wolvietxt

[wolvietxt]

probably going to start writing for joel miller soon i’ve just played tlou again after about five years…… send in requests i beg…

[wolvietxt]

can you write something for bucky where after some awkwardness he just straight up admits he wants reader…. or maybe she does? up to you thank you so much , love your writing❤️

here, hope you like it💗💗💗

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ i want you !

↳ bucky barnes x female reader

you’re sitting on the couch with your knees pulled up, cradling a chipped mug between your hands, steam curling up past your cheek. it’s late — later than either of you meant to stay up — but neither of you have moved. neither of you have said a word about heading to bed.

bucky’s across the room. not far, not close. his elbow is braced on the armrest, fingers pressed to his mouth like he’s thinking. or hiding something. the soft light from the kitchen cuts across his face, all shadow and bone. his hair’s tucked behind one ear, a little messy, a little damp. he must’ve showered an hour ago. maybe more. you can still smell his soap from here. warm, cedar and clean linen. it makes your chest tight.

he watches you sometimes when he thinks you won’t notice. quiet glances. slow ones. like he’s memorizing. like he’s not sure how long he’ll be allowed to look.

you notice every time.

you shift your weight, your knee brushing the blanket thrown over your lap. bucky’s eyes flicker down to the movement, then back up. caught again. you give him a small smile, soft and tired. he doesn’t smile back. not because he’s upset — he just looks… stuck.

“you tired?” you ask gently, breaking the quiet.

his voice is low. hoarse. “nah.”

you wait. he doesn’t offer anything else.

the air feels thick between you, but not in a bad way. more like something waiting to happen. something that’s been waiting. you sip your tea and look at the tv, even though nothing’s playing. just the home screen. you haven’t touched the remote in an hour.

he shifts, and you glance at him again. he’s still watching you, eyes softer now. a little worn down. like the edges of a well-loved book.

“you okay?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

he exhales. slow. heavy. his metal fingers twitch on his thigh. “yeah.”

it’s not really an answer, but it’s bucky, so you don’t push. he never says what he’s really feeling until it’s too big to hide.

you wonder if he knows how obvious he is. how your heart stumbles every time he walks into the room. how sometimes, when your hands brush, you think you’ll burn from it. how you fall asleep thinking about the way his voice gets low when he says your name.

you wonder if he feels it too.

his gaze drops to your mug. “that tea?”

you nod. “chamomile. helps me sleep.”

he hums, quiet. “you haven’t touched it much.”

“haven’t really been tired,” you admit.

“me neither.”

there’s another silence, this one heavier than the last. you feel it settle in your chest. maybe it’s now or never.

you look over at him. “can i ask you something?”

he nods. slowly. “course.”

“what’re you always thinking about when you look at me like that?”

he goes still.

his hand falls from his mouth. rests in his lap. you watch the way his throat bobs with a swallow, the way his jaw tenses. he doesn’t answer, not right away.

you don’t take it back. you don’t fill the silence.

finally, he says, “it’s not something i should say out loud.”

“why not?”

he shifts again, leaning forward now. his elbows on his knees, head bowed slightly. he looks tired. he looks like he wants to say something so badly it hurts.

“’cause if i do,” he murmurs, “i won’t be able to stop.”

your heart thuds.

he looks up, and this time, the weight in his eyes knocks the breath from your lungs.

“you ever want something so bad you think maybe you imagined it?” he says. “like… if you even say it out loud, it’ll vanish. or maybe it was never real to begin with.”

you blink slowly. your fingers tighten around the mug.

“yeah,” you whisper.

he nods, eyes never leaving yours. “that’s what it feels like with you.”

your breath catches.

you set the mug down, hands suddenly useless.

bucky’s still watching you, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. to say he got it all wrong. that he crossed a line.

you don’t.

you slide your legs off the couch and stand. slowly, so he can stop you if he wants. he doesn’t. you walk the short distance between you, and he tilts his head up to keep his eyes on you.

you sit beside him. close. close enough your knees brush, close enough you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. his hands are curled into fists.

you reach out and gently unfold one.

his metal fingers are cool against your palm, but they twitch like they’re trying not to grip back.

“you didn’t imagine it,” you whisper. “i feel it too.”

his eyes fall shut like the words knock something loose in him. and when he opens them again, he’s looking at you like you hung the stars. like he’s been starving for this.

he still doesn’t kiss you. he doesn’t even move. just stays still, breathing hard, staring at you like he’s afraid if he blinks you’ll be gone.

you squeeze his hand.

“you can say it,” you whisper. “if you want.”

he swallows again. then, so quiet you almost miss it:

“i want you.”

his voice cracks on the last word. like it’s too full. like it’s been buried too long.

you lean in, your forehead brushing his. his hand tightens in yours.

“then you have me,” you whisper.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, bucky exhales like he can breathe again.

BUCKY BARNES : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @spideysimpossiblegirl

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @hazydespair, @winchestert101

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus, @uncertified-doc, @hits-different-cause-its-you

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @tinyminxie, @tcddszn, @Blu-jays

@chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl, @person-005, @wkhannah

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ chamomile tea !

↳ frank castle x female reader

you don’t hear him come in. the door creaks just a little, but your head stays bowed over the kitchen table, hands loose in your lap. there’s a soft ache behind your eyes that’s been growing all afternoon — nothing big enough to cry about, just one of those long, grey days that settles into your bones and stays there.

the hum of the kettle starts behind you. you blink once, slow. you didn’t ask. didn’t move. didn’t say a word.

but he knows anyway.

he doesn’t speak. never does, really, not when it’s like this. not when you’re worn thin and heavy in that quiet way that doesn’t want to be seen. but still — he sees it. he always does.

a mug appears beside your elbow, pushed close enough for the steam to touch your skin. honey. no lemon. two teabags.

you stare at it for a second too long. the soft golden color, the way it curls at the top from the heat. he’s already stepped back. leaning against the counter, arms crossed, like he didn’t just read your mood down to the last thread.

“thanks,” you say, voice barely above the whistle of the kettle cooling. you wrap your hands around the mug and let the warmth bleed into your fingers. it feels like something unwinding in your chest. slow and careful.

he shrugs like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just reach into you without touching. “long day?”

you nod. that’s all he needs.

he doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what happened. frank’s not the type. he lets the silence sit between you like something alive, something soft. doesn’t fill it with noise or questions or things you’re too tired to answer.

instead, he moves around the kitchen in that quiet, solid way of his — puts away a dish, runs the tap low. doesn’t look at you again, not yet. just stays close enough that you can feel the comfort of him nearby. familiar weight. steady hands.

you sip the tea. it’s perfect. warm and strong, sweet enough to catch on your tongue, like he knew exactly what would make your shoulders drop a little. he did.

you glance at him. his jaw’s tight like always, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he finally meets your gaze. like he’s checking in. like he’s listening without saying it.

“you always make it right,” you murmur. “even the bad-day version.”

he doesn’t smile, not exactly, but the corners of his mouth twitch like they want to. “’course i do.”

your lips quirk, just a little. “you keep a chart or somethin’?”

“just pay attention,” he says. then, a little softer, “that’s all.”

you look down again, to the tea. to the steam still rising. you don’t say it, but it means something — more than a drink, more than the routine of it. it’s him. it’s how he stays close without crowding. how he sees you without making you explain yourself.

“you always know,” you say under your breath. “even when i don’t.”

frank comes closer then, rests his hand against the back of your neck. warm and grounding. his thumb brushes the edge of your hairline, and it makes something in your chest ache in the best kind of way.

“you don’t gotta say anything,” he murmurs. “i’ll still take care of you.”

you lean into his touch. his palm is rough, calloused, but gentle as anything.

“you’re too good at it,” you whisper.

he huffs a small laugh through his nose. “nah. just got good taste in people.”

you smile into your mug.

he leans down, presses a kiss to the top of your head — soft, like he’s sealing in the comfort. “finish your tea, sweetheart.”

“yes, sir.”

his thumb strokes the curve of your neck once before pulling away. he heads for the hallway, probably to grab a blanket, maybe your favorite sweater from the bedroom. something else to tuck around you like protection.

but even if he didn’t — even if it was just the tea and the quiet and the closeness — you’d still feel held. because that’s what frank does. not loud, not showy. just steady. present. always two steps ahead when you need something without ever making you feel like a burden.

you sip again, slower now.

outside, the sun’s dipped past the window. shadows stretch long across the floor, but the kitchen feels warm. golden.

you wrap both hands tighter around the mug and close your eyes.

he always remembers.

FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn, @xanaxiii, @Blu-jays, @chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl

@person-005, @malfoys-demigod, @wkhannah

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

guys i’m struggling with writing soo much at the moment everything i write just feels like. poop. and i’m not really sure what to do because whenever i write anything i read it back and it reads so .. choppy? i don’t know how to explain it 🙄 but i’m like who wrote this ew. i used to CHURN out the fics like literally one a day i was so speedy with it but now i don’t really have that kind of motivation and i’m just hunched over my laptop staring at the two teeny paragraphs i’ve mustered up in an hour🙄🙄🙄

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ lucky !

↳ frank castle x female reader

the key turned like it always did - smooth, quiet, familiar. the door opened, and there you were, standing in the doorway with that same soft smile you gave him every evening.

“hi, frankie,” you said gently, stepping forward, already reaching for him.

he barely got a word out before you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then another one right on his lips. you always did that - like it was the easiest thing in the world to kiss him hello. and maybe it was, because you’d been doing it since the second week he started staying over, like it just made sense.

frank didn’t usually think too hard about things. but tonight, the second your lips touched his, it just… hit him. he stood there for a second longer than usual. didn’t speak. didn’t move past the doorway. just looked at you - your face upturned, your arms sliding around his waist, the faint scent of something on the stove behind you. and something warm settled in his chest.

he wrapped both arms around you, tugged you in close with a quiet grunt, and just held you. no words, no explanation. his hands flattened against your back and he buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like you were home.

you let out a soft laugh. “you okay?”

he nodded against your skin, not pulling away. “mm. better than okay.”

you smiled, relaxing into him as his arms tightened, like he needed to make sure you were real.

“you smell good,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.

“you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

his hands were warm against your back, moving slowly like he was memorizing the feel of you all over again. he kissed your shoulder through your shirt, then the side of your neck, then rested his head there like he could stay just like this for the rest of the night. you didn’t question it. you just stayed quiet, letting him hold you, your fingers brushing through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“missed you today,” you murmured.

“missed you more, sweetheart.”

he shifted slightly and kissed your temple, then your cheek, then down the curve of your jaw - lazy, sweet kisses, like he had all the time in the world. like there was nothing else on his mind but you.

you gave his shirt a little tug. “long day?”

he shook his head. “nah. just… comin’ home to you, that’s all.”

he leaned back a little, just enough to look at you, but not enough to let you go. his eyes scanned your face like he was still trying to take it in. he brushed his thumb across your cheek, smiling softly.

“don’t know how i got so lucky.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile said otherwise. “you say that every night.”

“’cause i mean it every night.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, and let it linger. his fingers curled lightly around your waist, like he never wanted to let go. and honestly? he didn’t. when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes still half-closed, completely relaxed for the first time all day.

“you’re my best part, y’know that?” he murmured. “every damn day.”

you reached up and smoothed your hand down his chest, fingers brushing along the buttons of his shirt. “you’re so sappy tonight.”

“hell yeah, i am.”

you giggled softly, and he swore he could feel it in his ribs. he smiled and kissed you one more time, just because he could.

“alright,” you said gently, rubbing your hands along his back. “dinner’s almost ready. you hungry?”

“starvin’. but i’m not movin’ yet.”

he hugged you tighter, nose brushing your cheek, lips curling into a quiet smile.

“just lemme hold you a minute longer, baby.”

you nodded, cheek against his chest. “okay.”

and so you stayed there, wrapped up in the arms of the man who loved you more than anything, while the world stayed quiet around you. nothing dramatic. nothing complicated. just the simple, solid warmth of being loved by frank castle.

and being his was the softest kind of forever.

🌟FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn, @xanaxiii, @Blu-jays, @chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl

@person-005

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

picking up the pieces

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort, crying, reverse comfort (kinda), not proofread, neighbour!frank, established relationship, petnames summary : frank’s self-deprecating comments finally get to you wc : 2.2k a/n : guys i’m #alive and #thriving don’t worry stop asking me if i’ve died thank you though🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

not when he barely said a word for the first three months you lived next to him. not when you figured out pretty quick that he came home with bruises that didn’t match the kind of work he’d told you he did. not when you’d catch him sitting on the front stoop, covered in sawdust or blood or both, breathing like the air hurt.

but somehow it just… happened.

he came over once because you left a note on his door. hey - package came to mine by mistake. he looked confused when he knocked, like he didn’t think you’d actually write something so simple. you watched him glance at the box, then back at you, and you could tell from the way he cleared his throat that he didn’t know how to say thanks.

after that, he started showing up more.

bringing your mail. checking on the leaky faucet you mentioned offhandedly. standing a little closer each time, like he didn’t want to leave.

then one night, you knocked on his door.

you were crying, and you didn’t say why. just said can i come in? and he nodded, stepping aside without asking anything. he held you all night and didn’t ask a single question. but the next morning, he made coffee and you found out he took his black, no sugar. you told him that was insane and he just said, “you’re insane,” with the ghost of a smile. and from that point on, it was… different.

you kissed him two weeks later. he kissed you like he’d been waiting years.

it’d been eight months since that first night. eight months of quiet dinners, long showers, fingers laced tight under the covers, and frank’s body curled protectively around yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world.

right now, you’re curled up in his lap. it’s raining outside, soft and steady, and frank’s got one hand on your thigh, his thumb dragging slow lines across your skin. the tv’s playing something neither of you are really watching.

he smells like soap. like flannel and heat and something that always makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” you murmur, “you could stand to take a compliment once in a while.”

his thumb stills. “i take ‘em.”

“you deflect them.”

“same thing.”

you glance up at him, turning to rest your cheek against his chest. “i said you were a good man earlier and you said ‘debatable.’ what even is that?”

frank snorts softly. “it’s honesty.”

you make a face, nudge his ribs with your elbow. “you saved that guy last week. the one in the alley? you didn't even know him.”

“guy was gettin’ his ass handed to him by two meth-heads. it ain't that deep.”

you push yourself up a little, looking at him. “yeah, well you didn’t have to get involved. but you always do. because that’s just who you are.”

he looks at you then. just for a beat. his face unreadable.

“…maybe i just like pickin’ fights,” he says finally. there’s a rough edge to his voice, but it’s not angry. more like resigned.

you laugh softly. “okay, tough guy. sure.”

he grunts. “’s the truth.”

you lean in, brushing a kiss to his jaw, then nuzzle into the space under his arm again. “you’re good, frank. whether you believe it or not.”

he mutters, almost to himself, “i’m just a mess, sweetheart. you’re gonna get tired of picking up the pieces.”

you freeze.

it’s not that what he said is cruel. it’s not even new - he’s done this before, poked at himself like he’s just some walking mess. but tonight, it lands different. heavier. sharper.

you don’t answer. just stay still, curled against him, eyes open and fixed on nothing.

frank doesn’t notice at first. his hand moves back to your thigh, slow and steady, but something about your silence must click. eventually, he tilts his head down, squinting at you in the dim light.

“…hey.”

you blink.

“what?” your voice is too soft, too tight.

“you okay?”

“yeah.” you try to smile, to brush it off. but it’s barely there, and your eyes won’t meet his.

frank shifts a little to get a better look at you. the arm around your back pulls you closer, like he’s anchoring you to him. “what’s goin’ on in that head?”

you shake your head. “nothing. just… tired, i guess.”

he studies you for a second, then lifts a hand and brushes your hair gently behind your ear. “you don’t look tired.”

you glance at him for half a second before looking away again. it’s too much. he’s too much.

because he’s here. breathing and warm and solid beside you. and somehow, even after everything, he still doesn’t understand what it means when you look at him and say you’re good.

you press your face into his shoulder like you can hide there.

but the tears are already coming.

you try to turn your face further away, but you’re curled toward him, wrapped up in him - there’s nowhere to go. your hand comes up to your cheek instinctively, wiping the first tear before he can see, but you know he does.

you feel his whole body shift slightly.

“baby,” he says, low. confused.

you shake your head again, voice trembling. “it’s nothing.”

he leans forward just a bit, trying to see your face. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i swear - i just…” your throat closes up. you press your lips together and try to breathe through your nose, but it doesn’t work. your shoulders shake. “god, i don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

his hand cups your jaw suddenly, tilting your face gently toward him.

“hey,” he says again, firmer. “sweetheart. look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are glassy, lashes wet, cheeks red. you feel stupid. overly sensitive. like you’ve just ruined the softest moment with your own mess.

but he’s holding your face like you’re glass. like you’re made of something precious.

you blink up at him and your voice breaks.

“i just - i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

frank’s lips part slightly. he doesn’t speak. his thumb brushes under your eye, catching the tear that slips down.

you exhale shakily, a little embarrassed now that it’s all out in the open.

“you say stuff like that,” you whisper, “like you’re some kind of monster. like you’re not good. and it just - it kills me. because you’re… you’re everything to me. you know that?”

his brows furrow. he looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“…i don’t - ”

“i know you’ve been through hell. i know you think all that stuff ruined you. but it didn’t. not to me.” you swallow hard. “you love me like no one ever has. you take care of me. you make me feel safe. like i can breathe.”

your voice cracks again and frank just moves, pulling you into his lap before you can say another word.

he wraps both arms around you and holds you tight against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head like you might fall apart if he lets go.

“shh, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “c’mere. i got you.”

you bury your face into his neck and let yourself cry, finally giving in. it’s not loud. just quiet, broken little gasps against his skin as your fingers clutch the back of his shirt.

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t say anything else for a long time.

just rocks you slightly, thumb tracing slow circles into your spine.

when your breathing finally evens out, he shifts just enough to look down at you. you don’t pull back. you stay pressed to him, arms tight around his waist.

“…you sure you ain’t got me mixed up with somebody else?” he says quietly.

you lift your head, watery eyes searching his face. “frank,” you whine.

he gives a soft sigh, like he already knows what you’re about to say but needed to hear it anyway.

“you’re mine,” you whisper. “you’re so good to me. you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to stay.”

he cups your face again and kisses your forehead. not rushed. not distracting. just gentle, grounding. and then another kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your mouth - slow and soft and deep.

when he finally pulls back, he’s looking at you like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to believe it.

“you ain’t goin’ anywhere either,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod. your hand slides up to rest on the back of his neck. “i’m right here.”

“yeah you are.”

he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

and for a long time, the only sound in the room is the rain outside and the soft hum of his breath against your skin.

the rain’s stopped by morning. the quiet hum of the house is almost peaceful, except for the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen and the distant chirp of birds outside the window. you’re curled up in the same spot you were last night, still wrapped in the warmth of frank’s body. the bed’s slightly colder now where his body had been, but you feel tethered to him in a way that’s grounding, safe.

he’s already up when you open your eyes, the soft scrape of the kitchen chair against the floor letting you know he's busy. you don’t rush to get up, letting yourself linger in the comfort of the bed, still feeling the traces of his arms around you. the scent of coffee wafts into the room, pulling you from your hazy morning thoughts.

frank appears in the doorway a few moments later, coffee in hand. his hair’s a little tousled, and he’s wearing that worn, grey t-shirt of his you love. the sight of him makes your heart stutter in a way you still haven’t gotten used to. 

he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his gaze soft and steady as it meets yours. there’s a quiet understanding between you, something built from the words left unsaid last night, from the vulnerability you shared. there’s a gentleness to his presence now, like he’s giving you space to breathe without making you feel like you have to speak.

after a moment, he walks over and sets the coffee down on the nightstand, then sits down next to you, the bed creaking under his weight.

you shift slightly, leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like everything, like the world is aligning in these quiet moments. there’s a peace here, one that’s fragile but steady.

he picks up his mug, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “ain’t used to somebody cryin’ over me and stickin’ around,” he mutters, voice low. the words aren’t heavy, but they’re raw - like he’s still figuring out what it means for someone to care that much.

you don’t answer right away, just let yourself settle deeper into his side, the warmth of his body grounding you, making everything feel a little less sharp. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek, the weight of his arm around your shoulders.

finally, you speak, your voice soft but steady. “you don’t have to get used to it. i’m not going anywhere.” 

his hand brushes against your hair, gentle and comforting, before he lets it rest on your shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles. “yeah?” he asks, his voice almost tentative, like he’s still unsure if this is real.

“yeah,” you whisper, barely more than a breath. “i’m here. always.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you don’t need to. the quiet fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a blanket. it’s comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel heavy, but full of understanding. full of trust.

you finally pull back just enough to look at him, meeting his gaze. there’s a softness in his eyes now, a flicker of something you haven’t seen before - something like hope, quiet but steady.

he looks at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if he can believe it. then he sighs, almost to himself, and leans down to kiss the top of your head, slow and tender.

the rain’s long gone, and outside, the sky’s starting to clear, the sun creeping in. but in here, in this quiet moment with him, everything feels like it’s finally falling into place.

you feel his breath against your skin as he holds you, his arms strong but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go. but you don’t need to be held that tight, not anymore. you’re grounded now, by him, by this quiet, simple love.

the morning moves slowly, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe, really breathe, without the weight of everything else hanging over you. with frank, it’s different.

🛍️FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

not sure if you’ve taken them yet but good luck on your exams!!

HI thank u so mcuh omg, haven’t had them yet but i’ve got them in like two weeks💔

[wolvietxt]

could you do baking wt old man!logan hehe

LOGAN huffs, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, watching you with that usual mix of amusement and skepticism. "ya sure ya know what you're doin'?"

"yes, logan," you sigh, exaggerating your patience as you carefully measure out the flour. "baking is all about precision."

he snorts. you roll your eyes but keep going, adding sugar, salt, and baking powder to the bowl. logan stays close, occasionally sneaking little tastes of ingredients when he thinks you’re not looking. when you catch him dipping a finger into the sugar, you swat at his hand. "logan!"

he smirks, completely unapologetic. "what? had to make sure it wasn’t salt."

you shake your head, biting back a smile, and grab the eggs. you crack one confidently over the bowl - only for half the shell to fall in.

you freeze. logan does not. he laughs, low and warm, the sound rumbling from his chest as he nudges your shoulder. "so much for precision, huh?"

"oh, shut up," you mumble, fishing out the eggshell while he watches, still grinning.

"c’mon, lemme try," he says, reaching for an egg. you move aside, watching as he cracks it against the counter a little too hard. the yolk slips between his fingers before he can drop it in the bowl.

logan blinks down at his hand. "well, hell."

this time, it’s you laughing. "so much for ‘just mixin’ stuff,’ huh?"

he gives you a look but wipes his hand on a towel, shaking his head. "shoulda seen that comin’."

grinning, you grab the milk and start to pour, but your aim is off, and suddenly, there’s way too much in the bowl.

logan reacts fast, reaching around you, one big hand covering yours as he steadies the carton. "easy there, darlin’," he murmurs, voice softer now.

his other hand settles lightly at your waist, grounding you, warm and steady. your fingers brush, and for a second, neither of you moves.

"guess we're wingin’ it after all," you say, glancing up at him.

logan smirks, his grip on your hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. "damn right."

he finally lets go, but not before giving your hip a gentle squeeze. "reckon we’ll survive if it turns out terrible."

"well, you will," you tease. "adamantium stomach and all."

"damn right," he mutters, but there's a fondness in his voice now, one he doesn’t bother to hide.

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen, @tezooks

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

@northerngalxy, @hits-different-cause-its-you, @spideysimpossiblegirl

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

hello i know that i’ve been a little inactive but i just wanted to say i have a few things in the drafts but they just need editing, if i can bring myself to do some today then i def will :3

[wolvietxt]

sorry this was like half serious half not

does anybody know💔 how to quit smoking💔

[wolvietxt]

does anybody know💔 how to quit smoking💔

[wolvietxt]

I just need to tell you, you write Frank so realistically it makes me feel he's actually said those things. I wish I could make all sorts of different accounts just to hype up and like all these beautiful stories you write. I squealed when you wrote about Frank in a neighbor context. Just something about that yearning, that watching from afar and then finally meeting really hits the spot so thank you 🥰🥰❤️

omg this is the sweetest thank you so much for this☹️ i love writing for frank, especially neighbour!frank he’s so cute :3

[wolvietxt]

Hello jay how are you doing !! 🌟🌟

hello omg i am doing OKAY! not been writing as much recently (code for haven’t written anything i’ve been happy with) so i’m sorry about that. but yes!! i’m doing so good actually, uni is still kicking my ass but i’m going out for drinks with some friends later so i’m happy 🎉

[wolvietxt]

Hey❤️ For your neighbour frank can i please request a fic where frank eats reader’s leftovers? Maybe she cooks too much or makes some extra for him? Thank you, love your frank fics!

hello, it’s here, hope you like it!

[wolvietxt]

𝓵eftovers.

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : fluff, awkwardness, neighbour!frank, food mentions, reader fresh out of uni/college, age gap summary : frank isn’t used to having neighbors who care, but when you start bringing him leftovers because "it’s just too much for one person," he finds himself waiting by the door around dinnertime. wc : 1.6k

moving into your new apartment felt like a fresh start. you’d just finished uni, still figuring things out, but for now, settling into a quiet building with a decent view felt like enough. the place was small, cozy, and just right for you. you had a few neighbours, but nobody really bothered you for the most part, whoever lived upstairs occasionally throwing little parties.

there was an apartment directly opposite you but the only thing you really noticed about your next door neighbor was that he kept to himself. big guy, always in dark clothes, always looked like he had something heavy on his mind. you met him officially a few days in. you’d just come back from a grocery run, bags balanced on your arms, fumbling for your keys when your grip slipped. a can rolled out, bouncing against the hallway floor.

before you could grab it, a hand - scarred, rough - scooped it up.

"here," he said, voice deep, like he wasn’t used to speaking much.

you blinked up at him. up, because he was tall, broad, with dark hair and tired eyes.

"thanks," you said with a smile, taking the can back. "you live next door, right?"

he hesitated, then nodded.

"i’m frank."

"nice to meet you, frank. i’m y/n." you told him your name, shifting the weight of your bags. "i’d shake your hand, but, well - " you lifted an elbow, gesturing to your full arms.

the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like a smile. almost.

"need help?"

"i got it, but thanks," you said, bumping your hip against your door to nudge it open. "see you around?"

he gave another small nod before heading into his own place.

it became routine after that. you’d pass him in the hall, offer a smile, and sometimes he’d give a quiet "hey" back. not much, but enough that you figured he was just the reserved type.

then one night, you made too much food. way too much.

you’d been testing a new recipe, caught up in the process, and suddenly you had enough to feed four people. maybe five. you thought about saving it for later, but then you remembered frank.

he lived alone, right? maybe he’d appreciate a home-cooked meal.

before you could second-guess yourself, you packed up a container, grabbed a fork, and stepped into the hall. you knocked once, then again.

there was a long pause before the door opened. frank stood there, looking at you like he wasn’t sure what to do with the sight of you standing there with a tupperware in your hands.

"hey," you said brightly. "i made too much food. thought you might want some?"

his brows pulled together, like no one had ever done this for him in a long while.

"you didn’t have to do that," he said gruffly, but he didn’t close the door.

"i know," you said. "but it’s way too much for me, and i hate wasting food." you said sheepishly.

he looked at the container, then back at you.

"yeah," he said finally, taking it. "thanks."

you beamed. "no problem.”

he shut the door, and you went back to your place, not expecting much from it. but the next evening, when you came home, you saw the container left outside your door. clean. like he’d made sure to wash it before giving it back.

it kept happening.

at first, it was just every now and then. when you had too much pasta, too many leftovers from trying a new dish. but soon, it turned into a bit of a habit.

every couple of nights, you’d knock on frank’s door, offer him whatever you’d made, and he’d take it. at first, he still looked a little suspicious of the whole thing, but eventually, he stopped hesitating before accepting.

he never outright asked for it, never said much about it, but you started noticing little things.

like how his door would open a little quicker each time you knocked. like how, if you were even five minutes later than usual, you could sometimes hear movement from inside - like he’d been waiting.

and then, one night, when you handed him a container, he cleared his throat.

"you, uh… you don’t gotta keep doin’ this," he said, voice low, almost hesitant.

"i want to," you said simply.

he looked at you for a long moment.

then, so soft you almost didn’t hear it - 

"it’s good. the food."

your chest warmed. "yeah?"

he gave a single nod.

you grinned. "i’ll take that as a compliment."

he shook his head, but there was something almost fond in his expression.

"yeah," he murmured. "suppose you should."

the next time you knocked on frank’s door, he opened it almost immediately, like he’d been standing right by it. there was something different in his expression this time - not the usual hesitance, not the same unreadable look. he seemed like he had something on his mind, but for a moment, he just stood there, glancing between you and the container in your hands.

“you eaten yet?” he asked, voice rough, almost like he wasn’t sure he should be saying the words.

it took you a second to process that. you blinked up at him. “oh - no, not yet.”

he shifted his weight, looking at the container, then back at you. “stay. eat with me.”

you hadn’t expected that. he never let on that he wanted more than the quick exchanges at the door, never made you think he’d want company. but now, he was standing there, offering something more than just a quiet ‘thanks.’

you smiled. “yeah. i’d like that.”

he stepped back, letting you in, and you got your first real look at his apartment. it was neat, but sparse. like he didn’t keep much around unless it had a purpose. the table had some mail stacked on it, a few books, nothing personal. the couch looked barely used. the kitchen was well-kept but plain - functional, not homey.

“you cook much?” you asked, setting the container down as he grabbed a couple of plates.

“sometimes,” he said, grabbing utensils. “nothin’ fancy. just enough to get by.”

you hummed, opening the container and splitting the food between the plates. “that explains why you keep taking my leftovers.”

he let out a quiet huff - almost a laugh, but not quite. “yeah. guess so.”

you sat across from each other at the small table. he was quiet as he took the first bite, but you watched the way his shoulders eased, just a little, like he was letting himself enjoy it.

“good?” you asked.

he nodded, chewing before answering. “real good.”

you smiled, taking a bite yourself. for a moment, there was only the quiet sound of utensils against plates. but it wasn’t awkward. it felt easy. comfortable. like you’d been doing this for longer than just tonight.

“so,” you said, leaning forward a little, “what do you do? when you’re not accepting free meals from me.”

he smirked slightly, shaking his head. “not much worth talkin’ about.”

“come on,” you nudged. “humor me.”

he sighed, setting his fork down for a moment. “used to be in the marines. now… just work with my hands. fixing things. keeping busy.”

you tilted your head. “is that why you look so serious all the time?”

his brows lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to just say it outright. then he shook his head again, looking down at his plate. “guess so.”

“you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you said, voice softer now.

he glanced up at you. “yeah. i know.”

you didn’t push, didn’t ask anything else. instead, you let the conversation shift, let things settle into something lighter. you told him about your classes, about finishing uni and not knowing exactly what came next. he listened, really listened, like he wasn’t just being polite, like he actually cared.

somewhere in the middle of it, you noticed he was looking at you differently. not in a way that made you uneasy, but in a way that made your stomach flip. like he wasn’t used to this - someone sitting across from him, talking, laughing, sharing a meal. like he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here, but he didn’t want it to end.

the food disappeared faster than you thought it would. when your plate was empty, you sat back with a content sigh. “okay. you’re definitely letting me cook for you again.”

his lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk. “that right?”

“yep.” you leaned on the table. “i mean, unless you didn’t like it.”

he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “nah. wasn’t that.”

“good.” you grinned. “then it’s settled.”

he didn’t argue. didn’t brush it off. just looked at you, something warm and unreadable in his dark eyes. something that made your breath catch for just a second.

“yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “guess it is.”

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

hello i found your writings last night and i am having a wonderful (/s) trauma moment and wondering if you could write a Wolverine helping a gn!reader get out of flashbacks, hallucinations, and intrusive thoughts?

LOGAN’S voice cuts through the static.

it’s the first thing that reaches you, even before the sensation of the floor beneath you, the faint chill of the air against your skin. his voice is rough, edged with something almost like worry, but steady. grounding.

“hey.” firm, but not harsh. “you with me?”

you don’t know.

everything feels distant, like you’re watching yourself from the outside. the room isn’t right. too bright, too sharp at the edges. the walls feel like they’re pressing in, the space between past and present unraveling thread by thread.

you know this feeling. you’ve been here before - stuck, drowning in a tide of memories that aren’t just memories. they’re more than that. too vivid, too real. ghosts of a past that never learned to stay dead.

your breath comes too fast, too shallow. you try to pull yourself out, but the weight of it is suffocating.

then there’s pressure against your hand. not harsh. solid. warm.

logan.

you don’t have to look to know it’s him. you know the way he moves, the way he smells - earthy, like leather and pine, a scent that’s become familiar, safe. the calluses on his fingertips catch slightly against your skin as he shifts his grip, holding on tight but not too tight. just enough to remind you that you’re here. now. not then.

“breathe,” he says, voice low and even. “focus on me.”

you try. but the past is still there, whispering in the back of your mind. you can feel the phantom press of restraints against your wrists, the hum of fluorescent lights, the distant echoes of voices you’d rather forget. your throat tightens.

logan doesn’t let go. doesn’t push. just stays, waiting.

he’s been through this with you before.

the first time, you’d tried to hide it. brushed it off, shoved it down, pretended everything was fine even when your hands were shaking and your head felt like it wasn’t your own. logan hadn’t said anything at first - just watched, sharp eyes catching the cracks in your armor. and when it had finally gotten too much, when you’d hit your breaking point, he’d been there. not prying, not demanding answers, just… there.

you don’t know how he always seems to know what you need, even when you don’t. but he does.

“c’mon,” he says now, giving your hand the slightest squeeze. “deep breath.”

you inhale, shaky, unsteady. exhale. the world tilts, but this time, it’s back toward solid ground. you focus on the feeling of his hand in yours. the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes with you. the sound of his voice - steady, certain, like he never once doubts that you’ll pull through this.

it’s enough. not all at once, not completely. but enough. the room settles. your pulse slows. the walls stop feeling like they’re closing in.

logan watches you, waiting. giving you the space to come back at your own pace.

when you finally nod, just a little, his grip doesn’t loosen. not yet.

“you alright?”

you swallow, nodding again. you don’t trust your voice yet.

logan studies you, his eyes softer now, but still sharp, still searching for any cracks. then, with a small huff, he shifts, pulling you closer - not quite a hug, but almost, his shoulder solid against yours.

“you need anything?”

you shake your head.

right now, this - him, the quiet steadiness of his presence - is enough.

logan doesn’t move. doesn’t say anything else. he just stays. and for once, the past feels a little farther away.

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen, @tezooks

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

@northerngalxy, @hits-different-cause-its-you, @spideysimpossiblegirl

taglist form linked in pinned post :3