#ddba fanart

[trashblossomart]

bonus:

they’re so silly

[soularsss]

a bullseye study for today.. need him biblically

[adamantdestinyluck]

bonus:…(Read More)

[guardianspirits13]

what they won’t show us

[polygor]

this is their song

[bertolts]

Frank Castle Loves Karen Page SEND TWEET ✨

[ Posted Here & Bluesky @ MadQueenMaddie ]

[dezmouse]

Two (2) Matties because I like him

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

Kunt

[jennipond]

and when matt recreates the ep6 funeral card kiss cuz foggy will be revealed alive and well>>>

[kameyasart]

i hate you (flirtatious)

guys you can't just throw scenes like this in my face and expect me to do nothing with it ..,,

тгк: kameyasart

Inst/Twt/BSky: kameyasart

Available as print (link in bio :)

[trashblossomart]

based on this one post from @tiredhermitgirl

[soularsss]

[bambiisin]

NEXT DOOR

frank castle x reader

warnings: implied „smut“ but nothing happens (yet hehe), kissing

The first time you saw him, you thought great, another quiet neighbor who keeps to himself.

You weren’t wrong. Frank Castle wasn’t exactly the chatty type. He moved in next door with little more than a duffel bag and a grunt in response to your polite “Welcome to the building.”

You learned quickly that he wasn’t like the other tenants. He didn’t throw parties, didn’t blast music, didn’t ask to borrow sugar or some other dumb excuse to start a conversation. If anything, it felt like he was avoiding them. Avoiding you.

At first, you let it be.

But then came the little things.

How he always took the stairs instead of the elevator. How you sometimes heard him coming home at ungodly hours, boots heavy against the floor. How he never had visitors, but you’d catch glimpses of bruised knuckles and a faraway look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching.

And then, of course, there were the other things.

Like how he always held the door open for you without a word. How, on the nights when your crappy heater barely worked, a folded-up blanket mysteriously appeared in front of your door. How when your ex showed up one night, drunk and slurring apologies, Frank had been there before you could even tell him to leave—standing between you and the guy with a look that sent him running.

After that, you stopped pretending he was just your neighbor.

And he stopped pretending he didn’t notice you.

⸻

It was slow. Frustratingly so.

You started seeing him more—at the corner store, at the laundromat, on the roof when you both needed some air. Conversations started short, mostly gruff nods and muttered hellos. But then they got longer.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you had teased one night, sitting beside him on the rooftop ledge.

Frank had smirked, taking a sip of his beer. “Talkin’s overrated.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his. “You know, most people say ‘thank you’ when their neighbor keeps them company.”

His smirk deepened, but his voice was softer when he said, “That what you’re doin’? Keepin’ me company?”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t leave, either.

Neither did he.

⸻

The first time he kissed you, it was because he was tired of pretending he didn’t want to.

It happened late one night in your apartment, after a shared dinner that had turned into two hours of just talking. You had been laughing at something—something small, something unimportant—when he just… moved.

One second, he was leaning against the counter, watching you with that unreadable expression. The next, his hand was on your jaw, his lips brushing against yours in a way that stole the breath from your lungs.

He hesitated, like he was giving you a chance to stop him. But you didn’t.

Didn’t even think about it.

Because God, you had wanted this.

Wanted him.

And when you kissed him back, he let out a sound that sent heat straight to your core.

⸻

It didn’t happen right away.

Frank wasn’t the kind of man to rush things—not with you. Not with this.

But the night it did happen, you knew there was no going back.

You were in his apartment, curled up on his couch, wearing one of his old shirts that smelled like soap and gun oil. His hands had been on you all night—small touches, a thumb brushing over your knuckles, fingers tracing absentminded circles on your thigh. Nothing urgent. Nothing rushed.

But when you shifted, swinging one leg over his lap, his breath hitched.

His hands settled on your hips, steady but firm. “You sure?” he murmured, voice rough with restraint.

You nodded, heart pounding. “Yeah.”

That was all he needed.

Frank kissed you slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world. And when he laid you back against the couch, his body pressing into yours, you knew—

There was no one else. No one who would ever make you feel like this.

And Frank?

Frank would take his time proving it.

[mikashida]

Frank Castle's Bodycount

[bertolts]

“ You have everything. So hold on to it. Use two hands and never let go. You got it? ”

[ Posted here & Bluesky @ MadQueenMaddie ]

[dezmouse]

oops!!