#frank castle x reader platonic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frankcastlescumslut · 1 year ago

Text

yall ready for a chapter 2?

A House in Nebraska

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: gore, violence, minor character death, amy bendix (lol), language, angst!!, eventual smut

summary: He was afraid of you. Afraid that you had made up your mind and had enough of him, that this was the final straw. But the worst thing, he decided, was the possibility that this, that he, was enough for you—that you would pledge your loyalty to a man like him. To a life like this.

a/n: hey! I’ve been sitting on this idea for months and finally ready to work on it :) this will definitely be a two-parter(maybe more), but I’m selfishly enjoying this little AU loosely following season 2!!!!

comments/reblogs/likes are so appreciated, I love to hear your thoughts <3

“So… how did you guys meet?” “Stay still.” The strong stench of rubbing alcohol burned your nostrils as you leaned over, her foot tapping mindlessly beneath her crossed legs. “You didn’t answer my question.” “Amy,” you interrupted, her blue eyes baring right back into yours. “If you want me to paint your nails, sit still.” She huffed at that. You were used to it by now, never taking her attitude personally because being sixteen was hard enough, so you paid no mind. It was almost reminiscent, a painful familiarity with the way she embodied your sister, but you chose to forget the feeling like your life depended on it. In a way, it did.

Her nail disappeared beneath a glossy black polish, the surrounding skin also falling victim to an unsteady hand. She let out a sigh and continued to count the number of stripes on her socks.

“We met in Nebraska.” “Nebraska?” She sounded disgusted, and the small room filled with laughter. “What the hell is in Nebraska?” “Absolutely nothing.”

Ghosts. Distant memories. Everything was in Nebraska.

It’s where he found you, hiding as some housekeeper in a shitty motel. You were both running from things neither of you cared to talk about while sober, so you didn’t, but he kept looking for reasons to come back.

He blamed it on the esteemed breakfast, a vending machine honeybun, but you saw through him like he was an apparition haunting your strained heartstrings.

Come with me, he asked. Where to? You didn’t really care.

You were in too deep by the time you made it to Michigan—you both were, and yet neither one of you would admit it. There was something sacred about the secrecy and inability to label what you both knew was love, or something like that; it was too precious, and you avoided any chance at jinxing it.

“But you two are together, though, right?” Amy was obsessed with knowing everything. You think it’s her way of pretending that everything was fine. Fine.

“No.” “Oh.” She straightened a bit, and you didn’t miss the way her brows furrowed. “That disappoint you?” “A little.” “Good,” you smirked. “You’re too nosey.” “I call it a healthy amount of curious.” Her back hunched again, and she watched the way your eyebrows scrunched over her fingers. “You guys are shit at hiding it, anyway.” You chuckled at that, manually manipulating her hand to inspect your work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh come on,” she says matter-of-factly. “You guys fuck.” “Amy!” You could feel your eyes bulging from their sockets. “I knew it!” She clapped her hands before jumping from the mattress. “You don’t know anything.” “Oh come on,” she searched your face, expecting to find any confirmation to her assumptions, instead finding your lack of eye contact disappointing. “Not even once?” “No,” you lied. “Happy?” “Not really.”

The mattress failed to hide the sound of her disappointment as she threw her body onto the spare bed. You allowed yourself to find amusement in her attitude long enough to sift through a dirty duffel bag, keeping your mind occupied with something other than Frank’s absence.

Gaining Amy meant losing Frank. Hour by hour, piece by piece, chunk of flesh by chunk of flesh. The waiting never grew easier, but you adjusted, just like you always do, ending up in motels that smelled like damp polyester and cigarettes.

“I’m starving,” she groaned, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’ll get something soon.” Your stomach gurgled in agreement.

Static crackled throughout the room, momentarily stunning you, before being replaced by a weather report.

High of 89 today with an 80 percent chance of rain, folks! Grab an umbrella and stay dry!

You laughed to yourself at that—stay dry—like you ever left those shitty rooms.

It was bittersweet with Amy. You missed the sun. You missed the late night diner runs. You missed waking up to forehead kisses and soft touches. You missed the easiness of it all, pretending to be two normal people that had two normal lives, and now you were confined to a room that reeked of nail polish and gunpowder. A prisoner and caretaker.

“What do you want for dinner?” you asked, attempting to lighten the mood. “Huh?” “Dinner,” you stated. “I’ll go when—“ A knock at the door ended your conversation. “Amy,” you locked eyes with her, “get in the closet.” Your voice dropped to a whisper as you pointed the gun towards the door. “No, it’s fine!“ She practically leapt from the cheap mattress. “Closet. Now.” Your arm aches almost as much as your stomach as Amy reaches for the door handle. She was so far away, it seemed, and your legs felt cemented to the floor. “I ordered food,” she smiled, opening the door to reveal a woman holding a box. “See?”

It felt like you were staring at one of your polaroids; Amy looked pleased, beaming at you with a sense of accomplishment that she got dinner. That she could do things. That she didn’t need your help—Frank’s help. Her smile was radiant, and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for her.

“You can keep the change,” Amy offered the woman a handful of cash before turning to you with that same naivety.

Stupid, stupid girl.

You knew it was coming, and yet your stomach still dropped when her smile faded and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Amy’s lips moved frantically, but you were too focused on the way the woman’s gun left imprints against her temple.

Stupid, stupid girl.

The woman looked satisfied, puffing out her broad chest while Amy tried to talk her way out of it. “Kid,” you commanded her attention, ignoring the way you could hear Frank’s voice in the back of your head. She stared back at you, tears welling in her eyes, and you hoped to God that she would understand what you meant as you meticulously cocked your head towards the closet.

The stranger wasn’t an idiot, and she shuffled backwards, somehow digging the gun further into Amy’s head. “If you try anything funny—“

Point. Shoot. Kill.

Amy flinched as warm blood decorated her cheeks like a crimson blush.

You wish you could embrace her and muster out a lie—that it’s all over, that everything is okay now, that things can go back to normal, but you can’t, so you pull her into the room. “Closet, now.”

She listened, for once, ducking her head and hurrying to the small space Frank had designated as hers. A part of you selfishly wished she had fought back against your order. Maybe then things would feel normal, and you could pretend that the brain matter surrounding the door frame was some maximalist’s creative direction. Maybe then you could imagine that the body below you was just a rolled up carpet that was being discarded because it was too much of an eyesore for the motel regulars.

You pretended, ignoring the corpse’s vacant gaze as you patted its body, shoving any remaining bits of your humanity down as you pocketed a wallet and fully loaded gun.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

It was one of the first lessons you had learned while on your own, and one that Frank never let you forget. He was right, unfortunately, and heavy footsteps reiterated the importance of the mantra as they approached your temporary home.

There weren’t many places for you to hide, but you made it work, you had to. The bathroom was small and smelled like mildew, but you couldn’t care about the dangers of black mold when you had a target on your back. The gun felt lighter in your hand this time, and your posture felt natural as you crouched against the bathroom wall.

Time didn’t exist in moments like this. The moments where the world sounded like warm, rushing blood and high pitched screeching. Moments where you become reduced to your primal state, clenching jaw and eyes blown wide as they study the mirrored motel room. Moments where you held your breath, watching and waiting in anticipation of who would barge into your temporary sanctuary, noting the constant footsteps..

The footsteps never stopped, not even as they stepped over the limp body and pooled blood. You foolishly hoped you would have been met with the familiar darkened gaze, that he would lift you by your shoulders and tell you that you did good, but the man that barged into the room was ruthless. Cold-blooded.

His gun was already drawn, spraying the mattresses and walls with bullets and fury, sending drywall crumbling and flaking onto your head and shoulders.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

You inhaled, not even considering it could be the last time your lungs expanded to its full capacity, before glancing in the mirror a final time.

You looked like a version of yourself you had buried long ago—a version that hadn’t emerged since you had left home. It was reminiscent of something you fought to avoid, but you couldn’t run this time, not as the pang of gunshots echoed throughout the motel room.

He moved quickly, and you wondered if he was trained on the same basis: shoot first, ask later. He wasn’t the first one you had encountered, trigger-happy and determined, and you knew they always ran out of bullets quicker than they should.

Your golden opportunity sounded like a few seconds of silence followed by a huff of air leaving your lips before you reached around the corner, catching the man off guard as you unleashed three rounds towards his rigid frame.

“God damnit!” he shouted as a bullet ripped through the meat of his thigh.

His eyes were black, rolling into the sockets like a blood hungry shark, and you genuinely thought his teeth would crumble under the pressure of his clenched jaw.

The bathroom was no solace; you were cornered, backed into a cage like an animal waiting for its turn to be brought to the slaughterhouse. Surrendering wasn’t an option. It didn’t exist for people like the one hunting you—for people like Frank.

The thought of Frank coming back to your makeshift home, littered with blood and bodies, made your stomach churn. It meant you failed, that you weren’t capable of keeping up with him, and it was embarrassing. You failed him; you failed Amy, and you failed yourself once again, though that mattered little anymore.

Your golden moment was quickly interrupted by the sound of grunting and a continuous stream of popping inching towards your hiding place. The wall exploded and ceramic tile flew towards your face before you realized what was happening, and you instinctively receded towards the small spot between the toilet and cabinet.

“Come on out, honey,” he called. “Can’t hide forever!”

You could tell he was hovering outside the remnants of the doorframe, probably waiting for you to crawl out so he could pretend to be merciful by putting a bullet in your head, but his labored breathing told you everything he wasn’t. Your guess was a severed artery, and although he should be down by now, you learned to never underestimate a man with nothing left to lose and steadied your gun on the edge of the counter.

“Just tell me where the girl is and we can figure this out like adults!” “Like adults?” You called out, scanning the bathroom for anything that could help your situation. “Sure,” he huffed out. “We can play house after this. What do you say?”

The toe of his boot peeked around the corner, and your body moved before your mind could catch up.

The man let out a guttural scream and folded in half, instinctively grabbing his bleeding foot. You wasted no time yanking the cheap plastic shower curtain from its holdings before leaping towards the assailant.

He looked like a beached shark, thrashing beneath the fogging curtain, but felt more like a mechanical bull as you held onto him with your thighs, tightening your grip around the curtain.

It happened quickly. So quickly that you hadn’t registered the throbbing pain in the base of your skull as you crashed into the already crumbling drywall. You weren’t sure how he stood, how he gained enough momentum to fling you off of him, but your mind and body remained disconnected as he towered over you.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” the man coughed, failing to cover his mouth. “Where’s the girl?”

This wasn’t supposed to be the end. This was humiliating, and yet there you were, blinking away stars and choking on dust. You attempted to sit up straight, regaining your dignity, before your knuckles hit the familiar carbon steel.

There was only one shot, and you prayed Amy had made it out and ran as far away from you as she could—this wasn’t a place for young girls, yet you felt small enough in that moment. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

He fell with a great thud, nearly landing on top of you. His mouth and eyes were still open, completely unsuspecting of his demise, and you were hypnotized by the crimson dripping from the bullet-sized hole in his forehead.

It was seamless, and you think Frank would have been proud had he walked in through the blown out door, but he doesn’t. Nobody was coming.

“He talked too much.” Her voice startled you, and you instinctively reached for the gun. “Whoa,” she warned, “it’s okay, it’s just me.” She showed her palms, emerging fully from the small closet.

“Amy,” you whispered, afraid that she was just an apparition.

“You okay?” She knew it was a stupid question the second it left her mouth, but she asked anyway—she at least meant it.

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing yourself to your feet. “We have to leave.”

“Leave? What about Frank?”

You had already limped across the room, adding the new guns and wallets to the duffel bag, and didn’t need to see the confusion on her face to know she was skeptical of your plan. “He’ll find us,” you tried to believe yourself, but you knew he would understand.

You’d had this conversation before; if anything were to happen to him, you and Amy were to find a Madani somewhere in New York. It was a 10 hour drive, but you were confident you could make it in six if you left now.

The room felt smaller with two bodies and crumbled drywall littering the floor. You could ignore the claustrophobic feel, but Amy stood frozen in place, studying the tread marked puddle of blood beneath her feet.

“Hey,” you started, “look at me. Look at me, Amy.”

She was pale, her eyes sunken into their sockets. It was impossible to make sense of how she looked so young, yet so hardened at that moment, but there wasn’t enough time to wonder. “Amy, we have to go, okay?” Her cheeks were soft beneath your palms. You tried to pull her from her trance, begging her to come back to the shitty motel room of death, but she stayed tucked away in the safest corner of her mind.

“You’re bleeding,” she muttered. “What?” “Bleeding. You’re bleeding.”

Her eyes led a trail to the soft curve of your waist. Your shirt stuck to your skin with an uncomfortable warmth, and you pretended it didn’t ache when you placed a few fingers over the gash.

You wanted to laugh at the irony, deluding yourself with a false sense of accomplishment. It was always too good to be true, and you were reminded of the cruel fact that things could always be worse as the sound of heavy footsteps pulled you from the pain. Amy ran towards the familiar hiding spot without being told, and your heart broke into smaller pieces.

It was getting old, the pointing and shooting and killing. It was getting old, and you were tired of calling the shots—you were tired of waiting for Frank to come back.

Fuck him. Fuck him for leaving you. Fuck him for leaving Amy. Fuck him for making you add two more heads to your roster.

Your arm ached as you leveled the gun, and you let out a sharp cry as your skin pulled in separate directions, the cotton of your shirt peeling from the wet wound. It was a matter of seconds before you would claim your next victim, but all you felt was the burning rage towards the man that left you in this position. It was automatic at this point; all you saw was a threat, so you acted, unloading rounds until all that remained was a busted door frame and tear stains against your grimy cheeks.

“Shit,” he whispered, not even acknowledging the body that he stepped over. “No no no, what happened?” He strung a hand behind your neck, forcing you to watch the way his eyes scanned your face. He meant well, you think, but you couldn’t look at him, especially as he thumbed through the tears that escaped your waterline. “Where’s the kid?”

God damn him. “Closet,” you choked out.

He was gone as quickly as he came, and your knees took the brute of the fall with a thud, masking the sound of the closet doors falling as Frank ripped them from the hinges. The stars in your eyes glistened, your peripheral shrinking, and you weren’t even sure if he was real. If he had actually come back, if he had actually left you on the floor, face to face with your bloody work.

“You okay, kid?” He crouched to her level, but she quickly uncurled herself, practically jumping from the small space to push past Frank and joined you on the damp carpet. “Are you okay?” she asked, her brows furrowing as she studied your face. “I’m fine," you whispered, bracing yourself against the mattress to hoist yourself to your feet. Frank hovered, like he usually did, unsure of his place between the two of you. His anger was palpable, and you made yourself as small as possible, limping towards the disheveled duffle bags. He watched you, noting the way you winced with each step. It killed him, knowing that his shit would eventually catch up to you, too, but he gulped it down, turning his attention towards Amy.

“I’m sorry,” Frank started, grabbing Amy’s shoulders before bending to her level. “I’m sorry this happened. I shouldn’t have left.” “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Seriously. It could’ve been worse.” “Yeah, you coulda been killed. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Alone. The bile rose from your stomach and burned the lining of your throat at the indirect insult.

“I wasn’t alone,” Amy snapped at Frank before sinking into the mattress. “Look, this is all my fault. I was the one that ordered food, she didn’t know.” It was humiliating having Amy come to your defense like that, even though she was right. Frank’s stare burned, and your feet involuntarily took you to the destroyed bathroom to escape his attention. “What?” He spat. “I mean, really. I probably would have died but she handled them.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “It was actually kinda cool.” “There’s nothin’ cool about this,” Frank hissed. “C’est la vie, I guess.” “C’mon,” he ordered. “Pack up.” “Everything’s already ready.” She motioned towards the perfectly lined duffle bags that you had assembled.

He didn’t have much to say. He was almost relieved at the fact that you were ready to leave him. You could make it on your own, he knew that much. You were strong enough, but a part of him wished you didn’t have to be—that you didn’t have to deal with his shit.

Amy watched as he shifted his weight outside the bathroom door, his fingers flexing and clenching in anticipation.

His heart broke as he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the busted mirror, your head hanging low as you sat on the edge of the bathtub.

He was afraid of you. Afraid that you had made up your mind and had enough of him, that this was the final straw. But the worst thing, he decided, was the possibility that this, that he, was enough for you—that you would pledge your loyalty to a man like him. To a life like this.

“Time to go,” he finally knocked against the remaining wall. You were quick to listen, pretending that you hadn’t been crying, and you pushed past him. The carpet squelched beneath your stride, and you ignored it long enough to pull Amy into your chest, focusing on the sweet smell of her shampoo. She stayed there for what seemed like forever until she became cognizant of her flickering facade. “You okay?” you whispered, nodding your head as if you could somehow convince her she was. She followed suit, swallowing down any trace of emotion that threatened to spill over, but her eyes betrayed her. Frank had seen enough.

It was too much—too much of a reminder that he had failed again, that his perpetual failings would always result in the loss of a life. Your commitment to Amy’s safety was evident; it was a continuation of what you couldn’t give your sister, and he was ashamed that he brought you back to the place where he met you. “Let’s go,” he cleared his throat. You listened, as you always do, breaking your moment of respite with Amy to shove two heavy duffle bugs over your shoulder, not caring to look behind you as you head towards a bulky van. Amy watched you disappear, shuffling her feet in frustration. “You really should take it easy on her.” Frank said nothing, instead sifting through the empty pockets of corpses. “Hey,” she kicked the limp hand, forcing Frank to stop his search. “I mean it. Lighten up.” “You done?” He stood, completely towering over Amy. His jaw clenched against his will, yet she held his gaze. “Be nice.”

“Time to go.” He didn’t wait for her, so she watched her footing as she tiptoed over the broken bodies.

She lingered in the doorframe, committing the bloodbath to memory. It was fucked that she had to—that the motel room reeked of blood and guts instead nail polish remover and pizza. But that’s how these things went, and you watched from the safety of the van as she slammed the door shut on that dirty fucking room.

You pretended that her clumpy mascara was still intact as she climbed in the van's backseat. She pretended you didn’t jump at the sound of Frank slamming his door closed as he slid into his seat. He pretended that this wasn’t his karmic debt catching up to him.

A caravan of fucking liars.

“Where are we going?” Amy broke the uncomfortable silence, and you held your breath. “New York,” he said with a sigh.

New York, a Madani, and a caravan of liars.

There was a poetic moment of silence and anticipation, and then the engine roared to life.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle angst #frank castle hurt/comfort #frank castle slow burn #frank castle series #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher x female reader #the punisher series #amy bendix #amy bendix x platonic!reader

269 notes · View notes

ellephlox · 11 months ago

Text

Solidarity

Summary: Frank enlists your help on a dangerous mission. Matt’s not happy about it.

Pairings: Matt x f!reader, platonic Frank Castle & f!reader, platonic Matt & Frank

Warning: Strong profanity (looking at you, Frank). Canon-typical violence. There’s also dog abuse in this, so please proceed with caution!

“You will not believe how terrible my day was.” You were already complaining aloud as you started up the stairs to Matt’s apartment, perfectly aware that he’d be able to hear you. “My boss gave me triple the amount of work that’s humanly possible to complete within a month and somehow he expects me to do it within a week. And then he had the audacity to tell me that I shouldn’t wear my hair in a ponytail because it’s ‘too informal’ for the face of the company. I mean, what the hell does that even mean?”

One of Matt’s neighbors opened their apartment door as you marched up the steps, and you quickly lifted your phone to your ear as though you were talking to someone, lest they think you were just talking to yourself. “And then my coworker took my data — you know, all that stuff I had been inputting onto that Google Doc the other day? And he presented it as his own, no credit to me. I can’t even report him because he’s supposed to retire in a week so it’s pointless anyway.”

You continued to gripe as you unlocked the door, chucking your keys down and tossing your shoes off so violently that they hit the wall. “Anyway, I’m in a bad mood now, so I have two propositions — well, demands, I guess — for you. One: We watch Jeopardy tonight. In pajamas. I will object if you’re still wearing a tie.” You unzipped your coat and tossed it haphazardly onto the coat rack. “Two: My friend asked if we’ve ever showered together before — you know, typical girl talk questions — and I told her we hadn’t, so I was thinking—” You stopped dead as you entered the living room, your stomach plummeting. Leaning on the wall by the window, arms crossed, was Matt, wearing his devil suit, complete with the helmet on and his billy clubs dangling in his hands. And across from him, standing with an actual gun in his hand, was Frank Castle. Mortification sent heat into your face, and for a moment you just stood there, at a loss for words.

“We have company,” Matt said dryly, uncrossing his arms and standing up straight.

“I can see that,” you said finally. “You didn’t think to... I don’t know, shoot a text warning me?” Your cheeks were searing; had you seriously just proposed showering with Matt in front of the Punisher, of all people?

“I was a bit preoccupied all day with making sure Trigger Happy over here didn’t shoot anyone,” Matt said, his jaw tense.

Frank snorted. “Red, you’d be bleeding out in an alley if I hadn’t saved your ass. Get off your high horse.”

“Yeah. Okay. But you couldn’t have said something, anything at all, when I walked in? Like, ‘Hey, honey, there’s a wanted fugitive standing in our living room, just so you know.’ Sorry, Mr. Castle,” you added in an undertone to him. “Um — I’m not trying to make you feel unwelcome or anything, I just feel a bit awkward about earlier, so—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Frank said shortly, his gaze still trained on Matt. “We gonna stand here with your girl watching us and argue all afternoon? Or are we going to get this done?”

“Get what done?” you asked.

It was Frank who answered, and from the way Matt was standing with his back straight as a ruler now, you had the sense he wasn’t pleased, for whatever reason. “There’s a shipment of heroin that’s supposed to arrive tonight. The dealers have been selling to kids on the street to make a quick buck.”

“It’s due to come in at midnight,” Matt said. “But the source I talked to last night doesn’t know which dock.”

You made of sound of sympathy. “I take it you’ll be having to sweep a lot of territory tonight, then?”

“That’s a damn understatement,” Frank said. “We’re not just talking about the docks in Hell’s Kitchen, ma’am. We’re talking all the way down to Chelsea, and the piers in Brooklyn Heights.”

“But that’s impossible to scope out,” you said slowly. “Even if Matt’s standing in the center of all the docks in Hell’s Kitchen, he couldn’t possibly hear all the way down to Chelsea, let alone Brooklyn.”

“Which is why we’re in for a rough night,” Matt said. “I called Jessica, Luke, and Danny. They’re all out of town.” He jutted his chin at Frank. “And that’s why we’re here together.”

“I ain’t happy about it either,” Frank added. “He’s already talking my ass off about moral obligation and shit. Feels like I’m in church.”

"Because you tried to stab the guy in the throat after he gave us information we needed.”

“If you could see, Red, then you’d know from the look in that guy’s eyes that he planned on murdering us the second that we turned our backs on him—”

“Which is why I tied him up and left him for Mahoney.”

“I have a better idea,” you said, cutting in before anything could escalate. “I can help.”

Matt’s response was immediate and scathing. “No.”

"Oh, come on — I get it if you want to do your whole ‘Fly home, Buddy, I work alone’ thing, but you’re not working alone, you’re working with the Punish— I mean, Mr. Castle. I’ll be supremely insulted forever if you don’t let me help.”

“If you think that I’ll let those dealers anywhere near you—” Matt began, but you interrupted again.

“Look, I’ve always waited here patiently and uselessly while you do your deviling every night, but can’t you give me a chance? Maybe we’ll be a dream team. Terrific trio. Second Edition Avengers. The Scooby gang minus a talking dog.”

“She could help, Red,” Frank said, sending an unreadable look in your direction. “I say we do it. She can camp out at Brooklyn. I mean, the guy said that they could dock there, but they never have before. Odds are they’ll be in Chelsea or Hell’s Kitchen.”

“So, what? We throw her to the wolves in Brooklyn where we can’t get to her easily if things go south?” Matt looked as though he were about two seconds from socking Frank in the jaw. Or worse, two seconds from handcuffing you to the apartment so that you wouldn’t leave.

“No,” you said firmly. “Things won’t go south. Matt, I’m not going to... I don’t know, engage in a fight with them. I’m not a vigilante. I’ll just hide and keep an eye on the docks, then if they show up, I’ll call you.”

“I’ll stay in Chelsea,” Frank said. “I know you get all weird about the Kitchen, Red, so it’s all yours.”

Matt was standing stock still, grinding his teeth. Finally he ground out, “It’s too dangerous.”

“So is driving a car. So is crossing the street. And yet I’ve done both many, many times,” you said. “I’ll be completely fine. Why would dealers have any reason to go after a random passerby, even if they did see me? Which they won’t,” you added hurriedly. “Because I’ll stay safely out of sight.”

“Perfect.” Frank checked his watch. “I ain’t staying here while we twiddle our thumbs and wait for midnight to roll around. Give Y/N my burner number, Red.”

“I’d never have thought you’d do this, Frank,” Matt said, his voice low. “I thought you at least were on my side when it came to keeping people safe who—”

“Who are what?” you said sharply. “I might not have... superpowers, or, I don’t know, a weird bloodthirstiness — sorry again, Mr. Castle — but I can still help.”

“Call me Frank.” Frank leveled his gaze at you. “And cut the apologizing shit.”

“Uh. Okay.” You had to bite your tongue to keep from apologizing again.

And, somehow, you actually ended up on the mission. You took the C train down to Brooklyn Heights after enduring a very long and very dry lecture from Matt on how you were to stay out of sight no matter what and to call him should any boat arrive with men wearing ski masks.

And, in all honesty, you weren’t nervous. The likelihood of the dealers showing up at your assigned docks was slim. And even if they did, you’d just have to make a quick phone call to both of them, and then camp out. Easy-peasy.

You settled in on a wooden bench overlooking the piers, wishing you had worn more than your jacket. The temperature had dropped more than expected when the sun had set, and now you shivered slightly, the cold metal of a knife against your thigh. Just in case.

How exactly you were actually out here, on a real mission, with Matt willingly letting you out of his protection, you weren’t sure. It was exhilarating, though. The city was dark, yet not really; it was aglow with the street lamps and headlights and apartment windows whose blinds hadn’t been closed yet. You scrunched up your legs to conserve body heat and regretted not bringing a blanket, too. And a pillow. That would’ve made the bench slightly less rock hard against your bottom.

Seriously, how did Matt do this kind of thing every night? Fifteen minutes in and you were already missing the warmth of home.

You glanced at the skyline. Somewhere, on the other side of those skyscrapers, Matt was waiting as well. Probably he wasn’t curled up on a bench like you were, though. It was more likely that he’d be stalking the rooftops, or pacing in the shadows.

And then movement caught your eye, at just after 12:30 in the morning. You scrambled to your feet, squinting in the dark. It was a boat, fast approaching the pier just next to you.

No way. Yeah, you were on lookout, but somehow you’d convinced yourself that the dealers wouldn’t actually show up on your end. You waited to call Frank and Matt, though, because in case it was a different boat, you didn’t want to raise a false alarm. You moved away from your bench and began walking leisurely down the pier, as though you were going for a nighttime stroll. All you needed to do was get a good glimpse of them, then you’d head up the street where you could watch from a safer spot.

“In, out! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” someone said, a bit loudly, from the deck of the ship. You swiveled your head to see him, and sure enough, he had a ski mask. Swiftly you pulled out your phone and fire off a quick text to both Matt and Frank. You were about to leave the pier altogether when a bark made you stop short.

....A dog?

“Shut the bitch up!” one of the men snarled. “We get caught, then all the goods get seized.”

“She’s been fucking howling the whole way, what am I supposed to do?”

“Give her a piece of food.”

“What food? You ate the rest of it, man.”

“Can’t believe we’re bringing this dog anyway. Boss already has six bitches. Why does he need another?”

“She’s some special breed, or some shit, I don’t know. Sells for a thousand bucks a pop. Grab that box. Like I said — in, out. We’re already late.”

The dog kept barking, though, and you winced as the man kicked the poor thing in the ribs. Piece of shit. You wanted to go up there and throttle him yourself. If Matt or Frank would just get here already, then you’d be able to relax, but it would still be at least twenty minutes...

And what if the dealers got away in that time frame?

The dog started barking again, and suddenly, without any word of warning, one of the men picked the dog up like a sack of potatoes and threw her overboard. “To hell with the extra cash. That’s how you deal with security problems,” you heard him say as he wiped his hands on his pants. “Get moving, go, go, go! Unload this shit so we can get out of here!”

Below, the dog’s frantic head slipped below the surface.

Oh, hell no.

Your feet were moving even before you could make an executive decision in your mind. The cold of the evening was forgotten, as were Matt’s strict words to not be seen, no matter what happens, and you dove into the water, where the dog had fell beneath the black waves beside the pier.

Fortunately, it was summer, and as shockingly cold as the water was, it wasn’t anywhere near deathly cold. You couldn’t see anything, and desperately tried to listen for the dog, but you didn’t have Matt’s ears, and for a moment panic swelled inside you that this dog would drown, and you wouldn’t be able to do a thing.

And then you saw movement, out of the corner of your eye. The dog was struggling to stay afloat, her snout barely making it out of the water. You grabbed her around the middle and kicked with all your might, coughing on water and unable to see hardly anything except for the blurry outline of the pier. There had to be a ladder somewhere along there, and you groped blindly along the edge, seeking out a grip to pull yourself and the dog up.

For a moment, you completely forgot about the dealers behind you. All you could think about was getting the dog safely onto land, and with a massive effort you lifted her up. Her paws scrambled against the edge of the pier, but with a good shove to her rump, she was able to get over the edge and dash away into the shadows.

Good luck out there, doggie. You started to climb the ladder yourself, but froze when you heard the telltale click of a gun being cocked in front of you. Slowly you looked up, your blood running cold at the sight of a gun pointed straight at your forehead. The man holding it had his hair tied back in a bun, and there was a horrible expression on his face that told you he wouldn’t have any qualms about pulling the trigger.

“Should I shoot, boss?” he asked, his eyes not moving from your face. “Stupid girl’s seen us. She’ll probably run her mouth and tell the cops.”

Your brain felt as though it were short-circuiting. “I swear, I won’t tell a soul. You have my word. Really, I’ll just leave here, and I promise—”

“Do it!” one of the men shouted from the boat. “Get it done so you can get your ass back up here to help. You know how many bodies there are in the Upper Bay? She’ll just be another.”

Your heart was punching the inside of your rib cage. You considered falling backwards to try to swim away, but what good would it do? There was no other way to get back onto land nearby except for this ladder, and you didn’t trust yourself to swim around the boat and across to the next pier without simply getting shot en route. Lunging up the rest of the ladder to fight him was an even worse option. Even if you could fight like Matt (which you could safely say was not the case), you were at a disadvantage; he had the high ground.

But you didn’t have a choice. The man lunged down and grabbed you by the collar of your jacket, hoisting you up onto the pier. You shivered violently, unsure of whether it was from fear or cold. The man looked you over. “Could hold her for ransom, Tom. That’d bring in some extra cash.”

“No.” The man, who must’ve been Tom, shook his head. “That’s just a surefire way to get attention from the cops. Let’s take her in. We’ll kill her once we’re back on open water and dump her body in the Atlantic. Much cleaner that way.”

The man holding you grunted in agreement and shoved you forward up the ramp to the boat. You obeyed only because of the gun pressed against your temple, feeling like you might vomit any second.

Where are Matt and Frank? The night was as still as a reflecting pool. It was as though the city itself had gone to sleep, abandoning you to these men, and you had to choke down the rising lump in your throat that was making you feel like you might cry any second or pass out. But tears wouldn’t come, as you were led into a cabin, your mouth promptly duct-taped closed. The sensation made you panic even more — a little air could get through to your nose, but not much, and the sudden feeling of being near to asphyxiation made you even more light-headed.

The men, however, seemed to forget about you as soon as they tied you to the chair. That they hadn’t killed you immediately was the most relieving of mercies, and you struggled fruitlessly to escape your bonds, feeling supremely useless. Surely Matt would arrive any second; he would hear exactly where you were, you reasoned, and he’d make his way to you as soon as he could. Any minute you’d hear the sound of a baton ricocheting off some unfortunate skulls or the cracking as bones shattered under his fists.

But instead, it was bullets you heard first. Frank. You gritted your teeth, hearing the shouts of men that were surely being killed without a second thought. Hopping with your feet, you were able to wiggle your chair forward slightly until you could see outside the cabin door. Frank’s silhouette was a menacing shape against the moonlight.

Where is Matt?

One of the largest men — Tom, you recalled — suddenly came barreling into the room, a gun in his hand. He untied you violently, yanking the rope so roughly against your wrists that you gasped under the tape, and then dragged you forward, the gun against your head. Unceremoniously you were toppled from the chair, your knees slamming down onto hard wood.

“Drop your gun!” Tom jabbed his gun against your forehead so hard that you saw stars. “Drop it now and put your hands behind your head, or I’ll blow her brains out!”

Through your fuzzy vision you saw Frank freeze. His gaze was cold; calculating, and for the first time you wondered what your value was in Frank’s mind, compared to the triumph of offing some criminals. Which was worth more to him? For a moment, you feared he would prioritize killing the smugglers. His fist clenched even tighter around the gun, and he drew in level breaths, without lowering his gaze for even a second.

“I swear to God I’m pulling this trigger in ten seconds if you don’t drop it,” Tom said, and he dragged the tip of the gun so that it was placed precisely against your temple. Water was still dripping from your clothing and goosebumps were raised so violently on your skin that you felt like you had chicken pox, but that was nothing compared to the electric adrenaline shooting down your spine, as though your nervous system was screaming at you to do something, anything, but it was to no avail; all you could do was stay on your knees, as still as possible, and keep your head lowered.

And then, as though he’d made a snap decision, Frank set the gun down.

“Kick it over here,” Tom ordered.

Frank obeyed, slowly raising his hands to his head. “The gun’s down,” he said. “Now let her go.”

Tom’s grip on you tightened. “You’re a fool,” he said, and suddenly you knew what was about to happen, from the steadying of his hands and the firmer press of the gun against your temple. You wrenched yourself away from him, just as the bullet fired off, and the heat of it barely grazed your shoulder as you dove away.

The victory was short-lived, though. Tom aimed again, and this time you were on the ground, with nowhere to go. You screwed your eyes shut, sending a silent apology to Matt, and...

The bullet never came.

Gingerly you opened your eyes to see the devil punching Tom with all his wrath and fury. Frank had already picked up his gun again and was running towards the back of the boat, where you knew there were still a few more crew members. Quickly you crawled backwards to get out of the path of Matt and Tom, the latter of whom was being thrown against the cabin wall.

That had been close. Way, way too close. You fumbled for the duct tape and ripped it off your mouth, lightheaded from breathing irregularly. Stars formed in front of your vision and you had to slow yourself down, drawing in air and then releasing it slowly.

Matt was still slamming his fist into the face of Tom, and blood was spurting everywhere. You squinted at them, your heart dropping — far too much blood was spraying out, and Matt was showing no signs of slowing down —

“It’s okay. You’ve got him,” you whispered, the words coming out of your mouth in a rasp. “Matt.”

Matt dropped Tom, who slid to the ground, unconscious. Using the edge of the boat to support yourself, you stood up slowly, and limped over to Matt; your knees were still aching from earlier. Gently you reached towards his shoulders. “I can call 911.”

“He deserves to die.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” you said. Matt was in a dangerous anger, you could tell; one wrong move and he’d do something he’d regret for the rest of his life. Choosing the right words now was imperative. “A judge will decide that.”

“He tried to kill you,” Matt snapped, whirling around and knocking your arm off his shoulder. “If he had — if he’d succeeded—”

“But he didn’t.”

“Does that matter?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Frank got there first. “Cool down, Red,” he said, as nonchalantly as though you were all at dinner together. “Your girl’s safe. We got the drugs before they could get shipped.”

“Don’t talk to me like I need to be calmed down,” Matt said, his voice hardly more than a snarl.

Frank stared at Matt for a few moments. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “To answer your question. It does matter that he tried killing her.” Then, without warning, he shot Tom, square in the forehead. You yelped, looking away from the bloody hole where his head was now caved in. His features were unrecognizable, and hollow in death, and yet you couldn’t help looking back at him, his eyes meeting yours as though he still were alive.

“Get her out of here. Warm her up,” Frank said, nodding at you. “I’ve got other business to do this evening.”

“Other business?” you asked, but Matt was reaching for you, skating his hands over your body.

“Sorry,” you said lamely, shaking slightly from the adrenaline. “I sort of disobeyed the only rule.”

“You could have died.”

“But there was a dog, and I had to save it — they tossed the poor thing overboard. I couldn’t just sit by.”

And, to your surprise, Matt’s lips cracked into a small smile. Though you couldn’t see his eyes under the mask, you could feel his warmth. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

Frank was gone already. Together, you and Matt exited the boat, and it took all of your willpower to not look back at the corpse.

“So,” you said, taking Matt’s hand as you walked down the dark street together. The feeling of the duct tape was lingering on your mouth, and the way that you had been tied up — the gun against your head — and it was making your heart race. Even though Matt would see right through you (hear right through you?), you adopted a casual tone. “How was my audition? Can I officially be the Assistant Daredevil?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not deflecting. I’m just wondering if I passed some sort of test, and if you’ll let me join you now—”

“Sweetheart.” Matt stopped short and pulled you into the shadows between buildings. “You’re not fooling me.”

“I’m not trying to fool you.” Your mouth was dry.

“That was intense. You don’t have to pretend it wasn’t. You could’ve died.” Matt’s voice shook a bit, and you were reminded that as terrifying as it was for you, it had probably been even worse for Matt. Because if you had died, and it was technically on his watch... yeah. That wouldn’t have gone over well.

You cupped his face, and he leaned into it slightly. “Okay. I’m a bit freaked out. But I’m okay.”

“Who’s reassuring who, now?” he said after a moment, and that warm, small smile returned. He pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly enough that you had to draw in a short breath.

“Maybe...” Your voice came out in a whisper. “Maybe we both need it tonight.”

A/N: Sorry for the slightly rushed ending but this was beginning to expand a bit too much and I didn’t want it to feel like it should have multiple chapters. Honestly, I wasn’t happy with this piece so it’s been sitting in my drafts for about a year now, but it’s been awhile since I posted a one shot, so... here we are.

Hope you all had a great day, thanks so much for reading!

-Elle

#daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #marvel #daredevil x reader #reader insert #reader #mcu #x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

475 notes · View notes

lovelettersforthedamned · 1 year ago

Note

Please please please smut 1 and 12 with Frank Castle!

Mission Accomplished

--genre: fluff & SMUT.

--pairing: frank castle x f!reader

--word count: 2.7k

--warnings: kissing, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, oral (f receiving), PinV, unprotected sex (NOO), creampie, so much sexual tension, fluff, friends to lovers, semi-public sex.

thank you for the request! enjoy<3

--gif credits: @bernthalized

You’ve been known to draw people in. Whether that be because of your personality, or something magical about you, people were always attracted to you, both romantically and platonically.

Frank was hard to crack, but still, he quickly became someone you considered to be one of your close friends. You’ve seen him an inch away from death’s grasp, and even with his consistent rejections of help, he finally let you in. You became someone he could rely on, often with his injuries.

At first, there was little to no talking while you patched him up. The occasional grunts and groans came from him while you asked him if he wanted water every so often. As the late nights continued, Frank began to talk. Sure, one-word responses weren’t much, but it was something. And as much as Frank wanted to deny it, he quickly realized why people were drawn to you.

Your friendship remained very exclusive for a while, only seeing each other when Frank was injured or for emergencies, but that became hard when you started to see him in a different light. For as long as you wanted to keep it buried, your feelings for Frank grew with each time you saw him. You had to push your feelings aside, for him.

***

The exhaustion of the day was evident, it was written all over your face. Locking the door behind you, you immediately kick off your shoes, set your things down on the counter, and sink into the couch; not bothering to turn on the lights. Maybe if you weren’t so tired you were able to notice Frank’s presence behind you, “Hey.”

Your once lounged state was now replaced by an alert one, sitting up straight you whipped your head around to find Frank standing behind the couch, looking directly at you. Walking towards the light switches, you catch your breath before speaking, “I know you’re not a big fan of your phone, but Jesus Christ Frank. Could you not just lurk in the shadows next time you decide to surprise me?”

With the light on you scan over his broad frame, scanning for any injuries. He walks towards you, the look on his face not the stoic one you’re used to seeing, “I know, I know, but I need to ask you to do something for me. It’s gonna be dangerous, and it’s gonna be risky, but you know I trust you with this type of stuff.”

“Frank, just tell me,” you cross your arms, the suspense killing you.

He sighs, “I’m going to a big tech gala tomorrow to retrieve some information on a ghost, and I need a plus one. Figured I thought it would be less suspicious if I brought you instead of going by myself.”

And after discussing the fine details, you agreed. Frank was surprised that you even considered, let alone say yes, but he knew you would do anything for your friends, even putting yourself in potential danger.

***

Slipping on your heels, you hear a knock at the door. Walking over and opening the door you see Frank in a clean black suit, you can’t help but scan your eyes up and down his figure. Little did you know, Frank was doing the same thing to you. While you were still speechless, Frank snapped out of his trance, feeling slightly guilty, he asked, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” clearing your throat, “let’s go!”

The car ride was mostly silent, you weren’t nervous until right now, and Frank could tell. Your hands were fidgeting with the fabric of your dress when he reached down to hold one and give it a tight squeeze. Looking up at him, he responds, “I’m gonna make sure nothing will happen to you tonight, I promise you.”

You squeeze his hand back and nod, taking a deep breath.

It didn’t take long until you drove right up to the gala’s steps, still holding onto Frank’s hand, and only letting go to step out of the car. As Frank handed the keys to the valet, your body was immediately searching for him again. The simple touch in the car made you yearn for more. In an instant he was at your side again, extending his arm to hold as you walked towards the front door.

You knew he was only doing this for show, but some of you hoped it was real.

As the front doors opened, you were greeted by a prestigious sight. The walls were lined with the company’s accomplishments while the guests were mingling either on the dance floor or at the tables with drinks in hand. No one pays the two of you any mind as you make your way to the party, everyone is either too dialed into conversation, or drunk to notice.

As servers walk around with trays of champagne, Frank swiftly grabs two and hands one to you. Your eyes crinkle in confusion, “Aren’t we supposed to be working?”

Frank takes a sip, savoring the taste, “I’m supposed to be working. Don’t worry, it’ll help your nerves, sweetheart.”

Bringing up the flute to your lips, you try to hide the obvious flustered look on your face, your cheeks suddenly warm. Sweetheart.

After finishing his drink, he turns to you, “I’m gonna go look around. I’ll be right back.”

You nod your head, and suddenly the worry is back. This wasn’t some silly fantasy, you were here because of Frank and whatever information he needed. This was all a front, whatever was going on between you and him isn’t real.

You must have zoned out while Frank was gone because he was back in what felt like a few minutes, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Frank doesn’t respond, only shakes his head once. Whatever happened while he was away was clearly not in his favor, and even you could tell. Placing your glass on a table near you, you grab his hand, your touch causing him to flinch away for a moment before he allows you in. You look back up at him, “Let’s dance.”

It takes him a second before he agrees, the silence making you anxious, but soon enough he follows. The music is slow, and couples around you sway back and forth in a delicate rhythm. Frank comfortably places both hands on your hips as you place yours on the back of his neck, the sudden closeness making your head spin.

You apparently don’t hide your emotions well as Frank speaks softly into your ear, “What are you thinking about?”

There he goes with that nickname again, and maybe it’s the champagne, but you have some strong feelings that need to escape, “I’m just thinking about how every time you call me ‘sweetheart’, I can’t help but think about it for a while.”

“Oh really? What happens when you think about it?” You hide your face into his chest, too embarrassed to answer. “You’ve never been shy, don’t start now.”

Pulling away, you look up at him through hooded eyes, “I can’t tell you in public Frank, it’s too crowded in here.”

“Then let’s go somewhere private. Keeping thoughts inside your head is bad for you, you know.”

Frank leads you off the dancefloor quickly and to a hallway near the entrance, the people around looking at the two of you confused. You giggle as he continues to walk towards a door. Opening the door for you, Frank has led you into an office of some sort. A grand desk was placed in the middle of the room, surrounded by bookshelves, and of course a chair. You’re still looking around the room when Frank’s voice echoes through the space, “So, what were you going to tell me, sweetheart?”

You’re tired of his teasing, walking up to him by the door, you smash your lips onto his, quietly locking the door behind him. His hands, once again, find his way to you, but this time to the supple flesh of your ass.

Walking forward, Frank guides you back until your legs hit the wood of the desk, causing you to sit. And then all of a sudden, you realize what you’re doing. You pull away from his lips, “Frank…what are we doing? You–You’re my friend, fuck what am I doing?”

“Hey, shh–,”

You cut him off, “Friends don’t do this kind of shit, Frank!”

You’re still sitting on the desk when his hand comes up to hold your face, “You’ll always be my friend, always. But you’ll always be something else, and it’s not just a friend.”

There’s nothing but relief in your body when he leans back down to kiss you again, a weight feels like it’s been lifted off your shoulders. You grasp the back of his neck, pulling him in to deepen your kiss.

Taking his other hand, he reaches down to your dress, bunching the fabric in his hands as he reveals more and more of your skin. As soon as he reveals your thigh, he releases the fabric to pool just above your knee. You whine into his mouth, disappointment, craving his touch once again.

He releases your lips, not fully pulling away. He hovers over you, before he mutters, “Nuh-uh, you’re gonna be patient, or I’ll make you wait till we get back to your place. Yeah?”

You nod, slightly lifting your head higher in an attempt to kiss him, your eyes locked onto his lips. He lifts his head higher this time, “I need you to say it, baby. Say you got it.”

You finally look into his eyes before speaking, “I got it.”

In an instant, he kneels to the floor, gliding his hand along your thigh, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. You knew exactly where he was going as you spread your legs for him, giving him easier access to where you really needed his touch. As soon as he is met with the delicate material of your panties, he groans, the fabric soaking wet. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You giggle in response, another groan leaving his lips. It seems like his patience was testing him too as he wastes no time pulling your panties to the side to rub his fingers up and down your slit. The sudden stimulation makes you throw your head back in pleasure.

After a few swipes back and forth, he kisses your thigh, causing you to look down at him, “You’re so wet for me, fuck…you think you’re ready for me?”

You’re breathless as you respond, “Yes! Yes, I’m ready. Please.”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he marvels, “but, I think you can be wetter than this, baby.”

You’re about to object when he pulls your dress up higher until you’re fully exposed. “I can make you wetter,” he hooks his fingers around your panties, pulling them down, “will you let me make you wetter?”

“Frank, please–please.”

Frank lifts your legs to rest on his shoulders, causing you to lean back on your elbows as he wraps his arms around your thighs. The cold air fluttering over your core sends a shiver down your back, but Frank’s mouth quickly remedies the cooling sensation, causing you to gasp.

His tongue quickly found its way to your clit, giving it a few delicate licks before he sucks on it. You can’t help but reach down to his hair, tugging and pulling on the dark strands. And suddenly your head was spinning, and the feeling of his mouth on you started to feel too good, “I’m gonna cum…oh god.”

With the sound of your whines, he pulls away, causing you to look at him with confused and slightly angry eyes. He rises from his knees and starts to undo his dress pants, pulling at the belt with one hand, “What did I say about being patient?”

Sighing for what felt like the millionth time tonight, you don’t object, not wanting to prolong this feeling of being on the edge.

Once Frank was finished with his belt, he unbuttons his pants, pulls down his zipper, and wastes no time pulling everything off, revealing his cock. Holy shit. He was hard, and there was no doubt he was thick. You look at his cock for a while before you look back at him in disbelief, “Now I know why you needed me wetter…Jesus, Frank.”

He chuckles, “You gonna keep looking at my cock, or are you gonna let me fuck you with it, (Y/N)?”

His choice of words shock you into silence, only three words escaping your lips, “Fuck me, please.”

You pull your legs into your chest, giving Frank easier access. Rubbing his tip up and down your folds, he groans before pushing into you. He’s slow with his movements, easing you into the new feeling. You both let out a collective breathy sigh when he bottoms out, the stretch making your walls pulse. And of course, Frank feels it all, “You’re fucking swallowing me, taking me so well–-shit.”

You can’t bear to hold yourself up anymore, opting to lay on the desk when he starts to pump faster. Frank is hitting that sweet spot in you, and you cannot get enough of it. Delicate moans are heard from you, but they quickly build up until the sound of your pleasure reverberates off the office walls.

Softly placing a hand over your mouth, he mutters, “Shh, there are people in the other room, and they can probably hear every single sound coming out of your pretty mouth.” You’re too far gone in pleasure to care, or to quip back a witty response. You just lay there and take his cock, and he’s hitting all the right spots. Frank can feel you tense around him. He knows exactly how you’re feeling. “I know you’re gonna cum,” he releases the hold on your mouth to pull down the fabric covering your breasts, giving your hard nipples a pinch, “do it for me. Let everyone out there know how good I’m making you feel.”

You cum, and you cum hard, for him. Your senses are flooded by ecstasy, the feeling making you shake. You can feel Frank still pumping into you as you cum, helping you ride it out. In your hazy state, you are suddenly aware of Frank’s grip on your hips when you look up at him. He’s so close. With your core still fluttering around him from your orgasm, it doesn’t take long for him to pump you full of his load. The feeling of him painting your walls makes you moan again.

Frank takes a breath before he pulls out of you, looking at the mixture of both your arousal spilling out of your swollen pussy. You’re adjusting your dress when he looks back up at you, taking a mental picture of your current state when he pulls his pants back up. He sees you wince as you slowly sit up, a flood of worry washes over his face, as he places a hand behind your back, “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m all good,” you stretch out your neck, “who knew laying on a hard desk would hurt your back? Not me, that’s for sure.”

He smiles before planting his lips on yours; but this time it wasn’t lustful, it was caring, it was soft. You can’t help but bring both hands up to his face, gently holding him. As you pull away, you suddenly realize why you were here in the first place, “Wait! What about the information you needed?” He keeps his gaze on you as he reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a small thumb drive. Your eyes light up in amusement before giggling, “You’re pretty good, but what was with that pouty attitude earlier? Hm?”

“Just needed to be close to you,” he answers nonchalantly.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in again, “Like this?”

He nods, “Just like this, baby.”

Your cheeks were warm, admiring every feature on his face, you could see him better when you’re this close, “Let’s go home. I’m pretty sure everyone in a 50-foot radius heard me, and now I’m embarrassed.”

“Alright,” he gives you one more glance up and down your figure, smoothing out a wrinkle in the gown, “let’s go.”

“Mission accomplished?”

“Mission accomplished, sweetheart.”

--author's note: GUYS!!! first frank castle fic, we are so up right now. i've been waiting to craft this up because he's so delicious and so tortured, i need him so bad. THANK YOU anon!!! this request is picture perfect! MY 200 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION IS STILL GOING ON, so send me a request if you love me (im jk...no i'm not). don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! okay, bye ily<3333

#marvel #fluff #smut #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle x you #the punisher #LLFTD 200 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION

254 notes · View notes

theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Marvel Masterlist

One Shots

Spook-vengers Tower - Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson (all platonic)

Better Than Gifts - Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda, Vision, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson (all platonic)

New Years Eve - Steve Rogers x Reader ft. The Avengers, Doctor Strange, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes (all platonic)

Not Making It Out - Loki x Reader

Love Is Sacrifice - Loki x Reader

Champion Selection - Loki x Reader

My Mistakes - Loki x Reader

The Task - Loki x Reader

Pulled From The Timeline - Loki x Reader

Poisoned Ice - Loki x Reader

Pompeii - Loki x Reader

Madripoor - Bucky x Reader

Why Would I? - Bucky x Reader

A Small Thing - Bucky x Reader

Not The Worst - Bucky x Reader

A Little Help - Bucky x Reader

When You Wake - Bucky x Reader

What We Started - Bucky x Reader

Kiss Her, Captain. - Steve x Reader

Attacked - Steve x Reader

Aftermath - Steve x Reader

The Drink Allergy - Steve x Reader

A Subtle Escape - Steve x Reader

A New Mission - Tony x Reader (platonic)

3am - Frank Castle x Reader (platonic)

Trick or Eat - Venom x Reader (platonic)

Halloween Cookie Surprise - Venom x Reader (platonic)

When Ghosts Hunt - Robbie Reyes x Reader

Under The Flame - Robbie Reyes x Reader

As Imagined - Ben Poindexter x Reader

Surprise Guest - Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Earpiece Patch - Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Imagines + Mini Fic

Imagine Steve wanting to propose but having to hold off because of the Civil War

Imagine Steve's surprise when you hit an entitled party guest

Imagine flirting with Steve much to his surprise

Imagine inviting Steve to the newly created Memorial Centre

Imagine a kiss from Steve to distract you from blinding pain

Imagine boldly telling Steve how you feel mid-mission

Imagine waking Steve up after being disturbed by a nightmare

Imagine being paired with Steve during the time-travel mission

Imagine Steve’s anger when you go off book during a mission

Imagine being the last person that Tony tells about 'moving day'

Imagine Bucky’s therapist asking about you

Imagine laughing at Bucky after his failed plane jump

Imagine getting caught in the crossfire of John Walker’s rampage

Imagine trying to talk John Walker down at Zemo’s apartment

Imagine waiting for Bucky and his cake delivery

Imagine convincing Bucky to get back into dating

Imagine taking Bucky to meet his dinner date

Imagine being ambushed by HYDRA while waiting for Bucky

Imagine Bucky being present when you wake up

Imagine Sam’s pleasant surprise when Bucky treats you gently

Imagine Bucky getting jealous on a mission

Imagine refusing to work with Loki at the TVA

Imagine Loki trying to explain his theory to you on a busy day

Imagine Loki being asked to let you go

Imagine discovering that Loki is to aid in the escape of Asgard

Imagine Loki falling asleep on your hand

Imagine Mobius shocking you with an idea regarding Loki

Imagine Loki hearing about your variants

Imagine sending Mobius to calm Loki after you’re injured

Imagine Loki stealing your pie at the TVA

Imagine your surprise when Thor brings Loki to Norway

Imagine learning that Hela wants you dead too

Imagine waking up on Sakaar to find Loki trying to help

Imagine Loki learning why you lied and faked your death

Imagine Loki accidentally time-slipping when you’re getting dressed

Imagine asking Thor about a gift that you gave him

Imagine Thor trying to grant you visitation with Loki

Imagine Thor learning that you’re in Norway with his father

Imagine Thor asking Loki about your whereabouts on Sakaar

Imagine finding Venom raiding your pantry

Imagine spending the holidays alone in Avengers Tower

Imagine checking on Robbie’s injuries

Imagine helping Matt escape the prison after Fisk takes control

Imagine Marc Spector inquiring about your hand injury

Imagine Khonshu trying to convince you to be his avatar

Imagine going present shopping for the Avengers

Imagine the Avengers when they learn that you and Bucky were attacked

Imagine Clint coming to you after a mission gone wrong

Imagine Fury asking you to be a diversion

Series

The Rider’s Guardian - Robbie Reyes x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Stowaway Cloak - Stephen Strange, Reader (platonic)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

(Return to the Easy Navigate Masterlist)

519 notes · View notes

madschiavelique · 1 year ago

Text

˖𓍯. 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐬. ★. ₊ ⭑

⟢﹒ pairing : matt murdock x audhd!reader x frank castle

⟢﹒ summary : your family is an ordeal to endure, full of disparaging remarks that make for a horrible evening. fortunately, Matt and Frank come to keep you company during the family diner and take you home to look after you.

⟢﹒ content warnings : hurt/comfort, extremely self-indulgent, reader's family are degrading, audhd reader close to breaking down, reader having sensory issues, reader getting overstimulated, the guys in this are so lovable and sweet boyfriends, afab!reader, no use of Y/N

⟢﹒ word count : 9,3k

⟢﹒ note : had quite a shitty christmas ngl, so i thought writing this piece of comfort would be helpful ! if you only want to read the comfort part, i'll place a separation by using a black divider between the hurt and comfort part. a huge thank you to my bestie @sunflowersandsapphires who proofread this <3. have a good read lovelies!

You passed a q-tip close to your eyes in the hope of correcting the curve of your make-up, trying with that scatterbrained perfectionism that accompanied you in even the most minute tasks to ensure that everything was symmetrical.

Nothing too extravagant, just something elegant, neutral, but that would do. The standard was just to look presentable, from the face to the rest of the body. Jeans, an oversized hoodie, nothing special.

This lack of personal distinction was undoubtedly due to the rejection of perception, the insistent stares, the embarrassing compliments that could suddenly put you in the spotlight tonight, an idea that made you feel profoundly uneasy.

You stepped back a little, checking to see if the much-desired symmetry had been achieved, and no sooner had you put down your utensil than you were asked to do the little cousins' make-up.

Tonight was an annual family reunion: Christmas, where aunts, uncles, grandparents and grandchildren got together over foie gras, salmon and dubious discussions. Where guests who have just left are criticised, where disparaging remarks are exchanged, and where the meal always ends up drifting into politics with more or less heated debates at the table.

You anticipated the evening, an anxious knot already forming in your stomach. You had a particular link with your family, of which the affection was strangely displayed if at all in a way you despised entirely. Every year was a different pain, a different bitter taste that lingered in your thoughts like poison, and you were not delighted to participate in this celebration when you would’ve preferred staying home.

Only one thing held you in place and convinced you that the night wouldn't be a constant and unrelenting hell: Matt and Frank were coming over.

This winter, it was the first time you would’ve been accompanied by them, and by anyone in fact. Knowing the rather strong opinions of your family, the simple idea of saying that you shared your life with two men in a more than platonic way had been dismissed a long time ago. A trouple? If that fell in the ears of one of your family members, you could be sure that you'd become the next freak of the night.

So you talked it over with the boys and came up with a plan to make sure you could bring them both along and not make a big deal of it: one of them would pretend to be your boyfriend, while the other would just be your friend that had nothing better to do for the celebration.

The choice of boyfriend fell on Frank, and friend on Matt.

He had asked why, and you had explained that it was obviously in no way because of favouritism or anything of the sort, but rather the simple fact that he would get more compliments behind his back if he wasn't with you than if he was.

He'd frowned, but you'd had to explain to them how your family was sometimes built on clusters of shrill gossip, talking behind others' backs and later making remarks to their faces in tones of passive aggressiveness and wicked irony.

You also had to educate them, that no matter what was said about you tonight, not to react. They'd probably be itching to, it would be like a thread sticking out, but they were forbidden to pull on it.

You looked at the clock, seven past. You'd texted Frank to ask where they were and when they'd arrive. Eight thirty had been their reply, and you took a deep breath. An hour and a half to go.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, assuring yourself everything was alright and that you were presentable enough. You can do it, you kept telling yourself, this night knows an end.

The first complications arose sooner than you thought.

First of all, you'd managed to find a decent seat in an armchair and not on a sofa. However, this seat was very close to the fireplace, where a blazing fire licked the brown logs with appetite. Very close, too close, close enough that it felt suffocating.

You moved your chair back slightly as best you could, trying not to disturb the conversation that was already well underway.

You tried to take a few snacks, perhaps some cashews, crackers or cherry tomatoes might ease your boredom and distract you from the growing heat.

You pulled out your phone, hoping that Frank and Matt would get here sooner, and would've sent a message to that effect. Or perhaps was there a notification from any of your friends, a reel, a meme, anything-

"Put your phone away, we're with the family."

You looked up, your mother watching you and taking her glass in hand with a look of dissatisfaction. In a single instant, your cheeks heat up all the more as the fire in the fireplace presses against your skin, and you gulped.

"I just wanted to check if I had any news about Matt and Frank's drive," you explained simply, gently stuffing the phone into your pocket.

"They'll arrive when they arrive, but for now, be with us."

You nodded, discreetly biting your cheek as one of your only escapes for tonight went up in smoke. You would have much preferred to be able to escape a little and block out what was going on around you, even sorting out your gallery and deleting useless pictures would have been a more pleasant and less stressful activity.

But you couldn't, and you said nothing when it was your mother's turn to pick up her own phone and connect to the speaker to play her Christmas playlist.

The children played together, which should’ve been a joy, but their overexcited screams, incessant movements and all that noise were enough to make you feel the headache setting in.

There were easily three different conversations going on around you, and your mother turned up the music in response. You waved, putting your hand in front of you as if you were lazily dribbling an invisible ball to indicate her to lower the volume, and she turned the music down a notch.

You clenched your jaw, thinking to yourself that this was a good start, even if everything else was getting harder to hold on to.

Choosing to wear a hoodie became almost a regret as the ambient heat from the fireplace worked its way up your spine to the nape of your neck, creating an unpleasant feeling. Soon enough, you had to take it all off as the first signs of nausea began to make themselves felt.

You weren't particularly comfortable with the idea, but everyone's attention was obviously diverted enough to take no notice of your actions. Except perhaps for one.

"You could have made an effort on your outfit, it's not very festive." Your mother sighed before taking a sip from her glass of champagne. "Hadn't you lost weight? It would be a shame to spoil the occasion."

You swallowed, the ground looking awfully interesting at this very moment. You knew what would have been said to you if you'd worn something more in the spirit of it, "You've got a nice body, you should wear that more often," and other remarks falling into the famous "you should insert-disobliging-action more often" category.

You should wear that more often. You should smile more often. You should come more often. But none of these requests were of the taste to be fulfilled by you tonight.

So you simply shrugged, having nothing in particular to say, and feeling your heart clench. You were stuck in this contradictory place where if you made one move slightly changing from your usual self to them, you were reprimanded on it, but if you didn’t do anything in particular, they highlighted the fact that it was disappointing you hadn’t done anything.

"Well, we're delighted to have you with us tonight!" chuckled an uncle, raising his glass to you.

"It sure makes a change from knowing she's in her cave," chuckles an aunt.

You smile, but there's no warmth behind the gesture. By cave, they mean your bedroom. Your habit of isolating yourself had brought you a certain reputation within your family, and for years now it has been a recurring joke. They laughed about it every time, but you saw it more as a broken record replaying the same snippet of music... speaking of which, your mother turned up the sound again, thinking you wouldn't notice.

"Could you turn it down please? It's really loud." you ask politely, in the most calm, composed and polite tone you could produce at the moment.

"Oh come on," your mother grumbles, rolling her eyes, "we're allowed to have fun."

She turned up the volume once more, and finally someone other than you told her it was too loud. Reluctantly, she lowered the sound slightly, but it was still not enough for you. Your hands lodge over your ears, hoping with all your heart that this would ease the strain on your eardrums.

Conversations sought to drown out the music, each member pushing their voice for any discussion. Kids were still running around, chasing one another by screaming at each other, and adjusting your eyes on anything without the certainty of getting a headache felt like mission impossible.

Your hands on your ears helped slightly, and it was only then that your mother looked at you with a surprised expression.

"Does it really hurt?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes," you nodded, "it really does."

Finally, she turned it down, and you exhaled as the others resumed a more appropriate though still higher volume of discussion than you'd prefer. The kids had been changed of room, making it more bearable for you to live through.

"So, what have you been up to lately?" asks one of your grandparents, "how's work?"

Your cheeks heat up, the discussion now turned towards you, prompting you to take your glass in hand just to have something to quench your throat suddenly arid as the sahara.

"Very well, business is good." you smiled falsely, forcing your face to display the features they might normally expect to see.

"Great, and those two guests coming tonight, do you know them from work?"

How could you say that the circumstances in which you had met these two men were in a situation that included Frank and Matt falling into your flat, bloodied, and asking you for help?

Karen, who you’d known through college, had advised them of your address, and when the first opportunity came up, they had taken the chance to make the most exceptional introduction you'd ever had in your life : stumbling at your place with cuts all around

"In a way, yes," you replied, pressing your lips into a thin line.

"One of them's her boyfriend, and the other's a lawyer," your mother informed the others, who seemed delighted by your seemingly noble company.

It's a good thing the flames in the fireplace were dying down and that it wasn't so hot anymore, because both your cheeks felt like you were resting the back of your hand on hot embers. It was a never-ending embarrassment to have such behaviour around you, saying aloud everything regarding you without you consenting to any information to be given. Wherever ridiculous actions or the slightest subject that was even a little new and out of their boredom-inducing daily lives occurred, they swarmed.

Nevertheless, the conversation drifted away to your delight, and at the mention of your loves, you couldn't stop thinking about them. You would have liked to check the time, to see if they had any problems on the way that might have delayed them, but you knew that such conduct was likely to earn you an additional remark about the use of your telephone. After all, she could find openings as easily as water in a colander.

Just then, a dance song began to play which, objectively, had nothing to do with the Christmas spirit. So everyone stood up, moving the chairs to get more room, and you helped in this cacophony of moved furniture.

You stood to one side as everyone got to the centre of the room, their dance steps resembling a veritable collective epileptic seizure of which you had no desire to become another member.

You took the opportunity to take refuge in the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind you and sitting down on the toilet to take a deep breath. The after-effects of all these mixed sensations were beginning to make themselves known.

Your body was as taut as a bowstring, as if every muscle had contracted from a high fall, and it felt as if releasing all the tension would break you in thousands of small pieces. Your heart wasn't beating particularly fast, but it was beating hard, and you couldn't ignore it.

You took a deep breath, letting your head fall back as you closed your eyes. Your throat and chest were tight, so tight that you felt like crying right now. But you couldn't, it would be too noticeable once you got out of here, and you didn't want to give them the pleasure of having an extra subject to talk about at the end of the evening once you'd gone. It would do them too much honour, and you couldn't afford to give them any.

You were so tired, you couldn't take it any more, the fatigue coursing through your body like you'd run a marathon of shame. You breathed in again, feeling your previously tight chest slowly relax as your body was jolting a bit from the unease.

This wouldn't last forever. By the end of the evening, after dessert, you wouldn't be in this house surrounded by all these people, all these eyes, all these mouths, all this noise.

That's when your phone buzzed, and without missing a beat, you pulled it out of your pocket. On the screen was a single message from Frank that gave you tremendous reassurance:

We're here.

You bit your lip, nodding slowly. One last breath for courage and you stood up, opening the door of the bathroom. Without anyone noticing, you grabbed your hoodie and stepped outside into the cool of the night.

The sudden chill brought you unparalleled comfort, biting your cheeks hot with frustration and embarrassment. Perhaps the night would heal you, that its cool caress would apply its balm of softness to all that pressure and relieve you of your tension.

You turned your key ring to find the one for the gate a little further on, trying to walk and not sprint to it. Inserting the key almost frantically but controlling your excitement and relief at their presence, you opened the game.

And there they were, smiling at you.

"Evening sweetheart," Frank smiled when he saw you.

"Sorry we took so long," Matt apologised, pressing his lips together.

You looked behind you to make sure no one had followed you outside, closing the gate slightly so that you wouldn't be seen. You knew that even from here, your group of three could be seen as a pile of meat around which the vultures would circle, and you didn't want to risk being their next meal.

You hugged them both, relieved to have them close to you, and the suddenness and desperation in your gesture almost seemed to surprise them. They hugged you back, kissing your temple.

"Your cheeks are warm," Frank chuckled, pressing his face harder against yours, making you giggle.

"Is everything okay?" asked Matt, stroking your hair, "you're all tense."

Of course, Matt noticing every microscopic detail as usual, couldn't help but pick up on how stiff your body looked, and how the smell of stress covered your skin in the thinnest film. There was no point in lying to Matt, or pretending to divert the subject with Frank, so you sighed.

"Lots of noise, not much serenity," you replied, letting your head fall against the devil's chest.

You were trying to cherish all this a little more, because once you were back in the house, you and Matt wouldn't be able to touch each other again except perhaps to pass a plate across the table and let your fingers deliberately brush against each other.

They'd already been told by you what to expect, and even if they were prepared, they were sorry to find you like this.

"We won't stay here the whole night," Matt reassures as he wraps his arms around you, stroking your back. "Let's hope we get out of here before Frank goes so far as to take the silverware from the table and threaten anyone with the butter knife."

"You're ruining my fun, Red. Now I've got to find something more inventive," sighed the latter.

"Take the star at the top of the pine tree, it'll be sharp enough," you suggested, turning your head towards him, cheek still pressed against Matt's chest.

"See that, that's Christmas spirit," smiled Frank.

You loosened your embrace, Matt gently kissing your lips. He savoured the moment, and so did you, because this kind of proximity with him wasn't going to happen again for several hours.

"Ready?" asked Frank, letting his pointer finger form a hook to caress the skin of your cheek.

You looked at the lights further away from the house, hearing the music from here and already preparing in the second part of the night.

"Ready," you breathed in before reopening the gate and letting them through.

You felt your heart clench again, the unpleasant tingle of anxiety coursing through your veins in a fluid traffic that seemed impossible to dilute. You tried to breathe calmly, preparing yourself once again to face the suffocating interior of sounds, movements and remarks.

"Remember, if you need to take a break from all this and go outside, squeeze my hand three times, okay sweetheart ?" reminded Frank, placing his hand on the small of your back.

"Yeah," you swallowed, nodding softly as a tight little smile spread across your lips.

You'd agreed to pretend, in case things got desperate and you needed a break, that Frank was a smoker, and that you and Matt shared his ciggy break together.

All of this preparation had come from the fact your mother had passed an entire questioning about your boyfriend - or at least one of them - to prepare herself conventionally. You knew how she was, and such coaching with the guys was for the better.

Still, his hand on your back was reassuring, and made things easier to bear.

You opened the door, and everyone turned to you with a big "Ah" of satisfaction. Introductions were made as both took off their jackets. Frank remained friendly but guarded - as usual, typical Frank - and Matt seemed to bloom in this social environment like a freshly blossomed flower.

It didn't take long for most of your family to decide that they loved Matt. His well-timed humour, his natural charm, his eloquence, everything about him made him a man to be admired.

"Isn't there any way he could be your boyfriend instead?" said an aunt, approaching you as Matt and Frank continued to be introduced.

"He's way out of her league," sneered another, "they both are, actually."

You pressed your lips together, blowing falsely from your nose to feign amusement. You knew Matt could hear every little jab at you tonight, and if he was feeling any frustration, he was hiding it perfectly.

"Where did you get them? I want one too," said the first, making the other laugh.

"Might get the lawyer's phone number," she replied.

"Yours is very fine too," remarked the other, "how'd you manage to get him ?"

They both said these sentences as if their own husbands weren't in the room, and as if the possibility of you being in a relationship with one of them was a miracle, or just a huge stroke of luck.

"Through work," you replied mechanically and through clenched teeth before moving into the kitchen to help with the dishes.

You knew these sorts of remarks were to be brought up, on how you’d managed to surround yourself so well. Matt and Frank had long wondered how your confidence in yourself was so low, but maybe tonight would’ve been the perfect example as to why it was the case.

The transition to the table was almost seamless. Everyone sat down, the seating order meticulously adapted for everyone. Fortunately, you found yourself between Frank and Matt. You were inwardly grateful for the choice of decorations when you realised that the tablecloth was quite long, and that the reassuring hand Matt had just put on your thigh wouldn't be noticeable.

You breathed softly, the warmth of his hand anchoring you better in all of this and giving you something to focus on that was sweeter than any mean remarks.

Of course, with every new person around the table comes an interrogation to get to know them. Questions of all kinds followed for the boys, about their work, their activities, your aunts of course looking for answers as to how you and Frank had ended up together.

You'd worked it out and decided that Matt had introduced you to Frank and that, through your shared tastes in literature and other things, you'd ended up bonding.

"If books are the new way to getting to a man I've got some reading to do," joked one of the aunts, making the table laugh unanimously, "never thought you'd manage anything of the sort."

The pique directed at you made you feel as if you were swallowing a large ice cube with difficulty, but you covered your discomfort with an expert fake smile. Masking all that discomfort since the start of the evening was beginning to prove complicated, but you weren't going to use the smoking-break Joker just yet.

You could see in the corners of your eyes how Matt was wearing a stiff smile, and how Frank's jaw was tense. Gently reaching under the table, you took both their hands, turning to Frank with another smile that this time wasn't imbued with the polite mask you wore, but with sincerity.

"Let's just say I was lucky " to have found two such extraordinary people who fill my life with love on a daily basis, would you have finished.

You squeezed their hands, drawing small circles on their skins as they both smiled.

The starter was over, the main course continued as your stomach was refusing to let you eat anything, and the whole thing brought together discussions that made you uncomfortable to say the least. All sorts of unconscious or simply cruel racist, homophobic and even transphobic remarks were placed on the table.

You remained silent, not speaking particularly. You had no desire to take part in this kind of discussion, given how horrible the venom on each other's tongues was. You just hoped it would all be over soon, looking forward to going home with Frank and Matt.

The cousins were chatting away like fascists, one talking about Napoleon, and the old days being the best, while talking about the questionable politicians he was listening to on the radio.

The cheese arrived, and then came the little break just before dessert. They put on a film for the children, so that the adults could have a quiet chat without all the heckling.

Hearing the parents' arse jokes, you'd think they'd be fucking each other on the table if they thought it was funny. You could very well let your own sassy tongue out, say that if this aunt isn't listening to what's being said already it's because she's working out her next gossip, but you have to forgive her because she wouldn't be like this if her husband wasn't cheating on her, or maybe he's cheating on her because she's like this.

To tell the uncles that they're less likely to die from terrorism than from alcoholism, to tell one aunt to strap the kids up tight because her husband is going to be driving as if he had an autonomous car. And that you would’ve liked to finish by saying that no matter the smiles, the village fete, all it took was a small difference for everyone to see the real faces.

But you said nothing, keeping to yourself those comments that would only serve to fuel their hatred.

As Frank came up to grab another drink, your mother sat next to you on the sofa while the two boys came to be monopolised by aunts and uncles. A procession of rednecks near Frank discussing his familiarity with weapons and his military past, while the aunts were wiggling around Matt hoping to curry favour with the young lawyer.

"It's too hot in here," you murmured as you shifted a little from your mother, but she wasn't letting go and placed her head on your shoulder.

"But I want to be close to you," she said with a pout, the alcohol making her visibly affectionate.

You tensed, the desire to get away from it all running through your body, screaming under your skin. But there was nothing you could do, frozen there in the middle of it all, having to endure the situation as best you could.

The familial conversation drifted onto the subject of intellectuality, on the fact that your family was made up of nothing else, or at least for the most part. And you felt tiny, because they were generally right: they were all huge readers of the classics, who knew a lot about history, literature, philosophy and other human sciences.

All these subjects were familiar to you, because you had had to learn them, to master them in the face of the global family demand for the cultivation of excellence.

Even though you were the ugly duckling of the family, that didn't stop you sharing this knowledge and they were all aware of it. You were able to inject the conversation with valid arguments and insights you'd learned on your own that were important to the topic, and whenever the occasion to say something wise came up that you grasped, they seemed more tolerable to you.

When the discussion turned to the descendants of a painter, you were asked to verify the accuracy of certain statements. So you looked it up on your phone, but barely half a minute later, your mother couldn't resist reprimanding you:

"What did I tell you on your phone? Not when we're with the family."

Irritation from all the previous events of the evening was beginning to press down on you, and it was with some irritation that you replied:

"But I've been asked for some information."

Your voice was almost like that of a child defending themselves against someone calling them a liar, and this tone seemed to displease her when her gaze hardened.

"Don't talk to me like that, and put your phone away."

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it felt like it was going to bleed, and said nothing as you put your phone back in your pocket while the conversation around you resumed.

You didn't meet Frank's gaze, nor did you turn to Matt, because you knew that this simple gesture would show weakness and a cry for help. However, you had made them swear not to interfere, and you remained silent for a while, trying to calm yourself down as you watched the fire ripple in the fireplace like an orange veil dancing in the wind while you fiddled with your fingers.

The tic was automatic; Matt and Frank would have preferred to have taken your hand in theirs to prevent this torment.

What irritated you most of all was the profound injustice of the whole evening. You wouldn’t say anything, and you’d be considered too silent so people would ask you questions, but once you opened your mouth they were not satisfied with your answers. You couldn’t take your own phone, when all the aunts had their own, texting to their friends and all. Children had the right to get away in another room and watch a movie, while you had to stick there doing nothing but listening to whatever was said.

You couldn’t wait for the night to come to an end.

It was time to store the presents everywhere and pretend to the children that Santa had stopped by while they were watching the movie. Everything was placed in colourful piles, and when the children were called, they ran down the stairs and began the frantic tearing of gift wrap to an orchestra of shrieks and shredding.

All the accumulated sounds made you grit your teeth, tightening your throat and making you want to cry. You could feel the limit coming, and you needed a break to prevent you from imploding.

This time you took Frank's hand and squeezed it three times. He turned to you immediately, stroking your cheek before telling Matt. As quickly as they could without looking rushed, they put on their jackets and went out after you.

The night air calmed some part of you instantly, the contrast between all the hectic ambiance inside and the calmness of the outside felt like two extreme opposite worlds living by the only separation of a door.

To make sure that even from the outside there would be no doubt about this cover, Frank had to play along by taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He seemed irritated, and the idea of that Joker card almost seemed to play a real asset in all this to calm him down.

"How the fuck do they sleep at night?" he grumbles as he puffs out his first drag, "it's like they take every opportunity they get to pull you down."

"It's alright, let it slide." you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

"No it's not," he continues, "I can't believe you managed to handle their company for all these years."

"Didn't have much of a choice," you breathe.

"I know you said it was bad, I just didn't imagine it was constantly so," Matt confirmed.

"If I go back there I might actually punch them in the face," Frank grumbles before taking another drag on the cigarette.

"All that's left is the presents from the adults, then the Yule log, and then we'll be off, okay?" reassured Matt, placing his hand gently on your shoulder.

The touch of his hand brought a comforting warmth, and his words managed to reassure you. You looked at them both, thinking about how it would’ve been without them : unbearable, definitely. You had barely been able to handle it before they came, but now that they were here, you felt safe, like half of the poison that was thrown at you was not as effective.

They had changed you, made you feel loved, cherished, proud. They had been trying to break these patterns, the self depreciation, the self sabotage, the lack of self confidence. They were helping you build yourself back up from the ruins everyone else had left, and you were the most grateful to the universe to had brought them in your life.

"Thank you both, for being here," you admitted, your voice almost cracking, the coolness of the night giving you a feeling of security that was enough to relax your knotted throat.

They turned towards you, their faces softening. They knew what you were going through, what you were enduring for the night, and how complicated and unpleasant it must have been until they arrived.

Frank took you in his arms, the smell of tobacco already permeating his clothes. Matt must not have been enjoying it at all, smelling that darkly sugary, smoky smell all around him, but whatever personal discomfort he was experiencing he didn't let it show.

"It's the least we can do, beautiful," he replied, stroking your back.

"We just wish we could shut their mouths," Matt agreed, holding back from participating in the embrace as you’d instructed him.

"And stop this whole group of women from praising you?" sneered Frank, which made you smile.

Matt's nose scrunched up and his bottom lip curled in disgust at the remark.

"One of them wanted to feed me appetisers, and another asked me about being blind and whether I'd mind being in a relationship with someone whose looks I can't see." he said with a sigh.

"And then?" asked Frank curiously as you both turned to face the lawyer.

"I told her that I didn't need to see to know who was good-looking, and that if I chose my relationships purely on looks, I wouldn't know true friendship or love."

"All those poetic words must have pleased her," Frank punctuated with a whistle.

"Not until I told her my grandmother wore the same perfume as her."

You and Frank both laughed softly, truly impressed at how Matt was handling all this flirting and cringe from several women altogether.

But this calm moment had to have an end, as the cigarette grew smaller and smaller by the minute. Frank broke away from your embrace to finish it and stubbed it out on the wall.

This little outing had done you a world of good. The cool night air had refreshed you, its delicate silence giving you a break from all the noise and the terrible comments from your family all the while Frank and Matt allowed you this break from constant barbs.

You returned again inside, the end of the opening of presents for the children welcoming you. And so the opening of those for the adults began, all the parcels being stored on the table in more chic and sober wrappings. The grandparents started, Frank standing behind you with one hand on your shoulder and the other holding his glass of champagne.

One by one, they all opened their presents, until it was your turn. Embarrassment gripped your body as all eyes were on you, and you dreaded the opening simply by being watched with boredom mixed with curiosity - to see how you might react and make the slightest faux pas.

You went about it slowly, wishing to unpack properly and not act like a barbarian tearing everything apart at once. Your aunt beside you imitated a yawn at the fact that you were making them wait, and everyone laughed, a tense little smile nailed to your cheeks.

What you got in the end wasn't too bad, nor too far from what you could appreciate, surprisingly. Of course, you had to force yourself to smile at most of the useless gifts that gave you absolutely no pleasure, but you thanked everyone, and the presentation of gifts moved on to the next ones.

"Didn't you get her anything?" your mother asked the boys.

"Her presents are at my place," Frank informed her.

The sentence made your heart spike up, a sudden warmth colouring your chest in pink softness as the sparkles of it brought the tingling sensation of tears at the corners of your eyes. Presents, they had gotten you presents.

You were not going to cry, of course not, but the lump formed in your throat gave you enough of a hard time that you had to grab your drink and sip on it.

"Speaking of your place, have you looked at the traffic to get home?" questioned Matt, "I don't think I want to take too long."

"I'll have a look," he said, taking his hand off your shoulder to pick up his phone.

You wondered if Matt had had enough, if his own senses had been overwhelmed by all of this and he was pondering on going home. But then realised what they were doing : feigning traffic disruption in order to get home early and save yourself a lot of awful time.

"I think we're going to have to go," Frank nodded as he put his phone away. "Sweetheart? Ready?" he asked, bending over so that his chest pressed against your back.

"Yes," you said as you took a big breath and stood up, saying goodbye to the whole family.

You dreaded the hugs, the kisses on the cheeks or simply the fact of pressing them together and imitating the sound of what should have been a fake smooch, but with a surge of tiredness you objected to this using the excuse of " time is running out".

In no time at all, Matt and Frank had gathered up all your things and were carrying them, heading for the entrance hall to collect theirs.

In less time than it takes to say it, you were finally outside, walking up to the gate. You felt as if your lungs were being squeezed as you went along, almost expecting to feel a rope being pulled tight inside you to tie you to the house, for someone to come out and catch you or whatever. You felt almost like a gnat trying to escape from the spider's web in which it had been stuck a little too long.

You stuck the key in the lock of the gate, turned it hastily, then opened it to let them go with you, closing the big opaque metal door with that step. The pressure hadn't gone away from your body yet, every limb feeling like it was made of thick, rough foam where multiple needles had pierced you in the many crevices they'd already left and were digging even deeper.

You looked for the car in the hope of getting to it as quickly as possible, but you let out a little squeal of surprise when your feet flew off the ground as Frank swept you up in his arms like a princess.

"Ain't no way you're gonna walk, you've had enough exhaustion for the night," he said, tightening his grip on your back and the back of your knees.

"But-" you began reflexively, although the idea of giving up this position didn't bring you any comfort.

"Ah ah," he stopped, "don't wanna hear about it." If he had his two hands free and was being childish, he would have put them over his ears, singing la la la and pretending not to hear anything.

But his hands were firmly under you, giving you all the security you could have dreamed of and the beginnings of a comfort that would last all evening until you'd sleep.

"Circus night is over," Matt huffed, taking a deep breath, "I think I've heard enough nonsense for one year."

"Lucky for you, next one's less than a week away," sneered Frank.

"I'd rather lose a second sense than inflict this on myself and our angel a second time," the demon replied as he grabbed the car keys from Frank's pocket and opened it.

He opened one of the rear doors, letting Frank gently place you in and strap you in place, placing a kiss on your forehead as he stepped aside to let Matt pass and place the few bags in the boot.

Matt sat down beside you, and you let your head fall on his shoulder. You felt the tingles of anxiety under your skin lodge in your legs and squeeze your chest, the rush to get out of here weighing heavily on your head.

Frank sat in the front seat, turning the car key and making it purr, then drove off.

As the car rounded the corner, all the tension began to dissipate and you let the breath you'd been holding in escape from your chest. Your whole body felt heavy, your hands gloved with marble, your legs booted with lead and your head stuffed with cotton.

You felt the softness of Matt's lips as he placed a kiss on your forehead, his hand coming to rest on your thigh as you hummed under the sweetness of his comfort.

"It's all over now," he said, resting his chin on your head, "we're going to take care of you."

You snuggle up to him, your hand coming to rest on his as you breathe softly. Your fingers drew soft, formless patterns on the back of his hand, fighting the fatigue that had fallen on you like an anvil.

The moment was sweet, Matt's warmth through his clothes spreading close to you as you turned his hand onto his back to gently trace the lines from his palm up to his callused fingers.

"I'd have to get rid of some of them," grunted Frank, who clearly hadn't yet calmed his frustration, "I'm sure they'd be much better off in an asylum."

"It's an insane asylum, not an asshole asylum," Matt remarked, "you'd have to build asshole asylums but... you can imagine the size of the buildings."

"Yeah, still, maybe I should have burnt my cigarette on one of their cars."

"What a nice Christmas present," chuckled Matt.

"I can be generous sometimes," confirmed Frank.

"Especially when you threaten people," you agreed.

"A pittance," Matt snickered, "Is that one of my sweaters by the way ?

"Yes," you sigh, "I'll have you know it's been criticised tonight."

"Really? By whom."

"I'll let you guess."

"A bit bold coming from someone dressed like Norman Bates who dresses like his mother," Frank grumbled.

You laughed softly, a sort of little venting session taking place in the car like a debriefing following a bizarre situation.

"With all those women around, Red's charm knows no bounds," laughed Frank, "you've caught the eye of one in particular it seems."

"My aunt? She's suffering from too much oestrogen. If you're interested, I can put you in touch," you grinned.

" I'd rather sleep on cotton sheets." grunts Matt as his hand grabs your thigh and squeezes a little tighter, letting a small chirp of amusement escape from between your lips.

The ride continued, and your stomach went all hollow, grumbling with displeasure at the emptiness you'd left it.

"Didn't eat much, did you ?" asked Matt softly.

"Barely touched her plate," confirmed Frank at the front.

"Didn't feel like it," you murmured.

"Is there anything you'd like when you get home?" proposed the demon, interlacing his fingers with yours.

"Something sweet," you hummed, adjusting your chin to rest it on his shoulder.

"Anything else?"

"Two pairs of arms around me," you smiled.

They both grinned, and the ride went by in a flash. You untied yourself once you'd arrived, stretching slightly as you shifted to open the door beside you, but Matt's hand from your thigh came to grab your hip and pull you back to him in a gesture that seemed immensely easy.

You turned to face him, confused for a moment, as he kissed your cheek.

"No walking, remember?" he smiled as Frank opened his car door to come towards yours.

You sigh, shaking your head slightly as you roll your eyes. They were overdoing it, but you weren't going to stop them.

"Come here princess," Frank said as he pulled your hips towards him to take you in his arms again.

You wrapped your hands around the back of his nape, nestling your face in his neck and smelling his subtle cologne on his warm skin.

Matt took the bags and went ahead to open the door for you. The familiar smell of your real home seemed to wash all your worries from your body as you took a simple breath.

The bags were deposited in the hallway, Frank walking over to the sofa to set you down.

"Stay right there and don't move," he informed, hands on either side of you as he kissed you softly.

"What happens if I move ?" you asked, placing one of your hands on his arms.

"I'll tie you up like a pretty present," he chuckled as he kissed you again, "the most perfect present we'd ever have."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" you teased, your foreheads pressed together.

"It's a statement," he concluded.

He straightened up, and you were already missing his presence near you, but you respected his request - or rather his order - and remained seated on the sofa. Your head fell back, your body moulding itself to the shape of the couch under the effect of the evening's emotional turmoil. The tension drained away more and more, relaxing your tired muscles and making you yawn.

It wasn't long before Matt and Frank returned with more casual outfits and packages in their hands. You straightened up, bending your knees on the sofa about to get up, but remembering the fact that walking wasn't a possibility, you explained:

"I've got some for you too, am I allowed to go and get them?"

"For us?" said a surprised Frank, pointing at himself as if there was some mistake.

"You mean the packages under the first step of the stairs?" questioned Matt, "I thought those were packages you forgot about for the others."

"No, these are for you," you confirmed as you sat back down on your knees on the sofa.

They stood like that, one blinking repeatedly while the other kept his lips parted.

"You really didn't have to-" Matt began, but you stopped him immediately.

"Tsk tsk, if I don't have the right to stand up, you don't have the right to stop me from giving you presents."

"But-" resumed Frank.

"Ah ah," you smiled in the same tone he'd given you earlier, "don't wanna hear about it."

He parted his lips in a smile but said nothing as Matt laughed softly to the side. They approached you, Frank placing the packages on the coffee table as Matt turned away.

"I'll get them," he eventually says, heading for the top step, cracking it open and pulling out three packages to take back to the coffee table.

"The medium one is for you," you say, pushing the first one towards Frank, "and the big and small one are for you," the two boxes sliding across the smooth table towards Matt.

The packets seemed a particularly complex conundrum to them, but you urged them to open their presents.

Matt opened his and discovered a 7kg weighted blanket and an anti-stress ring that could be twirled on his finger.

"I know you sometimes ask me or Frank to lie on top of you because the weight makes you feel better, so I got you this, which should help if neither of us is ever there to give you what you want. As for the ring, I know that times at the Court can be stressful, so I thought it might help you find a point of anchorage."

Matt seemed at a loss for words, taking the duvet between his fingers and touching the silk sheet you'd wrapped it in. Putting the ring on his index finger, which fit perfectly, he smiled to himself.

As for Frank, he removed the wrapping and his lips parted.

"I've been looking for these for months," he said, looking at the few books he'd been talking about over and over again. "How did you... ?"

You'd scoured countless bookshops, searched book repositories, researched the clearance of certain titles by libraries to find these books that had all but disappeared very quickly while the work was being republished and retranslated.

"A good girlfriend never reveals her secrets," you smiled.

The two of them placed their gifts on the table and came to embrace you, nestling their faces in the crooks of your neck. They held you close, gently kissing your skin between hushed "thank you's", dotting your neck and face with soft pecks.

"What did we do to deserve you," Frank murmured, pulling back slightly.

"I could ask the same about you both," you smiled, running your fingers through their hair.

They kissed you again, then handed you their own gift. You opened it, and it was something you'd talked about several times before, something that was very close to your heart and that they'd decided to give you. This time it was your turn to hug them, and they laughed as you showered their faces with kisses.

"What do you say to a nice bath, and then some dessert before bed?" offered Matt.

"I think that's the best idea of the evening," you confirmed, caressing his cheek and kissing his nose.

Without further ado, Frank took you in his arms like a koala, letting your legs cross behind him as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. He led you and Matt into the bathroom, the devil bending over the tub to prepare the bath.

Frank lifted you slightly and sat you down on the wash basin counter, letting his hands fall on both your thighs and stroking them gently.

"As much as I love your makeup, we're gonna have to remove it sweetheart", he explained, kissing your cheek.

So mechanically, you grabbed your make-up remover, ready to start the process. But Frank stopped you in your tracks, gently taking the bottle in one hand and a cotton pad in the other.

He poured a small amount onto the white disc, dosing as you did regularly.

"Close your pretty eyes for me," he murmured, taking your chin between his fingers and starting to remove your make-up.

Frank had this charming habit, in the evenings when you were getting ready for bed and he wasn't out playing vigilante, of watching you remove your make-up. He knew a lot about your day by the way you went about it: slow and thoughtful was the result of a good day, faster and more jerky obviously reflected one full of frustration, and sometimes when your movements were slow and your eyes half-closed, it generally meant that the day had been very, very long.

He concentrated, pressing tenderly against your skin as he removed iridescent, matte and mascara from your eyelids, occasionally pausing to kiss your lips, making you smile and giggle softly with each peck.

You almost wanted to put lipstick on his lips and let him kiss your whole face until the red of your cheeks was indistinguishable from the colour of the lipstick.

He asked you to look up this time to clear away the mascara smears and the black marks left in their path. He was doing this with the utmost precision, and this personal attention sent tickles all the way to the back of your skull.

"Look at me?" he asked and you complied, a smirk forming on his lips. "The prettiest girl."

He came over and placed a strand of hair behind your ear before stepping aside to throw away the little cotton disc.

"I'm gonna go and check what snacks we have, Red? I'll leave you my favourite part, but only because it's christmas alright?" he informed before kissing the tip of your nose one last time and stepping out of the bathroom.

Matt, so far checking the temperature of the bath water to make sure it was correct, shook off his damp fingers and wiped them on a towel before standing up and moving between your legs.

"I'll have you stand up just for a bit," he cautioned, taking your hands and pulling you slightly towards him to get you to your feet. "Arms up."

At his request, you raised your arms. His hands pinched the bottom of your hoodie and pulled it up your body. He laid it to one side, continuing with your t-shirt, his fingers still warm from the water sliding delicately against your skin.

"So that's Frank's favourite part?" you smiled, "undressing me?

"I have to say it is," he stated as he unbuttoned your trousers and panties, sliding them to the floor where you lifted your feet to get out of them.

"And what's your favourite part?" you asked as he took off your socks and raised up to your level.

"The one that's about to happen."

He guided you to the bath and let you slide in gently. The temperature was perfect, just as you liked it, and you let out a moan of ease from between your lips until most of your body was submerged in the bath.

Matt took a stool from the bathroom and placed it beside you, taking a cup at the same time to pour water over your hair. He applied himself with great care, taking his time to make sure no drops got into your eyes.

Your muscles relaxed naturally with the heat, finally eradicating the tension in your body once and for all.

You felt Matt's fingers dip into the bath water, sliding up from the skin of your thigh and gently up your body, tracing your silhouette under the water.

"You're beautiful," he whispers as his wet fingers rose from the water to caress your cheek.

"How could you know?" you asked softly, watching as he stared into the emptiness.

"My hands don't lie to me, and I know the beauty of the mind at first sight of the heart" he smiled as he took your bottle of shampoo, pouring some into his palm before massaging your head.

To help him, you straightened up, pivoting slightly to get your back to him. His fingers snaked through your hair, massaging gently and lathering everything up slowly. He worked the back of your neck, muscles tense, letting your head go with the movement of his hands.

With your neck now leaning back, Matt smiled gently before kissing your forehead.

"That's my favourite part," he confirmed, resuming the massage.

You let your eyes close, surrendering to the gentleness of the moment and Matt's touch. He was pressing, caressing, painting with his fingers as if he were holding the most beautiful and delicate material in his hands.

Too soon for your liking - because you would have preferred this moment to have no end - he rinsed your hair, letting the white mousse spread over your shoulders and applying it lightly to your skin. He took the sponge, soaking it in shower gel before squeezing it into a foam so that he could spread the bubbly cloud over your skin.

He took one of your arms, raising it so that he could get it straight and soap you up properly, and he kissed the length of your skin before the softness of his kisses was erased by the little soap bubbles that the sponge left in its wake. He did the same for your second arm, and your leg, and the second after that, covering your whole body with kisses and softness.

At first you thought it was unfair, because no sooner had he placed a kiss on your skin than he wiped it away with white foam. But you were soon comforted by the idea that these weren't kisses being chased away, but kisses being kept, kisses that seeped under your skin and brought you all the warmth that the bath was beginning to no longer contain.

Before the water got too cold, he gently rinsed you off and got you out of the tub, wrapping you in your bathrobe.

Frank came back into the bathroom at last, bringing clean, more comfortable clothes in his hands. They both took their time drying your hair and dressing you, whispering sweet nothings to you as they kissed your cheeks and temples.

Each kiss washed away the stress you'd been feeling, replacing bitterness with sweetness, and you relished every moment of it.

Once again they carried you in their arms to the sofa, where Frank had placed a plethora of foodstuffs of all kinds on the table, snacks and other sweet products that you might have wanted at the time.

You watched several episodes of a series that you'd been watching together lately, commenting on it and falsely - or actually - taking offence at the particularly stupid choices made by the main characters.

You didn't need any more than that. All the love in the world was with them.

They had taught you how one hand changes when you put it on top of another, that another world is possible but is present in this one, that there is always a dream asleep.

They were standing on your eyelids, and their hair was in yours, they were engulfed in your shadow. Their eyes were always open, they wouldn't let you sleep, their kisses in the light made the sun evaporate.

Back pressed against the chest of one, face hidden in the nape of the other's neck, tonight you fell asleep, fulfilled, safe and loved.

369 notes · View notes

lustagel · 2 years ago

Text

let's read and get so high we can't recognize the real world around us !

❥ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒 (in order) ★ slashers. stranger things. the peaky blinders. criminal minds. euphoria. the punisher ˎˊ˗

smut, angst and fluff included.

˚₊⊹ 20/20 VISION ✧ ethan landry. ── @echnated !

[ sfw ] okokok! reader x lalala! ethan.

loved the concept, writing and the fic.

˚₊⊹ CLASSMATE CHARLIE WALKER ✧ charlie walker. ── @lithiumfae !

[ sfw - bit of spice ] obsession.

the obsession with her voice is literally everything to me because my voice is rather… man like.

˚₊⊹ DAMN, BOY! SLOW DOWN! ✧ thomas hewitt. ── @vampiremillk !

[ nsfw ] chubby black reader. breeding kink. overstimulation.

i just love pussydrunk! thomas :))

˚₊⊹ SOUTHERN STYLE CREAMPIE ✧ thomas hewitt. ── @/vampiremillk !

[ nsfw ] female chubby reader. breeding kink.

mwahhhh. the whole thing at my legs shaking.

˚₊⊹ NO.1 AUNTIE ✧ steve harrington. ── @erin-bo-berin !

[ sfw ] single mom! reader. steve x single mom! reader. robin x single mom! reader (platonic).

i can literally imagine robin being the funniest auntie alive and i love this.

˚₊⊹ DEVILISHLY HANDSOME MAN ✧ thomas shelby. ── @toomanyfandomsallatonce !

[ sfw ] lots of flirting. kinda dirty flirting. eating.

the flirting throughout had me kicking my feet in the air.

˚₊⊹ EAT YOU OUT- I MEAN ✧ spencer reid. ── @ddejavvu !

[ sfw - bit of spice ] spencer being a complete reck.

the post should say it for its self. just beautiful.

˚₊⊹ HOT WIFE ✧ spencer reid. ── @radiant-reid !

[ sfw ] hot wife! reader x spencer reid.

them sliding it under the table is EVERYTHING that i never knew i needed.

˚₊⊹ MESS OF MINE ✧ aaron hotchner. ── @hotchgirlsummer !

[ sfw ] female! bimbo! reader.

the cutest of this fic makes me wanna just die. i am in love with him. i believe it was written by gods.

˚₊⊹ DO YOU LIKE HER ✧ elliot. ── @eunoiathewriter !

[ sfw ] talks of smoking weed and drugs (duh, it’s euphoria).

i just loved it. thank you for writing this.

˚₊⊹ SHOW ME LOVE ✧ frank castle. ── @captainmarvels !

[ sfw - angst-ish ] insecurities.

so fluffy and adorable i would blush if i could…

TO WRITERS ! thank you for being here and for your wonderful writing. your writing is not only people of color friendly but also beautiful, and really appreciated by everyone. i hope you have a beautiful day, because you deserve it. <33

#. ˚ ⚘ : fic recs #slashers x reader #ethan landry x reader #charlie walker x reader #ghostface x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt smut #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #the peaky blinders #thomas shelby x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotch x reader #euphoria x reader #elliot x reader #elliot euphoria x reader #the punisher x reader #frank castle x reader

524 notes · View notes

petertingle-yipyip · 6 months ago

Text

WORLD CLASS SINNER - FRANK CASTLE

season two - ghosts

season one // two // masterlist

Pairing: platonic frank x livia

Word Count: 6,623

Summary: Peace never lasts long for vigilantes, even when they run from their city. Ghosts reappear and draw Livia back to her home, but it also draws out Exodus.

A familiar bed from another life. Familiar arms around you. New nightmares filling your dreams.

You thought going to London would be some relief, and it partially was. Your hands didn’t feel constantly slick with a culmination of everyone’s blood. You didn’t dream of Midland anymore. Elektra’s weapon didn’t pierce your chest and Matt’s bloated corpse didn’t mock you as your late friend killed you. Instead, Billy tormented your nights.

His voice lingered in an otherwise normal dream, an omen of the nightmare barreling towards you that you couldn’t stop. His body pinned you down after he made you watch him shoot Frank in the head. His eyes stared into yours as he turned your own knife against you and buried it deep in your neck and you woke up choking on nothing more than an illusion. After those nights, you went through the morning with the tingling sensation of electricity in your wrist. A few nights you had even screamed in your sleep, waking up Marc or Steven in a panic. That always made you feel guilty and a little embarrassed.

It was always worse when it was Steven. Not because of anything he would do but because you couldn’t tell him everything. He knew it was something gone wrong from an FBI assignment but he didn’t know Billy’s name or his relationship to you. He didn’t know your connection to the Punisher and your alter ego. He didn’t know what really happened and why that had such deep and dangerous hooks into your subconscious.

You attributed the uptick in nightmares to the recent news from your bureau. In the time since the incident, Homeland Security had been working behind the scenes to erase themselves from the narrative. The pending possibility of a court case was now based on your evidence and testimony and the investigation into his work with Rawlins and Schoonover. Dinah was only the agent that arrested Billy, not the one who unofficially contracted two deadly vigilantes.

The idea of it being you against him caused you to somewhat fall apart. You began to reconsider your body, trying to find some place of you - literal and figurative - that he hadn’t touched. The muscles in your arm would twitch if you lingered in the thought too long, as if your brain wanted to bring the memory of that night to the surface. As if you needed another reminder of that tragic relationship, like the scar on your wrist wasn’t enough.

You had pushed the memory away for the most part. Dex and Fisk served as a fair distraction to keep you from wondering when he would finally succumb to his injuries and die in the early months after the incident or maybe you would’ve been more like Dinah, showing up to taunt him as a ghost of his former self. But that news never came and now that the more pressing threat was away from your focus, that idea began creeping back in.

Marc recognized that shift in you and took extra care to keep you mentally with him. But he never spoke on it and for that, you were grateful. He took you out to dinners, watched your favorite shows and movies with you, went out with you on late night walks when you couldn’t sleep. Steven would ask you to read to him, quiz him on Egyptian trivia, or walk you around the Egyptian wing of the museum and tell you all his favorite facts. They both would convince you to let them help you in the kitchen, and you recognized it as an excuse to keep an eye on you since sharp objects were involved.

During that time, it was easy to remember why you loved them and why you’d never deserve them.

You were sitting on the counter in the kitchen while Marc was doing dishes when you got the call. An unknown number.

You had been getting a lot of calls since you were in London. Some you answered, some you didn’t. Karen, Foggy, and Matt of course. Dinah once or twice, even Nat. You always listened to their messages after and the familiar voices felt nice to hear even if you never called them back. The little updates on their lives made you feel a little less disconnected from them, even though it was your own decision to seclude yourself.

“Hello?” You answered plainly.

“Hey Princess.” Frank said on the other end and your eyes went wide. “How you been?”

“Holy shit.” You laughed slightly.

“It’s good to hear your voice.” He said honestly and you smiled to yourself. “How you been holding up?”

There was the background noise of hard thuds that made your brows furrow.

“Hanging on by a thread as usual. You missed a lot.” You admitted. “What’s going on on your end?”

“Hey… What’s with the new crazy?” You faintly heard the young female voice in the background.

“And who’s that?”

“Long story.” He grumbled. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I think I’m gonna need your help.”

“Okay, um..” You glanced over and saw Marc was already looking at you in question. You simply held up a hand as a signal for him to hold his questions. “How soon?”

“How soon can you get here?”

“Where’s here exactly?”

“Somewhere around Michigan… Kinda.”

“Ah shit.” You muttered to yourself. “I hate the midwest.”

At that, Frank laughed.

“It’s almost a nine hour flight to Detroit.” You spoke out loud. “I’d probably have to land in New York first so-“

“Hang on. You left New York?” He cut in.

“Yeah, long story.” You said simply. “I can probably be there sometime tomorrow. Can you keep yourself and the girl good till then?”

“Honestly Livia, I have no goddamn clue. She won’t tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know.” You shrugged. “I’ll call back when I get to New York and then when I get to Detroit so I can find you.”

“Thanks, Princess.”

“It’s what I do.” You ended the call.

“What was that about?” Marc asked. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” You breathed with an apologetic expression. “A friend of mine needs help.”

“What friend?” He pushed.

“A friend from New York.”

“But you said Detroit.”

“Yeah, I also said my friend was from New York, not in New York. It’s not a big deal anyway.”

“Sounds like it is.”

“Can we not do this? I’m sorry to just up and leave but I’m going. You’re not gonna stop me.” You blurted out, moving quickly around the small space to collect your things. The only thing that stopped your frantic movements was the scoff that Marc let out.

“I never understood what you saw in him.” He complained, not bothering to hide his disdain.

“What are you on about?”

“One call from Matt and you drop everything.”

“It wasn’t Matt.” You countered.

“Oh, it wasn’t? Who was it then?”

“It doesn’t matter. I still have to go and you still don’t get a say.”

“Right.” He nodded and the sarcasm dropped from his words. “Y’know, I thought you would’ve figured all this out by now but you’re still running yourself in circles for a guy you’re not even dating.”

“It isn’t like that.” You said tightly and began your packing again. “I promised I’d be there to help when he needed it. I can’t back out on that.”

“Anything for your precious Matt, right?”

“Give me a break!” You shouted suddenly. “You don’t even know him. You’ve made damn sure of that.”

“Good thing, too!” He yelled back and you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. “Cause if I did, I probably would’ve kicked the shit out of him by now!”

“I would love to see that.” You scoffed. “How do you think I stayed alive this long with all the bullshit I got caught up in?”

You ground your teeth as the familiar burn of your anger creeped through your veins while Marc went off on a rant. You did nothing with it, letting it sit under your skin as you continued your packing. You knew you had to keep Frank’s secret. You trusted Marc but saying that it was in fact Frank, the infamous Punisher who was allegedly still at large, that was an admittance that you weren’t allowed. It wasn’t your secret to tell. Even if you were telling it in a completely different country to someone who couldn’t care less if the Punisher was free or not.

By the time you were listening again, Marc was still talking.

“Enough, Matt!” You snapped without much thought. “What do you want me to do?”

“Matt?” He scoffed and your stomach dropped.

“Marc.” You corrected. “You know what I meant.”

“You know what, Livia?” He took a step closer and you didn’t back down. “When you came back, I thought it was cause you wanted to be here with me or with Steven. But it’s never gonna be enough, is it?”

“You think it’d be fair to Steven for me to be here and constantly have to lie to him? About myself and about you? Jesus, Marc, do you hear yourself?”

“You chose to lie to him about yourself.”

“Oh, right.” You scoffed. “Because the guy would’ve been able to stomach the fact that he was in love with a killer? Because he wouldn’t have seen the blood when he looked at me?”

“You’re the one who came back here. You could’ve gone anywhere and you chose to come back.”

“That didn’t automatically mean we’d get back together.” You argued loudly.

“What else am I supposed to think when you’re in my bed every night? I’m enough for you to sleep with again but not good enough for you to stay?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to! Jesus, Livia, it’s all over your face.”

“Marc, I care about you and you know that..” You tried but you knew it wasn’t enough. “I'm not gonna keep arguing about this but it isn’t about Matt. I give you my word, alright?”

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t… Y’know what, yeah. Maybe I never should’ve come back here…”

“Maybe you’re right.”

You said nothing as you grabbed your bags. He scoffed and went around you, holding the door open for you.

“At least I know you’re leaving this time.” He commented as you stepped into the hall. As he went to shut the door, you turned and blocked it with your foot.

“I left before to protect you.” You said firmly.

“Move your foot.”

“No. Yel and the other Widows would’ve mowed you down and not thought twice.”

“You want to know what’s the worst part of all this?” Marc commented off-handedly, as if he was going to make a casual remark. “I wish I could hate you. Do you understand how guilty I feel to say that? Or how it feels to want to hate someone you would’ve done anything for?”

“It’d be easier if you did.” You agreed. “And yeah, I do… I used to wish there was a worse side to you, just so I wouldn’t feel so bad leaving… But you could hate me, you know. I could make it that way.”

“No..” He shook his head and put a hand gently to your cheek. “Cause I’d know I really don’t.”

“You’re better without me.” You tried with a nod and took his hand away, though you kept a loose hold of it. “Thank you for everything. I owe you and Steven so many explanations and apologies…”

“You can send him a letter.” He said when he noticed your expression fall. “Do all of us a favor and take care of yourself through whatever this is.”

“You know, if you ever come through New York again…”

“We’ll use your bed instead?”

“Shut up.” You laughed. “Till next time.”

“See you around, baby.” He tapped under your chin before stepping back inside the apartment. You moved your foot and smiled sadly before turning away and heading to the airport.

Your stop in New York was supposed to be quick. Just as you were arriving at your building, a dark vehicle rolled up and you stopped for a second.

A second too long.

“Been too long, Yersova.” Brett called as he got out and came around the sidewalk.

“Hey.” You breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, after Fisk I needed a break. I’m actually on my way out but-“

“Out the country again?” There was a small accusation in his tone.

“Can you really blame me?” You laughed slightly. “With Fisk locked up again and no official case against mush-for-brains there was no necessity to hang around.”

“Speaking of…”

“There’s a case now?” Your brows raised and your arm nearly twitched.

“Not yet. But he did remember something.”

“What?” Your stomach tightened in anticipation for the accusation of your alter ego.

“Your name.”

“My name…” You repeated, realizing that Brett’s appearance may very well be for an arrest.

“Mhmm. Out of the blue, he said ‘Livia’. ”

The knot in your stomach unraveled quickly and your body relaxed.

“Is that why you’re here?” You kept going, careful not to linger too long on any one response. “Would I even be able to see him?”

“You want to?”

You thought for a moment. It was a terrible idea, to come face to face with the man who nearly killed you.

No. You had to remind yourself that he did kill you.

Yeah, your heart stopped. Blood loss, they said. Your partner was able to get you started again but it was one of the worst minutes of my life, y’know.

The memory sent a shiver down your spine and you had to swallow the rising bile. You tried to quickly weigh the pros and cons but you did wonder if seeing him - just the once - would let your mind rest. You could understand what was left of the man you had potentially seen yourself truly caring about. You’d know if he was something to fear, the threat lurking in shadows and behind corners, or if he was useless. A pathetic remnant of who you once knew.

“Why the hell not.” You finally answered.

Brett took you to the hospital after that.

As you were heading to Billy’s room, you passed a window leading into a physical therapy room. You glanced in but one of the patients caused you to freeze. His back was to you and his hair had grown out some but you could still tell who it was, especially after spending months working with him.

“He didn’t die either then?” You said flatly as you stopped to watch Dex. Small movements, sitting upright on a stool and turning his upper body. Any threat of retaliation from him was miles away.

“He asked about you once.” Brett said from your side. “Wondered if you ever came to see him.”

“He should be glad I didn’t… I would’ve smothered him with his pillow once the nurses left.” You shrugged and kept moving.

Finally, you were led into Billy’s room. Two armed officers waited at the door and you were patted down before allowed to enter. Their attention caught on the hard object at your waist but you lifted your sweater’s hem to show the badge. As you were ushered in, the woman you assumed was his psych ripped apart the velcro holding him in place.

“You can’t be in here.” She tried but you didn’t look at her.

Instead you looked at the man on the bed. Your eyes traced the thick black lines that adorned the plastic white mask he wore. You could barely see his eyes and that made you uneasy. Your hand twitched at your side and was begging to form a fist, to shatter the plastic mask and connect firmly with his face.

The part of the Red Room that would always live inside you wanted to see his scars. You wanted to know how you and Frank had broken him, the new patterns of his skin that you and Frank carved out using that shattered mirror. You wanted to see if fear would fill his eyes, the taunting yellow haze that appeared only to you.

The click of the door closing snapped you back to the present.

“Livia.” Billy said softly, so softly you had barely heard it behind his mask. “Hey, beautiful. Jeez, you’re even… prettier than I remember..”

“No.” You shook your head, barely finding your voice. “You don’t get to-”

“Oh.” The woman said suddenly. “Livia, of course. I’m sorry. I’m Dr. Dumont and I’ve been working with Billy for the past few months.”

“It’s Agent, actually.” You told her. The title meant nothing to you but she didn’t need to know that. “Agent Yersova.”

“Right.” She nodded with a rehearsed smile. “Well I’m glad you could join us. I assume you got my letter?”

You hummed slightly and dared a couple steps deeper into the room.

“What’s under the mask, Billy?” You asked plainly. “What do you look like now?”

“We try not to-“ The doctor tried but you kept going.

“Who did that to you?”

“I don’t…” He whined. “I don’t know. All I know is there was a… a skull and a mask.”

The skull was what he could remember of Frank. The white spray-painted skull across the black bulletproof. His memento mori as David Lieberman had once said. But the mask was another thing. You hadn’t worn your mask that night, had you? No, you were almost certain you didn’t have the time to put it on but he had seen you in it before.

Maybe his brain really was mush, combining different fights into one night.

“I’m guessing you don’t remember what you did to me.” You said honestly.

“I shoot you too?”

“Too? You know what you did to Agent Madani?”

“She comes by quite often.” Dumont added. Her uneasiness began to seep into your skin and you shivered in an effort to clear it.

“I know what I’ve been told but it doesn’t feel like I know anything.”

You held out the scarred wrist and moved another step closer.

“You shot me here. Twice. The first one didn’t penetrate so of course, you did it again.” You explained. “I was also stuck with a faulty taser that was frying the nerves in my hand.”

He said nothing, just turned his face away.

“You hung me by my wrists so tight, they bled.” You sneered, the memory serving as fuel for your words. “You watched and wanted me to beg for you to let me live. What kind of a man does that?”

You could feel the emotions mixing in his head, swirling into something you couldn’t describe. Neither could he and it ate at him, which you loved.

“Does it hurt?” You pressed, nothing other than sadism pushing you to speak. “Your face? Your body? Does it hurt to know that you wanted me dead?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Look me in the eyes and say that.” You said firmly. “Look at me and tell me that you don’t remember the way you wanted me to bleed out in front of you. The way you screamed for me to beg.”

The shadowed eyes met yours and you felt something strange from him. Uncertainty, self-pity, maybe even self-hatred. He didn’t know whether or not to believe your words. You smiled slightly and leaned away, putting your hands up slightly in a mock surrender.

“I didn’t come to torment you, Russo.” You said simply. You glanced at the other woman in the room and noticed she was nearly shaking, uncertain of how to react to your hostile presence. She seemed like she was about to run, throw open the doors and scream for the officers to take you away. “I know you got what you deserved. I just came to see how much of a man was left.”

“No.” The woman finally spoke and you turned with raised brows. “You didn’t deserve this, Billy.”

“You weren’t there.” You said flatly. “You didn’t see the hatred in his eyes when he looked at me, a woman he claimed to love.”

“It doesn’t matter. No one deserves this.”

“Maybe.�� You shrugged. “But it happened, and I’m sure the ‘skull’ and the ‘mask’ don’t regret it.”

“You’re cruel.” She said quietly, a shocking revelation.

“No.” You pursed your lips and shook your head. “I’m mean, sure. I used to be more tame and gentle, but this damn circus-life I led made me meaner… Anyways, enough about me.” You waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not quite lost, are you?” You looked back at Billy.

“That what you want?” He lifted his chin.

You simply hummed, a sound of indifference as you headed towards the door. Dr. Dumont tried to call you back but you ignored her.

You could tell there were gears turning in Billy’s head. Dots were connecting, though nothing was staying. Flashes of memories, coming and going but never staying. For the time being, he was still just a man, but you had a feeling that if he did gain his memories, he’d be a threat again.

And he would come for you and Dinah.

You went to your apartment after the hospital, which was still full of unpacked boxes and your haphazardly laid out furniture, and exchanged your bags for a new one. You took only a carry on, a duffel with a couple handguns, extra bullets, and two knives. You tucked an extra jacket and a change of clothes and your phone charger with the weaponry before digging through the labeled ‘PERSONAL’ box to find the x-ray blocking pouch. Your hand caught on the long sleeve top from Matt, the gift from the first night you fought Fisk still stained with various blood splatters. You tucked your weaponry into the bag and shoved both into the duffel. With your practically useless badge to your belt, you headed back to the airport.

There was an envelope on your floor that caught your attention. It was labeled from the office of a psychologist, Dr. Dumont. It was stamped urgent but you had no need for it. You ripped it in half and threw it away.

As you were leaving your building, you received a call from another unknown number.

“This is a collect call from Larkville Sheriff's Department. Do you accept the charges?” The automated voice said and you almost laughed.

“Yeah, I accept.” You answered and after a few seconds, the tone clicked and it was a live call. “Collect call, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled. “Where are you?”

“New York, heading back to the airport. You’re gonna owe me for going to Ohio of all goddamn places.”

“I tried Madani already but she pretty much told me to fuck off so…”

“So I’m all you got.” You nodded. “Any information on what I’m walking into?”

“Hell if I know.” He muttered. “Maybe your daughter’ll tell you something.”

“My daughter?” Your brows furrowed.

“Yeah, your daughter.”

There was some light shuffling before someone else took over the call.

“Hi, mom.” She said, equally as confused as you were.

“Hey, sweetie.” You answered kindly enough. You pressed your scar to put the call in your head while you moved your phone to text Dinah. “How’d you end up in Ohio?”

“I don’t know.” She confessed. “I don’t want to be here.”

“I don’t blame you.” You laughed.

-i know he called you- you typed quickly.

“Listen, I need you to trust the guy you’re with, okay?” You tried.

“Seriously?” She scoffed. “He tied me to a bed!”

“But has he hurt you?”

No answer.

“Has he shot at you or cut you or tried to kill you? Or has he saved your life?”

-not my problem- Dinah answered and you rolled your eyes.

-mahoney told me about you and russo. maybe we can work out something that benefits us both. i’m tired of waiting too- you typed furiously. Whether or not you and Frank dealt with Billy, you weren’t even worried about.

You were worried about Frank and the kid he was with. You knew he wouldn’t have called you unless it was something serious so you had to pull every string you had.

“Listen, hon.” You focused back on your phone call. “I’m gonna see you soon… Trust him and trust me, okay? But you have to tell me what you know when I get there.”

“Okay… Thanks, mom.”

“And let him know that I’m gonna stop to talk to her and try to convince her so I’ll meet you guys tonight.”

Almost instantly when you ended that call, Dinah called you. You two went back and forth for what felt like hours. She said Russo was faking it, you said you didn’t know. She said she could see it in his eyes, you said the ghost of him still stung your skin. She said she wants to hear him confess, you said you’d like him to stay powerless. She said Frank wasn’t her problem, you said he could be useful. An eye for an eye, trade favors.

Finally, you got her to agree to go to Ohio.

When you two met up at the helipad, some Homeland location she picked you up for, she explained that Russo had escaped that morning. You were partially glad because at least there wouldn’t be any expectation for you to visit again. It did leave a feeling of dread in the back of your mind, like another fight was barreling towards you.

But you had to think this time the fight would only come if you went looking for it. So you focused on whatever hell Frank ended up in.

You changed your tops as the helicopter got closer. Out of habit, you reached for your mask but came up empty. You tucked one knife under your fitted sleeve and the other at your back. You put a handgun at either hip and the extra clips in the front of your waistband.

“Drop me within a mile.” You instructed calmly. “Without the mask, I need to scout before I get too close.”

“What are you gonna do?” She asked loudly, straining to be heard over the whirling blades.

You offered her a slight smirk before scooting to sit at the edge of the open door and letting your feet hang out. You leaned slightly and watched the ground get closer and closer, mentally calculating for a safe jump. You vaguely heard Dinah’s voice but you slid down before you could actually process her words. You rolled through the landing and groaned slightly when you landed against a tree.

The sound of automatic gunfire almost immediately took your attention. You focused in as much as you could, trying to count the rifles. A dozen was your best guess

You damn near ran at that point.

You could see the Sheriff’s department and the gunfire continued inside the building. You found easy cover among the trees and tried for a recount of the gunners outside.

A lot to take on by yourself.

You opened yourself for a quick survey and found a calm confidence among them all, one standing out among them. Confident in himself and his purpose but an underlying darkness. You could only assume he was in charge but he was in the middle of the herd. And he wasn’t your mission.

No, you needed to find Frank.

You redirected your focus on the sheriff’s station. Panic, fear, uncertainty. All the expected emotions wafted from the small building. Underlying it all was what you were looking for. Confidence, comfortability among the chaos, and anticipation. Keeping low, you bolted towards the building.

The back door was blown off and you hesitated at the entrance. You reached to your hip and grabbed one of your guns. You held it comfortably between your hands and whistled, two sharp familiar notes that were usually answered by one of your cousins. After a second of silence, you whistled the two notes of response and stepped into the building.

You moved through the dark building carefully, grimacing at how the rubble crunched under your feet. You wished for a moment that you had your Exodus boots but wishing did you no favors. You swallowed the thought and found the collection of remaining deputies. A gun was raised at you quickly and you let both hands shoot upwards in surrender, though your own handgun didn’t leave your grip.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the female officers asked sharply.

“Relax.” You tried simply. “I’m here to help. You’ll thank me.”

“How many are out there?” A different man asked.

“Too many.” You shrugged as your eyes scanned the room. One deputy down, a younger girl with panic in her eyes, a few more officers, and Frank.

The down officer argued against turning over Frank and the girl and you smiled slightly to yourself. You moved across the room and knelt at his side while tucking your gun away. You rubbed your hands together and allowed yourself to absorb some of the anger in the room. Anger at the men outside and inside. You forced it down your hands and let it settle in your palm.

You nudged the other set of hands aside and pressed your now ignited skin against the wound. He groaned loudly and the faint smell of burnt flesh permeated the small space before you pulled your hand away. The bleeding had slowed substantially and you allowed an influx of his pain. He looked at you with wide eyes and you simply nodded.

“You’re the woman from the phone.” The young girl said from your side. “You really came.”

“Yeah.” You smiled softly and wiped the blood along your shirt. “Told you I would… You doing okay?”

“We can’t just sit here.” She said firmly, though she had no idea what to do. “They’re gonna kill us.”

You were going to answer, to reassure her that with you there, they wouldn’t get close. But outside, you felt life draining, slowly and painfully. He killed one of his own.

“Get her into a vest.” The sheriff commanded but you waved him off. “You go out there in a spandex-“

“It’s bulletproof.” You said flatly. “And it’s withstood more than this building has. Listen, Sheriff, let me take him-“ You gestured to Frank. “And we can take care of it.”

“And just who are you?”

“Special Agent with the FBI.” You said, a twisted truth but not a total lie. “I’ve done more missions than you can count and I know for this one, I need his help.”

“He’s in no shape for it.”

You glanced at Frank and he simply lifted the makeshift cast around his forearm. You shot him a glare and he shrugged.

“He’ll manage.” You answered finally. “If you don’t set him loose, this building will fall. Your deputies and that little girl will die. Do you want that?”

“Got any black tape?” Frank asked and your head snapped towards him.

You let out a small sigh and put up your hands. You turned on your heel and offered one last look to the girl.

Why hadn’t you asked her name? You decided quickly that you’d have to get the job done just so you could ask.

You gave a sharp nod and she pressed her lips into a line before her eyes fell. You didn’t turn around, heading to slip back out the back door instead. You made your way around the side of the building and habitually reached to tap your mask, making contact with your bare skin instead. You cursed the failed gesture and began moving around the side of the building again.

You saw two men rushing towards the entrance and you quickly palmed a knife before kneeling in the front bushes. You flipped it in your hand and pinched the tip before drawing back. The ignition of flames became an easy target and you threw the blade quickly. It smashed the bottle, triggering a bright explosion and igniting the two assailants. You stepped out proudly and watched the men burn before collecting your blade. You stood, illuminated by the blaze, and again whistled the two short notes. Your call was answered from somewhere within the trees and with confirmation that your friend was there, you bolted into the tree line.

Automatic rifle fire filled the silence as you moved, a blade in one hand and a handgun in the other. You moved quickly, at a truly deadly pace and you felt more yourself than you had since Matt came back.

You swiped you blade in a long line along a man’s back before you kicked out and he landed on his face. You flung the blade down and it buried itself in the back of his shoulder. When he cried out, you ducked into nearby shadows. You waited as two men came to help him and as soon as they grabbed the fallen man’s arms to haul him up, you fired. Two quick shots, two quick deaths. You came out to kneel on the man’s back, yanking your blade free and pressing your gun to the back of his head.

A single shot to make the third death.

Your assaults continued on either side, automatic fire from one and isolated shots from the other. You made use of the knife more than the gun. You enjoyed the thrill of throwing the small blade, took pride in the precision your hands still held. An unexpected comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. As you moved, you came across the sniper. You wondered for a split second who his target was but your instincts told you it was the girl.

You whipped the blade through the air and it dug into the man’s hand, at the base knuckle of his trigger finger to be exact. You were on him before he could cry out in pain. You dropped your shoulder and slammed into his side, tackling him into the nearest tree. He jammed the butt of his rifle at you and you took the hits to your ribs, refusing to fall back. You gripped his shirtfront with one bloodied hand and slammed the other against his face. Heavy hit after heavy hit until the bones cracked under your fist. He sputtered out blood instead of words and you threw him to the ground. You planted a foot on his chest and fired before dropping the empty clip and replacing it.

You collected your blade and tucked it away before you grew still. You listened for the gunfire but heard nothing. You listened for cries but heard nothing. At that point, you let yourself feel. Then a faint smoke seemed to show you the exact path to Frank. With your gun firmly in hand, you ran.

You were coming up behind him when you came up on another sniper. You froze for a second and looked around him, only to realize he had Frank in his sights. You instantly sprinted towards him and once you were close enough, your arm hooked around his neck. You yanked him backwards as he pulled his trigger and the shot went wide. You shifted your position so he would land facedown in the leaves with your knee digging his back.

You dropped the gun in your hand and gripped the shoulder of his shirt. You fisted the material and pulled, choking him with not only your arm but his own clothes. You pushed the other foot forward and kicked the rifle away as the Homeland helicopter loomed overhead. It’s spotlight shone down on you and you had to decide what you’d do.

Kill him, save the girl and likely end up on Dinah’s shit list.

Walk away, maybe Dinah takes him into custody and her justice system can do something.

You gut told you there’d be a way for him to get out. The justice system you once studied and wanted to defend had failed enough times that you didn’t hold your breath. You shook your free hand and allowed the hidden blade to fall into your palm. You adjusted your grip and raised your hand to slam it into the man’s temple when you felt a hand around your arm.

Your head snapped up and you saw Frank looking at you. He shook his head once and you took a deep breath before releasing the man. You slid the blade back up your sleeve and climbed off. You went to follow Frank, but not before kicking the man in his ribs.

As you two were heading back, your own ribs began to burn with their familiar pain. At that point, you were regretting not getting pins after the fight with Billy. You sat with Frank on the curb and you leaned onto his shoulder, rubbing the eternal fracture while he spoke to Dinah.

“Billy Russo broke out of the hospital.” Dinah told Frank and you felt Frank shift to look down at you so you sat up.

“You know ‘bout that?” He asked you. There was accusation in his tone, but not that you didn’t tell him. He didn’t seem to care about that. It was about whether that news had anything to do with your actions that night.

“Yeah, how do you think I got her to give me a ride?” You answered flatly. “You missed a lot.”

Dinah moved to talk to the Sheriff and you blew out a sigh.

“Never really ends for us, does it?” Frank muttered.

“No.” You laughed sadly. “No, it does not… You enjoy the time on the road at least?”

“Yeah.” He nodded as he stared ahead. “You?”

“Do you remember when we were in that cemetery after saving your ass from Kitchen Irish and I was talking about the place I was raised?” You glanced over when he didn’t answer and saw he was looking at you already. “My cousins and I, we got a chance to go after him. I thought he was dead this whole time but… He wasn’t. One of my cousins had been there the whole time.”

“You got yours then, hmm?” He gave a small, proud smile when you nodded. “Good for you, Princess.”

“Then I went to London, met up with an ex. But all of that was after my FBI partner tried to kill me and Red came back.”

“Red? Thought he died.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. The bastard survived the building and was hiding for months.”

“What got him to come back?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Let’s go.” Dinah said sharply as she walked by.

You quietly mocked her as you stood and the sheriff came over. You gestured to your spot on the curb and saw the girl coming out of the station. Her eyes went wide for a second and you knew it was the blood on your hands. You gestured for her to come with you and she hesitated. You could see it in her eyes that she was surveying her options.

“We can keep you safe.” You said honestly. “I never caught your name?”

“Rachel…” She said carefully. “Yours?”

“Livia.” You smiled as she came to your side.

Frank eventually met you two at the helicopter, where Dinah sighed and stared pointedly at the girl.

“She’s coming.” You said forcefully.

“Or we don’t.” Frank nodded to you.

“Where are we going?” Rachel asked.

“New York.” You all answered.

28 notes · View notes