New event is here!! This time we will reflect in the incredible year of content Jon bestowed upon us. You can create anything related to all the projects Jon was part of in 2025. If something came from a sequel like the accountant, you can use Braxton from both movies, you don't have to limit yourself to the second part. Same for Frank & Michael, you can use any past material from those characters. It's also no limited to his work â pictures, interviews, podcasts, premieres, etc, from this year are game too.
Jon in 2025: Daredevil: Born Again S1, The Accountant 2, The Bear S4, The Amateur, Ironbound (play).
Other material: The Accountant 2 promo tour, SXSW, Kelly Clarkson Show, Jimmy Kimmel Live, New York Times photoshoot, Armchair Expert podcast, etc.
Rules:
All fanworks must be Jon Bernthal related.
You can create any type of art (fanart, fics, gifs, videos, etc.)
All works must be new and by you.
Reposting/Reusing other usersâ work is not allowed.
AI generated work is not allowed.
All ships are welcome.
No character or ship bashing.
Tag accordingly if your work contents tw.
Use the tag: bernthal blessed so we can see it.
Info:
DO I NEED TO SIGN UP? No, just enter at anytime during that week.
WHERE TO POST: On tumblr and/or in our Collection at AO3: BernthalBlessed2025. (If you donât have any of those and still want to participate, contact us, so we can find a solution.)
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¡ Bitter Aftertaste (Frank x Reader) by @anna-hawk
¡ Christmas Morning (Frank x Reader) by @feelmyskinonyourskin
¡ Frank Castle Headcanons (Frank x Reader) by @halfway-happyyy
¡ Clash (Braxton x Reader) by @ricksicle
Fanvids
¡ Beardthal Blessed by @darlingshane
¡ Braxton by @bossboudicca
¡ Braxton Highlights by @darlingshane
¡ 2025 Top 5 Scenes by @darlingshane
Gifsets
¡ Michael Berzatto by @minidodds
¡ Frank & Matt in DDBA by @fmsoys
¡ Frank in DDBA by @xxdrixx
¡ Michael Berzatto by @minidodds
¡ Michael Berzatto by @xxdrixx
¡ Jack Harper by @minidodds
¡ Jon in 2025 by @lucy-sky
¡ Frank manspreading by @xxdrixx
¡ Braxton by @xxdrixx
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You love Braxton, but when an unexpected issue arises, will love be enough to keep the two of you together?
Author's Notes: For my dear @darlingshane! I remember us discussing this as your birthday present ages ago, so please no spoilers. ;) I hope you're going to have as much fun reading this as I had writing it, dearest Amaya! đ¤đ¤đ¤
"Fuck, Brax!"
Braxton's heavy balls are slapping against your thighs, jolting you forward with each stroke. The idea of him being so fucking full, so needy for his release in your cunt, is bringing out your feral side. Hooking your ankles behind his ass, you drag him closer, as much as you can be closer to someone fucking out your brains anyway.
He gives you a cocky grin, his slick-shiny tongue sticking out between his teeth. "Yeah, sweetheart?"
Rolling your eyes at him, you start digging your nails into his shoulders experimentally. Not everyone's into it. You didn't even know you were or you wouldn't have gone with the stiletto manicure.
The effect is instant, and beyond anything you could have imagined.
The groan ripped from his throat travels through his chest into your skin, setting all your nerve endings on fire. Bucking up into your nails, he tries his best to keep the rhythm of his hips going, but he's failing spectacularly. He's trembling against you like a live wire, a dragon chomping at the bit, wanting to take flight. All you need to do is give him a tiny nudge in the right direction.
Part of you wonders if this is the right choice, but your lizard brain is winning this one. Love me till it hurts.
You bear down onto his shoulder blades, your nails leaving tiny marks behind. Braxton muffles the scream tearing apart his throat against your shoulder, hot, humid puffs burning your skin.
Your can't bring yourself to scratch down his back, but you thread your fingers through his hair, yanking with authoritative sharpness.
"You gonna fuck me now, Brax? You gonna be good, huh?"
The whimper against your chest breaks your heart. Fuck, you shouldn't have said that. Brax needs reassurance, not criticism, and-
He's off like a rocket, his hips snapping forward over and over. Folded in half against his chest, you can feel each stroke of his thick cock right against your swollen clit.
"Good boy," you whisper as you yank him right up to your face. "You're my good boy, Brax."
His dark eyes are unreadable in the twilight of the early morning hours, but something complicated passes through them, the kind of emotion that has too many layers to explain easily. Exploding into action seems easier for him. It's for you, too. Don't need to talk everything to death, right?
You kiss the sadness from his lips, tasting his sweat and your cream until your eyes roll back into your skull. Brax rocks impossibly deeper into the cradle of your hips, like he's trying to slip inside of you, shape you both into a symbiosis of pleasure.
With the next snap of his hips, he slides deeper into you than he's ever been, than you'd thought was possible for anyone to be.
You can't be sure, but you swear you can see the faint outline of his dick under your belly, and that- you just don't know what to do with such a mindblowingly hot image other than to scream his name, over and over, until your voice gives out.
When you finally come, you rally and scream into the darkness, not caring who hears. Brax bites down on his fist.
The worst part about your morning routine, other than wakefulness itself, is doing your makeup. It feels like slipping on a mask, something to hide behind, something to cover up your beastly nature.
Glancing over your shoulder, you see Brax snuggled up in the comforter, his face softened by the light coming through the bathroom door. When he's awake, he's a whirlwind of motion, hands flurrying, feet stepping.
Never stand still, never stop all that manic energy bursting through every single pore on your body, Brax.
You turn back to the mirror, finishing your winged eyeliner with a slightly larger flourish than is advisable for an office job. It makes you look like a fucking warrior queen, the kind whose merciless gaze makes her enemies quiver in fear. If you need to play by their rules, if you need to be tame and sweet and domesticated, at least you can get away with this.
Having finished the mask, you strap yourself in the straight jacket of your Spanx, your sheath dress. Tasteful jewelry, heels, and you're ready for another day at the office, another day you're chained to a desk when you'd rather be chained to Brax.
Leaning down impulsively, you kiss his cheek, feeling his stubble drag through your lipstick - something real through layers of civilization.
Braxton wakes at around 11, his stomach feeling like a black hole, the kind that sucks in everything and feels satisfied with nothing.
Turning onto his back, he stretches out his legs blissfully. Feels good to have enough space after an endless series of flights. It's perfect with the exception of the grooves in his back, dug by sharp little nails the night before. That was... something else. You're never boring in bed, but you were like a woman possessed, like you were trying to scratch his pleasure out of him, take it by force if he wasn't going to offer it up willingly.
Fuck. He loves a good ride like that. Speaking of which, maybe that's what you're going to do tonight. You could ride him - take what you want and maybe give him some matching marks on his chest.
Humming under his breath, he wanders into the kitchen (butt naked, of course), and grabs the first thing he sees - a box of Cheez-Its. Perfect. Dad never let him have that kinda shit food growing up, but he sure as fuck is going to have it now that he gets to make the choice. He's kind of a shit cook, but he's gonna throw something together for dinner later, surprise you.
You have another two days before he needs to be at his next job, and he's gonna make them count.
He chokes on the first fistful of crackers, hacking like a cat throwing up a hair ball. Shit, he's getting sloppy, killing himself with a cracker. Christian would be appalled if he knew about this.
But then he can't stop coughing, no matter how much water he guzzles, and he's thinking, maybe this is something else entirely.
hi <3 id like to put in a request for protective frank headcanons if youre up for it! no pressure tho, and happy holidays!!
happy holidays, my sweet!!
frank's need to protect you runs so deeply in him that it feels almost cellular. it's multifaceted and sometimes messy, but that's simply him in a nutshell.
the first time you'd ever cut yourself on broken glass in the kitchen was also coincidentally the last time you'd ever cleaned up broken glass in his presence, again. it had occurred at the tail-end of a long evening, where the wine consumed had caused your vision to dance a little at the edges, and your normally sound gait had adopted a slight wobble. you'd gone to set the glass beside the sink and missed, and the sound of the crystal shattering on impact had been a jarring one. "you alright in there?" frank had immediately asked. you'd knelt down to start collecting the jagged shards when a particularly sharp one bit into the soft flesh of your palm. the cut was so perfect in its viciousness that it had taken a minute or two for the blood to start flowing, but when it did, it was almost impossible to staunch. "jesus, sweetheart, step away from the glass." he'd instructed firmly before reaching for your hand to inspect the damage. even through the wine-induced haze, you could detect the worry in his voice. "it's a clean slice, but we gotta apply pressure to it to stop the bleeding." he'd reached for an abandoned tea towel, and wrapped it tightly around your hand. "hold it nice and tight, hm? i'm gonna clean this mess up quick." he'd pressed a kiss to your forehead. "you okay?" the tears had been thick in the back of your throat, so all you could manage was a nod. any time it happened after that, frank was always right at the scene of the crime, with a stern look. "nah, sweetheart. you stay right where you are. i've got this covered."
knows how much you detest the thought of doors and windows being left unlocked, so he makes it a duty of his every night to inspect them.
refuses to let you walk closest to the street. "can't really call men who let their ladies do that, "real men", can ya?"
knows how much a strong hand at the small of your back when you stumble, means to you.
can tell from across the room at a gathering that your social battery is running on fumes. "you're not feelin' so hot, are ya?" he'd tried hard to mask the concern in his voice, but it was still there. "lemme grab our coats and then we'll blow this popsicle stand, huh?" you'd tried to protest by saying you'd only been there for a little over an hour. frank wasn't having any of it. "and we'll see 'em again soon, i'm sure. c'mon kid, there's a couch, some snacks, and two cats waitin' on us back at home."
will wait up for you to get home when he knows you've indulged in a couple of cocktails. not because he doesn't trust you, but because he simply has to see for himself that you've gotten home safe. new york city can be a wonderful place, but he also knows the dark underbelly of it like the back of his hand.
will get up in the middle of the night to hit the corner store with you when a craving kicks in.
would absolutely not hesitate to level someone if they so much as touched you without your consent. (ie: a burglar, robber, creeper on the subway, etc).
is aware that his need to be protective of you isn't always necessarily healthy. knows that some of it stems from places of trauma that dwell deep inside of him. he's just grateful that you know when to put your foot down with him.
has never once raised his voice in anger, or ridiculed you for decisions you've made, because he knows that more than anything, you value feeling safe with him. "kid, sometimes i gotta remember that half of protecting someone is just bein' around to catch 'em when they fall, and not necessarily preventing 'em from jumping."
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warnings: Fem reader, no use of y/n, implied smut.
notes: A quick fluffy drabble for the the BernthalBlessed2025 event
w/c: 1,368
*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks*
Itâs raining outside. You hear it puttering against the window in steady beats as you tug at the covers to pull them closer. A warm spell caused a late December rain storm, washing away the inches of snow that fell on the city just last week. Not very festive for Christmas, but you didnât mind.
Thereâs a weight against your back, enveloping you in warmth as you blink a few times to orient yourself. You donât need to turn around to know itâs Frank. A genuine Christmas miracleâ heâs home. You figured heâd be spending today like he spent the last few weeksâ out hunting down whatever gang he was looking for, getting a few hours of sleep when he could in one of his shitty hideouts. You werenât even expecting to hear from him all day let alone wake up to him holding you.
You reach for your phone on the night stand, scrambling to turn the brightness down so it wonât wake him.
7:22 AM
The fancy security camera app Micro installed showed Frank getting in at 4:45. Heâs barely been asleep 2 hours.
He needs the rest. He always does. Heâll only take it if you made him though.
Entwining your fingers in the ones he rests across your abdomen, you close your eyes and drift once more.
Itâs 9:48 the next time you wake. Using your phone once again, you open the camera and hold it above you, checking to make sure that Frank is still asleep.
His nose is smushed into your back and his breathing is steady and even.
Perfect.
It takes a bit of effort to unwrap yourself from his iron-clad hold without disturbing him, but you manage.
The coffee maker whirrs to life and the stovetop warms quickly as you place the griddle on it.
Itâs ritualistic at this point: dig through his duffle and get his clothes in the wash (this time while ignoring the packages inside, all wrapped in plain brown paper), guns on the coffee table for him to clean later, and breakfast on the stove, warm for whenever he wakes up.
The latest smutty romance novel your upstairs neighbor recommended isnât exactly a page turner, so when you hear the familiar sounds of Frank getting out of bed and making his way to the bathroom, itâs not too hard to put the novel down.
Heâs all kinds of sleepy and cozy looking as he appears in the door frame, blessing you with the sight of him only in a pair of black sweat pants.
âMorninââ he grumbles in that sleepy baritone that sends shivers down your spine as you step toward him.
âHey big guy.â you reply, pressing your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around his strong frame. The feeling of your cold hands against his bare back has him flinching for a moment, before he wraps you in his embrace and plants a drowsy kiss to your crown.
âHow are you?â you ask, leaving room for him to reply with as much or as little as he wants to share.
âTired.â
âYou should sleep more.â
He pulls his head away, cupping your jaw lightly and looking into your eyes.
âPfft. Ainât gonna waste a day with my girl. âSpecially not today.â
With the way he operates, you werenât even sure he would know exactly what day it is, but clearly he does.
You bite your lip as you look him up and down, never sure what state heâll return to you in.
âWhatâs the damage, lieutenant?â
ââM fine.â
The bruise on his jaw and under his ribs tell a different story.
âLiar.â
âWhat, you hoping for worse?â
Part of you does, because maybe anything worse would keep him home with you a little while longer or even give him the incentive to hang it all up. You both know that only a spot in the ground would actually do that.
âYou want coffee?â you offer.
The way heâs eyeing you indicates that coffee is the last thing on his mind.
âNah, Iâm in the mood for somethinâ sweeter.â
As tempting as the offer is, you donât want the special breakfast you made to get cold and go to waste.
âI made pancakes. Put the cute Christmas tree sprinkles in âem and everything.â
He hesitates, weighing his options. Youâre almost offended at the insinuation that he likes the idea of pancakes more than your pussy.
âI like pancakes,â he replies finally.
âYeah, I know you dork.â
He shakes off the idea.
âI can have pancakes later. Wanna show my woman how much I missed her.â
He leans down, attaching his lips to the junction where your neck meets your collar bone.
âNo, I refuse to fuck you until you have coffee in your system,â you reply, causing a grumpy grunt to fall from lips, which are still attached to your neck.
âI wonât cum if youâre cranky,â you continue âand besides Iâm pretty sure half the reason youâve never gotten me pregnant is your semen is mostly made of coffee so why risk our best birth control method?â
He scoffs with a shake of his head
âChrist. Fine. Breakfast first.â
He chews loudly, a habit that typically drives you up a wall. Youâre just so happy that heâs here today, it doesnât even register.
âI got you something, by the way. Since itâs Christmas and all.â
You try to keep your tone nonchalant, poking your pancakes with your fork and not meeting his gaze when you say it. Youâve done this beforeâ spooked him with too much normalcy and happiness. Emotions which typically have him spiraling into a grouchy self-imposed day of sulking because youâre âtoo good for him.â Youâre still learning on how to coax his boundaries on that further and youâd rather not push him too far today.
âDidnât have to, sweetheartââ
âOkay but I did,â you cut him off, flinching at your eagerness as the words leave your mouth.
âGood thing I got you somethinâ too then.â
He nods toward his duffle and you feign surprise like you didnât see the gifts in his bag when you took out his laundry.
âNone of my presents have some guys blood on them, do they?â
âNo promises.â
He chuckles, flashing your that warm, toothy smile you only catch glimpses of in moments like this.
You return with a scoff of amusement, holding yourself back from jumping up and finding his gifts that are wrapped and tucked neatly under the tree.
âI missed you,â you confess quietly.
âI missed you too, baby. Like you would not believe.â
He pats his thigh and itâs all the invitation you need to crawl into his lap, nuzzling into his neck and breathing him in. No matter how long heâs gone he always returns smelling the sameâ like Irish Spring soap and gun powder.
âYou get into any trouble while I was gone?â
âOh you know me, Frank. Always in some kind of predicament,â you reply sarcastically, both of you knowing the most interesting thing you got up to while he was away was pushing through tourists trying to get a glimpse of the tree in midtown on your way to work.
âThatâs an awful big word, sweetheart.â he returns the jest ââMember I was a Marine. We donât do so good with big words.â
âGood thing you got such a pretty face then.â
He scoffs at that.
âThis ugly mug? Really? Didnât think you were with me for my good looks either.â
âOh, Iâm with you cause youâre good at something, thatâs for sure.â
âYeah? Want me to take you to bed then? Remind you why you keep me around?â
You donât even get a full nod out before heâs on his feet, carrying you bridal style down the hall and to the bedroom.
He keeps you there most of the day, not that youâre complaining. He eventually lets you exchange your gifts over a dinner of Chinese takeout. You end the day cuddled on the couch, both falling asleep to some boring made for tv movie.
And for the both of you, itâs the best Christmas you can remember in a while.
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