⌖

[juniebbernthal]

𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔢𝔵𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔢 𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔲𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰...

.⋆♱ 𝔧𝔲𝔫𝔢𝔞 .ᐟ ✮ ────

23. she/her. mrs castle. audioslave. black coffee two sugars. lucky number seven. leo sun. dolce & gabbana light blue. square nails. marvel. undercover bucky lover.

mini masterlist. | moonlighting as @juniebjonesin.

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔴 𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔞𝔱𝔢.

[juniebbernthal]

𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬...

── comes to you to get patched up despite your attitude and his

♱ Frank shows up at your apartment looking like hell and somehow still has the nerve to act annoyed when you drag him inside by the sleeve of his jacket.

“I’m fine.” “You’re bleeding on my floor.” “Floor’ll survive.”

♱ You swear under your breath the entire time you shove him into a kitchen chair, digging through cabinets for gauze and antiseptic while he watches you with that infuriatingly calm expression.

♱ It’s always like this between you two — sharp words, tense silences, pretending neither of you care more than you should. Meanwhile Frank looks for your car in every parking lot he passes and you haven’t deleted his number in two years.

♱ You come back with supplies only to find him struggling to unscrew the cap on the antiseptic bottle, blood drying across his knuckles. His hand is shaking badly enough the bottle rattles and your frustration evaporates instantly beneath a wave of worry.

“You can’t even open the bottle without shaking,” you mutter quietly. Frank exhales through his nose, stubborn even now. “M’workin’ on it.”

"Frank." “So get your ass over here and open them for me then.”

♱ The words are gruff, but there’s something exhausted underneath them. Something dangerously close to trust. You walk over without another word, standing between his knees to take the bottle from his hands.

♱ Frank goes still the second you’re that close.

♱ You can feel his eyes on you while you twist the cap open carefully, your fingers brushing against his. And then, like the fight finally drains out of him all at once, Frank leans forward, pressing his forehead against your stomach.

♱ The movement is so sudden and quiet it steals the breath from your lungs. Frank Castle, who's always all rough edges and anger and violence, just folds into you like he’s too tired to hold himself upright anymore.

♱ Your hands hover for only a second before settling carefully into his hair. He lets out a shaky breath against you.

♱ “Frank…” you whisper.

♱ His arms slide around your waist slowly, cautiously, like he expects you to push him away. You never do. He’s still covered in blood. There’s dirt smeared along his jaw, bruises forming beneath his eyes, dried crimson staining the collar of his shirt.

♱ You don’t care. All that matters is that he’s here, alive and with you. You lean down and press a soft kiss to his crown, running your fingers down the nape of his neck.

♱ Frank turns his face slightly into your stomach, holding onto you tighter for one brief second before he catches himself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters hoarsely. “Like what?” “Like you’re worried.”

♱ You almost laugh because you’re way past worried at this point.

♱ “You showed up half-dead at my door,” you say softly, fingers still moving through his hair. “What did you expect?”

♱ Frank doesn’t answer.

♱ But he melts further into you anyway.

♱ The tension between you changes after you finish patching him up, less biting hostility, more lingering touches. More quiet moments where neither of you pretend this is just obligation anymore. It hasn't been for a long time.

── once again saw this prompt floating on pinterest and i just couldnt not do it with frank i love him your honor

© juniebbernthal 2026

[metal-armed-muse]

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐊 | 18+

Dating a lawyer is bad. Dating Matt Murdock is worse. 

You wish it was for normal lawyer reasons, like oh no, he argues too well, or oh no, he remembers every single thing you've ever said, or oh no, you can't win a fight because he'll calmly ask one question and suddenly you're hearing yourself out loud and realising maybe the point was stupid. Which is already annoying, by the way. Very annoying. Nobody is saying that part is fine.

But let's face it, that's not even the worst part.

Matt actually knows you're annoyed before you know you're annoyed.

Like you'll be sitting there, perfectly fine, living your life. Maybe washing a mug a little harder than usual, and he'll be behind you going, "what happened?" You'll just say, "nothing happened," because nothing has happened yet. You haven't even decided if something happened. You are still in the browsing stage of being irritated. And he'll just stand there, all soft voice and stupid face and say, "your breathing changed."

Jail. Immediately jail.

Privacy is a concept other couples get to have. You? No. Your body betrays you for sport, and unfortunately Matt has the hearing, smell, and nerve to know every single time.

You didn't realise how often you get turned on until you started dating a man who can hear your pulse do a backflip because he rolled his sleeves up while making pasta. He was COOKING. That's all he did. Garlic, sauce, shirt slightly tight on his back, forearms out. Suddenly you're sitting there like a pervert with a glass of water.

The worst part? He doesn't even turn around at first. He'll keep stirring the sauce, head tilted, smiling to himself like an absolute bastard. Then he'll go, "you alright over there?" Like he doesn't already know. 

You'll say, "fine." Obviously, because you can't simply show your cards (even though he knows all your cards)

He'll hum. Just hum. Like he's heard enough.

Sometimes he lets it sit there too. He'll plate the food, pour wine, sit across from you like a normal boyfriend. But his ankle? It hooks around yours under the table. And you're already thinking, Matthew, don't do this near carbohydrates. 

And the cooking thing became a Thing, by the way. He'll be next to you on bed, hand between your legs because let's face it, that man cannot keep his hands to himself. When he feels how soaked you are around him, he'll press his mouth to your jaw and go, "this all from watching me cook?" You'd want to die. But his hand is between your legs and his cock is hard against your thigh, so death can wait.

Fighting is somehow worse, which is like betrayal from your own body.

Because you'll be genuinely mad. Like fully correct, in your opinion. Pacing around, saying things with evidence, maybe even pointing at him a little because sometimes a finger needs to be involved. And then his jaw gets tight and his voice goes low, and your body immediately forgets the cause.

Feminism? Where?

He'll notice mid-fight too. You'll be halfway through a sentence, something very valid about how he cannot just disappear into Hell's Kitchen bleeding and expect you to be normal about it. Then he'll stop listening. Like not stop stop, he's listening to something else. He's compartmentalising listening. Your pulse. Your breath. The way your thighs shifted. Whatever. Disgusting surveillance state of a man.

Then he'll come closer, and say, "you can keep arguing with me," while his fingers slip under your waistband like he isn't the worst person alive, "but this is making it very hard to believe you."

Sometimes you still try to argue, which is embarrassing for everyone involved. Mostly you. You'd be stuttering, trying to finish a point while he has two fingers sliding through your folds, and mouth near your ear, like he's waiting for you to confess. Absolute lawyer behavior.

Sometimes he makes you say it too. That's the thing. He'll have you right there, hips lifting into his hand, your whole argument dead on the floor, and he'll ask, "what got you like this?" Like he needs it entered into record. And when you refuse, he'll slow down. You wish he'd stop. But no, he's just slowing down. Enough to get you you desperate. Leaving all dignity on the floor along with your skirt, you'll mutter, "your stupid voice," and he kisses your temple like he's comforting you through a problem he caused.

The court thing was the worst one though. You still haven't emotionally recovered from that. 

You went to watch him because it seemed cute. Supportive girlfriend behavior. Very adult. You had coffee, you wore something decent, you sat there thinking this would be sweet, like look at him doing his job, look at my boyfriend being smart and competent.

No.

Bad idea.

He stood there in that suit, calm as anything, voice sharp but polite, sounding gentle while absolutely ruining someone's argument, and your body decided this was porn. Porn you hear me? You didn't even realise you were squeezing your thighs together, but he did. 

Like the perfect boyfriend, he kissed you outside the courthouse, and then paused like a maniac. "During closing arguments?" He asked so softly, like he was trying not to laugh. 

Traffic was right fucking there. You could have walked into it. 

He brought it up for three days. Three full days. "I thought my opening statement was stronger." "Was it the objection?" "Should I wear that tie more often?" Shut up, Matthew. Shut up before you make it worse.

Because he can tell when you're lying, surprises are nearly impossible. You once tried to hide a birthday gift in your closet and he walked in, paused, smiled a little, and said, "is that for me?" You nearly threw the gift at his head.

And he had the nerve to act innocent after. "What?" Like he hadn't just ruined the whole operation. You had wrapped it. You had hidden it under sweaters. There was a tote bag involved. Effort had been made. Did he actually sniff out wrapping paper?

Dating Matt is basically losing every normal human advantage. You can't lie. Can't hide gifts. Can't be horny in peace. Can't even fight without your body betraying the cause.

And the really annoying part is he's sweet about it after. Which almost makes it worse. He'll kiss your forehead after being unbearable. He'll pull you close after making you admit you got wet because he made pasta. He'll plant a soft kiss to your mouth like he didn't just read you fully. 

So yeah, dating a lawyer is bad. But dating Matt Murdock is worse.

and i wish this was my most worrying concern.

[juniebbernthal]

OHHHHH YEAHHHHH TRIPLE PLATINUMMMM WORLD RECORD IN THIS HOUSE

oh matty how i missed you so

[lovelybucky1]

frank castle is the king of pet names. he uses every one in the book, almost excessively.

“you look gorgeous in that outfit, sweetheart. gonna have to beat off all the guys who stare at you.”

“you’re bein’ a real pain in my ass today, princess. do i need to give you an attitude adjustment or something?”

“cookin’ me dinner, angel? christ, how did i get so lucky?”

“i love seein’ you in my clothes, dollface. love when they smell like you.”

“how was your day, honey? what’d you get up to while i was gone?”

“hey sugar, you mind bringin’ me another cup of coffee?”

“morning, sunshine. thought you were gonna sleep all day. was wonderin’ if i was gonna have to come rescue you.”

“slow down, pumpkin, you’re gonna tire yourself out before we start. what’s the rush for?”

“you’re my baby, right? yeah, yeah you are. so sweet, just for me.”

“i put away the laundry and did the dishes for you, ma’am. anything else on your honey-do list, or can i watch the game?”

“look at you, darlin’. as pretty as the day i met you.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

frank "I know you can, but let me help you" castle

fem reader, 1359 words. frank with a hyper independent reader that’s often reluctant to accept his help. he aims to serve

You're excessively independent, maybe to a fault. You like to do things for yourself, by yourself — that's just the way you are. You've become so used to doing everything on your own, that when Frank came into the picture, you found yourself struggling to adjust to this new and foreign dynamic. It had become rather difficult to calibrate yourself to such a vastly polar change.

Frank's not much good with expressing himself. Words of earnest emotion are tricky for him, he doesn't like to do it. He's not someone that can vocally communicate feelings, someone that can say exactly what they're thinking in that regard. He much prefers to show it, prove it by doing things — doing things for you so that you know what he often fails to convey.

He knows you to be someone that values independency. And while he doesn't try to change that per say, he does try to alter it, doing so subtly and gradually so as to get you to let up just a little bit of your self-appointed control.

It was a bit of a task: to find a solution that allows him to prove his love by serving you, while somehow managing to uphold the sense of independence you're so clearly caught up on. It was about a compromise, helping you without diminishing you. 

He learnt that you respond particularly well to a phrase, a simple little saying that permits his help: "I know you can, but let me help you," or alternating strains of it, depending on where he sees fit. But the premise of it remains the same each time: you're capable, but you shouldn't always have to be.

It varies, when and where he says those few little words to you. Often, it's when he's trying to be chivalrous and gentlemanly. Though, trying is hardly the word, he doesn't need to do that — it's natural to him, only you're not always so typically keen on it. 

Like that one time when he came home to you groaning and mumbling curses from the bedroom; he thought the worst of it, naturally. And when he stepped in with his gun drawn, he immediately lowers it — the sight of you sitting on the floor amongst furniture parts the reason for retracting his weapon. You're on the floor amongst pieces of wood, screws and instructional papers, all of which scattered around in what he imagines to be from a moments frustration.

"What you got there?" he had said, voice sort of amused from his placement in the doorframe. 

"It's supposed to be a dresser," you said, eyes closed so as to avoid the pile of illogical mess surrounding you. You received the incorrect parts, you were sure of it. 

"Never would'a thought that, baby," he teased, in which he recognised instantly to be a mistake. You weren't in the mood for that. "Jus' playin' with you, sweetheart," he said as he stepped into your shared bedroom, pushing his sleeves up. "Lemme give it a go."

"I can do it," you reached for the instructions on the floor, hindering him from his help. "I just need a minute."

"Yeah baby, I know," he nodded, sitting on his knees across from you. 

"I can do it," you repeated, putting particular emphasis on your ability to see this project through. 

"Didn't say'ya couldn't," he picks up a piece of wood, matching it with another almost immediately. "What?" he said, meeting your eyes that were boring into his — he couldn't be serious, he did that so quickly. "You gon' give me that or you gon' keep being a goddamn pain in my ass?" he eyed up the instructions, one upping your defensive tries with gentle abrasion.

You tightened your hold on the directions, firming your ground. "The second." 

He stood with his usual groan, heading for the door when you stop him with repeated calls of his name.

"Yeah that's what I thought," he turned back and took the instructions from your outward, extended hold. He stepped over the piles of wood planks and metal screws to meet you on your side this time. He paused and as he lowered himself down onto his knees again, he pressed a kiss on your hairline. "Jus' try'na help you, baby. Stop givin' me a hard time."

Or when he tries to carry your shopping bags, much less when he actually tries to pay for it. 

Often, he joins you when you go shopping, keeping you company —keeping you safe— for when you flick through rails of clothes or skim shelves of collectibles. He'd tag along, stalking behind you almost as he watches you pick through items that momentarily catch your attention. He would always vocally question whether the hangers of clothes were too heavy to be lugging around or if the multiple little items in your hands were too awkward to hold, but you'd always decline his offers, pretending you need to have them all in your hand so you can make up your mind on them. And as that almost never works, he'd instead be preemptively adding up the prices in his head, trying to figure out the total so he can have the cash ready by the time you get served.

He would intervene, sticking out a handful of cash to the worker, stern inflexible look on his face. Of course, they wouldn't ignore his tries, not with an expression like that. They'd take his money and ring you up, stuffing the receipt in the bag. And when you'd try to take the bag, he'd get in there first; large hand taking up all space of the handle. 

You'd walk towards the exit together, your mouth forcibly zipped until you reach a place of somewhat quiet outside the store. You hand would be pandering his, attempting to take the bags from his hold. 

"Cut it out, these're my things. Jus' bought 'em," he'd pull himself away, small smirk on his face. 

"Frank," you'd giggle faintly, closing the distance as you further your tries. "Come on." 

"Nah," he'd shake his head, slipping his other, free arm behind you, hand on the small of your back as he leads you away from the store. "You're jus' gon' say 'thank you', and that's it, yeah? No more 'bout it."

"Can I at least pay towards it?"

"Nah, you gotta let me do sum' nice and be quiet 'bout it," he would say, pulling you into his side so he can press a kiss to your temple.

"I don't like that."

"Yeah, I know, baby," he'd chuckle. "You're too goddamn proud."

And sometimes, when you're feelings particularly weak with sickness and internal grime, he'd think you to finally be infirm enough to allow his help without so much as a discourse or disagreement. Only that's not true, even defeatedly laid in bed under a mountain of blankets, you'd still try to pretend that you can take care of yourself. Which of course, isn't the slightest bit true. 

You would try to move about, hobbling out of the bedroom only to be stopped by a wall —Frank— there's no other way to describe him. He'd turn you around, eyes stern as he gestures you back to bed. He'd shake his head, arms folded so as to broaden himself further. 

"Ain't happenin'," he'd say, almost like a tut. "Bed," he would have said, word simple and effective — direct. 

You wouldn't be completely willing to accept, but you'd be a little more forthcoming than usual: a small mumbled comment under your breath being your only form of dispute before you drop yourself back into bed. He'd then walk over, footsteps heavy as he meets you on your side of your shared bed. 

"Jus' lemme take care of you, yeah?" he'd comment, tucking you in the covers. "Makin' it so goddamn difficult," he would have brushed his knuckles over your cheek, caressing the side of your face with as light a touch as he could muster. 

With most, Frank's patience runs thin, but with you, he'll repeat himself forever if it would mean he can help take care of you.

… his little miss independent.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

was from my frank frenzy the other week where all i wrote was frank frank frank. got a couple more so good luck

[sexonastickstan]

Me enjoying the Kastle hallucination while the rest of the special is everything going to shit

[loveyazy]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN (2025-?) 2.08 | The Southern Cross

[xxdrixx]

@darlingshane ONE LAST KILL COUNTDOWN | Day 28: "Favourite quote" My fav Frank quotes

[juniebbernthal]

Do you write for other characters, or just Matt and Frank :O?

hello queen 🤩 i have a bucky barnes account where i write for bucky, steve rogers and some stucky! this account is mainly for frank and matt (maybe dex)

my bucky account is @juniebjonesin

── xoxo 💋

[juniebbernthal]

𝔢𝔵𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰...

── saying goodbye to frank the first time was hard, saying it the second...

♱ The first time you see Frank again after years apart, it’s in the worst possible setting — some dingy little convenience store at one in the morning, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead while he stands there bleeding through a gray thermal like it’s nothing.

♱ You recognize each other instantly.

♱ “Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath.

♱ Frank looks just as stunned, though he hides it better. Older now. More worn around the edges. But his eyes still do that same thing when they land on you, soften before he can stop them.

♱ You’re the first one to speak. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

♱ His mouth twitches faintly. “Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?”

♱ “I haven’t decided yet.”

♱ Frank still remembers every tiny thing about you. How you take your coffee. Which shoulder you sleep on. The way you go quiet instead of loud when you’re really upset.

♱ It makes getting over him impossible because he looks at you like no time has passed at all.

♱ The breakup wasn’t explosive. That’s what made it worse. Just two people loving each other at the wrong time while Frank spiraled deeper into violence and isolation until you couldn’t follow him anymore.

♱ He still carries guilt about it every single day.

♱ Frank absolutely becomes softer around you without realizing it. His voice drops lower. His posture loosens. He lets you stand too close. Lets you touch him without flinching.

♱ You notice immediately.

“You gonna let me patch you up now?” “You always did anyway.”

♱ There’s so much unfinished tension between you both it’s unbearable. The kind that lingers in motel rooms and late-night drives and conversations that almost become confessions before somebody changes the subject.

♱ Frank still gets jealous, though he has no right to. Some guy smiles at you too long and suddenly Frank’s jaw is tight, arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying not to start something.

♱ You call him out every time.

“You’re glaring.” “Ain’t glaring.” “Frank.” “…Maybe a little.”

♱ He keeps old things from your relationship without telling you. A photo tucked in his wallet. One of your hair ties wrapped around the gearshift of an old truck. A sweatshirt you forgot at his place years ago that still somehow survived every apartment and safehouse after.

♱ The moment you realize you’re both still in love with each other is painfully simple. You fall asleep accidentally against his shoulder during the subway ride back to yours and wake up to find he’s still sitting perfectly still so he wouldn’t disturb you.

♱ Frank’s biggest fear is hurting you again. Even after reconnecting, he keeps waiting for the moment you’ll finally realize loving him is too exhausting.

♱ But you already know what loving Frank Castle costs.

♱ And you stay anyway.

♱ The eventual reconciliation isn’t dramatic. No huge speech. No grand confession. Just Frank standing in front of you after a bad night, exhausted and honest for once.

♱ “Tried stayin’ away from you,” he admits quietly. “Didn’t take.”

♱ And because he’s still Frank, because neither of you have changed nearly as much as you pretend to, you just sigh and pull him into your arms while he holds onto you like coming home.

── okay i need jon bernthal to get off my screen before i jump through it.... i wanna sit on hi

© juniebbernthal 2026

[juniebbernthal]

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙...

── frank castle. ♱ headcanons. ⌖ oneshots.

♱ frank is always soft with his girl no matter what.

♱ exes to lovers.

♱ frank comes to you to get patched up.

── matt murdock. ✘ headcanons. ✞ oneshots.

coming soon...

© juniebbernthal 2026

[xxdrixx]

@darlingshane ONE LAST KILL COUNTDOWN | Day 10: "Shirtless" The Punisher Season 1 Episode 11 - Danger Close

[juniebbernthal]

𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬...

── is always soft with his girl no matter how hard she is on him.

♱ Frank acts like your anger is something precious because it means you still care enough to fight for him. You can be pacing the motel room at two in the morning, whisper-yelling about the bruises blooming along his ribs, and he’ll just sit there on the edge of the bed watching you with that tired, softened look in his eyes.

♱ Every single time you patch him up, he goes quiet. Not because he dislikes it — because he doesn’t know what to do with gentleness anymore. Your fingers pressing antiseptic to a cut, your brows furrowed in concentration, your frustrated little “hold still, Frank” makes something in his chest ache.

♱ He never argues when you’re scared. If you snap at him for disappearing without a word or getting himself hurt again, he doesn’t bite back. He just lets you feel it. Lets you get the fear out however you need to because he knows your anger is tangled up with worry.

“You done yellin’ at me?” “No.” “…A’right.”

♱ Frank pretends your lectures annoy him, but secretly they ground him. They remind him there’s still someone waiting for him to come home. Someone who notices when he’s limping worse than usual or when he’s gone too long without sleeping.

♱ He’s incredibly gentle after arguments. Not dramatic about it — just quieter. He’ll slide a cup of coffee toward you without a word. Pull your blanket over your shoulders when you fall asleep sitting up. Rest his hand on the back of your neck while passing by.

♱ You’re one of the only people who can get away with bossing him around. Other people get growled at. You tell him to sit down before he tears his stitches and suddenly this terrifying man is grumbling under his breath while doing exactly what you said.

♱ Frank memorizes your comfort habits. If you’re anxious while hiding out somewhere unfamiliar, he’ll leave the TV running low because he knows silence makes you overthink. He’ll check the locks twice without being asked. He always gives you the side of the bed furthest from the door.

♱ Sometimes you catch him staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re still there. Especially after rough nights. Especially when he wakes from nightmares and finds your hand tangled with his beneath the blankets.

♱ He’s terrible at apologizing directly, so his version sounds more like: “Didn’t mean to scare you.” or “I came back, didn’t I?”

♱ Frank absolutely melts when you fuss over him despite being mad. You’ll be muttering about how reckless he is while dabbing ointment on a cut and he’s sitting there thinking about how nobody’s taken care of him this softly in years.

♱ When you’re on the run together, he becomes fiercely protective of your small comforts. He’ll steal extra pillows from motels for you, keep your favorite snacks tucked in his duffel, make sure you have one clean hoodie left even if he’s wearing bloodied clothes himself.

♱ He trusts you with parts of himself he doesn’t show anyone else. The exhaustion. The grief. The ugly thoughts. And when you hold his face and tell him to stop acting like he has to carry everything alone, he actually listens — at least a little.

♱ Frank’s favorite thing is when you calm down enough to finally let him hold you after a fight. Your head tucked against his chest, his rough hand rubbing slow circles against your back while he presses a kiss to your hair like a silent apology.

♱ No matter how hard you are on him, he never mistakes it for rejection. Deep down, Frank thinks someone loving him enough to worry is the closest thing to peace he’s ever gonna get.

── guess who started watching daredevil + punisher and ISNT okay! youve guessed it! not only that but all my socials are flooded with jon bernthal and his broadway debut..... save me

© juniebbernthal 2026

[winter-pear]

possessive men having angry jealous missionary sex…..,,,, grabbing your face and forcing you to look at them….. looking back at them all lovestruck and them getting even more possessive because they want to be the only one to see you that way..,,,,…. aaaaughhshdhff

[serializedcomics]

Daredevil: Born Again Straight to Hell | 1.09