My new blog just designated for some stories, some drabbles, and all the fan girling. Fangirling including: Marvel, Good Girls Rio, Julie and the phantoms and more. Please send me any ideas or comments! My asks are always open! I'm new to this writing world so please be patient and kind
I’m so over chatgpt fanfics/ stories. Its so easy to tell who used chat now..It’s like no matter the fandom the fics are all the same now😭 from all the dashes used, the constant line of “and for the first time in a long time…” like it’s one thing to use it to draft and shape the story but where’s the originality y’all plz😭 SOS
idk bout yall but when I listen to certain songs I can’t help but to come up with little stories or fics about certain characters..and I was recently listening to Losin Control by Russ, idk I think it’d be interesting to have a John Walker fic/story based off this song. His character is already going through shit mentally(his ego, pride, narcissistic qualities) but instead shine the light on him being someone’s ‘safe space’ now.
I appreciated some feedback i got on the first two parts! I'm making some tweaks and trying to grow and learn! Hope you enjoy (:
Word count: 1,254
Mabel
The water ran hot.
Mabel didn’t step into it right away.
She stood at the sink, fingers gripping the porcelain so hard her knuckles burned. The air was thick, steam curling around her, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm in her head.
Her thoughts were a mess, colliding too fast for her to hold onto any one of them.
The police.
Frank.
Matthew.
The bruises on her skin.
Her face, her body, this stranger’s home.
She was not safe.
Not with Matthew looking for her. Not with his friends knocking on doors, flashing her picture, spinning their lies like a well-rehearsed script.
But then,
Her grip tightened on the sink.
Frank.
He had lied to them.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
She didn’t understand it. Why would he lie? He doesn't even know me? Know my story? She thought.
Frank Castle was dangerous. She had known that the moment she saw him, his build, his presence, the guns and ammo laying out in the open like it was nothing.
A man like that? He was not safe.
And yet,
He hadn’t turned her in.
He hadn’t handed her back to them.
She blinked rapidly, staring down at her trembling hands.
She had spent years knowing exactly where she stood with men. With Matthew. With every powerful, controlling figure that had held their weight over her.
But Frank?
He’s not fitting the mold.
He was not a good man. She could feel that. She knew what violence looked like, what it lived inside of.
But he had helped her.
That thought sat in her chest like a rock, unfamiliar, heavy, confusing.
She had to leave.
Her breath came in short, sharp pulls, panic swelling in her throat.
This wasn’t his problem.
She couldn’t put this stranger, this man she had met barely twelve hours ago, in the middle of a forest.
If Matthew found out someone had helped her? If he found out who?
He would burn Frank’s entire world down.
The badge made sure of that.
Mabel’s stomach churned. She needed a plan.
But she didn’t have one.
All she had was this body that didn’t feel like hers anymore and a borrowed flannel from a man who had protected her when he shouldn’t have.
She swallowed hard, stepping out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel. A glance up at herself in the mirror made her stomach twist.
Her reflection stared back at her, pale, hollowed-out, unrecognizable. Her skin dancing with bruises, cuts laying on her hands and arms, her lip slightly scabbing on the top from where Mathew hit her.
Mabel wasn’t sure who she was anymore.
But she knew she couldn’t stay here.
No matter how good the water felt.
No matter how good the food was.
No matter how much she wanted to.
FRANK
Frank sat at the table, fingers drumming absently against the wood. The fire had burned low, the warmth barely reaching him, but he wasn’t paying it any mind. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Mabel.
He’d laid some clothes out for her while she was in the shower. Just some old sweats and a t-shirt. His clothes, because it didn’t look like she had a damn thing to her name except the soaked, tattered clothes she came in with, broken backpack hanging on with a thread, and a half-drunk water bottle.
Not shit.
The clothes were much, but better than her sitting there in damp clothes, shivering and looking like a stiff wind might knock her flat.
Frank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand down his face. He needed to figure out what the hell he was gonna do.
Because she wasn’t staying.
That much was clear.
Not because he was gonna kick her out, because he wasn’t, but because she would leave on her own.
He could see it in her eyes, the way she was already pulling away, the way she was probably already running through whatever half-baked escape plan she was trying to come up with.
Frank let out a slow breath, shaking his head.
She was the one who was gonna get herself killed.
And the worst part? He knew that if he let her go now, that’s exactly what was gonna happen.
She’d been running blind, no plan, no real way to disappear, just surviving on scraps and desperation.
That wasn’t gonna cut it.
Not with a cop on her trail.
Not with his buddies backing him up, covering his tracks, wiping his messes clean like they’d done a thousand times before.
If she left now, she wouldn’t make it.
And Frank
Frank wasn’t sure why the hell that sat so damn wrong in his chest for a random women he just met.
He clenched his jaw, shaking the thought loose.
It wasn’t his call.
If she wanted to leave, he wouldn’t stop her.
He wasn’t gonna force her to stay, wasn’t gonna lock her in here just to make himself feel better about what happened next.
That wasn’t who he was.
But he’d at least give her the choice.
If his wife was still here, he knew she would tell him to help this poor woman at any cost. Save her. He can almost hear Marias voice echo the silent hallways.
With a breath, he decided he’d get some real food in her, let her get some rest, get some meat back on her damn bones, and then, if she still wanted to run,
He’d help her do it right.
He had contacts.
If she wanted to get out of the country, he could make that happen. Hell, he could put her somewhere so far off the grid that even God Himself wouldn’t be able to find her.
But she had to want it.
She had to make the call.
Frank exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, running a hand through his hair.
And then, he heard her.
Soft footsteps, hesitant, padding across the wooden floor.
He looked up, and there she was.
Mabel stood just outside the hallway, his flannel swallowing her small frame, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the fabric nearly reaching her knees. His sweatpants were cinched tight around her tight waist but still very baggy, the cuffs bunched up at her ankles.
Way too big.
Damn near drowning her.
She looked cleaner but still too fragile.
Still too small.
Frank’s jaw flexed, a quiet weight settling in his chest.
Mabel fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be standing there.
Frank exhaled, rubbing a hand through his already messy hair. “Feel better?”
She hesitated. Then, after a long moment, she nodded.
Didn’t say anything. Just… stood there.
Like she was waiting.
Like she wasn’t sure what came next.
Frank leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest.
“Clothes okay? Sorry they’re all i got”
That got a small reaction, her fingers curled into the fabric, like she was just now realizing what she was wearing.
Another nod.
Frank studied her for a second. “Sit.” He gestured toward the chair across from him. “Ain’t gonna bite.”
She hesitated, but, eventually, she moved.
Slowly, carefully, like a skittish animal that wasn’t sure if the hand being offered was safe to take.
She sat.
Frank didn’t say anything at first. Just let the silence stretch.
Then, finally,
“You got a plan?”
Mabel’s fingers tightened around the sleeves of his flannel.
Her breath hitched and Frank instantly knew her answer.
Hope you all liked the first chapter of Hollow Haven! The next chapter might be a little longer..sorry just got carried away..hehe
My eyes are fried, and I hope I proofread everything but there might be some punction errors..sorry in advanced
Chapter 2
Word count: 3,916
Mabel woke with a start.
Her breath hitched as her eyes flew open, her body stiffening against the unfamiliar weight of a thick blanket draped over her. The dim light filtering through the cabin’s small window cast long shadows against the wooden walls.
Her heart pounded.
Where am -
The memories crashed down on her all at once. The cold. The exhaustion. The cabin. Him.
Her body jerked upright, her hands gripping the blanket as if it could shield her from whatever came next. Her gaze darted around the room. Bare walls, a single dresser, a closed door leading somewhere she didn’t know. The sheets beneath her were rough but clean.
She glanced down at herself.
Her clothes were still damp, the fabric clinging to her skin. He hadn’t touched her.
A fresh flannel sat folded on the nightstand beside the bed, as well as a water bottle.
Her stomach twisted at the sight of it. He had left it there for her. A silent offering, nothing more. She swallowed, unsure of what to make of that.
The cabin was quiet.
But she wasn’t alone.
Faint sounds drifted from the other room. The clinking of dishes. The low scrape of a chair against the floor. The scent of something warm, food?...lingered in the air.
Mabel hesitated.
She didn’t know this man. Didn’t know who he was, what kind of life he lived, what kind of person he might be. Especially with all those weapons on his shelves. All she knew was that she had collapsed in his home, and for some reason, he hadn’t thrown her back out into the cold.
Her fingers brushed over the flannel, and after a moment, she slipped it on over her damp shirt. It swallowed her frame, the sleeves falling past her hands. The warmth of it was comforting, helping the chill left on her skin.
She grabs the water bottle, twisting it up and letting the room temperature water rush down her dry throat. Her body instantly thanked her for some hydration. She sets the empty bottle back down on the nightstand.
Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her body protested the movement, sore from days of pushing herself past her limit. Her head felt light, and her legs wobbled beneath her as she stood. She gripped the edge of the bed until the dizziness faded, then forced herself to take slow, careful steps toward the door.
Her instincts screamed at her to leave.
She didn’t know this man. Didn’t know what he wanted, what he was capable of. She had spent too many years learning the hard way that men with power, whether physical or emotional, always wanted something.
She reached for the doorknob.
Her fingers hovered over it, heart pounding.
Then, she heard movement again.
A chair scraping against wood. A faint exhale, tired, deep, unhurried.
Her breath caught.
Mabel hesitated.
A part of her wanted to turn and run, to slip out unnoticed and disappear back into the wilderness. But she knew she wouldn’t make it far. Not in this state. Not without food, without warmth, without knowing what was lurking out there beyond these walls.
So instead, she cracked the door open just enough to peek through.
The main room of the cabin stretched out before her. It was simple, wooden walls, sparse furniture, a fire burning low in the hearth. It felt lived in but not exactly like a home. More like a place someone stayed because they had nowhere else to go.
And then, she saw him.
The man.
He stood in the small kitchen, back turned to her, moving with slow, practiced efficiency as he poured coffee into a metal cup. Even from here, she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his muscles bunched beneath his worn henley. His beard was thick, dark, framing a face that looked as though it had been carved from stone. Rugged. Unforgiving.
Dangerous.
She swallowed hard, shrinking back against the doorframe.
But she couldn’t stop watching him.
There was something about the way he moved, controlled, deliberate, like he was always ready for something to go wrong. Like a man who had spent too much of his life fighting battles, whether they were his or not.
She didn’t know his name. Didn’t know anything about him.
But she could tell, this was not a man people crossed.
A log in the fireplace shifted, cracking loudly. Mabel flinched.
The man didn’t turn around.
But he knew.
She could feel it.
The way his posture changed just slightly, the way his head tilted, as if he could sense her without even looking.
Of course, he could.
Men like him, men who carried themselves like predators, like soldiers…didn’t miss a thing.
Mabel’s pulse thrummed in her throat. She wanted to disappear back into the room, to make herself small, to pretend she had never stepped out.
But before she could, his voice broke the silence.
“Figured you’d be up.”
His tone was rough, low, as if he’d already known she was there long before she even opened the door.
Mabel stiffened.
He didn’t turn around right away. Instead, he lifted the mug to his lips, took a slow sip, then finally shifted to glance at her over his shoulder.
Dark eyes met hers.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Mabel swallowed, gripping the sleeves of the flannel she had borrowed.
His gaze flicked over her, assessing, but not in the way she was used to. He wasn’t looking at her like she was something to be picked apart, something to be owned. Just… observing. Calculating.
She braced herself for a question. Who are you? What do you want? Why are you in my home?
But none of those came.
Instead, he nodded toward the counter.
“Food’s there if you want it.”
Mabel blinked.
Her gaze shifted to where a plate sat, simple but full, toast, eggs, a cup of water beside it.
Her stomach twisted painfully at the sight. Hunger gnawed at her, deep and aching, but she didn’t move.
Frank….she didn’t know his name yet, but it fit, must have noticed because he huffed, shaking his head as he set his mug down.
“Ain’t poisoned,” he muttered, running a hand over his beard before turning fully toward her. “Eat. You look like hell.”
Mabel flinched at the words.
But then she realized something.
He wasn’t watching her. Wasn’t waiting for her to obey, to flinch, to make herself smaller.
He had already turned back around, reaching for something on the counter, as if whether she ate or not was her choice.
No pressure. No expectation.
Just… food.
Her legs felt unsteady as she stepped forward, heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.
She reached for the plate with trembling hands.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she ate.
_______Frank_____
Frank didn’t sleep.
Not that he ever did.
The nightmares came when he closed his eyes, so he didn’t. Most nights, he’d sit in the dark, letting the silence stretch on, the weight of it pressing against his chest. He wasn’t built for peace. Peace didn’t fit men like him.
But tonight, it wasn’t just the usual ghosts keeping him awake.
It was her.
The girl down the hall.
He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the dying fire. The cabin was still, but he wasn’t fooled. He knew she was in there, curled up under that blanket he’d thrown over her, her body still recovering from whatever hell she’d been through before she ended up here.
Frank ran a hand over his beard, exhaling slowly.
She was running from someone. That much was obvious.
He’d seen it the second he lifted her off the floor.
She was too light. Unhealthily light. A weight he knew wasn’t just from hunger, but from neglect, from being kept small and weak by someone who liked her that way. He’d seen the bruises peeking out from her collarbone, the split in her lip. Someone had put their hands on her. Someone owned her, or at least thought they did.
His jaw clenched.
He should’ve sent her on her way.
He should’ve dumped her at a hospital or left her at some gas station where she could hitch a ride and disappear for good. Away from him.
But he hadn’t.
Instead, he brought her further inside. Wrapped her in blankets. Left his flannel on the nightstand for her like some kind of goddamn invitation.
Frank scrubbed a hand down his face.
He didn’t know why he cared. Wasn’t his problem.
Whatever she was running from, he was worse.
The wars he fought in, the bodies he left in his wake, he’d earned the kind of nightmares that kept him up at night. There were men out there who feared his name, who had watched him tear apart their entire world without a second thought.
And yet, the girl down the hall?
She was afraid of him.
Of course, she was.
The moment she saw him, she shrank in on herself, like she was bracing for the hit. She didn’t know who he was, didn’t know what he’d done, but it didn’t matter.
To her, he was just another man.
Frank sat back, sighing through his nose. He should let her go. Tell her to pack her shit and leave the second she was strong enough to stand.
But something told him she wouldn’t make it far.
Not alone.
He ran a hand over his head and stood, stretching out the stiffness in his back. His body ached, a dull, constant pain from years of damage he stopped keeping track of a long time ago.
The fire needed more wood. The girl would be up soon.
Frank moved to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee, keeping his motions slow, deliberate. He’d lived alone long enough to know how the silence worked. When something was off, when something shifted.
And right now, something had.
He didn’t look up, didn’t turn, but he felt it.
She was awake.
He kept his focus on the mug in his hands, but every inch of him was aware of her.
The softest creak of a floorboard. The shallow intake of breath. The hesitation.
She was watching him.
Frank took a slow sip of coffee, letting the bitter heat settle on his tongue. He knew she was standing in the hallway, half-hidden, probably trying to figure out if she should run or stay.
Didn’t blame her.
He finally spoke, his voice rough, even in the quiet.
“Figured you’d be up.”
She stiffened. He could hear it, the small intake of breath, the way her muscles locked up just from the sound of his voice.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes.
Big, uncertain. Haunted.
She was young. Too young. He didn’t know her age, but he could tell she was much younger than him. Maybe that was why this thing in his chest, this ache he hadn’t felt in years, pulled tight when he looked at her.
Frank turned back to his coffee, nodding toward the counter.
“Food’s there if you want it.”
She didn’t move.
He could see it in her eyes, the way she flicked between the plate and him, her body locked down in fear.
“Ain’t poisoned,” he muttered, setting his mug down. “Eat. You look like hell.”
She flinched at the words.
Frank didn’t say anything else. He just let them sit between them, thick in the air.
He picked up his knife and went to sharpen it, steady, controlled. He didn’t need to tell her to eat. If she wanted to, she would.
And if she didn’t?
Well. That was her choice.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her step forward. Slow. Careful. Like she was waiting for him to snap.
Instead, he just kept sharpening his knife, letting her decide what came next.
Frank watched from the corner of his eye as she hovered near the counter, small hands gripping the edge like she wasn’t sure if she should reach for the food or turn and bolt out the door.
She didn’t trust him.
He could see it in the way her fingers twitched, the way her breath hitched every time he moved. Her body was a live wire, wound tight with instinct, waiting for him to do something.
He understood that kind of fear.
Had seen it a thousand times before, on people trapped in war zones, in battered women sitting in the back of police cruisers, in the reflection of his own goddamn eyes some nights.
She was still deciding.
Frank didn’t push.
He just kept sharpening his knife, slow and steady, letting the silence work through whatever thoughts were spinning in her head. If she ran, he wasn’t gonna stop her.
But if she stayed… well, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to do with that either.
Mabel swallowed hard, her throat working against the tension knotted inside her. Then, cautiously, she reached for the plate.
Her hands shook.
Frank didn’t move.
She picked up a piece of toast first, hesitating for just a second before taking a small bite. Her fingers were still curled tightly around the crust, like she half-expected someone to snatch it away from her.
Frank clenched his jaw and went back to his blade.
He didn't say anything at all.
Just listened as she ate, slow at first, then a little faster, like her body was remembering what it meant to have a full meal.
The fire crackled. The storm outside had passed, leaving behind a brittle kind of quiet.
Frank let it stretch.
Then, finally, he set the knife down and leaned back in his chair, fixing her with a look.
“You got a name?”
Mabel froze.
Her grip on the fork tightened, her posture going rigid. She didn’t meet his eyes.
Frank exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Alright. Don’t talk. Doesn’t bother me none.” He nodded toward her plate. “Just eat. Ain’t in a hurry to throw you back in the cold.”
That got her attention.
She looked up at him, searching his face like she was waiting for the catch. Like she expected him to set rules, to tell her what she owed him in return.
Frank didn’t give her anything.
No threats. No bargains.
Just the truth.
She swallowed, gaze flicking back down to her food, but she didn’t argue.
She just kept eating.
Frank sighed, reaching for his coffee again, letting his thoughts drift.
What the hell was he doing?
He didn’t take people in. Didn’t keep company.
It was better that way.
Easier.
But now there was a bruised, half-starved woman sitting in his kitchen, wearing his goddamn flannel, and Frank wasn’t making her leave.
Mabel hesitated.
Frank could tell she was debating whether to answer him, her fingers tightening around the fork, her whole body drawn tight like a wire ready to snap. He didn’t push. Didn’t rush her. Just waited.
Then, so soft he barely caught it—
“…Mabel.”
A whisper. Barely above breath. But he heard it.
Frank didn’t react right away, didn’t acknowledge the way her voice shook, the way it sounded like she wasn’t used to saying it out loud. Just gave a small nod, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Mabel,” he repeated, more to himself than to her, letting the name settle between them.
She swallowed, eyes flicking toward the door again, like she still wasn’t sure if she should be here.
Frank sighed. “Shower’s down the hall,” he muttered, nodding toward the other end of the cabin. “Ain’t much, but it’s hot. Use whatever you need.”
Mabel blinked, like she hadn’t expected the offer.
“Water heater works fine,” he added gruffly. “Not gonna be any good to anyone if you’re still freezin’ your ass off.”
There. That felt neutral enough. He wasn’t keeping her here. Wasn’t making her comfortable because she was staying. Just… basic decency. Even if he dropped her off somewhere, she needed to be cleaned up, needed something solid in her stomach.
Mabel didn’t respond right away, but something flickered in her eyes. She glanced down, considering, her hand twitching over the fabric of his flannel like she was debating if she could trust this.
Then, finally, she nodded.
Before she could even move, before she could take that step toward the hallway,
A loud knock thundered against the cabin door.
Mabel’s breath hitched. Her entire body jolted like she’d been struck. The blood drained from her face so fast Frank thought she might pass out.
Another knock. Harder. Louder.
Mabel flinched violently, scrambling backward, her hands flying to her chest, her breathing suddenly ragged, uneven. Her whole body locked up, like she was waiting for something, waiting for pain, waiting for a fight, waiting for him.
Frank cursed under his breath.
He was already moving, already reaching for the gun tucked behind the counter, muscles tight with the instinct to defend. He didn’t get visitors. Not out here.
Which meant this wasn’t good.
He cast a sharp look toward Mabel.
She was panicking, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts, eyes wide and unseeing. Shit. He could guess exactly what was running through her head, that whoever she was running from had found her.
Frank’s voice came low, steady. “Hey.”
She didn’t hear him.
Another knock…pounding this time and Mabel gasped, her legs buckling before she caught herself against the table.
“Mabel.” Frank’s voice was sharper this time, cutting through the noise in her head. She snapped her gaze to him, shaking, barely holding herself together.
“Go.” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “Get in the bedroom. Don’t come out till I say.”
She didn’t move.
Frank’s jaw ticked. “Now.”
That got her moving. Barely.
She staggered back, hands gripping the flannel tight around herself, and disappeared down the hall, the door clicking shut behind her.
Frank exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. His pulse was steady, his body wired but calm.
He set his gun just out of sight on the counter, then moved toward the door.
And when he yanked it open, his stomach tightened.
Two cops stood on his doorstep.
Frank’s expression didn’t change. He leaned lazily against the doorframe, posture relaxed, but every muscle in his body was coiled tight.
One of the officers, middle-aged, stocky, clean-shaven, narrowed his eyes at him. “Frank Castle?”
Frank didn’t blink. “Who’s askin’?”
The other cop, younger, clearly the follower in this dynamic, shifted uncomfortably. “We’re looking for someone,” he said. “A missing woman.”
The older cop studied him, sharp and searching. “You haven’t seen anyone out here, have you?”
Frank’s face remained blank.
And then, the older cop pulled out a photo. Held it up.
Frank let himself glance at it. He already knew who it was. Mabel.
“She’s been reported missing,” the cop said. His voice was too casual, too rehearsed. “Her husband, Sergeant Holloway, reported it this morning. Says she’s unstable. Left without a trace.”
Frank’s stomach burned with anger, but his face remained cold.
Sergeant.
That was it. That was the piece that changed everything.
Mabel hadn’t just been running from an abusive man.
She’d been running from a cop.
And not just any cop. One with friends.
That’s why these two were here. They weren’t searching for a woman in danger. They were hunting her down for one of their own.
Frank knew men like Holloway. The ones who thought the badge gave them power over everything. Over the law, over people, over women like Mabel.
He should have known.
Frank exhaled through his nose, keeping his posture loose, neutral. He had to play this carefully.
“Like I said,” he repeated, voice flat, calculated, “ain’t seen anyone.”
The younger cop looked between Frank and his partner, uncertain, like he could feel the tension but didn’t understand where it was coming from.
The older one?
He just stared.
Frank held his ground, unmoving.
Then, slowly, the older cop pulled out a card. Held it out between two fingers. Frank didn’t take it.
“You do see anything…” The man’s smirk was small, deliberate. “You’ll call, won’t you?”
Frank didn’t answer.
The cop set the card on the railing instead.
Then, after another long look, he nodded. “Evenin’, Castle.”
Frank held his stare. “Yeah.”
They turned. Walked back to their car.
Frank didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Waited.
The car engine rumbled to life. The headlights cut through the dark. The sound of tires crunching against dirt faded into silence.
Only then did Frank step back inside, shutting the door with a soft, deliberate click.
The cabin was still.
The air was thick with the remnants of fear, of something neither of them had a name for yet.
Frank turned, gaze flicking toward the hallway.
And sure enough Mabel stood there.
She was half-hidden in the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself, body pressed into the doorway like she was trying to disappear into the wood itself.
Her face was pale, her breath uneven, her wide, terrified eyes locked onto him like he was the only thing standing between her and whatever nightmare she’d just relived.
Frank ran a hand over his beard, exhaling slowly.
“They’re gone.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stood there, shaking.
Frank’s jaw ticked.
Her breath hitched. And then, so quiet it almost wasn’t there, she whispered, “He told them I was crazy.”
Frank stilled.
His throat went tight, something dark and ugly curling in his gut.
Because yeah. Of course, he did.
Frank exhaled through his nose, voice gruff, low, certain.
“You’re not.”
Mabel’s breath caught.
She looked at him uncertain, searching.
Frank held her stare.
Frank ran a hand over his beard, exhaling through his nose as he watched Mabel from across the room. She was still standing there, half-hidden in the shadows, her fingers clenched so tightly into his flannel that her knuckles had gone white.
She was barely holding it together.
And Frank? He wasn’t sure what to do with that.
He wasn’t good at this. He didn’t do comfort. But he knew fear. Knew what it looked like when someone had been ground down to nothing, when their body was just muscle memory, flinch, brace, prepare for the worst.
That was Mabel.
And that bastard husband of hers?
He’d made her this way.
Frank exhaled, shifting his weight. “Shower’s still down the hall,” he muttered, nodding toward the bathroom. His voice was rough, but steady. “Go on.”
Mabel blinked, like she had forgotten all about it.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her arms tightening around herself. She hesitated, of course she did but eventually, she turned and padded toward the hall.
Frank waited. Listened.
A few seconds later, he heard the soft click of the bathroom door shutting.
And then, the water started running.
Frank blew out a breath, finally letting his shoulders drop.
That was… something.
His fingers curled into a fist at his side, his mind still replaying the words Sergeant Holloway over and over again like a sickness.
He needed to think.
Needed to figure out his next move.
Because now?
Now, this wasn’t just about some girl running from a bad man.
I've been re-watching daredevil, before I dive into daredevil reborn on Disney+. And as always, Frank Castle is doing something for me. I got an itch to write a somewhat AU story, for frank castle. A young women-Mabel, trying to run from her life. It'd be a very slow burn type fic, with rawness, emotions, angst, and whatever I can think of to shove the knife a little deeper. Obviously, a scandalous little age gap as well for kicks and giggles.
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Quick summary:
She ran to survive. He gave up on saving anyone.
After five years trapped in a nightmare, her every move controlled by the man who vowed to love her. Mabel escapes... lost in the wilderness, starving and afraid, she stumbles upon a remote cabin, and the dangerous man who lives there.
Frank Castle doesn't take in strays. He's spent years burying himself in the quiet isolation of the woods, haunted by his past, but when frightened, bruises women end up on his doorsteps something inside him turn her away.
yeah so let's see how this goes! I got the first part started below (:
word count: 1,319
Chapter One
Mabel
The cold bit into her skin like teeth.
She had been walking for hours. Days. She wasn’t sure anymore. The thick woods stretched endlessly in every direction, swallowing her whole. Her legs burned with each step, her breath fogging in the frigid air. She clutched the straps of her backpack, her only possession now, like a lifeline, though it held little beyond a few crumpled bills, a change of clothes, and a half-empty bottle of water.
It wasn’t enough.
The night she ran, she hadn’t thought about how far she’d go, only that she had to go. Covered in bruises and her own blood, cowering in fear in her own home.She waited until he was deep in his usual drunken stupor, the stench of whiskey thick in the bedroom, his snores rattling through the walls. Her hands had shaken as she slipped on her shoes, as she stuffed the bag with whatever she could grab in the dark. She hadn’t dared turn on the lights. Hadn’t dared make a sound.
Even now, she expected to hear his voice snapping through the trees, calling her name, filled with that venomous sweetness that always came before the worst of it.
You think you can leave me?
Her chest tightened. She didn’t want to think about it. She needed to keep moving.
The ground beneath her was uneven, tree roots threatening to trip her at every turn. She wasn’t built for this, wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, prepared enough. Her husband had never let her be. She hadn’t stepped outside without him at her side in years. She barely knew how to navigate her own neighborhood, let alone the unforgiving wilderness.
A sharp gust of wind cut through her soaked clothes. The rain had been merciless the night before, drenching her down to her bones. She hadn’t found shelter, hadn’t stopped to rest, because stopping meant the cold would set in, and she was afraid if she sat down, she’d never get back up.
Her fingers were numb. Her lips chapped. Every muscle in her body screamed for relief.
And then, she saw it.
A cabin, half-hidden by the trees.
She froze, heart pounding.
It looked abandoned, dark windows, no sign of life, just standing there against the wilderness like it had been forgotten. She wasn’t stupid. She knew walking into a stranger’s home could get her killed. But not going in might do the same.
Shuffling forward, she hesitated at the door, her hand hovering over the handle.
She’d just stay for a little while. Just long enough to warm up, maybe dry her clothes. No one had to know she was ever here.
With a shaky breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The door creaked as it swung shut behind her.
She stood motionless, breath shallow, listening.
Silence.
The cabin smelled of wood smoke and something faintly metallic, like old blood and gunpowder. The living room was sparse, just a worn-out couch, a sturdy wooden table, and a fireplace with embers barely clinging to life. The walls were lined with shelves, some stacked with supplies, others with weapons. Rifles. Knives. Ammo boxes.
Her stomach twisted.
Whoever lived here wasn’t just some hunter or a weekend camper. This was a man who knew how to kill.
But the cabin was quiet. No muddy boots at the door, no distant hum of conversation. She crept further inside, leaving a trail of water droplets in her wake. Her soaked clothes clung to her like a second skin, the fabric stiff from the cold. She needed warmth.
She crouched near the fireplace, holding her trembling hands toward the embers. There was a stack of firewood beside it. Just for a little while, she told herself, grabbing a few pieces and setting them in the hearth.
A flicker of warmth kissed her fingertips.
For the first time in days, she let herself exhale.
Just a few minutes, she promised herself. Then I’ll go.
She peeled off her wet jacket, wincing as the movement tugged at the bruises along her arms. Her skin felt raw, her body aching in places she hadn’t even noticed before. She pressed her palm over the bruise on her ribs, biting back the memory of how it got there.
The fire crackled, growing stronger.
She pulled her knees to her chest, letting the heat seep into her frozen bones. For the first time since she ran, the exhaustion hit her like a freight train. Her eyelids grew heavy. Maybe she could just rest her eyes for a moment, just a second…
The door opened.
Her entire body locked up.
Heavy boots on the wooden floor. The scent of rain and something earthy filled the room.
She whipped her head toward the doorway.
A man stood there, broad-shouldered, towering, his presence filling the entire space. A thick beard shadowed his face, his dark eyes scanning the room before landing on her.
Her breath hitched.
She scrambled backward, heartbeat slamming against her ribs. Every instinct screamed run. But she was too weak, too tired, her limbs refused to move fast enough.
His expression didn’t change. No anger, no shock. Just a slow, deliberate exhale as he took in the sight of her wet, trembling, curled up by his fire like some half-dead animal.
The silence stretched between them.
His gaze flicked over her. Her busted lip, the bruises on her arms, the way she shrank into herself.
His jaw clenched.
He stood there, just inside the doorway, rain still dripping from his jacket. His dark eyes swept over her, bruises, trembling hands, soaked clothes, taking in every detail like he was assessing a threat.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then, in a voice deep and cautious, he asked, “Who the hell are you?”
Not a yell. Not a demand. Just steady, unreadable.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her damp sleeves, her body shaking so violently she thought she might collapse.
She couldn’t answer.
Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, strangled by fear. She didn’t know this man, only that he was big, rugged, and looked like he belonged in a war zone rather than a quiet cabin in the woods.
She had spent years under the control of a man who kept her caged, who made her afraid of the smallest things. Raising her voice, looking him in the eye, steppings outside the house with remains, speaking when not told to speak. Every bad memory, every bruise and broken bone, screamed at her to run.
But she couldn’t.
Her thoughts spiraled. Would he hurt her? Beat her? Rape her?
She had no idea.
And the uncertainty was just as terrifying as the certainty had been with her husband.
She pressed herself tighter against the floor, her breath coming too fast, her chest too tight.
Still, Frank didn’t move.
His hands remained at his sides, his posture tense, but there was something careful in the way he stood, as if he knew one wrong movement would be like stepping on a landmine.
The silence stretched.
He exhaled, slow and controlled. Then, his voice came again, just as low, just as unreadable.
The silence stretched.
Then, he exhaled, slow and controlled.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you..but what the hell you doin’ here.”
The words hung in the space between them, rough but firm, like he wasn’t used to saying them, but meant them all the same.
Her vision blurred.
Her body, drained of every ounce of strength, swayed where she sat.
Before she could fight it, the exhaustion finally won. The fear, the cold, the days without food or rest, all of it crashed down on her at once.
The last thing she felt was her body going limp.
And the last thing she saw was him stepping forward, reaching for her before the darkness swallowed her whole.
Next chapter
Hope you enjoyed the first bit, please leave any comments or advice
The sun rose in Austin a few hours ago. I'm currently sitting in my room figuring out my budget for the month. I should be able to move out in a few months if I keep it up how I've been. I know Joel and my dad said to chill with all this work but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.
My phone vibrates on my desk snapping my attention to it. I pick it up and see a text from Skylar - one of my best friends.
"Hey babe mall today? I need an outfit for this weekend" it read.
"Violet dear" my mom's voice comes from behind the door. "Yes" I respond back. The door creaks open, my mom is standing there wearing a long sundress and her cowgirl boots. Her hair perfectly curled and her makeup flawless.
"Don't forgot we got Joel's cookout in a few hours and your daddy's in charge of the beer so we gotta make a stop on the way" she says with a smile. "I won't, thanks ma"
"You know Sarah should be back in town soon" she comes more in room sitting on my bed that I haven't made yet. Sarah is Joel's daughter who is away in college. She's a little younger than me, but none the less I consider her a good friend. I mean we basically grew up together with how often our fathers hang out.
I respond back to Skylar real quick with 'cant today. Joel Miller cookout, remember?'
Yeah?" I set my phone back on my desk and fully face her. "Yeah that's what Joel said the other night" she grabs my stuff animal on my bed playing with the fur a bit.
I guess I kind of lied when I said Skylar is my best friend, my mom really is. Skylar's a very close second though. I tell my mom everything, do a most things with her, she knows me best.
"I know Joel's excited" I comment. Ever since his wife passed when Sarah was young and it's always been the two of them. Then Sarah left to go to college in California, leaving him in that big house alone. Which is why I think he's always over here or hanging with my dad. Which I'm glad he has someone here he's close with.
"Yeah, wants to have a little welcome back party while she's in town for her break" my mom smiles. "Awe that's sweet" my heart squeezes at the thought of Joel setting a party up for his daughter.
"You know Joel though. If he planned it, it'll just be a case of beer and burgers, and maybe a single balloon" she jokes. "Yeah he's not one for decorating or planning big things like that huh" I snort. "You may need to help him" she says handing me my stuffed animal.
My face warms at the idea of helping Joel in his home, just him and I. "Y-yeah maybe" I clear my voice playing with the arms of the toy. "Anyway getting ready kiddo, leaving in 20" she stands up, making my bed whine in the process.
She walks out the room shutting the door behind her.
My phone vibrates again, I glance down
'Daddy Joel🥵 damn I forgot or you know I'd be there, I really gotta get a fit today I'm busy all week'
It read I shake my head at the message. It's known thing around this small town, Joel is a single bachelor, he's got his own place, own company, quiet lifestyle, not to mention he's quite nice on the eyes.
"Kid here's some cash, go in get a case of beer would ya?" My dad asks handing me money. This is normal I'm usually the beer runner for my father while he waits in the truck. I don't mind, he works hard, provides for us, I can grab his beer for him. "You know the kind right" he hollers after me rolling his window down.
"Bud- not budlight" I recite back with a slight eye roll. I've been doing this for a few years.. I know the beer. I made one mistake and they never let me forget.
I go into the liquor store, the cool AC blowing causing goosebumps to form on my arms and legs. "afternoon honey" "hey Marty" I smile at the older gentleman behind the counter. He's always working here and since I'm always running in here, we've grown to know each other a bit. He's got a mustache, worn out cowboy heat and a T-shirt that im sure has seen its better days.
"Daddy's lucky, just got a shipment of bud this mornin" his southern drawl strong and prominent. "Great!" I smile setting the cash on the counter before going to the cooler. The red and white case stacked up nice in the back. I grab a 24 pack, feeling my muscles flex at the weight. Hey, I'm not the strongest person in the world, I'm a baker for Christ sake. Only heavy lifting is bags of flour.
"Have a good day Marty" I grunt out before walking out the door with the case of beer heading to my dad's pickup. He gets out and gently lifts it from my hands. "Thanks" I mumble before going in the back seat. He slides the beer next to me, I grab my cookies quick so he doesn't smash them.
Once we arrived at Joel's, you can instantly smell the charcoal and sizzling meat hanging in the air as neighbors gather in Joel's backyard, laughter and the clinking of glasses mingling with the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. Joel stood by the grill, a spatula in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, wearing a simple t-shirt. He looked perfectly at ease.
I stepped in after my ma and pops, balancing a neatly wrapped tray of cookies against my hip making my sundress rise just smidge. My sundress was simple but lovely, the soft floral pattern swaying with every cautious step I took. Following my dad close behind, I watch as he tips his hat in greeting to Joel as we all approach.
"Hope we're not too late," my mom says gently.
Joel set the spatula down and wiped his hands on a towel, meeting us halfway. "Right on time," he says, his tone light. He gives my mom a quick hug. I watch his eyes drop to the tray in my hands. "Did you bake those?"
My cheeks colored faintly as I simply shake my head. "yeah, made them last night. Thought they might... go with everything."
"They're perfect," Joel responds, his voice softening as he sets his hand gently on my shoulder sending sparks. He stepped aside, gesturing toward the long table lined with food and drinks. "Set them down wherever you'd like." giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.
I nod and move toward the table, my father already making himself comfortable chatting with the neighbors. I watch my mom grab herself a beer sitting on the bench enjoying the sun.
I let out a small breath and look around the picnic, neighbors from around the block I've seen and others I haven't. I do miss Sarah with these things, its nice to have someone my age to talk to.
3rd POV
Joel couldn't help but watch as she carefully unwrapped the pastries, her delicate movements drawing his attention in a way he couldn't quite explain.
When she turned, catching him mid-stare, he cleared his throat and glanced back at the grill. "How's you doing?" he asked, aiming for casual.
"Good, really good" she responds simply playing with the loose stitching of her dress. Joel's eyes scan around and land on my dad's, explaining some story to the neighbors. "He's been looking forward to this all week," Violet says, smiling softly watching him. Joel lets out a small chuckle shaking his head.
"Well, I'm glad you were able to make it," Joel said, a little too quickly. He paused, glancing at her again. "And... you look nice."
Violet blinked, her lips parting slightly as if she wasn't sure how to respond. "Thank you," she said finally, her voice almost a whisper. She smoothed the fabric of her dress, her fingers fidgeting slightly.
"Joel!" someone called from the crowd, breaking the moment.
He exhaled, flashing Violet an apologetic smile. "Better check on the grill before it catches fire."
She nodded, watching him retreat to the grill with a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Her father called her over to meet a neighbor, and she went, but her thoughts lingered on Joel—the way his compliment had seemed almost... vulnerable.
"Violet this is Tony and Samantha" violets dad introduces. "They moved in down the block from Joel a little bit ago" he adds. "H-Hello" I respond softly with a smile. "She's a quiet little thing but sweetest women in this town, right after her mama of course, my wife- Lucy" Jimmy smiles, his outgoing personality really coming out. "Lucy hon, get over here meet these kind folk" he sips on his cold bud Violet brought.
As her mother comes into the group, Violet slowly starts to fade out, stuck in her own world.
And Joel, while joking with some friends and flipping burgers, couldn't help but glance back at her every now and then. He watch as she moved through the gathering with her quiet grace, drawing his attention as easily as the sunlight caught her hair.
The cookout hummed along, the soft murmur of conversations and occasional bursts of laughter creating a lively backdrop. Violet found herself standing by the drink station, fiddling with the condensation on her lemonade glass as Joel approached, a plate piled high with burgers balanced in one hand.
"You hiding back here?" he asked lightly, setting the plate down on the table next to her.
She glanced up, startled. "Just... giving everyone else some space."
Joel chuckled, leaning against the edge of the table, close enough for her to catch the faint scent of smoke and something woodsy. "You always do that. Hang back, let everyone else take the spotlight."
Violet smiled faintly, her fingers curling tighter around the glass. "I don't mind it. I like watching people... seeing how they are when they're comfortable."
Joel's gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than she expected. "You don't realize it, do you?"
"Realize what?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
"You're the one people notice," he said, his voice quiet, almost as if he hadn't meant to say it aloud. He reached out to adjust the edge of the napkin she'd left askew on the table, his fingers brushing hers for just a second longer than necessary.
Violet's heart skipped, and she quickly looked away, the warmth spreading through her cheeks betraying her calm expression. "I think you've been around too much smoke," she said softly, a half-hearted attempt at teasing.
Joel just smiled, that soft, unreadable smile that made her chest ache. "Maybe," he said, his tone low.
Before she could respond, one of the neighbors called Joel over, and he gave her a quick nod before stepping away, his hand grazing lightly across her shoulder as he passed. It was so brief, so natural, yet her skin seemed to hum where his touch had been.
The rest of the afternoon continued in much the same way—little moments where Joel's attention lingered on her, comments that seemed casual but left her replaying them in her mind.
When she was helping her dad refill his plate, Joel appeared beside her, leaning in slightly to reach for a serving spoon. "You're spoiling him," he said with a grin, his hand on the small of her back.
"He's easy to spoil," Violet replied, trying not to focus on the warmth of his hand on her back back from the opening of her dress.
"He randomly brushes against you all the time Violet. He's like your second dad" she thinks to herself trying to control her breath.
"Must run in the family, then," Joel murmured, so softly she wasn't sure if she'd heard him right.
She glanced at him quickly, but he was already stepping away, back into the flow of the gathering, leaving her wondering if she'd imagined the words—or the way his voice had softened just for her. VIOLETS POV :
The fading sunlight painted the backyard in hues of gold and amber, and I found myself drifting toward the fence, bottle of beer in hand. The laughter and hum of conversations behind me softened as I stepped away, the quiet calling to me like a balm.
I breathed in deeply, letting the breeze cool my cheeks. These kinds of gatherings—casual, lively—weren't really my comfort zone, but there was something about Joel's backyard that felt... different. Safer, somehow.
The sound of footsteps behind me pulled me from my thoughts. I didn't have to look to know it was him.
"Escaping again?" Joel's voice was warm, familiar. It made my stomach do this strange little twist, something I'd been trying to ignore all evening.
"Just needed a moment," I said, turning slightly to offer him a small smile. "It's a lovely evening."
"It is," he replied, stepping closer. He leaned against the fence beside me, and I felt his arm brush against mine—just the faintest touch, but enough to make me overly aware of the small space between us.
We stood there, quiet, the sounds of the party fading into the background. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it was thick with something I couldn't quite name.
Joel was the one to break it. "I saw you talking to Mrs. Davies earlier. How'd she rope you in?"
I laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "She was giving me tips on how to keep flowers alive. Apparently, I'm hopeless with houseplants."
"Not you," Joel said, his voice full of mock surprise. "You're too careful for that."
I looked down, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "Careful doesn't always mean capable." i laugh at myself
"Don't sell yourself short," he said, nudging me gently with his elbow. His touch lingered for a moment, just enough to send a ripple of warmth through me. "I've seen the way you handle things. You've got this... patience about you. A quiet strength."
I blinked, startled by his words. "That's... kind of you to say," I murmured, unsure of where to look.
"It's just the truth," he said, his tone light but certain. And then, almost too softly to hear, "Not everyone sees it, maybe. But I do. Youve always been like that kid"
Kid. Just like how my daddy calls me.
I feel myself shrink a bit at the comment. stupid stupid Violet. I glanced up at him, searching his face, but he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were on the horizon, as though the words hadn't just shifted something inside me.
"Hey, uhm my mom mention Sarah's coming home soon" I bring up clearing my throat hoping to loose the slight shake to it. I watch Joel's face light a bit more "yes thank god" he smiles. "If you uhm need help decorating for her just let me know" I offer to him lightly playing with the paper from my beer bottle. "You have no idea how much weight you lifted off me saying that darlin" his eyes crinkle with his smile. My stomach twist at the look in his eyes. "It'll be my pleasure Joel..what are daughters to your best friend for" I add. "youre more than that" he chuckles at my response locking his eyes with mine.
"Joel!" someone called from the patio, the sound breaking our gaze.
He turned toward the voice, his expression faintly apologetic. "I should—"
"Go," I said quickly lightly elbowing him back, before the strange heaviness between us could turn into something harder to face.
He hesitated, just for a moment. His hand brushed lightly against my back as he stepped away, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he'd disappeared into the crowd.
I stayed by the fence, staring out at the fading light, my heart doing a confusing little dance in my chest. It was nothing, I told myself. Joel was kind—he always had been.
But as I pressed my hand lightly against my back, feeling the memory of his touch, I couldn't help but wonder if there was something more beneath the surface.
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