The Valentine Channel

Right now I’m watching the movie with my bestie for what is probably the hundredth time, and this dangerously obsessive thought just hit me… the scars, the opera house, the possessivness and obsession — wait, why is this actually genius? 👀

frank castle x f!reader (monster!reader)

summary: you're a kind of spiderwoman, only you're closer to frank's way of thinking than to the friendly neighborhood spiderman!

warnings: violence typical of the daredevil world (mention of blood, injuries, and explicit violence). murder. swearing. reader is a spider woman, literally, kinda like a monster, okay? something suggestive at the end.

content: monster girl. love between vigilantes.

word count: 2974

a/n: @hellskitchenswhore's original idea, and it came from here.

clarification: english is not my native language, so i apologize in advance for any mistakes.

Massacre in an abandoned building! Lifeless bodies hidden in dense cocoons of webbing. Our sources describe it as a scene straight out of a horror movie. The web-wrapped bodies were hanging from the ceiling! Does this mean the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man has decided to take a darker path? Is this how Spider-Man gains his vitality? We're told that some bodies were missing parts. Is the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man eating these people? Is it some kind of ritual, since Halloween is just around the corner? Is Daredevil involved? We'll be back soon with more information!

“Doll,” Frank instinctively called as you slipped out of his grasp. He turned toward you and couldn't help but chuckle as he shook his head at the sight of you cradling a kitten in your arms. The small ball of fur was black, dirty, and trembled under your touch.

“Oh, my darling…” you murmured. Undeterred by the little animal's grime, you kissed its head as you returned to Frank's side. “This kitten is missing an eye,” you said, looking at him with eyes full of a gleam that denoted the sadness you felt at that moment.

“Hm, it seems so,” Frank commented. His eyes shifted to the animal; it was clear that it had suffered street cruelty and now, tired and scared, was looking for somewhere to rest undisturbed.

Your eyes never left Frank's face. “Can we…?”

Frank laughed, a genuine laugh that mingled with a snort. “Doll… you really askin' me that?”

“Well, it’s just that… if you don’t want to…” you murmured, gently pressing the small cat against your chest.

Frank pulled you closer by the hips, careful not to crush the animal, and kissed your lips. “C'mon… like I got the guts t' tell you no,” he said, snorting lightly against your lips.

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn't help but let out a chuckle. This man, who had been so grumpy the first time you spoke, now didn't even consider saying no to you whenever you pulled one of your stunts.

You and Frank had met months ago, maybe seven or eight. You were ready to infiltrate a brothel that trafficked women across state lines. It was going to be easy to get inside and do your thing, but before you could strike, Punisher appeared, ruthlessly attacking those vile men. You'd heard of him before; you knew Punisher wasn't a bad guy, so you simply climbed down from the rooftop and evacuated the victims to make Frank Castle's job easier.

At first, Frank nearly banged his head against the wall when he saw you. You were so similar to him, so similar to the irritable yet friendly Spider-Man. You even dared to approach Frank and speak to him; you were just as chatty as the spider kid! He didn't hesitate to back away, muttering curses about another idiot in red who was sure to never finish the job.

Those were Frank's beliefs for a short time.

Everything changed one night when the anti-vigilante force almost caught him.

Almost.

You were there. Maybe you'd been following Frank or Fisk's idiots. It didn't matter, you destroyed them all. It was a crimson dance, a dark shadow with lethal force that seemed to ignore all harm as long as it destroyed what it saw as its enemy.

“Are you alright?” you asked him in a soft, gentle tone, as your hands carefully removed a piece of concrete that had fallen on him. “I’m so sorry about the mess. Can I treat your wounds? I promise I know how,” you said.

Your eyes shone with an honesty and kindness completely unrelated to the scene Frank had witnessed minutes before.

He blinked. “What the fuck?”

He had noticed eight unfamiliar limbs emerging from your back; now they were shyly hiding behind you, folding as if they wanted to disappear inside your body. Were they… spider legs, perhaps? They looked like the pincers from Spiderman's metallic suit, but these were coming out of you.

He heard them folding, and when he could no longer see them, he realized it wasn't a suit; they were truly part of you.

You had extended your hand to help him up, despite seeing how alarmed he was. Frank didn't quite remember what was going through his mind at that moment, but he ended up accepting your hand and, from then on, he hadn't let go.

You were the sweetest woman Frank had ever known. The duality of your nature never ceased to amaze him; one moment you were the kindest person in history, and the next you were tearing apart the limbs of some criminal unfortunate enough to cross your path.

One minute you were telling him about a soup kitchen you'd helped, and the next you were explaining that you chose red for your suit because blood hid better on red fabric.

At another point in his life, he might have been terrified of you. Now? Now he couldn't help but admire you. Your heart was good, even though your hands were stained with blood. You never stopped helping, even as a civilian you took care of helping stray animals, homeless people or in some community soup kitchen.

You were wonderful. You radiated a kindness that could melt even the coldest of hearts; always attentive, always willing. It wasn't hard for Frank to fall in love with you.

He fell completely in love. Not just with the woman you were during the day, but also with the monster you unleashed at nightfall.

Perhaps he had become more desensitized to the massacres, but he was never frightened by the way you dealt with the bastards who were damaging the world. You had no mercy; you had what it took, and if someone as kind and good as you could see it, what was stopping idiots like Spider-Man and Daredevil from seeing it too?

To Frank, you were perfect. You had the perfect balance of that inner goodness that Spider-Man carried and Murdock's brutality, but you stood on the other side of the line.

On the other side, next to Frank.

Another night in Hell's Kitchen, another night where crime never rested.

Neither did you.

The man crawled along the floor, using his hands for leverage. His red-hot fingers stained the ground even redder as he tried to get away from the monster stalking him. His legs wouldn't respond; they were paralyzed, and all he could do was scrape his fingerprints against the ground, at least trying to escape.

A painful scream scraped from the man's throat. Something hard had driven deep into his right hand; it was a sudden blow, but the way it sank into his skin? Slow and agonizing. First it pierced the skin, then it punctured the fascia, and seconds later, its lethal force sank into the muscles of his hand. It was following the bone, but the movement stopped.

A monstrous hiss was heard; the ground next to the man's head was pierced. The concrete cracked easily underneath, followed by two more loud sounds that indicated the ground had been damaged again.

“You’re afraid,” the voice sounded like many women’s voices at once. Several women whispering to him that he was now nothing more than a bag of blood, bones, and fear. “You always sweated fear.”

You watched him writhe under your touch, under the touch of your various lethal limbs. You made sure to paralyze his legs and not the rest of his body because you wanted to make him suffer. He deserved to suffer; because of him, weapons were sold that ended the lives of innocents. This man contributed to the continued danger of the streets of your home.

You drove another one of your eight legs directly into his left hand. This time you weren't slow; you simply pierced the flesh until you were embedded in the ground. Slow torture wasn't your style, but it frustrated you to know you hadn't finished off all the men in the building; some hadn't been there that day and were hiding in an abandoned warehouse at the port.

“You’re lucky I’m not hungry,” you said. It was your voice, a voice that repeated itself several times in different tones that seemed to blend with several voices that weren’t yours. “You’re fortunate that I’m not interested in saving you for later either,” you whispered.

You were not floating above him; four of the limbs that came out of your back held you up; they were nailed like unbreakable columns against the ground while you observed, from various perspectives, the suffering, but still living body of this wretch.

You smiled. “Well, Frank is waiting for me,” you said.

You used two free legs and dug them into his shoulders. Hearing the cracking of his bones, the viscous sounds of his body, and how his cries of pain tore through his throat was melodious. He deserved it, they all deserved it.

You pulled hard, and like a rag doll, the man split in two.

“Damn,” you whispered as you felt bits of the idiot land on your mask. “Ew, I'll have to wash this suit,” you whispered back.

You slid easily across the roof so as not to ruin your work. The warehouse above was littered with cobwebs, blood, and human remains. You'd worked hard to spin so much webbing, so it would be an insult to spoil it. Not to mention the lovely bloody message you'd left on one of the walls.

You decided to climb out a window and threw yourself to the ground, landing this time on both feet. Frank was waiting for you, leaning against an empty container; he was spattered with blood, you could smell the gunpowder he'd probably used, and his breathing was slightly ragged.

“All done, baby?” Frank asked, looking you up and down. “Missed a spot,” he pointed, smirking at your mask.

You were about to snort in response, but then something made your hair stand on end. A presence, a tiny movement, and the sound of a loaded gun. Not aimed at you, but at Frank.

You charged without thinking. You were a red and black shadow that crashed down with force against the threat you sensed even before it could truly act.

You didn't give your skin time; your extra legs tore through it, making you groan—from pain or rage? You didn't know—and then four of them dug into the ground, and the other four, along with your hands, began to tear the attacker apart.

Perhaps one of the guys from the warehouse who was outside managed to slip away, miraculously, from you and Frank. A moment of vulnerability for both you and your partner. You were foolish, blaming yourself because you could have, for an instant, lost your beloved Frank.

You dug in, pulled, ripped, punched. Again and again. It was a mangled mass beneath your touch, not the lifeless body of a human being, but a gelatinous mass of fluids and tissues that had encountered the monstrosity that was you.

Frank called your name. He didn't sound alarmed or worried; he simply called your name to draw your attention to him and not to the human pulp you had made.

“Of course, sorry!” you apologized sheepishly. You quickly stood up as you walked toward Frank. “I got a little carried away,” you said, laughing softly.

Frank was always amazed by your abrupt changes. One moment you were the monster tearing some fool apart, the next you were back to being the beautiful woman he'd been lucky enough to love.

You moaned softly as the pincers on your back folded and retracted. Your suit was open at the back, right where your legs emerged to protect Frank. Usually, your legs would come out through the fabric made by your web that you could easily generate, but on this occasion, due to the frenzy that took hold of you, you tore the fabric on another part of your suit and now you could feel how warm your skin was compared to the night's cold.

“You hurt yourself,” Frank murmured. His hand slid carefully up your shoulder and gently down to the exposed part of your back. “Doll…” he said with a small grunt, realizing you hadn’t been careful.

Nobody hurt you, you did it to yourself.

“I couldn’t let them hurt you,” you murmured softly. “My skin will regenerate.”

The look Frank gave you clearly let you know he didn't approve. "Still hurts," he said, letting out a sigh. “C'mon. We're going home.”

“Ouch,” you groaned as the gauze slipped through one of the holes in your back.

“Hold still, baby,” Frank murmured, using the medical tape to secure the gauze. “How many damn times have I told you to be careful with this?” he said, then placed a kiss on your bare shoulder despite his anger.

The sun streamed through the windows. The hours had passed quickly from the time at the warehouse until they arrived at the shelter where he was now tending to your wounds.

You sat on the couch, your torso bare, while Frank finished tending to the wounds you'd inflicted on yourself (but you didn't regret it at all). His calloused, rough hands moved gently over your injured skin. You knew he was tense behind you, but Frank always got like that when you hurt yourself.

Salem, the little black cat you'd rescued a few days ago, rested peacefully on the table. He wasn't trembling like before, and it seemed as if he'd always belonged to you and Frank. Perhaps that was true, though you felt a pang of jealousy that Frank had so easily won the little furball's affection.

Your eyes lingered on the sweet Salem for a few moments, then glanced over your shoulder for a few seconds, tracing the outline of Frank's figure.

“Don’t be upset,” you said gently. “I’m going to get better,” you smiled at him as Frank’s gaze was fixed on the gauze you were taping to a wound.

“That don't mean ya gotta tear your skin up like it doesn't hurt,” Frank snorted. "You already got a bad back. You really wanna make it worse?"

“Mm no,” you conceded. “But I don’t regret keeping you safe.”

You heard Frank sigh. You knew he was making that typical gesture where he swallowed his words to avoid starting an argument with you.

“Come here, doll,” Frank murmured, patting your hip. “Wipe that grin off your face,” he huffed as you sat on his lap and deliberately pressed your breasts against his chest. “And don’t go thinking those pretty tits are gonna get ya outta this one,” he said, a lopsided grin spreading across his face as his hands gently settled on your hips.

“I didn’t intend any of that,” you said in your defense, but he knew better.

“Mhm, sure,” he huffed. "Maybe I ain't got that spider shit or that healin' thing you got, but I ain't stupid. I can see when you're hurt," he said, this time his tone detonated seriousness. “Don't wanna see ya gettin' hurt, baby.”

You sighed, nodding. “I know, I… I just acted on instinct. I felt something and went for it without thinking because I knew it would hurt you,” you murmured. “I don’t like it when innocent people get hurt, but I like it even less when they try to hurt you, Frank.”

One of his hands rose to your face and gently cupped your right cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. “I know you did it for me, don't mean I gotta like it,” he said, looking at you. “I know my girl's more capable of handling herself… don't mean I gotta like watching you get hurt doing it.”

You smiled at his words. “Your girl,” you said, smiling.

That earned you a smile from Frank. “Mhm, my girl. My monster girl,” he said.

His lips met yours without hesitation. It always felt good to kiss Frank, to lose yourself in the taste of his saliva and the slow movements of his tongue against yours. Your hands pressed against his dark hair as your lips sucked on his tongue, making him moan against yours.

You felt the heat build in your lower belly, and your hips moved almost on their own against him.

“Mm… nah. Stay right there,” Frank growled at you. His hand went down hard against your ass, making you moan softly. “Think I’m kidding? Still pissed ‘bout the way ya got yourself hurt,” he said, as his hand rested in the same spot where he’d spanked you. “You ain’t getting what you want today, princess.”

You huffed at his lips. “Okay, that’s cruel, you know?” You nipped at his jaw, making him laugh.

“That’s what you get for not listening to me,” Frank said, searching for your lips again.

“Morning news! An abandoned warehouse becomes the latest haunt of the monster now living in Hell's Kitchen. Cobwebs, dismembered bodies, and a bloody sign that reads: I'm not Spider-Man, please don't tarnish his name! Is this a joke? Do we have a copycat, or is our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man suffering some kind of identity crisis?”

Television managed to interrupt the new kiss between you; Frank laughed over your lips while shaking his head.

“Shit, seriously, doll?” he said, looking at you with an amusement he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

You shrugged, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “Spider-Man doesn’t deserve to have his image tarnished by something I did,” you said, your fingers tangling in Frank’s hair. “So I left a message so they know it wasn’t him…”

Another laugh escaped Frank's throat. “Yeah… 'course you did.”

Frank resumed the kiss, this time, he didn't allow anyone to interrupt them as he savored the sweet taste that was your being.

notes: i've had this idea for a while now, because i'm always drawn to the idea of ​​a spider-woman, but i wanted her to be more of a vigilante than a superhero. then the op idea came along perfectly to develop it, at least in a short form. <3

the original idea was for a longer series, but i don't feel confident enough to write a frank series, lmao.

He kills bad people who will continue to harm more people if they continue to live. He kills bad people that the justice system has let go free.

MOST OF ALL, he is good with kids. He is always protecting them. That fuck ass quote "if you can't imagine your batman comforting children you're thinking of the punisher" is so wrong.

I beg people to bare minimum do cursory googles about characters before writing for them. Frank Castle is a good man, flawed and violent but good.

Frank inspected his gun, turning it around in his grip. It was completely normal. 

A headache slammed into him, almost making his knees buckle, he had never felt something like this, he felt like his very skull was being torn to shreds, he leaned against the wall, he felt a steady stream of blood come from his ears. And then it just stopped.

He had a theory on what just happened.

Years ago, he had heard whispers of a woman in the countryside that was a magician. One who helped heros. He was still new to all the magic shit,and so he went to you. Made an exchange. He was granted a healing factor in exchange for control over his soul. Frank had no idea what that had meant but you did not elaborate, just smiled. You seemed trustworthy so he agreed.

He had an odd relationship with you, every once in a while he would get an invitation to come have tea with you, no matter where he was, he would always receive them. You treated him like an old friend, you called him Francis, he didn't know how you knew his real name, but you never did anything remotely hostile. Just... condescending, you treated him as some kind of entertainment. Every once and a while you would ask him a favor. Mostly intel. He just knew this was you.

He stormed to your manor. And old Victorian one, perfectly conserved, 24 acres. He knocked on the doors, being answered by a butler. He gave his name and the door slammed in his face. A few moments later, the door opened again. You stood there smiling wide, white gloves, a pink dress, ribbons in your hair. 

"Francis! Oh how good to see you! Come, walk with me."

You held your arm for him to take, it wasn't a question. He just stared, angrily.

You lowered your arm. "Or not, come in and join me for tea then, I can tell you have something to discuss."

You walked to a table, accompanied by two chairs, a butler pulled yours out for you, you thanked him and he scurried off, you were still smiling. Frank took a seat, just as a woman came over and left a teapot with two cups on the table.

You smiled and nodded at the woman, turning to Frank, you picked up the teapot, pouring yourself and him a cup.

Frank stared for a second before opening his mouth. "So look, yesterday, I-"

"One sugar, or two, Francis?"

"None thanks, but like I was saying-"

"Oh are you sure? It's a bitter tea."

His voice began to rise with frustration "No. I don't want no damn sugar. Now about yesterday-"

"So fickle Francis, how have-"

"Can you stop fuckin interrupting me?! We have serious shit to discuss." 

Your eyebrows raised before quickly regaining composure. "Well then go ahead, Francis. Tell me what you think." You slid him tea and took a sip of your own.

"Last night, I was after a target. I shot him and the bullet collapsed, then I got this horrible headache. Did you have something to do with that?"

"Well perhaps, what was the man's name?" Frank hated that you were still talking to him like a child, he was stronger than you, bigger, he could overpower you if he really wanted to, but you just sat there sipping your damn tea.

"His name was Jasper Backwell." 

"Oh Jasper! Yes, that would be my doing then."

"Why? What did you do."

"Well he has made a similar deal to me, he's protected under my magic, and that little headache would be a punishment for breaking our agreement, Francis."

"What?! I gave you no fuckin' right to make me unable to do shit. You don't get to just- mess with my brain!"

He swept the tea set the floor, porcelain shattering on marble tile. 

Frank immediately felt the air thicken. He saw your mask crack. A servant rushed over with a broom but you held your hand out, shooing them away. 

You flicked your hand, the shards and the tea began to float, making a perfect pile on the table, with that you stood to face Frank.

"Francis. I think you've forgotten who's in control here. If I recall correctly, I'm the one that has ownership of your soul. If it weren't for me, you would have died 100 times over by now."

Frank felt this weird pressure in his chest, like his heart was trying to escape. He kept up his tough look though.

"You can't just- own souls, you're bullshitting." 

You smiled, your hand curling into a fist in front of him. His chest felt like it would explode. It was unbearable. 

"It was mine before we even met, Francis. I am in control."

"Youre just some batshit lady!"

Frank lunged, tried to. He got maybe a step, before he couldn't move at all, his muscles locked up. You smiled again and walked over, ruffling his hair.

"Such a silly creature."

A piece of perfectly sharp porcelain leveraged off the table, it dragged across his neck, drawing droplets in its wake.

He suddenly dropped to the floor, his vision spinning, he stood, seething.

"Now, Francis. Why don't you escort yourself out. It was a pleasure seeing you." 

You put your regular smile back on, the porcelain landing back in the pile.

"I hope our next meeting has less...attitude, Francis."

As Frank walked with anyone's ego he had left. You waved from the front porch.

The suspense, the mystery 😳 the everything.

do they learn snippets of their language? do they try the food? do they do the traditional dances (varying success)?