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Hii I’m literally in love with your Frank Castle writing🙌🏼 could you please make an angst neighbor!Frank fic with fem!reader whose new to the city with a big heart, She becomes neighbors with Frank and though he doesn’t say much, they form a quiet bond. It’s not loud or obvious, but there’s comfort in knowing he’s there (whether it leans platonic or romantic is up to interpretation) Frank gives off those quiet bodyguard vibes, like someone who’s always watching out for her. Maybe one day Frank is away on a mission, and without him there, the reader suffers a terrible injustice. When word of it reaches Frank.
moving to the city hadn’t been some big, life changing plan. it was more like something you decided on after a long stretch of feeling stuck, scrolling through listings late at night until one of them felt just right enough. the building wasn’t perfect - narrow stairs, slightly chipped paint, a landlord who took his time with everything - but it was affordable, and more importantly, it was yours.
you settled in quickly, the way you always did. unpacking didn’t take long, but making a place feel like home was something you actually enjoyed. you kept your door open while you worked, music playing softly from your phone, occasionally stepping out into the hallway to grab another box or adjust something. you smiled at anyone who passed, even when they didn’t smile back.
you didn’t really notice frank at first. you saw him, obviously - it was hard not to, with the way he carried himself, quiet and solid, like he belonged exactly where he was. but he didn’t seem like someone who wanted conversation, so you left it at a polite nod the first couple of times.
it didn’t stay that way for long.
you knocked on his door a few days after moving in, holding a slightly uneven plate of cookies you’d made that morning. it felt like the normal thing to do, even if no one else in the building seemed to bother with that kind of thing.
he opened the door after a second, looking at you like he was trying to place you.
“hi,” you said, shifting the plate a little. “i just moved in next door - thought i’d say hi.”
his eyes flicked to the cookies, then back to you. “you new?”
“yeah. figured i’d introduce myself before i start borrowing sugar or something.”
that got the smallest reaction from him, barely there, but enough to make you feel like you hadn’t completely misjudged things. he took the plate after a moment.
“thanks,” he said, already stepping back.
you left it at that. it wasn’t much, but it didn’t feel like a shut door either.
after that, things settled into something easy. not friendship, not really, but something familiar. you’d pass each other in the hallway and exchange quiet greetings. sometimes he held the door open for you if your hands were full. once, he fixed the loose handle on your door without making a big deal out of it, just a quick “it was annoyin’ me” when you thanked him.
you started to notice how often he was around. not in an obvious way, just… consistently. if you came home late, he’d be somewhere nearby, leaning against the wall or heading up the stairs at the same time. if you were struggling with groceries, he’d appear, take one of the heavier bags without asking, and walk it to your door.
he never stayed long. never lingered for conversation. but he also never made you feel like you were bothering him.
it became a quiet kind of routine.
you left things outside his door sometimes - leftovers, baked goods, once a mug you thought he might use. they always disappeared by the next day. he never mentioned them, but the next time you saw him, he’d give you a small nod that felt a little more intentional than usual.
the first time you knocked on his door at night, you almost didn’t do it.
your power had gone out, and while it wasn’t a huge deal, the apartment felt different in the dark. quieter than usual, in a way that made you a little more aware of every sound. you tried to wait it out, sitting on the couch with your phone flashlight on, but eventually you just grabbed your keys and stepped into the hallway.
he opened the door after one knock.
you smiled, a little sheepish. “sorry - i just… my power’s out.”
he didn’t make a thing of it. just stepped aside. “c’mon in.”
you stayed for a while, sitting on the edge of his couch while he lit a candle and handed you a glass of water. neither of you talked much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. if anything, it was probably the most relaxed you’d felt all evening.
after that, something shifted, just slightly. not in a big, dramatic way, but enough that you noticed it.
you felt more at ease in the building. more aware of him in a way that wasn’t just passing familiarity. it was like you’d quietly slotted into each other’s routines without really talking about it.
so when he suddenly wasn’t there one day, it stood out.
at first, you didn’t think much of it. people left, had things to do, didn’t always stick to the same schedule. but after a couple of days, you realised you hadn’t seen him at all. no quiet presence in the hallway, no passing nods, no door opening when you got back in the evening.
you still went about your day the same way, but there was a small difference in how you moved through things. you double-checked your door at night. walked a little quicker when the hallway was empty. nothing major, just small adjustments you didn’t really think about until later.
one evening, on your way back up the stairs, you ran into someone you didn’t recognise. he was standing a little too close to your door, glancing up when he heard you.
“you live here?” he asked.
“yeah,” you said, keeping your tone polite, stepping around him to get to your keys.
he didn’t move straight away. asked another question, something casual that lingered a little too long. you answered briefly, trying to keep it short without being rude, but he didn’t seem to pick up on it.
it didn’t turn into anything big. you got your door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind you.
but it left you a little on edge.
not scared, exactly. just… aware.
you locked the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.
it passed. mostly.
but you noticed yourself thinking, briefly, how different it might’ve felt if frank had been around.
he came back a few days later.
you were halfway down the hallway when you saw him, and something in you relaxed before you even registered why. he looked the same as always, like he hadn’t been gone at all, but his eyes settled on you a little more carefully when you got closer.
“hey,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“hey.”
there was a pause, not awkward, just slower than usual. like he was checking something.
“you alright?” he asked.
you nodded. “yeah. just been quiet around here.”
he gave a small hum, glancing briefly down the hallway before looking back at you.
“you good, though?” he repeated, a little more direct this time.
you hesitated for a second, then nodded again. “yeah. i’m good.”
he seemed to accept that, even if he didn’t fully believe it. when you moved to unlock your door, he stayed where he was, leaning back slightly against the wall like it was nothing.
you glanced over your shoulder. “you don’t have to stand guard, you know.”
“wasn’t plannin’ to,” he said, but he didn’t move.
you smiled a little to yourself as you stepped inside.
“thanks anyway.”
he gave a small nod.
“lock it,” he added, almost automatically.
you did, out of habit more than anything. and even after the door shut, the hallway didn’t feel quite as empty as it had before. it wasn’t anything big, nothing dramatic. just the quiet reassurance of knowing he was there again.
and somehow, that was enough.
🪩 FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect
frank castle with a touchy / sensitive reader? how would he react to his s/o constantly asking for affection? <3
i love the way you write him!
🐰 at first, frank doesn’t really know what to do with it. you asking so openly - little tugs on his sleeve, leaning into him, asking “can you hold me?” like it’s nothing. he kind of pauses the first few times, like he’s checking if you actually mean it.
🐰 but he never turns you down. not once!! even if there’s that split second where he’s still figuring it out. he just adapts. like he’s had to do in every other aspect of his life. he’s learning something new and actually trying, just because it’s you.
🐰 you’re always close to him anyways. not in an overwhelming way, but constant - your hand resting on his arm, fingers hooking into his shirt, your head against his shoulder when you sit together. and he starts to notice the little shifts, like how you go quieter when you’re not touching him, how you linger nearby when you need it.
🐰 so eventually, he starts reaching for you first.
🐰 nothing big at first. just his hand settling on your lower back when you walk past, pulling you into his side without really thinking about it, nudging your knee under the table. small, steady things that add up.
🐰 if you ask him straight out - “frank, can i have a hug?” - there’s no hesitation anymore. no teasing. his arms are already open before you finish the sentence. “c’mere, sweetheart.”
🐰 and when you relax into him like that, he feels it. the way you kinda sink, like something in you finally lets go. he doesn’t say anything about it, but it always sticks with him
🐰 you’re sensitive in those quiet ways - too much noise, too many people, everything getting a bit too loud inside your head. frank picks up on it quicker than you think. he’s always watching, even when he looks like he isn’t. most of the time, you don’t even have to ask, his hand already on your back, guiding you somewhere quieter, his voice low and steady. “you’re alright. i got you.”
🐰 he’s not really the type to talk about feelings much, but with you it comes out differently. not just in words, but in how he handles you, sooo much softer than even you would expect. and careful, like he knows you’re gentle and refuses to be the thing that roughens you up.
🐰 after a while, petnames just start to slip out around you. “baby,” “sweetheart,” “honey.” always low, a little rough around the edges, but warm
🐰 on days where you’re extra clingy - following him around, sitting right up against him, asking for kisses every few minutes - he doesn’t get irritated. if anything, he starts to expect it. he might mutter “you’re needy today, huh?” but his hand’s already on your waist, pulling you in closer while he says it, like he doesn’t actually want you anywhere else
🐰 sometimes he’ll look down and you’re half asleep against him, still holding onto his shirt like you’re worried he might move. he’ll just press a quiet kiss into your hair, tighten his arm around you, and stay still so he doesn’t wake you
🐰 and after a while, it’s not just you anymore. he starts to want it too - your touch, your closeness. he won’t say it out loud, but it shows. the way he sits closer than he needs to, the way his hand just rests on you like it belongs there.
and on the days you don’t ask? he notices straight away.
“you alright?” he’ll ask, already reaching for you before you even answer.
because by then, it’s not just your habit. it’s his too!!!
🪩 FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect
pairing: clark kent x fem!reader
warnings: hurt/comfort, jealous!clark (but in a soft way), established relationship, jimmy meddling a little, protective clark, happy ending
summary: you don’t notice at first - not when clark goes quiet in the bullpen, or when he hovers closer than usual. to you, he’s just tired. it takes jimmy pulling you aside to say, “you know he’s jealous, right?” for it to click.
wc: 1.2k
the first time you notice it, you don’t even register it as jealousy. clark’s not the type. he doesn’t brood, doesn’t pick fights, doesn’t give you reasons to think he’s anything but steady. but something’s off. he lingers a step behind when you’re with jimmy, his tone clipped when he asks about your day. not unkind, just quieter.
you chalk it up to exhaustion, because god knows he has enough on his plate. late nights, rescues, the never-ending grind of being both superman and clark kent. so when he pulls away on the couch one evening, mumbling something about needing to get an early start, you let him. you kiss his temple, tell him goodnight, and convince yourself it’s just fatigue.
it’s jimmy who says something first.
you’re in the bullpen, papers scattered across your desk, jimmy leaning over your shoulder to point at a line in the copy. “you missed a typo here,” he says, grinning, “but that’s what i’m here for, your safety net.”
you laugh, nudging him with your elbow. “guess i should start paying you in coffee.”
“please do,” he says, then lowers his voice just a fraction. “you know clark’s jealous, right?”
the words hit you sideways. “what?”
“jealous. of me.” jimmy shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “you two are joined at the hip until i come around, and suddenly he’s pulling the vanishing act. i mean, i get it, i’m charming…”
“jimmy,” you cut in, shaking your head, though the thought sticks uncomfortably. “clark doesn’t get jealous. that’s not… him.”
“mm.” jimmy gives you a look that’s a little too knowing. “then why does he look like he swallowed a lemon every time i steal you for lunch?”
you brush it off, but it gnaws at you. because now you’re watching clark closer, and yeah - there it is. the tightness around his eyes when jimmy makes you laugh. the way he excuses himself instead of joining in. the hesitations that don’t feel like him at all.
that night, you find him in the apartment, glasses set aside, sleeves rolled up as he sits at the table with his laptop open. but he isn’t typing. he’s staring at the screen, jaw tight, lost somewhere else entirely.
“hey, baby.” you lean against the doorway, keeping your voice soft. “long day?”
he glances up, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “something like that.”
you cross the room, sliding your hands onto his shoulders. they’re tense under your palms, corded muscle wound tight. “jimmy said something today.”
“oh?” he asks, too casual.
“he thinks you’re jealous.”
for a beat, silence stretches between you. then clark exhales, long and low, his shoulders sagging under your touch. “guess he’s more observant than i wanted him to be.”
you blink, caught off guard by the honesty. “so you are?”
he closes the laptop, turning to face you fully. his eyes are tired, unguarded in a way that always tugs at you. “i don’t like it,” he admits quietly. “the time you spend with him. not because i don’t trust you - or him. i just…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “sometimes i feel like i’m losing pieces of you. like i come second.”
the ache in his voice nearly undoes you. you kneel so you’re level with him, cupping his face in your hands. his skin is warm under your touch, his jaw rough with the start of stubble. “clark kent,” you say firmly, “you never come second. not to anyone. not ever.”
his eyes flicker, torn between relief and lingering doubt. “it’s not rational,” he mutters. “i know that. you love me. i trust that. but when i see you with him, laughing, easy, i… i want to be the one who gives you that. and it feels like maybe i’m not enough.”
your heart twists. you’ve seen him stand against gods, take blows that would crush anyone else, but here he is - laid bare, unsure, human in the way that matters most. you smooth your thumb across his cheekbone, steady. “baby, you are everything. you don’t have to fight for space in my life - you already are my life.”
for a moment, he doesn’t move. then his hands come up, big and warm, covering yours. his voice is low, almost breaking. “i hate feeling like this. like i’m asking for more when you already give me so much.”
“you’re allowed to need me,” you say, fierce in your certainty. “that’s what this is. us. you don’t have to be strong all the time. you don’t have to swallow it down.”
his throat works as he swallows, and then he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “i just love you so damn much. sometimes it’s overwhelming.”
you press a kiss to his mouth, soft, lingering, until the tension in him eases fraction by fraction. “then let it overwhelm you,” you whisper. “i can take it.”
he exhales shakily, pulling you into his lap, arms curling around you with a need that’s raw and unpolished. not the careful restraint he usually holds himself with, but something desperate, clinging.
“sorry,” he mumbles against your hair, though his grip doesn’t loosen.
“don’t be sorry,” you murmur back, tracing lazy circles on his chest. “be honest. come to me when it feels heavy. don’t carry it alone.”
he nods, the motion brushing his cheek against your temple. “i’ll try. i promise.”
you stay like that for a long time, tangled together, his heartbeat steady against your ear. the weight in his body shifts, tension giving way to something quieter, softer.
after a while, he tilts your chin up, eyes clearer now. “you really don’t mind?”
“mind what?”
“me being jealous.”
you smile, brushing a kiss over his jaw. “i mind when you keep it bottled up. but the rest? no. it just means you care.”
his lips curve, faint but genuine this time. “care is an understatement.”
you laugh softly, fingers curling into his shirt. “i know.”
he kisses you again, deeper this time, and when he finally pulls back, there’s no trace of doubt in his gaze. only that steady, boundless love you’ve come to know as well as your own heartbeat.
and later, when you crawl into bed together, he doesn’t let go - not when you shift, not when you drift off, not even when sleep claims him. his arms stay locked around you, as if holding you close is enough to quiet every fear.
Hiii, i was wondering if you could write something of Dean?? Don't really have any clear ideas, so fell free to write anything really. I just really miss your Dean fics 😔
helloooo i totally loved writing for dean but i haven’t watched supernatural in sooo long SO once i’ve started again then yes i’ll try and do something for dean
hello this is a longshot but do you know of a logan fic where him and reader get flustered in a kitchen facing each other?? this is SO vague but i read it like over a year ago and haven’t been able to find it again ;;_____;; it was so cute and they were oblivious tho????? IDK YOU SEEMED LIKE THE BEST SOURCE ILY
Love you but do you ever answer asks… even if they’re not requests😭😭😭 because i send like several a week and i’m not sure if i’ve ever even seen a single one answered by you😭😭😭
pairing : clark kent x fem!reader
warnings : hurt/comfort, fever symptoms, soft petnames, clark being stubborn, reader fussing over him, totally not comic accurate😅, established relationship, fluff-heavy recovery, happy ending
summary : kryptonian fever isn’t something clark faces often, but when it hits, it hits hard. you fuss, you scold, you soothe - and despite his stubborn protests, clark lets you love him through his weakest days.
wc : 1.3k
a/n : i really don’t like this but hope you enjoy anon 🥹✌️
the first time you notice something’s wrong, it’s so subtle you almost miss it. clark is sitting at the kitchen table, glasses sliding down his nose, typing away at his laptop like he always does. but his hands are slower than usual, movements sluggish, as though every keystroke is pulling something out of him. his shoulders sag, and when you call his name, he blinks at you like he’s wading through water just to hear.
“clark?” you cross the room, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead before you can think twice. he flinches slightly under the touch, warm skin burning hotter than you’ve ever felt on him. “you’re on fire.”
he shakes his head, muttering, “i’m fine,” in that low rumble of his, but there’s a hitch in the words. fine doesn’t look like this. fine doesn’t look like clark kent swaying in his chair like he might tip over.
“baby, you’re burning up,” you insist, sliding the laptop out of reach before he drops it. “what’s going on?”
his jaw tightens, like he hates admitting it. “kryptonian fever. comes around every few years. nothing to worry about.”
nothing to worry about… except his skin is blazing hot, his pulse thrumming weakly under your fingers, sweat beading at his hairline. you’ve seen him walk away from bullets and explosions, seen him take hits no one else could survive, but this? this reduces him to trembling hands and a pale face.
“get up,” you tell him softly. “bed. now.”
he starts to argue, because of course he does, but the effort fizzles halfway through his protest. you help him stand, one arm slung over your shoulders, his weight heavier than you expect. normally he makes himself feel light when he’s near you, like gravity doesn’t apply, but now every step drags. you guide him to the bedroom, easing him down onto the mattress, pulling his shoes off, fussing with the blankets until he’s tucked in.
“you don’t need to - ”
“it’s okay.” you smooth his damp hair back from his forehead, trying not to panic at how hot his skin is. “just let me...” you trailed off, concentrating on trying to get his hair out of his face.
his eyes soften a little at that, the fight in him dimming.
he drifts in and out after that. sometimes he’s burning, shivering despite the fever. sometimes his skin cools and he looks almost normal again, only for the cycle to repeat. you sit by his side through it, wiping him down with a damp cloth, coaxing him to sip water, murmuring reassurances every time his hands search for you blindly.
at one point, in the middle of the night, he startles awake, eyes glazed but panicked. “did i - hurt you?” the words are broken, terrified.
“no, baby. you didn’t.” you take his hand, pressing it to your chest so he can feel your steady heartbeat. “you’re safe. i’m safe. everything’s fine.”
his breathing slows, but he doesn’t let go of you, fingers curled around yours like an anchor.
by the second day, you realize how much he hates being weak. every time you adjust the blankets or press a cool cloth to his forehead, he tries to mumble that he can handle it, that he doesn’t need fussing over. but his hands are shaking, his voice is raw, and you can see how hard he’s fighting not to collapse completely. you kiss his knuckles to quiet him.
sometimes he manages a half smile at that, sometimes he just closes his eyes and pretends he didn’t hear, but he always leans into your touch.
by the third day, he’s worse. the fever spikes higher, his voice barely a rasp when he tries to speak. you coax medicine down his throat, even though you’re not sure how much it helps a kryptonian body. you cook broth, hold the spoon steady when his hands tremble too much to lift it. he’s embarrassed, cheeks flushed, whispering, “don’t baby me.”
“too late.” you smile softly, bringing the spoon to his lips again. “you’re stuck with me.”
his lips twitch at that, the ghost of a smile before exhaustion pulls him under again.
that night, you’re woken by his body twisting against the sheets, fever dreams gripping him tight. he mutters under his breath - words you don’t understand but tone you do. fear, loss, grief. you press your forehead to his, whispering, “it’s okay, baby. i’m right here.” eventually he stills, clutching your shirt with surprising strength even in his weakness.
on the fourth day, you find him half sitting up, trying to read. his glasses fog with heat, and the book trembles in his hands. you slide it away gently. “not yet, clark. rest.”
“don’t want to waste time,” he murmurs, stubborn even now. “too much to do.”
“the world can wait.” you kiss the corner of his mouth, tasting the salt of sweat. “you’re more important.”
his eyes soften, something unspoken flickering there. he doesn’t argue again.
and though it terrifies you to see him so weak, there’s something strangely intimate in it too - this invulnerable man reduced to his most fragile, and trusting you completely to hold him together. he doesn’t hide it, doesn’t try to put the mask back on. he lets you see every tremor, every crack, every bit of need.
by the fifth day, the fever finally breaks. you notice it in the stillness first - the way his breathing evens, the heat radiating from his skin cooling to something almost human. when he stirs awake, blinking at you through damp lashes, his voice is clearer. “still here?”
“always.” you lean down, kissing his temple, tasting salt and relief. “how do you feel?”
“like hell.” his lips curve faintly. “but better, because you’re here.”
you laugh, shaking your head, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “you scared me, clark.”
he pulls you down then, arms weak but insistent, tucking you against his chest. “sorry, baby. didn’t mean to.”
“don’t do it again,” you murmur into his skin, breathing him in, alive and whole and warm. “no more fevers.”
“i’ll try,” he says, and you can feel the smile against your hair. “but if it happens again… guess i’ll just have to let you spoil me.”
“you already do.”
he chuckles, the sound rumbling faintly in his chest, and presses a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “damn right. best thing i ever did.”
later that night, when he’s steady enough to stand, you find him in the kitchen with a blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, sipping water. you scold him gently, ushering him back to bed, but he only grins sheepishly. “missed walking.” you tuck yourself under his arm, guiding him, and he leans down to kiss your hair. “missed you more, though.”
and for the first time in days, you let yourself relax, curled safe in his arms, knowing he’s yours to take care of - and he’ll let you, every time.
