - please note that I reserve the right to not fill requests that I don't vibe with or do not fall within my boundaries.

Ship fics - I happy to write for the following ships

Any combo of the Cap Quartet, be that 2,3 or all 4 of them.

Starker (only with aged up Peter)

Lokius

Various CE/SS characters (e.g. Lloyd x Nick, Ransom x Lance etc.)

Winter Baron

Combos of Poly Avengers

WandaNat

IronFrost

IronStrange

StrangeFrost

X reader fics - I'm happy to write the following characters with a reader insert or OC

Steve

Bucky

Stucky

Sam

Natasha

Valkyrie

Frank Castle

Eddie Brock (with or without Venom)

Loki

Thor

Joaquin

Zemo

Tony

Dr Strange

TASM or MCU Peter Parker

Wanda

Bruce

CE/SS Characters (please check - I'm not familiar with some of the newer ones and will not do Tommy Lee)

Types of reader insert characters I will write

Any gender (including Trans, Enby or GN) but please provide details if you would like details smut, including squicks in terms of vocabulary usage and kinks.

Always racially neutral. I actively avoid mood board pictures that imply race - I will only use pictures like this if I cannot find something else. The race shown in the mood board does not alter the way I write the reader insert.

I do not use Y/N - I will always find some kind of nickname for the reader

Types of fics I write

Smut (soft, explicit and/or kinky - remember the Kink Tomato!)

Angst

Fluff

Slice of life

Action

Dark (Violence and/or Non-Con/Dub-Con)

What I WON'T write

MCD

Underage (I am from the UK - age of consent here is 16. I would never write an adult with someone of that age, but would write two people of about that age together.)

Scat or Golden Showers (Omoroshi is a bit different - please ask)

Snuff

Incest (that includes Thorki)

Requests can be for new, original fics, or for a continuation of any of my one-shots or series. Please note that if you use the anon function I will not be able to clarify your wants with you or notify you when a story is posted. Anons are allowed though.

When my requests are open, they will be fulffilled and and when the muse and real life allows. Fics will be as long or short as the muse dictates.

If requests are closed, (or even if they are open) please do send asks about my current series - you never know - it may spark something.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

The Punisher Masterlist

Series

Black eyed & Blue - Tumblr OC/female reader, in progress. E

Heart Stone - Tumblr Musketeers AU, in progress. M.

One Shots

Ammunition- Tumblr you and Frank visit Coney Island, Frank has a fear of heights. Fluff and mild smut shenanigans. M

Too Sweet - Tumblr you need to convince Frank that he's worthy of your love. G

Show & Tell - Tumblr Frank tells you he loves you. Extremely loving smut. E

Next Time - Tumblr enemies to fuck buddies? Frank warned you, but you just want to see if he snaps... Rooftop vigilante smut. E

Lessons in Karma - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 - After drunkenly breaking both your wrists, you discover much to your dismay that your rigid casts make it difficult to pleasure yourself… E.

In A Week - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 sad, angsty, reader is um... dead, Frank is not dealing well, implied sort-of suicide attempt/lack of care. A partner fic to Seeya. M

Probably Nothing - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank helps takes your mind off your stressful day... E

Star-Crossed - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Romeo & Juliet Gangster forbidden love AU. Fluff and smut, E.

Reminder - Tumblr x female reader, Frank won't let insecurities get the better of you. Fingering, brief sex. E.

Hell's Belle - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 gunslinger Frank x Saloon girl reader, Western AU, mentions of canon typical violence, smut, fluff. E.

If Found... Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Soft Dom!Frank x Sub!puppy reader. You want some attention, and you get it. Smut, pet names, aftercare. E.

Now I Know - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 kidnapping/rescue, violence, blood, bit of angst, smut, and fluff. E.

In Dreams - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 sleepy morning sex, loving fluff. E.

Returns and Reruns - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Fratt, hookup, sort of established relationship, anal sex. E.

Rough Road - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank/Female reader, snowed in challenge prompt, acquaintances of circumstance to lovers, E.

After The Beep - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle / F Reader, phonesex voicemail, guided masturbation, Frank misses you. E

Ding ding, Round Two - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle/ F Reader, softdom!Frank, Trainer/student, smut. E

Bleeding Heart - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle/female eader, period fic, period hangups, period pain/sex, Frank being soft and loving. E

Reception - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle/F Reader meetcute, a dog, dates, smut, fluff. E

Morning Kiss - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle/F Reader, reader is being a brat but Dom daddy Frank sorts you out. Filth. E

From Ashes - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle/f!Reader, unexpected pregnancy, angst, fluff. M

Ain't No Lullaby - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle/F Reader, angst, comfort, smut, light choking, lots of praise. E

Seeya - Tumblr ¦ Ao3 Frank Castle/gnReader. Fluff M

Drabbles

Dinner & Diatribes - Restaurant restroom jealousy and filth! E

Clouds - depression comfort fic. G.

Untitled breeding kink thing - smutty multiple orgasms implied, breeding kink, Frank being Frank.

Do Your Worst - angsty fluffy drabble, gender neutral reader. G.

Idiot - Frank x female reader. watching you work has Frank hot and bothered. Masturbation, penetrative sex. E

Untitled Pussy Eating - heheh, Frank comes home bloody and hungry... FOR YOU. E

Where Does It Hurt - Frank x gn reader, injury, blood, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort. M.

Thick - Fratt, Frank x Matt Murdock, thigh humping for Bernthirstpalooza challenge. E.

First time - Frank X female reader, first kiss, first time, hangups. M.

Car sex thots

With love - gn reader, if you knitted the big bad punisher a hat and gloves. G

Ricochet - short Frank/gn Reader angst/comfort/fluff. G.

Suck It - Frank Castle/gn! Reader, teasing drabble. M.

[bellaxgiornata]

12 & 19 for the writer asks c:

Ahh Soulie!!! Thank you for the asks, my friend!! 💕 I'm also going to put this answer below a cut just because it's SO LONG and I'm sure not everyone wants to scroll through this.

12. Do you prefer writing in silence or to music?

So back when I used to write my two Matt Murdock x OC stories Life Worth Living and Caught in the Undertow at the beginning of the year, I had playlists I listened to while I wrote both of them. Usually the playlists had certain vibes if I was writing something angsty or lighthearted or if it was a tense fight scene with Kilgrave in LWL. I even had some playlists for characters in LWL (Phantom has an entire playlist for anyone who's read that series because I LOVE HER). But for some reason when I write my Reader fics I simply cannot listen to music at the same time. It's far too distracting. I have no idea why. I have playlists for each of the Reader fics that I'll zone out to and think up plot ideas, but it's far too distracting for me to write with music on lately. So I write in silence now, but my thoughts are usually very, very loud as I write.

19. How has your experience as a fanfic reader impacted your experience as a fanfic writer?

Honestly I feel like as I re-entered fanfic over this past year, reading fanfiction has really opened my eyes to taking closer looks at the characters themselves. Back in the day--years ago when younger me first got into fanfic and was reading and writing it--I was focused on the romance aspect of fics, but generally I just wanted the romance. But reading fanfics now as I've come back to it after a few years away and I've grown and matured myself? OMG there's like...so many wonderful in-depth looks at characters that I love that I'd never really thought to look at before. I've become far more interested in more than just writing the romance and the smut now, which is why I think I love FFTD so much. I get to explore not just the romance aspect (and all the crazy smut), but I also get to take look at Matt. I get to put him into different situations and truly try to get a better understanding of his character (in my view of him at least) and how he would navigate a situation and how he would feel. And I think it's given me a better grasp on character development and growth as well as understanding the importance flaws even more--because let's face it, Matty boy is very flawed in some aspects. And that's true of me stepping into writing Michael Kinsella and Frank Castle, too, not just Matt. It's been fun really looking deeper into the characters I'm writing, more than I really ever did before with them. And I think it's made me love those characters that much more.

And also, I will say, reading fanfic smut has also had a huge impact on my writing, oddly enough. I never wrote smut before writing for Matt. I grew up in a super Catholic and conservative household and I'm actually a very, very socially anxious and quiet person. The thought of me writing smut used to make me want to blush and hide under my desk. But seeing all of the smut out there for Matt, even if it's not all necessarily my thing, really helped me become vastly more comfortable with writing it. Writing smut doesn't really affect me anymore, and I feel like it truly came from me seeing so many other talented writers doing it so well and so comfortably.

[petertingle-yipyip]

WORLD CLASS SINNER - FRANK CASTLE

season two - ghosts

season one // two // masterlist

Pairing: platonic frank x reader

Word Count: 6,623

Summary: Peace never lasts long for vigilantes, even when they run from their city. Ghosts reappear and draw Y/N back to her home, but it also draws out Exodus.

A familiar bed from another life. Familiar arms around you. New nightmares filling your dreams.

You thought going to London would be some relief, and it partially was. Your hands didn’t feel constantly slick with a culmination of everyone’s blood. You didn’t dream of Midland anymore. Elektra’s weapon didn’t pierce your chest and Matt’s bloated corpse didn’t mock you as your late friend killed you. Instead, Billy tormented your nights.

His voice lingered in an otherwise normal dream, an omen of the nightmare barreling towards you that you couldn’t stop. His body pinned you down after he made you watch him shoot Frank in the head. His eyes stared into yours as he turned your own knife against you and buried it deep in your neck and you woke up choking on nothing more than an illusion. After those nights, you went through the morning with the tingling sensation of electricity in your wrist. A few nights you had even screamed in your sleep, waking up Marc or Steven in a panic. That always made you feel guilty and a little embarrassed.

It was always worse when it was Steven. Not because of anything he would do but because you couldn’t tell him everything. He knew it was something gone wrong from an FBI assignment but he didn’t know Billy’s name or his relationship to you. He didn’t know your connection to the Punisher and your alter ego. He didn’t know what really happened and why that had such deep and dangerous hooks into your subconscious.

You attributed the uptick in nightmares to the recent news from your bureau. In the time since the incident, Homeland Security had been working behind the scenes to erase themselves from the narrative. The pending possibility of a court case was now based on your evidence and testimony and the investigation into his work with Rawlins and Schoonover. Dinah was only the agent that arrested Billy, not the one who unofficially contracted two deadly vigilantes.

The idea of it being you against him caused you to somewhat fall apart. You began to reconsider your body, trying to find some place of you - literal and figurative - that he hadn’t touched. The muscles in your arm would twitch if you lingered in the thought too long, as if your brain wanted to bring the memory of that night to the surface. As if you needed another reminder of that tragic relationship, like the scar on your wrist wasn’t enough.

You had pushed the memory away for the most part. Dex and Fisk served as a fair distraction to keep you from wondering when he would finally succumb to his injuries and die in the early months after the incident or maybe you would’ve been more like Dinah, showing up to taunt him as a ghost of his former self. But that news never came and now that the more pressing threat was away from your focus, that idea began creeping back in.

Marc recognized that shift in you and took extra care to keep you mentally with him. But he never spoke on it and for that, you were grateful. He took you out to dinners, watched your favorite shows and movies with you, went out with you on late night walks when you couldn’t sleep. Steven would ask you to read to him, quiz him on Egyptian trivia, or walk you around the Egyptian wing of the museum and tell you all his favorite facts. They both would convince you to let them help you in the kitchen, and you recognized it as an excuse to keep an eye on you since sharp objects were involved.

During that time, it was easy to remember why you loved them and why you’d never deserve them.

You were sitting on the counter in the kitchen while Marc was doing dishes when you got the call. An unknown number.

You had been getting a lot of calls since you were in London. Some you answered, some you didn’t. Karen, Foggy, and Matt of course. Dinah once or twice, even Nat. You always listened to their messages after and the familiar voices felt nice to hear even if you never called them back. The little updates on their lives made you feel a little less disconnected from them, even though it was your own decision to seclude yourself.

“Hello?” You answered plainly.

“Hey Princess.” Frank said on the other end and your eyes went wide. “How you been?”

“Holy shit.” You laughed slightly.

“It’s good to hear your voice.” He said honestly and you smiled to yourself. “How you been holding up?”

There was the background noise of hard thuds that made your brows furrow.

“Hanging on by a thread as usual. You missed a lot.” You admitted. “What’s going on on your end?”

“Hey… What’s with the new crazy?” You faintly heard the young female voice in the background.

“And who’s that?”

“Long story.” He grumbled. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I think I’m gonna need your help.”

“Okay, um..” You glanced over and saw Marc was already looking at you in question. You simply held up a hand as a signal for him to hold his questions. “How soon?”

“How soon can you get here?”

“Where’s here exactly?”

“Somewhere around Michigan… Kinda.”

“Ah shit.” You muttered to yourself. “I hate the midwest.”

At that, Frank laughed.

“It’s almost a nine hour flight to Detroit.” You spoke out loud. “I’d probably have to land in New York first so-“

“Hang on. You left New York?” He cut in.

“Yeah, long story.” You said simply. “I can probably be there sometime tomorrow. Can you keep yourself and the girl good till then?”

“Honestly Y/N, I have no goddamn clue. She won’t tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know.” You shrugged. “I’ll call back when I get to New York and then when I get to Detroit so I can find you.”

“Thanks, Princess.”

“It’s what I do.” You ended the call.

“What was that about?” Marc asked. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” You breathed with an apologetic expression. “A friend of mine needs help.”

“What friend?” He pushed.

“A friend from New York.”

“But you said Detroit.”

“Yeah, I also said my friend was from New York, not in New York. It’s not a big deal anyway.”

“Sounds like it is.”

“Can we not do this? I’m sorry to just up and leave but I’m going. You’re not gonna stop me.” You blurted out, moving quickly around the small space to collect your things. The only thing that stopped your frantic movements was the scoff that Marc let out.

“I never understood what you saw in him.” He complained, not bothering to hide his disdain.

“What are you on about?”

“One call from Matt and you drop everything.”

“It wasn’t Matt.” You countered.

“Oh, it wasn’t? Who was it then?”

“It doesn’t matter. I still have to go and you still don’t get a say.”

“Right.” He nodded and the sarcasm dropped from his words. “Y’know, I thought you would’ve figured all this out by now but you’re still running yourself in circles for a guy you’re not even dating.”

“It isn’t like that.” You said tightly and began your packing again. “I promised I’d be there to help when he needed it. I can’t back out on that.”

“Anything for your precious Matt, right?”

“Give me a break!” You shouted suddenly. “You don’t even know him. You’ve made damn sure of that.”

“Good thing, too!” He yelled back and you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. “Cause if I did, I probably would’ve kicked the shit out of him by now!”

“I would love to see that.” You scoffed. “How do you think I stayed alive this long with all the bullshit I got caught up in?”

You ground your teeth as the familiar burn of your anger creeped through your veins while Marc went off on a rant. You did nothing with it, letting it sit under your skin as you continued your packing. You knew you had to keep Frank’s secret. You trusted Marc but saying that it was in fact Frank, the infamous Punisher who was allegedly still at large, that was an admittance that you weren’t allowed. It wasn’t your secret to tell. Even if you were telling it in a completely different country to someone who couldn’t care less if the Punisher was free or not.

By the time you were listening again, Marc was still talking.

“Enough, Matt!” You snapped without much thought. “What do you want me to do?”

“Matt?” He scoffed and your stomach dropped.

“Marc.” You corrected. “You know what I meant.”

“You know what, Y/N?” He took a step closer and you didn’t back down. “When you came back, I thought it was cause you wanted to be here with me or with Steven. But it’s never gonna be enough, is it?”

“You think it’d be fair to Steven for me to be here and constantly have to lie to him? About myself and about you? Jesus, Marc, do you hear yourself?”

“You chose to lie to him about yourself.”

“Oh, right.” You scoffed. “Because the guy would’ve been able to stomach the fact that he was in love with a killer? Because he wouldn’t have seen the blood when he looked at me?”

“You’re the one who came back here. You could’ve gone anywhere and you chose to come back.”

“That didn’t automatically mean we’d get back together.” You argued loudly.

“What else am I supposed to think when you’re in my bed every night? I’m enough for you to sleep with again but not good enough for you to stay?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to! Jesus, Y/N, it’s all over your face.”

“Marc, I care about you and you know that..” You tried but you knew it wasn’t enough. “I'm not gonna keep arguing about this but it isn’t about Matt. I give you my word, alright?”

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t… Y’know what, yeah. Maybe I never should’ve come back here…”

“Maybe you’re right.”

You said nothing as you grabbed your bags. He scoffed and went around you, holding the door open for you.

“At least I know you’re leaving this time.” He commented as you stepped into the hall. As he went to shut the door, you turned and blocked it with your foot.

“I left before to protect you.” You said firmly.

“Move your foot.”

“No. Yel and the other Widows would’ve mowed you down and not thought twice.”

“You want to know what’s the worst part of all this?” Marc commented off-handedly, as if he was going to make a casual remark. “I wish I could hate you. Do you understand how guilty I feel to say that? Or how it feels to want to hate someone you would’ve done anything for?”

“It’d be easier if you did.” You agreed. “And yeah, I do… I used to wish there was a worse side to you, just so I wouldn’t feel so bad leaving… But you could hate me, you know. I could make it that way.”

“No..” He shook his head and put a hand gently to your cheek. “Cause I’d know I really don’t.”

“You’re better without me.” You tried with a nod and took his hand away, though you kept a loose hold of it. “Thank you for everything. I owe you and Steven so many explanations and apologies…”

“You can send him a letter.” He said when he noticed your expression fall. “Do all of us a favor and take care of yourself through whatever this is.”

“You know, if you ever come through New York again…”

“We’ll use your bed instead?”

“Shut up.” You laughed. “Till next time.”

“See you around, baby.” He tapped under your chin before stepping back inside the apartment. You moved your foot and smiled sadly before turning away and heading to the airport.

Your stop in New York was supposed to be quick. Just as you were arriving at your building, a dark vehicle rolled up and you stopped for a second.

A second too long.

“Been too long, Y/L/N.” Brett called as he got out and came around the sidewalk.

“Hey.” You breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, after Fisk I needed a break. I’m actually on my way out but-“

“Out the country again?” There was a small accusation in his tone.

“Can you really blame me?” You laughed slightly. “With Fisk locked up again and no official case against mush-for-brains there was no necessity to hang around.”

“Speaking of…”

“There’s a case now?” Your brows raised and your arm nearly twitched.

“Not yet. But he did remember something.”

“What?” Your stomach tightened in anticipation for the accusation of your alter ego.

“Your name.”

“My name…” You repeated, realizing that Brett’s appearance may very well be for an arrest.

“Mhmm. Out of the blue, he said ‘Y/N’.”

The knot in your stomach unraveled quickly and your body relaxed.

“Is that why you’re here?” You kept going, careful not to linger too long on any one response. “Would I even be able to see him?”

“You want to?”

You thought for a moment. It was a terrible idea, to come face to face with the man who nearly killed you.

No. You had to remind yourself that he did kill you.

Yeah, your heart stopped. Blood loss, they said. Your partner was able to get you started again but it was one of the worst minutes of my life, y’know.

The memory sent a shiver down your spine and you had to swallow the rising bile. You tried to quickly weigh the pros and cons but you did wonder if seeing him - just the once - would let your mind rest. You could understand what was left of the man you had potentially seen yourself truly caring about. You’d know if he was something to fear, the threat lurking in shadows and behind corners, or if he was useless. A pathetic remnant of who you once knew.

“Why the hell not.” You finally answered.

Brett took you to the hospital after that.

As you were heading to Billy’s room, you passed a window leading into a physical therapy room. You glanced in but one of the patients caused you to freeze. His back was to you and his hair had grown out some but you could still tell who it was, especially after spending months working with him.

“He didn’t die either then?” You said flatly as you stopped to watch Dex. Small movements, sitting upright on a stool and turning his upper body. Any threat of retaliation from him was miles away.

“He asked about you once.” Brett said from your side. “Wondered if you ever came to see him.”

“He should be glad I didn’t… I would’ve smothered him with his pillow once the nurses left.” You shrugged and kept moving.

Finally, you were led into Billy’s room. Two armed officers waited at the door and you were patted down before allowed to enter. Their attention caught on the hard object at your waist but you lifted your sweater’s hem to show the badge. As you were ushered in, the woman you assumed was his psych ripped apart the velcro holding him in place.

“You can’t be in here.” She tried but you didn’t look at her.

Instead you looked at the man on the bed. Your eyes traced the thick black lines that adorned the plastic white mask he wore. You could barely see his eyes and that made you uneasy. Your hand twitched at your side and was begging to form a fist, to shatter the plastic mask and connect firmly with his face.

The part of the Red Room that would always live inside you wanted to see his scars. You wanted to know how you and Frank had broken him, the new patterns of his skin that you and Frank carved out using that shattered mirror. You wanted to see if fear would fill his eyes, the taunting yellow haze that appeared only to you.

The click of the door closing snapped you back to the present.

“Y/N.” Billy said softly, so softly you had barely heard it behind his mask. “Hey, beautiful. Jeez, you’re even… prettier than I remember..”

“No.” You shook your head, barely finding your voice. “You don’t get to-”

“Oh.” The woman said suddenly. “Y/N, of course. I’m sorry. I’m Dr. Dumont and I’ve been working with Billy for the past few months.”

“It’s Agent, actually.” You told her. The title meant nothing to you but she didn’t need to know that. “Agent Y/L/N.”

“Right.” She nodded with a rehearsed smile. “Well I’m glad you could join us. I assume you got my letter?”

You hummed slightly and dared a couple steps deeper into the room.

“What’s under the mask, Billy?” You asked plainly. “What do you look like now?”

“We try not to-“ The doctor tried but you kept going.

“Who did that to you?”

“I don’t…” He whined. “I don’t know. All I know is there was a… a skull and a mask.”

The skull was what he could remember of Frank. The white spray-painted skull across the black bulletproof. His memento mori as David Lieberman had once said. But the mask was another thing. You hadn’t worn your mask that night, had you? No, you were almost certain you didn’t have the time to put it on but he had seen you in it before.

Maybe his brain really was mush, combining different fights into one night.

“I’m guessing you don’t remember what you did to me.” You said honestly.

“I shoot you too?”

“Too? You know what you did to Agent Madani?”

“She comes by quite often.” Dumont added. Her uneasiness began to seep into your skin and you shivered in an effort to clear it.

“I know what I’ve been told but it doesn’t feel like I know anything.”

You held out the scarred wrist and moved another step closer.

“You shot me here. Twice. The first one didn’t penetrate so of course, you did it again.” You explained. “I was also stuck with a faulty taser that was frying the nerves in my hand.”

He said nothing, just turned his face away.

“You hung me by my wrists so tight, they bled.” You sneered, the memory serving as fuel for your words. “You watched and wanted me to beg for you to let me live. What kind of a man does that?”

You could feel the emotions mixing in his head, swirling into something you couldn’t describe. Neither could he and it ate at him, which you loved.

“Does it hurt?” You pressed, nothing other than sadism pushing you to speak. “Your face? Your body? Does it hurt to know that you wanted me dead?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Look me in the eyes and say that.” You said firmly. “Look at me and tell me that you don’t remember the way you wanted me to bleed out in front of you. The way you screamed for me to beg.”

The shadowed eyes met yours and you felt something strange from him. Uncertainty, self-pity, maybe even self-hatred. He didn’t know whether or not to believe your words. You smiled slightly and leaned away, putting your hands up slightly in a mock surrender.

“I didn’t come to torment you, Russo.” You said simply. You glanced at the other woman in the room and noticed she was nearly shaking, uncertain of how to react to your hostile presence. She seemed like she was about to run, throw open the doors and scream for the officers to take you away. “I know you got what you deserved. I just came to see how much of a man was left.”

“No.” The woman finally spoke and you turned with raised brows. “You didn’t deserve this, Billy.”

“You weren’t there.” You said flatly. “You didn’t see the hatred in his eyes when he looked at me, a woman he claimed to love.”

“It doesn’t matter. No one deserves this.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But it happened, and I’m sure the ‘skull’ and the ‘mask’ don’t regret it.”

“You’re cruel.” She said quietly, a shocking revelation.

“No.” You pursed your lips and shook your head. “I’m mean, sure. I used to be more tame and gentle, but this damn circus-life I led made me meaner… Anyways, enough about me.” You waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not quite lost, are you?” You looked back at Billy.

“That what you want?” He lifted his chin.

You simply hummed, a sound of indifference as you headed towards the door. Dr. Dumont tried to call you back but you ignored her.

You could tell there were gears turning in Billy’s head. Dots were connecting, though nothing was staying. Flashes of memories, coming and going but never staying. For the time being, he was still just a man, but you had a feeling that if he did gain his memories, he’d be a threat again.

And he would come for you and Dinah.

You went to your apartment after the hospital, which was still full of unpacked boxes and your haphazardly laid out furniture, and exchanged your bags for a new one. You took only a carry on, a duffel with a couple handguns, extra bullets, and two knives. You tucked an extra jacket and a change of clothes and your phone charger with the weaponry before digging through the labeled ‘PERSONAL’ box to find the x-ray blocking pouch. Your hand caught on the long sleeve top from Matt, the gift from the first night you fought Fisk still stained with various blood splatters. You tucked your weaponry into the bag and shoved both into the duffel. With your practically useless badge to your belt, you headed back to the airport.

There was an envelope on your floor that caught your attention. It was labeled from the office of a psychologist, Dr. Dumont. It was stamped urgent but you had no need for it. You ripped it in half and threw it away.

As you were leaving your building, you received a call from another unknown number.

“This is a collect call from Larkville Sheriff's Department. Do you accept the charges?” The automated voice said and you almost laughed.

“Yeah, I accept.” You answered and after a few seconds, the tone clicked and it was a live call. “Collect call, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled. “Where are you?”

“New York, heading back to the airport. You’re gonna owe me for going to Ohio of all goddamn places.”

“I tried Madani already but she pretty much told me to fuck off so…”

“So I’m all you got.” You nodded. “Any information on what I’m walking into?”

“Hell if I know.” He muttered. “Maybe your daughter’ll tell you something.”

“My daughter?” Your brows furrowed.

“Yeah, your daughter.”

There was some light shuffling before someone else took over the call.

“Hi, mom.” She said, equally as confused as you were.

“Hey, sweetie.” You answered kindly enough. You pressed your scar to put the call in your head while you moved your phone to text Dinah. “How’d you end up in Ohio?”

“I don’t know.” She confessed. “I don’t want to be here.”

“I don’t blame you.” You laughed.

-i know he called you- you typed quickly.

“Listen, I need you to trust the guy you’re with, okay?” You tried.

“Seriously?” She scoffed. “He tied me to a bed!”

“But has he hurt you?”

No answer.

“Has he shot at you or cut you or tried to kill you? Or has he saved your life?”

-not my problem- Dinah answered and you rolled your eyes.

-mahoney told me about you and russo. maybe we can work out something that benefits us both. i’m tired of waiting too- you typed furiously. Whether or not you and Frank dealt with Billy, you weren’t even worried about.

You were worried about Frank and the kid he was with. You knew he wouldn’t have called you unless it was something serious so you had to pull every string you had.

“Listen, hon.” You focused back on your phone call. “I’m gonna see you soon… Trust him and trust me, okay? But you have to tell me what you know when I get there.”

“Okay… Thanks, mom.”

“And let him know that I’m gonna stop to talk to her and try to convince her so I’ll meet you guys tonight.”

Almost instantly when you ended that call, Dinah called you. You two went back and forth for what felt like hours. She said Russo was faking it, you said you didn’t know. She said she could see it in his eyes, you said the ghost of him still stung your skin. She said she wants to hear him confess, you said you’d like him to stay powerless. She said Frank wasn’t her problem, you said he could be useful. An eye for an eye, trade favors.

Finally, you got her to agree to go to Ohio.

When you two met up at the helipad, some Homeland location she picked you up for, she explained that Russo had escaped that morning. You were partially glad because at least there wouldn’t be any expectation for you to visit again. It did leave a feeling of dread in the back of your mind, like another fight was barreling towards you.

But you had to think this time the fight would only come if you went looking for it. So you focused on whatever hell Frank ended up in.

You changed your tops as the helicopter got closer. Out of habit, you reached for your mask but came up empty. You tucked one knife under your fitted sleeve and the other at your back. You put a handgun at either hip and the extra clips in the front of your waistband.

“Drop me within a mile.” You instructed calmly. “Without the mask, I need to scout before I get too close.”

“What are you gonna do?” She asked loudly, straining to be heard over the whirling blades.

You offered her a slight smirk before scooting to sit at the edge of the open door and letting your feet hang out. You leaned slightly and watched the ground get closer and closer, mentally calculating for a safe jump. You vaguely heard Dinah’s voice but you slid down before you could actually process her words. You rolled through the landing and groaned slightly when you landed against a tree.

The sound of automatic gunfire almost immediately took your attention. You focused in as much as you could, trying to count the rifles. A dozen was your best guess

You damn near ran at that point.

You could see the Sheriff’s department and the gunfire continued inside the building. You found easy cover among the trees and tried for a recount of the gunners outside.

A lot to take on by yourself.

You opened yourself for a quick survey and found a calm confidence among them all, one standing out among them. Confident in himself and his purpose but an underlying darkness. You could only assume he was in charge but he was in the middle of the herd. And he wasn’t your mission.

No, you needed to find Frank.

You redirected your focus on the sheriff’s station. Panic, fear, uncertainty. All the expected emotions wafted from the small building. Underlying it all was what you were looking for. Confidence, comfortability among the chaos, and anticipation. Keeping low, you bolted towards the building.

The back door was blown off and you hesitated at the entrance. You reached to your hip and grabbed one of your guns. You held it comfortably between your hands and whistled, two sharp familiar notes that were usually answered by one of your cousins. After a second of silence, you whistled the two notes of response and stepped into the building.

You moved through the dark building carefully, grimacing at how the rubble crunched under your feet. You wished for a moment that you had your Exodus boots but wishing did you no favors. You swallowed the thought and found the collection of remaining deputies. A gun was raised at you quickly and you let both hands shoot upwards in surrender, though your own handgun didn’t leave your grip.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the female officers asked sharply.

“Relax.” You tried simply. “I’m here to help. You’ll thank me.”

“How many are out there?” A different man asked.

“Too many.” You shrugged as your eyes scanned the room. One deputy down, a younger girl with panic in her eyes, a few more officers, and Frank.

The down officer argued against turning over Frank and the girl and you smiled slightly to yourself. You moved across the room and knelt at his side while tucking your gun away. You rubbed your hands together and allowed yourself to absorb some of the anger in the room. Anger at the men outside and inside. You forced it down your hands and let it settle in your palm.

You nudged the other set of hands aside and pressed your now ignited skin against the wound. He groaned loudly and the faint smell of burnt flesh permeated the small space before you pulled your hand away. The bleeding had slowed substantially and you allowed an influx of his pain. He looked at you with wide eyes and you simply nodded.

“You’re the woman from the phone.” The young girl said from your side. “You really came.”

“Yeah.” You smiled softly and wiped the blood along your shirt. “Told you I would… You doing okay?”

“We can’t just sit here.” She said firmly, though she had no idea what to do. “They’re gonna kill us.”

You were going to answer, to reassure her that with you there, they wouldn’t get close. But outside, you felt life draining, slowly and painfully. He killed one of his own.

“Get her into a vest.” The sheriff commanded but you waved him off. “You go out there in a spandex-“

“It’s bulletproof.” You said flatly. “And it’s withstood more than this building has. Listen, Sheriff, let me take him-“ You gestured to Frank. “And we can take care of it.”

“And just who are you?”

“Special Agent with the FBI.” You said, a twisted truth but not a total lie. “I’ve done more missions than you can count and I know for this one, I need his help.”

“He’s in no shape for it.”

You glanced at Frank and he simply lifted the makeshift cast around his forearm. You shot him a glare and he shrugged.

“He’ll manage.” You answered finally. “If you don’t set him loose, this building will fall. Your deputies and that little girl will die. Do you want that?”

“Got any black tape?” Frank asked and your head snapped towards him.

You let out a small sigh and put up your hands. You turned on your heel and offered one last look to the girl.

Why hadn’t you asked her name? You decided quickly that you’d have to get the job done just so you could ask.

You gave a sharp nod and she pressed her lips into a line before her eyes fell. You didn’t turn around, heading to slip back out the back door instead. You made your way around the side of the building and habitually reached to tap your mask, making contact with your bare skin instead. You cursed the failed gesture and began moving around the side of the building again.

You saw two men rushing towards the entrance and you quickly palmed a knife before kneeling in the front bushes. You flipped it in your hand and pinched the tip before drawing back. The ignition of flames became an easy target and you threw the blade quickly. It smashed the bottle, triggering a bright explosion and igniting the two assailants. You stepped out proudly and watched the men burn before collecting your blade. You stood, illuminated by the blaze, and again whistled the two short notes. Your call was answered from somewhere within the trees and with confirmation that your friend was there, you bolted into the tree line.

Automatic rifle fire filled the silence as you moved, a blade in one hand and a handgun in the other. You moved quickly, at a truly deadly pace and you felt more yourself than you had since Matt came back.

You swiped you blade in a long line along a man’s back before you kicked out and he landed on his face. You flung the blade down and it buried itself in the back of his shoulder. When he cried out, you ducked into nearby shadows. You waited as two men came to help him and as soon as they grabbed the fallen man’s arms to haul him up, you fired. Two quick shots, two quick deaths. You came out to kneel on the man’s back, yanking your blade free and pressing your gun to the back of his head.

A single shot to make the third death.

Your assaults continued on either side, automatic fire from one and isolated shots from the other. You made use of the knife more than the gun. You enjoyed the thrill of throwing the small blade, took pride in the precision your hands still held. An unexpected comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. As you moved, you came across the sniper. You wondered for a split second who his target was but your instincts told you it was the girl.

You whipped the blade through the air and it dug into the man’s hand, at the base knuckle of his trigger finger to be exact. You were on him before he could cry out in pain. You dropped your shoulder and slammed into his side, tackling him into the nearest tree. He jammed the butt of his rifle at you and you took the hits to your ribs, refusing to fall back. You gripped his shirtfront with one bloodied hand and slammed the other against his face. Heavy hit after heavy hit until the bones cracked under your fist. He sputtered out blood instead of words and you threw him to the ground. You planted a foot on his chest and fired before dropping the empty clip and replacing it.

You collected your blade and tucked it away before you grew still. You listened for the gunfire but heard nothing. You listened for cries but heard nothing. At that point, you let yourself feel. Then a faint smoke seemed to show you the exact path to Frank. With your gun firmly in hand, you ran.

You were coming up behind him when you came up on another sniper. You froze for a second and looked around him, only to realize he had Frank in his sights. You instantly sprinted towards him and once you were close enough, your arm hooked around his neck. You yanked him backwards as he pulled his trigger and the shot went wide. You shifted your position so he would land facedown in the leaves with your knee digging his back.

You dropped the gun in your hand and gripped the shoulder of his shirt. You fisted the material and pulled, choking him with not only your arm but his own clothes. You pushed the other foot forward and kicked the rifle away as the Homeland helicopter loomed overhead. It’s spotlight shone down on you and you had to decide what you’d do.

Kill him, save the girl and likely end up on Dinah’s shit list.

Walk away, maybe Dinah takes him into custody and her justice system can do something.

You gut told you there’d be a way for him to get out. The justice system you once studied and wanted to defend had failed enough times that you didn’t hold your breath. You shook your free hand and allowed the hidden blade to fall into your palm. You adjusted your grip and raised your hand to slam it into the man’s temple when you felt a hand around your arm.

Your head snapped up and you saw Frank looking at you. He shook his head once and you took a deep breath before releasing the man. You slid the blade back up your sleeve and climbed off. You went to follow Frank, but not before kicking the man in his ribs.

As you two were heading back, your own ribs began to burn with their familiar pain. At that point, you were regretting not getting pins after the fight with Billy. You sat with Frank on the curb and you leaned onto his shoulder, rubbing the eternal fracture while he spoke to Dinah.

“Billy Russo broke out of the hospital.” Dinah told Frank and you felt Frank shift to look down at you so you sat up.

“You know ‘bout that?” He asked you. There was accusation in his tone, but not that you didn’t tell him. He didn’t seem to care about that. It was about whether that news had anything to do with your actions that night.

“Yeah, how do you think I got her to give me a ride?” You answered flatly. “You missed a lot.”

Dinah moved to talk to the Sheriff and you blew out a sigh.

“Never really ends for us, does it?” Frank muttered.

“No.” You laughed sadly. “No, it does not… You enjoy the time on the road at least?”

“Yeah.” He nodded as he stared ahead. “You?”

“Do you remember when we were in that cemetery after saving your ass from Kitchen Irish and I was talking about the place I was raised?” You glanced over when he didn’t answer and saw he was looking at you already. “My cousins and I, we got a chance to go after him. I thought he was dead this whole time but… He wasn’t. One of my cousins had been there the whole time.”

“You got yours then, hmm?” He gave a small, proud smile when you nodded. “Good for you, Princess.”

“Then I went to London, met up with an ex. But all of that was after my FBI partner tried to kill me and Red came back.”

“Red? Thought he died.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. The bastard survived the building and was hiding for months.”

“What got him to come back?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Let’s go.” Dinah said sharply as she walked by.

You quietly mocked her as you stood and the sheriff came over. You gestured to your spot on the curb and saw the girl coming out of the station. Her eyes went wide for a second and you knew it was the blood on your hands. You gestured for her to come with you and she hesitated. You could see it in her eyes that she was surveying her options.

“We can keep you safe.” You said honestly. “I never caught your name?”

“Rachel…” She said carefully. “Yours?”

“Y/N.” You smiled as she came to your side.

Frank eventually met you two at the helicopter, where Dinah sighed and stared pointedly at the girl.

“She’s coming.” You said forcefully.

“Or we don’t.” Frank nodded to you.

“Where are we going?” Rachel asked.

“New York.” You all answered.

[skyfallslayer]

I posted 4,392 times in 2022

That's 728 more posts than 2021!

34 posts created (1%)

4,358 posts reblogged (99%)

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@incorrectfmaquotes

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I tagged 54 of my posts in 2022

#my fanfic writing - 22 posts

#skyfallwrites - 20 posts

#marvel fanfiction - 20 posts

#marvel - 14 posts

#peter parker - 13 posts

#james bucky barnes - 12 posts

#bucky barnes - 12 posts

#the boys - 12 posts

#the winter soldier - 12 posts

#the boys season 3 - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 48 characters

#ya'll are going to be mentally distroyed like me

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

The Devils Are Caught In Red String

Main Masterlist

♡ Summary: Childhood friendships are a sacred thing... But so are secrets. This story revolves around a girl named Anya Hughes, an attorney by day and a vigilante by night. Join her into the struggles she’ll face, like her path coming back to haunt her, then facing a man who holds all the power, all while she develops a crush on her close friend. How long can she take all this until she falls apart?

(Basically a Daredevil rewrite with OC (or reader-insert if you'd like) who is secretly related to Peter Parker.)

♡ Pairings: Matt Murdock x Parker!OFC; Foggy Nelson x Platonic!OFC; Foggy x Marci Stahl; Minor Frank Castle x Karen Page; Peter Parker x Sister!OFC

♡ Rating: Explicit

♡ Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter: (This story will contained future 18+ content. Minor DNI. It also contains a slow burn and childhood trauma.)

♡ Word Count: 11145

♡ Start Date: 9/29

♡ End Date: N/A

♡ A/N: Like it says above, this is a rewrite of Daredevil but with Parker OFC. It follows the show pretty much to a T but it'll evetually get a bit dark, gory, and very smutty. You'll be warned before each chapter, but read at your own risk. The story and it's plot is the only thing I own.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

// INDEX //

○ Chapter 1: Into the Ring

○ Chapter 2: Cut Man & Specter

○ Chapter 3: Rabbit In A Snowstorm

-Tag list Is Open-

@uncle-eggy @fangirling-galore

75 notes - Posted September 21, 2022

#4

Whether they decide to bring Dick Grayson, or a whole new made up boy/girl character, this Batman NEEDS a Robin. He definitely needs that light in his life, and the chance to comfort a kid that's potentially gone through what he has.

87 notes - Posted March 26, 2022

#3

Cherry (Masterlist)

Main Masterlist

🍒 Summary: As a superhero, you always believe in the good that comes with it, and the feeling of bringing hope to people's eyes makes your heart flutter. That is… Until you witness your teammates murdering your husband. Now your world is upside down, and the people you once deemed your enemies are offering you some help. Will you take the bait? Or bury your head in the sand?

🍒 Pairings: Bucky x Fem!Reader; Platonic!Avengers x Reader; Platonic!Peter x Yelena

🍒 Rating: Explicit

🍒 Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter (This story will contained future 18+ content. Minor DNI)

🍒 Word Count: 9,203

🍒 Start Date: 7/28

🍒 End Date: N/A

🍒 A/N: This AU is inspired by Amazon's The Boys. Only inspired. And for anyone who watches the show, you know that this story will get dark, gory, and very smutty. You'll be warned before each chapter, but read at your own risk. The story and it's plot is the only thing I own.

See the full post

127 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

#2

The Daughter Of The (Dare)Devil - Story 1

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: A Series of stories revolving around the MCU timeline of Matt Murdock and his Daughter, Kaila. Being the child of a vigilante can be hard and scary at times, but it doesn’t mean she ain’t going to enjoy the most of it.

(Can be read as Y/N if you’d like)'

Story Summary: The Introduction to it all. Matt Murdock is just glad he has someone to patch him up so he doesn’t have to bother Claire for the night. Although, he still feels guilty that he’ll never stop smelling the dried blood beneath her fingernails (Set pre-season 1).

Date: 2/15

Rating: Teen/Borderline of Mature

Word Count: 4,654

Warning: Changing POVs (?); Lots of Blood; Traumatic Moments; Brief mention of Rape; Possible Medical Inaccuracy; Brief Lying (Let me know if I forget anything). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: Finally back! First I got sick and then my damn laptop broke. Anyway, so sorry about that! And I hope you enjoy the story!

___________________________________________________________

It was a slow night, but it was not an uncommon outcome.

Matt winced a little as he slipped through his window, the punches he received on his side were starting to swell and throb. He could taste the copper and sweat on his tongue as he quietly closed it, listening to his surroundings while doing so.

It was pure silence, minus the faint sound of pattering feet on the other side of the apartment; But it was familiar, welcoming. He knew who was inside and… well, the person should be inside at this ungodly hour, or Matt may have a mini heart attack. He could relax now, stiffness gone as he tuned in on the soft humming and light rhythm of the muscle in her chest. He could mentally check off the box in his head he’s constantly making every time he goes out alone.

She’s safe. She’s fine. He thinks on repeat. It was a mantra he’ll never grow out of.

The man stuck in two worlds crossed the room, guiding himself to the couch in what he would call his living room. He sighs, melting into the rough texture, pulling the black makeshift mask off. He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his head back.

“So what did you do tonight?” Call out the sweet voice with a sassy undertone.

Matt could hear her walking around the kitchen, grabbing things she needed for cleaning up. He smiled, picturing the curious, yet monotone expression.

“Did you stop a bank robbery? A gang? Some wanted criminals that you so happen to stumble upon?” She continues, swiping some aspirin off the open shelf.

Even though she was still behind him, Matt held up his hand. “Uh, no need for that tonight.” He said, sensing her raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Wow. That’s a shock.” She replies, genuine. She walks around to the front of the couch, placing various items on the coffee table. She lightly taps her father’s shoulder, holding out a glass. “Water, Dad?”

“Yes, please.” He said, as she trailed it to his palm. He takes a few small sips to ease his parched throat, unwinding a little bit more. “And to answer your question, it was just a mugger.”

He was aware of her eyebrow raised once more.

“Are you sure it wasn’t muggers?” She said, concernedly.

He couldn’t blame her though, his lip was definitely busted (again), a gash on his forehead, and a map of bruises. He brushes it off nonchalantly, doing his goofy smirk.

“No, no. It was just one.” Matt says, hearing her shake her head as she rummage through the first aid kit.

“Well, did you fight the Hulk or something? One mugger surely gave you a run for your money.” She asked, swiping the wavy strands of his hair away to see the cut better.

“I think I would be dust if I did fight the Hulk. Although, he was over six feet tall.”

She chuckles. “Oh, so you fought Captain America then. He must have gone rogue after what happened during those helicarriers.” She squints a little bit in the poor light, the blood still a bright red color upon the open skin. “Doesn’t look that deep. You just need a bandage.”

He copies her little laugh as she rips open a bandage and snags a sterile towel.

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155 notes - Posted February 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The Daughter of The (Dare)Devil

Main MasterList

Ao3 LINK

Summary: A Series of stories revolving around the MCU timeline of Matt Murdock and his Daughter, Kaila. Being the child of a vigilante can be hard and scary at times, but it doesn't mean she ain't going to enjoy the most of it.

(Can be read as Y/N if you'd like)

Pairings: Matt x Murdock!OFC; Foggy x Murdock!OFC; Karen x Murdock!OFC!; Hints of KareDevil

Characters: (As of now) Original Female Character ("Kaila Murdock"); Matt Murdock; Karen Page; Foggy Nelson; Stick; Wilson Fisk; Vanessa Marianna; Claire Temple; Frank Castle; Peter Parker; Original Male Characters

Rating: Teen through Mature (will warn before each chapter)

Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter

Word Count: 43,953 (6/18 Stories as of now)

Start Date: 2/15

End Date: N/A

A/N: This story is kind of a rewrite of Daredevil just with Matt having a kid, so this WILL contain spoilers from the TV show and later on the new Spiderman movie. So read at your own risk! Enjoy!

Extras: Kaila Murdock Fanart

__________________________________________________________

Index: (All story order might possibly change in the future)

Season 1:

Story 1: Welcome Home The Blood and Bruises

The Introduction to it all. Matt Murdock is just glad he has someone to patch him up so he doesn’t have to bother Claire for the night. Although, he still feels guilty that he’ll never stop smelling the dried blood beneath her fingernails (Set pre-season 1).

Story 2: I'd Burn The World For You

The new addition to Nelson & Murdock is great, they surely enjoy the company and help. Although, Matt would have to admit, Miss Page was a curious thing. Maybe TOO curious when it comes to personal questions (Set shortly after S1E1, "Into The Ring").

Story 3: Crossing The Line

While Foggy and Kaila make it a mission to find out what's going on with Karen, Matt is dealing with a person from his past who dared disrespect his daughter in his own home (Set during S1E7. "Stick").

Story 4: I've Got The Devil Inside Me

He's already confessed his fears, but sometimes talking it over with a love one is so much better than any priest.

Or, Matt has no choice but to spill his fears to Kaila who just desperately wants him to come home safe (Set during S1E8 & E9, "Shadows in the Glass" & "Speak of The Devil").

Story 5: The One Where The Uncle Finds Out

Kaila knew she should have made up an excuse and pushed him away, but she knew she couldn't patch him up alone. She just hopes Foggy isn't going to pass out before strangling her father or herself (Set during S1E9, E10 & E11, "Speak of The Devil", "Nelson V Murdock" & "The Path of The Righteous").

Story 6: No Good Dead...

Crashing under the weight of her Father and Foggy’s dilemma, Kaila heads to Karen’s house for a break but it takes a turn for the worse; and unfortunately it will test the young girl’s strength and sanity. (Set during 1x11, 1x12 & 1x13 "The Path of The Righteous", "The Ones We Leave Behind" & "Daredevil".)

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238 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[divineecelestial]

Bloodied Hands — Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Summary — Frank Castle shouldn't like you. He has a mission to complete and his hands are far too bloodstained for someone like you, but, God, he can't help himself.

Word Count — 24k (yeah, you read that right. Sorry.)

Warnings — Graphic depictions of violence and death, use of female pronouns, and [Y/N] but is written in third-point-of-view. Slow-burn.

Author's Note — This might be a series depending on if you guys like it and that will eventually contain smut and slow-burn. And this was originally written as OC and not as a reader insert but I edited it but if you still see an OC name or description, please let me know! :)

Greed was the underlying cause of everyone’s misdeeds. Some stalked the shadows for an opportunity to yank on someone’s polished pearls, and some bloodied their calloused fists for stacks of green. The people who [Y/N] had found herself growing exhausted with were the ones who placed themselves on thrones of manipulation and terror and ruled from the darkness of the city. She was tired of smelling the morning breeze and finding it still tainted with greed and illusion. 

[Y/N] released a steady breath as she brought the handle of her flashlight between her teeth, pulling a hairpin from her scalp and kneeling on the carpeted floor. Breaking inside the District Attorney’s office was much easier than she initially thought it would’ve been. She managed to stealthily take a badge from one of the office employees as she was escorted from the premises earlier that morning. Truthfully, she was completely aware that she wasn’t going to speak with Samantha Reyes regarding Frank Castle. She predicted their dismissal and wasn’t shocked when Reyes had someone pull her from the building by her arm. She had counted on it. Escorted inside and outside provided two chances to memorize the design of the office space.

She knew any information worth some importance wasn’t going to be openly placed in some unguarded filing cabinet beside a water cooler. The discrepancies of Frank Castle were going to be concealed from the public eye, locked and placed in a dark corner. This narrowed her options to the DA’s office and her personal assistant’s office. 

Her hairpin was thicker than she needed, but she managed to unlock the office door. There were orange and tan files strewn across the wooden desk, multi-colored notes taped around the computer screen, and crime scene photos neatly piled. [Y/N] raised the flashlight above her head, carefully flipping through the stacks of scribbled papers. There was nothing of importance and she pushed the chair to the side, kneeling on the floor. She smiled as she saw the shiny lock on the bottom drawer. Predictable.

With nimble fingers, she used the hairpin and struggled for a brief minute. She cursed at herself for not bringing her pick-locking kit with her. The subtle sound of the interlockings of the padlock shift was barely loud enough for her to hear, but she practically yanked the drawer open. She shuffled through the contents, a self-satisfied smirk rising as she found the bright orange file with black ink scribbled on the corner; ‘Frank Castle’. 

There wasn’t much within the file. There were mostly crime scene photographs of his doings against the three gangs. She slowly examined each photograph, eyes memorizing every bloodied wound. She couldn’t believe one man was managing these crimes. At the bottom of the file was a large x-ray of Castle’s skull and brain with a bullet lodged inside. She could hear her father’s voice in the depths of her mind. 

[Y/N], this wasn’t a suicide attempt. He would’ve been dead. Someone else did this and wasn’t very good at it.

She brought her camera and snapped photographs of the papers and pictures.

[Y/N] thought of the chilled breeze as she drove through the thoroughfares of New York City. She thought of the multi-colored lights that illuminated the night sky and she thought of the dull musings of each person that remained awake that night. She wondered if someone could feel the emotions she was plagued with every night, the loneliness and the violent rage that burned through her veins. She glanced at the empty passenger as the strangers of the night crossed the street. There was no one there and there wasn’t going to be another person there. The music quietly filled the car, some old song her father used to listen to and she forced herself to memorize the words. She must have listened to the song a thousand times, writing the words down with black ink over and over again until her hand ached. 

The song repeated and she tapped her manicured hand on the leather of her steering wheel as she disappeared from the bright lights and drove through the suburban neighborhoods. She occasionally glanced down at a scrap of paper, reading the address over again each time. She should have chosen a less conspicuous car, she realized. She parked the car at the end of the street and the music ended and she was left alone in the darkness again. She smelled the fragrance of her perfume as she observed the steadiness of the neighborhood. She knew the Castle house was deserted, empty, and forgotten, but she found herself thinking someone was going to walk outside; Frank walking outside with a white and heavy trash bag or his children rushing to the lawn with a dog. But there was no one and nothing coming outside. 

[Y/N] glanced around, smelling the wilted flowers on the sidewalk as she neared the porch of Frank Castle’s house. There was an American flag swaying gently with the wind and an empty mailbox that wasn’t going to be filled again. She wondered if anyone remembered them anymore or if anyone in this neighborhood glanced outside their windows for a second just to think about the slaughtered family. With light footsteps, she walked to the side door with a lock pick placed between her gloved fingers. Seconds passed and the door unlocked with ease. She hurried inside, closing the door lightly behind her. The house was still furnished and smelled like laundry detergent and forgotten memories. Everything remained the same and nothing was moved. The Castle family left their house never knowing they weren’t ever coming back. There were still toys scattered across the floor, dishes placed on the table, and couch pillows disarrayed. This house was empty but still filled with remnants of the dead. 

She dragged a gloved finger across the kitchen countertop, wiping away the layer of gray dust. Across the foyer, [Y/N] caught the yellow beam of a flashlight before the beacon disappeared into nothingness. She tensed, the only sound she could hear was her breath calming. She wasn’t alone. Hushed, she pulled the handle of her sharpened blade from her holster. Her footsteps were light and air-like as she moved across the house, following the person who didn’t know they were being entirely visible in the depths of the shadows. With her back pressed against the wall, she peered over the wall of the foyer, eyebrows furrowing together as she noticed this was some woman. An ordinary woman dressed as if she was going to her office. The woman brought her heeled shoe to the first wooden step of the staircase, a bright light shining in her grasp. “What are you doing here,” [Y/N]’s voice was low, smooth like florid wine. The blonde woman reeled, pressing a pale hand to her mouth. The flashlight fell from her hand, inches from smashing onto the dusted floor before [Y/N] caught the device in one fluid movement. “Are you trying to let everyone in this neighborhood know we’re here?” 

Karen thought for a second. If this woman were going to harm her, she would’ve brought that polished blade to the vein of her neck. She wouldn’t have taken away her upper hand and alerted Karen of her presence. “Who are you?” The question, although simple, was stupid. The yellow beam of light illuminated the high points of the woman’s face. For a moment, a fluttering moment, Karen was taken aback. The darkness of her eyes resembled pools of midnight, harsh and unforgiving as she glared through the shadows. Her hair was like looking at glistening ink and her skin was smooth. 

[Y/N]’s eyes narrowed as she inched forward. “I don’t suppose you’ll answer first,” There was silence as they continued to watch each other, mindful of every subtle movement. Karen watched the reflective blade clutched in her hand until Karen assumed her knuckles were white, and [Y/N] watched her shaky hands squeeze the straps of her leather purse, aware of them inching closer and closer to the zipper. [Y/N] released a steady breath, those dark eyes unwavering. She didn’t want to use her knife, she didn’t want to go home and scrub the crimson stains from beneath her fingernails and clothes, she didn’t want to do any of this. She wanted to go home and sleep beneath her baby pink silk sheets and have her only concern be that her straightener wasn’t heating properly. “If you reach for that, you’re going to make this unnecessarily difficult.” [Y/N] brought her toned arms over her head, displaying the blade before she tucked it into her holster. Karen exhaled shakily and moved her hands away from her purse. “Appears that I’m not the only one looking for Frank Castle.”

Karen swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. “I guess not,” She muttered, blinking the frustrated tears away. She wasn’t going to cry, especially in front of this woman who she didn’t even know wasn’t going to kill when she got the chance. [Y/N] extended an arm, offering the large flashlight. An olive branch or a white flag. Karen hesitated, thinking over the possibilities. If she were to accept the light, was she accepting her death? Or was this woman going to search this house with her and would they both walk away from each other with what they both needed? With an apprehensive expression, Karen latched her hand onto the flashlight. “What are you doing here?”

[Y/N] glanced around, noticing the disarray of children’s shoes and toys. “Same reason you are,” She said, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow as Karen wiped the handle of the flashlight with a wipe. “Looking for something, anything, about Frank Castle that will make sense.” [Y/N] pushed past Karen’s shoulder, ascending the staircase lithely. She stepped over the shoes and carefully pushed open a door. Her stomach sunk as she smelled the crayons and dried paint. The room was littered with children’s clothes and toys; a girl was brimming with colorful images that were screaming to be drawn. There were vivid drawings on display, taped and framed around the room. She sighed. Her nimble fingers flipped through the book tossed onto the small desk. One Batch, Two Batch, Penny and Dime. As she stepped on a few wooden paint brushes, [Y/N] was overcome with this gnawing feeling of guilt. She shouldn’t be here, she was quite literally the darkness of this room. This was wrong. 

Pliant, [Y/N] closed the book, glancing at the edges to see if she smudged the corners, and descended the staircase. Her hands felt dirty even though they were beneath layers of leather. She shouldn’t have touched any of their belongings, tainting them and their memory. The floorboards creaked beneath her weight as she walked to the banister, resting her forehead on her forearms. She stared at the laces of her boots, the way they looped over each other. She needed something to concentrate on as she breathed the torment away. [Y/N] thought of the anger she would feel if someone stepped inside the emptiness of her home, and touched her father’s clothes and her mother’s files. She would’ve seen blazing red and snapped, but here she was, doing the same thing. Nauseous, she gripped the banister tightly as she stepped down.

 Across the fireplace, the blonde woman scanned over the array of framed photographs of Frank smiling with his unit, covered with dirt and camo, but he looked happy. There were his medals, hanging beneath a layer of dusty glass. [Y/N] turned away, a rush of despair coursing through her as she saw the vases filled with withering flowers and small cards offering their condolences. On the nightstand beside the window was a photograph of Frank with his family, smiling and radiating adoration as they stood beside the carousel. She tried to think of this man as the one who was hanging cartel members on meat hooks, storming the hospital corridors with his weapons. He didn’t seem like him, but she also didn’t seem like a woman who bloodied her fists either. 

The sound of gravel being crunched brought her attention to the neighborhood outside the window and beneath the sheer curtains. A large van slowed to the driveway and the door slid open, revealing a group of suited individuals. [Y/N] turned, unsurprised that the woman was already staring at the window. Bringing her finger to her mouth, [Y/N] jerked her chin to the back door. They twisted the door handle slowly, preventing any creaking hinges. They slipped through, nodding once as a sign of acknowledgment before departing.

[Y/N] thought of the polished shine of Frank Castle’s medal; a Navy Cross he was awarded for his service in Afghanistan. Her cluttered mind thought of the photograph of him accepting this medal, the way his eyes gleamed though his face remained stoic. Frank Castle was a war hero, someone who had a ceremony and was admired. Something damaged this man and altered him when his family was murdered. 

She brought the strands of hair around her face, framing the delicateness of her expression. She stared at the lovely reflection and tried to blink away the tiredness swirling deep within those eyes. She could sleep for hours, never see the sun disappear into the night for days, and she would still feel this overwhelming exhaustion. She readjusted the turtleneck to her black dress, smoothing over the wrinkles that ended where her thighs were exposed. She thought this was something a lawyer would wear. She didn’t know any lawyers that could offer an opinion so this would have to suffice. She grabbed her long coat and the badge she had spent hours working on. She could only hope the fraudulent credentials and her pretty words would work.

The Metro-General Hospital was brimming with cameras, and flashing lights as each reporter swarmed the waiting area, desperate for some information on The Punisher. [Y/N] didn’t think he was going to be arrested this soon, having his bruised face plastered on every news source. He was caught, handcuffed, and sedated as he was clumsily thrown to the back of a police car. People pushed past her, the room filling with dozens of voices. She walked ahead, dodging the incoming nudges from people’s elbows as she neared the double doors. “Are you press,” A nurse questioned as two men attempted to walk inside. 

[Y/N] smiled dazzlingly. “Attorney, actually.” With one hand, she flipped open the badge. The police officer’s eyes roamed over her figure, his fingers on his belt tightening and she gritted her teeth together as she forced herself to remain unbothered. The police officer grabbed the badge, his eyes flickering over the typed words. She could feel her palms dampening as he examined her credentials and the tall man beside her glanced down at her, his eyebrows furrowed. His glasses were a deep shade of red, his hand encircled around a white cane. He was blind, and couldn’t see her, but she felt his gaze go through her facade. She turned away. 

“[Y/N] [L/N],” The sound of her name cutting through the clamor of the crowd wasn’t something she was expecting. With a cool casualness, she whirled on her heel and feigned an expression of enthusiasm. She didn’t need to search through much of the media to discover the name of the woman rummaging inside Frank Castle’s home. Her innocent face and those big blue eyes were plastered on every newspaper and news outlet months ago when she was involved with Union Allied. Karen paused her assured stride beside her co-workers. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.” 

Karen’s gaze bore into her and [Y/N] needed a moment to compose herself. If she were to slice the pale skin of her neck, she would be restrained before the blood could even splash onto the marble floor. She wasn’t going to stain her freshly painted nails for this woman. [Y/N] blinked then her expression lightened, her plump lips stretching into a lovely smile. “Karen Page,” She said, the softness of her voice brought the other man’s attention to her. “How unexpected.” The sound of her name falling from those rosy lips startled her. Karen’s knowing smile faltered. She felt stupid for thinking she could have the upper hand with this interaction. 

With an uncomfortable chuckle, Foggy inched forward, extending a sweaty hand to her. [Y/N]’s gaze remained fixated on Karen and, although magnetizing, was also unsettling. “Foggy Nelson,” He introduced with a kind smile. “And this is my partner Matt Murdock and seems like you already know Karen.” [Y/N] was suave, her eyes and lips welcoming and intriguing, but Matt was staring at her like he could see the lies engraved on her bones.

Disregarding his intrusive gaze, [Y/N] stepped inside the unlocked double doors, motioning for the three of them to follow her. “Lovely to meet you,” Foggy was open-mouthed and blinking as if she was a mirage, a breathing example of women on the cover of magazines. With an amused smirk, Matt nudged his partner’s side. Foggy cleared his throat. 

[Y/N] didn’t listen as Foggy spoke endlessly with his hands shaking and the beads of sweat lining his hairline. He was nervous, quite obviously, and was sputtering every thought that formed inside his head. [Y/N] stood across the elevator’s doors, centralizing her focus on the dark reflection on the metal. From the corner of her eye, she could see Karen watching her, almost expecting her to jam her knife into Foggy’s throat. The elevator dinged and she didn’t waste a moment stepping outside. 

The corridor was overwhelmed with officers covered with tactical gear, hands clutched on the metal of their weapons. An officer raised a palm, having the four of them pause in their tracks. “What the hell are you three doing here?” The only man wearing a tailored suit exclaimed, exasperation evident on his face.

“Brett,” Foggy replied, “You’re wearing a tie and it’s not a clip-on.” 

The officer, Brett, stopped across from them, releasing a heavy sigh. “It’s not a good time, Foggy.”

Unbothered, Foggy continued. “How’d you get babysitting duty, Sergeant?”

Brett pointed at the badge dangling from his neck. “A detective sergeant now.” Despite himself, he smiled. “Top dogs like the press of a good collar.”

“And the cops that get them.”

[Y/N] peeked over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but the area is restricted beyond this point. You can’t be here.” Brett said, shifting on his heels.

 The path of LED lights and scuffed marble was blocked and she groaned inwardly. She tore her gaze from the guarded door and plastered on a swoon-worthy smile. “And if we have possible business with Frank Castle?” She could feel the frustration consuming every fiber of her. She was only a few steps away from the door, could pull the handle of the sergeant’s holster and unleash a wave of blood, and could open the door and see him. 

Brett furrowed his eyebrows together, resting his hands on his hips. “Business?” He asked, “The guy’s barely conscious.”

Matt cocked his head to the side as he smelled the adrenaline spike. “Our firm wants to represent him,” He didn’t acknowledge the woman beside him. He would ask Karen later. 

“The man’s already got a lawyer.”

[Y/N] sighed. “As Karen and I discussed, we both feel the Nelson and Murdock firm is far more equipped to represent Mr. Castle. The district attorney wants the death penalty, and will do just about anything to have him dead,” She removed her coat, offering the high-priced cloth to the officer beside her. Without a word, he accepted her briefcase. “I suspect he’ll cooperate when we explain we’re trying to keep him alive.”

Their belongings were thoroughly searched, every crevice was ransacked and anything deemed a possible weapon was removed from them. “Do not give Castle anything. Do not take anything from him,” The sergeant stopped across from the door, his hand around the doorknob. “Everything’s been removed from inside the room. He’s tied down, but keep your distance and mind the tape. Do not step past it or I get to make my dream come true and arrest you.” 

The doorknob rattled as he shoved the key inside. [Y/N] remained behind the three of them, narrowing her eyes as she watched Karen interlace her hand with Matt’s, her eyes soothing as she stared down at their hands. The door opened and the burning smell of alcohol rammed through her. The EKG beeped steadily and Karen muttered something under her breath as she stepped inside. The room was barren, glass windows were covered with sheets of metal drilled into the wall. Surrounding the bed was bright red tape on the marble floor. “Frank Castle,” Matt said, his voice low and collected. His eyes fluttered open. “My name is Matthew Murdock. These are my associates Franklin Nelson and Karen Page.”  

Frank Castle's harsh gaze hardened as he breathed heavily. “I know who you are,” His voice was brusque, rough, and coated with fiery anger. “You protect shitbags.” His light brown eyes glared into the redness of Matt’s glasses. [Y/N] remained beside the door, hidden from view as she calmed her breathing. She wasn’t worried or concerned he was going to tear through the restraints. She was terrified she was going to stand right in front of him and stare into those eyes just as her father did and she didn’t want to know what was going to stare right back at her. 

“We came here to make an offer,” Matt said, “We don’t want money for our services, we’re not interested in fame or free advertising. We weren’t even assigned to your case. We don’t have to be here. But if you take a quick look around, you’ll notice we’re the only ones who are. As you may well know, your list of enemies extends well beyond the gangs you’ve killed,” Matt inhaled deeply. “You’re very good at making powerful enemies. And the day you were admitted to Metro-General for the round you took to the head, a do-not-resuscitate order was placed on you.”

Foggy stood far from Frank Castle, nearly across the room. “And a shoot-to-kill just a few days ago.”

“These orders were issued by the District Attorney and the fact that she’s had it in for us ever since we started asking questions tells us we’re on the right track. Someone in the DA’s office wants you dead, Mr. Castle and we’d like to know why. You let us take your case, we can soften your sentence, and give you a shot. Maybe even find out who’s responsible for what happened to you. We’re talking about life, Mr. Castle. We can help you keep what’s left of it.”

[Y/N] listened to the words as he spoke, repeating them over and over inside the confines of her thoughts. Frank chuckled humorlessly and the sound reverberated through her and there was something about the casualness of the sound that unsettled her. The smell of fresh linen and the coldness of the room reminded her of her father, the way she would gnaw on her lower lip until she could taste blood as she focused on steadying her shaking hand as she pressed the needle into the skin, pulling the stitches through. She couldn’t remain hidden behind the light blue curtain. She rummaged through her boot, yanking the folded photograph pressed between her calf. His eyes flickered from the blood-red glasses to her.

Frank Castle was sedated, restrained beneath thick straps, and could barely see through the blurred haze from his right eye, but he saw her with ease. Her eyes gleamed with lovely wrath and for a delirious moment, he thought he could stare into those raging eyes for decades. 

[Y/N] was a darkness within the illuminated room, a shadow with swaying hips and manicured nails. She marched toward him with authority as her heeled shoes clicked against the floor. She stepped over the bright red tape and he couldn’t remove his gaze from her, transfixed with the woman who didn’t even care she was stepping over the boundary. Matt latched his hand on her forearm, pulling her back. Lithely, she pulled his hand from her and pushed him aside as if he were nothing but an inconvenience. She raised the photograph and her eyes burned with conviction. “You need answers, so do I.” Her voice was the sound poets wrote about. It took him a second to remove his eyes from the rosiness of her lips. They widened as he examined the photo. “We aren’t going to get these answers if you’re dead.” She leaned over the side of the bed, her smooth face dangerously close to his. He could smell her florid perfume and she could smell the dried blood encrusted on his skin.

“Where did you get that?” His voice was gruff and his eyes watered. Her facade of a cold exterior wavered and there was nothing but shame filling her. She had done several things she wasn’t proud of, but this was desperation she didn't think she would ever come to.

She lowered the photograph and blinked. “From your home.” 

There was silence as soon as the words fell from her full lips. Frank swallowed the lump lodged in his throat as his breathing hitched. “You were in my home,” The question was barely a whisper. “Why were you in my house?” 

The grievous sound of the District Attorney's muffled voice echoed through the corridor and [Y/N] stepped away, outside the tape, and folded the picture. “Someone is lying about what happened to your family,” His eyes burned into her as the doorknob rattled. “And I am going to find out who and why.” The way the words scorched through him, he knew she wouldn’t let anything stop her.

Samantha Reyes stormed inside the room with fury radiating from her. “All of you out now!” As the door slammed against the wall, [Y/N]’s facade was back and the change had been instant, so subtle that Frank almost missed it.

[Y/N] could barely hear the condescending conversation exchanged between Mrs. Reyes and the firm as she apprehensively stepped outside the room. She was deafened by the blood rushing through her and she could bring herself to focus on their mushed words. She stared into the eyes of the Punisher and he stared right back at her and all she could see was herself. He was tormented with his own memories, the guilt of remaining alive as his family was buried beneath the dirt. “Castle doesn’t want the public defender,” Brett said, and her composure rattled through her. “Says Nelson and Murdock are his lawyers now.” 

The three of them gathered their files and paperwork, disappearing into an empty room with hushed whispers. [Y/N] stumbled to the restroom door, releasing a strangled sigh as the door closed behind her. Her hands squeezed the white porcelain of the sink and she blinked the dwelling tears away. She couldn’t look at the reflection, refused to see her eyes redden and lip quiver. She was a coward. She forced him to look at his slain family and she was shaking at the memory of hers. 

There was a gentle knock at the door and she straightened. From the reflection of the mirror, Karen appeared in the doorway, the bright lights circling her. She appeared uncomfortable with both being alone with [Y/N] and having interrupted an intimate moment. She shifted on her heels. “Frank Castle wants to speak with you alone.” She emphasized the last word and [Y/N] wondered if she was trying to frighten her from walking inside that room. If she hadn’t seen and experienced the horrors she had, [Y/N] might’ve cowered away and pretended this was nothing but a night terror. 

With a firm nod, she pushed herself away from the mirror and didn’t bother looking at the reflection as she closed the bathroom door behind her. The hallway suddenly transformed into an uneasy silence as she sauntered back to the locked door. She dismissed the inquisitive glances and glares and hurried through the opened door. Frank Castle stared at her with an uncertainness that almost uneased her. “My family,” He said as soon as the door was locked, “What do you know?”

[Y/N] stared back and he was somewhat shocked that her gaze didn’t falter. She opened her briefcase and plucked one of the papers, raising it for him to see. “Have you seen this,” She asked, “It’s a police report, complaint number 211974. It says, ‘Victims were stopped at a traffic light northbound on Buellton Ave when an unidentified male suspect began firing a 9mm handgun at their vehicle. A juvenile male, a juvenile female, and an adult woman were found dead at the scene. The adult male driver was critically wounded and taken to Metro-General.’”

She stopped reading the passage, looking at him through her thick-rimmed lashes. Frank appeared shocked. He shook his head softly. “That’s horseshit.” 

[Y/N] loomed forward, the end of the bed pressing into her lower abdomen as she placed the stack of paper on the blankets. “Obviously,” She said, “It took a lot of reading of old articles, but I know you and your family were at the carousel. With the three gangs involved, I’m assuming there was some firefight and there were unreported casualties.” She didn’t hesitate to pull the small black chair to his bedside. She leaned forward and there was a delicate softness in her eyes, something he didn’t even realize he missed seeing when someone looked at him. “Is there anything you can remember?” 

He glanced away. “This ain’t about what I remember.”

She nodded reassuringly and there was something comforting with how she looked at him like she was seeing him as Frank Castle and not as The Punisher. “I know this isn’t easy and I know even trying to remember what happened hurts, but this will help us put these scattered pieces together.”

Frank’s eyes fluttered around the room as he scoured through his mind as he muttered incoherently. “It goes in and out. The fact that it fades…” He trailed off. [Y/N] didn’t speak and he appreciated that she hadn’t rushed him. “We took our blanket to our spot. She was by the carousel on the lawn and then I heard her shout. Scream. It was a grown man.” His eyebrows furrowed together and his voice was wrapped with grief. “I didn’t see anyone, but I found out later. The cartel. Irish. Bikers.” His words trailed into softness. “I should have seen it coming.”

[Y/N] shook her head. “There was no way you could have known.”

“I heard it,” Frank said, “I heard it and I didn’t do anything. My job was to keep them safe and I didn’t.”

There was nothing said and [Y/N] looked down at the faux leather of her knee-high platforms. “I am going to tell you what I wish someone would’ve told me when my family was murdered,” She hesitantly reached forward, grabbing his bruised and scabbing hand. “This pain is never going away. This is permanent and that is never going to change. There are a million things we could have done to change or prevent their deaths, but we didn’t. And the sooner we accept this, the sooner we can heal. Do not kill yourself over the ‘what-ifs’. And you do what you need to do to take that step and if it’s brutally murdering everyone involved, do it. Don’t listen to anyone that says revenge won’t change anything or make you feel better. It’s bullshit, it will make you feel better. So, fuck them, Frank Castle, and heal.”

His eyes softened and his rambling thoughts were struggling to reach his mouth. There were a thousand things he wanted to say. He thought about muttering a small ‘thank you’ for telling him what he needed to hear, not some pitied apology. He straightened, hesitantly removing their interwoven hands, and pushed himself from the softness of the blankets. “I only hurt people that deserve it,” He said, his eyes were covered in different shades of purple, his lips were sliced open and scabbing, and his cheekbone was yellowed with larger bruises. “I wanted you to know that.” 

She smiled and the gentleness coloring her expression was enough to almost knock the wind from his lungs. His eyes roamed over her and there wasn’t a single flicker of anything indecent within his gaze. He analyzed her as if she were a riddle, a puzzle adorned with everything grandeur to disguise she was a puzzle to begin with. It might have been the sedatives muddling his mind, but she was almost too pretty to look at. He turned away. “You’re not a lawyer, are you?” He asked, somewhat amused.

The warmth of her expression didn’t dwindle as she crossed her leg over her knee and loosened, resting against the cushioned chair. “What gave me away?” She asked lightly.

Frank glimpsed at the small and smooth hand visible on her knee. “Your knuckles are bruised and you tried covering them with makeup,” She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. Of course, he would see through her mask. She covered her knuckles with a corrector before blotting a skin-tone colored concealer on the lilacs and light reds scattered across her skin. “You don’t act like how a lawyer is supposed to act and I’ve never seen a lawyer wear high heels like that to try and sweet-talk a client.” Her smile widened and she chuckled breathlessly. “And when I look at you, it’s like looking at myself. You’re angry, aren’t you?” 

Her expression flickered and there was a second where the despair and wrath were brightly visible, flashing with neon lights deep within the void of her eyes. He could see himself inside the depths of her shattered gaze and he knew she could see herself inside his. He wondered if this petrified her as it did for him. She frowned as she glanced at the EKG machine beside his bed, desperate for something to distract her. “They’re pumps.” She murmured. His eyebrows pinched together with confusion. “They’re not high heels, they’re pumps.” She didn’t care about the difference, not really. She thought of admitting the truth, telling him that she wasn’t always angry. She always found a temporary release when she was smashing her knuckles into the bones of vile men.

He refrained from rolling his eyes. “Same shit,” Now, she rolled her eyes. He might’ve been a bloodthirsty man, but still a man nonetheless. “Why are you here playing dress-up?” 

“You knew my father and now he’s dead,” She replied, tearing her gaze from the fluctuating lines on the machine. Those eyes glistened with salty tears as they pierced into him, flooding with overwhelming despair he could feel tremble through his bones.

A moment of silence. “You gonna try and kill me, lady?” 

She sighed heavily. “Quite the opposite.” Her honeyed voice was thick with admittance. “I’m here to keep you alive.”

“Why would—”

She raised her palm, dismissing his words. “You didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re thinking. Someone else did, just like your family. As I said, I’m going to find out who.” She couldn’t guarantee a variety of things; she couldn’t guarantee she wasn’t growing fond of the taste of blood splashing across her tongue and she couldn’t guarantee a simple and bland death, but this was something she promised the stars. Her eyes flashed as she sunk within the crashing waves of her memories. “You knew him, he talked about you sometimes. He said you were a pain in his ass, almost as bad as me.” She laughed and Frank Castle swore the melody coursed through him like warm sunshine. “Stitched you up more times than he could count.”

He thought and there he was—young and hot-headed within the sands and dirt of warfare across the ocean and wincing through trembling teeth as the needle pierced his skin. Dr. [Y/L/N] was a man who wouldn’t flinch at the grisly sights dragged into his station. He would narrow his eyes and scrub his hands with vodka if he didn’t have enough time. [Y/L/N]’s hands drowned in pools of blood every day and he would still reassure every injured soldier and speak until the soldier was certain he was going to damage their eardrums. He only rambled when he knew they needed something to think of, something to distract them from blistering pain. Dr. [Y/L/N] mentioned his daughter several times and would mutter something along the lines of, ‘She’s too pretty for her own good, Frank. Breaks too many hearts.’ His breathing hitched. “You’re [Y/N],” The realization rippled across his nerves and he couldn’t believe Dr. [Y/L/N]’s daughter was across from him, mourning him all over again. He blinked and his breath disappeared. The loss was nearly crippling as he laid his head on the pillow. Another person he cared for was murdered, taken from him and their family. 

She stood, smoothing the wrinkles of the black fabric. She could recognize mourning as if it were scarred on the back of her hand and Frank Castle was mourning the loss of a man he didn’t know was dead until that unfortunate moment.  “We can talk some other time—” 

Frank snapped from his thoughts. “Stay. Please.” As soon as the plea escaped from the confines of his bloodied mouth, he felt pathetic. There was something almost comforting about having someone beside him feeling the numbing sorrow he was suffering in. She was inside his house, breathing the air of the place he couldn’t step inside. “I guess I worry that the memories are just gonna go away. You were in my house and—” He stopped and there was rushing shame inside him.

[Y/N] closed her eyes and sighed. “You never went back.” Her words weren’t a question, merely an acknowledgment of the unsaid admission. She understood the grief that overcame someone when they think about returning to the home where your family was slaughtered. How was she supposed to unlock the door and place her keys aside and not have anyone to greet? She couldn’t pretend the house wasn’t swallowing every moment she breathed in there.

“Can I just ask you—” He swallowed the jumbled words. “Were you in the kitchen?” [Y/N] nodded and didn’t utter a word. “Were the plates on the table or did they get to the sink?”

She opened her mouth before closing it, furrowing her eyebrows together as she tried to remember the blurred details of that night. “Some were on the table and some were washed and on the rack.”

“Did you go into the next room? Did you see that piano that was there,” She nodded wordlessly. “My son Frank Jr. used to grab a handful of cookies and take ‘em and hide ‘em in that bench. He’d play soldier. Guard it, protect it. Then he’d fall asleep down there.” Frank didn’t even resemble the man featured in every media outlet. This man who remembered the flavor of his son’s cookie crumbs wasn’t the Punisher. He was Frank Castle, a marine and loving husband and father. She couldn’t contain the laughter bubbling and leaned forward, eyes bright as she listened. “We’d find him sleeping on a pile of cookie crumbs.”

Those full lips of hers rose. “When I was younger, I used to take my dad’s medical supplies and stitch a bunch of horrible stitches on my stuffed animals, pretending I was a doctor saving lives.” Her voice was light and air-like as she reminisced over the simple times of being young and brimming with hope. Frank smiled and he chuckled. “And in those moments, I wasn’t seven-year-old Ellie. I was Dr. [Y/N] [Y/L/N] with hundreds of Ph.D.'s and every certification you could think of.”

She shook her head, dismissing the memories as if they were a pesky fly. “Your children’s rooms were covered with colorful drawings and dozens of sports trophies.” 

The words stung. “I was gone a lot, so I missed all that.”

“And there were toys everywhere. Almost had me tripping up those stairs with all those plastic dinosaurs.” 

He chuckled and the unfamiliar sound rang through the room. “Those were my little girls’. Those were Lisa’s. When she was little, she used to make these little noises when she played with them.”

The corners of her mouth curved into a simper. “That little remote-controlled jeep reminded me of those old dinosaur movies.”

Frank grinned as the memories resurfaced. “Yeah, that was Frank Jr.'s. I got that for him for his seventh birthday. He drove me crazy with that thing.”

[Y/N] glanced at the darkness of her shoes and unfolded the photograph. “I know they loved you, Frank.” She whispered, placing the paper between his restrained hand. Her hand rested there for a moment, squeezing reassuringly. “That’s something you can’t ever forget.” He hesitated as if the picture burned him, but his grasp tightened eventually. 

“Thank you, [Y/N].” Her name dancing across his tongue was barely familiar, merely a distant memory.  

She peered at him through her thick lashes. “And thank you.” She motioned over her shoulder. “They’re going to ask you a million questions, do everything they can to get you off the death penalty, and it’s going to be your decision if you choose to accept that or fight it. You do what you need to do to heal, Frank Castle.” She stood and gathered her papers, closing her briefcase. “But I’m hoping you choose to fight for the truth.” 

The smell of nail polish burned through her nose as she meticulously brushed over her fingernails. As she steadied her hand, she glanced at the fading bruises scattered across her knuckles and remembered her conversation with Frank and how easily he saw through her. She thought of the softness on his face as he remembered the blurring memories of his children. The sudden blare of her ringtone shook her from her thoughts and the polish stained her cuticle. She groaned and pressed the speaker button. “Hello,” She said aloud, wiping the surrounding area of her nail with a remover. 

The person didn’t speak and she opened her mouth to repeat the greeting but Karen’s voice cut through the silence. “[Y/N],” She paused and lowered the brush. A surge of seething annoyance flared through her veins as Karen’s voice rattled her speaker again. 

Closing her polish, she blew a gentle breath on her nails. “Karen Page, you are certainly testing my patience.” The night at Frank Castle’s home she had made a decision to keep her hands blood-free that night and she was growing to regret that unfortunate decision as soon as Karen revealed her name to an entire room filled with media outlets. Now, pesky as ever, she was calling her. 

“I didn’t want to call you, but I had to. We tried talking to Frank Castle and he refused to talk. I’m sure you know he plead ‘not guilty’ because of whatever you told him.” The exasperation and crippling frustration wavered in Karen’s voice and she couldn’t refrain from releasing an amused chuckle. “The only way he’ll talk is if it’s with you.” She didn’t utter a word as she continued to casually blow her nails. “[Y/N]?” She repeated impatiently.

With a final blow, [Y/N] extended her hand outward, examining her work. “I heard you, just giving you some time to process that you’re asking me for a favor, therefore, you will owe me.”

Karen exhaled a shaky, yet annoyed, sigh. “I am aware of that, yes.” Her voice was hushed, but [Y/N] could hear the faint voices of Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson.

[Y/N] hummed, an acknowledging sound, and took her time forming a response. “Lovely,” She stood from the cushions of her couch, her bare feet flinching against the coldness of her marble floor. “See you in fifteen minutes, sweetheart.” 

The air was thick as [Y/N] entered the facility with a beckoning gaze, a pleased expression enlightening her as the Nelson and Murdock firm gritted their teeth. She was their thwarting personified and she considered the bitterness they must’ve been feeling as they grasped the notion that she was their only solution.  She removed her belongings, placed them inside the gray tub, and extended her arms from her frame. The metal detector quietly whirred and she was given her briefcase back. Stepping through the door, Matt darted in front of her. “What are you doing?” He sneered. He was close, voice barely above a harsh whisper and she could smell his cheap cologne.

He couldn’t see her, but he could smell the light fragrance of her luxurious perfume and the fabric he was certain was only imported from Italy. There was something almost sinister buried beneath her words. “I’m here to speak with Frank Castle,” [Y/N] spoke smoothly, unbothered by the abrasiveness of his question. Matt listened and there wasn’t even a flutter in her heartbeat. 

Matt gritted his teeth. “He pleaded not guilty.”

With a taunting tilt of her head, she quirked an eyebrow. “How unfortunate for you, I assume?” 

He was struggling to remain composed. “He initially agreed to plead guilty. This is going to trial because of whatever it was you told him.” 

She rolled her eyes and sashayed onward. “God forbid the lawyers actually do their job.”

His hand wrapped around her arm, preventing her from taking another step. Her heartbeat increased, an erratic sound within her chest. When her adrenaline spiked, he knew she was displeased. “I looked you up,” He whispered, leaning close to her ear. “There aren’t any [Y/N] [Y/L/N]’s working with any attorneys or prosecutors in New York.”

Disinterested, she jerked her arm, and Matt was taken aback by her spike in strength. “I could’ve spared you some time and told you that myself.” She said, “But I’ve been informed he’s refusing to speak to anyone so unless you want to show up to court tomorrow with nothing, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and let me help you, Mr. Murdok.” Her voice was acrid poison cloaked with honey, unbearably sweet.

His knuckles were blanched as he stepped back, offering the file he and Nelson forged together. Pleased, she grabbed the file and loudly apologized to the escorting officer for the inconvenience. There were alarms and buzzing sounds every few seconds as they ambled further inside and she would’ve lost her mind being forced to stay in a place like this. The gated entrance swung open and she safely assumed the corridor suffused with dozens of officers was where Frank was restrained.  She disregarded the questioning and suggestive looks she received as she neared the opened door. The array of voices and clanging of metal dimmed as she reached inside. Across the room, handcuffed and dressed in bright orange, was Frank Castle. Some of his bruises were lighter and most of his scabs were gone. 

Frank convinced himself the sedatives blended with a possible concussion mustered this image of a woman forged in a lab; someone couldn’t be that pretty, but here she was. “I would lose my mind if I was stuck wearing an orange jumpsuit.” The heavy-duty door closed with a bang and she sauntered to the metal table like they were old friends having lunch together.

The metal chair scratched against the concrete. He watched her intently. “Something tells me you would make it work.” 

She chuckled and opened the organized file. “Of course, I would,” Her eyes moved quickly as she scanned over the highlighted and underlined questions as she clicked open her black pen. The writing was messy, practically scribbles in different colored ink, but she managed to discern the passages. “They’ve been going over similar cases and they think it would benefit you if they bring forth someone from your past. The Nelson and Murdock firm is suggesting you bring someone from your military unit to speak to the nature of your service.” She read from the paper and fiddled with the pen, twisting and swirling it around her fingers. 

Frank brought his eyebrows together in confusion. “What’s that got to do with anything?

She peered at him through her lashes. “How should I know, I’m not a lawyer,” His mouth twitched. “Oh, it’s circled and underlined here saying it’s a character witness. They want to put someone on the stand who knows you well and can speak about what you’ve been through.” She chuckled, which sounded more like a huff from her nose, and flipped through the pages. “They really dumbed it down for me, huh?” 

There was a flash of anger in his eyes. “They’re going for PTSD, aren’t they?” 

She scanned the columns of words, arrows that showed definitions, and simpler terms. “Seems so since that’s also circled and underlined.”

Frank shook his head assertively. “You write down that they’re not gonna do that. It’s an insult,” He rubbed his finger and thumb together. “It’s an insult to them, people actually going through it. I know what they want to do. They want you to sit there and ask me questions that will label me just another case of some crazy-ass combat vet who lost his mind. Maybe that’ll appeal to some shitbag jury in some shitbag court.” Frank was nearly fuming at the accusation, the idea of sitting in a courthouse and hearing them disrespectfully throw around the word ‘PTSD’. “It wasn’t on a battlefield. That’s not when my life went to shit.” [Y/N] neatly wrote every word, making sure to circle and underline every curse word that Frank sneered. “Now, doll, I believe that you told me that you were going to find me answers. That’s what you said to me. Do you have anything for me or not?”

Her hand froze and she narrowed her eyes. Lifting her gaze from the cursive on the paper, she straightened her back. “Oh, I’m sorry, let me pull some answers right out of my asshole for you, Frank.” She didn’t have much information, probably because nearly nothing was documented. She was searching and forging aliases daily for a smidge of information, but whoever was the leader of this operation had instilled terror. “It’s not that easy—”

“That what you want? You want things to be easy?”

She rolled her eyes, something she found herself doing basically every minute of every day now. “Get over yourself. I’m doing everything I can with little-to-no information and limited resources. I am losing sleep making fake IDs and credentials to find something. Breaking into places I have no business being in and you wanna sit there and act like I’ve been doing nothing but twirling my hair?” Frank didn’t think unfiltered anger could be so mesmerizing. “So, do us both a favor and give me a goddamn character witness and cooperate so you don’t rot in a prison cell.”

He didn’t speak but watched the way her  eyes burned with raging embers and the way her  hair gleamed in the interrogation room lighting. 

For that moment, he was done for.

“Colonel Ray Schoonover. My old CO.” She nodded and took a breath, writing the name down. “Forget the PTSD defense, but if they want a character witness, the Colonel, he will do.” Her hand moved quickly and Frank wondered how someone could write so many loops so quickly. “Now, do you have anything for me or not? Or should I go back to rotting in my prison cell?” His voice softened and there was even amusement laced in his words. She chuckled lightly and shook her head, barely noticeable.

“So dramatic,” She muttered beneath her breath. “I did find something.” She pulled a stack of papers from her briefcase.

“I’ve already been over all those a hundred times.” He said once he caught a clear glimpse of the words.

She smirked. “Not with me, you haven’t.” Frank didn’t know how to respond to that. “The medical examiner’s report was done by Dr. Gregory Tepper. As I’m sure you know, he is the Chief Medical Examiner and he’s testifying for Reyes in two days. His report says your family was killed by a single gunshot wound, and correct me if I’m wrong, a gang war doesn’t kill a family caught in the crossfire with just a single gunshot.”

Frank’s eyes glazed as recounted the vivid details of that night. He spoke about the different angles of exit wounds, the different bullet calibers, and the way their flesh dangled from their corpses. He spoke the faltering sentences with a numbness she could feel rush through her like a chilling wave. There wasn’t a detail disregarded. It occurred to her that he must have seen these images every night he tried closing his eyes. He had no other option but to remember every horrific detail.

  The black ink of her pen swirled and looped into an intricate cursive and each curve resembled strands of hair around her shoulders. “Do you think it’s going to get easier,” She muttered under her breath. Her hand continued moving across the legal pad, but he could see her thoughts were scattered across the room. “The grieving and the nightmares and the anger?” 

The brightness behind her smile often made Frank forget she was suffering from loss, too. There was no sugared lie he could tell her, he wouldn’t do that to her. He didn’t think this wretched agony was ever going to fade and there wasn’t a single moment he thought it was. This was etched into every crevice of his damaged soul. “No, I don’t think it does.” The harsh admission made her pause and she raised her chin. “But I think we’ll learn to adapt and live with it.”

Wistfulness colored her expression and she nodded, hardly perceptible. “It’s the only thing we can do.”

The courtroom was overflowing with journalists and the bright lights of their cameras. [Y/N] glared at the emptiness of the bench and she couldn’t think of anything other than screaming until her throat scabbed and the blood-stained her teeth. She wanted to clutch the lapels of Judge Cynthia Batzer’s black gown and tell her everything wrong with what she and Frank Castle were forced to endure. Her narrowed eyes traveled across the room and there wasn’t anything she wanted to do more than smash Samantha Reyes' pointy nose onto the polished wooden table until the wood splintered. 

Across the courtroom, the door squeaked open. “All rise,” A man declared and [Y/N] forced herself to stand, “Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Cynthia Batzer presiding indictment number 1986-4447, The People v. Frank Castle.” An unwavering silence filled the room and she swore she could’ve heard a needle drop.

Batzer perched herself on her cushioned chair. “Be seated,” In unison, everyone plopped back down on their seats. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant has been indicted for several serious crimes. But I’m instructing you, as a point of law, that the defendant is innocent until proven guilty. Ms. Reyes, are the People ready to begin opening statements?”

Samantha Reyes stood with assurance. “More than ready, Your Honor.” She moved around the desk, exposing her self-asurred expression to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Frank Castle brutally tortured and murdered 30 people,” She peered over her shoulder, glaring daggers at the handcuffed Frank. “30 that we know of. He took the law into his own hands. Acted as judge, jury, and most violent executioner. And you will hear that the defendant’s victims were criminals, but the victims are not on trial here today, and justice does not belong in the hands of a man like Frank Castle. This isn’t the Wild West. Justice is served here in a court of law. And it is up to each of you to take back the city from lawless vigilantes like Frank Castle.” With a sneer, she analyzed him with such fuming hatred. “This man is no hero. He’s a serial killer. And he is guilty.” She thanked the judge and returned to her desk.

From where [Y/N] was, she could see the bruises across his skin were fading. He didn’t appear fazed by the blatant disrespect spat at him. “Mr. Nelson, are you prepared to make your opening statement?” She could see his hands trembling as he shifted through his index cards. “Mr. Nelson, are you reserving the right to make your statement at a later time?” He didn’t answer, merely glanced over at the murmuring crowd of witnesses and juries. 

Distressed, his chair squeaked as he stood. “No, Your Honor, the defense is ready to proceed.” [Y/N] sighed as she ultimately came to the conclusion Frank Castle was monumentally screwed as Foggy flipped through his cards. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant, Frank Castle, is not—Sorry.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sunk further into her chair. “Mr. Castle is as much a victim…” He trailed off before tossing his cards onto the table. “Okay, you’re 19, standing in hot sand, sun burning down, there’s noise, yelling, gunfire. The only thing you know for sure is that you’re surrounded by an enemy that wants you dead. But you do it. You endure it. Why? Because you have orders and you have a duty. And also because your life doesn’t end here. You have people you love waiting at home. Because aside from being a decorated marine, the man before you is a good husband and an excellent father. Frank Castle returned from the hell of war wanting nothing more than to pick up his life. But his wife, young son, and daughter were brutally murdered by criminals and no one, not the police and certainly not the District Attorney stepped up to make it right. Frank Castle never came home. He just traded in one war zone for another. This trial isn’t about vigilantes. It’s about the failure of the justice system and how one man is being used as a pawn to cover up that system’s mistakes. The prosecution wants blood. But as the judge just said, to get it, they have to prove their case beyond a reasonable doubt. So all I’m asking of you today is to keep an open mind. That’s all, Your Honor.” 

“Colonel Ray Schoonover, United States Marine Corps.” The Colonel pressed his palm on the leather of the Bible, his other was raised as he swore to tell nothing but the truth. He nodded firmly, sitting down with an unshakable look. 

Foggy Nelson pushed back the wooden chair, flattening his tie as he stood. [Y/N] could see there was a sureness emitting from him, something that wasn’t there yesterday. The acceptance brought from the people of the courtroom brought a newfound confidence to him. “Colonel, how long have you known the defendant?” 

Colonel Schoonover was a frighteningly grave man. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in those empty eyes. “I’d say, the better part of a decade. Most of his career in the Marine Corps.” 

“So you’re familiar with his service in the Middle East?” Foggy asked, “Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran?”

Schoonover nodded only once. “Yes, very familiar.”

“I wonder if you could tell us how Lieutenant Frank Castle won the Navy Cross?” Frank's eyes glossed over at the mention of the medal as if the polished metal wasn’t of any importance to him anymore.

Schoonover took a slow breath. “Due to the nature of that mission, you’ll have to understand that precise circumstances are classified.” He recited the words as if he had said them a million times.

Foggy paused. “How about the parts that are not?”

“Lieutenant Frank Castle was part of a small team. He was conducting a close target reconnaissance in the vicinity of the Hindu Kush. The mission became compromised, taking enemy contact on three sides. Lieutenant Castle wanted to abort. Said the mission was a bust, pulling the plug would save lives. Officer in charge said ‘no’.” He said, “Maybe he wanted more medals on his chest. Doesn’t matter. Either way, Frank was right. They were cut off, boxed into a canyon. Within the first hour, the officer in charge of that mission got his arm blown off. So Lieutenant Castle assumed command. His only goal was to get his men out alive. The enemy had set up an ambush at the only LZ that would accommodate one of our birds. LZ is a landing zone that can accommodate a helicopter. So the enemy blocked this landing zone, knowing it was the only shot the team had to get out alive. All they had to do was wait. They knew Frank’s team had to come to them. Frank went to the LZ all by himself to draw the bastards away.”

“Why didn’t he order one of his men to do it,” Foggy asked, “Certainly could have.”

Colonel Schoonover shook his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Wasn’t his style,” He said and [Y/N] chanced a glance over where he was restrained. He tore his gaze from his hands and looked directly where the Colonel was. There was an unsaid conversation exchanged between their silent gaze. “So the men hear the firefight break out. All hell breaks loose. Frank against God knows how many. And then there was silence. The team thinks, ‘That’s it. Frank’s dead. We’re next.’ The next sound they hear is the helos, the helicopters. They get to the landing zone, you know what they see? Frank Castle, standing there, grinning. Thirty-two muj surrounding him, all dead. Son of a gun cleared that entire LZ all by himself.” 

“How?” 

The Colonel shrugged as if the answer were blatantly obvious, which it was. “By being Frank Castle.” Her colorless eyes flickered from the golden shine of The Colonel’s medals to the fading bruises on Frank’s cheek, listening to the narration keenly. . She tried seeing Frank with a beaming smile as his fellow recruits' hopeless eyes teared with relief.

“And his men survived?” 

“All of ‘em. Including the idiot officer that got ‘em trapped in the first place.”

Frank didn’t seem pleased by the sudden positive reaction he was receiving from the jury. “If you had to sum up Frank Castle, how would you do it?”

“I would say Frank Castle is a man who would gladly give his life to keep others safe.”

“And the crimes he’s accused of today?” Frank could feel everyone’s eyes burning into him, but he could easily distinguish hers. He refrained from meeting her gaze. “Could the man you knew have committed them?”

The Colonel didn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely not.” He said firmly. “Lieutenant Frank Castle that I know is a hero. A man who deserves our respect and our gratitude.” And as Schoonover glanced at him from across the courtroom, there was a flash of grief. “Not the same man.”

Foggy returned to his side of the courtroom as Samantha Reyes was called to stand. As she stood, flattening her skirt, she scanned over the spread documents. “I’d like to personally thank you for your service to this country, Colonel. My father served in Vietnam. Do you know what he told me about medals?” There was nothing sincere about the way she spoke. “He said the only people who truly know what happened are the ones that were there. You told a nice story, Colonel. But how can we know that it happened the way you described it?” And just like that, any form of false gratitude she was pretending to have was entirely gone. 

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Ray Schoonover said, “I was there, ma’am. That officer that didn’t listen to Frank, got his men trapped, you’re looking at him.” [Y/N] tried to muffle the sounds of her threatening laughter by covering her mouth, but the sounds slipped. Reyes’ assistant glared from his chair. “And believe me when I tell you, I thank God every day that I only lost my arm. That man saved my life and the lives of his entire team. If it was up to me, he’d have a Medal of Honor hanging around his neck.”

There was something so incredibly satisfying to watch Samantha Reyes’ hand clench by her sides until her knuckles blanched. “No further questions at this time, Your Honor.” 

Sunset had arrived and the yellow and orange sunbeams poured into the courtroom when Andrew Lee was brought to the stand with an enlarged x-ray of Frank Castle’s skull. “The bullet penetrated Mr. Castle’s skull in the lower right quadrant, or more specifically, the sphenofrontal suture, which is the cranial suture between the sphenoid bone and frontal bones, both here and here.” [Y/N] watched the projector and followed the red laser. She didn’t have to be a licensed doctor to see the bullet stuck between the folds of his brain. 

Foggy gestured to the projector. “I believe what my expert witness is trying to convey is that my client, Frank Castle, was shot, point-blank, execution-style, in the head.” Reyes fiddled with her pen as the words echoed through the room. “Could you please describe the damage Mr. Castle sustained from the bullet?” 

“It fragmented on impact, causing damage in both the right frontal lobe and temporal lobe of his brain.” Dr. Lee explained, “Mr. Castle is suffering from what we call a ‘Sympathetic Storming’. It’s a heightened and ongoing state of fight or flight in which the sympathetic nervous system is hyperactive. As if he is reliving the incident of trauma over and over again. It can plunge a seemingly peaceful individual into mental and emotional chaos.” 

“Can you define it for the jury, please?”

“Extreme emotional disturbance. It’s twofold,” From the corner of her eye, [Y/N] could see the displeasure of Frank’s movements. “First, the defendant is so emotionally disturbed that he loses control. And second, the defendant has a reasonable explanation for said disturbance, from his point of view.”

Foggy continued to stare at the jury, hoping to rouse some connection with them. “Are you aware that Frank Castle’s wife, son, and daughter were all murdered right in front of him when he sustained the brain injury in question? An injury which, you say, keeps him in a perpetual state of mental and emotional chaos?” Dr. Lee nodded and announced he was aware. “With that in mind, would you say that Frank Castle’s mental state satisfies the definition of ‘Extreme Emotional Disturbance’?”

Reyes shot from her chair. “Objection, calls for a conclusion!”

Foggy restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Your Honor, Dr. Lee is an expert on the brain. He is qualified to an opinion, and said opinion is not only relevant but imperative to the case.” Batzer thought for a second before nodding for him to continue, announcing the overruled decision.

“Personally, I do believe he is suffering from EED, yes.” 

“And one who’s suffering from extreme emotional disturbance, is it possible to willfully premeditate a crime?”

“Any infractions would be considered crimes of passion.”

“How many of your patients witnessed their families being brutally murdered right in front of them? Other than Frank Castle?” Dr. Lee confirmed that Frank was the only one. “And so would you say the circumstances surrounding Frank’s mental state are different than those of your other patients? And what exactly would that difference be, in simpler terms?”

“Frank Castle’s been through hell.”

The sound of a chair colliding onto the floor echoed the room. “You killed my dad!” A young boy’s voice tore through the air. A row behind her was a child with pale skin and freckles scattered across his tear-streamed face. “I don’t give a shit what you’ve been through! You killed him!” His eyes were bloodshot, his ginger hair tousled and disheveled. “I saw him in a coffin with holes in him! He was my dad, and now he’s gone!” An officer yanked him by his forearm and his voice dissipated into nothingness as he was dragged outside the double doors. The disturbance racked through the jury. She could see their unsettled gazes flicker between Judge Batzer and Frank. [Y/N] couldn’t even hear the uptight words that judge was advising the jury. 

Minutes passed when the courtroom was advised to leave and she couldn’t think of anything other than the grief-ridden voice of the young boy and how he clutched onto a photograph of his father as the tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. She was disturbed, not by his wailing and grief, but more by her lack of emotion towards the outburst. She mulled over the void of sympathy. Did this make her worthy of those distressed glares, too? She didn’t think of buzzing alarms and metal clanking as she ventured further to where the interrogation rooms resided. 

The door swung open and the officer stepped aside, his distracted gaze remaining on the softness of [Y/N]’s exposed legs as she entered the confined room. From where Frank was casually perched, his restrained hands closing firmly as his jaded glare intensified. The officer noticed the warning glare and immediately tore his eyes away and closed the door. The scene was familiar as she walked across the room, pulling her chair from under the metal table. “A theatrical performance, wasn’t it?” 

“I did that, right?” He asked, “That kid, I took his father from him. I did that.” His voice was jagged as gravel as his calloused hands clenched again. 

[Y/N] drew her lower lip between her teeth, nodding. “Appears so.” She agreed.

Frank swallowed and she thought that the boy’s words affected him much more than she initially thought. “Was that rough for you in there?”

She pondered on the question. “I’ve seen worse.” Her detached eyes gleamed as the thick rim of lashes fluttered. “Sometimes I think something is wrong with me because I feel nothing when I think of the things I’ve done. Sometimes, at night, I think of the countless times I’ve scrubbed my hands and the blood doesn’t come off. But I don’t feel guilty, I feel ready to do everything all over again.” The words spilled from her and she couldn’t control them from pouring from her. She wasn’t certain why she was telling him this and he was staring at her as if he were thinking the same thought. “I have done some terrible things for my family and I don’t think the blood is coming off my hands no matter how many times I wash them. So when I hear them say all those things about you, they’re saying them about me and I’m worried because I can’t bring myself to care.”

There was no glossiness in her eyes. He knew the feeling of the gradual numbness that gnawed through him. She wasn’t searching for reassurance or for someone to whisper against her tears that things would get better. She wanted someone to hold her hand and say, ‘I see you and I understand.’ 

He wasn’t a man of many words, but he told her what he needed someone to say to him. “I see you, [Y/N].” Her eyes moved from the chipping of her nail polish to him. “I see you and I get it.” She closed her eyes tightly with her eyebrows scrunched together. A broken stained-glass mural is what she reminded him of; a shattered array of colors. 

When she opened her eyes again, there was something brighter within them. She was understood and this restored a fragment of her mural. “They told me they need you to take the stand.” The conversation was over but he could already hear a shift in her voice. 

He groaned quietly, exasperated. “Come on, why would I?” 

She leaned forward, her elbows propped on the table. “That kid screwed you over. The jury has to know what happened to you, what you go through every single day.” Her fingers were pressed against her temple, resting there. “They were trying to sugar coat it, but this is basically your last shot before it all goes to shit.” 

Frank narrowed his eyes. “And what do you think is gonna happen here?” He asked, “We’re not gonna win this thing.”

Her eyes closed softly. “Think that’s pretty obvious, but we can still reduce the charges.” Frank sighed as if this were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Don’t give me that. You might not give a shit, but this is important to me. Every single one of those people out there thinks you’re some lunatic monster, but I know you’re not.” Her voice was shaky as she opened her eyes, looking into that warm gaze of an off-guard Frank Castle. A rare sight, that was. “You’re not.” 

Frank’s expression softened before hardening. “You sure about that?” He asked. “What if I find these men that did that to my family? What if nothing changes? What if this is just me now?” He looked scared at the thought of his efforts, the blood he spilled, the tears he cried to mean nothing.

“I think you’ll adapt and learn to live with it,” She said softly. “It’s the only thing we can do, remember?” Her eyes scanned over his shoulders and forearms, leaning over and glimpsing beneath the desk at his legs. His eyebrows pinched together as he stared at her as if she were the most bizarre thing he’d come across. 

“What’re you doing?” He gruffly asked.

“Getting an estimate on your measurements for your suit.” She replied casually. 

His nose scrunched, the small wrinkles creasing around his eyes. “Hold on, I gotta wear a suit?”

She released a small giggle, the sound was feminine and reminded him of sunshine on a bright summer day.“I didn’t think you’d grown fond of the neon orange,” The lightheartedness seeping from the rosiness of her lips was something he didn’t know he needed. Every day was shrouded with overbearing darkness and just to have a second where he could see the light was gratifying. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s an expensive one.” 

“I didn’t agree to take the stand.”

She clicked her pen and brought her legal pad closer to her. She scribbled something down. “You will,” She crossed her knee over the other. He opened his mouth to protest. “Now, black or dark blue?” 

“I’m not wearing a—”

“Stupid question,” She said to herself, scratching away whatever she had written. “Obviously black. I’m thinking no tie.” 

Stepping inside the courthouse was crowded, the air was thick with aflutter conversation as she sipped the carton of her warm hot chocolate. She didn’t like the strong bitterness of coffee, pouring spoons of sweetened creamer and sugar only for the bitterness to strain her tongue. She pushed through the gathering crowd of the photographers when a hand grabbed her clothed shoulder. She retracted and was going to pummel her closed hand into their nose when she saw the hand belonged to an officer. His eyes remained forward, but his grasp tightened. “Keep walking, [Y/N].” She furrowed her eyebrows together and glanced around. No one was looking at them, they were completely disregarded as they inched closer to a secluded corner. As the crowd dwindled, he leaned closer to her ear. “Castle has agreed to be sentenced to Ryker’s Island. There, he will speak with Mr. Fisk about the information regarding his and your family’s death.” His voice was monotone, almost recited, and nonchalant. [Y/N] yanked his hand from her shoulder and whirled around. His hand quickly moved to the closed latch of his weapon. A wordless threat, surely. “Once Frank complies with Mr. Fisk’s demands, we will contact you and you will pick him up. Any failure to comply, Ms. [Y/L/N], I will arrest you for multiple counts of fraud.” With a final nod, he continued onward as if the conversation weren’t filled with threats and illegal plans. She watched him disappear inside the courtroom with an unbothered casualness. 

[Y/N] was rarely ever wrong and when she was, she seldom admitted it. This time wasn’t any different. Frank Castle entered the courtroom with his severely passive expression, his hands, and ankles handcuffed as the crowd gathered in every available cheer. His tailored suit fit him perfectly and the darkness of the smooth fabric matched his eyes. The police escorted him to the stand and his eyes scanned the crowd. There were people wearing clothes with his name painted on them, his face ironed on the plain fabric, and they raised large signs. He thought it was strange for people to be treating him as a celebrity. The officer from earlier leaned close to him. “Think about what you want, Frank.” He didn’t chance him a glance. His eyes glossed over every face in that room until he found her. 

She was distracted by the color-coordinated notations on her paper, her delicate fingers twirled her pen in circles. The room clamored with indistinct voices and the aggravating clicks of cameras, but his gaze stayed on the smoothness of her skin. He observed her movements when she thought no one was looking; she was achingly pretty. Her eyes moved from the paper and met his, her blushed lips parting softly before they curved into a half-moon. The noise dimmed and for that brief second, there was nothing worth paying attention to in that courtroom but her. And that was dangerous and he couldn’t have that.

Matt unraveled his white cane and hesitantly loomed closer to where Frank was seated. “Mr. Castle, you’ve been charged with multiple capital crimes. Been called a killer incapable of empathy or remorse. May I call you Frank?” Frank nodded, barely perceptible as he narrowed his eyes. “Frank, we’ve heard a lot about neurochemistry and psychology, and all things unfolding, scientifically and otherwise, inside your brain. But I just have one question I want to ask. What happened that day? The day your family was so tragically killed.” Frank opened his mouth, entirely prepared to speak his truth, but his eyes moved from Matt to the officer who whispered to him that Wilson Fisk had his answers, then they moved to [Y/N]. “It’s okay, Frank. I understand it’s difficult.”

His brusque voice tore through the tense air. “Do you?” He asked, “Do you understand? ‘Cause I don’t think you understand shit.”

Matt sighed, folding his cane. “I’d like permission to treat the witness as hostile, Your Honor?” He placed his hands on his waist. “All right, Frank. You don’t want to tell us? I’ll tell you. I’m gonna tell you exactly what kind of man you are. You’re the kind of man this city needs. Because, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we all know this city needs help. Needs it now. Not tomorrow, not next week, not when the day comes, when the corruption that Wilson Fisk left in his wake is flushed out for good, and the police force is finally back on its feet. We need it now. Because this city has been sick. And the cops can’t fix it alone. We all need men and women who are willing to take the fight themselves. The kind of people who risk their lives so that we can walk safely at night in our neighborhoods. The ones our esteemed District Attorney here is trying so hard to destroy. New York needs these people. We need heroes.” The people raised their signs and cheered, clapping and whooping reverberating. “The help they offer and the hope that they provide. Frank Castle wanted to help, but he took it too far. He shot people, he killed people. It’s against the law. And he broke that law many, many times. Now, I don’t like him any more than you do, but here’s the thing, he is not a common criminal. He’s not malicious in intent. Frank Castle is actually a good man, he just doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong anymore. And he doesn’t need punishment for that. He needs help. Our help. That’s the kind of man Frank Castle is. And now, you have to decide what kind of jury you want to be. No further questions, Your Honor.”Frank took a breath. “Your Honor, can I say something?” He wasn’t going to do this just for himself. He was going to do it for her, too. “You know those people? The ones I put down, the people I killed? I want you to know that I’d do it all again,” The crowd exclaimed with shock. “This is a circus, all right? It’s a charade, it’s an act. It’s bullshit about how crazy I am. I ain’t crazy! I’m not crazy. I know what I did. I know who I am. And I do not need your help. I’m smack-dab in the middle of my right goddamn mind, and any scumbag, any lowlife, any maggot piece of shit that I put down, I did it because I liked it! Hell, I loved it! I’m sitting here, I’m just itching to do it again. And you think you’re gonna send me to a nuthouse? Some doctor is gonna get me to stop from doing what I want to do? Well, that ain’t happening! Not on my watch!” [Y/N] watched, open-mouthed, as Frank stood so hard that the chair flew back. “You people call me The Punisher, ain’t that right? The big bad Punisher. Here I am! You want it, you got it! I am The Punisher!” An officer wrapped his baton around Frank’s neck and struggled to remove him from the stand as Frank screamed and bellowed at the crowd and jury.  

The moonlight poured through the windows of her apartment, the moonbeams casting panels of white shadows across the cold marble. The blush pink wine was lukewarm as she pulled her knees beneath her chin and listened to the faint noise of the city outside her balcony. She needed the silence, she couldn’t hear anything other than the blaring news all day. The district attorney’s office was obliterated with military-grade ammunition and the devastation unnerved the population like crashing waves. Samantha Reyes was murdered, dozens of bullets piercing through her skin, and there was consolation in the news. 

There was a creak across the room, a sound she might’ve dismissed from the flush wine if she hadn’t heard the same creak from her rusty door hinges the morning before. [Y/N] squinted through the darkness of her room, wondering if she could see moving shadows. The sounds seeping from the opened balcony door quieted and there was an unsettling stillness. She apprehensively reached for the chilled metal beneath her silk pillow. Soundless, she wrapped her hands around the handle of the gun. She stopped breathing as the door slowly moved open. She released a wavering breath as Frank Castle appeared from the shadows of the night, her hands collapsing onto the silk sheets. 

She was on her knees, the smoothness of her thighs was uncovered from her nightgown. The strap was dangling beneath her shoulder, unveiling the softness of her breasts, and her hair was lazily bound together with strands sticking everywhere. Her bare face brightened as he loomed closer to the edge of the bed frame. With the moonlight caressing her skin and the achromatic nightgown emphasizing her curves, he could have fallen to his bruised knees at the sight of her smiling from his arrival. She was relieved to see him lurking in the glooms of her room and he didn’t know how to feel about the realization. “I have to admit,” She mused, “Orange was not your color.” The corners of his mouth turned up.

An aureole of moonlight shrouded every curve and contour of her with a sweetness he could only think of as basking in the moonbeams at midnight. His breathing hitched as she stared at him with a beckoning gaze. “I like your hair like that,” He foolishly said, nervously pointing to the darkness of her bundled hair. “You look…pretty.” As soon as the words filled the chilled air, he mentally groaned at the stiffness of his voice. There was a time when having conversations with people was effortless, a second nature. But he couldn’t think of something ordinary to say. She simpered and glanced at her reflection across the room before laughing at the sight. 

She brought her softened gaze to him and motioned to his clothes. “You clean up nice when you aren’t covered in blood.” He glanced down at the dirtied shoes he found and chuckled airily. When she brought him away from the prison, he didn’t have much time to scrub away the blood he sustained from killing an entire cell block. She had handed him a small packet of floral-scented towelettes and wiped away as much as he could with the car’s mirror. “Do you need any ice for the bruises?” She asked, pointing to her own eyes and nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without any black eyes.”

The purple bruises were beginning to fade until the altercation in the cell block and Wilson Fisk. Now, they had darkened again, spreading further across his face and occasionally aching. He shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.” He glanced around the room. The decor was exactly how he’d imagined it would be; sultry and feminine. He felt like a teenager again, like he was slowly walking inside the school’s prettiest girl’s room. His hands were tucked inside the pockets of his black jacket as he examined the framed photographs scattered across her room. He neared the balcony, watching as the sheer curtains flowed with the night breeze, and from the corner of his eye, he’d seen it; a shadow moving quickly across the street on the rooftop before disappearing into nothingness. He paused, contemplating what to do before moving on. “Someone’s on the rooftop,” He said, his fingers brushing over the mahogany desk. This would have been straightforward if he were by himself. He wouldn’t have to worry about anyone other than himself, but she was beside him.

She nodded as she pressed her lips together, carefully scooting to the edge of the bed. “Two, actually.” She put her sandals on and Frank thought they were adorably ridiculous. She wore a black satin nightgown with cushioned sandals with some sort of fuzz centered in the middle. She was such a girl. “One for you and one for me, I assume.” Her manicured hand reached for his calloused one. His eyes trailed from her small hand to the space between her eyes where a steady laser appeared. 

Frank tossed himself onto her and she gasped before the air escaped from her lungs as she slammed against the floor. His entire body was strewn over her, his hands tangling her hair as he covered her head from debris. His stomach was pressed against her back and the zipper of his jeans scraped her ass as he squirmed above her. The room was decimated with gunfire. She couldn’t see anything from Frank’s large hands shielding her face, but she listened to the glass shatter and wood splinter. The gunfire was deafening as they tore through the room and she choked on the powdery rubble as she breathed heavily. Frank squeezed her tightly as the glass splintered his exposed skin. 

The gunfire stopped and the room became eerily still. He apprehensively lifted himself from her and he wiped the fragments of glass and splinters from her cheek. Her eyes were tightly closed and her hands pressed against her ears. When the noise stopped and the heavyweight disappeared, she reluctantly opened her eyes. He tucked her tangled hair away from her dirtied face. “You okay,” She frantically nodded and grasped his steady hand. Her wide eyes blinked as the dust in the air stung them. “Come on, [Y/N/N], I gotta hear you say it.” His hands, rough and the cause of mayhem and death, touched her like she was fragile glass. 

The nickname was unfamiliar against his tongue but if she didn’t like it, she didn’t say anything. She grabbed his hands, embracing them tightly. She was in an unfamiliar state of shock. He knew that dazed expression like the back of his scarred hand. “Yeah, I’m okay,” She murmured. Her voice was velvety and faint as she peeked around the tattered room. The filling inside her pillows and mattress were scattered across the floor and her picture frames were torn and fractured. As if waking from a deep slumber, she turned back to him, her shaking hands caressing his cheekbones. She couldn’t think of the broken perfume bottles and holes on her walls, she was distracted from the trickle of blood cascading down his cheek. “Are you okay?” Her eyes moved across his face briskly. She brushed a shard of glass away from his forehead. Her movements were unstable but gentle. 

He swallowed away his fogged thoughts. “I’m good, but we’ve gotta go.” He pulled her from the floor with ease, kicking aside the broken pieces of furniture. “Stay low.” He covered her backside as she wobbled to her feet. She took a breath before darting across the room and through her kitchen. There on the countertop were her car keys, casually discarded when she returned home earlier that night. She snatched her keys and unlocked the door, misstepping and nearly collapsing to the hallway floor. The other residents of the complex were screaming and sobbing.  She pushed forward and peered over her shoulder and released a relieved sigh as Frank wrapped his arm around her, ushering her to the emergency staircase. The heavy door slammed closed as they stumbled down the staircase, occasionally peeking behind them. Frank’s hand remained pressed against her back, always making sure she was ahead of him. She couldn’t hear anything other than the blood rushing through her ears and the burning of her lungs with each breath she took. Her hand hovered above the rusted handrail and she grimaced every time her sandal almost slipped off. 

Messily spraypainted onto the wall was the bolded word ‘Garage’ when they reached the bottom of the complex. She shoved the garage door open, revealing the apartment’s occupants’ vehicles, and she scrambled to the high-priced car parked across the garage. [Y/N] pressed the button on her key and the doors unlocked. Once inside and situated in the driver’s seat and with Frank beside her, she tightly closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. “Gonna take a wild guess and say those are the Blacksmith’s men and you didn’t kill Reyes and Tepper?” Frank glimpsed at the rearview mirror and eased when there wasn’t anyone following them. He nodded wordlessly. “There’s definitely a hit on me now, isn’t there?” His exhausted glance answered her question and she relaxed her head on the headrest, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

His eyes softened as she steadied her breathing. He used these brief distracted moments to take in the sight of her. “Last chance to leave and forget about all this,” Frank said, his chest heaving. She opened her eyes and lifted an eyebrow. “You can leave and hide away in some penthouse and be safe, or you can start the car and drive.” He gave her a choice; he was giving her the chance to realize this journey was going to shatter and strain them, forcing them to relive every aching moment of their tragic life. He was giving her the chance to realize this and leave. He was giving her something he never had; a chance to live. 

A lush laugh filled the quietness of the car. Her eyes were brimming with stilled distress and he could see her hands trembling on the steering wheel. Her thighs and forearms were scratched, vague bruises blossoming on her skin. “I’m not going anywhere,” She breathed, and the finality lacing her words was profound. She knew this was going to haunt her thoughts and she was going to spill blood again, but she had to. [Y/N] wasn’t going to disregard the torment anymore, distract her plaguing thoughts with expensive shoes when her chance to avenge her family was beside her. She twisted the key inside the ignition and the rumble of the engine ripped through the silence of the garage. “I’m not letting you have all the fun.” Frank gave her a once-over, stunned at the definitive response.

The garage gate slowly moved open and the moonlight streamed through the windows. The multi-colored lights of the nightlife and the clamoring voices and music flowed through the city as they drove mindlessly. She occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror, expecting someone to appear behind the car with handguns aimed at them. With Frank beside her, she didn’t feel as vulnerable. There was a small and foolish piece of her that wished someone would try to strike them. She dismissed the twisted thought. “Are you hungry,” He asked, jutting his chin at the bright neon lights of a diner’s sign. Some of the letters were flickering and a few were completely out. She didn’t bother giving him an answer as she parked near the entrance. 

She closed her door and crossed her arms over her chest, the frigid breeze caressing her exposed skin. Looking down, she supposed wearing scantily-clad pajamas hadn’t been the appropriate choice. They were further away from the main city, but the streets were still illuminated with the occasional headlights. She exhaled shakily as goosebumps rose. She was going to need a landfill of hot chocolate. Frank sized her up, faintly shaking his head. He removed his jacket, draping the much larger fabric over her shoulders. She jolted at the gentle touch but didn’t protest as the warmth enveloped her instantly. He pulled open the squeaky door and stepped aside, allowing her to step inside before him. Her cheeks flushed, turning her face before he could notice. 

[Y/N] smelled the brewing coffee and the sizzling bacon, the warmth of the small diner was comforting, a drastic change of atmosphere. She dismissed the bewildered glances a few of the customers gave her as she slipped inside the booth across the room. She extended her bruised and scraped legs beside his thighs and closed her eyes as she leaned against the backside of the booth. There was faint music playing over the damaged speakers and she needed a second to unwind, to process everything that had happened less than an hour ago. “Had to pick the sketchiest part of the neighborhood to stop at, huh?” She muttered, her eyes remaining closed.

His eyes flickered over the softness of her neck before looking around. There were a few questionable patrons, some he noticed were clutching onto their guns and pocketknives, but the dining area was relatively empty. “Oh, yeah. I’m shaking in my boots.” She opened her eyes, a curve rose on her lips before chuckling. She didn’t think the Frank Castle was capable of making jokes. He gestured for the waitress behind the counter. “Ma’am, can we get a little black coffee over here?” [Y/N] shook her head, muttering that she wanted hot chocolate instead. “And one hot chocolate, thanks.”

She peered outside the windows, watching as the branches swayed with the wind. The streets were emptying as the time passed. “Overheard Reyes saying the Blacksmith is moving uncut narcotics into Manhatten,” She whispered, “I figured with the lack of information about him, he’s working alone. So I eliminated everything except railroads, shipping lines, and trucks.” She mentally crossed off the bullet points she made when determining possible covert routes. She stopped as the woman placed the empty mugs on the tabletop.  The waitress poured the burning coffee into Frank’s mug and placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate beside [Y/N]’s hand. She smiled and disappeared before she could thank the woman. 

Frank cocked his head, a teasing smile rising. “And how’d you ‘overhear’ that?”

[Y/N] blew the steam from her mug. “I’m good at sneaking into places I shouldn’t be at,” That was a severe understatement. She was adept with breaking into high-security places and leaving before an alarm would even detect something was wrong—a mastery she found brought her much discipline when her father was still alive.

He sipped his coffee. “I’m starting to think you’re some kind of secret badass, [Y/N/N].” 

With the rim of the chocolate-stained mug against her mouth, she laughed. “Oh, yeah?” She rhetorically questioned. “Could probably easily take you and put you on your ass.” 

Frank laughed quietly as if the mere thought was ludicrous. “I guess we’ll have to see about that one day,” He challenged. He gulped down his coffee and licked the remnants from his lips. She didn’t understand how he could enjoy the overbearing bitterness of plain black coffee. She grimaced at the thought of even sipping a droplet. His gaze moved to the callouses on his hand. “Who would’ve thought?” He mumbled to himself.

She brought the mug down, a ghostly smile still on her lips. She licked the chocolate stains from the corners of her mouth. “Thought what?” She asked, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. Her eyes were doe-like and glittering at each word he gruffly said.

“That the princess of New York would be making jokes with the big, bad Punisher.” His rough hands were permanently tarnished with blood he spilled every night and they were desperately reaching to feel the tenderness of her pure hands.

[Y/N] casually shrugged, not even thinking twice about the nickname. “I’ve had worse conversations with worse men.” She teased. “Although this is the first time I’ve talked to a man who had the trial of the decade and escaped prison in a day.”

“First time for everything.” She glanced at the veins on his hands as he raised the mug to his lips. “Full of surprises, doll. Here you are, sitting in your underwear drinking hot chocolate with the dude who put shitbags on meathooks.”

Her lashes fluttered as she looked at him. “Wouldn’t have you any other way.” She said the docile words brought a warmth inside him. “And it’s not underwear, it’s a nightgown. You are such a typical guy.” She playfully rolled her eyes. 

Frank laughed, a sound that wasn’t shared often but a sound she was beginning to grow fond of. “Nah, doll, I’m not like all those pretty boys you’ve talked to.” There was nothing ‘pretty boy’ about Frank Castle. He was a brusque man who relished the warm feeling of his enemy’s blood tainting his skin, used his hands as weapons, and still smiled softly as he opened the door for her. He was knife-like, sharp-edged and rough, calloused, and didn’t care if he broke dozens of bones every night. But, here he was, making sure she didn’t burn her tongue on her hot chocolate.

She lifted an eyebrow. “No, you’re right,” She lightheartedly agreed. “You’re the first guy who opened a door for me.” Her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. Undiluted shock colored Frank’s expression and she couldn’t restrain the bubbling laughter as she covered her face with her palms. “And definitely the first time a guy has offered his jacket.” 

She giggled at the flash of burning frustration on his face. “[Y/N], you dating douchebags or something? Come on, that’s bullshit.” He couldn’t even wrap his mind around the mere thought of someone looking at her, having someone that beautiful giving them a sliver of her precious attention, and refusing to be a gentleman. He was so unnerved by the admission that he hadn’t even realized he had mistakenly correlated himself with guys she’s dated. 

“Yeah, I was.” Her expression drooped. “Gave up dating for some time after…everything happened. And when I did start again, all I met were guys who were more concerned about having lint on their suits and having some pretty thing on their arm than being nice to me.” She looked up at him and the sadness on her face disappeared. “So believe me when I say I’d rather talk to you.” [Y/N] was always interlocked with someone who was concerned with their image, and how they presented themselves every second of every day. So she savored this passing moment of genuine conversation with someone who didn’t care if she wasn’t ‘presentable’. Frank Castle looked at her as a human, not a trophy.

Headlights shined into the diner before fluttering off. Frank sighed, almost seeming disappointed the conversation needed to end. “That Buick rolled around the block three times before it finally pulled up,” She tensed as she glanced out the window. Two men slammed their doors closed. “Now, go in the back and get the waitress. Find the cook and find the biggest piece of steel and get under it. Go now.”

She blinked, processing the information. “Who are they?” Were those the men who destroyed her apartment?

“Just some guys who are about to walk into a diner for the last time.” He tore his gaze from the car. She opened her mouth to respond, but he swiftly interrupted her. “You gotta go now. Now, [Y/N/N].” She hesitated, wanting to protest but he was already pulling his gun from his waistband.

She hurried to behind the counter, pushing the waitress away from the dining room. She had barely stepped inside the cooking station when she heard gunshots, glass shattering, and the sound of wood splintering. She ushered the waitress and the cook to the corner furthest from the entrance, covering them with a spare metal table.

[Y/N] removed Frank’s jacket, tossing it aside. She couldn’t even count how many gunshots she was hearing as she fastened her hair with a loose hair tie. Stepping outside the cooking station, Frank yelled incoherently at her as he threw himself over the counter. He crashed onto the floor as the goon aimed his gun, the discarded glass plates shattering. Frank reached for her, missing by inches when she rushed forward, sliding her thigh across the countertop, and kicked the chest of the goon. She landed on her feet as he groaned and collapsed onto the table inside the booth. She didn’t give him the chance to compose himself and she grabbed his raised arm, jamming her palm into the point of his elbow. She grinned as his bone caved in the opposite direction, his bone fracturing. He screamed and she collided her knuckles with his nose, hastily kicking her leg outward and against his stomach. As he clutched his stomach, she spun low to the floor and swung her leg against his ankles. She straightened before he could crash against the floor. 

He kicked her ankle and she stumbled against the countertop. With a glare, she steadied herself before she could trip over her own feet and he pushed himself from the floor, grabbing a freshly washed kitchen knife from the sink. He swiped the blade at her and she dodged every slice in the air he made. She backed away and grabbed the handle of the boiling coffee pot from the stove and smashed the glass over his head. The goon screamed with agony as his skin welted immediately, flushing a bright shade of red as the coffee burned him. She yanked the kitchen knife from his weak grasp and sliced at the thin skin of his neck and shoved the blade inside his stomach again and again and again. She ignored the hardness of his ribcage and the sound of his skin tearing as the blood poured onto her in pulsing waves. 

Across the diner, Frank stepped on the hand of the other goon who crawled to a discarded gun on the floor, leaving a streak of blood on the floor. He grabbed the gun from the floor, flipping the bleeding man on his stomach. His breathing was heavy as he aimed at his head. “The Blacksmith, where is he?” He interrogated, nearly breathless.

“Screw you.” He brought the gun to the goon’s knee and pressed the trigger. He released a strangled cry as he choked on his own blood. 

“Where?” Was all Frank panted.

“Go to hell.” The goon choked. Frank didn’t seem surprised, simply inconvenienced by his refusal. He straddled the man, both of his knees against his bleeding ribcage. He flipped the gun upside down and repeatedly smashed the bottom of the grip against his face. His face was disfigured and chunks of his skin were dangling when Frank stopped. 

Frank pressed the gun to the bottom of his chin. “I want a place.”

The man coughed and a splurge of blood dribbled down his face. “41st Street,” He said through broken teeth. “The pier. I can take you—” The gunshot silenced him.

Frank stood from the corpse and took in the sight of [Y/N] completely soaked in blood. She panted as she wiped the drenched hair from her face, tossing the knife onto the counter. The clinking of the utensil against the bloodstained counter pulled him from his jumbled thoughts. She examined her hand, groaning as she picked at her finger. “I chipped my nail polish.” She whined with a small pout.

He stared at her incredulously. “What the hell was that?” His eyes moved to the mangled corpse of the goon she endured by herself, barely maimed by the man. Her skin was colored dark crimson and he furrowed his eyebrows together as he continued to glance between her and the mauled man. She wasn’t small, but he supposed it was only his fault for mistaking her as delicate. 

She dismissed the question with a quick wave of her hand. “I’ll explain in the car.” She stepped over the corpses, grabbed Frank’s jacket, and scrunched her nose as if she stepped on a piece of gum, not two dead men—one she had killed. Frank shook his head, unbelieving as he followed after her. The door squeaked as she stepped outside. The wind chilled against her wet skin and walked to the side of the diner, switching the water for the water hose that was discarded onto the gravel. She quickly doused herself with the water, washing away the blood as much as she could. She rinsed her hands, then washed her unclothed legs and arms. “I’ve got spare clothes in the trunk for times like this. Be a doll and grab them for me, please?” The blood pooled on the gravel, seeping into the patches of dirt.

Confused, and particularly intrigued, he obliged and opened the trunk of her car. Neatly folded near the back were all-black attire and stained boots. With his hands gripping the clothes, he chuckled to himself. He was a fool to think [Y/N] was innocent. He handed her the folded clothes and turned his back toward her, offering some privacy. She dried herself with Frank's jacket and slipped on the skin-tight bodysuit before tossing the nightgown in the truck before slamming it down, and zipping the front zipper. She slipped on her socks, then boots. When Frank whirled around, he gave her a blank look. “Really,” He asked blandly. 

She scrunched her eyebrows and looked down at the clothes. There wasn’t any skin visible, although the bodysuit clung to every divot and curve. Was it unnecessary? Absolutely. Did she look incredibly gorgeous? Also absolutely. She shrugged. “It was on sale.” She tossed him the car keys and he latched onto them mid-air. As the engine rumbled, she inspected her reflection with careful eyes. She rubbed the splotches of splattered blood from her cheeks. 

Frank drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other behind her, his hand brushing against the skin of her neck. His eyes were narrowed on the traffic of the streets, but she could feel his thoughts were rampant. “You gonna explain what that was back there?” 

She lowered the music from the speaker after a moment. “My dad was a paranoid man,” At the mention of her father, his disarray eased. “You know what war does to people. Each time he came home, it was like seeing him slowly fade away. When I was eleven, he decided I needed to be prepared for war when it came. He wanted me to survive.” She watched as the city lights blurred together outside the window. “I didn’t have much of a childhood with being forced to learn how to stitch stab wounds and how to kill someone under thirty seconds with my hands.

“I didn’t see my dad often when he was across the world, but when he did come home, it was like all the things he forced me to do with strangers didn’t even matter. All that mattered was that he was home and he could hold me again. I don’t blame him for losing himself during the war. I can’t even imagine the horrors men like you both would have to see and endure. I love my father and I couldn’t be more proud of him, but there is a small part of me that can’t forgive him for leaving me when I needed him the most.” Her gaze flickered from the smears of the nightlife to him. 

He didn’t know how he could respond to the admission. He didn’t think of the wistful yearning from someone else’s perspective before. Of course, he knew his wife and children had missed him, but he didn’t think the longing ache could create unforgiveness or resentment. “I’m sure he understood.” 

[Y/N] knew they had arrived at the pier once the air smelled like seawater and machinery oil. The car slowed to an eventual stop. There was an eerie silence as she stepped outside the car, the gravel crunching beneath the bottom of her boot. Frank unlocked the trunk and stuffed a gun in his waistband and then offered her another one. He closed the trunk and they watched their steps, careful not to make too much sound as they neared the pier. 

She had been aiming for a subtle approach and Frank most certainly wasn’t as he rushed forward, yelling and immediately shooting at everything that moved. There were flashes of orange light as Frank pressed the trigger dozens of times before she could even match his pace. When she lowered her gun to her side, she glanced at the puddles of blood dripping into the steady waves of the pier as Frank panted beside her. The silence returned and she stepped forward on the dock. 

There were hundreds of boxes and crates scattered across the dock, all varying in size. She dragged her hand across the splinters of the wood, attempting to decipher the spraypainted words. She grabbed a discarded crowbar and jammed the edge in between the crate’s crevice, grunting as she pushed open the lid. There were multiple wrapped bricks of drugs, tightly sealed with a clear wrap and then taped. Frank appeared behind her, peering inside the crate with a curious gaze. She handed him a brick. “What do we do with this,” She asked. There were enough undiluted drugs to reach a worth of millions and it was unguarded and in her palm. 

He looked at the heroin, disinterested. “Burn it.” 

The suggestion was absurd, but this was the Blacksmith’s operation and if they burned this entire boat into ashes, the Blacksmith had nothing. At the realization, [Y/N] smiled. “You go find him, I’ll take care of this.” Frank hesitated but nodded nonetheless. There were a few large canisters of fuel and she unscrewed the caps as Frank sprinted inside the boat. She began pouring the fuel over the crates and on every surface she could tarnish. The fumes of the fuel singed her nose with each breath but she was concentrated on the sloshing sound of the canister. Inside the boat, there were gunshots and muffled outcries, but she wasn’t going to interfere. This was something Frank needed to do.

A gloved hand covered [Y/N]’s mouth and she dropped the green canister, small droplets of fuel seeping from the nozzle as the canister clanked against the floor. She scratched at the leather of the glove as she stomped the bottom of her boot on the assailant’s shoes. A pained groan escaped their mouth as their grasp loosened. She jammed her elbow into their ribcage and she slithered from their restraint. With a side-step, she whirled on her heel and pulled the gun from her holster, and aimed. 

She raised an eyebrow as the blood-red leather gleamed from the moonlight. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen raised his hands and apprehensively stepped back. “That isn’t the Blacksmith in there,” He said and she could’ve sworn his voice was painfully familiar. “I know you’re trying to help Frank, but listen to me. That isn’t the Blacksmith. Just think about it.” 

[Y/N] tightened her grasp on the cool metal of her gun, calm and steady. She glanced around her, at the bodies leaking and staining the wood of the boat. This was effortless, almost too easy. Guards were surrounding the area, but these goons were guarding heroin, not the head of the entire operation. This wasn’t the personnel you handpicked to defend your life and money. Her resolve faltered and she slowly lowered the weapon. “It’s bait,” She mumbled, realization coloring her expression. There was anguish filling her as she realized this was a trap and they eagerly stepped inside. “How could I be so stupid?” 

With the weapon lowered and her thoughts distracting her, Daredevil rushed forward and pushed open the metal door where Frank had disappeared minutes before. “Don’t shoot him, Frank!” 

Frank’s head lowered with frustration. “For Christ’s sake,” He tightened his hand on the gun and pressed the tip further inside the man’s mouth. “Get outta here, Red.” 

“He’s lying, Frank,” Daredevil said through rough breaths. “We’re here for the same reasons, all right? I want the Blacksmith just as much as you, but he’s not him. I know when someone is telling the truth and he’s not.” [Y/N] stepped inside, her palm slamming against the rusted door. There were dozens of sealed bricks of cream-white heroin scattered across the rickety table and Frank gripped the lapels of the unknown man’s jacket, peering over his shoulder. 

“Bullshit,” He shouted, his throat burning as his finger brushed against the trigger. “Just get out of here!”

“He’s not the man you two came for, Frank.”

Frank was silent for a moment before readjusting himself, pressing the gun deeper into the man’s skin until there was a redness blossoming on his mouth. “Are you lying to me,” Frank screamed and [Y/N] wondered if he was even asking the man anymore. 

She hesitantly stepped further, her expression drooping as Frank snapped his head towards her. “Frank,” She said breathlessly. His name was a soft pull from the burning ire consuming him. An anchor tethering him to the cruel reality. She shook her head, barely perceptible and wordless, but he knew this was a confirmation that the man with a gun between his teeth wasn’t the Blacksmith. 

Matt Murdock listened to the falter of Frank Castle’s heartbeat as his watering eyes connected with [Y/N]’s. Interesting.

Frank stood from the floor and removed the drool-covered gun from the imposter’s mouth. “Either way, you die.” Daredevil threw a small hammer at Frank’s hand and the gun was ripped from his grasp, falling across the room. Frank’s nostrils flared as he slammed his heel into the imposter’s jaw before attacking the man in red leather. “You just couldn’t let it be, could you? You just couldn’t let us—” Frank latched his hands onto Daredevil’s shoulders as he launched them both through the doorframe. 

Frank landed on Daredevil, immediately punching his masked cheekbones. “When are you gonna learn,” Frank shouted roughly. “Mind your own goddamn business!” Each word seeped through clenched teeth as he repeatedly kicked wherever he could stomp his foot. 

Daredevil hurriedly rushed to his feet, panting as blood dribbled down his cheek. “Goddamn it, Frank. I don’t want to fight you.” [Y/N] watched as they stumbled across the boat, their grunts of exhaustion and pain filling the cold air. Daredevil was quick and dodged Frank’s faltering punches, kicking his spleen and knocking him to the floor. “Stay down, Frank.” 

[Y/N] didn’t interfere as Daredevil extended his hand and offered Frank a truce, helping him straighten from the floor before Frank shrugged him off. “Just couldn’t let me have it, could you? One second in peace.” Frank was pumping with adrenaline, his heavy breaths appearing in puffs before swirling away as he collapsed onto the floor, his backsliding against a crate. “It was right there. You had to sweep in. Do you feel good about yourself? Piece of shit.” 

With a sigh, [Y/N] moved and stood against the crate, inches from Frank’s fidgeting form and she could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Oh, come on, Frank,” Daredevil said, “It wouldn’t have been the truth, and you know it. I can’t let you start a war for the wrong reasons.”

“Maybe a war is what I need,” Frank frightfully admitted, “Maybe I need that. These people, they took my children from me. They killed my kids! Don’t you get that?” Frank’s scream tore through the night, his voice cracking as he screamed his reality into Daredevil’s face. 

Daredevil kneeled. “Then do right by them! Help me. Work with me to find the man who gave the order.”

Frank looked defeated. “And then what, Red? Are we gonna bring him in for justice? Is that what we’re gonna do? Your way’s bullshit, Red. It doesn’t work. I need him—We need him gone. It’s gotta be permanent. It’s gotta be finished!”

“I understand,” Daredevil said, “You’re right. My way isn’t working. So maybe just this once…” He trailed off and [Y/N] didn’t need to see his concealed expression to know he was frightened and disappointed as he pressed his fingers into himself in a cross. “Maybe your way is what it’s gonna take.” 

Elle closed her eyes and she saw a younger version of herself; frightened and shattered as she realized she was going to permanently tarnish her hands. She could see herself in Daredevil as he accepted that he was going to need to take a life and he was already begging for forgiveness. “It’s not going to be just this once,” She said, her voice a ghostly whisper. “If you do this, this is never leaving you and you don’t get to go back to your side of the line. It’s never just once.”

Daredevil stared at her, but it was a distant gaze. His head jerked as a tire screeched from the distance. “I count ten of them, all armed.” She peered around the crate, blinded by the headlights of the speeding cars as they abruptly parked on the pier. Daredevil sniffed. “There’s a lot of gunpowder below decks. If any of these guys start shooting, this whole ship is blowing up. We gotta get off this boat before they open fire.” Daredevil hurried to the railing of the boat, glancing below at the gentle waters. 

Frank clenched his teeth as he rushed forward and pushed him over the edge of the boat, Daredevil disappearing into the darkness of the water with a splash. [Y/N] glimpsed down at the ripples before returning her confused gaze back to Frank. His expression softened and there was a warmth glittering within his shattered eyes. The tenderness was enough to have her heart flutter as he apprehensively loomed closer. “That’s Gosnell,” He whispered, jerking his chin in the direction of the man on the pier, slowly interlacing his bloodied hand with hers. She furrowed her eyebrows together as he touched her with an unfamiliar fragility. “I used to serve with him and that can only mean one thing, doll.” His thumb caressed her cheek as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Schoonover.” He muttered so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. 

She closed her eyes as she relished the feeling of his touch. She was lost within her thoughts and didn’t notice he subtly brought her to the edge of the boat. When her back pressed against the railing, she opened her eyes to find him already remorsefully staring at her. [Y/N] shook her head. “Don’t be stupid, we’ll find him together.” She pleaded, disregarding the sound of car doors slamming close. If he was going to take the risk of potentially dying within the gunpowder explosion, she would remain by his side. “Jump with me, Frank, or I’m staying with you. You don’t have to do this alone.” The finality of her voice shook him and that terrified him.

Frank squeezed her hand, his eyes fluttering close as his nose brushed against hers. “I’m sorry,” She opened her mouth to plead with him, or scream at him, she wasn’t sure, but he already pushed her over the railing. The cold air nipped at her before she landed within the ripples of the water. She barely managed to tear free from the depths when the explosion shook the pier, bright orange flames burning everything within its path. She concealed her face with her shaking forearms as shards of glass and splinters of wooden crates flew into the water. 

She pushed through the floating debris, warm tears streaming down her cheeks as she searched through the darkness of the water for him. She couldn’t see beneath the water but she splashed through the growing waves as if she were going to suddenly discover him. She paddled forward and the overbearing heat of another explosion crashed against her. She wasn’t going to be able to stay there, the flames were traveling quickly and the explosions would only continue. 

With a frustrated cry, she chose to swim away from the debris and away from Frank.

[Y/N] cleaned the fogged mirror with a quick swipe of her palm and clutched the porcelain of the sink. The dampness of her hair clung to her neck as she stared at the ceramic drain. Her skin was slathered with moisturizer and she scrubbed her scalp twice before the saltiness of the seawater finally disappeared down the drain. Another day had gone by and Frank still hadn’t contacted her and her hope was slowly dwindling. She couldn’t remember how many times she checked the unlit screen of her phone and peered behind the floral curtains of her cheap motel room. She was clutching onto the flickering flame of hope that he was going to appear outside the door and tell her he kicked some ass. But he didn’t. 

When she discovered the confidential discussion between the authorities the following morning, shaking hand pressing the police radio beside her ear as she listened to the quiet words discussing the explosion, she practically collapsed onto the floor. She closed her eyes tightly as the distinct chatter revealed their suspicions of Frank Castle’s death. She felt utterly pathetic for clinging onto her childish hopes. The amount of gunpowder made the explosion practically impossible to survive, and she knew that, but there had been the small part of her that was praying for the renowned Punisher to arise from the heroin-soaked ashes.

Her dazed eyes scrutinzed the small gashes plastered on her knuckles and forearms, the radio chatter had become indistinct whispers as she thought over everything she needed to do. She remembered the softness of his voice when he realized Schoonover was the Blacksmith, the deepness the betrayal seeped through his glistening eyes. She was overcome with a blinding rage as she understood the man—the monster—that sliced away everything she ever cared for, had taken another person from her. And the loss was quick. She barely had any time to register the salty burn of the seawater before he was torn from her life. 

With a resolute expression, she stood from the rough carpet of the floor and her freshly-washed suit. Her hands were no longer shaking.

The modern lanterns brightly illuminated the polished porch of Schoonover’s lavish house. [Y/N] glanced around as she pressed the small doorbell, gritting her teeth as the chime echoed through the night. The ornate glass panels on the door were decorated with chiffon curtains, complementing the freshly painted doorframe. She wondered if he was comfortable shrouding himself with the wealth he gained from spilling her family’s blood. He must’ve been because he didn’t appear uncomfortable when he swung open the door. There was the daughter of the man he had brutally murdered and there wasn’t even a noticeable waver in his eyes. 

The harshness of her expression softened as his gaze moved across her face. She couldn’t have him discovering her intentions, she needed to have the upper hand. “I was hoping you could talk to me about Frank.” She reluctantly said, wondering if her performance of the grieving daughter searching for solace in a man she barely knew was believable. “I just need to know if he was a good man.”

Schoonover grimaced at the request, but he widened the entrance and stepped aside. The flames of the fireplace filled the foyer with an intense orange glow. She inhaled, smelling the burning wood and aged whiskey. He offered coffee, but she declined, mumbling something about having drowned herself in caffeine earlier. She would have to be a thoughtless fool to drink anything coming from him. “Castle would call that a good start,” She refrained from flinching at the mention of his name, choosing to centralize her focus on the bright flames crackling a few feet away from her. “I know I’m old. My wife calls me cranky. With all the violence these days, the media would have you believe that’s all there is in the world. I’m glad you got to know Frank. The real Frank.”

She forced herself to remove her gaze from the fire. “I’m glad I got to know him, too.” And that was the unfortunate truth. She didn’t want to admit the reality of her emotions, but she was beginning to care for him. 

His eyebrows furrowed. “Although I’m confused as to how you grew into contact with him. I wasn’t aware you were a lawyer.” 

[Y/N] smiled. “No, a legal assistant.” She casually corrected. Her dark gaze moved across the array of framed photographs displayed on the wall. There were several of Schoonover with his uniform and medals, but there were even more of him draping his arm over the soldiers, including Frank, with the faintest hint of a smile. “You know, you’re probably the only person I’ve met that has said positive things about him. Would you consider him a friend?” 

Schoonover smiled politely. “When you’re fighting a war, you don’t really make friends. At least, not if you’re fighting it the right way. I suppose you don’t want to get close to anyone because we’re not all coming back. But at the same time, you have to feel something, don’t you? Otherwise, what are you all fighting for?”

Her head tilted slightly and the false glimmer of naivety disappeared from her eyes as they narrowed. “And do you feel?” She inquired, disregarding the intensity of the warmth from the fireplace. His expression transformed into something much more confused as he opened his mouth to respond. She interrupted him. “Do you feel anything knowing you’ve murdered innocent families? My family?” 

His face turned into jaded awareness, a completely different person from a few minutes prior, and released a bored sigh. “Right into business, I see.” His hand moved underneath a pile of mail, revealing the sleekness of his gun in his hand. “I was hoping it didn’t have to come to this.” She chanced an unimpressed glance at the barrel of the weapon, knowing this was going to eventually happen. She was almost disappointed that this entire situation was predictable.

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. “Do you love your wife, Colonel?” And with the question floating in the air, there was a waver from his mask. It was brief, barely a second, but she noticed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter because she’ll be dead if I don’t leave this house alive in an hour. Sooner if you don’t get that fucking gun out of my face.” She sneered and the contempt was obvious on her expression. 

And his resolve dissipated, his hand shaking as soon as the words fell from her clenched teeth. He pressed his lips together firmly, performing mental jumping jacks in order to decide his next move. But his hand and weapon remained raised. The coldness of her eyes hardened. “How about your kids, Colonel? You would think a man like you would take precautions for this exact reason, but it was so easy to find each and every person you feel and fight for. It was pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t.” 

A curve on her lips rose. “Won’t I?” 

He exhaled shakily. “They’re innocent.” 

“So was my family.” Her voice was detached, enough to make his blood run cold.

“They’ve got nothing to do with this!” His voice cracked as he shouted. That was the first time she’d ever seen him anything other than calm and collected. She was making him shatter and break and she savored every second of it.

There was a sickening cruelness behind her smile. “You took my family, I don’t see why I can’t take yours?” He thought over his options, wondering if there was any possible way he could gain the upper hand, but he was ultimately at her mercy. He eventually lowered the gun. She smiled. “We’re going for a drive.” 

Within moments, they were outside of the lavish household and unlocking the passenger door of rented car. She purposely shoved him inside the vehicle, making sure he roughly banged his head on the top of the car. She slammed the door, ignoring his string of curses. After turning the car on, they silently drove on the dark and empty thoroughfare. She could see him contemplating, planning on something beside her. She knew there must’ve been another weapon concealed beneath his clothes and she could’ve removed anything possibly lethal, but the would have eliminated the challenge. 

And Frank Castle had a knack for dramatic and unnecessary entrances because the predictable moment Schoonover pulled a small blade from his waistband, Frank smashed his stolen truck onto the passenger side of the car.

[Y/N] gasped as the shattered glass of the windows sliced small gashes on her exposed skin, a wave of dizziness overtaking her as her head smashed against the car door. Everything happened quickly, much too quickly for her to have even noticed the warm blood gushing from her arm. The sound of metal scratching against the gravel captured her attention. She slowly moved her head, attempting to blink away the blurred haze. The truck was slowly backing away before the headlights blinked off. The door opened, revealing black boots crunching on the broken shards. They moved quickly, circling around the damaged vehicle until they stopped right beside the driver door. Within seconds, the seatbelt was removed and she was gently pulled from the wreckage. 

The coldness of the winter air nipped at her soaked skin, puffs of smoke escaping her lips with each shaking breath. Warm and calloused hands cupped her cheeks, uncaring for the redness cascading down her temple and cheeks. “Come on, [Y/N/N],” The gruffness of the voice sparked something deep within her. His thumb caressed her cheekbone, almost fondly, and he gently shook her. “Let me see those pretty eyes.” 

She recognized the softness of his voice, the delicacy behind his bloodstained touch, and her eyes fluttered opened. “Frank,” She mumbled, her words were breathless as her weak hand moved to touch him. She grasped onto his arm, steadying her wobbly feet. She couldn’t see the exact details of his bruised face, the orange light of the street lights overhanging them shrouded them in a fiery blanket of light. But Frank could see her and there was something frightening about the overwhelming relief coursing through him as she said his name. “You’re…here.” She eventually said, swallowing the dryness of her mouth away.

A ghostly smile rose as he slowly brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.” Within that moment, he knew something changed about him; she thought he was dead, was moments from avenging her family, him and his family, and was leaning into his touch like he was her savior. Whatever changed inside him in those seconds, he knew it was dangerous. “Someone’s gonna come pick you up, take you to the hospital. Just get some rest.”

She closed her eyes and listened.

[grippingbeskar]

salt, ice and fire masterlist

summary: you have spent your entire life following someone else’s orders. the bullet in someone else’s gun. frank castle was no knight in shining armour, and he certainly didn’t come to save you, but when your interests start to align, the line between enemy and ally get blurred. will you choose to run and leave everything you fought for behind, or will frank’s magnetic pull suck you in to a world far more complicated than you imagined?

contents: slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers, heavy plot action and characters pulled from the comics (i don’t own any of the characters) but all plot is my own!

status: COMPLETE

warnings: this series contains explicit content, canon typical violence and graphic violent imagery, so 18+ only minors dni. this story features elements of sa, in cases of unwanted advances and slight connotations. it is not my intention to, nor will i include explicit sa in any of my stories, however some situations could be read as triggering, so please stay safe!!

chapter one - a glimpse of the sun

chapter two - man in the mirror

chapter three - crossing the finish line

chapter four - a better man than me

chapter five - stitches on ice

chapter six - this is what they pay me for

chapter seven - some kind of human

chapter eight - learning the basics

chapter nine - sink or swim

chapter ten - perfect timing

chapter eleven - eye for an eye

chapter twelve - ray of sunshine

chapter thirteen - threes a crowd

chapter fourteen - body clock

chapter fifteen - domestic affairs

chapter sixteen - talk is cheap

chapter seventeen - back together again

chapter eighteen - your fathers eyes

chapter nineteen - proper representation

chapter twenty - house training

chapter twenty one - push and pull

chapter twenty two - teamwork makes the dreamwork

chapter twenty three - selfish

chapter twenty four - tied down

chapter twenty five - witness statement

chapter twenty six - you bring me home