wolvietxt

[wolvietxt]

already home 1.9k ↳ summary : after a tough patrol with tommy, joel’s the only person that can ever really make you feel okay again ↳ warnings : hurt/comfort, blood mentioned, reader and tommy’ve known eachother a long time, for context joel and reader aren’t dating they’ve got a wierd mysterious fwb thing going on, reader cries, injury

[wolvietxt]

already home 

pairing : joel miller x fem!reader summary : after a tough patrol with tommy, joel’s the only person that can ever really make you feel okay again warnings : hurt/comfort, blood mentioned, reader and tommy’ve known eachother a long time, for context joel and reader aren’t dating they’ve got a wierd mysterious fwb thing going on, reader cries, injury wc : 1.9k a/n : hi guys🧍‍♀️

you hadn’t said much after the second body dropped.

just nodded when tommy told you to reload, swallowed back the sharp breath stuck in your throat, and kept moving.

there’d been five of them. raiders, maybe smugglers, maybe just desperate. but they weren’t there to talk. shouting first. then gunfire. the snow’d gone red faster than you could think, and now your fingers were trembling, your jacket soaked through with melted ice and sweat.

“that’s the last of ‘em,” tommy said, pulling his coat tighter as he walked up beside you. he kept his voice low. careful. “you alright?”

you nodded again. not a lie, but not the truth either. your heartbeat hadn’t slowed yet.

you had a deep gash on your cheek - just along the edge of your jaw - from when someone tackled you into the frozen brush. your side hurt where you’d hit the ground, ribs bruised under your layers, and the knuckles of your left hand were scraped raw from swinging the butt of your rifle at someone’s face.

but you were alive.

and more than that - tommy was too.

“come on,” he said gently, gesturing toward the horses. “let’s get you home.”

he didn’t ask for details. didn’t need them. you’d known tommy longer than you had joel, and he knew how you tended to get after patrols, withdrawn and tense. he’d never been able to get out of that headspace, having to usually just wait for it to pass, wait for sleep to take you and hope you’d be a little more yourself in the morning. tommy hadn’t had to worry about that since joel. of course he still felt concern for you, you were his partner after all, and had been for years, there for him when joel wasn’t - his fretting over you caused sleepless nights, maria having to reassure him constantly you were more than able to handle yourself.

he always kept close while you rode, staying to your left where the trees got thick. his posture was loose, but his eyes didn’t stop moving. you noticed him glance back at you more than once. checking.

it was quiet between you, but not heavy. not uncomfortable. tommy never pressed when you got quiet like this - always treated it like it wasn’t strange, like it didn’t worry him that you went half-silent after encounters like that. you were beyond grateful for it.

about a mile from the gates, you shifted in the saddle, breath catching.

tommy looked over.

“you good?” his tone soft, as not to spook you.

“yeah,” you said, voice small. “just… sore.”

“saw you hit the ground back there,” he said, frowning. “you’re not bleeding out anywhere, right?”

you managed a soft smile. “no. promise. just my cheek.”

he craned his neck while you turned to show him, “fuck…” he muttered under his breath. 

“i’ll patch you up soon as we get back, promise you.” he said, frowning.

“thank you, tommy.” he could tell by your tone you weren’t really in the mood to speak.

not wanting to fully ice him out, you shot him another soft smile, though he could tell it took effort, and his shoulders relaxed just a little.

jackson’s watchlights were a hazy yellow glow in the distance. you didn’t think you’d ever been so relieved to see them.

“you want me to take you to the clinic as well?” tommy asked.

you shook your head. “no. can you - just… joel’s.”

he nodded understandingly. “figured.”

your voice went even softer, and your eyes grew wider. “you think he’s gonna be mad?”

tommy looked at you with a kind of gentle disbelief. “mad?”

“i don’t know. i didn’t…” you shrugged. “i froze up for a second. might’ve slowed you down.”

“bullshit,” he said flatly. “you kept your cool. you always do. don’t talk like you didn’t hold your own out there.”

you bit your lip and looked down at your reins.

“besides,” tommy added, a smile tugging at his mouth, “if joel’s mad, it’ll be ‘cause he wasn’t out there with us.”

that earned a small laugh. barely more than a breath. but it was something.

by the time you reached joel’s place, your hands were stiff from the cold and your legs felt shaky. maria had met you both in the middle, between joel’s and jackson’s gate. she’d ridden quietly with you, but you didn’t miss the falter in her stony resting face and the crumple in her brow at seeing tommy’s sheepish expression. you admired the both of them so much. tommy dismounted first and moved to help you down, his touch careful at your waist. you winced when your boots hit the ground, hand drifting toward your ribs.

“hey,” he said, his brow furrowed. “you sure you don’t want me to-”

“i’m okay,” you said. then, quieter, “thanks, tommy. and you maria, thank you both.” you said, looking over his shoulder.

he gave a small nod.

you stepped up onto the porch, pausing at the door. the house was warm behind it. safe. it smelled like woodsmoke and cedar, like him. the smell already making tears jump to your eyes.

your knock was soft. you didn’t have it in you to be louder.

it opened almost instantly.

joel stood there, hair mussed from sleep, flannel wrinkled, boots half-laced. his eyes landed on you first. scanned your face, your posture, the way your hand hovered near your ribs. his jaw tensed.

then he looked past you. saw tommy lingering by the steps. something passed between them - a brief nod, nothing more - and joel stepped out onto the porch.

you stiffened when his hand found your arm. he didn’t tug. didn’t pull you forward. just touched, lightly, like he was making sure you were real.

you were cold. stiff. tired.

and you didn’t expect him to pull you into his arms like that.

not here. not in front of anyone.

but he did.

one arm around your back, the other hand sliding up to the back of your neck. he drew you in close, his chin resting above your temple, your face pressed to his chest. he was warm. smelled like soap and leather and sleep.

his lips brushed your forehead once.

“you’re okay, baby.” he murmured into your hair.

you didn’t react. couldn’t. your eyes just shut, throat tightening.

joel didn’t say anything. didn’t move. he held you there, steady and sure, until he felt the wetness on his shirt and the hitch in your breath.

tommy didn’t speak. just watched from the steps, something unreadable in his face.

“i’ll check in tomorrow,” he said, voice low. “let you two rest.”

joel’s only response was a small nod, barely more than a tilt of his chin.

you didn’t look back.

he guided you inside with one hand on your back, door closing behind you with a soft click. the warmth of the house settled against your skin, but it didn’t chase the cold from your chest.

you still hadn’t said anything.

joel didn’t ask.

he turned you gently, holding your face in both hands now, his thumbs brushing beneath your eyes. his gaze dropped to the gash on your cheek, now stitched up by tommy. however, he missed the smudge of dried blood near your jaw. joel frowned.

“who did that?” he asked.

you blinked slowly. “i don’t know. someone grabbed me when i was reloading.”

his fingers brushed the edge of the bruise on your side. “and this?”

“hit the ground hard.”

he made a quiet, steady sound in his chest - something frustrated, something helpless. then he took your hand and led you to the couch.

you sat down slowly, the ache settling into your bones now that you were still. joel crouched in front of you, opened the small kit he kept by the hearth. he worked in silence - gentle hands, clean cloth, steady pressure on the scrape.

you watched his face. watched how his brows furrowed when he dabbed at the wound, how his jaw clenched when you winced.

“you should’ve seen the other guy,” you tried.

your voice came out smaller than you meant.

joel’s lips twitched. almost a smile.

“probably can’t see much of anything now.”

you blinked, and something stung behind your eyes again.

he noticed. joel always noticed. he shifted closer. rested a hand against the side of your neck.

you didn’t mean to cry.

it just happened.

slow at first. then sudden. your shoulders shook, breath catching, tears spilling over. you tried to turn your face away, to hide it, but he stopped you with one hand against your cheek.

“hey,” he said softly. “don’t do that. jus’ let it out.”

you did.

no words. just the weight of it, the panic, the cold. the way the snow had gone pink around your boots. the way your fingers still felt numb.

joel eased onto the couch beside you, pulling you gently into his lap. you curled up slow, careful of the sore spots, your head resting just under his chin. his arms wrapped around you tight. his hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your spine.

“you’re alright,” he murmured. “i’ve got you, baby.”

you nodded against his chest.

he stayed like that for a long time, holding you through every shaky breath.

when the tears finally slowed, you realized how quiet it was. the snow outside had dulled the world to a hush. the fire crackled softly. joel’s heartbeat was steady under your ear.

he shifted only once - just enough to grab a blanket from the back of the couch and pull it over your shoulders. then he kissed the top of your head.

“you warm enough?”

“mmhmm,” you said, voice raw.

“good.”

you stayed curled up like that, legs drawn into the blanket, your cheek pressed to his collarbone.

“tommy okay?” he asked after a while.

you nodded. “he looked out for me.”

joel’s hand moved slow against your arm. “he’s good like that.”

you glanced up. “you’re not mad?”

his brow furrowed. “mad?”

“that i… panicked. or… didn’t shoot fast enough.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you. 

“you’re not supposed to be made for this,” he said quietly. “you still made it home. that’s all i care about.”

you swallowed. “but what if-”

he cut you off gently. “don’t start that, baby.”

you nodded, eyes dropping.

his thumb brushed your cheek again, slower this time.

“just glad you’re here.”

you leaned into him.

joel helped you up eventually, though he didn’t let go for long. brought you into the bedroom, helped you change into dry clothes, guided you under the covers. he settled behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist, his nose tucked behind your ear.

“get some sleep,” he murmured. “i ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

your hand found his where it rested against your stomach, fingers curling around his.

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t need to.

you were already home.

JOEL MILLER : @person-005

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[wolvietxt]

probably going to start writing for joel miller soon i’ve just played tlou again after about five years…… send in requests i beg…

[wolvietxt]

can you write something for bucky where after some awkwardness he just straight up admits he wants reader…. or maybe she does? up to you thank you so much , love your writing❤️

here, hope you like it💗💗💗

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ i want you !

↳ bucky barnes x female reader

you’re sitting on the couch with your knees pulled up, cradling a chipped mug between your hands, steam curling up past your cheek. it’s late — later than either of you meant to stay up — but neither of you have moved. neither of you have said a word about heading to bed.

bucky’s across the room. not far, not close. his elbow is braced on the armrest, fingers pressed to his mouth like he’s thinking. or hiding something. the soft light from the kitchen cuts across his face, all shadow and bone. his hair’s tucked behind one ear, a little messy, a little damp. he must’ve showered an hour ago. maybe more. you can still smell his soap from here. warm, cedar and clean linen. it makes your chest tight.

he watches you sometimes when he thinks you won’t notice. quiet glances. slow ones. like he’s memorizing. like he’s not sure how long he’ll be allowed to look.

you notice every time.

you shift your weight, your knee brushing the blanket thrown over your lap. bucky’s eyes flicker down to the movement, then back up. caught again. you give him a small smile, soft and tired. he doesn’t smile back. not because he’s upset — he just looks… stuck.

“you tired?” you ask gently, breaking the quiet.

his voice is low. hoarse. “nah.”

you wait. he doesn’t offer anything else.

the air feels thick between you, but not in a bad way. more like something waiting to happen. something that’s been waiting. you sip your tea and look at the tv, even though nothing’s playing. just the home screen. you haven’t touched the remote in an hour.

he shifts, and you glance at him again. he’s still watching you, eyes softer now. a little worn down. like the edges of a well-loved book.

“you okay?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

he exhales. slow. heavy. his metal fingers twitch on his thigh. “yeah.”

it’s not really an answer, but it’s bucky, so you don’t push. he never says what he’s really feeling until it’s too big to hide.

you wonder if he knows how obvious he is. how your heart stumbles every time he walks into the room. how sometimes, when your hands brush, you think you’ll burn from it. how you fall asleep thinking about the way his voice gets low when he says your name.

you wonder if he feels it too.

his gaze drops to your mug. “that tea?”

you nod. “chamomile. helps me sleep.”

he hums, quiet. “you haven’t touched it much.”

“haven’t really been tired,” you admit.

“me neither.”

there’s another silence, this one heavier than the last. you feel it settle in your chest. maybe it’s now or never.

you look over at him. “can i ask you something?”

he nods. slowly. “course.”

“what’re you always thinking about when you look at me like that?”

he goes still.

his hand falls from his mouth. rests in his lap. you watch the way his throat bobs with a swallow, the way his jaw tenses. he doesn’t answer, not right away.

you don’t take it back. you don’t fill the silence.

finally, he says, “it’s not something i should say out loud.”

“why not?”

he shifts again, leaning forward now. his elbows on his knees, head bowed slightly. he looks tired. he looks like he wants to say something so badly it hurts.

“’cause if i do,” he murmurs, “i won’t be able to stop.”

your heart thuds.

he looks up, and this time, the weight in his eyes knocks the breath from your lungs.

“you ever want something so bad you think maybe you imagined it?” he says. “like… if you even say it out loud, it’ll vanish. or maybe it was never real to begin with.”

you blink slowly. your fingers tighten around the mug.

“yeah,” you whisper.

he nods, eyes never leaving yours. “that’s what it feels like with you.”

your breath catches.

you set the mug down, hands suddenly useless.

bucky’s still watching you, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. to say he got it all wrong. that he crossed a line.

you don’t.

you slide your legs off the couch and stand. slowly, so he can stop you if he wants. he doesn’t. you walk the short distance between you, and he tilts his head up to keep his eyes on you.

you sit beside him. close. close enough your knees brush, close enough you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. his hands are curled into fists.

you reach out and gently unfold one.

his metal fingers are cool against your palm, but they twitch like they’re trying not to grip back.

“you didn’t imagine it,” you whisper. “i feel it too.”

his eyes fall shut like the words knock something loose in him. and when he opens them again, he’s looking at you like you hung the stars. like he’s been starving for this.

he still doesn’t kiss you. he doesn’t even move. just stays still, breathing hard, staring at you like he’s afraid if he blinks you’ll be gone.

you squeeze his hand.

“you can say it,” you whisper. “if you want.”

he swallows again. then, so quiet you almost miss it:

“i want you.”

his voice cracks on the last word. like it’s too full. like it’s been buried too long.

you lean in, your forehead brushing his. his hand tightens in yours.

“then you have me,” you whisper.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, bucky exhales like he can breathe again.

BUCKY BARNES : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @spideysimpossiblegirl

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @hazydespair, @winchestert101

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus, @uncertified-doc, @hits-different-cause-its-you

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @tinyminxie, @tcddszn, @Blu-jays

@chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl, @person-005, @wkhannah

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[wolvietxt]

ᰔ chamomile tea !

↳ frank castle x female reader

you don’t hear him come in. the door creaks just a little, but your head stays bowed over the kitchen table, hands loose in your lap. there’s a soft ache behind your eyes that’s been growing all afternoon — nothing big enough to cry about, just one of those long, grey days that settles into your bones and stays there.

the hum of the kettle starts behind you. you blink once, slow. you didn’t ask. didn’t move. didn’t say a word.

but he knows anyway.

he doesn’t speak. never does, really, not when it’s like this. not when you’re worn thin and heavy in that quiet way that doesn’t want to be seen. but still — he sees it. he always does.

a mug appears beside your elbow, pushed close enough for the steam to touch your skin. honey. no lemon. two teabags.

you stare at it for a second too long. the soft golden color, the way it curls at the top from the heat. he’s already stepped back. leaning against the counter, arms crossed, like he didn’t just read your mood down to the last thread.

“thanks,” you say, voice barely above the whistle of the kettle cooling. you wrap your hands around the mug and let the warmth bleed into your fingers. it feels like something unwinding in your chest. slow and careful.

he shrugs like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just reach into you without touching. “long day?”

you nod. that’s all he needs.

he doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what happened. frank’s not the type. he lets the silence sit between you like something alive, something soft. doesn’t fill it with noise or questions or things you’re too tired to answer.

instead, he moves around the kitchen in that quiet, solid way of his — puts away a dish, runs the tap low. doesn’t look at you again, not yet. just stays close enough that you can feel the comfort of him nearby. familiar weight. steady hands.

you sip the tea. it’s perfect. warm and strong, sweet enough to catch on your tongue, like he knew exactly what would make your shoulders drop a little. he did.

you glance at him. his jaw’s tight like always, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he finally meets your gaze. like he’s checking in. like he’s listening without saying it.

“you always make it right,” you murmur. “even the bad-day version.”

he doesn’t smile, not exactly, but the corners of his mouth twitch like they want to. “’course i do.”

your lips quirk, just a little. “you keep a chart or somethin’?”

“just pay attention,” he says. then, a little softer, “that’s all.”

you look down again, to the tea. to the steam still rising. you don’t say it, but it means something — more than a drink, more than the routine of it. it’s him. it’s how he stays close without crowding. how he sees you without making you explain yourself.

“you always know,” you say under your breath. “even when i don’t.”

frank comes closer then, rests his hand against the back of your neck. warm and grounding. his thumb brushes the edge of your hairline, and it makes something in your chest ache in the best kind of way.

“you don’t gotta say anything,” he murmurs. “i’ll still take care of you.”

you lean into his touch. his palm is rough, calloused, but gentle as anything.

“you’re too good at it,” you whisper.

he huffs a small laugh through his nose. “nah. just got good taste in people.”

you smile into your mug.

he leans down, presses a kiss to the top of your head — soft, like he’s sealing in the comfort. “finish your tea, sweetheart.”

“yes, sir.”

his thumb strokes the curve of your neck once before pulling away. he heads for the hallway, probably to grab a blanket, maybe your favorite sweater from the bedroom. something else to tuck around you like protection.

but even if he didn’t — even if it was just the tea and the quiet and the closeness — you’d still feel held. because that’s what frank does. not loud, not showy. just steady. present. always two steps ahead when you need something without ever making you feel like a burden.

you sip again, slower now.

outside, the sun’s dipped past the window. shadows stretch long across the floor, but the kitchen feels warm. golden.

you wrap both hands tighter around the mug and close your eyes.

he always remembers.

FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn, @xanaxiii, @Blu-jays, @chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl

@person-005, @malfoys-demigod, @wkhannah

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[wolvietxt]

guys i’m struggling with writing soo much at the moment everything i write just feels like. poop. and i’m not really sure what to do because whenever i write anything i read it back and it reads so .. choppy? i don’t know how to explain it 🙄 but i’m like who wrote this ew. i used to CHURN out the fics like literally one a day i was so speedy with it but now i don’t really have that kind of motivation and i’m just hunched over my laptop staring at the two teeny paragraphs i’ve mustered up in an hour🙄🙄🙄

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ lucky !

↳ frank castle x female reader

the key turned like it always did - smooth, quiet, familiar. the door opened, and there you were, standing in the doorway with that same soft smile you gave him every evening.

“hi, frankie,” you said gently, stepping forward, already reaching for him.

he barely got a word out before you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then another one right on his lips. you always did that - like it was the easiest thing in the world to kiss him hello. and maybe it was, because you’d been doing it since the second week he started staying over, like it just made sense.

frank didn’t usually think too hard about things. but tonight, the second your lips touched his, it just… hit him. he stood there for a second longer than usual. didn’t speak. didn’t move past the doorway. just looked at you - your face upturned, your arms sliding around his waist, the faint scent of something on the stove behind you. and something warm settled in his chest.

he wrapped both arms around you, tugged you in close with a quiet grunt, and just held you. no words, no explanation. his hands flattened against your back and he buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like you were home.

you let out a soft laugh. “you okay?”

he nodded against your skin, not pulling away. “mm. better than okay.”

you smiled, relaxing into him as his arms tightened, like he needed to make sure you were real.

“you smell good,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.

“you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

his hands were warm against your back, moving slowly like he was memorizing the feel of you all over again. he kissed your shoulder through your shirt, then the side of your neck, then rested his head there like he could stay just like this for the rest of the night. you didn’t question it. you just stayed quiet, letting him hold you, your fingers brushing through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“missed you today,” you murmured.

“missed you more, sweetheart.”

he shifted slightly and kissed your temple, then your cheek, then down the curve of your jaw - lazy, sweet kisses, like he had all the time in the world. like there was nothing else on his mind but you.

you gave his shirt a little tug. “long day?”

he shook his head. “nah. just… comin’ home to you, that’s all.”

he leaned back a little, just enough to look at you, but not enough to let you go. his eyes scanned your face like he was still trying to take it in. he brushed his thumb across your cheek, smiling softly.

“don’t know how i got so lucky.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile said otherwise. “you say that every night.”

“’cause i mean it every night.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, and let it linger. his fingers curled lightly around your waist, like he never wanted to let go. and honestly? he didn’t. when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes still half-closed, completely relaxed for the first time all day.

“you’re my best part, y’know that?” he murmured. “every damn day.”

you reached up and smoothed your hand down his chest, fingers brushing along the buttons of his shirt. “you’re so sappy tonight.”

“hell yeah, i am.”

you giggled softly, and he swore he could feel it in his ribs. he smiled and kissed you one more time, just because he could.

“alright,” you said gently, rubbing your hands along his back. “dinner’s almost ready. you hungry?”

“starvin’. but i’m not movin’ yet.”

he hugged you tighter, nose brushing your cheek, lips curling into a quiet smile.

“just lemme hold you a minute longer, baby.”

you nodded, cheek against his chest. “okay.”

and so you stayed there, wrapped up in the arms of the man who loved you more than anything, while the world stayed quiet around you. nothing dramatic. nothing complicated. just the simple, solid warmth of being loved by frank castle.

and being his was the softest kind of forever.

🌟FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn, @xanaxiii, @Blu-jays, @chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl

@person-005

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[wolvietxt]

picking up the pieces

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort, crying, reverse comfort (kinda), not proofread, neighbour!frank, established relationship, petnames summary : frank’s self-deprecating comments finally get to you wc : 2.2k a/n : guys i’m #alive and #thriving don’t worry stop asking me if i’ve died thank you though🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

not when he barely said a word for the first three months you lived next to him. not when you figured out pretty quick that he came home with bruises that didn’t match the kind of work he’d told you he did. not when you’d catch him sitting on the front stoop, covered in sawdust or blood or both, breathing like the air hurt.

but somehow it just… happened.

he came over once because you left a note on his door. hey - package came to mine by mistake. he looked confused when he knocked, like he didn’t think you’d actually write something so simple. you watched him glance at the box, then back at you, and you could tell from the way he cleared his throat that he didn’t know how to say thanks.

after that, he started showing up more.

bringing your mail. checking on the leaky faucet you mentioned offhandedly. standing a little closer each time, like he didn’t want to leave.

then one night, you knocked on his door.

you were crying, and you didn’t say why. just said can i come in? and he nodded, stepping aside without asking anything. he held you all night and didn’t ask a single question. but the next morning, he made coffee and you found out he took his black, no sugar. you told him that was insane and he just said, “you’re insane,” with the ghost of a smile. and from that point on, it was… different.

you kissed him two weeks later. he kissed you like he’d been waiting years.

it’d been eight months since that first night. eight months of quiet dinners, long showers, fingers laced tight under the covers, and frank’s body curled protectively around yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world.

right now, you’re curled up in his lap. it’s raining outside, soft and steady, and frank’s got one hand on your thigh, his thumb dragging slow lines across your skin. the tv’s playing something neither of you are really watching.

he smells like soap. like flannel and heat and something that always makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” you murmur, “you could stand to take a compliment once in a while.”

his thumb stills. “i take ‘em.”

“you deflect them.”

“same thing.”

you glance up at him, turning to rest your cheek against his chest. “i said you were a good man earlier and you said ‘debatable.’ what even is that?”

frank snorts softly. “it’s honesty.”

you make a face, nudge his ribs with your elbow. “you saved that guy last week. the one in the alley? you didn't even know him.”

“guy was gettin’ his ass handed to him by two meth-heads. it ain't that deep.”

you push yourself up a little, looking at him. “yeah, well you didn’t have to get involved. but you always do. because that’s just who you are.”

he looks at you then. just for a beat. his face unreadable.

“…maybe i just like pickin’ fights,” he says finally. there’s a rough edge to his voice, but it’s not angry. more like resigned.

you laugh softly. “okay, tough guy. sure.”

he grunts. “’s the truth.”

you lean in, brushing a kiss to his jaw, then nuzzle into the space under his arm again. “you’re good, frank. whether you believe it or not.”

he mutters, almost to himself, “i’m just a mess, sweetheart. you’re gonna get tired of picking up the pieces.”

you freeze.

it’s not that what he said is cruel. it’s not even new - he’s done this before, poked at himself like he’s just some walking mess. but tonight, it lands different. heavier. sharper.

you don’t answer. just stay still, curled against him, eyes open and fixed on nothing.

frank doesn’t notice at first. his hand moves back to your thigh, slow and steady, but something about your silence must click. eventually, he tilts his head down, squinting at you in the dim light.

“…hey.”

you blink.

“what?” your voice is too soft, too tight.

“you okay?”

“yeah.” you try to smile, to brush it off. but it’s barely there, and your eyes won’t meet his.

frank shifts a little to get a better look at you. the arm around your back pulls you closer, like he’s anchoring you to him. “what’s goin’ on in that head?”

you shake your head. “nothing. just… tired, i guess.”

he studies you for a second, then lifts a hand and brushes your hair gently behind your ear. “you don’t look tired.”

you glance at him for half a second before looking away again. it’s too much. he’s too much.

because he’s here. breathing and warm and solid beside you. and somehow, even after everything, he still doesn’t understand what it means when you look at him and say you’re good.

you press your face into his shoulder like you can hide there.

but the tears are already coming.

you try to turn your face further away, but you’re curled toward him, wrapped up in him - there’s nowhere to go. your hand comes up to your cheek instinctively, wiping the first tear before he can see, but you know he does.

you feel his whole body shift slightly.

“baby,” he says, low. confused.

you shake your head again, voice trembling. “it’s nothing.”

he leans forward just a bit, trying to see your face. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i swear - i just…” your throat closes up. you press your lips together and try to breathe through your nose, but it doesn’t work. your shoulders shake. “god, i don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

his hand cups your jaw suddenly, tilting your face gently toward him.

“hey,” he says again, firmer. “sweetheart. look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are glassy, lashes wet, cheeks red. you feel stupid. overly sensitive. like you’ve just ruined the softest moment with your own mess.

but he’s holding your face like you’re glass. like you’re made of something precious.

you blink up at him and your voice breaks.

“i just - i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

frank’s lips part slightly. he doesn’t speak. his thumb brushes under your eye, catching the tear that slips down.

you exhale shakily, a little embarrassed now that it’s all out in the open.

“you say stuff like that,” you whisper, “like you’re some kind of monster. like you’re not good. and it just - it kills me. because you’re… you’re everything to me. you know that?”

his brows furrow. he looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“…i don’t - ”

“i know you’ve been through hell. i know you think all that stuff ruined you. but it didn’t. not to me.” you swallow hard. “you love me like no one ever has. you take care of me. you make me feel safe. like i can breathe.”

your voice cracks again and frank just moves, pulling you into his lap before you can say another word.

he wraps both arms around you and holds you tight against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head like you might fall apart if he lets go.

“shh, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “c’mere. i got you.”

you bury your face into his neck and let yourself cry, finally giving in. it’s not loud. just quiet, broken little gasps against his skin as your fingers clutch the back of his shirt.

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t say anything else for a long time.

just rocks you slightly, thumb tracing slow circles into your spine.

when your breathing finally evens out, he shifts just enough to look down at you. you don’t pull back. you stay pressed to him, arms tight around his waist.

“…you sure you ain’t got me mixed up with somebody else?” he says quietly.

you lift your head, watery eyes searching his face. “frank,” you whine.

he gives a soft sigh, like he already knows what you’re about to say but needed to hear it anyway.

“you’re mine,” you whisper. “you’re so good to me. you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to stay.”

he cups your face again and kisses your forehead. not rushed. not distracting. just gentle, grounding. and then another kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your mouth - slow and soft and deep.

when he finally pulls back, he’s looking at you like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to believe it.

“you ain’t goin’ anywhere either,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod. your hand slides up to rest on the back of his neck. “i’m right here.”

“yeah you are.”

he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

and for a long time, the only sound in the room is the rain outside and the soft hum of his breath against your skin.

the rain’s stopped by morning. the quiet hum of the house is almost peaceful, except for the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen and the distant chirp of birds outside the window. you’re curled up in the same spot you were last night, still wrapped in the warmth of frank’s body. the bed’s slightly colder now where his body had been, but you feel tethered to him in a way that’s grounding, safe.

he’s already up when you open your eyes, the soft scrape of the kitchen chair against the floor letting you know he's busy. you don’t rush to get up, letting yourself linger in the comfort of the bed, still feeling the traces of his arms around you. the scent of coffee wafts into the room, pulling you from your hazy morning thoughts.

frank appears in the doorway a few moments later, coffee in hand. his hair’s a little tousled, and he’s wearing that worn, grey t-shirt of his you love. the sight of him makes your heart stutter in a way you still haven’t gotten used to. 

he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his gaze soft and steady as it meets yours. there’s a quiet understanding between you, something built from the words left unsaid last night, from the vulnerability you shared. there’s a gentleness to his presence now, like he’s giving you space to breathe without making you feel like you have to speak.

after a moment, he walks over and sets the coffee down on the nightstand, then sits down next to you, the bed creaking under his weight.

you shift slightly, leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like everything, like the world is aligning in these quiet moments. there’s a peace here, one that’s fragile but steady.

he picks up his mug, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “ain’t used to somebody cryin’ over me and stickin’ around,” he mutters, voice low. the words aren’t heavy, but they’re raw - like he’s still figuring out what it means for someone to care that much.

you don’t answer right away, just let yourself settle deeper into his side, the warmth of his body grounding you, making everything feel a little less sharp. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek, the weight of his arm around your shoulders.

finally, you speak, your voice soft but steady. “you don’t have to get used to it. i’m not going anywhere.” 

his hand brushes against your hair, gentle and comforting, before he lets it rest on your shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles. “yeah?” he asks, his voice almost tentative, like he’s still unsure if this is real.

“yeah,” you whisper, barely more than a breath. “i’m here. always.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you don’t need to. the quiet fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a blanket. it’s comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel heavy, but full of understanding. full of trust.

you finally pull back just enough to look at him, meeting his gaze. there’s a softness in his eyes now, a flicker of something you haven’t seen before - something like hope, quiet but steady.

he looks at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if he can believe it. then he sighs, almost to himself, and leans down to kiss the top of your head, slow and tender.

the rain’s long gone, and outside, the sky’s starting to clear, the sun creeping in. but in here, in this quiet moment with him, everything feels like it’s finally falling into place.

you feel his breath against your skin as he holds you, his arms strong but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go. but you don’t need to be held that tight, not anymore. you’re grounded now, by him, by this quiet, simple love.

the morning moves slowly, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe, really breathe, without the weight of everything else hanging over you. with frank, it’s different.

🛍️FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

not sure if you’ve taken them yet but good luck on your exams!!

HI thank u so mcuh omg, haven’t had them yet but i’ve got them in like two weeks💔

[wolvietxt]

could you do baking wt old man!logan hehe

LOGAN huffs, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, watching you with that usual mix of amusement and skepticism. "ya sure ya know what you're doin'?"

"yes, logan," you sigh, exaggerating your patience as you carefully measure out the flour. "baking is all about precision."

he snorts. you roll your eyes but keep going, adding sugar, salt, and baking powder to the bowl. logan stays close, occasionally sneaking little tastes of ingredients when he thinks you’re not looking. when you catch him dipping a finger into the sugar, you swat at his hand. "logan!"

he smirks, completely unapologetic. "what? had to make sure it wasn’t salt."

you shake your head, biting back a smile, and grab the eggs. you crack one confidently over the bowl - only for half the shell to fall in.

you freeze. logan does not. he laughs, low and warm, the sound rumbling from his chest as he nudges your shoulder. "so much for precision, huh?"

"oh, shut up," you mumble, fishing out the eggshell while he watches, still grinning.

"c’mon, lemme try," he says, reaching for an egg. you move aside, watching as he cracks it against the counter a little too hard. the yolk slips between his fingers before he can drop it in the bowl.

logan blinks down at his hand. "well, hell."

this time, it’s you laughing. "so much for ‘just mixin’ stuff,’ huh?"

he gives you a look but wipes his hand on a towel, shaking his head. "shoulda seen that comin’."

grinning, you grab the milk and start to pour, but your aim is off, and suddenly, there’s way too much in the bowl.

logan reacts fast, reaching around you, one big hand covering yours as he steadies the carton. "easy there, darlin’," he murmurs, voice softer now.

his other hand settles lightly at your waist, grounding you, warm and steady. your fingers brush, and for a second, neither of you moves.

"guess we're wingin’ it after all," you say, glancing up at him.

logan smirks, his grip on your hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. "damn right."

he finally lets go, but not before giving your hip a gentle squeeze. "reckon we’ll survive if it turns out terrible."

"well, you will," you tease. "adamantium stomach and all."

"damn right," he mutters, but there's a fondness in his voice now, one he doesn’t bother to hide.

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen, @tezooks

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

@northerngalxy, @hits-different-cause-its-you, @spideysimpossiblegirl

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

hello i know that i’ve been a little inactive but i just wanted to say i have a few things in the drafts but they just need editing, if i can bring myself to do some today then i def will :3

[wolvietxt]

sorry this was like half serious half not

does anybody know💔 how to quit smoking💔

[wolvietxt]

does anybody know💔 how to quit smoking💔

[wolvietxt]

I just need to tell you, you write Frank so realistically it makes me feel he's actually said those things. I wish I could make all sorts of different accounts just to hype up and like all these beautiful stories you write. I squealed when you wrote about Frank in a neighbor context. Just something about that yearning, that watching from afar and then finally meeting really hits the spot so thank you 🥰🥰❤️

omg this is the sweetest thank you so much for this☹️ i love writing for frank, especially neighbour!frank he’s so cute :3

[wolvietxt]

Hello jay how are you doing !! 🌟🌟

hello omg i am doing OKAY! not been writing as much recently (code for haven’t written anything i’ve been happy with) so i’m sorry about that. but yes!! i’m doing so good actually, uni is still kicking my ass but i’m going out for drinks with some friends later so i’m happy 🎉

[wolvietxt]

Hey❤️ For your neighbour frank can i please request a fic where frank eats reader’s leftovers? Maybe she cooks too much or makes some extra for him? Thank you, love your frank fics!

hello, it’s here, hope you like it!