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frankcastlescumslut · 2 years ago

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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

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lovelettersforthedamned · 1 month ago

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Reunion & Betrayal

✰ frank castle x fem!reader, matt murdock x fem!reader (platonic)

✰ summary: frank dissappeared a year ago and you haven't heard from him since. what happens when your closest friend brings you right back to him.

✰ warnings: language, sorta violence, mention of guns, angst angst angst, matt is lowkey a bitch, frank is stupid, canon divergance obvi.

✰ word count: 1.2k

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

saw pookie bear again, and i've had this idea in my head since. there is a potential for a part 2, so lmk if you want that shiiiii. I LOVE FRANK CASTLE!!!

gif by @darlingshane

Living without Frank was hard, but you found a way to get over it. It seemed easy after the long weeks of crying and sulking. You had Matt. He filled your once-dreary days with laughter and even brought you out of your dark apartment for dinner and some drinks.

It felt like living for and loving Frank was a distant memory. One that you have chosen to put to the side every time you went to sleep. Of course, you still loved him, but he left. He didn’t want you anymore, and that was it.

With Hector Ayala gone and his murderer still unknown, Matt spent all of his downtime searching for them. Whoever killed the White Tiger was skilled. He was quiet, collected, and had his objective in mind. You knew to respect his wishes when he retired from his vigilante activities, but you never told him to stop.

You could see the urge seeping out of his pores to slip back into the night and fight for what was right. But you knew after Foggy, it was a sensitive topic. So when he wanted to scope out the area of Hector’s murder, you tagged along. None of this was your business, but Thursdays were you and Matt’s happy hour night, you just happened to be there.

Thanks to Matt’s sensitive hearing, he was able to find the bullet casing in the hill’s storm drain. Your interest quickly fell as he felt the casing, his eyebrows furrowing before handing it to you. Taking it from his hand, you look down and find the Punisher’s logo etched onto it, Frank’s logo.

It felt like every emotion you’ve suppressed for the last year has reached the surface and flooded your senses. You're silent as you think about what this could mean. The rise of Punisher symbols has seemed to be tattooed on the NYPD, and you couldn’t help but chuckle out a laugh at the thought. “This can’t be him,” you pause and take a deep breath, “right?”

Matt chews on his lip before shaking his head. He doesn’t respond, instead he starts walking. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before jogging to catch up to him. “You know that I love you and that I would never hurt you,” Matt mutters, his tone serious.

“Of course,” you look at him as if he’s crazy, “where is this coming from?”

He huffs, “I just needed to ask because you might not say the same answer in about fifteen minutes.” His answer worried you, but with Matt, you knew it was better not to ask questions.

You followed him to a brick building, the cool streetlight making it look older than it is. Matt leads you to an elevator and pushes the button for the basement, leaving you in a nervous silence. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and Matt knows that yet he still doesn’t say a word to you.

Pushing the door open, a long hallway with a ceiling full of piping and cables almost acts as your guide to wherever Matt is leading you. Lights are flickering while water is dripping from the walls as you stop at a door.

MGR OFFICE

Looking back at him, you study his face. He’s emotionless, his lips drawn out in a straight line. “Where are we?” A simple question that only prompts a sigh.

“You’ll see,” he says before pushing the door open, an ear-piercing screech coming from the hinges. Matt peeks his head in before stepping inside and holding the door for you.

The first thing you notice is the wall of guns in front of dozens of papers stapled to the wall. The room was in disarray, and it seemed like whoever lived here didn’t mind that. Your back is to Matt as you take a closer look at the details of the papers scattered on a nearby table, “Matt, where in the hell did you take me–”.

An animalistic roar echoes off the cement walls as a blur of a figure shoves Matt into the lockers behind him. “Frank! Frank! It’s me, it’s Matthew.”

You’re stuck in place as their heavy breaths are the only things ringing in your ear. You can’t help but take a clumsy step back in shock, the sound of your foot dragging against the floor catches both the men’s attention.

Locking eyes with Frank a year after his disappearance wasn’t something you were expecting when you got out of bed this morning, and yet here you are. His pressure against Matt weakens as he swallows, trying to compose himself. Sniffling, he shakes himself out of his gaze, “What is she doing here?”

Matt clears his throat, “She’s tagging along.”

You’re still speechless as you keep your eyes on Frank’s form as he walks away from Matt and to a table deeper within the space. “I thought I told you to keep her safe, red. Now she’s tagging along your devil shit?” Frank pops a pill into his mouth before slamming the container on the table.

Flinching, you walk towards Frank, a sudden haste in your stride that surprises him after being as still as a statue since you’ve laid eyes on him. And suddenly, you’re face to face, your neck tilting upward to meet his eyes. “How dare you,” your waterline is flooded with tears, but you would rather die than let one slip.

Giving Frank a shove to his shoulders, you yell, “You told Matt to keep me safe after you left? How fucking ironic.” Your lip quivers as your eyes scan his face. His hair has gotten longer, and that beard is new. “Fuck you, Castle,” you bite your bottom lip as you try not to let your emotions come over you, “fuck you.”

Turning away from him, you let a few tears fall when he can’t see them. Anger is still clear in your walk when you approach Matt, “Did you know where he was this whole time?” He looks down as guilt washes over him. “Damnit, Matt,” you take a step closer, “did you know?”

“Yes,” he takes a short breath, “but I didn’t tell you to keep you safe.”

A sarcastic laugh leaves your breath, you can’t believe it. “You’re joking, right?” You bring your hand to your hip and turn to Frank, looking at him in disbelief before doing the same to Matt. “Good luck with the casing,” you start, “I doubt Frank is going to be of any help.”

You start to walk towards the door before looking at Frank one more time, “Next time you decide to leave someone who loves you, make sure you go farther than just the city.” You don’t wait for a response as you walk back toward the elevator, your hand covering the sobs that have been waiting to bubble over the moment you saw him.

Walking home felt like a blur. So much so that you didn’t even feel the hand yanking you into the alley beside you before it was too late.

✰ author's note: HEY!! long time no see (sorry). but i literally couldn't stop thinking about this idea and i was waiting and waiting and then i got impatient... so here i am!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog!! love you!!!

#frank castle x reader #frank castle fic #frank castle x you #frank castle angst #marvel #the punisher x reader #the punisher angst #ddba #matt murdock #daredevil

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lessersole · 17 days ago

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Bridging Boroughs

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Bartender!Reader with a past. Platonic!Matt Murdock

Summary: You and Matt come up with a plan to take on Kingpin politically.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Spoilers for DD:BA episode 8, (but works if you're not watching). Probably misunderstandings of the US political system.

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Matt groans as he wakes up. He feels like he got punched in the chest by a truck.

He tries to take in his surroundings - it’s hard over the beeping of the machines, but under the stillness of night he realises someone is sitting beside his hospital bed.

“Heather?” He croaks.

“Nope,” comes the unapologetic answer. He recognises that voice, but hasn’t heard it in a while. Matt frowns - is he wrong?

The pressure of booted feet landing on his bed, one ankle crossing over the other as his guest casually stretches out her legs gives him a better idea who his visitor is. He tries another name.

“You got it," you confirm. Matt can hear the mirthless smile in your voice. “Glad to hear we’re not complete strangers, even if I never would have guessed you’d throw yourself in front of a bullet aimed at the Kingpin.”

“I wasn’t-” Matt’s protestations are cut off by a tightness in his chest and he coughs, wincing at the pain, “I wasn’t trying to protect him.”

Your feet leave the bed as you press a plastic cup of water against the back of his hand. Matt takes it as silently as it's offered, a few sips doing little to soothe the roughness of his throat.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He asks, reluctantly letting you take the glass from him when the wires tangled around him stop him reaching the sidetable himself.

“Well, that’s rude.” Your tone is more amused than offended.

“I mean it. I haven’t seen you since-” his voice dies in his throat.

“Since the funeral.” You finish for him, voice softer, “But I keep up to date. You’re all over the news. Thought it would be polite to visit an old friend in hospital.”

“We’re barely friends,” there’s a bitterness to Matt’s tone, more from regret than animosity. It’s been a long time since you were close, “And I’m pretty sure visiting hours were over a long time ago.”

“I make my own hours, you know that. And I said old friend.” You pause, continuing when his only objection is an irritated sigh. “Plus I saw a mutual acquaintance of ours recently - he was worried about you.”

Matt’s mouth sets in a hard line. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Forgive me if I’m not convinced,” your eyes scan over his damaged body, the tubes and machines keeping him alive, “And honestly, when Frank Castle is concerned about your mental health, something’s gotta be pretty wrong.”

“So you’re still in touch with Frank. And you think I’m the one who’s in trouble.”

“I drop in on him now and then, make sure he’s not dead. I don’t charge in on him like a madman with a deathwish.”

Matt grimaces.

“So come on, Matt. I’ve seen the other news about you too. The other you. What’s going on?”

In the absence of anyone else to talk to who won’t judge him, Matt reluctantly opens up.

Time passes, and as the sun threatens to break over the horizon, you both sink into thoughtful silence.

"Did you ever think that maybe you need to meet Fisk on his level?” You ask.

“I’d never do what he does,” Matt spits emphatically, “That’s the difference between us-”

“That was the difference between you. The difference now is that he’s the one who’s gone ‘legit’. Officially, at least.”

Matt opens his mouth to object, but you talk over him. “You not changing the city as a lawyer is nothing new. I thought you'd resigned yourself to that after - after Foggy. But Fisk isn’t fighting in the dark any more; you’ve lost your advantage.”

“So what, are you saying I should run for Mayor?”

“God, no. But we need to look in that direction. Maybe someone else, someone who’s pro-enhanced p-”

“Wait,” Matt bolts upright, ignoring the pain that slices through him, “There is someone. We could at least ask for help, while I’m stuck here.”

“Oh, so there’s a ‘we’ now?”

Matt grins, “How familiar are you with Brooklyn?”

—

Getting inside the Congressman’s office is easy for you, even in broad daylight. Plenty of people filing in and about, milling around - and you know how to go unnoticed. The bustling space is a much more casual, open place than you'd expected.

Getting access to him directly is more of a challenge.

After holding a store room door open for a smiling volunteer, you duck inside. Spotting a pile of discarded t-shirts from the recent campaign, you grab one and quickly swap it for your own plain top, before adding the casual blazer you'd worn to look appropriately professional on top of it. No need to be too obvious.

You'd spied his private office on your first loop around the floor, and now you make your way indirectly towards it. One well-placed slippery flyer in the path of a rushing intern later, and the woman stationed at the desk outside his door is running to the bathroom to try and soak the hot coffee out of her shirt.

Smiling benignly, you slip unseen into the Congressman’s office. The man you're looking for has his back to the door, standing behind a desk leafing through a file.

You have a moment to admire his broad back, the white shirt straining over strong shoulders, tapering down where it tucks into dark pants over narrow hips.

Forcing your eyes away from where they’ve drifted down, you've barely taken two steps into the room before he speaks.

“Are you one of those people who breaks in to try and sell me extra security?”

You stop abruptly - he hasn’t even turned around.

“No,” you answer casually, continuing to approach, “But maybe I should be, that sounds like a fun job. Do you think it pays well?”

“No idea,” finally Congressman Barnes turns to face you, dropping his papers onto the desk between you.

You let your gaze linger over his torso. He must get those shirts custom made, you think, so they're snug over his flat stomach without bursting the buttons over his chest.

Barnes crosses his arms, and the motion reminds you to look at his face, where he’s quirking an eyebrow at you, unflustered and unamused.

“So what are you doing breaking into my office?”

“Breaking in?” You try to sound offended, “I just wanted to meet the person I’ve been door knocking for-”

“You’re not one of the volunteers,” he interrupts cooly, “And you’re definitely not on the payroll. So now you need to explain why you’re lying as well as breaking in.”

“What, you know every single person who works for you?”

“Yes.”

There’s a beat while you recalculate your approach, then take the last few steps towards him, smiling broadly and holding out your hand, “I just wanted to say hi, have a quick chat.”

Instead of answering or shaking your hand, Barnes narrows his eyes suspiciously at you.

“And there was no breaking anything, so it wasn’t breaking in,” you grumble, lowering your hand.

“I’m still not hearing an explanation.”

“Okay,” you sigh, presumptuously dropping into one of the chairs in front of his desk, “I’ve come to ask what you’re planning to do about Mayor Fisk.”

Bucky’s neutral facade cracks in surprise. “What I'm planning to do about Mayor Fisk?” he repeats.

“His crusade against ‘vigilantes’,” you put air quotes around the loaded term, “His so-called taskforce are breaking every law they come up against to wipe out anyone they decide is suspicious, including everyone with enhanced abilities they can get their hands on. You were elected on a platform of protecting those same people, right? You can’t just do nothing.”

“I ran on more than one issue,” Bucky says, sitting down opposite you, “And Mayor Fisk was also elected by the people - and even if it wasn’t a key part of his campaign, as I understand it his opposition to vigilantes wasn’t exactly a secret.”

“That’s no excuse to just roll over and let him do what he wants!”

Bucky frowns. “No, it’s not,” he muses, “But so far his taskforce have restricted themselves to Manhattan. Unless they cross into Brooklyn, there’s not much I can do about it.”

You're visibly unimpressed at his answer, crossing your arms and glaring at him in place of a response.

After a moment of thought, Bucky’s gaze intensifies, and he leans towards you across the desk, “Do you have a - vested interest - in this?”

Fighting to keep your heart rate steady, you answer him honestly, “I’m here on behalf of a friend. And everyone else who feels hopeless about what the Kingpin is doing to our city. Everyone else who wants to fix it.”

Bucky studies you silently. Your answer was true - and you have no intention of sharing more than you need to about your history, or those nights when it bleeds into your present. Even Fisk never knew about you, and with Karen in California, Matt and Frank are the only people left in the city who have any idea what you've done, and neither of them know you've not given it up as thoroughly as you suggest.

"This friend," Bucky starts, clearly not believing you, "they didn't want to speak to me themselves?"

"They're in hospital." Your answer is more vehement than you intended, and you hope you've not given too much away.

Barnes sits back with a sigh, “Okay. I’ll talk to my team about it. We’ve been considering putting out a statement; a citizen complaint is a good enough reason to push that through. And I’ll look into what else we can do. Encourage an investigation into the taskforce, or some kind of oversight requirements. Legal protections for enhanced people with no record of vigilantism.”

It’s less than you wanted, but more than you'd hoped for from a politician. “Sounds like an okay start,” you allow.

An amused smile flickers across Bucky’s face as he stands up, dismissing you. You mirror him.

“Are you a Brooklyn resident?” He asks.

“Not exactly.”

“That’s a no.”

“Compassion doesn’t stop at the East River,” you retort, and Bucky’s smile widens.

“I agree. And I give you my word that I’ll do everything I can to rein Fisk in and keep innocent people safe, inside my jurisdiction and out.” He holds his hand out to you.

“Good,” you answer begrudgingly, grasping his hand firmly, “I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he squeezes back, “And your friend - if it’s dangerous for them in Manhattan, there’s a safe place for them this side of the river. Always. If Fisk’s taskforce follows - well, there might be more I can do.”

“Good to know. And if you ever want to update me on your progress - save me trekking all the way out here again - I work at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen,” You give him the name as you turn to leave. “If you make good on your promise, I might even buy you a drink.”

Bucky smiles. It’s an appealing offer. “I’ll keep that in mind. Wait,” he nods to your shirt, where Vote Barnes for the 9th District is emblazoned across your chest, “Did you pay for that?”

Rolling your eyes, you slip your jacket from your shoulders, Bucky’s eyes following the smooth motion, “I was going to give it back,” you lie.

“Don’t.” he stops you, a quick twitch at the corner of his lips, “You can keep it. Looks good on you.”

You smile languidly as you pull the jacket back on.

“Thanks, Congressman,” you reach for the door handle, adding over your shoulder, “I’ve been looking for something to wear in bed.”

Once his door has swung shut behind you Bucky lets out a long breath, rubbing his right hand over his face as he sinks into his chair.

He could have handled that more professionally, but something in your fearless attitude and sly smile had intrigued him - and the reason for your questionable visit was smart, principled - and ballsy.

He’ll definitely be stopping by that bar in Hell’s Kitchen.

------------

Part two

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bless-my-demons · 3 days ago

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Second Chances

Paul Lahote x Reader

Summary: Something is keeping Paul Lahote from giving in completely to the imprinting bond and somehow I’m the last person on the reservation to know why.

Warnings: angst and curse words

Notes: Ooo this is just a diabolical angst-driven late night thought. I keep seeing Frank Castle/Karen Page edits on TikTok and this… came from that🫢🫠

Word Count: 1,030 (terribly short to start off, but there will be more parts)

Masterlist

Reader

“So how did your date last night go?”

One thing I’ve learned about Emily Uley is that she’s about as subtle as her husband’s wolf form when it comes to wanting the juicy details about the latest happenings on this reservation.

Can’t say that I blame her either.

“Oh, y’know. It was… fine.” I keep stirring the bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough, refusing to glance at the boys watching tv on the couch.

I miss the way one in particular readjusts his slouched position.

“Fine? Define fine.” Emily’s inquisitive tone is relentless.

“He split the bill-”

“He did NOT.” Her incredulous gasp almost makes me laugh.

“He did, he didn’t even walk me to my car afterwards. He also chewed with his mouth open the entire time-”

“How do you always manage to go out with losers?”

Paul must’ve risen from the couch and gravitated towards the kitchen while I was distracted trying to recount yesterday evening’s events.

His question short circuits my brain and locks my entire body up. It’s not the words or even the way he said it, it’s the fucking double meaning behind it.

I drop the wooden spoon in the bowl and Emily immediately turns around to busy herself with the stove behind me.

“Maybe I don’t have any other options, Lahote.” I can hear the venom in my tone, I just don’t give a shit anymore.

“Look, I didn’t mean-” his hands are up like he’s confronting a hostile animal, afraid to spook it, but it’s too late.

“Doesn’t matter what you fucking meant.” I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel and turn for the front door, I need to breathe.

Just before a door slams shut I hear Em sarcastically compliment him, “Real smooth, Paul.”

Thundering footsteps draw near as I collapse on the porch swing and I blow out a breath, how the fuck does he still get under my skin so fast?

The door swings open and I can tell he has no idea how to fix this by the way his mouth opens and closes, trying to quickly think of something intelligent to say.

“Paul it’s fine, go back inside with the boys.” I turn towards the forest, trying to regain my sanity.

“It’s not fine.” He takes a seat at the other end of the porch swing, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I don’t care.” I’m stubborn, I know this.

“Don’t say that-”

“And why fucking not, Paul? Hmm?” I level him with my eyes as I hurl the question at him, beyond frustrated with this situation, with us.

“Because you do care-”

“You’re right, I do care. Entirely too fucking much-”

“Will you just-” he tries to get a word in but I’m relentless in my anger, I guess that’s what makes us so compatible.

“No, fuck you.” I get up from the swing, ready to bolt from this situation, but a warm hand encircles my wrist.

“Sweetheart-” I can’t stand the tender way he whispers the endearment.

“Don’t you dare, Paul Lahote.” My voice is deadly calm, I can’t even bring myself to meet his eyes.

“Why can’t you just listen to me?” The pleading in his voice rakes over my goddamn nerves and I yank my hand out of his grasp.

“Oh, like I did when you told me I was your imprint, but that unlike all of your brothers’ relationships - this one needed to stay platonic? That you didn’t-couldn’t want more with me? Listen like I did then? When you crushed my soul?” My eyes flick between his stupidly beautiful tortured ones, a fucking act.

“You don’t know the whole picture-”

“Then fucking paint it for me!” I don’t care that I’m yelling loud enough for the entire house to hear me, fuck this and fuck him too.

“I can’t!” His chest is heaving and he’s standing toe to toe with me like he’s ready to fight.

“And why not, Paul?” It’s dead silent and even at a normal volume, I feel like my voice echoes for miles.

Instead of answering, Paul just tightens his lips and shakes his head before stalking off the porch toward the wood line near the house.

“That’s it, just fucking run away like you always do when shit gets hard, Lahote.” I throw the words like daggers at his back and watch as they land, his body shaking violently before giving in to the transformation.

“Can you cut the guy some slack for once?” Jared’s voice cuts through my quiet reflection as I stare at the spot I last saw my grey wolf. Not mine, never mine.

“As soon as he explains what’s so wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you-”

I turn to him with a gasp, “you fucking know, don’t you?”

“Of course I know, he’s my best friend.” His face is stoic and shows no sign of elaborating, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.

“All of you know.” His silence at my whisper is all the confirmation I need. My voice is stronger this time, resigned, “all of you know and no one cares to put me out of my misery-”

“That’s not what-” he tries to grab me by my shoulders, but I back away from his attempt at a comforting touch.

“No, fuck you, Jared. I hate this bullshit about how imprint bonds are sacred and revered, yet here I am - in the dark for months and no one can tell me why.” I back away from him towards my car, my chest feeling like it’s tearing in two.

“It’s not our place to tell you.” The anguish in his face cracks something even deeper in my chest.

He genuinely feels bad for keeping this from me, but not bad enough to end this torment.

“I don’t care anymore.” The dead tone in my voice surprises even me, but I fling open the door to my car and climb inside before I hear yet another excuse.

Jared’s shrinking form in my rear view makes me press the gas a little bit harder.

Fuck this reservation and the people on it.

And more importantly, fuck Paul Lahote.

Taglist:

@Locokoca @thestarcatcher7297 @idontliketoread2137

Want to be added to the Paul Taglist? Go here

#twilight fanfiction #paul lahote fanfiction #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x you #paul lahote angst #reader insert

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sunflowersandsapphires · 2 months ago

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There Was Love Here

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 9

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

warnings: Frank's fragile mental state, heart to heart between friends, swearing, mentions of a cemetery, Frank angst, but I promise it's going to go somewhere positive y'all.

a/n: Thank you all for putting up with my sporadic updates this year! I had some time to write, and then decided to adopt another cat...so... Anyways, his name is Wilbur and he's an angel. I have chapters 10-12 finished as well for this fic, so I'll be posting every few weeks to get those published! As always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! Tell me what you want to see next!!!

w/c: 3.6k

Despite his best efforts, sleep was evading him. Rolling his shoulders as he lay against the thin, lumpy mattress, floaters danced across his field of vision as he stared blankly at the ceiling. Any amount of shifting caused the jagged edges of the box springs to further prick at his skin, no doubt leaving small marks in their wake. His right pointer finger tapped aimlessly against his abrasive sheets, his mind flooded with thoughts and yet eerily silent at the same time.

Maybe that was because every new idea flashing across his brain, every synapse that fired, just contributed to the crippling guilt he felt. For growing soft, and allowing himself to want things again. For using you to get what he wanted. And for putting you through hell when he tried to backpedal, to retreat to the safety of loneliness and grief.

A growl rubbed at the inside of his throat, barely loud enough to be audible when it slipped between his lips. It would be so easy to let rage overtake the discomfort he was wading in. To get angry with you, with himself, with every force in the universe that caused the two of you to meet. It would be much less painful to write off your outburst last night as the musings of a drunk, bratty woman and avoid taking any accountability for his hand in your fury.

But every word out of your mouth was honest. And he didn't disagree with most of them.

He'd been the one to send mixed signals. It wasn't deliberate, but it had happened. After you stumbled into his life, he was so charmed by your sweetness and positivity, it didn't occur to him that he was pursuing something more than friendship with you. He’d been swept up in your sparkling current, carried halfway to hell before realizing that he couldn’t see the shore. Suddenly, “platonic” didn’t begin to describe his need to be near you and your beaming smile; the pain guiding his every breath had been abruptly left behind and he’d been too smitten to notice its absence.

And when his mood inevitably turned, the lack of suffering became glaringly obvious. The darkness within him scrabbling for the penance it always sought out, his family’s horrified faces playing on a loop, haunting him. He didn’t deserve comfort, or peace, or love. He was destined to wither away with no company but his own regrets and the mangled corpses of any douchebag he could drag down with him.

Which is why, when you’d surrounded him with your presence rather than allowing him to wallow in his losses, he’d opted for a watery burial.

Maria, Lisa, Frankie, Billy, the countless innocent civilians he’d taken from their families when he’d served…the list of bodies he’d left behind was innumerable. All of them turning to worm food because Frank fucking Castle was too thick to see through the lies he’d been fed by faceless men in tailored suits. Why not add another to that list?

He was a selfish piece of shit. Taking for granted everything you gave so readily and turning on you without cause. As if you were the reason he couldn’t handle when his mind was quiet. Directing his emotions at you in a frenzy instead of growing a pair and sorting out his own shit.

The words you'd used–calling yourself a mistake, a regret–far too vile to ever address you. But those weren't pulled out of your ass. He'd put those thoughts there. He'd implied that he'd made a mistake getting to know you, that he regretted your time together. And in the moment, he'd meant it—just not in the way it had come off.

The mistake was leading you on. Moving too quickly, maybe moving on at all... But you? You were not a mistake. Nor were you a regret. He savored every minute he'd spent with you, it was his own damn fault that he couldn't accept them anymore.

Gripping his hair between trembling fingers, he ripped through the slick, knotted curls with a solicitous grunt. His gaze wandered to the volume of poetry hidden in the stack of books on his nightstand.

Doesn’t everyone want love?

The faded memory of Gluck’s hollowhearted depiction of love bubbled up in his consciousness, piling another heaping of guilt onto his fracturing shoulders. He was no better than Hades. Plucking an innocent girl from the lush meadows she knew, dropping her into a secluded cavern to serve as his plaything. No more than an object to channel his affections until he tired of you, casting you aside like the burnt husk of a match.

He deserved to feel this fucking awful for what he'd done. For hurting you so abruptly, for placing you in harm's way when you were offering him another chance. Not even the god of the dead was that malicious.

Fuck, he needed a fucking drink.

Curtis took a sip of his coffee, savoring it as he swallowed. With a puff of an exhale, a thought abruptly sparked and he lifted his pencil, pressing the graphite tip into the respective squares to write the answer to the Crossword clue. Chuckling softly to himself at the author's obvious mischief, he shook his head. 'Eggbeater' what a dumbass answer for the hint 'whirlybird'.

As if the universe wanted to punish him for solving the puzzle at such a brisk pace, a pounding knock on his front door jolted his heart like an electric current. Blood rushing in his ears, he crept toward the door as quietly as his ancient floorboards allowed. Reaching his front hallway, he opened the rightmost kitchen drawer, palming the gun he stowed there and taking the last few paces to the door.

Leaving the security chain in place, figuring it would at least buy him a second to empty the clip into the intruder before they knocked him to the ground, Curtis cracked the door. Relief flooded his rigid body as he took in his visitor.

“Christ, Frank. You couldn't have called first? I was about to put a bullet in your chest,” He scoffed. Closing the door to undo the remaining lock, he yanked it open to grant the obnoxious man entry.

Rather than striding past him with his usual rageful arrogance, Frank hesitated. The moment was brief, but present enough to set off alarms in the back of Curtis' brain. Nodding tersely, Frank stepped over the threshold, allowing his friend to shut and bolt the door behind him.

The other man’s posture was tight, teeth clenched and eyes bloodshot. His clothes were rumpled and clearly a few days old. His face was pale and wan, exposing his obvious lack of sleep. Perhaps more worrisome, he hadn't even grunted in acknowledgement of Curtis' greeting.

“Where and how bad is it?” Curtis sighed, turning towards his kitchen to rummage for his first aid kit before an arm blocked his path.

“It's not—I ain’t here for a patch job, Curt.” Frank's voice was hoarse, quiet, and wrought with emotion. Meeting the Marine's unwavering gaze, Curtis took a step back.

“Then why the fuck are you turning up on my doorstep at 6am looking like flaming shit, Castle?”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Frank's face fell. “Fuck, I dunno, I...I fucked up.”

Barking out a frustrated laugh, Curtis spun away from him, heading back to his seat. “Of course you did. Of fucking course you did. Too good to come to group, but you can ask me for a favor at 6am on a fucking Sunday. That's what I'm here for!” He muttered, collapsing back onto the cushioned chair behind the table.

“I'm sorry, Curt.” Frank grimaced, still standing awkwardly in the hallway. “I didn't—”

“No, you didn't.” Curtis scolded. “I know you've been through some shit, Frank, but you can't just turn your back on everyone to fuck off and go shoot a bunch of people, expecting me to help you clean it all up when it falls apart.”

“That ain't why I'm here.” Frank bristled, clenching his fists tightly.

“No? Then why are you here, Frank?” Curtis asked, irritation still coating his words.

“Because I met someone, ok?” Throwing his hands up, Frank spat out the words, a few decibels below yelling. Eyes widening as he realized what he'd admitted to, he shrunk in on himself with a flippant exhale. “I...I met someone and I don't know what to do.”

Curtis couldn't help but feel bad for the man. From where he stood a few yards away, he looked damn close to a dog that had been kicked and left to rot in the pound. Deciding to table his reprimand for later, he stretched his arm to slide out the neighboring chair.

“Coffee's in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

Frank looked slightly shocked at the change of pace, but nodded dutifully and marched to grab himself a mug before joining Curtis at the dinette. Staring intently into the reflection of the dark liquid, Frank's lips were pressed tightly together. After Curtis cleared his throat pointedly, the hulking man growled.

“What?”

“I don't know, Frank,” Curtis rolled his eyes. “You tell me! How'd an asshole like you manage to charm someone into spending a single minute with you?”

Letting out a small laugh, Frank took a generous gulp of his drink before settling back into his chair. “Beats me.“

Whether it was the strong coffee or the exhaustion eating at his brain, Curtis barely had to pry before Frank was fully immersed in the story of how you'd met. He didn't share too much about you specifically, just general information about your initial interactions and how much time you'd spent together.

“Sounds like a good deal,” Curtis hummed, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes. “How'd you fuck it up?”

Swallowing whatever apprehension he had, Frank grumbled under his breath.

“What was that, soldier?”

“I said I broke it off.”

Understanding dawning on him, Curtis nodded absently, bringing a coffee cup to his lips. “You chased her away, you mean. And now you regret it.”

Something akin to a wince flashed across Frank’s face at the accusation, but he grunted in agreement.

“Fucking hell, Frank.” Curtis laughed humorlessly. “If you liked her so much, why’d you break it off?”

Frank was silent for a moment, his jaw twitching as he contemplated his words. Curtis was familiar enough with the other man’s mannerisms to know he wasn’t avoiding the question, he just needed time to answer. Previous annoyance successfully pushed aside, he was willing to give Frank as much time as he needed. It was honestly groundbreaking that he’d come here at all, rather than continuing to slog through his own misery alone.

“How can I do that to them, Curt?” Hands circling the half empty mug, Frank sounded uncharacteristically small.

“Do what to who, Frank?”

“How can I forget about Maria and the kids?” Frank rasped, taking a sip of his drink before choking out his other question. “How can I leave them behind?”

Feeling a strange sense of deja vu, Curtis scratched at his chin. “Who’s asking you to forget, Frank?”

Growling in apparent frustration, Frank’s brow pinched in distress. “You know what I mean.”

“I know what you're implying, that doesn't mean I agree with your self-deprecating bullshit.” Curtis explained, studying Frank as the man stood and began pacing.

Tugging harshly at his hair, each step conveyed Frank's restless energy. “I can't leave them behind. That's not fair. I don't...I don't deserve that.”

“Frank,” Curtis leaned forward onto the table, weight supported on his elbows. “Grief and remembrance are only part of you. Living your life is not the same as tarnishing or abandoning their memory.”

“Then why the fuck does it feel like I'm killing Maria all over again?” Frank asked, his posture haggard and face barely concealing a devastation at the thought of his wife.

“Survivor's guilt is a unique beast,” Curtis reasoned.

“Fuck's sake, man, don't give me that shit again.” Frank protested, looking away from Curtis' earnest stare and glaring towards the door, a single intrusive thought from bolting through it.

“I'm 'giving you this shit again' because you're a dead man walking, Frank.” Curtis scoffed, body tensing to prepare to dive after his friend if he fled. “All you've done since getting home is torture yourself over your losses. You are still alive, Frank. You deserve to live.”

“The fuck I do.” Frank sneered, knuckles flexing beneath his skin as he clenched his fists.

“Frank, you're an asshole, that's true,” Shoving back from the table, Curtis stood, moving as quickly as he could to block Frank's path of escape. “But you're not a bad man. What happened to your family was tragic and unfair, but it is not and has never been your fault.”

Frank opened his mouth to argue, but Curtis pointed a finger at him sternly. “Don't start with your usual crap, Castle. Deep down, you know I'm right. Isn't that why you killed all those shitbags around the city?”

Rolling his shoulders with an irritated huff, Frank settled his weight against the back of Curtis' couch, still not making eye contact.

“It's ok to miss them, Frank. To be upset about your loss. But living with one foot in your own shallow grave won't bring them back. Letting yourself have something good won't change the past. It might make you less miserable to be around, though.” Curtis raised a brow, lips curved into a smirk to indicate that he was joking. Frank snorted, mumbling something about him being a dick.

Stepping into line beside his friend, Curtis patted him on the back. “You’re human, Frank. Humans crave companionship. It's written into your biology. You don't need to beat yourself up every time you look twice at a pretty girl.”

Groaning loudly, Frank dug a fist into his left eye socket to rub at it. “It ain't that easy, Curt.”

“I fucking know that, Frank. There isn't one thing about this life that's easy. But that's a dumbass reason not to try for something decent.”

Exhaling forcefully, Frank's head bobbed in a miniscule nod. “Yah.”

“Yah?” Curtis asked, shocked that he wasn't receiving the typical brick wall of stubbornness he was used to. “Huh, don't think you've ever listened to me before.”

Frank chuckled. “Shut up.”

“So, you think she's good for you?” Curtis asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the first good thing Frank had experienced in a long time.

Blowing out a breath, a blush crawled up Frank's neck, saturating his cheeks with a pink tint. “I know she is.”

“And that scares you.” Curtis stated matter-of-factly.

Initially, Frank's posture went rigid, a scoff clearly brewing in his lungs. But, meeting Curtis' knowing gaze, he deflated and grunted in timid affirmation. “I ain’t…I hurt her, Curt. Bein’ with me, you know damn well it ain’t safe for her.”

“Because of loose ends? Or because of you?” Curtis let his question ruminate despite being pretty sure he knew the answer already.

“Both.” Frank muttered, kneading at his forehead with the heel of his hand.

Curtis pursed his lips, knowing exactly the struggle Frank was facing. After a moment, he shrugged. “Do your best to make it safe.”

“Not sure that’s possible, Curt.” Frank huffed bitterly.

“Relationships are always trade-offs, Frank. That’s just life.” The scowling Marine rolled his eyes, broad arms sliding into a defensive cross over his chest.

“And I’m supposed to be ok that? Force her to accept everythin’ I’ve done and everythin’ she’d have to deal with cause that’s ‘just life’?”

Stifling a frustrated groan, Curtis socked Frank in the shoulder. “I didn’t tell you to force her into anything. If she wants to accept it, let her. And if this is what you want, then you make it good for her. But first, for Christ's sake, apologize for the record-breaking stick up your ass.”

The corners of Frank’s mouth quirked up. “Any suggestions for that last point?”

“Shit man, if you want me to advise you on your life AND your relationship, I'm gonna need something to eat.“ Striding down the hallway and snatching his jacket from the hook on the wall, Curtis jerked his head toward the door. “C'mon, Frank. You're buying.”

Laughing genuinely, Frank shook his head. ”Alright, alright. Gonna bleed me dry over here.“

”I'm sure I wouldn't be the first,“ Curtis remarked. ”Now, how badly did you fuck up with this girl?“

Frank just grimaced, drawing a knowing laugh from Curtis. “Ok, well, hopefully we can do something about it.”

The night was damp, humid. Muggy air circulating between haphazardly mowed grass and the surrounding space, bouncing off of trees and headstones. He strode across the green carpet, through the shadows and straight for the pair of them. Each step dented the ground, the moss and dense soil clinging to the sole of his boot as he lifted it with a slight squelching noise as the suction released.

As he strode further into the cemetery, the scent of petrichor soured; rotting bodies leached into the dirt, the smell of decay seeping through the ground until it reached his nostrils. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he set his jaw–hoping the emotionless exterior would force the chaos within him to quiet down. Dancing through the jags of marble and stone, fireflies illuminated the slight hill, briefly flashing over a name or the dried stalk of a rose before disappearing.

At the base of the incline, two slabs of granite held the line. The left engraved with his name, the right with Maria’s. As he closed in on the sturdy pair, his fist clenched around the burlap cloth in his hand, rustling the mess of stems tied beneath. Kneeling between the two burial sites, Frank draped the peonies over the surface of Maria’s grave, their petals fanning out over the dew-ridden earth.

Sighing roughly, he fiddled with them, spreading out the blossoms, careful not to damage the delicate flowers with his harsh movements. His chest felt tight as he worked, quickly moving on from the bouquet to the few stray weeds trailing away from the carved rock.

“You hate this, don’t ya?” He murmured, a sad smile breaking through his stony expression. “Always on my ass for stayin’ too busy to talk things through. Drove you crazy.”

A hazy memory surfaced, a young Maria yanking a dish out of his hands as he tried to wash it, staring him down while he hung his head guiltily. He huffed out a tight laugh.

“I’m sorry, baby. Never could do right by you.” Tracing beneath the imprints on her headstone, Frank’s throat ached as he fought back the feelings of guilt and shame and despair he’d been battling for days, all of them threatening to spill over at once. “I’m so sorry, Mar.”

His fingers tightened around the marker, gripping it for dear life as his composure wore thin. “It’s been so long and I..I still miss you every day. Every damn day, baby. You’re my everythin’, ya know that?”

Drawing in a breath, he ran a hand through his hair, yanking at the grimy strands as he grappled for control. “Mar, I..I’m tired. I’m so fuckin’ tired and losin’ you..it’s eatin’ me away, baby. But I–”

His voice broke, a cracked syllable breaking off into a snarl as his fear burst forth. “I can’t do it anymore. I-I can’t. I’m not– I ain’t strong enough, Mar. I can’t live without ya. Not on my own.”

A breeze ruffled through the trees beyond the cemetery border, whistling lightly as it rounded the headstone and fluttered over the satiny petals of the flowers at his feet. The weight of his existence inexplicably felt unbearable, the tension in his shoulders threatening to snap him in two. Lifting his dirt-streaked hand, his fingers landed on the thin chain hanging around his throat, fiddling with the metal until they landed on the smooth band of a wedding ring. Twisting the sanded gold between the pads of his fingers, he raised his chin, blinking rapidly at the sky to clear the moisture from his vision.

“Forgive me, baby.” Bending forward, he pressed chapped lips to the slab of granite, its chill surface intent on sapping his body heat. Sinking to his knees, his head landed against the polished stone, fingers viciously gripping handfuls of wilted sod as his emotions clobbered him.

Closing his eyes did nothing to quell the turmoil, the recesses of his mind swarming with memories. His two beautiful children, smiling wide as he returned home, their tiny arms too short to wrap completely around him when they hugged. Lisa pressed against his side, head pillowed on his shoulder as he thumbed through the pages of a weathered book. Frankie screeching out a laugh as Frank caught him by the waist during a game of catch, thwarting the boy’s attempt to dart away with the football. Maria grinning at him as he hefted all the grocery bags inside in one trip, shaking her head as she ushered him inside. The three of them piled together beneath an oversized blanket, sleeping through a particularly rough thunderstorm.

Heaving in a breath, he released the ground from his clutches, wiping his palms on his jeans as he tried to get himself under control.

“Please, Mar, please forgive me.”

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight @danzer8705 @mjsvinyl @softieekayy @sweetpov @dreamtofus @zomtart @mjsvinyl @senjoritanana @marytheweefrenchie @siampie @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @agirlcandream84 @vsplanet @pigeonmama @silas-aeiou @frogbinch @chwlogy @valhallavalkyrie9

#frank castle #my writing #fc #gray skies #the punisher #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x female reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle angst #the punisher x reader #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction

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ellephlox · 1 year ago

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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

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petertingle-yipyip · 10 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.

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