Summary | You really don’t know know what someone like Bucky sees you in. But in you, he sees everything.
Pairing | Bucky x Fem!Reader
Word Count | 2.4k
Warnings | none
Masterlists | Bucky, Main
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“You’re staring again,” you looked up from your laptop, your blue-light glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as did so. You huffed in frustration as you pushed them back up and looked across the room to find Bucky watching you with a soft expression on his face. He couldn’t help but laugh lightly as you stuck your tongue out at him, “something on my face? Head?”
“No,” he promised with a shake of his head as your brows furrowed and you wondered what he could possibly be looking at, “you’re perfect.”
“You’re funny, sweetheart,” you played him off easily before turning your attention back to your screen and chuckling at him, “I’ll be done soon - you can go to bed without me, Bucky. You don’t have to wait up.”
“I’d rather wait,” he promised, “want to make sure you actually stop and get some rest and don’t stay up working all night.”
“Bucky,” you grinned but didn’t look up, “it’s alright, I can handle myself, but please take care of yourself, Bub.”
“I am taking care of myself by making sure you’re alright,” he promised as slowly stood up and made his way over to you, standing behind you as he watched you for a few moments. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, “I gotta take care of my girl.”
You turned around and looked up at him with a shy expression, “why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m…everything.”
“You are everything,” he insisted, surprised to think that you would think you were anything but, “my everything. Now hurry up so we can get to bed.”
“You’re too much,” his fingers danced along the top of your laptop as he waited for permission to close it. He was really playing it up with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster, and you couldn’t say no to him, “fine! You win this round. But stop being so over the top, silly man, I’m already yours.”
“I’m just being honest,” he quickly shut the computer and pulled your chair back before effortlessly scooping you up in his arms, “you need to learn to trust me and know I always tell you the truth. And the truth is that I am madly in love with you.”
“James,” you rested your head against his shoulder, “I’m in love with you too.”
Steve Harrington x situationship!reader 2k words
warnings: best friends with benefits, no smut, suggestiveness, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff,
You and Steve start a physical relationship, but when he overhears you say you don’t actually want him, everything becomes tense and the future uncertain
You were never one for labels, it made people get too nosy into relationships and it felt too committed. But being with Steve Harrington was the most confusing thing you’ve ever done. You weren’t like…together together, just teetering on that edge of just friends and something more.
Admittedly, it was your suggestion. Steve hasn’t been able to date any girls lately and it was taking a blow to his confidence, while all the guys in your life were doing you wrong, you suggested that both of you could meet up and help release all the stress.
“You wanna get together?” Steve asked, eyes wide
“Just casually, a few times a week. Best friends with benefits you know, help each other out.” You replied shrugging.
Steve repeated your words, but thinking it over, it seemed like the best idea, and he quickly agreed.
It never occurred to you though just how much chemistry you would have together, your friendship was already a flirty one, and you assumed Steve also didn’t want anything serious so things just felt so easy.
Based on your agreement, Steve would come over to your place late at night and stay after. There was no reason for him to stay the whole night, but he didn’t want to be a jerk, he’d give you aftercare and cuddle you close to his body.
Then it turned desperate, the meet ups that would happen twice a week escalated to when no one was around. Instead of being limited to only the bedroom, it shifted to in the back of Steve’s beamer, or the break room of family video. You two took any opportunity to have hands on each other, and unfortunately you weren’t as discreet as you thought you were being, when Robin confronted you one afternoon after you walked out of the back room, fumbling with your clothes and smoothing down your hair.
“Are you banging Steve?” She asked with her arms crossed over her chest.
“What!” You spit out your water at her forwardness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do, I heard the moans coming from the bathroom yesterday.” Robin said, and your jaw dropped. Was it really that obvious?
“Er…it doesn’t mean anything, I don’t like Steve like that.” You shrugged trying to feign nonchalantness, but what you didn’t know was that Steve was about to round the corner at that moment and heard exactly what you had said.
He froze in his tracks, he knew he was supposed to act like this was all for fun. But over time, the acting blurred into something real, the talks you’d have afterward, the warmth of your body against his, the teasing. He gulped past the lump in his throat, not realizing his hands were shaking, he couldn’t let you see how affected he was. But he couldn’t break his own heart anymore, and decided to slowly start to pull away.
You immediately noticed the change, Steve wouldn’t tell you heartfelt words anymore, and rub your hair back. He stayed silent, and when it was all over he left as quick as he could, not mentioning the next time he’d be back.
You both were panting one night in bed. “You alright? You don’t seem like yourself Steve?” You questioned, trying not to come off as too strong.
“I’m fine. I have to go do something, bye.” He shrugged you off, put his clothes back on and left without any extra words. No cleaning up as he usually did, no cuddles, no kisses, nothing.
You tried to ignore the shiver that ran up your spine at his tone, Steve’s never talked to you like that before. Was he getting bored? Were you not enough to satisfy him? You attempted to push all the wandering thoughts out of your mind, and came to a conclusion that maybe he was just having a bad day. But then you remembered how he was about to kiss your forehead before leaving, as he usually did, but hesitated and pulled back. You felt tears sting behind your eyes, maybe you had been taking Steve’s kind gestures for granted before things fell apart.
You waited day and night sitting beside the phone, waiting for a call, a sign, anything to prove he was still thinking about you though it never came. You contemplated calling first, to show you still cared about him, but you were sure there was a reason behind his absence.
After a week of not hooking up, Steve buried himself into other things, trying not to remember your soft features and how sad you looked when he left. Maybe he had done it all wrong, he should’ve talked to you before making any harsh decisions, but your words dug so deep into his soul that he couldn’t bring himself to even look at you.
That was until he was walking down downtown Hawkins one evening. He had just finished his shift at family video, and was going to get some things from Melvalds, and that was when he saw you.
You were leaving the diner laughing, and right behind you came out a tall boy guiding you with a hand on your back. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t breathe. What were you doing with him? Was he your boyfriend? The guy who you were able to love easily and not Steve? Steve could give you everything he couldn’t, Steve would love you even harder than you could imagine.
Had you moved on that quickly from him? Steve knew he was the one who started pulling away first, but after a week of no contact he had a terrible feeling gnawing at his side, the urge to run back to you and confess he had no idea what he was doing. It felt like you discarded him and found your next best play toy to substitute Steve instead, you didn’t notice him at first.
You were about to cross the street, heading to your cousin’s car, he had just visited back from college and invited you out for a milkshake after he saw how down you looked. You were happier, finally feeling uplifted, but when you looked ahead of you you stopped spotting the person who’d been plaguing your mind for the past week, Steve.
He looked just as shocked as you, you both stood there for a long moment, just looking into each other’s eyes that said everything you couldn’t express. Then Steve’s jaw clenched as he looked back at the boy who was calling you over, his muscles twitched, and he turned away without a second look at you.
Your head began swirling with confusion once again, why did he look so angry? You needed to find out what was going on with him, before he left you with only memories of your shared time together.
That night you didn’t sleep, you wouldn’t let Steve act like you meant nothing to him.
So you got in your car and drove all the way over to his house, he’d probably think you were insane for showing up this late and demanding an answer for why he was ignoring you. But you didn’t care, he had no right to end things without telling you, and your sadness had morphed into anger a long time ago.
You pulled into his driveway and saw the lights in the house were turned off, maybe you should turn back, but it was too late now. You walked up to his door and slammed your knuckles repeatedly against the hard wood. You waited ten seconds, then twenty, and finally it swung open revealing Steve in his pajamas, shorts and a loose t-shirt that you wanted to bury yourself in. His hair was untamed, sticking out in all directions, but it looked like he hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep either. Bags were beneath his eyes, and he looked at you with surprise.
At first, Steve assumed something was wrong, there was no other explanation for showing up at his door like this, his eyes flashed with concern for a second before he turned stoic once more. You didn’t want concern, you wanted something casual, Steve reminded himself. You were probably here because you wanted to sleep with him again, and was prepared to turn you away before you spoke.
“Steve please, what’s going on?” You looked so desperate he opened the door just enough and you let yourself in.
Steve looked down at the floor, his expression not changing. “Nothing, I’m fine, everything’s fine. Things are great, it doesn’t mean anything.”
You tilted your head not understanding his words. “What — what do you mean?”
Steve scoffed with unhumorous laughter. “So now you want to act like you don’t know what I mean? When I wasn’t the person who spent days trying to figure it all out,” he shook his head, his tone starting to rise. “Just casual, yeah? Well it didn’t feel casual when you looked at me like that, when you looked at me like you loved me.” Steve was unhinged now, everything was finally coming off of his chest and he couldn’t stop. He needed to let it out before you left once and for all.
“But…but I thought that was what you wanted too? I told you that I didn’t want anything serious and you agreed!” You argued pointedly, he couldn’t just throw everything onto you and claim it was your fault, he should’ve said something before things got out of control.
He rolled his tongue in the side of his cheek. “Maybe it’s because you never asked what I wanted! You knew—” he broke off,
“I heard you and Robin.” He whispered, all the anger in his voice fading to something fragile and weak.
Your face fell, it all made sense now and it was your turn to feel like the clown. Your words to Robin weren’t true, they were a lie meant to conceal what you actually felt, to throw yourself off and not admit your feelings. You needed to tell Steve, you needed to tell him, that it was all a facade, and if you knew he had heard you you wouldn’t have lied.
“See, you don’t even say anything or care.” Steve muttered, accepting that this was the end of you and him, as he started turning around walking away. He’d be the one to walk away before you could, and ruin him further.
“It wasn’t true Steve.” You called out, still standing a couple feet behind him. He paused in his steps, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side.
“I was just scared. Robin confronted me and I came up with anything to defend myself, anything to protect the feelings I have for you. I’m so so sorry, it’s all my fault, I ruined everything.” You tried not to let the shakiness in your voice show, you weren’t going to beg Steve back, if he didn’t want you anymore you just had to leave with the dignity you had that remained.
You didn’t hear the rush of steps coming your way, your gaze was stuck on the floor, your mind in another place. Until you felt the softness of Steve’s hands cradle your face and tilt your head up towards where he was crouching over you. His face was close and both your eyes brimmed with tears waiting to fall.
“It’s not your fault, listen to me. You didn’t ruin anything, baby.” His voice was raw with emotion now, and you sucked in a heavy breath. “I didn’t even know I was committed to you until I heard you that day, and everything became clear. I love you, and if you don’t want me back and wanna go to that boy I saw you with, I understand and I’ll leave you alone.” He paused, looking between your eyes searching for something, a glimmer of hope. “But I need you to say it to me, right now. Not to Robin, not to yourself, to me.”
A tear fell down your cheek slowly, his words repeated in your head like a broken record over and over. ‘I love you.’ You realized that you needed Steve, that without him you felt just as pathetic as he did without you.
“I love you, Steve.” Your words came out slow, feeling the meaning behind it for the first time. “Don’t leave me, I can’t — I can’t live without you.” Your hands tangled into his shirt, clawing at his chest. And before anymore words could get out, Steve smashed his lips against yours, it was passionate and rough, just like how the love surging through your veins felt.
He suddenly pulled back, and leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closed and he whispered his words like a prayer. “I’m never going to leave you, not again baby.” He shook his head and you both let out laughs of relief.
Both of you stood there for a moment in the hallway, inhaling each other, making sure this was reality and not some alternate universe where Steve pushed you away and made you live without feeling his love ever again.
Once your panting had slowed, Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead and mumbled, “c’mon baby, let’s get to sleep.” You agreed and his hand guided you to his familiar bedroom, but it felt different, you wouldn’t sleep together this time and act like it was nothing. Now, you would hold each other, and get to call him yours.
The following morning, you walked hand in hand into family video with matching smiles. Robin quickly spotted the arrangement and yelled, “well it was about time lovebirds.” Steve gave her an unkindly hand gesture, while you laughed but didn’t deny it this time.
Everything was falling into place, you were able to express your feelings without expecting everything to fall apart, Steve was happy that he was able to take you on your first real date together, and when you later informed him the boy he had seen you with was your cousin he felt the urge to smack himself for being so stupid. But you only laughed and kissed him sweetly. “I won’t disagree with you there, but you’re my stupid.” That seemed to bring a smile to Steve’s face and he pulled you close, reveling in his victory.
he is stable, you are deep | frank castle x reader
a/n: special shout out to lizzy mcalpine for giving me a burst of inspiration that led to me writing a fic for the first time in 7 years (thank you anon, your feedback was so so appreciated xoxo)! also shout out to frank castle <3
summary: you want to be happy with your boyfriend joe, but you're always going to want what you can't have, frank.
warnings: emotional cheating, smut, 18+ MDNI!!!
word count: 4.8k (my bad)
The warm sun caresses your cheek as you slowly awaken from your sleep. The blankets are rearranged so you can't fling them off yourself in the middle of the night, which happens more often than not.
You look over and notice the alarm that was supposed to wake you up has another ten minutes before telling you to get up for work. You let out a groan as you realize the sweet dream you had been awoken from could have gone on a little longer.
It's always the same dream, you and Frank. You know it's bad to still be dreaming about your ex-boyfriend as you sleep next to your new one, but that's the way it is. It wasn't your choice to end things with him. It all comes down to the issue of safety in his line of work. There is always someone who is going to try to figure out his weaknesses, but wouldn't it be safer if you were with him?
Apparently not, which is why you're in this bed sleeping next to your boyfriend of six months, Joe. Joe was a good guy who happened to save you from getting hit by a taxi cab on your morning commute one dreary morning. What was a coffee in exchange for saving your life turned into date nights every Friday at some bar or restaurant, which evolved into a new normalcy of spending the night at each other's places.
When enough time had passed that you were sure Frank Castle was gone for good, you invited Joe to spend the night. There was always some hope that Frank would come back, and you didn't want him to see Joe and suddenly get cold feet, but he never came. Being with Joe was fulfilling Frank's wish of finding a "good" man for you and having the normal life, but your normal was the life you had with Frank.
Yes, Frank would come home in the middle of the night, bloody, bruised, and broken, but you were there to patch up his wounds and kiss away any pain he had. Yes, there were things he couldn't tell you about for the sake of your life, but you knew he would always be there to protect you. And yes, there were times you were scared that he wasn't coming home, but in the end, he always did, and he never once let you forget that you were the reason.
You're torn away from your thoughts as you feel Joe's soft lips kiss your cheek and his arms wrap around your waist, "good morning, baby. I missed you while I was sleeping," he murmurs as he nuzzles his head between your neck and collarbone.
You let out a soft chuckle, "I was right here the whole time. I didn't even take all your covers from you this time." He lets out a low chuckle, "Now that is an improvement. You must have slept well." You laugh and nod your head as he gives you another kiss on the cheek before getting out of bed. You watch as he makes his way out of your sight to your bathroom and brushes his teeth.
Your mind wanders, imagining Frank in your bathroom brushing his teeth instead of Joe. It's wrong, but it is a lot better than how it used to be three months ago. You used to wake up in the middle of the night and imagine Frank next to you just to be disappointed when the sun came up, and Joe's face took his place. You're just thankful Frank's name hasn't been said in a moment of vulnerability, that would be quite hard to explain.
You finally gain the strength to get up, get ready, and put your scrubs on. Another twelve-hour shift at the hospital to keep you busy throughout the day.
"Do you want to go to our usual place for drinks tonight?" You keep your lips shut to prevent a groan from coming out. After a long shift at the hospital, the last thing you want to do is go to the bar to have drinks, but it's a Friday, so it's date night.
"Sure. I'm just not sure how enthusiastic I'll be by the time we go." Joe comes into the kitchen and sits next to you at the table, "You never know until we go. You always say that, and then you're having the time of your life by the time we have to leave." You nod as you agree with him, but don't inform him that it's because he's stumbling drunk out of the bar every single time and can't remember the next day.
Frank would have enjoyed the night in and insisted on it after knowing how busy you get at the hospital. There are a lot of things that were different with Joe, but you're trying to stop comparing him to Frank. They're not the same, and Frank is not coming back, no matter how hard it is to stop imagining him in Joe's place.
"Hey, where'd you go?" Joe pushes the hair that has fallen out of your ponytail behind your ears as he gives you a small smile. "How about this. We'll go out to the bar tonight, but we won't stay out late. We'll come back at a reasonable time, allowing you to go to bed early and get some rest. Sound like a deal?" He waits for you to agree, and you apprehensively give your seal of approval. "That's my girl. Okay, I need to head off to the office before I'm scolded for being late." He gets up from the table, smiling at you, and slowly kisses your lips. You kiss him back as he pulls away, "Have a great day saving the people of Manhattan. You're my hero." You close your eyes as you let out a chuckle and give him another kiss before he leaves.
You get up and place your bowl in the sink as you go to get your badge and phone from your nightstand. You feel a strong urge to go to his contact and text him just to see if he’s alive, but you know it’s useless. He’s not going to respond because he wants you to move on, and you’re trying to. You quickly head out the door as you notice the time quickly approaching your shift time.
-------------------
Six o'clock finally rolled around, allowing you to turn off your nurse brain and catch a break as you walked back home. You enter the door, and notice Joe is on the couch watching TV in his going-out clothes. You quietly shut the door as you go over towards him.
"Do we really have to go out tonight? I know it's date night, but there were so many emergencies today at the hospital, and my feet are killing me." You stood in front of him with your hair in your face and your arms at your sides.
"Aww, babe, you know how much I was looking forward to tonight. Why don't we leave in an hour so you have plenty of time to get ready and relax with me on the couch?" He begged as he grabbed your hands and looked at you with his puppy dog eyes. You audibly groaned as you gave in to his request.
"You're lucky that I like having you around. Let me go get dressed." You tugged your hands away as you laughed at his victory cheer. You made your way into your room so you could get your disgusting scrubs off your body. You gave yourself time to get ready, so you could decompress about your day. You never talk about it with Joe because the times you tried to, he seemed interested in other things and quickly changed the subject.
You made your way onto the couch next to Joe as you cuddled up together, watching whatever sports game he was invested in. You quickly closed your eyes as you stopped resisting the tiredness that overcame your body, and as quick as they closed, they opened. "Wakey wakey, guess what time it is? It's date time!" You mentally rolled your eyes as Joe grabbed your arms and pulled you up from the couch. He pulled you close as you rested your forehead on his chest with your eyes still closed. "Let's go have fun, come on!" He grabbed your face with his hands and pecked your lips. You put a smile on your face as you joined in his enthusiasm, "Let's go! We got drinks to order and a bar to sit at." You faked a big smile as he looked at you lovingly.
"That's my girl." You let go of each other as he left to get his coat, and you grabbed your purse. The bar was only a couple of blocks away, which made it a nice warm-up in conversation before alcohol was involved.
You made your way inside and grabbed your usual table close to the bar, but far enough away that you wouldn't be bothered by anybody. Although you were tired, it was fun to go on a date with your boyfriend and listen to people attempt karaoke and see the bets people placed on their game of pool.
Joe was only two drinks in, watching another sports game on the television, when your eyes started to feel heavy. Your chin rested on your hand as you started to look around. There were always the same groups of people: a group of college students who were probably under 21 drinking beer, a couple dancing too close to each other, and the ones who just sat at the bar, drowning their sorrows in their poison of choice.
"Babe, do you mind grabbing another beer for me? The game is starting to pick up, and I think my team might have a chance of winning." He asked, his eyes glued to the TV.
"Yeah, sure. You want another Corona?" He nods slowly, turning to you without taking his eyes off the screen, and then right back to the game as his team scores.
You got up and meandered through the crowd of people at the bar and flagged down the usual bartender, Suzie. "Hey, Suzie, can I get another Corona?" You smile at her and emphasize that there is no rush if somebody else is in need of a drink. She nods her head as she goes back to grab one for you.
"Here is that Corona for you." She says as she hands you the beer. You thank her and give her a tip as you wish her luck for the rest of the night. You make your way back to the table when you feel someone grab your wrist and pull you towards them.
"How'd you know this what I wanted?" The smell of alcohol on his breath is the first thing you notice as the random guy, sitting by himself at a table, holds onto your wrist. You mentally curse yourself for not being more aware of your surroundings at a bar on a Friday night. You try to yank your wrist away from the man, but it only causes him to get up and get an even firmer grip on you. "Hey, there's no need to be like that, baby. Thank you for getting this beer for me, it's my favorite." He smiles as he tries to maintain eye contact with me.
"Get your hand off of me." You once again pull your wrist away from his hold and try to get away from him. Your attempts at escaping don't work as the man gets impossibly closer to me.
His dirty fingers make their way to push your hair back behind your ear. You can only hope that Joe finally realizes how long you've been gone and decides to look for you. You flinch away from the man and begin to struggle even more as he tries to hold on tighter. "Stop fighting this. I know you want me. You seen me drinking these beers and decided to get another one for me." He whispers as he goes to grab the beer from your other hand.
Before he has the chance to grab it, You’re pulled away from him and placed behind someone. You hold onto their back as you shut your eyes. Could it be him? Is it him?
"Get your dirty hands off my girlfriend, you fucking creep," Joe says as he shoves the drunk man to the floor. He stands over him, "If I see you anywhere near her again, a little shove isn't what you're going to have to worry about." Joe spits on him and holds onto you as you make your way back to your table. Joe grabs his jacket and quickly places it over your shoulders. "Come on, babe, we're getting out of here. Let's go home, okay?" You slowly nod your head as you grip his jacket tighter to your body.
Did that really just happen? Did some drunk asshole almost take advantage of you? Joe wraps his arms around you as he shoves through people to make your way back home.
The night has turned cold, colder than it was when you had left. You had only been there for an hour and a half, and what was supposed to be a good night had turned sour. By the time you could process what had happened, you had already made it back to the warmth of your apartment.
Joe took his jacket off your shoulders as he brought you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and soothingly rubbed your back as you started to sob. "Sh, sh, sh, you're safe now. I'm so sorry, baby. Are you okay?" You shook your head no against his chest as he kissed the top of your head. "We're never going back there. I can't believe that asshole thought he could just do that. I should've punched that motherfucker unconscious."
He would have. That's the only thing you can think about. Frank would have ended that guy. Cut his hand off for even thinking he could touch you. You imagine Frank comforting you and kissing your tears away. You lift your head off his chest and bring his head down to your lips.
You sink into the kiss as your hands move through his hair. He moves his arms to your waist as he pulls you closer. You start to back up until your knees hit the couch and pull him down with you, never once breaking the kiss. His lips are soft and exactly what you need.
His tongue presses up against your lips, begging for entrance. You oblige and open your mouth as your tongues intertwine. You moan as you move your hands from his hair to the hem of his shirt. You move your hands underneath his shirt up his chest as you try to be as close to him as possible. He takes the hint, breaks the kiss to quickly remove his shirt, and before you have a chance to open your eyes, his lips are back on yours. His hands hold your face as he slowly moves down your neck, nipping you and quickly healing it with his warm tongue.
Your back arches as he knows just what spot to make you melt under his touch. You grip his hair and place his head in the crook of your neck. "Frank, please, I need you," you moan as Joe goes still. He props himself up and stares into your eyes.
"What did you say?" His face has dropped, and any hint of love in his eyes has vanished.
"I said I need you, baby, please." You go to kiss him again, but he pulls back and gets up from the couch.
"No, you called me Frank. Who is Frank?" Joe starts to shake as he looks to you for answers. Your jaw slacks open as you let out a gasp and place your hand against your mouth. You close your eyes. This did not just happen. Have you always imagined Frank instead of Joe? Yes, you hate to admit it, but it's the only thing that can get you off.
"Joe, I know this looks bad, but I promise you it is nothing." You get up from your spot on the couch, right next to him. You grab his hands as you stare intently into his eyes. "I don't even know why I said that. This night has been awful, and I guess my mind was somewhere else." Joe pokes his tongue against his cheek as his eyes tear up.
"Is this your ex-boyfriend? The one you won't tell me about?" Joe makes eye contact with you as you avert your eyes. "Y/N, you need to tell me. I love you, and I want to be with you, but I can't be with you if you don't want me." You start to choke up as you hear the waiver in his voice. You slowly nod your head. He lets out a sigh. "You need to tell me what you want, Y/N. Is there a part of you that still wants him?" The tears fall down your face as you shrug.
"I don't know. I'm not sure." Joe looks at you incredulously. He gets up from the couch and grabs his jacket.
"Well, I'll leave you alone to figure that out then." He looks back at you with tears falling down his face. He quickly unlocks the door and slams it as he heads out.
You break down in sobs. What is happening? You feel like you’ve lived a thousand lives in twelve hours. Your head falls into your hands as everything you feel comes cascading down. You can't stop crying. You want Joe, but you're going to always want Frank.
You look up from your hands and glare at your phone on the coffee table in front of you. Your hands work faster than your brain. Your thumb immediately goes to his contact, and you hit call. You place your phone up against your ear as you let it ring. It only rings twice before it picks up.
You cry even harder, "Frank, I need you, please." You whisper as you close your eyes, waiting for a response.
The thought of this being a wrong number almost crosses your mind until his deep, gravelly voice comes in, "I'm on my way." He hangs up as you throw your phone back on the couch.
He's coming. For the first time in six months, Frank Castle is going to come through that door and be here.
Not even five minutes have gone by before you hear two loud bangs on your door. It startles you, but you're off the couch faster than you can think.
You quickly unlock the door as your red, swollen eyes are met with his longing brown ones. Your breath hitches in your throat. What do you even say to him? He takes you in as he realizes just how upset you really are.
"Can I come in?" He asks quietly as his eyes roam up and down your body, checking to make sure you're physically okay. You slowly nod as you move out of the way for him to come in. He looks around your apartment as he waits for you to lock the door.
You make your way in front of him as you just stare at each other. He takes in your tear-stained cheeks as you take in the stubble on his face. "Are you okay?" He asks.
You let out a huff as you place your hands on your hips and look at him. You look away as you feel the tears coming back and stick your tongue out the side of your mouth to try to hold them at bay. You couldn't believe he asked if you were okay, knowing how things ended between you. "What do you think, Frank?" You look at him as he looks away, "Do I seem okay? Does it look like everything's okay?" You say as your voice cracks. "Everything seems to happen all at once. I go out for date night with my 'good, normal' boyfriend, get assaulted by some dru-" your voice catches in your throat as the frog seems to continue to grow the more upset you get. You close your eyes and shake your head as you can't even verbally acknowledge what happened.
Frank steps closer and whispers, "I know, Y/N. You don't have to talk about it." You look up at him as you try to process what he said.
"You know? What does that mean, Frank?" You stare at him as the tears fall down your face.
He looks down, "I was there." He looks back up at you. "I go to that bar every Friday to make sure you're okay and that he's treating you right." You gasp. "I saw that asshole grab you, and it took everything in me not to go over there and knock his lights out. Then I saw him make his way over towards you, and he saved you. He's good for you." He clenches his jaw as he keeps looking at you.
"Fuck you, Frank. You don't get to do that." You step closer to him. "You don't get to watch over me just to approve of who I'm with when you're the one who told me to stay away from you. It doesn't matter what you think because I know he's good for me." The tears are overflowing as your lips tremble, "He's so good to me that I complain about going to date nights every Friday. That we spend almost every day together. That he holds me just the way I need to be held. That he loves me." Your voice is practically in shambles as you unleash everything that you've pent up over the past six months.
Frank takes a step towards you as you keep confessing, "You wanna know the worst thing of it all? I can't stop thinking about you." You close your eyes as you try to compose yourself. "Shouldn't I feel guilty? I have a great boyfriend who I can only get off to when I imagine it's you on top of me. Fuck, Frank, I said your name in the middle of a heated make-out session with him." You start to shout as you let the anger take control of you.
"Y/N-" Frank tries to speak, but you hold your hand up to stop him.
"I stare at my phone every morning before work, and I think about texting you, calling you. I check the logs every morning at the hospital to make sure no one with your description came in the middle of the night." The tears fall even more heavily. Frank takes another step closer.
"Y/N, he is good for you. With me, there is nothing but chaos and uncertainty. There is no normal." You shake your head as he starts to impart some bullshit wisdom, "He is stable-"
"You are deep! I don't want stable!" You and Frank are so close that you could reach your hand out and touch his chest. "I can only think about you, and I only want you. I need you to need me." You look up at him.
"I do need you," Frank growls as he smashes his lips against yours. A deep heat grows as you realize Frank is here, actually here, kissing you. You grip his hair as you let out a moan, granting his tongue entrance. So many nights you had to imagine Frank being the one making love to you, and now it's happening. He's here.
"Oh yeah, baby," you groan as his hands make their way under your shirt to unclasp your bra. You break the kiss to take your shirt off, but Frank rips it off you. You stare at him for a second and then pull his lips back to yours. "Touch me, please," you repeat like a mantra.
"Let's go somewhere," he mumbles against your lips. You nod your head as you take him into your bedroom. As soon as you make it through the door, Frank takes your hand and spins you into him. You're caught off guard as you place your hands on his chest, and he finds his on your hips. He gently moves his finger against your face as he admires you and smiles, "I missed you." You place your hand against his cheek as you kiss him.
"You don't have to miss me anymore," you whisper against him. He grabs your legs and carries you over to the bed as you land on your back. You can't get enough of him. He moves his tongue against your neck and bites down hard at the places that make you squirm, "God, Frank." Your hands move through his hair.
He kisses his way down your chest as he takes his tongue and moves it along your nipple. He takes his time licking and biting it as your back arches, and you moan his name. "Frank, please, I need you." He wastes no time in removing his shirt and begins to take off his belt. You replace his hands and pull his pants down. You wiggle out of your own and throw them off the bed.
Frank marvels at you lying on the bed as he holds himself on top of you. He kisses you hard as you hold onto his bicep. His hand moves down towards your center as you part your legs. He takes his fingers and slowly moves towards your clit. Your eyes open wide as you let out a moan. He watches you as he continues to move his fingers in circles.
You both stare at each other and notice that anytime a wave of pleasure overcomes your body, Frank opens his mouth just as wide. Your eyes crinkle as the pleasure begins to take over. You've never cum this fast. "Look at me," Frank whispers as your release comes close. You open your eyes as Frank lays his forehead against yours. Your mouths are held open together as your breaths intertwine. The intense sensation of relief you feel takes over your body as you reach your climax. Frank silences your moans with his mouth as you engage in a heated kiss.
He holds himself up as he removes his boxers. His hard member slaps against his stomach, "I might not last long, I've been dreaming about this since I left you." He says as he pushes your hair out of your eyes.
You hold onto his face as you whisper, "I don't care, Frank. I just need you." He takes that as his cue to continue. He lines himself up and slowly enters. You hold your breath as you adjust to his length. It's bigger than you remember.
He slowly starts to move back and forth as he finds his rhythm like muscle memory. You close your eyes as you make sweet music when he hits the spot that makes you lose your mind. "This is all I need, Frank, just you." He begins to move faster and harder as you feel yourself tighten around him. Your nails scratch his back as you feel him get closer, the sloppier his movements are. "I love you, Frank. I love you," you say as you feel the tears well up in your eyes. You kiss him hard as you both approach your climaxes in synchronicity. You cum again as you feel him spread his seed inside you.
You both take the time to catch your breaths as Frank lies on top of you and you play with his hair. He slowly moves out of you and looks at you. "I love you, Y/N," you smile as you kiss him. He breaks the kiss to look at you, "I need you to know it was hard for me to be away from you." The back of his pointer finger glides across your cheek. "I thought that if I disappeared, then you'd be safe, but I couldn't stay away from you. I'm sorry." You shush him as you caress his cheek.
"You don't have to be sorry, you're here now where you should be," You whisper as you kiss his cheeks.
"And I'm not going to leave, Y/N. Not again." You stare at each other, and you see just how much love you hold. You kiss each other slowly and pour everything you've wanted to say over the past six months into it. You break apart as Frank holds you close. "At least, you didn't have to worry about saying the wrong name." He lets out a chuckle as you slap his chest.
"Frank Castle, you did not just say that," you say, turning your head up to look at him with wide eyes.
"Am I wrong?" You remain silent, knowing for a fact that he is correct. You kiss him again before falling into a deep slumber with the man you've been imagining being with for the past six months.
Summary: After Frank Castle kills your best friend you are determined to get revenge. You're not a killer but you will be if that's what it takes. Except, as you dive deeper into Frank's world, you start to realize he might not be the villain you think he is. requested; view request here! word count: 9.5k
Warnings: mentions of trafficking and loss of a loved one.
Frank Castle is someone you've had in your sights for months. The man on the news said to be on killing sprees around Hell's kitchen has plagued your every waking thought since it happened. Since he killed your best friend.
His face makes you sick, the thought of the blood on his hands enticing you to put his blood on yours.
You were in a similar line of work to Frank, but you weren't quite as violent. Frank Castle killed people. You were more of a maimer. You made your point through violence yes, but you never killed and never planned to. Unless you were ever in the same room as Frank Castle. Then and only then, would you break that rule.
Your best friend Anthony died last month, and you think of him every single day. The way his body was found, almost unrecognizable from the man you knew. And the thought of his killer being someone so hard to reach pulls at your lungs until it's hard to breathe.
Frank Castle is a ghost. He moves through shadows like wind, and when you finally get hit by the draft, he's gone. You've been tracking him for so long that you think you might be crazy. You wonder how much longer you can take before you give up.
-
Frank Castle is tired. He needs you to stop pursuing him so he can focus on his next target. He obviously hasn't stopped his pursuits of those that have wronged him, but having someone on his tail constantly that isn't the police? He should be used to it by now, but he's not. Honestly, when he took out Anthony Marshall he should have taken you out too, it would have saved him the trouble of having to clean everything up now.
Suffice to say he is done letting you follow him around. He's running back the way he came, in the hopes of running into you and putting a bullet in your head. Quick, efficient and you're out of his way.
Because fuck you just won't back off.
-
You're catching up to him. You can tell Frank is close by, and that the revenge you seek might come sooner than expected. A long awaited gift for all the time you've spent grieving.
You're thinking of all the things you want to say to him as you take him down, as you finally do what Anthony would have wanted, when a dark Shadow appears in front of you. At first you think it's just the owner of the restaurant you're situated behind coming out for a smoke, but as the person gets closer, all broad shoulders and and armored chest, it hits you.
Frank Castle.
Your hands betray you and begin to shake from pure anger alone. He doesn't say anything like you thought he might, doesn't make a sound as he keeps approaching.
You don't move, just waiting for him to come within striking distance. But Frank pauses his advance before he gets to such a place, finally letting his voice ring out in the darkness. "I'm giving you one chance here. Stop following me, or I'll do what I have to."
You shake your head, slowly trying to inch yourself forward to strike. "No can do." You lurch forward and swipe at him with your knife, but he dodges you as if you're nothing but air.
He moves like a marine, and you've fought many of them, so as he makes his own move you duck under his swing. You slash at his leg as you go down, and draw blood, but the cut isn't deep enough to do real harm as you roll out from under him.
Frank still grunts at the pain of it though, and you see red so bright it's almost blinding. He walks forward with such a menacing pace that your heart does skip a beat in worry. What if you've bitten off more than you can chew? You pull your gun from it's holster as he approaches you, and point it right at his chest. The biggest part of him, the easiest to hit. You don't think you can trust yourself with a direct head shot when the stakes are this high, when your hands are so shaky.
"Why'd you do it? Why'd you kill Anthony Marshall?" You hadn't realized you needed the answer to that question until now, pointing a gun at Frank in the final fight. "Why did you kill him?" you say louder, and you hate the way it sounds. Like you're begging, like you need this. Because you do.
Frank comes so close that the gun is pressed right against his chest, point blank. "You don't wanna know." his voice is a low grumble and you know you should shoot. You should do it now. He's too close to you, and you're too easy to disarm. Shoot him. God just fucking shoot him.
But you can't, because you need to know. You need him to tell you why.
Before you can change your mind Frank grabs your wrist, twisting it at an odd angle and snagging the gun from you hands. He moves so fast that you can hardly think, and before you can move back, put some space between you and think of a new plan, the gun is brought down in a hand slam to your head. The blackness overtakes, and you're down.
You wake up in the alley behind the restaurant a while later. A splitting headache courses through you, making it hard to see as you struggle to your feet with spinning vision. You're still not quite sure if you're alive yet. You certainly don't feel entirely real as you stumble toward the stinging light of a streetlamp.
You hobble down the street until a man yells, "Hey lady, you alright?" and you stop in your tracks. You nod slowly, and he moves past you with a concerned glance. That's when you know. You're really alive. Frank Castle didn't kill you. But why?
The air is cold, and it bites at your bruised skin as you push yourself to start walking again. First a slow pace, and then faster. You begin to run, dodging passing people to get back to your apartment. And once your there, you scan your eyes over the wall full of papers and news articles, all about sightings of Frank Castle. All about his crimes. Your murder board, or inspiration board, for finding him.
Your eyes scan over each and every one, trying to figure it out. This killer, this murderer, sparing you. Someone who tried to kill him, left alive for once.
Your gaze finally lands on a picture in the corner, the reason this all began. Anthony. You think of him, of the coffee dates and long nights sat on the fire escape. Your friend and his family, and the look in the eyes of his dead and mangled body. Lifeless, and no longer here.
"Why'd you do it? Why'd you kill Anthony Marshall?"
"You don't wanna know."
For the first time your mindset has changed. Your blood still boils with rage, your chest still aches with the loss. But it's no longer about why Frank Castle killed your friend.
It's about what your friend did to deserve it.
-
You gather as much information as you can about Anthony. Old pictures and new ones. Who he was friends with at work and outside of it. Outside of you. Places he would frequent and the people that would serve him. You noted down every scrap of information you could find over who he was and who you didn't know he could be.
But you can't find anything big enough. A cause for the punisher to come after him? Nowhere. Some days you think Frank Castle might have been messing with you. Maybe there was no reason and that's what he didn't want you to know. But you don't feel like that's true. Frank Castle doesn't do anything without reason, you know that much from surveilling him for so long.
So you need to find him. You need to find Frank Castle again, and you need to get him to talk. But you have a feeling that the second time you confront the man he might not be so forgiving.
-
Frank disassembles his guns with expert precision. It's a routine, a calming method that he does every night. He counts every piece of metal, every bullet. And then puts it all back together.
He doesn't know why he let her live. Maybe because he's changing. No, maybe it's because he's the same person he's always been. It wasn't her fault, none of it was. That doesn't mean he has to like her. But he knows now that she had nothing to do with it.
"Why'd you kill Anthony Marshall?"
She doesn't know. She never did. And if that's her only crime, being oblivious to the world around her? He can't kill her for that. He can bet that now she's putting things together, or trying to. And by the look on her face as he took her down—the pain, the anger in her gaze—it might have been a mercy to end her life. Because Frank knows first hand that finding out your best friend wasn't who you thought they were, is the worst kind of betrayal there is.
-
3 months later:
You're on Frank's tail again. After the encounter you had the in alley Frank has been laying lower than usual. Hiding out in places you can't track or find, meeting with people so discreetly that you haven't been able to connect any dots. You almost thought maybe it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, to leave it be and try and move forward. But it's impossible. Not when you need the truth so badly that it's hard to breathe.
You've finally tracked Frank to a hotel in Michigan, and though you don't want to jinx anything by getting too cocky, you're proud of yourself. Frank Castle is hard man to find, and you've done it twice now.
It might seem stupid to just knock on the door to his room, but you've spent so long chasing him down that you don't want to play games with him. You're sick and tired of seeing his face in images and reports every day. You never want to see him again once this is over, even if that means you finally pull the trigger this time. But first you need answers.
You rap on the door, impatient and on guard, sliding to the side once you do so to stay out of the line of the peephole. You have your gun drawn, loaded and pointed in the direction of the door, and all you can hope is that Frank Castle answers.
Instead you hear a voice through the door. "If I open this door are you gonna shoot me, kid?"
So much for taking him by surprise.
"I want information." you say back, still standing away from the door, back pressed to the brick wall beside it just in case he decides to try something. You sure as hell aren't putting your gun away any time soon.
"That's not what I asked." Frank's voice is gruff, intimidating despite the fact you can't see who it belongs to yet. You don't need to see him. You have a clear picture in your mind of the man you want gone.
"I won't shoot you." You confirm, even though you're thinking about doing so at that very second. "Are you going to shoot me?" you ask. If you're making ice thin promises for him, he should be making some to you too.
There's a noise from the other side, a lock unlatching. "I won't shoot."
You don't know if you believe him. You certainly don't trust him, though you suppose he could say the same for you.
The door is pulled open in that next second, Frank Castle appearing a moment later. He's got his own gun pulled, finger over the trigger and ready to press down at a moment's notice. You're exactly the same.
You stand there a moment, weapons both drawn and pointed, wondering who might break first. In the end, as if through some silent communication, you lower your guns at the same time.
Frank gestures with his head for you to come inside, and as you slip into the motel room slowly, you never once put your back to him, your gun still firmly grasped.
He closes the door behind you, but doesn't lock it, something you take note of if you need to rush out later.
"What d'you wanna say?" Frank gets right to it. You notice now in the dim light of the room that he looks so unbelievably tired. And dare you say...human.
"What did you mean that day in the alley? when you said I didn't want to know why you killed him?" you don't need to say who. Frank knows exactly what you're talking about despite the months that have passed.
He stands there with a grim expression, and you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes as he plans out how to word something.
"Frank, who was Anthony?" Who was the man you knew? Who was your best friend, behind the smiles, the suits, and the trusting brown eyes?
Frank clears his throat, "He was part of a trafficking ring. A big one. Bigger than Hell's kitchen, bigger than anything the cops could get their hands around."
The words hang in the air between you, a rock sinking further and further into the lake of your despair. You don't want to believe it, but somehow despite having no trust in the man before you, you know it's true.
"Do you have proof?" you say after what feels like a million moments of silence. Your gaze has shifted to the space behind Frank, the wall where a stain the size of a flower petal sits.
Your grip on your gun has tightened, but not because of Frank, or your concern for your safety. It's a new kind of anger, less pointed and clear. It rolls over you in waves, building in your belly along with the pain of losing someone. Someone who lied. Who you never knew in the first place.
Frank nods, confirming what you wish wasn't true.
You finally bring your gaze back to focus on him, and with a shaky voice, ask "Can you show me?"
-
The pictures are graphic, and the documents and emails are somehow worse, frank showing you everything he's come across in the last year. He usually covers his tracks, never keeps the evidence he finds. He doesn't need it in the way cops do when he has his own form of justice, so it took him a while to back track and find the evidence you requested. But two days later and it's all laid out for you. Clear as day.
"Have you killed them all?" You ask, voice so quiet it's barely heard.
Frank stands with his arms folded a good distance away from you. He shakes his head, "Not yet. But I'll get there."
He means it, you know he does.
You don't know what comes over you, but as you stand looking at the images of the people that have been harmed by this organization, harmed by people like Anthony, you become someone knew. Looking up at Frank, you lock eyes with an almost emotionless expression.
"Do you need some help?"
-
Frank doesn't know how he got here, agreeing to work with some kid from hells kitchen on a case he could very well work by himself. Your way of doing things makes him unreasonably mad. You're slow and overly emotional, and he shouldn't be here on this roof top with you.
So why is he?
The first thing that comes to mind is Billy Russo. The friend he loved, who left him and his family for dead. The friend who was never the man Frank thought he was. He doesn't like you, never will, but he knows the rage you're feeling now, the pain of betrayal indescribable.
You're watching him as he lines his rifle sight up to the window where the target should show at any moment. You sit nearby, though never close enough for him to touch you. You're smart that way, he'll give you that. Arms length always.
"You okay, kid?" he doesn't know why he asks.
"Fine." you grumble back, and he doesn't like the attitude. He would much rather be doing this alone.
The target comes into the room, and Frank adjusts his position. He doesn't have to say anything for you to know that it's time. You move a little closer to the edge to watch, and he's surprised you do so.
"Ready?" he should have taken the shot by now, he doesn't understand why he reaches out to you. His fingers flex on the gun, forefinger over the trigger. One movement and it could be over for the man in the room. The last one on the list.
"Ready." you confirm.
Frank waits one moment, maybe to see if you'll back out. But you don't move. He inhales, letting the air fill his chest, holding it there for two seconds. The man comes into the perfect line of sight, the perfect shot.
Frank fires. You flinch. It's over.
-
He doesn't hear from you for months after that. You go your separate ways and Frank is glad for it. You killed ten people by his side, and each one seemed to take away a piece of you that Frank knew you couldn't get back. You never mentioned your friend Anthony more than once in the whole time you worked with him, and he never dared to ask.
So the night Frank receives a call from an unknown number he doesn't expect it to be you. He answers, without saying anything, and wait for the first word to come from the other end of the line.
"Are you there?" it's your voice, one he has regrettably come to know. He doesn't respond, is unsure what to say. "Frank, are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
How you got his number he's not sure. He changed it after everything was done with the trafficking ring and he never intended to be in contact with you again. For all he knew you went back to hells kitchen.
"I need your help." There's a hint of despair in your voice, it seems from having to ask him of all people to assist you. He doesn't rub it in or prolong this anymore than he has to.
"What with?"
Your exhale comes shaky over the other end of the line, as though you are breaking a sweat as you speak with him. You're on the move, he realizes, hearing footsteps faintly over your side of the phone.
"There's people after me, following me and I can't seem to lose them. I don't know what they want or who they are. They're like ghosts, and they want me gone."
"Gone how?" Frank is standing a little straighter in the street, eyes scanning around as if trying to catch anyone listening.
"Dead." the word is final as it leaves you lips, and before frank can ask anything more, the lines goes silent. The call has ended, and Frank has no idea how to find you, but he will.
Back at his motel, he packs his things with a newfound calm and hops in his van. He's heading back to Hell's kitchen, hoping you're there somewhere.
He drives for days, until finally he's back where it all started. The place is just as broken and tormented as he remembers it, sirens and shouts constant and echoing. He wanders through the streets on your trail surprisingly fast since he made it back. Almost like you left one for him to find. It's dark by the time his search comes to an end, but it's not as happy a reunion as one could hope. You're covered in blood in an apartment Frank knows doesn't belong to you.
"What happened?" He rushes to your side, ignoring the way you flinch back away from him. You've never been this close to him before, and he knows you're uncomfortable with it, but you called him, so there's nothing for you to complain about.
"Knife fight," you mumble, pushing yourself to sit up a little straighter against the wall where you lean. "You should see the other guy."
Frank doesn't laugh, doesn't even smile.
"Let me see." He reaches for your shirt, trying to get a look at the wound underneath but you shove him away. "Let me see it." he says more sternly, no room for arguing. He reaches out again and you let him, though you're stiff and uncomfortable as he lifts your shirt to examines the cuts on your skin. They aren't deep, and you'll live, but it looks like they hurt, and you've lost a lot of blood.
"You got any idea who wants you dead, kid?" His voice seems to echo in the empty apartment, and he's very aware that whoever owns it could be home any second. Or maybe they won't be and that's why you chose it to lay low in.
"No fucking clue." you groan, hand coming down to your side as you try and move once more. He should get you some painkillers, or at least some bandages, but he can't do that here.
"Who owns this place?"
You only shrug in response and Frank wants to smack you upside the head. What were you thinking hiding out in some strangers apartment? He has to move you before anyone finds out you're here.
"We gotta go, can you stand?" His eyes run over you, assessing as you nod your head. You push yourself up, or try to, and fail.
"Fucks sake, kid." He stands, and puts his hands under your arms, hauling you to your feet as if you weigh nothing. He doesn't flinch as you shove at him, trying to get him to let go.
"Trust me, I don't wanna be carrying you down a flight of stairs either." he slings your arm over his shoulder, and puts one of his around your waist, holding you up as you try and walk to the door. Your footsteps are slow, unsteady, and you wince at every too fast movement.
"Don't be a fucking baby." He near whispers as you make it into the hall. It's hard not to draw attention in a situation like this, but Frank is trying his best. "Keep your head down, alright? Don't let the cameras catch a whiff of you."
You do as instructed, and after about 10 minutes of stumbling down stairs and avoiding prying eyes, you make it outside.
Frank's eyes scan the street and you let him do the work despite yourself. Frank knows if this were any other situation you would have pushed him off you by now. You would have kept the distance you're so used to, and you would have a hand on your loaded weapon just in case. Because he's a killer after all. He made you into one too.
He moves you as fast as he can through the streets and to his van, and after a eighty minute drive out of the city, he finds an old motel. He parks, looks over you with an almost protective eye. "Stay here."
He knows you don't want to listen. He also knows you don't have the energy to argue.
Frank moves at a steady pace, not too fast. He doesn't draw attention where he doesn't need it. He books a room at the reception, a room for one. He doesn't want any trail of you. He doesn't want whoever's after you to know you're here. It's best if reception thinks there's a lonely man in for the night if anyone comes around asking.
Then he goes back to the van, pulls it up close to the room, and sneaks you in as best he can.
"I'm good, I don't need you babysitting me." you snap once you're settled in the room. It's a stupid thing to say, you sound like a child in need of babysitting just by your tone, but if you feel that way you don't let on.
Frank lets out a disapproving grunt "You called me, remember?"
You don't say anything in response, just watch him closely, like a dog that's been kicked one too many times. Ready to bite.
"D'you know how to clean those?" Frank asks, nodding toward the hand you have over the cuts on your abdomen. He's got a pretty heavy first aid kit in the van, but he's waiting to see what you say first. He's overstepped enough today.
"I know how." you don't snap at him this time. It's more of a tired defeat. You're out of the worst of your troubles for now. "Do you have stuff I can use?"
Frank is surprised you asked but doesn't say so. He nods, leaving the room to go and get the first aid kit from his van.
-
Despite the fact you clean your own wounds, Frank sits across the room watching with every step you take. He doesn't say a word about your technique, doesn't say anything at all. He sits watching almost like a guard dog, a bull mastiff at the front gate of a family yard.
There's a feeling deep in your chest at the thought of it. Of him protecting you. You've spent so long resenting him, wanting to kick the life from his body after what he'd done. But now you don't feel that so strongly anymore. The feeling now is different. You can't put a finger on it.
"You don't have to stick around you know." the words carry themselves across the space to Frank, and his expression doesn't change at all as they reach him.
"I don't have anything else to do."
You're sure that's a lie, almost certain of it.
"Why'd you come?" the question you'd been wanting to ask for so long.
Franks brows pulls down into a frown, as if the answer is obvious. "You called." his voice is a gruff rumble across from you, deep and dark, a sound you despised months ago. Now? It's almost comforting.
"Okay." is all you can think of to say, "Thank you."
He nods, as if it meant nothing at all. You wonder where he was before he came to you, if he was two minutes away or miles out of town. Perhaps you'll never know.
-
Night falls quickly, and the issue arises as soon as your eyes beg to close. There's one bed. And two of you.
"I'll sleep in the van." Frank says without a second thought. He's tired himself, but has slept in worse places before and couldn't care less whether or not there is a pillow beneath his head tonight. The issue he does have however is this; if he's in the car and you're in the room alone, who's supposed to make sure you don't die?
If someone comes into the room while he's asleep in the van, he'll never know unless they (or you) are loud enough to wake him. It would be a shame for him to have come all this way to "save you" only for you to be killed on his watch.
Still, he moves toward the door, slipping outside. He's staying up tonight, and he's watching that door like a hawk till the morning.
-
At around 3am there's movement. The door to the hotel room opens, but not from anyone on the outside. You twist the handle yourself, and Frank watches from the front seat of the van as you step out into the cool night air. You're still in your clothes from the day, minus your shoes, and you look left to right, checking for any prying eyes before making your way to the van. Smart kid.
When you notice he's up and alert in the front seat your shoulders drop down, more relaxed. You know now that he's been watching out for you, and that seems to relax you, though Frank can't be sure.
You knock on the drivers side window, and Frank opens the door.
"Have you slept at all?" you ask him, voice laced with irritation despite the fact he's been doing everything to help you for the past 12 hours.
"Been keeping watch." he can tell the way he says it, unbothered, makes you more annoyed than before.
"Come inside." it's more of a command than a request, but Frank doesn't take orders from anyone anymore. He doesn't budge.
"Come inside, please." he's surprised to hear pleasantries coming from you, but somehow it makes a difference. Frank shifts a little in his seat.
"Why?"
"I feel bad with you sitting out here all night. Come inside, get some sleep." There's no note of fondness in your tone, just a matter of fact way of things.
"Where do I sleep?"
"In the bed."
"With you?"
"Yes, Jesus. Grow up."
Frank lets out a low laugh, and opens the drivers side door to get out of the van. He follows you back inside slowly, checking the surroundings one more time for good measure before he locks the door behind you both.
He watches you shuffle back over to the bed, and you slide back under the pushed back covers with a grunt of pain. The gash on your abdomen must still be bothering you despite the pain killers in the first aid kit.
Frank removes his boots and his jacket, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He moves toward the bed with a newfound caution, not missing the tenseness of your shoulders with each step closer he takes. You're still not comfortable with him, and neither is he with you. But he pulls back the covers on his side anyway, and shuffles himself into the bed.
You reach out and turn off the lamp, the silence and darkness overtaking you both. Should he say something or will that make it worse? Frank's never been all that good with words anyway.
It's now that Frank realizes just how exhausted he is, and as the quiet room wraps around him, he finds his eyes closing. Just for a second, a minute or two. But before he can tell himself to stay on guard, sleep has him, and it doesn't let go.
-
You wake up warm, despite the lack of blankets on the bed. Your eyes open slowly, and you come to see the dusty curtains of the motel room, the light from outside fighting to creep around the edges.
For a moment you think the window might be open, because there's air brushing against the back of your neck, but that doesn't make sense. If the window is in front of you, why is the wind caressing you from behind? And the air that hits your neck, the back of your ear, is warm and a little too soothing for your liking.
You feel a weight, not crushing or uncomfortable, but just there, around your middle. Slowly, you shift your head down, looking toward the cause. There's an arm draped over you, a strong arm that most definitely shouldn't be there. You recognize the hand at the end of the arm instantly. The same hand that beat the shit out of you with ease the first time you met Frank Castle.
Frank. He's curled himself around you in slumber, and now has you trapped beneath his gentle giant of an arm.
The you from five months ago would have shoved him away in disgust. The you from yesterday might have done the same. But you realize now that this is the first piece of physical affection you've felt in months. You haven't received a hug or a pat on the back since Anthony died, and despite the fact his killer is the one holding you, you can't find it in yourself to pull away.
You feel him stir behind you, Frank Castle slightly off his guard for once. It seems he doesn't know you're awake yet, as he slowly, carefully eases his arm off of you in an attempt not to wake you up.
You close your eyes, trying to sell what he already believes. You don't want him to hold this over your head forever.
You feel the bed dip and rise again, as he gets out. You hear the clunk of his boots as he puts them on. And that's when you choose to open your eyes. You move your legs a bit, stretching to let him know you're 'waking up'.
"Morning," he grunts, and you look over to him, his hair disheveled from sleep, eyelids still heavy.
"Morning." you try and match his tone, but don't quite land the gruffness of it. You watch as Frank reaches for the door, unlocking it and turning the handle.
"Wait, where are you going?" You shove the covers off and stand a little too quickly, tweaking the stitches in your side and making your head spin.
"Stay here."
"No, where are you going?" The person you were months ago would have loved to have him leave you in peace, but now your voice is raised and there's an underlying message in your tone. Don't go.
"I'm gonna handle this, alright?" It's almost like Frank is looking past you, not at you as he speaks. "And then you can go home."
Home. What does that even mean now?
"Handle this?" you know what he's saying but you're unsure how he can pull it off. You don't even know who wants you dead, let alone how many people are a part of the operation. Frank is strong, and he's got a history of being the last man standing, but still you worry. You're worried about him. That's new.
"Stay here." he says again, before opening the door and slipping out. Don't go, don't go, don't go. You race to the door and follow him out, almost tripping over the lip of concrete right outside.
"Frank," You stumble, still in your socks. The gravel outside sticks to the fabric in an uncomfortable way, but you take a few steps toward him despite it.
"Jesus sweetheart, don't make me tie you down in there." He turns around to face you, keys in hand and you know he means what he says. He'll do it, you know he will.
"What are you gonna do?" you can picture it now, Frank Castle, the punisher, back in the game. You're taken back to the time you hunted the trafficking ring with him. Recalling the cold calculation in his gaze, the expert calm as he pulled the trigger every time.
Frank looks at you as though he knows what you're thinking about. He doesn't have to give you an answer to that question. You know it already. Kill them all. He's going to kill them all. And he's going to do it for you.
"Lock the door." is all Frank says before turning his back to you and heading toward the van.
-
Frank returns at 3am, and you're wide awake and waiting for him when he unlocks the door to the motel room. You watch with wide eyes as he steps in, duffle bag in hand, and his face and clothes splattered with blood you know doesn't belong to him.
You don't say anything, and neither does he. He pushes off his boots with a wince, and removes his jacket and belt just like the previous night. And then he sits across the room in the shitty wooden chair by the door.
He watches you in silence, and it's a different kind of challenge you're faced with. No longer is it who can kill who first, but instead, who can say what they really mean.
"Thank you." you say at long last, the first to break. It's the best you can do, and something in the dark of Frank's eyes tells you he knows that too.
He stands and makes his way to the bathroom to wash off the blood. When he comes back out he's a brand new man, albeit shirtless, and you keep careful eyes on him as he reaches into the bag he brought inside and pulls out a new shirt. He pulls the black fabric over his head, but not before you take notice of the bruises that line his ribs.
You force yourself to lie down in the bed, and turn onto your side. You stare at the wall, watching the shadow Frank casts along it in the lamplight as he gets into the bed beside you.
He keeps his distance on his side of the mattress, but you feel him there. His distant weight and warmth.
You reach out and turn out the light, but you keep your eyes open in the darkness. You wait, one minute, then two. Counting the seconds with your heart beating against your chest.
"They won't hurt you again." Frank's voice echoes in the quiet. You let it wash over you.
Turning onto your back, you stare at the ceiling, the blackness before you broken only by the occasional headlights breaking through the gaps in the curtains. You don't know what possesses you to do it, but you move your hand from your stomach, and slide it along the blankets. The tip of your pinky finger finds Frank's hand on top of the covers, and before you can back out of it, you take his hand in your own. It's calloused and hot, the hand of a killer.
Frank doesn't pull away. He doesn't move at all.
-
The next morning you awake in a similar position as the previous night. Frank's body lays close to yours, and you can feel his chest rise and fall against your back. Except this time something is different. You're awake, and so is he. But neither of you make a move to break apart. You haven't spoken, but it's very clear to both of you that the other is alert.
So where do you go from here?
Finally, you make the first move, pulling off the covers and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You completely ignore the precarious position you were once in as you get to your feet and head toward the bathroom.
The tiles are cold against your bare feet, and you stand there and stare at your reflection in the mirror once the bathroom door is closed. Who are you? Someone who craves the touch of a man you once despised? Of a man with so much blood on his hands that everything he touches comes out covered in it?
You splash water on your face, hoping that maybe the sharp cold will bring you back to yourself. But you still feel the same as you look up at your reflection again. Maybe this is who you are now. Someone who doesn't flinch when the killer is inside the house.
When you exit the bathroom, Frank is dressed and ready to go. He's got his boots on, and his bag packed, as if this was just some camping trip he took that meant nothing at all. He has a t shirt in his hands, a clean one by the looks of it.
"Thought you might want something new for a change."
You look down at your grody three day old shirt and sigh. He's right. You feel disgusting despite the showers you've had. You take the shirt back into the bathroom and change.
It's dark blue, and too big for you. The hem is slightly frayed but the thing you notice most of all is that it smells like Frank. Like gun smoke and fresh earth.
You take one last look in the mirror, and then snap your eyes away, exiting the bathroom for the second time that morning. Frank stands by the front door, duffle bag over his shoulder waiting for you. His eyes scan over your body when you appear, examining from head to toe. Then he nods, satisfied. "Let's get you home."
-
The drive in the van is somewhat silent. Frank turns the radio on half way through the ride, and the channel the van is set to is not at all what you expected from Frank Castle. The soft jazzy music washes over you, and even with the underlying anxiety of the last few weeks, you feel a sense of calm.
You've come to understand that no harm will come to you when you are with Frank, and that as long as you call him, no harm ever will.
He glances at you more times than you can count as he drives, so much so that you almost think to comment about keeping his eyes on the road. You wonder what he's thinking, but more so what he might be feeling, and if those feelings are the same ones that have begun to fester deep in your chest.
-
"Where should I drop you?" Frank hasn't spoken for so long that the words scratch at his throat, a dog at a closed door.
He's been watching you in short bursts for the entire drive, eyes on the navy blue fabric that hangs on your body. It's old, ragged but when you wear it the shirt feels well loved, and cherished instead.
It scares him a little, that he has a hard time taking his eyes away from you. How is he supposed to leave you on the side of the road with thoughts like these?
"Anywhere near town is fine." your voice is so different from his, not yet hardened. But he can hear the change from when he first met you to this day. You hold less pain in your words, less disgust and anger.
Frank wants to take the van on a detour, even if it gives him an extra half an hour to think about what the hell he's doing. But he stays the course, and as the buildings grow bigger and the people more busy, he pulls over. It's a nice day outside, the sun shines despite the usual smog that covers the city, and it seems fitting for the ending of his journey with you.
Nothing Frank has ever lasts long. He's come to accept this now, even if it still leaves an empty space in his chest. The click of the passenger door opening is like the final bell of warning, Frank's last call to speak now or forever hold his peace. You hop out of the van, and Frank sits with his hands still on the wheel, looking down at you. You stand there, door open and still looking at him from the street.
A moment passes, as if you're waiting for him to say something. He doesn't. You take a step toward the van, and close the passenger door. He thinks it's over, just another thing to wash his hands of at the end of the day. But his eyes follow you as you move around the front of the van to the drivers side door. Frank watches in confused silence as you pull his door open.
"Get out of the van, Frank." you have a sternness to your voice, like a teacher that no one dares to disobey.
Frank gets out of the van. Of course he does.
And now he's here, standing with you on the side of the road. His eyes take you in, the blue t-shirt, the cut on your brow and the bruises on your forearms. The determined look on your face.
And then you hug him.
He doesn't expect it, and he stands there stiff as a board for a second before it registers. Your body is small against his, and fragile in a way he never noticed. He'd always seen you as this storm of a person, pushing against him with such rage that all he could do was stand his ground. As Frank wraps his arms around you in return, it occurs to him that all storms pass. He recalls the softness of your skin the morning he awoke with his arm over you in the hotel, and he can smell the florals of the motel shampoo in your hair as it brushes against his face.
You pull back before Frank can savor it anymore, "You're not a good man, Frank." your words knock the wind out of him, and his lips part as the breath leaves. "But I'm no saint either."
You take a step back, as if allowing yourself one final full look at him before you go. And then, without another word, you vanish around the front of the van, the last Frank sees of you being your hair lifted by the wind as you move down the street.
-
One year later:
You sit at a bar nursing your final drink of the night. It's been a long few months, and your life has relatively returned to normal since the disaster that was last year with Frank Castle. Well, your life is as normal as it can get when your job is hunting down bad guys in your free time.
You still think about the months you spent with Frank taking down that trafficking ring, the silent communication you had with him on when to shoot—when it was clear and when it was not. You think about the people that came after you, and the way Frank drove miles to come and get you when you had no one else to call. How he'd killed every single one of them in a single night, so that he could take you home the next day.
And you're thinking about him now, almost in a sick twist of fate, as he walks in at the bars final call.
-
Frank is in desperate need of a drink. His knuckles ache from all the punches he's thrown in the last 24 hours, back in this damn town once again, as if there's a rope around his leg, pulling him back every time he tries to get out.
The bar is one he's been to before, and it's dangerous to show his face here again after the mess he caused last time, but he can't bring himself to care at this moment. His boots are near silent against the wooden floor as he walks, years worth of marine training instilled into his steps. And as he moves closer to the bar through the thinning crowd, he feels a pair of eyes on him. The hairs on the back of his neck raise, and he stops dead in his tracks.
He hears the footsteps behind him, light and careful.
"Frank?"
The voice echoes in his mind, memories resurfacing as he turns around. And there you are. Your hair is longer since the last time he saw you, and your clothes are different too, like you changed everything about yourself while he was gone. But you're still the same. He can see it in your eyes as you look at him.
He feels like a fool, standing here with nothing to say.
"What are you doing here?" It's a valid question, and Frank has been asking himself the same thing ever since he got back. He hasn't yet admitted to himself that maybe he was subconsciously pulled back by you.
"I had some unfinished business." is what he says instead of the thousand thoughts that tumble around his head.
You scoff, looking down to the drink in your hand. He wonders how many you've had tonight, and if you'd be up to sharing one more with him.
"How've you been?" he keeps his hands at his sides even as he feels the urge to reach out.
"Good, busy."
God this small talk is killing him. He'd rather you hit him over the head with the beer bottle you hold than keep doing this back and forth.
Frank remembers the way you flinched the night he killed the last man in the trafficking lineup. The way your shoulders settled back down after a minute of eye contact with him. He remembers sitting across from you on that roof, breathing deeply so you could copy his movements. You never spoke about it, that quiet moment you spent together. But Frank remembers.
"I'm gonna get a drink." He says, and heads toward the bar. He knows you'll follow.
He argues with the bartender, promising he only wants one beer to end the night. He won't be here much longer. When he's got his own beer in hand and you're finishing yours it finally hits him.
He missed you. He missed the angry silence, turned comfortable pain. He missed the dirty motels and the blood on his hands that also covered yours. His mind always wanders to the late nights taking out the filth of the nearby towns, and the night you called him for help months after.
He thinks about seeing you in that apartment, covered in blood and bruises. About how that made him feel.
And he remembers the hug goodbye.
"How do you go back to normal?" your voice cuts him away from those thoughts and back to the present. Back to normal? God he doesn't know.
"I don't know what normal is anymore." he takes a sip of his beer, letting the cold liquid pacify him. Your eyes are stuck to him, as if you're not entirely sure he's here. He watches you open your mouth, then close it again. A fish out of water.
"For a while there my normal was you."
You don't look away as you say it, and Frank feels exposed in front of you.
"I didn't realize how alone I was until the only person I had in my life was Frank fucking Castle." you chuckle, a little taken aback with your own honesty. "And then you left too, and I—"
You don't finish the sentence but he knows what you mean.
Frank looks around the bar, the people slowly filing out. The staff putting the chairs up on the tables and sweeping the floor.
"I'll stick around if you will."
He looks back at you, at the scar on your forehead that he knows the origin of. At the color of your eyes and the confusion in them.
"What?"
Frank hasn't made a joke in years, he's terrible at them, always has been. "Two lonely people walk into a bar," He starts, though there's not really a punchline. "and they leave together."
Even though it's stupid you get the gist of what he's trying to say. You smile, and it's the first time Frank has ever made you do so. It's an accomplishment he didn't know he needed.
"Alright, finish your drink, Castle. Then we hit the road."
Bringing his beer back to his lips, Frank smiles too. He really likes the sound of that.
-
You and Frank go from place to place, two people with no roots tying them down. You gathered your stuff later that night, and left your place unlocked for the landlord to find.
It was risky, going with him after everything he's done. But you've done plenty of bad things too, so maybe that cancels him out.
You stay in motels with twin beds, and slowly as time passes you move to just one. You sleep under the covers together like the day he came to save you, because lets be honest, that's what he did. And after three months of back and forth, awkward glances, touches, and getting changed in the same room, you start to realize what this really is.
Frank squeezes past you, a hand running along the small of your back to get to the bathroom, and you feel it. Deep in your stomach, the drop. The butterflies...no a whole damn zoo.
"You alright?" he asks, noting your stiffness. But you can't open your mouth to speak. You turn to face him, and god, you know deep down it's true. You're in love with him.
"Hey, what's happening up in that head of yours, Sweetheart?"
Sweetheart.
He's been calling you that lately, sweetheart, honey, dollface.
He takes a step toward you when you don't answer, reaching out. You back away before his skin can touch yours.
"Fuck." it's all you can say, and you see the hurt flash in his eyes. There for a second, then gone, with a soldiers control. You can see what he isn't saying in the way he stands. What did I do? How do I fix it? Let me fix it.
Instead he says, "Am I missing something here?"
Yes. Yes he is..
"What is this?" you gesture between him and you, and you notice now that your hands are shaking. Frank notices too.
"This? What do you mean, what is this?"
This. The gentle touches, the pet names, sleeping in the same bed, being the only person the other trusts.
"What are we?"
Frank gets it now. His shoulders shift, he holds himself different. His chest rises and falls with planned, steady breaths. It's in that moment you can tell he feels the same. He doesn't have to tell you. You just know, and that's the way it is.
You can feel your bottom lip wobble, the barbed wire attaching itself to your throat with each swallow. You've never cried in front of him, but today might be the day.
"Do you love me?" You hate how your voice breaks, the crack in the word love.
It's subtle, but Frank nods. He nods, and the first of your tears start to fall. You're angry, angry at him and at yourself for letting this happen. God, how did this happen?
You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to keep it in, stifle everything, as Frank takes a step forward. His hands come to the sides of your head, and he pulls you closer, till his forehead touches yours.
"I'm sorry." It's a murmur, sickening and sincere. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He says it over and over again, like his love is a curse you have to carry. You can hear a couple arguing in the room next door as you place a hand over his chest, on his beating heart.
"I'm sorry, too." Or in other words, I love you just as much.
He lets out a breath that brushes against your face, and his chest deflates under your hand. Relief, or maybe something different. You know he's readying himself to say something, and it might not be what you want to hear. He takes a step back and his hands let you go, but the space between you is warm and charged. He allows the most broken laugh to fall from his lips, a sound so hopeless that it breaks your heart.
"I romanticize this dream where i fall in love with you and I get it right. But that ain't me. I don't get shit right, I even don't get halfway there. You don't want that."
He's looking right at you, burning a hole into your soul.
You wipe the tears that continue to stream down your face with the heel of your hand.
"I do want that."
He shakes his head, disagreeing. You swear his eyes are glassy, maybe just as much as yours.
"I'm sorry," you say again. The new i love you. "but I want that. I want that with you."
The words seem deafening in the small room and Frank doesn't make you say them again. He reclaims the space he took back, and cautiously places his hands on your hips.
"I want that too."
You're so close to him, and this new you doesn't mind at all. And as his lips meet yours, it all comes back to you. Every memory you've ever had of him, and just how wrong you were to begin with. Frank Castle is no hero by any means, but neither was your best friend, and neither are you.
The kiss isn't a fresh start. You don't need one of those and you wouldn't want one if you had it. But it is an open door to something you needed. He pulls away, but the taste of him lingers. Motel toothpaste a reminder on your tongue.
No, it's not a fresh start, or a blank slate. But from now on, every fight must end in this. I'm sorry and I love you. That's how you get even.
<3
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GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @caplanreadss @hiya-itsamber @s00buwu
Summary: Your coworker is a little too curious about just how close your relationship with your (very hot) roommate could possibly be.
Pairing: Roommate! Frank Castle x fem!Reader
Warnings: Established relationship, very loosely referenced smut, honestly this one is just pretty fluffy overall. I do spend way too much time and too many of my words simply describing Frank Castle because I love him, your honor.
I genuinely don't know where this one came from, to be fully honest. I think I kind of blacked out in one of my hyper-hormonal hazes and just...came to with this little fluffy thing in my hands. I desire to lie in bed with soft domestic Frank for hours on end with my whole feminine reproductive system heart and yeah this is pretty much what I want for my life, please and thank you.
"I have to know," your coworker suddenly bursts out, in a terribly loud stage whisper.
"What?"
"You have to tell me what the deal is with Tall, Dark, and Daddy over there. Cause he never even comes into the shop on your days off, so don't try and give me some bullshit about not knowing him."
You feel a tiny flutter deep down in your chest at the realization that Frank must stay in and make his own coffee unless he has the certain excuse to see you. It's oddly sweet of him, and threatens to turn your insides to mush as so many of his small actions do.
He's at the small table in the far corner, chair leaned slightly back against the wall, one of his legs bouncing up and down in that constant state of being-on-edge that both haunts and favors him, reading an actual newspaper like some goddamn stubborn anti-technology crusader. He looks like bad news in his heavy combat boots with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up so that just the forward-most curls of his dark hair stick out, the corner of his mouth occasionally slanting even further downward as he chews on his bottom lip.
You might have to tell him sometime. He could seriously be mistaken for a lowlife casing the joint.
Though he'd probably just laugh at that.
"That's the roommate," you finally answer her as you wipe down the counter, shrugging and trying to keep your voice casual. "Pete. We split rent."
Her jaw has hit the floor.
"I'm sorry, wait, you LIVE with Tall, Dark, and Daddy? When you said you'd found someone to share the apartment, I dunno I just, I didn't picture him."
You smirk. "Trust me, neither did I."
She scoots closer to you so you can't escape her burning curiosity. "You have to have...y'know. At least once. I mean, he is HOT."
"I guess so?" Thank god the heat is on today so you can wave away the aggressive warmth that floods your skin. "I mind my business and he does his own thing, whatever that is. We don't really see a whole lot of each other."
Lies.
You don't know why, but you flick a glance at Frank after saying that, and your stomach swoops when his dark eyes brush heavily past yours and those unfairly pretty lips curve into a slow grin that almost shows teeth.
Can he hear your conversation?
"Oh you must see more of each other than that, for him to visit the shop every day you work!"
Her choice of words merely repeats back what you had just said to her a moment ago, and yet it triggers an avalanche of secret moments in your head, of your bodies pressed together in the shower, so close even the water can't run between you, of how his fingers handle your body as skillfully as any weapon, of the way your lips can make his stoic breath stutter for just a second.
Only that morning you'd had to untangle yourself from his iron grasp, gently pushing away his reaching hands as he tried to pull you back under the blankets with him. You had leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, another on his cheekbone; he had smiled so softly at you, his eyes still distant with sleepiness, and stroked your disheveled hair.
"I have to go, Frankie. I'm opening today."
"I know, Sweetheart, I know. Miss you when you're gone, s'all."
In real time, he catches the faraway look on your face, snorts, and turns back to his paper and coffee. But his trigger finger is tapping out a quick rhythm on his thigh now, and you know that he's just waiting for your shift replacement to get here so he can take you home with him again.
You glance back at your coworker, who is blissfully oblivious to everything that was just nonverbally exchanged between you.
"Yeah, not really. I hardly know the guy, but he's been a good roommate so far and he looks out for me, in his own way."
"You're insane for not at least trying to get some," she mutters incredulously.
You simply laugh and throw the rag at her.
If only she had any idea what you've gotten since he moved in.
everyone has something to hide | frank castle x reader
author's note: hi guys! this story loosely, VERY loosely follows some events of season one of the punisher! this story does have a good ending, but there is talk of abusive relationships and torture as well. if there are any warnings that you think should be added that aren't, please don't hesitate to reach out. I hope you guys enjoy this story, and any feedback, notes, reposts, and comments are much appreciated. thank you so so so much! <3 <3
summary: you are sarah lieberman's friend and neighbor for the past year and a half. before he died, david helped you get away from your abusive ex, and just when you start adjusting to your new life, he shows back up. who else to save you but the new man sarah hit with her car who you've grown close to, pete or is it frank?
warnings: abusive relationship, held hostage, torture, knives, guns, emotional and physical abuse, unaliving, mentions of su!c!de, smut, 18+ MDNI!!!
word count: 13.6k
"You did what?" you asked with your jaw wide open as you held the phone close to your ear.
"I know, I know." Sarah sighs, closing her eyes and rubbing her hand down her face.
"How did you hit someone with your car? Did he appear out of nowhere? Were you distracted?" you asked as you paced around your living room, trying to think of all the possibilities that caused your sweet friend Sarah to hit a random person turning into her own driveway.
"I-I don't even know how to answer that. I didn't even see him! I was just coming back home when all of a sudden I felt a thud, and coffee was sprayed all over my windshield. It was bad, Y/N." You couldn't help the chuckle of disbelief that came out as Sarah explained what happened. "It's not funny, I didn't think I hit him that hard until I got out of the car and he had blood dripping down the side of his head," Sarah sorrowed.
"Holy shit, Sarah, I'm sorry that happened. I know it's been a lot this past year with David and everything. I’m sure that was probably the last thing you needed," you said sympathetically.
The past year had been hard for Sarah; her husband David mysteriously died at the hands of the government for something he did, all you knew was that he did something brave. David was a good man who helped you out when you needed it a year and a half ago. He was able to give you a new last name, a new address, and, more importantly, a new life free from your abusive ex. It was a sad day for you, too, when David died, but you knew you'd help Sarah out with anything she needed.
"That's not even the worst part," Sarah sighed. You sat down when you heard her tone shift more seriously. "When I invited him to give him a new cup of coffee, he asked about David, and I didn't know how to respond. All he asked was what he does for work, and I didn't know whether to lie that he's still here or to tell the truth."
"That's the most normal response you could have had. It's a random man you just met in your home who unknowingly asks the worst question about your husband, who happened to pass away a year ago. It sounds like you handled it the best you could have, Sarah." You reassured her.
"But, I didn't," Sarah groans. "I ended up talking like David was still here and then admitted to lying about him being alive-" she abruptly stops as you hear her breathe heavier.
"Sarah, I'm coming over, okay? I promise you didn't do anything wrong, and it's not like you have to see him every day or ever again after your insurances work it out." You say as you get up to put your shoes on to make your way over to her house. That's one nice thing about living down the street from Sarah, you don't even have to drive over.
"No, Y/N, it's okay, you don't have to come over. He's actually still he-" you cut her off from making excuses to stop you, zoning her out as you went to grab your keys before you left.
"Oh, oh, you hear that, Sarah?" you ask as you hold your phone to your door as you lock it, "I already locked the door, and would you look at that, I'm outside! So I'm coming over, sorry!" You hear her talk over you as you act like you're losing signal and hang up the phone.
You make your way over to her house, and as you go to walk up her driveway, you notice someone in their garage. Great, of all things to happen today, I doubt what Sarah needs is some jackass breaking into their garage.
You make your way up her driveway, trying to figure out who it could be. "Um, excuse me, what do you think you're doing? I don't think the family that lives here would be appreciative of some dumbass breaking into their garage." You firmly say as you fold your arms across your chest. You can clearly see that it's a man with slightly curly, medium-length brown hair.
He slowly gets up, as you imagine he can feel the daggers you're shooting into his back. He still hasn't turned around as your patience wears thin.
"Listen, I think it'd be best if you just got out of here, and maybe I won't call the cops-" you're interrupted by Sarah as she comes running out of the house.
"Y/N, Y/N, it's okay! This is Pete, the guy I hit like two hours ago! He's not a burglar." You're facing Sarah as she makes her way towards you. "He's just trying to fix the garage door that decided not to open all the way." She's standing next to you when you comprehend who exactly the mystery man is. Pete. Not a random burglar.
You turn back towards him to apologize for the outburst, but any attempt to speak has disappeared since you're able to clearly look at him now as he faces you. He's handsome and more muscular than you originally thought from your first glance. Your eyes unwillingly look him up and down as you struggle to apologize for assuming he was robbing Sarah.
"Oh, Pete! I am so sorry for assuming you were here for nefarious reasons when you were just being helpful," you ramble. "I'm Y/N, Sarah's friend and neighbor, right down the street. I'm sure you can understand me being on edge after Sarah called me and told me she hit someone with her car in her driveway. I'm rambling, sorry." You awkwardly cut yourself off as you look to him.
He lets out a chuckle as he uses a torn rag to wipe his hands off any grease that may have transferred from the garage. "It's okay, I understand. I'm Pete Castiglione." He held out his hand for you to shake.
Your soft hand meets his rough and calloused one as you greet him. Your eyes look up to meet his as he gives you a smile. You feel your cheeks immediately go red as you release his hand.
"Nice to meet you." You quickly look to Sarah and then back to Pete, "I heard you got hit pretty hard with your coffee going all over the windshield." He laughs as he looks at the ground and back at you.
"Yeah, as hard as someone can get hit at five miles per hour. I wasn't paying attention and just happened to walk right in front. Totally my fault. Sarah was kind enough to give me another cup of coffee." Pete explains.
"And now I'm using him to fix my garage." Sarah laughs, "I don't see how this works out evenly for you, Pete," she says as she realizes he's the one helping her when she hit him.
"It's nothing at all, really. I've fixed plenty of things. Just thought I could help Sarah out since I'm already here." Pete says as the rag he holds flails around.
"That's sweet," you say as you make eye contact with him and hold it for a couple of seconds.
Sarah looks between you and Pete before she clears her throat, "Alright, well, I'm going to start getting dinner ready. Pete, you are more than welcome to stay. I can't thank you enough for your help today." Sarah sincerely states.
"It's really no problem. I'd hate to intrude. I'm almost done with the garage, and then I'll head out, but thank you." Pete's head lowers as he declines. You can't help but marvel at him as he rejects Sarah's offer. He had been hit by a car and was now fixing Sarah's garage. Who was this man?
"Okay, well, don't be a stranger, Pete." Sarah pleads when she wraps her arm around mine. "Actually, do you mind coming over sometime this week to sign a release form? It basically just says that you won't sue me if you suddenly have chronic back pain years down the road." She asks, but Pete is already agreeing before she finishes explaining.
"Of course, I don't mind at all." Pete agrees. Sarah nods her head in thanks as she starts turning us around to walk back to the house.
"It was really nice meeting you, Pete. If you need anything and Sarah isn't home, my house is the last one on the right on this street." You smile warmly.
Pete smiles back, "Thank you." He says as he nods his head. You look back at him one more time before heading into the house with Sarah, and he gives you a wave goodbye. You blush as you chuckle to yourself.
Sarah unwraps herself from your arm to open the door into the house. As soon as you step in, you shut the door by backing into it and closing your eyes.
"Sarah, he is cute. Why didn't you mention that over the phone? I would have driven my car over here and hit him myself." Sarah laughs as she takes in my beet-red face.
"I'm sorry! I don't really pay attention to that stuff, really, but you are right, he is cute. And a good guy. I mean, fixing my garage door when I hit him? Who does that?" Sarah exasperates.
"I don't know, but I am glad you hit him. You need to let me know the next time he's over, or maybe I'll just stay here every day," you whisper as you start planning your week out.
"Look at you, you're practically a teenager again!" Sarah lovingly points out.
You smile to yourself, but it slowly falls when you remember how your last relationship ended. "The idea of it is nice, but it's never going to happen. I'm not sure if I'm ready for a relationship." You slowly stand up and walk over to stand across from Sarah at her island.
"Y/N, relax. You just met him, and who knows if he's actually going to come back. He could leave after fixing my garage and never return. You don't have to get yourself worked up." You nod your head, coming back to your senses.
"You're right, I don't even know why I started thinking that to begin with." You weakly chuckle. Sarah stops what she's doing and grabs your hands.
"And when you are ready for something like that, I am here to analyze your new guy, overthink your outfit choices with you, and romanticize every new moment you have. That's all I want for you," Sarah squeezes your hands as you look up at her.
"Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate you so much," you whisper. "Now, how can I help you?" Sarah lets go of your hands as she shoos you off, not wanting you to help her make dinner.
You look out the window as Pete walks past to leave. You watch as he makes his way to the end of the driveway, turning right. You can't help but hope that this isn't the last you'll see of Pete Castiglione.
---------
It's been about three days since Sarah's freak car accident, and still no sign of Pete. To say you were disappointed was an understatement. You'd hope that at some point, Sarah would text saying he was over, but it hasn't happened.
You stood in your kitchen, chopping some vegetables to go along with your mom's famous meatloaf. It's the easiest thing to make during the winter that helps heat up your house to keep the cold out.
You notice how slowly your sink is draining and go to turn on your garbage disposal to clear anything clogging it. You flip the switch, and nothing. You wait a couple of seconds, thinking that maybe you flipped it weird, but you try again. Nothing.
You groan as you realize that you're going to have to call someone to come over to fix it, which is the last thing you want to do. You quickly place the meatloaf into the oven and set the timer for an hour. You start to look to see if there was anyone in the newspaper when you remembered how handy Leo, Sarah's daughter, is. You needed to go over to check in to see how Sarah was doing anyway.
You walk over to Sarah's house and notice her car safely parked away in her newly fixed garage. You smile softly as you think about how sweet Pete was to do that for her.
You knock once and then enter the door, seeing Sarah in the kitchen. "Hey, Sarah, where's Leo? Do you think she could come over and help me fix my garbage disposal? It stopped working for some reason." You don't notice how Sarah was engaged in a conversation when you make your way over. You stop in your tracks as you see Pete get up from the floor, assisting Leo as she stands. Your eyes widen as you take in Pete's newly shaved look.
"Your garbage disposal, too, huh?" Pete asks as he smiles at you.
"Pete, what a nice surprise," you say warmly as you feel your smile grow wide. You quickly look to Sarah as she clears her throat.
"Hey, Y/N, Pete just came over, not even ten minutes ago, and decided to help Leo with fixing the sink." Sarah's eyes go wide as she over-enunciates the ten minutes, so you know she was about to text you to come over. You give her a nod as your way to tell her you understood.
"You must have some sort of skill for knowing when something needs to be fixed," you laugh. Sarah nods her head in agreement, but Pete almost seems like he's been caught.
"Just happen to be at the right place at the right time or right place at the wrong time." He jokes as he starts to change the subject. "You said your garbage disposal wasn't working? I can head out with you to fix it." He begins, but you're already shaking your head.
"Oh no, I couldn't ask that of you, especially since you just fixed Sarah's. I know how handy Leo is, so I was just coming over to see if she wanted to make a quick buck by helping me." You smile at Leo as she walks towards you.
"I would love to make some money, but I need to do my homework, sorry, Y/N!" Leo says as she runs upstairs.
"Well, it looks like Leo's busy. Let me grab my tools, and then we can head over to fix your disposal," Pete says as he turns around to clean up the towels on the ground and place his tools back in the box.
Sarah smiles widely at you and gives you a thumbs-up. You place your head in your hands as you cover your face to hide your red-tinted cheeks.
You hear Pete get up and make your way closer to Sarah. "Do you need anything? I can bring dinner over tomorrow if that would help you out?" You offer as Sarah rubs her hand over your arm.
"Thank you, but I think I can handle dinner this week. I appreciate it, though." You smile and nod at her. "You guys should head out, it's getting late." You look at the window and see the sun still high in the sky. You look at her, confused, knowing that it's at least another hour before the sun starts to go down.
You start to protest, but Sarah cuts you off as she makes her way over to her front door. "Thank you again, Pete, for helping Leo. It would have taken her way longer by herself." He once again makes it seem like no big deal to help them out.
She opens up the front door, "Good luck fixing the disposal! I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N.," Sarah says as she ushers you both out and closes the door behind you, but not until after she gives you a quick wink.
You can't help the laugh that passes your lips, "oh gosh," you groan as you move your hand over your face. "Are you sure you're fine helping me? I'm giving you an out and will not be upset with what you decide," you say as you hold your hands up in defeat.
"No, it's the least I can do. I actually enjoy fixing things," he says as you fall into step beside each other.
"I believe you! You've fixed a garage door and a sink, all in what? A week? What's next? Well, besides my disposal, I guess," you joke as he laughs.
"You got anything else you need to fix?" He asks as he looks at you.
"I'm sure I can find something to break," you tease as you look up at him, making your way down the street. You make small conversation as you walk towards your house. "Here we are," you say as you hold the door open for Pete to enter.
He takes a look around, "what smell's so good?" He asks, as you remember the meatloaf you put in to cook while you were at Sarah's. You briskly walk towards the oven to see if you'd ruined your dinner for the next couple of days.
"That would be my mom's famous meatloaf, I know. Meatloaf can be quite controversial, but when I say this is the best meatloaf in the whole entire world, I mean that." You say as you pull it out and unwrap the foil. It was cooked perfectly with no sign of it being burnt anywhere.
Pete walks to stand across from you, "I'm sure there are worse things in the world than meatloaf." You gawk at him.
"Am I hearing a tone in your voice? Do you, Pete, not like meatloaf?" you stand with your arms crossed.
"It's a loaf of meat, I don't think you can fight with me on this," he explains as he throws his hands up.
You scoff, "Alright, I see how it is. Well, I'll change your mind by letting you have some after you fix the garbage disposal." You smile at him as he goes to inspect it.
"It's a deal. Now, let's see what the problem is." Pete looks into the sink with a flashlight to see if anything could be blocking it. You watch him take his time troubleshooting what the potential issue could be.
When he seems unsatisfied with his findings, he goes to turn it on, and once again, nothing. "That's what it is," Pete says as he turns to look at you. "Lucky for us, this is an easy fix. Since there's nothing when you flip the switch, it's the plug that's loose. It shouldn't take me long at all to fix it."
You sigh in relief that it's an easy solution, "Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I was worried I might have to call some guy in to fix it." You hear Pete begin to say something before he stops himself.
"You don't need to call a guy to fix things anymore," He says as he looks at you. You can feel the tension held between you.
You break the tension by taking a step back and clearing your throat, "Yeah, I got Leo to help me out," you say as you both erupt in laughter.
"You're right. That girl's going to be some kind of engineer in the future." He comments as he looks back towards the sink.
"Oh, tell me about it. She's one of the smartest girls I know." You say as Pete begins to get the tools he needs to fix the disposal. "How can I help? Is there a flashlight that needs to be held?" you offer, hoping he'd say yes.
Pete looks at his tools before looking back at you, "Yeah, I do actually, if you don't mind." You shake your head and make your way beside him on the floor. He hands you the flashlight as your fingers graze against one another. Your breath hitches in your throat as you smile at him.
Pete kindly explains how he's fixing your sink and going through the steps with you in case, for some reason, he can't come over to fix it. You nod your head as if you're listening, but you can't tear your eyes away from him. He's focused on what he's doing and slightly sticks his tongue between his teeth in concentration. You don't hear him ask you to move your flashlight closer, and you're only broken out of your trance when you notice him turning his head to face you. You didn't realize how close you were until now.
"I'm sorry, did you say something?" you ask quietly as your eyes move from his lips back to his eyes. He nods his head once in response.
He goes to push the hair that had fallen in your face back, but his arm gets cut on a sharp piece of metal sticking out from the sink. He lets out a groan as he recoils from under it.
It takes you a second to realize what happened until you see the blood dripping from his arm, "Oh my God, you're bleeding," you say in shock.
"Jus' a scratch, don't worry about it," Pete says nonchalantly as he gets up from the floor.
"Come on, let me patch you up," you say, gently holding onto his arm and guiding him towards your bathroom. "Stay here while I grab my med kit, real quick," you instruct as you place your hands on Pete's shoulders to lower him to take a seat on the counter.
"You really don't have to," Pete says again to stop you from wrapping his cut. You give him a knowing look before you disappear to get your first aid kit. You make your way to your room and grab it from under your bed. You hesitate as you take a deep breath, but smile as you realize that for once, you're not bringing it out to soothe your black eye or your busted lip. You're getting it to help someone else.
You walk back into your bathroom and don't look up as you get the supplies needed to help Pete's cut.
"This might sting a little, but I promise this is to help you. I'd hate for it to get infected because of my sink," you calmly say as you softly take his arm to clean him up. "I know it always helped me to think of something happy. Just to take you out of the moment for a bit," you share as Pete sorrowfully stares at you. He catches on to a lingering sadness behind your words as you fix him up quickly, as if it were something you'd done a hundred times before.
"How d'you know how to patch this up? That's better than anything I would have done, and I've had to patch myself up quite a few times." Pete asks as he marvels at your wound repair skills. Your hands still as you finish washing them in the bathroom sink.
"Everyone has something to hide, right?" You give him a small smile as you pat your hands dry. "Now, I'm sure you want to get home, so I won't keep you here any longer," you say, beginning to turn to walk out of the bathroom, when you notice Pete has a couple of dots of blood on his face that you're sure he got when he cut his arm so swiftly. You turn back around and grab the towel hanging on the hook next to the sink. "You have a little something- here, let me get it." You move closer to him and gently wash away the speckles of blood.
You don't realize how close you have gotten until you look at him to see if there are any other spots you may have missed. You're still holding the towel close to his face when you feel his eyes watching you closely. Your breath softly hitches in your throat as your eyes move to meet his.
You don't know what comes over you, or if there was some sort of expectation to be met that you set up in your head when you realized he was going to come over, but you slowly lean in, eyes closed, and don't stop until your lips meet his. The towel in your hand, close to his face, has slowly dropped as you adjust yourself to be even closer to him.
It must have been two seconds before he started reciprocating once the shock of you kissing him had worn off. His hands moved from the counter to hold onto your waist as you intertwined into a dance.
You feel his tongue softly graze your bottom lip, begging for entrance when you abruptly snap out of your fantasy. You suddenly move back from him so quickly that he leans in to meet where you had gone until he opens his eyes, realizing you've taken a step back.
You close your eyes in embarrassment as the hand holding the towel rests against your forehead and your other hand on your hip, "Pete, I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what came over me?" You ask in confusion, realizing you've never once done something as strange as kiss a man you met briefly three days ago in your bathroom, patching up a scratch he got from your plumbing.
"It's okay, really," Pete says, moving to get off the counter and stand across from you.
You move the towel away from your face as your eyes move to look at him. You can't help but notice your red cheeks that you see in the bathroom mirror. You let out a chuckle and watch as a smile grows on Pete's face. You both start to laugh over your little moment shared not even a minute ago.
"Do I have any more blood on my face?" Pete jokes as he moves his head side to side. Your laughter comes down to small chuckles as you examine his face just to double-check, appreciating the humor Pete seems to have.
"You are all good. You are officially cleaned up from the attack of the disposal monster." You laugh as you look towards the supplies still out from your med kit and go to put them back, with Pete still standing next to you. "I want you to know I really appreciate you coming over and fixing my sink. You had no reason to come over and help me, but you still did, and that means a lot." You look towards him and give him a full smile.
He nods his head in his own way to say 'you're welcome,' as he scoots past you, heading toward the doorway of the bathroom. You look over the sink again to make sure all your supplies have made their way back to where they belong. You look up to make your way to your bedroom to put it back when you make eye contact with Pete standing in the doorway.
"I think I know what else I was going to do! You have to try my mom's famous meatloaf!" You say, emphasizing the 'you' as your eyebrows lift and eyes widen in excitement.
His head hangs low as he slowly shakes his head and then looks up, "No, I don't want to hold you up any more than I have." You scoff as you fling your hand forward to brush him off.
"You're completely fine. I haven't had company in a long time, so you're not intruding at all." You warmly say as you pass by him to put the first aid kit back where it belongs. You walk to the kitchen to get two plates out to share some of your dinner with Pete, when you hear him clear his throat.
"Listen, I'd love to stay, but I got some things I have to do." He says apologetically.
You look up at him as you suddenly feel embarrassed to assume he had nothing else going on, "Oh yeah, I totally understand! Uh, let me-" you say, trying to busy yourself to distract from the feeling of disappointment coming over you.
Pete notices the shift in your demeanor and quickly tries to rectify it, "You know, maybe you could make me a, uh, a plate to go, huh?" He says, smiling at you. You stop and smile back at him, knowing he would stay if he could.
"Yeah, I can definitely do that." You say grabbing some Tupperware from your cabinet and giving him a generous amount of your prepared dinner. You make your way towards him and reach out to give him his food, "Now, unfortunately, you happen to be taking my favorite tupperware, which means I'm going to need this back." His grin slowly grows as he realizes where this is going and takes the container. You walk over to your stack of Post-it notes and grab a pen, writing your number on it. "So, you will have to see me again, I know, but this is the best I can do." You say, walking back over to him and placing the sticky note on the box.
"I don't think seeing you again will be an issue," Pete says quietly, as you both think over the night you've had. You walk past him to guide him towards the door. You hold it open for him as he makes his way out, but not before he turns back around to face you.
"I know I've said it a ton of times, but thank you again, Pete." You walk up to him with the door resting on your back. You place your hands on both of his arms to steady yourself and lean on your tippy-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. You place your feet back on the ground, looking up at him as he towers over you.
"I meant it when I said that you don't need to call someone to come over and fix things," he whispers as he leans down closer to you. Your faces are closer to each other than they were moments ago.
"I know," you whisper as he closes the distance and gives you a gentle kiss. You eventually lean back, "Have a good night, Pete."
"Good night, Y/N," he says, watching as you walk backwards into your house. You smile and give him a small wave as he waits until you close and lock your door. You place your hands on your cheeks to feel how hot your face is as you once again melt into the floor.
You have a smile on your face the whole time getting ready for bed, and before you fall asleep, the last thing you think about is Pete.
---------
Once again, Pete seemed to have fallen off the radar and hadn't been around in a couple of days. You kept looking at your phone, hoping that a text from him would magically appear. Why didn't you ask for his number? If you had done that, you would have looked for something to break and hoped that you'd gain the courage to ask him to come over for a real dinner. The type of dinner where you could get to know each other.
There was something magnetic about Pete that just couldn't keep you away. You weren't sure if it was because he seemed like he would protect you if anything were to happen, or if it was just the fact that he's the first guy you've started to like after your last relationship. Whatever it was, you wanted to see him again.
The first thing you did the morning after Pete came over was go to Sarah's house and let her in on every detail. She couldn't believe how bold you had gotten, and to be honest, you couldn't either.
You used to be scared of your own shadow, thinking it was him, coming back to finish what he had started a year and a half ago. It took a while for you to come out of your house and not immediately go back in once you thought you saw a glimpse of a person. Sarah and David were there to help ease and reassure you that you were safe.
Then one day something happened. You didn't want to be scared anymore or think that he had some control over you, so you ventured out. You went to the grocery store for the first time instead of having Sarah pick stuff up for you.
Soon, a grocery trip turned into taking a walk in the neighborhood and having a girls' night out with Sarah. It felt good to be back to normal, and that's what Pete made you feel like, normal, which is why you couldn't fully grasp what you were hearing on the news.
You usually had a cup of coffee, some cereal, and watched the news before going on your walk, and today was no different, besides the fact that you slept in a little past noon. It was a Saturday, which meant you could relax a bit since you always had dinner with Sarah, Leo, and Zach.
You walked over to your couch, turned on the TV, and switched to the news. The headline read, "The Punisher Returns," but the pictures they showed were of Pete and what you assumed to be a picture taken no later than this morning.
You dropped the remote and held your hands over your mouth as you processed everything you were hearing on the news.
Pete is The Punisher. But The Punisher is dead? No. He's alive, and Pete Castiglione is Frank Castle, but Pete is not real. The Pete you know is Frank, and Frank is The Punisher.
You remembered when Frank Castle was on trial a year ago for killing gang members and criminals on the streets of New York. You never watched the CCTV because other things were happening in your life, and all you were doing was trying to survive them. The only thing you knew about Frank Castle, other than the fact that he was on trial and had supposedly died, was that his family was brutally murdered in a shootout in Central Park in front of him. You couldn't imagine the pain or what that could do to a man.
When his trial was going on, you secretly hoped that maybe there was a way for him to get a lesser sentence by proving the insanity plea. When that fell through, you stopped listening for updates, knowing that it probably was not going to end well for him, but here we are. He's alive and well and just so happens to be a part of your life.
Is it bad that knowing his true identity as Frank Castle didn't change the way you feel about him? You still cared for him even though the Pete you knew was gone. It's a confusing feeling when what you think you know about someone ends up being the complete opposite.
You had to turn the TV off. You just needed to see Pete- Frank and just try to understand the predicament he's in.
Should you tell Sarah? You're sure she's probably watching the news, but maybe not. Saturdays are busy with Zach's new soccer team, Leo's robotics club, and her preparing dinner for you and them tonight. You should text her; she probably knows what to do.
You turn around to go grab your phone from your table when you feel a cold breeze. Did you turn on the A/C last night by accident? You walk closer to the table, and as you do, the floor gets colder and colder. This isn't the A/C. There's a window or a door open, which is weird because you always make sure they're closed and locked.
You go to see if any windows in the kitchen are open before checking your back door to your porch. You walk around and notice nothing unusual. All your kitchen windows are closed, so it must be your back door, but you hadn't gone out yet, nor did you leave through that door yesterday. So how did it open?
You start to panic as you try to remember if somehow you went out the door and forgot to close it, but you didn't. Your stomach drops as an uneasy feeling continues to grow. You need to grab your phone and run over to Sarah's.
You walk to the table and head straight to the spot where you left your phone, but nothing is there. Your phone is gone. Is this really happening? Are you still asleep? Your heart is beating faster than ever as you realize someone is in your house and you need to get out. You don't even have shoes on, but that's not stopping you from running like hell out of here.
You avoid going to the back door that's probably open because if it is, someone might be waiting there. You run out of your kitchen and turn the corner to leave through your front door.
You're about to unlock it when someone grabs your arm and yanks you against them. You try to scream, but their hand smacks up against your mouth, muffling any noise you could have made.
Their arms are wrapped around you with their hand still over your mouth, holding you back right up against their chest. You try to wiggle your way out but they're strong.
Before you can fully comprehend or try to look back to see who they are, they bang your head against the wall, knocking you out cold.
---------
You slowly start to come to your senses, feeling something dry against the side of your head. You move your hand to try to feel what it is, but you can't. Your arms are wrapped tight against something wooden. Your face scrunches in confusion with your eyes still closed as you try to get up from this seated position you're in. You're stuck. There's something tightly wrapped around both of your legs against something hard. You really can't move, and your head is throbbing. Is there something over your mouth, too?
"Ah, she's awake," you hear someone gruff as their footsteps sound louder, getting closer to you. "The little princess is waking from her slumber." You haven't opened your eyes yet, hoping that when you do, this will be just some crazy, realistic nightmare you've conjured. The footsteps stop as you can feel someone looming over you. You feel their rough hand push your hair back from your eyes, but shortly after, they yank your head back, forcing your eyes open. "Wake up! We got things to do, Y/N." You know that face, and you know that voice. This can't be happening. He found you.
After all this time, thinking you had finally escaped, he came back and found you. You can't help but cry knowing that you'll never have a life without this monster looming quietly behind you.
You try to subtly look around to see if there's anything around that you could use to get out of your restraints, but he's placed you far away from any table or window.
The thing that sucks is that if he had done this a year ago, you would have been prepared. You never went anywhere, including other areas of your house, without something to protect yourself, whether it was a knife or your gun that you kept loaded in your bedside table. However, you decided that enough time had gone by, started to let your guard down, and live the life you want and deserve. All good things must come to an end at some point.
"You've been asleep for hours, Y/N. I guess I've only gotten stronger since the last time, which means I don't really know my own strength." He slowly shows a mischievous smile as he creeps over towards you. "You got a nice place here. It took me a while to find you, with your new last name and everything. Nice touch, by the way. If anything, it just made the game more rewarding when I finally found you. And here we are." You maintain eye contact and don't break. You survived this man by yourself for years as he tormented and beat you, and you're going to survive again. "You're so quiet! Nothing to say?" He leans forward and laughs, "Oh, right, let me take this off for you." He rips off the duct tape over your mouth.
"You don't scare me." You bite back, grinding your teeth together.
"Y/N, now I know that isn't true. Come on, don't be like that. We were in love together at some point," he drones on.
"Go to hell," you say, spitting at him. He slaps you hard before you can close your mouth. He gets closer to you and brings the knife you didn't know he had close to your face.
"No! You don't get to do that! I'm in charge here. You're gonna regret that." He brings the knife to your cheek, but before he has the chance to cut you, your phone starts ringing. Both of you turn to face your kitchen counter at lightning speed. You see the clock in the distance and notice that it's now 5 o'clock. Dinner with Sarah.
He goes over and grabs it. "Who's Sarah?" he yells.
"A close friend who is going to walk over here if I don't answer that phone. So if you want this 'night' to go the way you want, I need to answer it." You say. The only reason you're explaining is because Sarah knows your voice, especially in distress. She'll know something's wrong and hopefully get help. What you said was true. If you don't answer, she will walk over. You're not sure what he would do to her if she did, but you can't let another life be ruined by him.
You see him contemplate his options as you try to explain to him how serious you are if he doesn't let you pick up the phone. He walks back over with your phone in hand, "If you say, anything- anything, I won't hesitate to kill you, Sarah, and anyone else involved." He was now eye level with you, "Do you understand?" he yelled. You shook your head curtly. "Good," he said, smiling again. He answered the phone and put it on speaker.
"Hey, Y/N, you have me worried. Are you still coming over for dinner?" Sarah asks as you hear her trying to corral Leo and Zach to sit at the table. You let out a small smile, knowing that you might not be able to see Sarah or Zach or Leo again.
"Hey, Sarah, I'm actually not feeling well." He brings his knife closer to ensure you don't get any 'funny' ideas. "I'd hate it if I got you and the kids sick if I came over." Your voice wobbles as you feel the sharp edge of the knife.
Sarah waits a couple of seconds before she responds, "Aw, I'm sorry you're not feeling well. I can bring you some leftovers tomorrow, if that works?" He shakes his head no, signaling to tell her that it doesn't work.
You're caught off guard, "Uh, uh, I don't think I'll be better by then, so you don't have to save any for me. I'll be fine." You excuse.
"Okay, well, I hope you feel better. We'll miss you tonight. Just make sure you get plenty of rest so you can come over sometime." Sarah says before you both say your goodbyes. He hangs up the phone and throws it on the ground.
“Now, we’ll have no more distractions.” He goes to your living room and grabs your side table, bringing it over and placing it right next to you. You didn’t notice the black duffel bag he had with him until he slammed it on the table. “The fun can finally start. I hope you’ll stay awake for it.” He says mockingly.
You watch as he pulls out a tool pouch and unravels it. Some of the tools he has, you’d never seen before, each one sharper than the last.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what all this is for, so let me explain.” He takes out one of the knives and cleans it with a rag. “While you were here playing perfect neighbor, I was learning all the ways I could make up for lost time with my beautiful girlfriend, without getting caught, of course. A gun is too quick and way too easy to trace. What better way to make your life a living hell than by cutting it in you?” He mocks, looking over you.
“Go ahead, you killed me a long time ago.” You say not willing to let him scare you. He rushes over and grips your chin roughly in between his hands.
“I didn’t think a dead body could scream,” he says as he brings the knife and slashes your arm. Before you let out a scream, he holds his hand against your mouth. “I knew I was forgetting something.” With his hand still over your mouth, he grabs the duct tape next to him, tearing off a piece. “I want to take my time with you, and if you’re screaming like a bitch, it'll be over.” You can’t help the tears that cascade down your face, finding it hard to believe that you were free from him not even two days ago. “Don’t cry, Y/N, you know you deserve this for leaving me.” He roughly wipes the tears off your face. “Now, let’s have fun!” He says as he turns around to grab a different knife.
You watch as he constantly goes back and forth between knives to carve on your skin, each one sharper and going deeper than the last. When he didn't get the reaction he wanted, he'd punch you until you let out a muffled scream. You never thought that today would be the day that you died, and he won.
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As soon as Sarah picked up the phone, she knew something was wrong. There was a distinct pattern whenever she called you. It never took you that long to answer the phone, and if it did, you'd tell her what you were doing. You especially never missed out on dinner with her, Leo, and Zach, and you sure never denied leftovers, saying that if you ever did, something is wrong. What if that was your hint to her?
Sarah didn't know what to do, and she really didn't want to worry Leo or Zach if it was nothing. Their day was already busy enough, and she hardly had any time to relax.
There was only one thing she could think to do, and that was to call Pete to see if he could check up on you. She knew you both liked each other, so if anything, she'd be doing you a favor by asking him to check on you.
She grabs her phone from her purse and goes to click on Pete's name. She waits as it rings, but he doesn't pick up. She debates calling again but decides to leave a message to make sure he knows what she called about.
"Pete, I think Y/N's in trouble. She was supposed to come over for dinner tonight, but I called her a couple of minutes ago, and she just didn't sound right. Could you check on her for me? I would, but I got Leo and Zach here. I'm sure it's nothing, but I just have this weird feeling. Thank you." She explains quickly, trying to keep her voice down over her children's bickering. She turns her ringer on just in case Pete decides to call her back as she goes to put dinner on the table.
Frank watches Sarah's call come in, but with everything going on about his identity, he didn't want to answer any questions she may have for him. He waits to see if she leaves a message to confirm his thoughts, but instead, as it comes in, his blood runs cold.
You, Y/N, the only woman who he's grown close to since Maria died. In trouble. He sees red. All he knows is that he has to make sure you're okay. He couldn't care less if people caught a glimpse of him anymore than they already had. He needs to see you.
Frank grabs his pistol and checks to see if it's fully loaded before he heads out. He reaches the stairs when he hears David behind him.
"Whoa, whoa, Frank, what are you doing? You can't go out there. Everyone knows you're alive, and they're gonna be looking for you." David pleads as he steps in front of him to try to stop him.
"I don't care. I need to go to Y/N," he says as he goes to push past him.
David goes to stop him again, "Y/N? Like my neighbor, Y/N, whose house you came back from not too long ago? What's the deal with you two?"
Frank lets out a gruff yes, "The deal is that nobody goes after her, okay? Not on my watch." He says, itching to move past David.
"What happened to Y/N? Is she okay?" David asks, knowing your history.
"I don't know. Sarah called and left a message saying that she might be in trouble." Frank barrels past him because he knows that with every second they spend here talking, there is a second you could be hurt.
"Frank, if something is wrong with Y/N, it's probably her ex-boyfriend. He was an abusive asshole who tormented her for years when they were together." Frank couldn't process what David was telling him. The way you carry yourself, he never could've imagined what kind of hell you went through. You were sweet and nurturing, even though your life had been ripped from you. "I helped her get away from him by deleting any evidence of who she was before and changing her last name. If she is in trouble and it's because of him, don't show any mercy." David explains to Frank. He gives David a nod of acknowledgement before he runs out the door to you.
---------
You can hardly keep your eyes open, with one being swollen shut. All you know is that he is still here in your house, torturing you. You slowly slipped in and out of consciousness, not being able to handle the pain.
Your duct tape is still on your mouth, and your restraints have only gotten tighter as you fight against them. You've started to lose hope that anyone was coming to help you.
You feel him slap your cheeks, "C'mon, Y/N, you gotta stay awake." He says as he places his bloodied knife down on the table across from you. "Don't you wanna know why I'm here? Or how I found you?" You tilt your eyes to look up at him. He looks down at your mouth and laughs, knowing you can't respond.
He stands up and starts pacing in front of you. "I'll tell you. After you left me and disappeared off the face of the earth. I was miserable. The only person I truly ever cared about left." You roll your eyes, not believing a word coming out of his mouth, "The last name change made it quite difficult to find you." He smiles, pointing the knife towards you. "Until you fucked up. Were you a little too comfortable, Y/N? I mean, it looked pretty comfortable when you walked down this very street with another man." Your eyes widen as you realize he had found you days ago, waiting to pounce on his prey.
"Did you really think you could share a life with someone else? I'm all you are ever going to have, Y/N." He started to tear up as he stopped in front of you. "And that hurt seeing you get so close to him when you're with me. You don't understand how hurtful that was, and I'm here to make sure you do." He walks closer, "Every cut, every bruise, and every punch I give you just shows how much I love you. I'm hurting you so badly that I'm risking going to jail, that's how much I love you, Y/N. You just don't get it, and I'm not gonna stop until you do." Tears fall faster as he gets closer to you. He has the knife pointed at an untouched part of your cheek. He's about to go deeper when the door slams open. "You bitch!" He yells as he walks behind your chair, but not before slicing your cheek.
You pray with everything you have that it's not Sarah and that she called someone else. It doesn't take long for whoever it is to reach your kitchen by the sound of their heavy steps coming closer.
"Let her go," Pete- Frank growls, holding his pistol with his finger close to the trigger. The relief that you feel wash over you is hard to describe as you start crying even more, gaining your second wind. You look over Frank, dressed in all black with a bulletproof vest on. He came prepared and, more importantly, he came for you. You watch as Frank's eyes briefly look over you, looking at every cut, every bruise, and every injury caused by the monster behind you. His eyes briefly soften before hardening again, looking back at him. "I'm only going to say this once, let. Her. Go." Frank gruffs.
"Oh, is this him, Y/N? The guy who walked you back to your place? Fixed up your sink? Kissed? Did she tell you about me, huh?" No one says anything in anticipation of who was going to make the first move. You feel him get angrier behind you. "Of course not. I'm the only one who gets to have her. No one else." He yells, jabbing the knife in Frank's direction.
You can see the gears turning in Frank's head if he's able to make the shot without hurting you, but the way he's angled behind you, it'd be a slim chance.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to hurt a woman?" Frank snaps, knowing he's right in front of you and can't do anything. He tries to take a step forward, but as he does, you feel the wet, sticky blade pressed against your throat.
"One more step and I swear I'll slit her throat," He monotonously says, pressing the knife deeper. You watch as Frank takes a step back. "Get your gun off me, now," he barks.
"You know, I can't do that," Frank states, not willing to move his finger off the trigger.
"Is the knife not convincing enough?" He slams his knife down on the side table, and you suddenly feel cold metal pressed against your temple. "I guess a gun will have to do." He says nonchalantly.
You close your eyes as you try to think of how this night has a good ending. You saw Pete- Frank again, or for the first time, and that was enough, knowing that there was something there. You open your eyes and notice Frank has his arms held up in surrender and his finger off the trigger.
"You know, a knife actually is convincing enough," Frank says as his eyes briefly look to you and to the table. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, not knowing what he's looking at. "Make it easier for you not to get caught. No serial number to trace back, just a cut. I mean, hey, that knife can probably cut through a lot of different things." You start to pick up on the different words he enunciates as you follow his line of sight. The knife. He placed it on the edge of the table closest to your right hand.
Your hand can only move so much, and you try to push the limit to grab it as you watch Frank, but he subtly shakes his head no to get you to stop. He must be watching you.
"You wouldn't believe the trouble I had to go through to make sure each blade was different." He says as Frank slowly nods his head. You go for it as he explains how he could leave a knife here and no one would be able to know it was him. He must have forgotten about DNA and fingerprints.
Your hand reaches the very tip of the blade as you grasp it, trying to make sure he can't hear the knife moving. Lucky for you, he's animated and talking loudly over how this night was supposed to be 'perfect.' You slowly angle the blade to start cutting away at the rope. The only thing is that it's thick, and you're not quite sure how not to make it obvious.
"Shame your night got ruined," Frank says. You stop what you're doing. Did he really say that? "I mean, your first mistake was letting Y/N talk to Sarah. That's why I'm here. Her tone of voice tipped her off to call me. Shouldn't you have thought of that?" Frank asks as he looks at him.
"Not a mistake. Letting Y/N talk to her stopped her friend from becoming another body. Bummer you're involved now, buddy." He said. You feel him get agitated at what Frank is saying, but you don't stop. You feel one layer give way as you find your energy returning to your body.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night. It's just a little sloppy. I mean, you go out of your way to find her, and you tie her up in her kitchen? You didn't think to get her somewhere else?" Frank briefly looks down to check your progress.
Behind you, he starts to get antsy. Frank's words are bothering him. You can feel the agitation start to seep out of him.
You feel another rope give way; there are only two more layers, and this hand is free. You start to build your momentum a little more as Frank continues to distract him.
"If I'd taken her somewhere else, whose to say a cop wouldn't have pulled us over? This was the best place for this. For making sure that Y/N knows I love her." He says flaling the gun in his hand around.
"Love her? You got a shit way of showing it." Frank scoffs.
"You know what it's like to be entranced by her. Imagine having that, and then it's ripped away from you because she leaves. Erased. Gone. Untraceable. When all you did was love her?" He explains.
"Was it love when you beat her unconscious so badly she didn't know where she was or what her name was? Or was that when you did it the second? The third? The fourth time?" Frank says, looking at you sorrowfully.
How did he know about that? You feel the last pieces break apart on your last rope. You're almost free.
"I love her! No one else is going to have her. And if I can't have her, then no one can." He screams, pointing the gun towards Frank, away from you. The rope breaks, and my hand is free.
"Now, Y/N!" Frank yells as you grab the knife and plunge it past your shoulder into his chest. He screams out, dropping the gun held in his right hand, not before a shot rings through your house. You reach further down the side table and grab another knife to cut yourself free from the chair.
He's still on the ground, groaning in pain. You get up from the chair and make your way to stand over him. You see red as you start punching him. You ignore the pain as it rattles throughout your entire body from the damage he created, but you refuse to let him win. You're hitting his face, his chest, and stomach as you unleash the anger you've held inside for the past four years. He took everything from you before, and he's not going to take it from you now.
You don't know how long you'd been fighting him until you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you back. You collapse in exhaustion as you let the tears stream down your face. Frank places his arms around you and pulls you in tighter to his chest. He shushes you as he feels your body shake.
"He's not going to hurt you anymore. I got you." Frank says, rocking you back and forth. He presses a kiss against your forehead as you hear sirens outside your house. You pull yourself away from him as you begin to feel every cut he made. You look over and see how unrecognizable he is.
"Oh my God, did I kill him?" You say as you look at him on the ground. Frank notices you going into shock as he grabs your face, forcing you to look at him.
"No, he's still alive. You didn't kill him." Frank growls. You slowly nod your head as Frank pulls you up. "Let's get out of here, okay?" He doesn't let go of you as you make your way outside.
"Frank, you need to go. You can't be here. They'll arrest you." You say as you push him away. "Please, I need you to go."
"No, I need to stay here with you to make sure you're okay." He says as he moves your matted hair out of your face.
"I'll be fine, please, go. They're almost here." He hesitates. He knows he needs to leave, but you need to be safe. "I need you to be able to come back when they're gone, and if you're still here, then they're going to take you." You explain to him. He looks at you as he places his forehead against yours.
"I'm coming back for you," he promises. You nod softly as you pull back. Before he goes, he gently grabs your cheeks and kisses you. You try to savor the way he feels in case he can't come back. He breaks apart and gives you two more small pecks before he runs off.
You're standing in the middle of your lawn as cop cars swarm around you. They run up to you to see if you need an ambulance. You must look bad, judging by the gasps and shocks you hear as people look over you. You try to answer their questions about what happened, but your mind goes blank. You’re about to answer when a single shot is heard from inside the house.
Only one officer stays with you, as the rest storm into your house, guiding you towards the ambulance where the paramedics look over you.
You've almost made it to the hospital when you hear over the paramedics' radio that "the other one" didn't make it. You don’t have the strength to ask if that call was related to yours before exhaustion takes over.
---------
You spent three weeks in the hospital recovering from all the damage he caused. He cut you over a hundred times. Not all of them big enough to cause long-term damage, but just enough to serve as a reminder. He broke your jaw and gave you a bad concussion. The doctors say you were out for at least four days before you came to.
Sarah visited you in the hospital every day, and once you started feeling better and looked more like yourself, Leo and Zach came too. They'd keep you updated on things happening at school, how Zach's soccer team was doing, and Leo's robotics team getting first place at their competition. You were so upset that you missed seeing all these moments, but you were glad that you're still here.
When you woke up, there was a bouquet for every day you were out. Not just small flowers you got at the grocery store, but ones filled with your favorite flowers. They continued every day you were in the hospital until you left. You had an idea of who was behind the flowers, but you didn't want to get your hopes up.
The police came in and asked questions, informing you that he had died. He suffered a single gunshot wound to the head. You thought he had done it to himself, but they ruled out suicide pretty quick due to the angle of the shot. They asked if anyone else was there, but you weren't sure what to say. You wanted to protect Frank and let them know he saved you, but you didn't want them to twist the story around him. You simply said you couldn't remember, and if you did, you'd let them know.
Frank didn't come to see you at the hospital. You knew he couldn't, but there was still some part of you hoping it'd be okay for him to come once. You talked with Sarah about him, the first time asking if she had heard from Pete, not knowing if she had seen the news. She had softly informed you about his real identity, about him being Frank Castle. You told her that you knew and that it didn't change what you thought of him. Sarah agreed, especially after everything he did to help her out around the house and with Zach.
Sarah was there with you when you were discharged from the hospital. Surprisingly, you didn't need any crutches, but they still wheeled you out just in case your strength hadn't returned.
Your house had been cleared to be ready to move back in, but you couldn't imagine yourself being there, where everything had happened. You thought you could, but as you got closer, your throat tightened, and you thought your heart was going to beat out of your chest. You couldn't catch your breath. Sarah picked up on the panic attack you were having and stopped the car.
She told you that you were going to stay with her. She turned around and made her way back to her house. She asked if you could make a list or if there was anything in your house that you needed besides the necessities. You couldn't think, so you just shook your head no.
Sarah brought you inside and immediately took you to the guest bedroom upstairs. You'd stayed here plenty of times before when you and Sarah stayed up late drinking wine and talking about life. You couldn't believe the circumstances of why you were staying here this time.
It didn't feel real. He had come back and almost ended your life, but he didn't, and he wouldn't get the chance to do it again. You survived, but why did it feel like he still won? You couldn't help the sobs that racked your body as you tried to sleep. You heard Sarah come in a couple of times with what sounded like a suitcase and other items you needed, but you were too exhausted to acknowledge her.
It must have been three or four days until you felt like you had rested enough to leave the guest bedroom. Leo or Zach would come in and bring you food those days and just sit to talk with you. All they knew was that something had happened, but they didn't know the circumstances, which is good. You couldn't traumatize them with something that had nothing to do with them.
You felt bad for how long you had stayed with Sarah, even though she constantly reassured you that it wasn't a bother. You told her that by the end of the month, you'd go back to your house. You needed to at some point, and you had grown more comfortable with the idea of going back when you realized there was no way for him to hurt you again. She was hesitant to let you back, but understood the meaning behind you living in your house. Who knows? Maybe you'll get a dog or a cat to keep you company.
The first couple of nights sleeping in your own house were rough. You were tormented by nightmares that were so realistic you thought you'd been tied back up in that chair in your kitchen. When it happened, you'd call Sarah, and she'd drive over to pick you up to go back to her house.
When you were at home, you thought about Frank and wondered if he was okay. You watched the news constantly to see if there were any updates on him, but there weren't. You guessed that no news was good news.
Before you knew it, two months had passed since your accident. You were doing better. The nightmares were less frequent, but a longing to see Frank grew. Where was he?
You decided that for once you were going to make dinner for Sarah, Leo, and Zach, just as a way to thank them for everything they did for you. You had found a recipe that sounded good that you hadn't tried before. You decided to make it for yourself to test it out to make sure it actually tasted good. You didn't want to make a meal for them if it was awful.
You'd gotten the groceries earlier in the day and were just about to start making dinner when there was a knock at the door. You looked at the time, seeing that it was 4:30. It must have been Sarah. Sometimes she'd come over after dropping Zach and Leo at their extracurriculars to hang out.
You walk over to the door and quickly unlock it, sporting a big grin on your face. You opened it, and to your surprise, it wasn't Sarah, it was Frank. Your smile fell for a moment as you couldn't comprehend if it was actually him standing there, but it quickly grew as you realized it was. He was dressed in a black hoodie with a hat underneath to conceal his identity.
"Can I come in?" Frank asks as he looks around to see if anyone has followed him. You nod your head as you open your door to let him in. "Thank you." He says as he makes his way inside. You close the door and lock it behind him.
"Do you want to come sit down?" You softly ask, hoping he'd stay. It'd been so long since that night, and now that Frank was finally here, you're not sure what to say.
"Yeah," Frank agrees as he removes his hat and hoodie. He waits for you to pass him so he can follow you. You make your way into your kitchen as you motion for him to sit at the barstool. He sits down as you stand across from him, leaning against the counter. "How are you doing?" He asks as he directs his gaze over you, checking to make sure you're okay.
"I've been better." You joke as you only let out a chuckle, "I think I've spent two full days in my own house since everything happened. The nightmares aren't as often as they have been, thankfully." You say as you fold your arms over your chest and look at him.
"That's good. You're getting better." He says solemnly. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I should've been here sooner than I was. Maybe I could have stopped him from hurting you." You begin to shake your head as you see him start to work himself up. You walk over towards him and place your hand on his arm.
"Stop, you don't have to do that, Frank. You got here as fast as you could have." You counter as you start to console him. "You didn't know about my past or who I was hiding from. If anything, you saved me." He looks up at you, "If you weren't here to distract him, I don't think I would've been able to escape. I don't even know what would have happened." You can't help as the tears start to fall faster.
Frank stands up and pulls you into him. All these emotions you had been holding back, like the fear of him not actually being dead has consumed your every thought, each second you're alone in your home.
You pull back from him as he moves his thumb to wipe away your tears, "I thought that knowing he was gone was going to be some big relief, but all I can think about is what if he isn't dead?" You cry as Frank starts to console you.
"Shh, Y/N, he isn't coming back. He's dead, and no one is ever going to hurt you again." He says as he presses a kiss against your forehead. "You're not gonna have to worry about anyone coming in here or taking advantage of you. I'm here." He pulls away and moves the hair out of your eyes.
He waits a moment, “Does it bother you?” He asks. You give him a confused look as you’re not sure what he’s asking. “That I’m Frank Castle, a now-alive but used to be dead convicted murderer?” He asks with his head facing down.
You take a second, “No.” You say, looking at him as he looks down at you, shocked. “You, being Frank Castle, saved my life. No offense, but I’m not sure Pete Castiglione sounds like a guy who knows his way around a gun.” You joke as you both let out a laugh. "Thank you for my flowers." You smile up at him as you place your hand on his cheek.
"Of course," Frank says softly. He leans down and waits to see if there's any hesitation, but you surprise him by meeting him in the middle.
Your soft lips press up against his weathered ones, wrapping your arms around his neck. He wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you up, causing your legs to wrap around his waist. Your noses brush against each other as you try to find the perfect angle.
He places you down on the counter without breaking the kiss as his tongue swipes against your bottom lip. You open your mouth slightly to grant him entrance, moaning as your tongues entwine. Your hand grips onto the hair that has slightly grown out since you'd last seen him, eliciting a groan to escape his lips.
You feel his hands start to move down to your shirt to remove it, but your body doesn't look like it did before. There are all these new scars that you had chosen to forget because you couldn't stand to look at them. You move your hands to grab his and redirect them to your face, not wanting him to see what he had carved.
You move your hands to grab onto his shirt to take it off. You break the kiss as Frank quickly removes his shirt. You look at him as you run your hand over his sculpted body. You bring your face close to his chest as you kiss him. Frank grabs onto your hair and gently pulls you back to his mouth. Your tongues fight for dominance as his hand brings you even closer to him.
You pull back as you hop off the counter, but not before grabbing his hand to guide him to your room. When you make it, you bring him closer to you as you sit down on your bed. He towers over you as he brings his head down to kiss you again.
Your mouth opens as you let out a moan as his hand moves towards your breast. You're now fully lying on the bed as he hovers on top of you. "You're so beautiful, Y/N," he whispers as he holds himself over you, moving his finger over your face. You smile at him before your hands move to the back of his head and pull his lips to yours.
His hands move further down to the hem of your shirt to remove it, and before you can think of anything, you break apart to throw it off of you. You watch as Frank slowly moves to rest on his side next to you, looking over you. You look at his face as it slowly falls as he zones in on your torso.
Frank can't even count the number of scars that litter your body. Each one is unique in its length and size; some even look to go deeper than they should be able to. You slowly start to move your hands to cover yourself up, but Frank grabs your hands and places them where they were beside your head.
He moves to hover over you again as he goes to kiss and erase any pain or memory associated with the creation of your scars. He takes his time as he lovingly caresses each spot with his tongue. You can't help the tears that start to escape as you realize no one has ever been this sweet or gentle with you.
When Frank is done removing the evil hidden behind each scar, he comes back to look in your eyes. "I will always protect you, no matter what." He wipes your tears and traces the outline of your jaw. Your hand holds onto his cheek as you pull him closer to you. The only thing you wanted was to be as close to Frank as you could.
His hands move down to remove your jeans and underwear as he pushes his own off. You can't help but look down and marvel at how big he is. You go to move towards him, but he softly pushes you down.
He makes his way down your stomach as he reaches your center. You watch as his tongue slowly swirls around your clit, causing a warm sensation to spread throughout your body. Your back arches and your eyes roll back into your head as Frank's tongue continues to massage your center as if he’s done it before. He's speaking an entirely new language you hadn't experienced, and to say it was the best you ever had was an understatement.
He could feel you get closer as your walls clenched around his tongue. If there was one thing Frank was going to do, it was to make sure that you came. He continued to move his tongue in the way that caused your body to jolt every time. He worked you through your orgasm as you gripped his hair and moaned out his name.
When he came back up, you grabbed onto his back and smashed your lips against his. Your tongue infiltrated his mouth as you tasted yourself on his tongue. He moaned into your mouth as his tongue fought for dominance.
His body covered yours as he moved to align his hard member against your entrance. He moved back as he looked into your eyes, making sure it was okay. You nodded your head and bit your lip in anticipation.
He slowly moved in, allowing your body to get used to his length. You bite his shoulder to stifle the noises escaping your mouth. "Fuck Frank," you moan as he hits a spot you'd never experienced before.
He gradually increases his speed as he moves to place your leg against your shoulder, hitting another angle. Your vision starts to blur as you see stars. No one had ever made you feel like this.
He feels you getting close as your walls squeeze around him. You see Frank close his eyes as you realize he's getting close. "Look at me, Frank, please," you plead breathily. He opens his eyes as you hold onto the back of his head. You both see the pleasure cross over your features as the warmth spreads all throughout your body, reaching the top of your head to your toes. Your moans blend together as you feel his hot seed spread within you. He places his head between your neck and shoulder as he tries to even his breathing.
He kisses your shoulder before he gently pulls out of you, feeling his cum spread out on the sheets underneath you. You marvel as he begins to try to get up, but you grab his arm. He looks at you in concern to make sure everything is okay, but you just pull him down to kiss him one more time.
He pulls back to look at you and gives you a small kiss before he gets up. You see him walk over to your bathroom and hear him turn on the sink. He comes back out with a washcloth in his hand. He makes his way over to you and gently washes away any evidence of what you guys had done.
He goes to put the washcloth back in the bathroom and walks back into the room. You see him hesitate, not quite sure what to do.
"Can you please stay?" You ask quietly as you look at him through your eyelashes. He walks over to where you are on the bed and slides in next to you.
"I'm gonna stay for however long you'll let me," He says as he pulls you close to him. He runs his finger over your shoulder as you snuggle close to him.
"Then you're going to have to move in." You say as you angle your head to look up at him.
"Sounds good," he smiles as he lowers his head to capture your lips in a lingering kiss. The kiss ends as you take in each other's presence before you both slowly nod off to sleep. Who knew that a guy your best friend hit with their car would end up being the person you needed?
tags/warnings: gn reader, mentions of violence, kinda angsty, light mention of potential suicide, frank loves you and worries abt you, kissing
“Am I not good enough for you or something?”
The words catch Frank off guard. His hands that were busy taking apart his 9mm for cleaning are now frozen as he looks up at you. “Hell you talkin’ ‘bout?” His voice is rougher than normal, his day thus far spent silent aside from an occasional grunt of acknowledgement.
“Am I not good enough for you? Real simple question, Frank.” You cross your arms as you stand before him waiting for an answer. Looking at him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Frank’s face scrunches a bit, mind running blank as he tries to think of what he’s missing.
“At what?” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as it leaves his mouth before your frown even has a chance to deepen.
You shake your head with a scoff and walk away, “Forget it.”
Frank places the pieces of his gun down, wiping his hands off as he rises. “Hey, woah, now. I didn’t start this, so don’t ask me to forget it. What the hell are you on about, hun?”
“Don’t call me that.” You’re still stomping away from him, not overly dramatic but firm enough to make a point.
“C’mon don’t be like that. I ain’t even know what you’re mad about.” He tries to joke, say it soft enough to lighten the mood. It fails.
“You never let me go with you.” The words suck the air out of the room. It’s quiet enough Frank swears he could hear your heartbeat. “I’ve tried to think it over and reason with myself, but you never let me go with you on your patrols.”
Frank tries to cut you off, “Sweetheart, you know-”. You don’t let him. “No. Let me finish Francis.”
The use of his full name causes his mouth to snap shut, jaw clenching as he forces himself to not rebut. “I’ve been doing this for years, I can very clearly handle myself, so it’s not a question of whether or not I can do this. You don’t pitch a fit when I go out on patrols with Matt, but you don’t let me go on them with you.” Your voice rises as you plainly lay out the situation. It’s been this way since the beginning, but the last few weeks it’s started eating at you.
“When you and Matt go out, then it’s okay if I tag along. So, what? Are you worried I’m gonna slow you down? That I’m gonna ruin your credibility? I can’t figure it out, Frank.” You throw your hands up as you continue. Frank just watches. “The only conclusion I can come to is that I must not be good enough for you. That my skills aren’t satisfactory, that I’m not up to measure.” It’s not poised as a question, the way you’re speaking makes it a clear statement. A fact you’ve decided to etch into your bones.
“No, that’s-” Frank lets out a humorless laugh, “That ain’t it at all. You are one of the most competent, capable, badass people I have ever met, you understand? I’ve seen people deal with half the shit you have and break, so there is no question in my mind about your skill.” He’s angry now. Before, when he didn’t know what you were talking about he was planning to just sweet talk his was out, assuming it was some bout of insecurity that he’d make you realize was laughable.
Now that he knows you’re doubting yourself, worse, doubting his trust in you? That makes him mad. Frank doesn’t spend his time with people he can’t trust, who can’t hold their own. His life’s been a shitshow for years, and you’re the one thing that’s made him realize maybe it doesn’t always have to be so dark. So beyond the egotistical part of him that’s offended you’re questioning his judgement, he’s pissed that you’re letting someone as low as him make you doubt yourself.
“I know damn well you can handle yourself. Now you listen to me,” Frank invades your space, forcing you to have to adjust your neck to keep his gaze, “You are more than good enough for me. Shit, most days I wake up next to you and think how much I don’t deserve it. When I see you out there, see how much power you’ve got? Makes me think maybe the universe decided to give me a bit of pity, letting someone as good as you choose someone as twisted as me.”
“So why don’t you trust me then? Let me help you, I want to help you Frank. Please.” Your voice is softer, anger washing away at his confession. Emotions don’t come easy to Frank, admitting them even less so. You’re not disregarding your own for his, but understand how he could shut off if you keep up the tension. You do the same thing when the situation’s reversed.
“I trust you, sweetheart. With my life.” His voice is gruff, earnest. “It’s myself I don’t trust. Can’t think straight if you’re around during a gun fight.” You want to give him the benefit of the doubt, knowing very well how distracting Frank’s form can be when he’s covered in blood during a fight.
“Oh, what? Do I get you all hot and bothered?” Trying to joke, you poke at Frank’s chest with a chuckle. He doesn’t laugh, though. His lips quirk a bit as he admits, “You do look mighty fine with a gun in your hands.”
Hand coming to rest on your cheek, Frank tilts your head so he can look at you. His face is serious. “I can’t lose someone else like that. Barely survived it the first time, that shit’s gonna stick with me rest of my life. If it happened to you, I-“ He cuts himself off, getting visibly angry at the thought. Eyes closed, he swallows. “Not you.”
Reaching your own hands up to hold his face, you force him to look at you once more. “You’re not gonna lose me. I’d crawl outta my grave back to you.” Eyes searching yours, Frank is bare, he looks less vulnerable belly up after a beating.
“They’re gonna have to put me in mine ‘fore anyone tries to hurt you. Not gonna let that happen.” Frank’s always so intense, it makes your chest tighten so much you think your heart’s trying to claw its way out to him. “I know that.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Frank nods, backing away, assuming the conversation is over. It’s not.
“If you trust me with your life, then I need you to trust me with mine. Especially when I know if I die, it’s not just gonna be me going down.” It’s not something either of you have voiced before, ever dared to admit. But it was obvious, to those around you and yourselves, that now that you had each other neither of you wanted to go on if you lost the other.
Not that you’d actively do it, but there were plenty of suicide missions you could find. Frank had already tried it once when he thought you were gone a year back. Leading himself into a warehouse he wouldn’t have gotten out of if you weren’t alive in there- not dead like they wanted him to believe. You’d never spoken about it. Didn’t need to. You would’ve done the same thing, if roles were reversed.
Frank looked up at you gently, face soft, despite that his eyes were burning into you. He didn’t say anything for a while, just leaned against his desk as he watched you standing across from him. Eventually, he spoke. “Alright.” As you walk towards him, readying to throw your arms around his neck and thank him, he’s moving. “Got a lead on some traffickers comin’ in tonight. Real pieces of shit, nobody the world’ll miss. C’mere.”
Following him, he shows you the layout, going over his plan for the mission. It’s the most you’re gonna get out of him on it. Not lingering on the topic, just adjusting to let you in. So when he finishes his briefing, your questions asked and answered, making sure it’s a seamless plan, you say nothing as you lean over to kiss him.
Mouths entangling, you groan lightly into the kiss as he keeps you pressed to him. Warmth filling your chest, his tongue lightly brushes your bottom lip, asking for entrance. Not one to deny him, you let him push you onto the desk behind you as his tongue fills your mouth. Sighing, you tell him, “Don’t think you’re getting away with that comment about not deserving me earlier. We’ll discuss that later.”
He doesn’t say anything about it because he knows nothing he does will make you forget it. Frank’s hands reach into your hair, gripping it tightly as he claims your mouth, pressing himself in to be caged by your legs. Between kisses, you mumble out, “How long before we gotta leave?”
“Say ‘bout three hours.” Mouth still on yours, Frank makes his way to your jaw, sucking the skin into his mouth.
“Hm, suppose we can make do with it, huh? Though, I’d prefer a bit more time.” Frank’s teeth nip your neck at the teasing comment.
“I’m sure I can make up for it.” Giggling, you pull him back to your lips, sliding your tongue against his as he lets out a deep groan.
── .✦ Note: i had 0 plans for this and it kinda just came pouring out of me!! Here is a scene where you’re awaken when Frank comes home wounded and bruised.
── .✦ Tags: pictures are not mine! never a beta so subject to be edited, smut, +18, slight angst, established relationship, this sex is slightly on the more tender side of things i've written!!, drinking, frank is kinda banged up, mentions of murder, sex, p in v sex, fem!reader, black!reader written in mind but anyone can read honestly, missionary, riding, pet names (sweetheart, doll, girl), frank is very much in love with you!
wc: 2.8k
You're fast asleep when a hand comes across your back.
Jolting awake, you quickly grab the gun from under your pillow, cold metal hot in your hands as you snatch the safety off all before pointing it at a familiar face.
"Easy easy, girl, it's just me."
Frank.
Your wild eyes register the man in front of you. Blood streaks staining his face, a bruise there, probably a fracture there and you let out the breath you were holding. You place the gun under your pillow before sitting up in the bed. Another breath leaves your lungs as your hand reaches out to grab Frank’s hand.
“How did it go?” You ask, groggy with sleep and he hums.
“I’m alive. They aren’t.” He shrugs and you hum in return. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with your free hand before getting up. Frank watches you with tender eyes. You slide out of the bed, still holding onto his hand as you guide him into the ensuite bathroom.
You work quietly as Frank sits along the tub. He swigs at the whiskey you kept under the counter for nights like these as you work on his wounds. You stitch here, disinfect here, properly dress a wound there. At one point you’re holding your hand out and Frank knowingly places the whiskey bottle into your hand. The liquor burning your throat but jolting you awake and settling your nerves.
Just because you were used to these nights doesn’t mean it still didn’t unsettle you.
“How many?” You ask finally as you patch up one of the last wounds. Frank takes a pause before answering.
“Eight.” He says and you shake your head.
“You should have let me come with you.”
“You know I can’t do that.” He shakes his head in disbelief that you would ever even think he would ask that of you.
“Can’t or won’t, Frank?” You ask, pausing wrapping the bandage to look up at your lover. His void brown eyes drift off to some space beside you, an effort to avoid eye contact. You frown slightly, annoyed before bringing a hand up to grab ahold of his chin. He allows you to bring his eyes back on you and you raise an eyebrow.
"You know I won't ever ask you to fight battles f'me." Frank says, looking at you in your eyes as he says it and you release his chin. You go back to the wound, wrapping it once more before placing medical tape around it.
"It's not about fighting for you," you say before looking up at him again, "it's about fighting with you. There's a difference." You argue. You stare him down as he returns the gaze.
“What do you want me to do?” He asks and you frown. You shake your head, moving onto the final wound.
“Act like you come home to someone.” You answer and Frank can only start to say something but then close his mouth. Silence falls over you two as you wrap up the final bandage. You apply ointment and tie the gauze a little too tight to earn a grunt of pain from Frank. He watches you work, avoiding to look at him as you have that familiar crease between your brow. The one that told him you were annoyed beyond compare.
“Hey,” Frank says but you don’t reply so he tries again, “Hey, sweetheart.” He grabs onto the side of your face, calloused hands coming onto your cheeks as he grabs your attention. You look at him, frown across your pretty lips but you say nothing.
“Look at me when I say I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I fucked up.” He says and your frown melts. You shake your head.
“Frank—” He grabs onto your chin to steady your gaze back onto him.
“Hey hey look at me.” He says and you look at him, “you’re right. I do need to be considerate that I come home to you. Thats on me.” Frank apologizes and you see the look in his eyes. Those usual arctic cold irises are the opposite when they are focused on you. Warmth, familiarity, and something that’s not short of love live in them.
“I can’t lose you.” You whisper, and he nods.
“You won’t.”
“You’re not bulletproof Frank.” You argue, throat tight with worry but he nods.
“I know.” He says and you look at him. A stare happens between you two before you sigh. You stand up from your crouched position and snatch the bottle of whiskey thats in Frank’s hands. Frank watches your throat work as you take two generous swigs, some of the dark liquor running down your chin. You wipe it off with the back of your hand when you’re done. Then without a word, you slide into Frank’s lap, straddling him with your strong and scarred thighs.
Your fingers come to his face, holding it in your hands as you lean forward. Pressing your lips softly against his, Frank answers by clutching a fistful of your curls and deepening the kiss. Your hands slide from his face so you can wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your body closer to him.
The kisses turn from reassuring to desperate. Frank’s hand has left your curls and now holds a protective grip on your face. His single large hand able to wrap and hold your cheeks to slightly open your mouth for him. You swallow back a gasp as his gentle tongue caresses yours and you find yourself leaning back in for more. However, Frank is suddenly lifting the two of you off the edge of the tub, balancing you in his arms as he still kisses you. His strong hands are on your exposed thighs, calloused hands bringing goosebumps along your skin. His holds you close as he carries both of you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
Clothes are shedded one by one. Your thin cami you slept in gone and your nipples are exposed to the cold air and Frank. His eyes are hungry, but also devotional as he leans down, bringing his soft lips to your pert nipple. The sensation of his hot and wet tongue circling your areola left you arching into his mouth. A gasp leaving your lips as your thighs twitched. Your nails come into the back of his hair, low fade soft against your touch.
“Frank.” You whisper, another moan escaping your lips as he brings attention to the other nipple. He hums, swirling his tongue before releasing it with a gentle suck. A gentle heat starts to bloom between your legs.
“So sensitive tonight,” he comments , “did i do that? Neglect you too much and now you’re reacting to every touch?” He kisses your nipple.
“Yes.” He earns another gasp from you and he drinks in the way your soft lips fall agape. He gives your nipple one last lick before crawling up your body, taking your lips with his.
“Let me make it right for you, hmm?” He asks and you nod.
“Please.”
The rest of your clothes are shedded with a blur. Frank took his time undressing you, kissing you here, touching you there. He made up for his absence and apologized through kisses placed all over your body. You were a needy mess by the time he pushed into you, earning a breathy moan from you as you shared eye contact. Frank watched every curve of your face as he sunk into your warmth, a groan coming from him as he was reminded with how warm and wet you feel.
“I missed you.” You moan, wrapping your legs around his waist, encouraging him to sink deeper in you. He grunts, coming down to kiss your lips.
“I missed you too,” he grunts, “so tight for me tonight, sweetheart. Did I do that too? Kept you waiting too long? You forgot about me huh?” He prods, rolling his hips deeper but still keeping that tenderness. Allowing you to feel him bullying his way through your walls before slowing sliding out, allowing you to feel every delicious inch of him.
“Yes, Frank.” You moan, knowing that you haven’t touched yourself either you knew you felt tighter than usual. Shit, the girth of Frank when you took him regularly still made you feel so full. So, now with being deprived for a week or two? It felt like learning how to take him all over again.
“Let me remind you again, sweetheart.”
Frank grabs onto your thighs, spreading you open before he leans back on his hunches. Your hips are angled up and when Frank slides back in the new position as you mewling with pleasure. Your back arches, feeling his tip kiss an even deeper part of you. A soft jolt of electricity sparks throughout your cunt and causes you to shiver and moan his name out.
“Oh fuck, Frank.” You mewl, looking at him with half lidded eyes as he watches your face. He slides back out before sliding back in, another pang of electricity causes you to whimper and your arousal seeps out of you. Frank looks down, seeing his cock coated with a soft sheen of you.
“Drippin’ f’me, sweetheart.” He comments as his eyes drift, landing on your clit thats standing at full attention, swollen and begging to be touched. He looks at you, taking in your face thats contorted in pleasure all by his doing before one of his hands leaves your hip. His rough thumb lands on your clit.
“All for you.” You whimper, hips jerking at the stimulation of your clit. The added pleasure sending shivers of pleasure down your spine along with the deep strokes Frank continues to deliver between your legs. His chest heaves as sweat trickles down his body. You look at him with hooded eyes, eyes drifting a bruise or two, the only reminder that the man before you brutally killed 8 men before returning home to you. And now that same man is tenderly making love to you as an apology for neglect.
The world would never guess the Punisher had depth and layers to him like this.
And that was okay with you. You’d gladly keep this side of Frank Castle all to yourself.
You see Frank wince, realizing it’s happening more often as he continues to pleasure you. A soft frown comes to your face, realizing Frank is doing that thing again where he refuses to ask for help. You release the sheets from your hands before grabbing onto his wrists. He raises an eyebrow as you sit up, hands leaving his wrists to plant themselves into the muscles of his shoulders.
“Let me, Frankie.” You say softly and he doesn’t need a second of convincing. Tired and sore, body aching, and he sees the way you look at him with those beautiful eyes. Love and devotion swimming in your irises and he nods, leading you to kiss him softly before shifting positions on the bed.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He says, groaning underneath you as you start to swivel your hips. Your hair is in a wild halo around your face and Frank swears you’re an angel. He licks his lips slowly, planting his rough hands on your thighs and caressing your skin. Your hands are on his chest, helping you keep balance as you continue to ride Frank.
“See what happens when you ask for help?” You ask, your voice angelic and Frank doesn’t miss the soft smirk that tugs at the corner of your lips. He chuckles lowly, hand leaving your thigh as you lean down to him to grip the back of your neck.
“Point taken.” He says and you hum, leaning down further to kiss him. Kisses are shared before you snap your hips harder, a gasp breaking you away from his lips as Frank groans.
You continue on top of Frank, switching between soft rides and quick snaps of your hips to keep Frank on his toes. Each time he got comfortable with one rhythm you switched it up, always earning a grunt of a higher octave and heavier breathing. He did that thing where he clenched his jaw and let out short breaths that told you he was getting closer and closer.
And you weren’t too far behind yourself.
“Frank.” You moan, a hand coming to grip at the chain of dog tags he wore. The cold chain hot against your palm and he groans.
“Fuck, keep goin'.” He says through clenched teeth, hand leaving your thigh to cup between your legs and you whimper. His calloused thumb plays with your swollen clit and causes you to rock your hips faster. A whine coming from your mouth as pleasure radiates throughout your cunt.
“Oh, shit — don’t stop, Frank please.” You’re begging, feeling your cunt squeeze and flutter around his length that continues to sit so deep in you. Each lift of your hips to sink back down on him left you gushing. The soft squelches of you landing back down on him could be heard and felt due to the build up of arousal along your ass and his burly thighs.
“Close, doll?” He asks, earning a desperate nod and a whimper from you.
“So close.” You sigh, still lifting your hips up and down on him but your steady rhythm becomes choppy. Frank hears your breathing become uneven, breathy moans coupled with that soft whine you do and it pushes him even closer to the edge. He sees the way you bite your lip, eyebrows furrowed in concentration to get you both to come.
So, he makes the decision to plant his feet onto the bed. You shift in his lap, yelping and giggling softly as you adjust at new angle. You didn’t know it was possible for him to sit even deeper and he does. A grunt from Frank and a cry from you happen when you sink down while he thrusts up. You lose your breath, feeling his top nudging that spot and you let out a shakey breath.
Frank sees the way your face looks, as pleasure consumes your entire countenance and he feels proud. Your chest is heaving as you lift your hips up and when you sink back down he thrusts up again, earning another cry from you. Your cunt squeezes around him tightly and he groans.
You two develop a steady rhythm, the bed creaking underneath the weight of you two. The taunt ribbon that was deep within your bellies were seconds away from unraveling and sending you both to the edge. Your moans become whiny and Frank’s grunts come out rougher. He keeps rubbing your clit that becomes slicker. His pelvis is drenched and your thighs are soaked.
And when Frank suddenly starts to thrust in you faster, you whimper before crying out his name.
“Frank!” You feel yourself clamp down onto him tighter. The pleasure builds deep within your belly and you’re seconds away from unraveling. Frank feels it too, head swimming at the feeling of your walls gripping tightly around him.
“Fuck, m’comin’, sweetheart.” He warns, breathing hard as he thrusts up into you brutally. A silent scream comes from your mouth as the pleasure overwhelms you. You screw your eyes shut as you brace yourself.
“Me too me too, oh—fuck!” You cry, nails digging into his chest. He hisses at the feeling before succumbing to the pleasure.
“Fuck!” Frank grunts, cock spilling itself inside of you and you tumble into euphoria shortly after. You whine, body shaking as you finally come.
“Frank!” You cry, body twitching as you fall into his chest. He wraps his arms around you, still rutting gently through your orgasms as he milks himself of every drop. You whimper through the aftershocks, sighing as you feel Frank still so deep in you. His cock slowly softens as he continues to hold you close to his body, feeling your heart race against his chest.
Frank places gentle kisses along your hair, causing you to mewl before lifting your face off his chest. He looks down at you, eyebrow raises as if to ask if you were okay. You answer by placing a kiss on his chest and before you realize it he’s lifting you up, carrying you both to the bedroom and starting a hot shower.
Words aren’t exchanged but Frank provides affection that screams he loves you. Kisses on your shoulder, helping you wash your body down, and even rubbing lotion into those places you needed help reaching. All of this affection telling you he’s still sorry for his selfish decisions as of late.
And you accepted every single one.
You two don’t talk until you both slide back into bed. You place your head onto his chest, cheek pressed into his pec as he brings a strong arm around you. He tucks you into his chest, his warmth radiating and musk cloaking you in comfort.
“All you have to do ask, and i’m there.” You reassure and Frank rubs your shoulder, humming. You bring your hand out to reach for his free one, intertwining his fingers with yours.
“I know.” He says, believing you. You kiss his chest.
Summary: Frank and Reader have been working together flawlessly for years, but Frank is struggling to come to terms with his feelings for Reader due to their easy-going and trusting friendship. After a mission goes south and Reader is kidnapped, Frank is forced to confront his feelings and save Reader.
Wordcount: 3.6k
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a/n: i got this request and immediately pulled my computer out to start writing!!! i love writing arguments between protective frank and reader sooo much, especially when it ends in a love confession. thank you so much for the request, nonnie!!! enjoy!
Frank Castle was not an easy man to get along with. After years of military discipline, coupled with the fact that his behavior was the product of the worst kind of betrayal and corruption, Frank knew he was a little rough around the edges. This hadn’t stopped you from waltzing into his life with absolutely no regard or tolerance for his bullshit.
Frank watched as you meticulously cleaned the weapons in front of you on the table. Your attention to detail was enough to make a Marine envious. He still didn’t know where you learned it all, because you certainly weren’t ex-military like him.
“Are you gonna stare at me all night, or sit down and help?” You shot him a pointed glance before returning to your work, mumbling under your breath about the audacity of men.
Frank couldn’t stop himself from grinning a little. Your smart mouth had gotten both of you in a lot of trouble, but it was one of the reasons you were such good friends. You could dish it out and you could take it.
Frank sat with a wince. His back had been beaten to hell a few weeks prior, and he was pretty sure his ribs had only just begun healing, but he wasn’t going to complain. Thus was the life of the Punisher.
“You make sure they’re all unloaded?” Frank questioned, though he knew the answer to that question already. He didn’t know why he liked teasing you so much, but he couldn’t help himself.
You sent a glare across the table, scoffing.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” You asked, cocking your head to the side. Frank watched the rise and fall of your shoulders as annoyance coursed through you, sending a tingling sensation directly into his chest.
“No.” Frank said firmly, “Was just a question.”
“Hmm.” You answered, rolling your eyes.
Frank knew you liked the teasing too. He was completely in the dark about why you enjoyed it, but nonetheless, it wouldn’t be your relationship without all the teasing.
Or the pining. Or the filthy dreams you have about her you sick fu-
“Frank, are we doing this thing or not? I can’t clean all these guns by myself. Do something.”
Your comment startled him out of his dirty thoughts. You were staring at him with a bewildered look on your face, probably wondering why the hell Frank couldn’t seem to focus lately.
Frank quickly grabbed a gun, double checking that the weapon was actually unloaded before beginning the cleaning routine he was so familiar with.
It wasn’t his fault, really. He couldn’t help that your legs kept him so distracted during debriefings that he never heard a word you said. He also thought it was rude of you to wear your hair the way you do, because it made him dizzy when you walked by and he could smell your shampoo. Really, if Frank thought about it, it was your fault he was so out of it, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
He certainly wasn’t going to be the person to ruin whatever this was between the two of you. He liked things the way they were, so instead of daydreaming about your legs like he constantly wanted to do, he did his best to ignore the festering feelings bubbling in his chest every time you walked in the room.
It was better that way.
The plan for the evening was simple. Get in, shoot the motherfuckers who were trafficking women, and get out. They’d never see Frank or you coming, and New York would be better for it tomorrow. It was a normal, run of the mill mission that you and Frank had worked dozens of times before. Frank trusted you with his life, and you offered the same trust to him, albeit with a little sass. There shouldn’t have been any issues.
So, of course the plan went to shit as soon as it began.
Neither of you had expected such a large operation to be booming right in the heart of New York City. Frank watched from behind a pallet of crates as you snuck around the structural framework of the warehouse roof, disappearing behind beams faster than any normal person could track. His job was to cause a distraction as soon as you found the women so that you could lead them to safety without endangering them further, but he couldn’t move past the bad feeling bubbling in his stomach.
Your eyes found him in the darkness, sending him a wink before disappearing around a beam. Frank, who normally would charge headfirst into the array with guns blazing, was horrified to realize that he was considering calling this off. You were out manned, out gunned, and vulnerable if any of those men happened to look up and see you, and that sent a sinking feeling through his chest.
Minutes dragged by as he waited for your signal. The longer he waited, the more restless he became. The men he was supposed to be focusing on were growing more rowdy by the second, and if he didn’t step in soon, someone would surely see you.
Gunfire was his first indication that something was wrong. Screaming was the second.
Frank catapulted into action, rolling into a standing position and taking aim at the first man he saw. Most of the men in the room didn’t know he was there until a round of bullets ricocheted through them.
“Frank!”
Your voice carried through the warehouse, echoing off the walls directly into Frank’s chest. That was not the signal. Something had gone very, very wrong.
He ran, plowing through another group of men with such ferocity that the metallic tang of blood would probably coat his tongue for hours afterwards. The warehouse was huge, and there were hallways in every direction. Screams echoed around him, sending him into a furious scramble through room after room, shooting everything that moved. His thoughts felt disorganized and messy. He couldn’t focus on anything but you, you, you.
You weren’t anywhere, and it was driving him to madness. The trail of bodies he followed through the building made him simultaneously proud and sick to his stomach. You were always able to hold your own, but you shouldn’t have had to do this part alone.
Somehow, the eerie silence that had crept in was even worse. When you were screaming, at least he knew you were still alive. Now, he was in the dark and his instincts didn’t know where to begin.
He finally made it to the back of the warehouse, where a single door swung on its hinges leading to the harbor outside. The unmistakable scent of gunpowder and sweat engulfed the room. Frank’s eyes caught on the gun you’d been so meticulously cleaning earlier that day. He tried not to think too hard about what kind of trouble would have caused you to drop it. The sound of screeching tires tugged his attention back to the door.
He didn’t hesitate. He ran as hard as he could, praying to a God that he didn’t believe in anymore. Anyone, anything, to make sure you were okay.
He hadn’t run far when he came across another group of men, guns pointed directly at him. He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so worried about you. He didn’t care that they had guns shoved in his face. This part of the job was a cakewalk for him. He easily took out the men, only to realize how fucked the situation truly was.
A group of women stood huddled a few feet away, clearly terrified of him. He moved towards them, causing a ricochet of cries to erupt from the group. This is why you were the one in charge of getting them out of situations like this. To them, he was just another violent man. He needed you.
“Are you with her?” One croaked in his direction, voice wobbling. She held her chin high, though Frank could taste her fear in the air around him.
“Where is she?” He demanded, immediately regretting the tone of his voice. He couldn’t think straight, and it was grating on his nerves that he hadn’t found you yet.
She flinched, raising her hand slowly to point.
“Frank!” A muffled cry echoed across the pavement.
He turned, horrified as he watched masked men shove you into the back of a van. His heart seized, forcing a grunt from his throat. The van was too far, already screeching away in the opposite direction. He raised his gun, then lowered it. He couldn’t risk hitting you.
“Fuck!” He shouted, slamming his gun down on the pavement. He crouched down, holding his head between his hands for a moment before straightening again. “Fuck!”
He felt both deathly calm and dangerously on edge. He needed to get these women to safety. He needed to go after you. His vision went red at the thought of what they’d do to you. He would rip their heads from their bodies when he got his hands on them. He would paint New York red with their blood. He’d hand deliver their heads to the NYPD with a reminder of how shitty they were at their jobs. He would do anything to bring you back to him.
He repeated the license plate from the van like a furious mantra, dialing Micro with shaking hands. It was probably stolen, but still worth looking into. Micro was less than enthused to be getting a phone call at one in the morning, but Frank couldn’t find it in himself to care. He had to do something.
Even less enthused to hear from him was Matt Murdock, who he hadn’t spoken to in months. While they disagreed on almost every choice the other made, Matt could hear the desperation in his voice as he explained the situation. Frank knew Matt was close by and wouldn’t allow innocent people to get hurt.
“Listen,” Frank lowered his voice to seem less imposing to the women who had silently watched him having a meltdown over the phone, “A guy’s going to be here soon. He’ll be in a ridiculous Halloween costume, but you can trust him. He’ll help you. I have to go after- I have to get her back.”
Frank gasped for air. He needed to go after you, but you’d be absolutely furious at him if he didn’t make sure the women were okay first.
The woman who’d originally spoken nodded, opening her mouth to say something and then stopping herself.
Frank did his best to be patient while she worked up the courage to speak. His restless energy felt palpable, hanging in the air, suffocating him. The longer he waited, the more likely it was that he’d find you dead. He could not let that happen.
“She threw herself in front of us. They grabbed her instead of us. She did it on purpose.”
Frank’s heart felt like it might burst out of his chest. That sounded exactly like something you’d do. He cursed you for your recklessness but couldn’t be too upset. You’d chosen to put yourself in danger, rather than let their victims continue to bear the brunt of their violence. Warmth, and a little bit of rage, tingled in his chest.
“I have to go after her.” He repeated, voice hoarse with sorrow.
The woman nodded, understanding the quiver in his voice for what it was. What it meant.
“Red will be here soon. You’ll know him when you see him.” Frank nodded once, eyes glazing over as he calculated exactly how he was going to find you. Micro was searching, but that took time he didn’t have.
“The men...,” the woman began, huddling closer to the women around her, “They mentioned 10th Avenue when they thought we weren’t listening. It’s another warehouse, I think.”
Frank swallowed thickly, thanking her softly. He knew what he’d have to do, and he didn’t hesitate to run headfirst into danger to get you back. Thus was the life of Frank Castle.
The block felt completely abandoned when Frank finally made it to the warehouse district of Hell’s Kitchen, but he knew they were somewhere nearby. As soon as they’d seen the white skull on his chest, they knew they had Punisher-shaped targets on their back. Fucking cowards.
Frank wanted nothing more than to comb the entire block looking for you, but he knew that would waste precious time. He needed to fucking relax, but his body was screaming at him to go, run, find. Every military instinct he’d ever learned warred in his mind with the desire to find you. To save you. To hold you. It had been hours since he’d last seen you, and every minute that went by was eating at his soul.
He grounded himself in the pain radiating from his ribs. If they hadn’t already been busted up before tonight, they were surely broken now. He didn’t care. The pain helped him focus on the task at hand.
He searched for the van, finding it sloppily tucked behind a building. Frank didn’t think they were that stupid, but he’d learned a long time ago not to underestimate the idiocy of desperate and terrified men.
There. A flash of light. A curtain being carefully closed. Less than half a second, but Frank clocked it with ease. Anyone else might’ve missed it, but not Frank. He was certain of what he’d seen. Within seconds, he was moving around the back of the building, ready to rip anything that moved in half.
Soft voices carried through the glass of the windows. Frank only counted two, but he couldn’t be sure. Your voice is what he was searching for, and he hadn’t heard it yet.
His patience finally wore thin, sending him into another furious rage as he kicked the door off its hinges. The two men inside jumped to their feet, scrambling for their weapons. It didn’t matter. Frank was on them before they could let out a squeak. He fired a bullet at one, making sure it hit its target before grabbing the other by the throat and slamming him into the reinforced concrete wall. He resisted the urge to dig his thumbs into the man’s eyes.
“Where is she?” He grunted, slamming the man’s head against the wall again.
“In there! IN THERE!” The man groaned, pointing toward the closed door across the room.
Frank threw the man to the ground, watching the light leave his eyes as he fired his gun. And fired. And fired. The clip was completely empty, but Frank didn’t care. The men deserved worse than what they got.
Frank hurried to the door, pushing against the creaking wood, terrified of what might be on the other side.
You were on your side, curled into a tight ball. Your eyebrows were furrowed, jaw clenching and unclenching. Dried blood coated your skin, but Frank couldn’t tell if it was yours or someone else’s. The sight broke his heart.
He fell to his knees in front of you, running his hand over your hair. Tears streaked your cheeks as you grabbed his shirt in a tight fist.
“What did they do?” He couldn’t see any bleeding wounds, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t hurt you.
“It’s fine, Frank.” You gritted your teeth as you tried sitting up.
Frank softly nudged you back toward the ground, scrambling to figure out his next steps.
“It’s not fine.” He responded, softly cupping your cheek. “What’d they do to you, sweetheart?”
Your face crumbled. Pain echoed through Frank’s entire body. Fresh tears escaped your eyes, and Frank couldn’t think of anything to do but wipe the tears away with his thumbs.
“Take me home, Frank.” You pleaded, unable to answer his question.
Frank didn’t hesitate to lift you into his arms, holding you close. The blur at the edge of his vision finally subsided when he felt you nuzzle against his chest, breathing a thank you. The pounding in his ears didn’t stop until he was setting you on the couch at the safehouse you’d been sharing for months.
“Anything hurt?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the cushion. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, which was a new phenomenon for him. He’d never thought so hard about what he should be doing with his limbs until you waltzed into his life.
“No, just a little rattled ‘s all.” You shook your head, grabbing his restless hands and pulling them to your chest. “What about you? Your ribs still fucked?”
A shy smile played on Frank’s face.
“Yeah, they’re always fucked.”
Frank wasn’t lying. His side had been screaming at him for hours, but that was something he could worry about later.
“What happened, sweetheart?” He asked, unable to hide the crack in his voice.
A look of pure terror struck your face. You sat up, wincing at the sudden movement.
“Did you get the women out? There was a group of them in the back. I tried to get them out, but I-”
Frank held up a hand, silencing your worried rant.
“They’re fine. Red's handling it.”
“Matt?” You questioned, cocking your head to the side. “He was there?”
“I called him after...,” he paused, clearing his throat, “After you were taken.”
“Oh.” You said softly, nodding slightly. A shadow hid in your eyes, but Frank was too much of a coward to call you on it.
“I’m so sorry.” He finally said, squeezing your intertwined hands. “I thought I’d have to tear the city down to find you. Those women are the only reason I knew where to look.”
“Don’t apologize, Frank.” You sighed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. “Just don’t treat me like I’m breakable after this, okay? I can handle myself. I lost control of a situation ‘s all.”
Frank scoffed, anger flaring under layers of concern.
“Lost control of a situation?” The gruff tone he was using pulled your gaze to his again. “You threw yourself into harm’s way, without backup. That wasn’t losing control, that was just stupidity.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in anger, but you kept a tight hold on his hand.
“It was either me or them, Frank. What would you have me do? I won’t let innocent people get hurt. You would’ve done the same thing.”
Frank shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? You were so far up your own ass back there that I barely made it in time to get those women. If you’d followed the plan, we wouldn’t have had to do any of this.”
“That’s not fair, Frank. I did what I thought was right. I couldn’t just leave those women.”
“Right?” Frank stood, dropping your hands and stomping across the room. “For who? Not for me!”
Frank realized he was being unfair, but he was so angry at you for risking yourself that he couldn’t stop the word vomit from bubbling out of his mouth.
“My family’s gone. They’re gone. My friends barely fucking tolerate me. I only have you. You’re my entire life, and you decided tonight was the night to be a fucking superhero? I was right there. I could’ve helped! And now you’re staring at me with those ridiculously beautiful eyes of yours, expecting me to understand your reasoning for almost getting yourself killed? Get the fuck out of here.”
He waved a hand, pacing back and forth as you stared blankly at him.
“You...” You started, narrowing your eyes at him. “You think my eyes are beautiful?”
Frank momentarily paused his pacing to shoot you a narrowed look before continuing.
“That’s what you got from that, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head.
Frank tried to ignore the way your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace. What the fuck was he doing?
“Well, you’ve never called me beautiful before.” You pointed out. “What the fuck does that mean, Frank?”
Frank clenched his fists, unable to stop himself.
“It means that I love you, and you’re so fucking aggravating sometimes that I can’t remember why I love you, and then you look at me the way you’re looking at me now, and it feels like coming up for air after drowning. I look at you, and I can breathe again.”
Frank dropped to his knees in front of the couch, eye to eye with you. The conversation he’d had with himself earlier about keeping things casual with you felt a million years away. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, especially after almost losing you. The weight of what he’d almost lost, what he’d already lost, was too heavy, and he was tired.
“You don’t have to love me back. But you can’t put yourself at risk again, sweetheart. I can’t lose another person. I can’t lose you.” He added, pleading.
The room filled with silence, and Frank’s heart began to crack. He’d ruined it, and now he was going to pay for it.
“I’m sor-” He started.
You surged forward, pressing your lips to his in a bruising kiss. He didn’t let himself second guess it. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling your face against his even harder.
He finally had you in his arms, and he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. Or ever. And from the way you wrapped your arms around his neck, he figured the feeling was mutual.
How Boyfriend!Frank Would React to Your Car Breaking Down
Lord, I need therapy. This goes so hard in daddy territory that it's quite damning evidence of my psyche. I hope it is beloved by all.
Frank Castle x Reader
Word Count: 1,236 (~5 min read)
Warnings: 18+ only. Smut, Choking, P in V, a non-zero chance of daddy Frank
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"Ya know, I don't really like the fucking attitude right now," he grumbles, eyes still plastered to the road.
"Frank, quit it with the speech. I don't wanna hear it," you reply, your foot bouncing in agitation. Frank loved being a disciplinarian, his time in the Marines left a lasting impression.
"Oh you don't wanna hear it? Well you not hearin' it is the reason your car broke down and left you stranded. I told you to tell me if the engine light ever came on," he rants, exasperated at you getting yourself into a dangerous situation.
"I said I was sorry, just fucking drop it Frank," you reply, fast and clipped.
"I don't think you have apologized sweetheart," he correctly notes, "so at least spare me the damn attitude about being worried about my girl being stranded with a broke down car in the middle of fucking nowhere."
You hadn't meant to ignore the light. It was only on for a week and you had been so busy at work that it kept slipping your mind to let Frank know. When the damn thing finally puttered out along the forest preserve road, at night no less, you had contemplated not telling Frank at all but he would have really been livid if he found out. Begrudgingly, you called him from the side of the road and the man acted as if you were bound, gagged and left for dead amongst the forest. That agitated hand sweeping down his face the minute he exited his car, barking at you to "get in the goddamn car sweetheart" and even buckling your damn seatbelt (the gall of this man), as he inspected the car and arranged for a tow.
By the time you arrived home, half of Frank's dialogue was just under-breath-mumblings to himself, "in a fucking dress no less, freezing your ass off on the side of the road," and "the fucking car is practically on E, I swear to god you got a death wish or somethin'" as he shrugged off his coat and you stormed to the bedroom and slammed the door.
Seated on the edge of the bed, the weight of the day on you, you allowed yourself a brief pity party which turned into a healthy cry and eventually a hiccuped sob. It only took a moment to hear the soft tap on the door, Frank imploring you to open up.
"Fuck honey, don't cry," his voice, the kindness back in it, traveling through the door. "Come on baby, open up, hate hearin' you cry," he pleads.
You shuffle over to the door and burst into renewed sobs upon seeing Frank's face, all the softness back in it. Stuffing your face into Frank's chest, your mumble a muffled apology as he rubs big circles on your back, saying "That's my girl, let it out honey. S'alright," adding, "You know I worry about you babydoll, can't go scaring me like that." You nod and promise not to ignore the light again.
After a life-affirming shower, a good meal and copious snuggles on the couch, it's not long before you find yourself back in the bedroom being stretched by Frank's monstrous cock, him cooing how well you're taking it. What a good girl you are. His promises to make you feel good. He had you so close, the angle and slow guide of his cock drraaggiinnng against your swollen clit, the build leaving you breathless and whimpering.
His broad hand leaves your hip and lands gently on your throat, usually a precursor to sliding a thick finger into your mouth to suck on. You grip his wrist with both hands, his thick arm dwarfing yours in size easily as you feel the subtle tension in his arm, his hand gripping the column of your neck and squeezing slightly. A breathy "eh" forced from your throat as the sensation seems to heighten everything.
"Yeah, you like that sweetheart," Frank grunts, more slow drags that punch the tip of his cock into your cervix. You grip his forearm tight and squeeze your eyes shut, chasing the release swirling around the edges. Frank squeezes again, this time a little harder, and slows his pace to long, deep measured thrusts. You whine, your climax so close. Needing more of him, to be fuller.
"Want me to make you feel good, yeah sweetheart?" he asks, his tone almost pitying. You nod, whining again
"Gonna be a good girl for me then?" he asks, his cock nearly pulled out, just the tip teasing your hole now. He tightens his grip on your neck just a hair, enough to make a squirm. You nod in response to his question.
"Gonna do what I say when I say so?" he asks, inching his cock in further as his grip on your neck tightens again. Your chest is heaving, your airways compressed slightly, making every sensation floaty and dreamy. You whimper and clench your walls, nodding again.
"Gonna give me attitude when I'm takin' care of you?" he asks, sliding in deeper and gripping tighter. The action nearly floods your desperate pussy and makes your periphery vision start to blur. You couldn't feel the bed at your back or the hair tickling your neck or your earrings dangling from your ears. You only feel the sensation of Frank, claiming dominion over your body and pinning you in place, his cock in your walls and his hand on your throat. You barely manage to shake your head no at Frank's question, hugging his forearm to your chest.
"Who's in charge sweetheart?" he huffs, working to contain his own release, sinking so deeply you feel the punch of him again. His grip on your neck doesn't waver but his thumb swipes back and forth on your neck, he's practically cooing and shushes your whimpers. Your clit is swollen and achey, the smallest pressure and you'd tumble over the edge. You manage to murmur out "You Frankie" and he replies "Say it once more for me doll. Who's in charge?"
"You Daddy," you whimper and your response ignites him. He huffs out a "fuck" as he releases your neck and returns to a punishing pace all at once. The flood of stimulation returns to you in a tidal wave and it's only a moment until you're pulsing on his cock so tightly as you cum that he needs to slow his pace to acommodate.
He coos "fuck baby, you're alright. Sssh sshh, I got you," as you convulse on his cock, whimpers tumbling from your lips and your legs quaking with aftershocks. His brows furrow in concentration as he pumps you five more times, finally releasing his sticky seed in you. He pauses for a moment, panting, his hand landing softly on your mound above where his cock is tucked in you and his thumb gently massages your folds. You mewl and mumble "frankie" and reach for him before he bends to weave his arms behind your back and pull you up to him.
His cock still buried in you, he positions himself to lean on the headboard with you in his lap and you're still panting to catch your breath and draping heavy arms around his shoulders. He pulls you to his chest and lets his fingers graze on your back, planting kisses on your forehead while he tells you what a good job you did.
"You were such a good girl for me sweetheart," he says, adding "always gonna keep my girl taken care of," and that's the last thing you hear before drifting to sleep in his arms with his cock still buried in you.
Summary: You might have stolen Frank's shaving accessories.
AN: A quick, cracky drabble for @darlingshane's ONE LAST COUNTDOWN
“Hey, sweetheart, you seen the trimmer?”
From your spot on the bed and with your laptop sitting on top of your folded legs, you kept your eyes resolutely fixed on the screen as Frank’s voice came through the adjacent bathroom door.
“Nope,” you popped the P at the end and scrolled down the document you’d been reviewing.
“The charger’s there, but I can’t find the damn thing. I remember puttin’ it back in its case, though.”
You hummed noncommittally, although Frank seemed to be talking mostly to himself. “Sorry, haven’t seen it.”
Frank grumbled some more, muttering about how using a blade would be a pain with how thick his beard was, all while opening and closing different cabinets.
“What in fuck’s…” Frank’s footsteps thudded over the bathroom tiles, and this time, the whole man came into the bedroom. “The blade’s gone too.”
“Oh yeah?” Your reply sounded detached, your eyes still on the screen, but they weren’t taking anything in anymore. Your heart sped up.
“Yeah.”
You tried to swallow as inconspicuously as possible when suspicion filled Frank’s voice.
“Weird.” You shot him a glance and shrugged, but as brief as the eye contact was, you knew that it had been a mistake to look at him.
“Uh huh… weird, yeah.” Frank took the few steps it took him to stand next to the bed. “And you haven’t seen that one either, huh?” You could feel his eyes on you, his tone willing you to look up at him. You fought the impulse, your stomach clenching with it.
“Can’t remember seeing it, no.”
Frank hummed thoughtfully but stayed where he was. “Yeah… Why would you know, right? Not like you’d have any reason to… misplace it or nothin’.”
You uttered a small laugh through your nose that hopefully didn’t sound as tense as you thought it did and nodded. “Exactly.”
Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Frank leaning down and propping himself up with a hand on the headboard. His face was almost level with yours.
“Look at me.”
Your neck went rigid at the direct command. You bit your lip but didn’t obey. Not immediately, anyway. Through quickening breaths, you slowly turned your face toward Frank and met his gaze. His eyes were narrowed slightly, observing you carefully while his tongue licked over his bottom lip.
“Where’s my shavin’ stuff?” His voice was low and calm but commanding.
You slid your eyes to his thick beard and shivered as you thought of the sensation of it under your fingers. On your skin. Between your legs. Shrugging with one shoulder, you pursed your lips with a careless, “Told you. Dunno. Not my fault you can’t remember where you put your things.”
By Frank’s sharp grin, you knew that you were pushing it now. You didn’t dare meet his eyes again, knowing that you would spill the beans if you did.
“I… I need to concentrate on this, Frank,” you said with as much fake decisiveness as you could muster, facing the laptop again. “So if you could just—”
But Frank snapped the lid down and pushed the laptop off your lap and onto the bed next to you. His other arm moved this time and rested over your other shoulder, caging you in. There was no avoiding Frank’s searching gaze now, as his face hovered only a few inches above yours.
“Spill.”
“No.”
Frank’s eyebrows rose at your defiance. He grinned in amusement, his eyes flitting over your face as he assessed you. “You don’t want me to shave.”
Licking your dry lips, you shook your head. “I like it like that,” you breathed.
“So you thought you’d hide the trimmer instead of just askin’ me to not shave?” Frank chuckled, lowering his mouth to your jaw so that his beard was gently scratching over it. You shivered and automatically tilted your head to the side for more.
“You kept complaining about how scratchy it’s getting… Just… ah… wanted you to keep it…” Frank was kissing down your neck now. “For a little longer.”
“Mh… just ‘cause you like how it looks?”
From the obvious grin that you could feel against your shoulder, Frank was very aware of the other reasons. “That too, yeah.” You could play that game too.
Snorting lightly, Frank lifted his head and kissed you briefly before staring into your eyes. “Let’s make a deal. If you tell me exactly what you like about my beard, I won’t shave it off.”
You eyed him with a small pout.
“Deal?”
“Where,” you stated, staring at him.
Frank frowned, confused.
“Where what?”
“Not what I like about your beard but where I like your beard.”
Laughing and biting over his bottom lip as he nodded a few times in acknowledgement, Frank inclined his head as he leaned forward to brush his lips against yours.
“Let’s hear it then,” he rumbled under his breath as you reached for his face to stroke your fingers over his bearded jaw and pull him closer.
Summary: After fighting with Frank about where he runs off to, you try to reach him in the only way you know how.
Pairing: Frank Castle x reader
Word count: 2,402
Warning: smut, argument, bj, miscommunication
A/N: my submission for ‘We almost broke up again last night’ with Frank!
Find the rest of the Man’s Best Friend series here!
“Where were you?”
Frank stiffens, the cords in his neck tightening the moment he hears your voice. His back to you, you can see his fingers flex, the knuckles knotting. You wonder if they’re covered in blood.
“Out.”
“You think that’s a good idea?” You scoff, crossing your arms. “To walk out when we’re having a fight?”
“That’s what we were doin’?” He grunts, not turning around. “Fighting? Just seemed like you were yellin’ and I’m supposed to just take it.”
“Yes,” you snap, your voice cracking. “I’m telling you I’m fucking worried and you aren’t listening to me.”
The muscles in his shoulders twitch as his jaw clenches, and he says nothing.
Frustration makes you see red as you push forward, stepping around to see his profile. The familiar scent of gunpowder and smoke rises off his clothes. His eyes don’t move to meet yours.
You try to catch his gaze, standing directly in his line of vision, and when you see the streaks of red on his bruised cheek, you swallow hard.
“This bullshit keeps repeating itself,” you exhale, and shake your head. “You go out and get yourself hurt, and you don’t tell me anything. Am I supposed to just sit here, wondering where you are?”
Slowly, he turns his head, just enough to catch you with a sidelong glance—cold, yet there’s something flickering beneath it, a depth you can’t quite place.
“Wondering?” His voice rumbles, rough and gravelly, like boots scraping over stone. “Is that why you called? Because I wasn’t the one who walked away first?”
He shifts slightly, a wince flashing across his face as he notices the blood seeping from a split lip—something he hadn’t realized until now. His tongue flicks out to catch it absentmindedly.
“I called because you didn’t tell me,” you reply, moving to his kitchen and grabbing a towel. “You just- you weren’t home and I knew, I knew you were out doing god knows what.”
“Ain’t nothing for you to concern yourself with.” He mutters, and you yank on a dishrag, walking towards him. Mouth pressed together, you dab at his face, cleaning the blood.
“Please sit,” you whisper, brows knitted. “Please.”
He stands stock-still, rigid as a statue, as you clean him up. Each touch of the cloth against his bloodied face makes his muscles tense reflexively, flinching away from the sting before forcing himself to tolerate it. He hesitates for a moment, but reluctantly obeys your request, sitting on an edge of the couch. His gaze darts to your face, searching for something, before dropping to the floor.
“Ain’t trying to make you worry.” He mutters, his hands loose and pink with bruising. You kneel between his legs, washing away the blood and gore and your heart aches for him, for his need to always find harm.
“We’ve been here a thousand times baby,” you whisper, blinking quickly. “And I hate it. I hate you coming home like this, bruised and hurt and not telling me. Not letting me in, or help.”
He exhales through his nose, dipping his head before looking up at you again. Your words, soft and pleading, cut through the armor he erected around himself.
He knows. He sees the pain in your eyes, the way your hands gently work over his bruising flesh. He hears the love in your voice, the frustration mixed with worry. His rough, calloused hand reaches up, tracing the curve of your cheek, his thumb catching a stray tear, a silent admittance of guilt.
“‘m sorry baby.” His voice is so quiet you hardly hear it, settling back on your haunches. His eyes bounce with nervous energy, taking in your expression and he scoots closer, hands itching for you.
“We can’t keep doing this,” you whisper, and his fingers ghost your jaw as they move to your neck, and you bracket his wrist in your hands. “I can’t.”
He tugs you by the wrist, pulling you into his lap until you’re straddling his thighs with your knees digging into the couch cushion on either side of his hips.
His hands smooth over your waist and hips, his touch reverent. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, as if you’re the only clean thing left in the world. When he speaks, the words are muffled against your skin, like he can’t bear to look at you as he apologizes, “I know. I know darlin’ I’m sorry.”
You cradle the back of his head, sniffing as he presses a kiss to your collarbone.
“I need ya, honey,” he mutters, and when his tongue flicks against your skin your eyes close. “I just- can’t do this without. Can’t stop but can’t keep goin’ if you’re gone.”
“I know,” you whisper, nails scraping his scalp as he kisses your neck, soft pecks roaming across your skin. “But you have to tell me what’s going on. I can’t…I’m confused, Frank.”
His teeth graze your pulse point—not hard, just enough to make you shiver. He pulls back slightly, forehead resting against yours as he exhales a slow breath through his nose.
“Tell ya?” His voice is gravel and smoke. “What's there to tell? Same shit as always—blood on my hands that ain't mine.” His thumb brushes over your lower lip absently before continuing in a low mutter. “...But I come home to you.”
“Do you?” You reply, then rub your lips together. “Because you come home broken. Bleeding…mentally, always gone. And I don’t know why. Or if it’ll be worse one day and you don’t come back.”
He stiffens beneath you, the hand on your hip clenching briefly. His gaze flicks up to meet yours, eyes hardening, and he swallows back a sharp retort, instead forcing himself to exhale slowly.
He knows you're right. He sees the fear in your eyes, the worry that gnaws at the back of your mind.
“Don't,” he grinds out, his voice low and measured. “Don't say that…It ain't gonna happen. I come back.”
“We almost broke up last night,” you whisper and his hands slide up your frame, gripping your face. “A false alarm but-“
“I love you,” he says and his voice is hard. “I love you, girl. You.”
“Do you?” You whisper, and your eyes moisten. “Why won’t you let me in?”
His grip tightens—not painfully, but firm enough that you can feel the tremor in his hands. The muscle in his jaw twitches, his teeth gritting and he pulls you closer, until your foreheads meet, the air between you both heavy, his breath coming in sharp, jagged gasps, like a man struggling to breathe in a room suffocating him.
“Let you in?” A bitter laugh slips from him, rough and self-deprecating. “You know me better than I know myself,” His thumb traces your cheekbone, at first with a raw, almost desperate pressure, before it softens into a touch that feels more like a quiet surrender. “That’s the problem.”
“Is it?” You whisper, ducking your head to try and find his eyes. “Is it truly so bad?”
Frank breathes out through his nose, eyes flashing up to your own and then his mouth is on yours. He kisses you hungrily, teeth gnashing into yours and you whimper, clutching at the collar of his shirt. Pulling back, his forehead presses into yours, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Can’t do it baby,” he murmurs, words flowing from his mouth in a jumbled mess. “Can’t. Just can’t.”
“I’m here,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. “I’m right here.”
His breath hitches—sharp, like a bullet grazing skin. He leans into your palm, eyes still shut tight as if bracing for impact.
“Fuck,” he rasps out between clenched teeth before his hands fist in the fabric of your shirt and yank you flush against him. His heartbeat hammers under your touch where it presses hard against his ribs, and you tug at his belt, undoing the loops.
You crawl from his lap, between his knees and his hand caresses the back of your hair as you pull at his fly. He’s muttering, soft words of encouragement, his fingers pressing into your hair as you pull him from his jeans. Leaning up, you lick a slow tentative stripe up his length. He makes a groaning sound, leaning back on the cushions as he watches you with dark heavy eyes.
Frank's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his temple as he watches you through hooded eyes. His fingers flex against the back of your head—not pushing, just holding, like an anchor keeping him from drifting too far into the sensation.
“Fuckin' hell,” he grits out when your tongue drags over him again. The rough pad of his thumb brushes along your cheekbone absently before sliding down to trace the curve of your bottom lip with something close to reverence.
“You don't gotta—” He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale as you take more into your mouth. “Christ.”
“I wanna,” you whisper, and lower your lips to him again. Frank curses, his head leaning back with a flutter of his lashes.
You know this won’t help anything.
You know sex isn’t a cure for the jagged fractures in your relationship, the trust that once felt solid now crumbling between you. He’s keeping secrets, retreating further into himself with every passing day, but as your tongue presses flat against him, you also know—this is the only way you can make him stay, even if it means losing pieces of yourself in the process.
Frank's breath stutters, his hips jerking slightly as he fights the urge to thrust deeper into that wet heat. His fingers tighten in your hair—not guiding, just holding on, like you're the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.
“You ain't playin' fair,” he growls out between gritted teeth. The muscle in his jaw flexes violently as he watches you through slitted eyes—taking him apart piece by piece with nothing but lips and tongue and those goddamn eyes looking up at him.
He wants to tell you no. Wants to push you away for both your sakes before this goes too far again, but all that comes out is a ragged “Fuck."
You make a humming sound, eyes watching the way his face tightens and crumbles, your core growing wetter with each drag of your mouth. He groans, deep and dark, just like him, and when his eyes find yours, his lips part.
You love him with your entire heart, but you have no idea how to keep him.
Frank leans forward, grabbing your bottom jaw and pulling you from him, his cock leaving your mouth with a soft pop.
“C’mere,” he mutters, dragging you up his lap, his fingers slipping under your cotton shorts. He presses over the dampness of your panties and you whimper, your brows knitting.
“Frank,” you gasp, and he tugs the panties to the side before plunging a finger deep within you. His mouth crashes into yours, swallowing your gasp as his finger curls just right inside you. The rough pad of his thumb circles your clit with brutal precision—no finesse, just pure need.
“Tell me,” he growls against your lips, voice wrecked. “Tell me what ya want.” His breath is hot and ragged in the space between you two as he pumps his thick finger deeper without warning.
He knows damn well what you want—what he wants—but hearing it might be the only thing keeping him from tearing everything apart for good this time.
“Just you,” you whisper against his teeth. He fucks his fingers into you, kissing your lips and jaw before you lift your hips and he pulls his fingers from your slit to grip himself. “You, Frank.”
You sink down onto him, both of you releasing moans and his hands find your hips, squeezing. Licking your lips you start a languid pace, his length pressing into you at a spot that makes your breath catch. Your soft whisper against his lips is nearly his undoing. His eyes squeeze shut, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold it together, to keep holding back, but he can't. He never could with you.
“I don’t want to break up,” you whisper, fingers finding his shoulders. He shakes his head, a hand skating up to the back of your neck and gripping there.
“We ain’t breaking up,” he mutters, his breath hot. “Ain’t doin’ that.”
“No?” You ask, and your voice catches as you ride him.
Frank's eyes open, his gaze pinning yours as his fingers bite into the flesh of your hip. The hand on the side of your neck tightens into a possessive grip almost involuntarily.
“No.” He kisses you, cradling the back of your head and you sigh against his mouth. Dropping an arm around your waist, he flips you so that your back is against the couch and he hovers over you, nose brushing your own. “Me and you baby.”
“Me and you,” you whisper, repeating his words back to him and he presses in harder, making your eyes roll. The words are barely out of your mouth before he kisses you again, fierce and possessive, and you know you're gonna pay for this later. For making him lose control, for breaking through his walls.
But right now, you're both just too far gone to care.
He bites back a guttural moan as he pistons his hips, driving in deeper, the muscles in his shoulders flexing beneath your touch. His teeth graze your jawline, leaving behind a trail of red welts before he murmurs, “You're mine.”
“I'm yours.” You breathe, and his nose runs up your cheek softly, carefully, almost like he loved you. Your eyes brim and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him as close as he'll let you, before he inevitably pushes you away.
-
“So did you break up?”
The phone against your ear crackles and you blink, clearing your throat. “Sorry what?”
“You and Frank,” Foggy asks, his voice full of static and you wince. “Did you break up?”
“I-” you sigh, pressing a finger to your forehead. “No, we didn't.”
“But almost.”
“Almost,” You whisper, tucking your legs beneath you. You glance at the bed, at Frank's sleeping frame, a prominent bruise expanding on his upper shoulder and you look away. “We almost broke up. Again.”
Frank comes home early to an eerily quite house...
warnings: none, pure fluff
w.c: <1k
Frank comes home from work a little earlier than usual one day. He pulls up and sees your car parked, smiling at himself thinking about how you’ll be startled or surprised when he walks through. And how you'll have that little deer in headlights look that he loves so much.
What he doesn’t expect is silence when he opens the door. Usually there is music playing somewhere, or a show on the tv. Or just the usual sounds of you pottering around the house. He checks the dish on the entryway table, your keys are there and your bag is on the countertop but it’s quiet…
Naturally Franks train of thought goes somewhere darker, he tries to shake it out of his head. “Baby?” He calls out, somewhat softly as if it’s a reflex, incase someone else is in the house. The response he gets is silence, he hasn’t even realised the way his fists have balled up, ready to swing.. just incase.
He makes his way through, past the kitchen and looks over into the living room to the couch… empty. No sign of you cuddled up with a steaming mug of tea, watching something or reading. No sweet “Frankieee you’re home” before he usually feels you in his arms. His heart rate picking up a little now. He starts scanning the house on instinct. Looking for any signs of a forced entry or distress - nothing. So he tries again “honey? Where are y-”
He stops as he enters the doorway to your bedroom, a wave of relief washes over him when he sees you on the bed. His fists relax at the sight of you sprawled out across the edge of the mattress with your hair over your face, your thumb still in between the pages of the book you were reading. You’re still in your little home dress, feet dangling off the side of the bed with his pillow under your head, fast asleep with the sounds of your cute little snores escaping you.
He lets out a deep exhale from a breath he’d been holding as he searched through the house for you. You look so soft and warm as he crouches down by you placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. Carding his hand through your hair he pushes it out of your face and tucks it behind your ear. He lets the back of his hand rest on your neck, checking for a fever or to see if you're unwell - but you're fine. He chuckles to himself, his sleepy little angel.
As he gets up to change he hears your croaky sleep filled voice "frankie?" he hears the rustle of sheets as you sit up. He turns around to see your messy hair and the imprint of the pillowcase on the side of your cheek as you rub your heavy eyes. "hi sleepyhead" he teases affectionately as he sits back down on the bed and scoops you up "did i-what time is it?" you ask hazily, still in your sleep state, your head resting on his chest. "not that late, I got off early" he says softly, pressing a kiss into your hairline "you feeling okay baby?" he asks as he cradling your head. "mhm" you hum nuzzling into his chest “just tired” you yawn.
He picks you up and peels the covers back before placing you back down in bed (the right way up). Your arms hook around his neck a little tighter when he tried to let go and stand up "just gonna shower, be right back sweetheart" he chuckles as he pulls the sheets over you "hurryyyy" you whine softly as you let go and roll back onto the pillow. Frank gives you one last kiss before heading off into the shower.
--
a/n: I wonder if Frank also hates naps. This was inspired by that tiktok trend from a while ago 🥰
Summary: you want him, he wants you, but it’s never that simple.
Pairing: DDBAS1!Frank Castle x fem reader
WC/Tags: 524 / fluff, unsaid love
A/N: not edited whoops. For @darlingshane 5/6, fire/water
The fire light of the campfire is bright but your eyes are dim. So are Franks.
Your fingertip grazes his temple. He doesn’t flinch. His eyes are dark as they find yours, and your chest tightens. The brush of his skin sends a shiver through you, a crawling heat under your fingers, like grass freshly cut, still pulsing at the cut end.
You trail your hand down the sharp line of his jaw with slow movements.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” You murmur, but you don’t stop. Your thumb catches his chin, holding it lightly. “You need a shave, its prickly.”
A corner of his mouth quirks. “Admit it. You like it.”
“No.” A low hum vibrates through your chest. “But I don’t hate it.”
You pull your hand back, resting it on your knee, but the firelight keeps drawing your eyes. Red flames curl over pale embers, heat brushing your skin. You shut your eyes and you hear it, the crackle of wood, the slow drag of your breath in and out.
“Guess it’s a little prickly,” You open one eye just enough to catch him. His bare hand drifts to your forearm, fingers looping around your pinky. The firelight covers his skin in warmth. “You’re cold.”
“Then don’t touch me.”
“You should keep warm.”
You turn your head to look at him fully. “You’re very warm and fuzzy yourself, Castle.”
He groans, low and rough. “Don’t start.”
You stay silent, staring at him. A face that had seen so much hurt, experienced so much pain.
“You want to pick a movie for tonight?” You ask, changing the subject because that’s what he needs.
He chuckles, a sound that vibrates against you, teasing, and it makes your stomach twist. He lets go of your pinky and pulls you closer, shoulder to shoulder. His chin hovers just above your head.
A raised brow, warning glint in his eyes. “ I swear, no spy thrillers.”
You yawn, slow, heavy-lidded, nuzzling the hollow of his neck. “Spy thrillers are great. You hate romance films. Boring.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your hair. “But they get you wound up. Ranting from sundown to sunrise.”
“Ugh,” you huff, scrunching your nose. “That’s their fault. They’re badly made.”
His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, humming softly, almost imperceptibly, a pulse that you can feel more than hear.
You don’t look up. You know he’s smiling. You know every small movement, every brush of his fingers against your skin, is deliberate.
Your hand twitches toward his again, and he doesn’t move away. Just close enough that your skin almost brushes, close enough that every nerve in your body screams. The firelight flickers across his face, highlighting the faint crease of his brow, the edge of his jaw, the corner of that smile that makes you weak.
“Whatever you want,” he murmurs, voice low and tired. “I won’t complain.”
You stay there, pressed against him, caught between wanting to pull back and wanting to let the air between you ignite—every brush, every almost-touch, but know that to keep him, you’ll have to stay quiet.
You’re a lawyer on Frank Castle’s case. You both have history, but it comes back to haunt you.
word count: 3.5K
sorry this is soooo long may as well write a book
The courtroom feels wrong without him. Too quiet.
The echo of what Frank Castle said still hangs in the air like something rotting.
You’re still standing where you were when they dragged him out, hands braced on the table, knuckles white.
Karen exhales sharply behind you. “Jesus… what a complete disaster.”
Karen Page sounds shaken, but controlled. She always is.
Matt isn’t. You can feel it.
Matt Murdock pulls off his glasses, slow and deliberate—like if he moves too fast, something’s going to snap.
“That wasn’t a defence,” he says quietly. “That was a confession.”
No one answers him, because he’s right.
Frank didn’t just sabotage the case—he burned it to the ground and smiled while it happened.
Karen mutters, “Rikers… they’re sending him to Rikers Island. He won’t last a week in there like this.”
That’s what does it.
Your breath catches sharply, involuntarily.
Matt hears it instantly. Of course he does.
His head turns toward you. “…You okay?”
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Because all you can see is Frank—bleeding, half-laughing, saying he’d do it again. Saying he liked it. Like none of this mattered. Like you didn’t matter.
“I’m fine,” you manage too quickly.
Matt doesn’t buy it for a second. “You don’t sound fine.”
“I said I’m fine, Matt.”
There’s an edge to it now. Defensive. Sharp.
Karen glances between the two of you, sensing it building, then quietly gathers her things. “I’ll… give you guys a minute.”
She leaves.
Now it’s just you and him.
Silence stretches between you before Matt steps closer, voice lower now.
“You pushed harder than anyone to keep him out of a life sentence. You argued with me for days about strategy, about jury sympathy, about—”
“I thought it was the right thing to do.”
“Why?”
Too quick. Too direct.
You turn away, grabbing your files just so you have something to do with your hands.
“I told you. I think he—”
“No,” Matt cuts in sharply. “That’s not it.”
You freeze.
“He’s a mass murderer who just told a courtroom he enjoys killing people,” Matt continues. “You don’t fight that hard for someone like that because you think he does more good than bad.”
Your jaw tightens.
“Then why?” he presses.
You shake your head. “Drop it.”
“I can’t.”
“Matt—”
“I can’t,” he repeats, firmer now. “Because whatever this is, it’s affecting your judgement. It affected the case.”
That stings.
You spin back toward him. “My judgement? He blew up the case, Matt, not me—”
“And you’re taking it personally.”
The words land heavy. Too accurate.
You laugh once, bitter. “Yeah, well, maybe I just don’t like watching someone get sent somewhere he’s probably going to die.”
Matt’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice softens slightly.
“That’s not all of it.”
You don’t respond. Your silence says enough.
Matt steps closer again, more careful this time. “…You know him.”
Not a question. A statement.
You look down at the table. “…Yeah.”
“How?”
Another pause. Longer this time.
He waits you out. He always does.
You swallow. “It was… before all this. Before the trial. Before you.”
Matt doesn’t interrupt.
“He didn’t—” you stop, exhaling shakily. “He wasn’t like that all the time.”
That gets Matt’s attention immediately. “What do you mean?”
You let out a small, humourless breath. “I mean he wasn’t always… that.” You gesture vaguely toward the empty courtroom, toward the ghost of Frank’s outburst. “Sometimes he was just… Frank.”
The name comes out softer than you intended.
Matt hears it. Of course he does.
“How long?” he asks.
You hesitate before finally answering.
“…Two years.”
That lands like a punch.
Matt goes still. “…Two years,” he repeats quietly.
You nod, staring at the floor.
“We weren’t—” You shake your head. “It wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be. But—”
“But you were together,” Matt finishes.
“…Yeah.”
Silence settles again as Matt exhales slowly, processing it.
“And you didn’t think to mention that?” There’s no anger in his voice. Just disbelief.
“What was I supposed to say?” you snap, emotion finally cracking through. “Hey, Matt, by the way, the guy we’re defending? I used to share a bed with him?”
Matt flinches slightly at that—not from the words, but the weight behind them.
“You think that wouldn’t have mattered?” he asks.
“I thought it was over,” you fire back. “I thought he was gone, or—” your voice falters. “Or at least not someone I recognised anymore.”
You blink hard, trying to steady yourself.
“But then he was standing there,” you continue quietly, “in that courtroom. And I thought… maybe there’s still something left. Something worth saving.”
Matt’s voice gentles. “And now?”
You let out a hollow laugh.
“Now he just told a jury he likes killing people and got himself sent to Rikers.”
A beat passes before your voice drops lower.
“…So I guess I was wrong.”
Silence settles again.
But it’s different this time.
Heavier.
Matt tilts his head slightly, listening—not just to your words, but everything underneath them.
“You still care about him,” he says.
You don’t answer. Because you can’t.
“Maybe,” you mumble.
The word barely leaves your mouth before it feels like it collapses under its own weight.
Matt doesn’t move. Doesn’t need to.
You can feel him deciding before he even speaks.
“I want you off this case.”
You open your mouth immediately—instinctive, defensive. But nothing comes out. Because he is right and you both know it.
The silence stretches until it becomes unbearable.
“…Fine,” you say as you gather your things too quickly, papers slipping slightly in your hands as you turn toward the door.
You don’t look at him. Not because you’re angry. Because if you do, you might stay.
“You’re not thinking straight,” Matt says quietly behind you.
“I am,” you reply, but there’s no fight left in it.
Your hand hits the door handle.
Behind you— “y/n.”
You pause. Just for a second.
Matt’s voice softens.
“…I’m sorry.”
You don’t turn around. You can’t. So you just nod once, small and barely there, and push the door open.
The hallway light spills in. Cold. Clean. Indifferent.
And you leave.
⸻
Outside, the air hits you sharper than expected.
Karen is leaning just outside the building, arms folded, watching you like she already knows.
Karen straightens when she sees your face.
“You’re off the case?” she asks gently.
You swallow “…Yeah.”
She studies you for a second longer than comfortable—like she’s putting pieces together she hasn’t said out loud yet.
Then she nods.
“You’re not the only one that sees good in him, y/n.”
That makes something in your chest tighten. Because it’s not just about the case. It never was.
You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realise you were holding.
“…Yeah,” you say quietly.
Karen gives you a small, understanding smile.
You manage one back.
Barely.
Then you turn away.
Your car feels too quiet when you get in it. Too empty.
Like the absence of him is already sitting in the passenger seat and for a moment, before you start the engine, you just sit there— thinking about a man who ruined everything in a courtroom…
and somehow still didn’t stop feeling like he was the only thing you ever couldn’t fully let go of.
⸻
Your apartment is quiet in that heavy, late-night way.
Streetlight bleeding through the curtains. The low hum of the city outside. Your body finally starting to settle into sleep.
You’re halfway there when— click.
Your eyes snap open…for a second, you don’t move.
Then you hear it again. The front door. Unlocked.
Your stomach drops.
You sit up slowly, heart already starting to pound, listening hard.
A floorboard creaks. Someone is inside.
You slide out of bed as quietly as you can, bare feet hitting the cold floor. Your hand goes straight to the wardrobe, fingers wrapping around the handle of a bat you didn’t think you’d ever actually need.
Your breathing slows. You step into the hallway.
Dark.
Still.
But not empty.
There’s movement. Subtle. Near the corner.
You tighten your grip, raising the bat as you edge forward, every instinct screaming at you to strike first—You turn the corner—and a hand shoots out.
Huge. Solid. Fast.
It catches your wrist mid-swing like it’s nothing.
The bat stops inches from impact.
Your breath punches out of you—
“Easy.”
Low. Rough. Familiar.
The grip on your wrist isn’t gentle, but it isn’t hurting you either.
Just… stopping you.
You freeze.
The figure steps forward into the light spilling from your bedroom—
and there he is.
Frank Castle. Bruised and tired.
Eyes locked on yours like he’s been looking for you for a long time. Your grip on the bat goes slack.
It clatters to the floor.
“…Frank,” you breathe.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then something in your chest gives out completely and you step forward, arms wrapping around him before you can stop yourself.
You don’t question how he’s here, or why, or what it means. You just hold onto him.
Frank goes still.
Like he wasn’t expecting that. Like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
Then—
slowly—
his hand comes up to the back of your head. Fingers rough, familiar, pressing you in against his chest.
The other settles at your back, firm, grounding.
He exhales.
Shaky in a way he’d never admit.
“Yeah,” he mutters quietly, voice rougher than usual. “Yeah… it’s me.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper into him, but your arms tighten instead of letting go.
“Yeah,” he says again.
A pause.
His grip on you shifts slightly—just enough to pull you back a fraction so he can look at you.
His eyes scan your face quickly.
Checking.
Always checking.
“You okay?” he asks.
Same as always.
Like everything else comes second.
Your throat tightens.
“I thought you were in Rikers Island.”
A flicker of something crosses his face.
Not quite a smile.
Not quite regret.
“Was,” he says simply. That’s all you get.
You stare at him, trying to process it, trying to understand how the hell he’s standing in your apartment like this—
like nothing happened.
Like he didn’t just blow up his own trial or he didn’t walk himself into a life sentence.
“You… broke out?” you ask, quieter now.
Frank’s jaw tightens slightly.
He doesn’t answer that. Which is answer enough.
Your hands are still gripping his shirt.
You don’t realise it until he glances down at them for a second—then back up at you.
There’s something different in his expression now.
“Wasn’t gonna come,” he admits, voice low. “Shouldn’t be here.”
“But you are,” you say. His gaze holds yours.
“Yeah.”
Silence settles between you again.
Not empty.
Just… full of everything you haven’t said yet.
His hand lifts slightly, hesitating for a fraction of a second before brushing a loose strand of hair back from your face.
Like he’s not sure he’s allowed to anymore.
“You shouldn’t have been in that courtroom,” he says quietly.
You let out a small, disbelieving breath.
“You saw me?”
“Yeah.”
Of course he did.
Your chest tightens.
“And you still said all that?” you ask, voice cracking just slightly. “You still—”
You stop yourself.
But he knows what you mean.
Frank’s jaw shifts. A muscle ticks.
“That wasn’t for you,” he says.
It’s not an apology but it’s the closest thing he knows how to give.
Your eyes search his.
“Then why are you here?”
He looks at you for a long second weighing whether to answer honestly.
His hand drops from your face.
Then comes back—resting at the side of your neck, thumb just barely brushing your skin.
“I needed to see you,” he says finally.
“You can’t be here,” you say, quieter now but firmer. “Matt’s already angry I didn’t tell him about us.”
Frank barely reacts.
“He didn’t need to know,” he says, like it’s simple. Like everything is simple.
You stare at him.
“Frank,” you shake your head, stepping back now, putting space between you for the first time since he walked in. “You’re a wanted fugitive in my apartment. I could lose my job.”
His mouth pulls slightly, something almost like a dry, disbelieving smirk.
“Your job,” he repeats, like the words don’t quite mean anything to him. “Yeah. Real important.”
The tone hits immediately.
Sharp. Dismissive.
It flips something in you.
“Don’t,” you warn, but he’s already moving, pacing once like he’s burning off something he can’t contain.
“I’m just sayin’,” Frank mutters, voice rough. “Lotta people out there need help, and you’re worried about paperwork and courtrooms and—”
“Stop.”
Your voice cuts through his.
He does stop.
But his eyes snap back to you, something darker behind them now.
“I spent my whole life working for this,” you say, stepping toward him again, anger finally breaking through. “You don’t get to stand there and act like it’s nothing.”
“I didn’t say it was nothing—”
“You did,” you fire back. “You just don’t say things the normal way, Frank, you just—” you gesture vaguely, frustrated. “You dismiss them.”
His jaw tightens.
“That’s not—”
“I worked for this,” you repeat, your voice shaking now but you don’t stop. “Years. School, internships, everything. I built something for myself—something stable.”
You take another step closer, eyes locked on his.
“And I let you control it for two years.”
Frank stills completely.
“I let everything revolve around you,” you continue, quieter now but more cutting. “Where you were. If you were okay. If you were going to disappear again. If someone was going to come after you and it’d somehow come back to me.”
Your throat tightens.
“But I chose it,” you admit. “Because I—”
You stop.
Just for a second. Frank’s eyes flicker.
“I loved you, Frank.”
There it is. Said out loud. No taking it back.
The room feels smaller after that.
“I loved you,” you repeat, steadier this time. “But I can’t do that again. Not like this.”
Frank looks at you like he’s trying to process every word at once—and hates that he is.
His hand flexes at his side.
“You think I was controlling you?” he asks, quieter now.
It’s not angry.
It’s… something else.
You shake your head slightly. “Not on purpose.”
That almost makes it worse.
“You didn’t even realise you were doing it,” you say. “Everything just… bent around you. Because it always does, Frank. Everything’s life or death with you.”
“And I can’t live like that.”
He exhales through his nose, looking away for a second like he needs to reset.
When he looks back at you, his voice is lower.
“I didn’t ask you to—”
“No,” you cut in. “You didn’t have to.”
That shuts him up because he knows it’s true.
Silence stretches again.
Longer this time.
More painful.
Your voice softens, but it doesn’t break.
“You don’t get to walk back in here,” you say, “after everything… and act like nothing’s changed.”
Frank’s eyes stay on you.
“I know it’s changed,” he says.
“Then you know you can’t stay,” you reply.
For a second, it looks like he might argue again.
Like he might push. But he doesn’t.
His jaw tightens, eyes dropping briefly before coming back to you.
“…Yeah,” he says.
The same word as before but it sounds different now.
His gaze lingers on you—like he’s memorising something he already knows he’s going to lose again.
“Still got that bat by the bed,” he mutters, almost under his breath. “That’s good.”
It’s dry. Deflecting.
Very him.
And somehow that hurts more than if he’d argued.
You don’t smile. You can’t.
He nods once.
Like he has to make it quick or he won’t do it at all.
Then he turns toward the door and for a second—just a second—it feels exactly like two years ago all over again.
Him leaving. You staying.
Everything unsaid sitting in the space between you.
His hand reaches for the handle—and pauses.
Just briefly.
Like he might say something else and he almost does.
But he doesn’t.
He just opens the door—
and walks out. The door clicks shut.
Your knees hit the floor before you can stop it.
A sharp, broken sound tears out of you—half sob, half something worse—as your hand comes up to your mouth like you can force it back in.
It doesn’t work. Nothing does.
You curl in on yourself, shoulders shaking, the silence of the apartment suddenly unbearable.
Because he was here and now he’s gone again.
Just like that.
You drag a hand over your face, trying to breathe through it, but it keeps coming—wave after wave until your chest aches and your throat burns.
Eventually, the crying slows not because you feel better. Just because your body gives out.
You end up half-curled on your bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, eyes heavy and raw as sleep finally pulls you under.
—————
Morning comes too fast. A knock pulls you out of it. At first you think you’ve imagined it, then it comes again—firmer. Your stomach tightens instantly. You sit up slowly, every muscle still sore from the night before. Another knock.
“…What the hell,” you mumble.
You get up and move to the door carefully. When you open it you freeze.
“…Frank?”
Frank is there. Different from last night. Like he hasn’t stopped moving since he left. Before you can say anything, he’s already inside. Fast. He slips past you and shuts the door behind him, locking it in one smooth motion.
“Frank—what are you doing?”
He turns immediately. His eyes scan the apartment like he’s checking for something wrong, something hidden. Then he looks at you.
“I’m sorry, sweet girl.”
Your chest tightens. “What?”
“I need you to pack a bag,” he says. “Right now. Just a bag. Come with me.”
Your brow furrows. “Frank, what’s happening?”
His jaw clenches. “Just please, y/n.”
The way he says your name is wrong in a different way this time—urgent, tight, not giving you space to argue.
You stare at him for a long second. He doesn’t move. Just waits.
“…Okay,” you say quietly.
His shoulders drop. “Good.”
You move quickly after that. Clothes, essentials, anything you can grab without thinking too hard. Frank doesn’t leave your side—he stays near the door, listening, watching, tense in a way you haven’t seen before.
Within minutes you’re ready. He takes the bag from you without a word. You don’t argue.
Outside, his van is parked close. Unmarked. Old. He opens the passenger door for you and you hesitate for half a second before getting in. He shuts the door, climbs into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine immediately.
No explanation yet. Just movement.
The city starts slipping past the windows.
You glance at him. “Frank.”
His grip tightens on the wheel. “…People have been watching your apartment,” he says.
Your stomach drops. “Since when?”
“Since last night,” he answers. “Not cops. Not anyone you want near you.”
You turn fully toward him. “Who?”
A pause. His jaw ticks. “People who think you’re connected to me.”
Silence fills the van.
“So what,” you say quietly, “you just decided to take me?”
Frank finally looks at you for a second. “I decided you weren’t staying there alone.”
The city thins out behind you, buildings giving way to industrial edges, empty roads, waterlight flickering in the distance. You don’t ask more questions after a while. You just sit there, watching the world move further away.
Eventually the van slows and turns off near the docks.
It’s quiet here. Too quiet.
Frank parks outside a weathered building by the water. Nothing fancy. Nothing inviting. Just solid, hidden, forgotten on purpose. He gets out first, checks the surroundings, then opens your door.
“C’mon,” Frank Castle says quietly.
You follow him inside.
The place is sparse. Functional. A bed, a table, weapons and supplies tucked away like they’re part of the furniture. It doesn’t feel like a home. It feels like somewhere someone stays when they don’t plan to stay anywhere long.
Frank shuts the door behind you.
“…You look like you didn’t sleep,” he says.
You let out a short breath that’s halfway between a laugh and something worse.
“I didn’t,” you admit. “I was crying all night.”
That makes him go still.
Not surprised. Just… quieter.
You look away, arms folding loosely around yourself like you’re trying to hold everything in place.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Frank,” you say, words spilling faster now. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this. I still love you, and I shouldn’t, and I tried not to, but it doesn’t just stop and I—”
Your voice breaks slightly. You hate that it does.
“I don’t know how to turn it off.”
Frank moves before you finish spiralling.
He crosses the space between you in a few steps and pulls you into him.
Firm. Immediate. No hesitation this time.
“Shh,” he mutters against your hair. “Shh, y/n.”
His hand settles at the back of your head, steadying you. The other holds you in place like he’s afraid you’ll fall apart if he lets go.
Your words die in your throat.
You just breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, a little lower this time. “Didn’t want it to get to you like this.”
You shake your head slightly against his chest, but you don’t pull away.
summary : you are frank's light. his life. after maria, you are the only person he could ever see himself marrying. but you aren't the only person he's seen himself loving.
word count : 5.7 k
warnings : swearing, argument (idk if that counts), mentions of sexual content, angst and i mean A LOT of angst.
a/n : sorry for being MIA for a bit but i'm back !!! based on this request- as usual not proofread so ignore any repetitions or spelling mistakes ! also i lowk gave up on this halfway through so it might be buns
There is nothing- absolutely nothing- that could make you doubt Frank's love for you.
Not the blood on his knuckles.
Not the nightmares that drag him out of bed gasping at three in the morning. Not the way he still checks every lock in the apartment twice before sleeping, or how his eyes track every exit the second he walks into a room. Frank Castle loves you with terrifying certainty.
You know it in the way he touches you like something precious despite all the violence living in his hands. In the way he always turns toward you in his sleep. In the way he calls just to hear your voice when work keeps him gone too long. Frank loves hard. Completely. Like a man who never expects to survive long enough to have something worth keeping.
And maybe that’s why this hurts so badly.
Rain hammers against the apartment windows while you stand at the kitchen counter staring down at Frank’s phone.
Not because you’re snooping.
God, you hate snooping.
But the screen lights up three times in ten minutes while Frank is downstairs helping the landlord drag furniture into storage after another pipe bursts in the basement in the middle of your date night.
And eventually your eyes catch the name.
KAREN.
Your stomach tightens instantly. Not because Karen Page has ever done anything wrong. She hasn’t. That’s almost worse. Karen is kind. Smart. Brave in that reckless way people become after surviving too much. You like her. You genuinely do. But sometimes— Sometimes you catch looks between them that make something ugly twist low in your chest. Something unfinished buried so deep neither of them acknowledges it out loud anymore.
You ignored it for years because Frank chose you every single day.
But tonight the insecurity hits wrong. Maybe it’s the rain. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the text glowing across the screen now.
KAREN
You could’ve called me back.
Your chest squeezes painfully. The apartment door opens downstairs. Heavy footsteps follow immediately after. Frank. You drop the phone back onto the counter too fast. A second later he appears in the kitchen doorway wearing a black thermal damp from rainwater, sleeves shoved to his forearms. His hair is wet beneath his beanie, beard darker from the storm outside. And immediately- immediately - his eyes find your face.
Concern flickers there instantly.
“Hey, baby,” he says slowly. “You alright?”
God. That’s the problem with Frank. He notices everything about you. You fold your arms tightly across your chest before he can see how badly your hands suddenly shake. You nod, pushing your hair away from your face and gulping as you stare down at your feet.
You'd think after three years of dating and a wedding coming up in a month you'd ignore these insecurities. Frank chose you. Day after day, he still chooses you.
Day after day, he still chooses you.
But insecurity isn’t rational. And loving a man like Frank Castle means occasionally loving him alongside the ghosts of people he used to be. Frank watches you carefully from the doorway, rainwater still dripping slowly from the edge of his jacket onto the hardwood floor.
“You sure?” he asks. Soft. Careful. You hate that your chest tightens at it.
“Yeah,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “M’fine.” Frank’s eyes narrow slightly. Not angry. Just unconvinced. He reaches up automatically, tugging his beanie off and tossing it toward the counter before stepping fully into the kitchen. Big boots heavy against the floorboards. You can feel him getting closer even before his hand settles against your waist. Warm. Solid. Home. Usually one touch from Frank fixes everything.
Tonight it almost makes it worse.
“Somethin’ happened?” he asks quietly. You shake your head immediately.
“No.”
Lie.
Frank hears it too. Of course he does. His thumb brushes once against your side through your sweater while his eyes flick over your face slowly, searching. He sighs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his large palm enveloping your face. His thumb comes up to stroke at the crease forming between your brows, and he tilts his head at you, unconvinced.
"You look like you're about to double over and throw up." He hums, shaking his head. His knuckles flatten against your forehead. "Y'eat somethin' bad, sweetheart ?" Your breath catches a little despite yourself.
Because he sounds so worried.
Not defensive.
Not guilty.
Just… worried about you.
Frank’s big hand stays cupped against your face, rough thumb dragging gently over your skin while rain rattles hard against the windows behind him. Up close he smells like cold air and damp fabric and that familiar warmth that always feels unfairly comforting.
“You look pale, baby,” he mutters, brows pulling together deeper. “C’mere.” Before you can protest, he’s tugging you into him carefully, one arm wrapping around your waist while the back of his hand presses against your forehead again like he genuinely thinks you might be sick. The gesture is so painfully domestic it nearly undoes you on the spot.
“I’m okay,” you mumble weakly.
“Mhm.” Frank clearly doesn’t believe you. “You eaten today?”
You blink at him.
“Frank.”
“What?” he says quietly. “Answer the question.” Something watery and helpless twists in your chest. Because this is what he does. Every single time something hurts, Frank tries to fix it with his hands. Food. Warmth. Safety. Like if he takes care of you carefully enough, nothing bad can touch you.
You hate how much you love him.
“I had lunch,” you mutter.
“Lunch ain’t dinner.” His hand slides from your cheek into your hair, fingers combing gently through the strands at the base of your skull. “Sit down, sweetheart. I’ll make somethin’.” You almost laugh at that. Frank Castle cooking usually means smoke alarms and one dirty pan left soaking in the sink for three days.
Still- You nod.
And his entire face softens instantly like he’s relieved you’re letting him take care of you.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
God.
Your chest aches so badly you can barely stand it.
Frank presses a kiss to your forehead before moving around the kitchen, tugging open cabinets with familiar ease. Big body. Broad shoulders. Sleeves shoved up over scarred forearms. He moves through the apartment like he belongs here now.
Like this life belongs to him.
You watch him quietly while he digs around in the fridge.
“You got soup?” he asks.
“You hate soup.”
“Yeah, but sick people eat soup.”
“I'm not eating soup on date night. I’m not sick. ” He glances over his shoulder immediately.
“You sure?” The concern in his voice nearly destroys you.You force a small smile.
“Frankie.”
“Hm?”
“You’re hovering.”
“M’not.”
“You absolutely are.” He snorts softly under his breath before shutting the fridge with his hip. A second later he crosses the kitchen again and crowds into your space like he can’t help himself. One hand braces against the counter beside you while the other settles low against your waist.
“Can’t help it,” he says quietly. Your heart stumbles. Frank lowers his head until his forehead rests against yours. Rain pounds outside. The apartment glows soft and gold around you. And for a second everything feels unbearably tender. “You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty lil' head o'yours, mama ?” he murmurs.
You almost do. God, you almost do. But then his phone lights up again on the counter between you.
KAREN CALLING...
Everything inside you freezes. Frank sees it immediately. You feel it happen—the tiny shift in him. Subtle enough most people would miss it completely. His eyes flick downward. Jaw tightening once.
Then he exhales.
“…Shit.” And somehow that hurts worse than if he’d smiled. You pull away first.
“S’fine,” you say too quickly, stepping back. “You should answer it.”
Frank watches you carefully now.
“Baby, it's our date night—”
“It’s okay.” You force another smile onto your face so hard it physically hurts. “Seriously.” The phone keeps vibrating against the counter. Frank hesitates. That hesitation tells you everything. Because if it didn’t matter, he’d ignore it. Instead he drags a hand over his beard roughly before grabbing the phone.
“Karen,” he answers immediately, voice turning lower. More focused. “Hey.” Your stomach drops. You hate yourself for noticing how gentle he sounds. There’s a pause while Karen speaks on the other end and Frank’s posture changes instantly. Every inch of him sharpening.
“What happened?” he says. Another pause. Frank straightens fully now, all softness draining from his face with terrifying speed.
“Alright,” he says shortly. “You stay there. I’m comin’.” Your chest caves inward. He hangs up. For a second neither of you speak. Rain crashes against the windows loud enough to fill the silence. Frank looks at you first. And there’s guilt there immediately.
“Sweetheart, you know i hate to leave you alone on date night, but—”
“It’s fine.” Your voice comes out thin. Fragile. Frank’s jaw clenches hard.
“She sounded scared.” You nod quickly before he can explain further.
“Okay.”
“I gotta go check on her.” Okay. The words echo strangely in your skull.
Not I want to.
Not I’m choosing to.
I gotta.
Like there was never another option.
Frank steps closer instantly when he sees your face fall, both hands finding your arms carefully.
“Hey,” he says low. “Hey. Look at me.” You do. Big mistake. Because Frank looks torn already. “I’ll be back soon and we'll have a proper date night, okay ?" he says quietly. “Promise.” You try to smile. Really try.
But something broken must still leak through anyway because Frank’s expression shifts immediately into something pained.
“Baby…I'll be back before you know it.”
“I know. Seriously,” you say quickly. “Go.” His hands tighten slightly on your arms.
“You know it’s not like that.” The words hit exactly where they’re not supposed to. Because you never said it was. And now suddenly the thing you’ve been trying not to think about is standing in the middle of the kitchen between you both. Frank sees it happen on your face instantly. “Fuck,” he mutters softly under his breath.
“It’s okay,” you repeat again, even quieter this time.
Another lie. Frank stares at you for one long horrible second before leaning down suddenly and kissing you hard enough to steal your breath. One hand cups your jaw. The other anchors against your waist like he’s trying to reassure both of you at once. You melt into him automatically because of course you do. Frank kisses like he means things he can’t say out loud. When he pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against yours.
“I love you,” he says firmly. Your throat tightens painfully.
“I know.” And you do know. That’s the worst part. Frank brushes his thumb once beneath your eye like he can already see the tears threatening there. Then he leaves anyway, shouting about how he'll be back in half an hour to make you some real food and enjoy your date night.
-----------------
Frank doesn't come home until six hours later.
The soup he was making stayed on the stove, untouched and it bubble over and stained the stove top a slimy orange. The familiar sunset you usually watch on your balcony together during these date nights has come and gone, the sky a deep blue that seems to engulf all of the apartment. You're sat on the couch, staring at the blank TV, not having the strength to turn anything on.
The only sign of life you got was a message from Frank, a little after ten.
FRANKIE
takin' a lil longer than expected. don't wait up for me, baby.
You stare at the text until the screen eventually goes dark in your hand.
Takin’ a lil longer than expected.
Like this is normal. Like tonight isn’t supposed to mean something. Your chest aches so badly it almost feels physical now. Heavy. Bruised. You curl deeper into the couch cushions, blanket wrapped around your legs while rain continues tapping softly against the windows. The apartment smells faintly burnt.
Soup.
Rainwater.
Frank.
Everywhere you look there’s evidence of him.
His boots by the door.
His hoodie tossed over the armchair.
The half-empty coffee mug sitting beside the sink from this morning.
It makes the loneliness worse somehow. You try not to think too hard about where he is now.
Try not to picture Karen opening the door for him.
Try not to imagine the look on his face when he saw she was okay.
Try not to wonder if he smiled at her the way he smiles at you when you say something dumb enough to make him laugh unexpectedly.
God. You hate this version of yourself. Jealousy feels ugly on you. Frank has never given you a reason not to trust him. Not once.
And still— Still something sharp twists painfully every time you remember how fast he left.
The lock finally turns a little after midnight. Your entire body tenses automatically. Heavy boots step into the apartment a second later followed by silence. Not the comfortable kind. The cautious kind. The kind Frank only uses when he already knows he fucked up. The door shuts quietly behind him. You don’t move from the couch. For a second neither of you say anything.
Then—
“Baby?” Frank’s voice is low. Careful. You stare blankly at the dark television screen instead. He exhales softly through his nose. You hear him set his keys down beside the door. The rustle of his jacket follows. “You’re still up.” The words almost sound surprised. Something bitter twists in your stomach at that.
Of course you’re still up.
Frank stands there for another second before walking slowly into the living room. You can feel his eyes on you immediately. Taking inventory. The cold cup of tea untouched on the coffee table.
The dark apartment.
The soup still crusted onto the stovetop behind him.
You curled up beneath a blanket without actually looking warm.
“Jesus,” he mutters quietly. You hear him move toward the kitchen first. A curse leaves him under his breath when he sees the stove. A few moments later water runs softly.
Cabinet doors open and close.
The quiet scrape of him cleaning up the mess he left behind. You stare ahead the entire time. Your chest feels strangely numb now. Like the hurt burned itself out hours ago and left exhaustion behind instead. Eventually the apartment goes quiet again. Then warm hands settle gently against your shoulders from behind.
“You shoulda gone to bed,” Frank murmurs. The tenderness in his voice almost cracks something open inside you. You swallow hard.
“Thought you’d be home earlier,” you say quietly. Frank goes still. You sniffle, shaking your head. "Had the date night movie ready and everything." You say, gesturing to the TV. You had the movie ready, the remote in your hand, waiting for him. After a while, the TV turned itself off by itself due to inactivity.
You didn't have the strength to turn it back on.
Those big warm hands resting on your shoulders tighten once before loosening carefully, like he’s suddenly afraid of holding you too hard. The apartment stays quiet except for the rain and the faint drip of water from the kitchen sink. You don’t turn around.
Can’t.
Because if you look at him right now, you might cry. And once you start, you’re not sure you’ll stop. Frank swallows hard behind you.
“Baby…” he starts quietly. You laugh a little. It sounds awful. Thin. Exhausted.
“It’s stupid,” you murmur, staring at the dark television screen. “I even made popcorn.” Your throat tightens painfully. “It got stale like… two hours ago.” Frank’s breathing changes immediately. Like the words physically hurt him.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters softly. You feel him crouch behind the couch a second later until he’s closer to eye level with you. Still not touching you now. That almost hurts worse.
“I’m sorry,” he says. And Frank means apologies in a way most people don’t. There’s no defensiveness in it. No ego. Just raw honesty. You know he’s sorry. That’s the problem. You sniff once, rubbing quickly at your face before any tears can fall.
“It’s okay.”
“No,” Frank says immediately. Firm. “No, it ain’t.” Silence stretches. You can feel him watching you carefully now. Trying to figure out where the damage is. How bad it is. Frank’s always been terrifyingly good at reading pain in other people. Especially yours. “I got caught up,” he says after a moment, quieter now.
Your chest twists sharply.
You finally look at him then. Big mistake. Because Frank already looks wrecked. Hair damp from rain. Tired eyes fixed completely on your face. Guilt sitting heavy in every line of his body. He looks like a man who realizes too late he dropped something fragile.
“Did you eat?” he asks suddenly. You blink.
“…What?”
“The soup was burned to shit,” he mutters. “Did you eat anything else?”
Something inside you cracks a little at that. Because even now—even after all this—Frank’s first instinct is still to take care of you. You nod weakly.
“Yeah.” Lie. Frank hears it instantly. His jaw tightens.
“Baby.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” That’s closer to the truth. Frank exhales hard through his nose before sitting beside you carefully on the couch. The cushions dip beneath his weight. Heat rolls off him immediately. You suddenly become hyperaware of the distance between your bodies. Tiny. Still unbearable.
“I fucked up,” he says quietly. You stare down at your hands.
“No,” you whisper. “You just… left.” Frank goes very still beside you. And there it is. The real wound. Not Karen. Not even jealousy.
You were waiting for him.
And he didn’t come home. Frank drags a hand slowly over his beard, eyes shutting briefly like he’s trying to physically restrain frustration with himself.
“She was in trouble,” he says. Your throat burns.
“I know.”
“And I couldn’t just—”
“I know, Frank.” Your voice comes out sharper than intended. Frank stops talking immediately. The silence afterward feels horrible. Because you do know. That’s what makes this so complicated.
Karen isn’t some random woman. She’s someone Frank cares about deeply. Someone tied to old grief and old survival and parts of himself that existed before you ever met him. You know that. You’ve always known that. But tonight— Tonight you needed him too. And he still left.
He always leaves when she calls.
Frank looks at you carefully now, eyes dark and tired.
“You think I wanted to be there instead’a here?” he asks quietly. You don’t answer. Because the truth is worse. You don’t think he wanted to be there more. You think he felt obligated to go. And somehow that hurts just as badly. Frank leans forward, elbows braced against his knees, hands clasped tight enough the scars across his knuckles go pale.
“She was scared,” he says roughly. "She was out with Red and Foggy at Josie's and she had one too many drinks and they left her there by mistake, and- "
You heart drops. You can't stop the scoff escaping you.
Karen lives two blocks away from Josie's. Two minutes by foot. You've seen her walk home from Josie's- plastered.
Frank hears the scoff immediately. Of course he does. His head lifts slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly.
“What?” he asks carefully. You shake your head fast.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” The word isn’t sharp yet. Just tired. You stand abruptly from the couch before he can look at you any harder. The blanket slips onto the cushions behind you as you wrap your arms tightly around yourself and start pacing toward the kitchen.
“Forget it.”
“Baby.”
“No, seriously, forget it.” Your voice shakes despite how badly you want it not to. “I’m just tired.” Frank stands too now. You hear the couch creak behind you. “She called you because she was drunk at Josie’s?” you ask finally, unable to stop yourself. “That’s why you disappeared for six hours?” Frank’s jaw tightens immediately.
“It wasn’t like that.” You laugh again. God, that awful little laugh is starting to scare even you.
“You know she lives, like, two blocks from there, right?” you say, turning toward him finally. “I’ve literally walked home with her from Josie’s before.” Frank’s face hardens slightly.
“She was scared.”
“And she called you.”
“Yes.”
“Not Foggy.”
“No.”
“Not Matt.” Frank exhales slowly through his nose.
“No.”
“You.” Silence. Rain crashes harder against the windows. Frank drags a hand over his face roughly.
“You got somethin’ you wanna say, sweetheart, just say it.” The tenderness is gone now. Not completely. But enough that your chest tightens. You stare at him for a long second before the words finally spill out ugly and sharp.
“Was there something between you two?” Frank stills instantly.
And that— That tells you everything before he even opens his mouth. Your stomach drops.
“Oh my God.”
“Baby—”
“There was.” Frank looks away first. Huge mistake. Because suddenly every tiny insecurity you’ve spent years swallowing claws violently up your throat all at once.
“How long?” you ask quietly. Frank’s jaw clenches hard enough you can see the muscle jump.
“It ain’t—”
“How long, Frank?” His silence stretches too long. Too long. And when he finally speaks, his voice comes rough.
“Before you.” Your chest caves inward anyway.
“How before me?” Frank looks exhausted suddenly. Like he already knows there’s no answer on earth that fixes this now.
“We were…” He stops. Starts again. “There was somethin’ there.” The room goes completely still. You nod once slowly like you understand. Like you’re calm. You’re not.
“Something,” you repeat quietly. Frank watches your face carefully now, eyes dark with regret.
“It never went anywhere.”
“But it went somewhere.”
“Jesus Christ.” He drags both hands over his beard harshly. “Baby—”
“No, don’t.” Your voice cracks. “Don’t do that thing where you act like I’m making this bigger than it is.”
“I ain’t sayin’ that.”
“You left me here for her.”
“She called because she needed help!”
“And you went.” Frank’s expression flashes suddenly. Frustration.
“You wanted me t’leave her there?”
“No!” you fire back immediately. “I wanted—” Your voice breaks. Frank’s face shifts instantly at the sound. But now you can’t stop. “I wanted to feel like I came first for one night,” you whisper.
That lands. Hard. Frank goes completely motionless. Your eyes burn violently now. “You looked at her name on your phone and you were gone before I could even process what was happening,” you say shakily. “And then you came home six hours later telling me she was drunk and scared—”
“There was a guy followin’ her.”
“And Matt and Foggy couldn’t handle that?”
“They didn’t know!”
“Yeah, because she called you ! Not he guys she was out with to begin with ! You ! My fiance, who lives on the other side of town ! God, how fucking clueless can you be, Frank ?”
“I ain’t the kind of man who ignores a call like that !” he says. The word cracks through the apartment. Silence follows instantly after. Heavy. Frank closes his eyes briefly like he regrets raising his voice the second it happens. You gulp, nodding.
"And what happens now, hmm ? What happens if in three years she calls you - my husband- in the middle of the night, to come get her ? Will you go then ? What if we have a kid, Frank ? You're gonna leave me like you did tonight ?" You stare at him, breathing uneven. There’s something in him that tightens instead of softens. Like you’ve hit a nerve he doesn’t know how to protect without turning it into something sharper.
“…That’s not fair,” he says quietly. Your laugh comes out broken.
“There it is,” you whisper. “There it is, Frank.” His eyes snap to yours immediately.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I’m not allowed to ask what happens next,” you say, voice shaking harder now. “I’m not allowed to think about it. I’m just supposed to trust that you’ll always—what—come back?” Frank exhales sharply through his nose.
“I always come back.”
“And what if you don’t?” you fire back instantly. That lands. Harder than anything so far. Frank’s jaw tightens, something flickering across his face—anger, fear, something buried too deep to name cleanly.
“That’s not—” he starts.
“Answer me,” you whisper. Silence. Rain ticks against the windows. The fridge hum hums in the background like nothing is happening. Frank drags a hand down his face again, slower this time.
“I ain’t thinkin’ about not comin’ back,” he says finally, low.
“But I am,” you whisper. That makes him look up sharply. Your chest rises unevenly. “I am,” you repeat. “Because I’m here. I’m the one left in the kitchen. I’m the one waiting for you to choose to stay.” Frank’s expression tightens again.
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” you demand, voice cracking. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I build a life with you and she gets you when she calls.”
“That is not—” Frank snaps, then stops himself, breathing hard. He’s losing control of the way this is going. You can see it. And it scares you more than anything else. Frank lowers his voice again, rougher now.
“I love you,” he says. “You know I do.” Your throat tightens painfully.
“I know you love me,” you whisper. “That’s not the problem.” That confuses him. You see it on his face. Frank steps closer again, slower now, like he’s trying to keep the conversation from slipping further.
“Then what the hell is?” he asks quietly. And that’s it. That’s the breaking point. Because you don’t have the words to make him understand without tearing something open completely.
“Did you love her?” you ask suddenly. Frank’s eyes snap open.
“What?”
“Karen.”
“Baby—”
“Did you?” Frank looks wrecked now. Actually wrecked. Because he knows there’s no safe answer anymore.
“She mattered to me,” he says carefully. Your stomach twists so hard it hurts.
“That’s not what I asked.” Frank exhales hard.
“There was a time…” His voice roughens. “Yeah. Maybe.” The words hit like a physical blow. You take a small step backward instinctively. Frank notices immediately.
“Hey.”
“She still loves you.”
“That ain’t true.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She knows about you.” He says, gesturing towards you.
“And?” Frank stares at you in disbelief now.
“And I’m marrying you.”
“Are you ? Because right now it feels like i'm just there to fill the time until she calls again.”
“That’s not fair.” You laugh bitterly.
“Really?”
“She needed help!”
“And what happens next time?” you ask, voice rising now despite yourself. “What happens every time she needs something, Frank? Every time she calls? Every time she’s lonely or scared or misses you—”
“She don’t miss me.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there ain’t anythin’ there anymore!”
“But there was.” Frank’s face hardens instantly.
“Yes,” he snaps. “There fuckin’ was.” The room goes dead silent. Your breath catches. Frank realizes what he said immediately. But now he’s angry too. Tired. Cornered. “It happened,” he says roughly. “A long time ago. We were close. We fucked a couple times and then it stopped. That’s it.” Your chest physically hurts.
Fucked.
The word echoes sickeningly in your skull.
You nod once slowly.
“Okay.” Frank watches you carefully.
“It never became anythin’ serious.”
“But it could’ve.”
“No.” Too fast.
You stare at him.
Frank swears quietly under his breath.
“She cared about me,” he mutters. “I cared about her. But it wasn’t…” He gestures angrily. “This.” You blink hard against sudden tears.
“But you loved her enough to leave me sitting here alone for six hours.”
“That ain’t why I stayed!”
“Then why did you?”
“Because she needed me!”
“And apparently I didn’t!” Frank flinches. Actually flinches. But now you’re crying and angry and humiliated all at once. “I sat here all night feeling guilty for being jealous while you were off playing fucking hero for another woman—”
“Jesus Christ,” Frank snaps suddenly, standing fully now. “You wanna know what the difference is between you and her?” You freeze. Because something in his voice changes. Something sharp. Dangerous. Frank immediately regrets it. You see it happen too late. But he says it anyway.
“Karen never made me feel like I had to choose between bein’ a good man and bein’ hers. I was out there dealin' with somethin' real !” Silence. Total. Absolute. Frank’s face drains instantly the second the words leave his mouth. Your mouth parts slightly. Like you physically stopped breathing.
"So you're saying i'm not something real to you ?"
“Shit. Baby—” You hold your hand up immediately.
“No.” Panic flashes across Frank’s face.
“No, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—”
“You did.”
“I was angry.”
“You meant it.” Frank steps toward you immediately. You step back just as fast. And that— That rattles him.
“Don’t,” he says quietly. You gulp and turn away from him. Tears fly up into his eyes and he shakes his head, licking his lips as he tries to reach for you again.
“Sweetheart - fuck- please.”
“I can’t do this right now,” you whisper shakily.
“Don’t do this.” Tears spill hard down your cheeks now. Frank’s breathing turns ragged instantly. But you’re already grabbing your coat.
“I need to leave.” Frank catches your wrist before you reach the door. Gentle. Always gentle with you. But desperate now.
“Don’t walk outta here like this.” He cradles you into his chest, kissing your temple, your cheeks, his chest heaving. You go completely still in his arms. Not because it works. Because it almost does. Frank feels it immediately—the way your body betrays you for half a second, leaning into him out of pure muscle memory. Like your body hasn’t caught up with the decision your heart is already trying to make. His grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s afraid if he loosens it even a little you’ll vanish.
“Please,” he breathes into your hair. “Don’t do this.” Your hands press weakly against his chest, not pushing hard enough to hurt him. Not because you don’t mean it—but because even now, even like this, you can’t bring yourself to be cruel to him. And that’s what makes it worse. Because Frank knows it.
“I can’t be here right now, Frank.” He shakes his head.
"Baby.." He shakes his head. "I love you. I love you." You slowly tears his hands away from your cheeks.
"I love you too, Frank." You sigh, shaking your head. "But I can't be around you right now." Your hands shake violently as you look down at the engagement ring sitting on your finger. The one he slid onto your hand with trembling fingers. The one he kissed afterward like he couldn’t believe you said yes. Your vision blurs. Frank sees it.
“Baby…” Slowly, you pull the ring off. Frank goes completely still. “No,” he says immediately. You walk forward numbly and place it carefully into his palm. Frank stares down at it like it’s a loaded gun. Then back at you. Absolutely horrified. He grabs your arm, shaking his head. "I'm not taking this." He rasps. "It's either you wear it or it goes in the trash."You choke on a sob.
"Then throw it away. Because I can't wear it. Not right now." Frank's grip goes slack. You back away from him, wiping at your face. "I'm sorry, Frank." Frank doesn’t move for a second. Not a blink. Not a breath you can hear. Just standing there with your engagement ring sitting heavy in his palm like it’s suddenly turned into something he doesn’t recognize.
Then his fingers close around it. Not hard. Not angry. Like he’s afraid if he holds it wrong it’ll disappear too.
You both stand there, breathing unevenly in the quiet that follows. The rain outside feels louder now that nothing in the room is filling it.
Frank drags a hand over his mouth, eyes dropping to the floor for a second like he can’t stand looking at you while this is happening.
Then, quieter:
“You’re real to me.” You shake your head instantly.
“Frank—”
“No,” he cuts in, but gently. Urgently. Like if he doesn’t get this out right now, he’s going to lose something he doesn’t know how to live without. “No, listen to me. You’re real. You’re… everything. You’re the only thing I ever got right.”
His throat bobs hard.
“This ring?” He holds it up slightly, fingers trembling now despite how hard he tries to keep them steady. “This ain’t— this ain’t her. It ain’t Karen. It ain’t the past. It’s you and me.” He swallows. “It’s us.” You sniffle, backing towards the door. Frank doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.
“Don’t,” he says immediately, voice breaking on the word. “Don’t go. Please.” You’re already crying too hard to answer properly, shaking your head as you back toward the door.
“I can’t stay and keep doing this,” you whisper. “Not like this, Frank.” His hand lifts like he might reach for you, then drops again, helpless.
“I’ll stop,” he says fast. Desperate. “I swear to you, I’ll stop. I won’t go every time she calls, I won’t— I’ll do better, just don’t walk out.” Your breath stutters.
“That’s not what I’m asking,” you say, wiping your face harshly. “I’m asking to feel like I’m not waiting for you to leave me in the middle of everything.” Frank shakes his head like he doesn’t understand how to fix it fast enough.
“You won’t lose me,” he says. “You won’t. Baby, please—” But your voice cracks as you finally step back.
“I’ll come back,” you whisper. “ You know i will, i- Fuck, even after all of this, i love you too much to let you go. I just need to know you won’t keep running to her like I’m something you pause.” That lands wrong. Hard. Frank takes a step forward.
“Don’t do this,” he begs again, quieter now. Ruined. “Don’t leave me here like this.” Your hand tightens on the door.
“I love you,” you say, broken. “I just can’t do this tonight.” And then you’re gone. The door shuts softly behind you. Frank doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe right. The apartment is still warm with you in it, like the air hasn’t caught up yet to the fact that you’re not coming back inside. His hand slowly opens. The ring sits in his palm. And everything in him goes quiet in a way that feels wrong.
Frank was supposed to make a vow to you.
“Till death do us part.”
Instead, death got a new name.
A new face.
He never thought something else would take you away from him.
