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Buuugs
I saw Iron Lung. I liked Iron Lung.
love when he bounces on his toes from excitement or anger
10/10 character choice and one of the most cutie pie things he could possibly do
âWHATâS WRONG, FATHER?â

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Spare change mâlord? (Dumbification hucklerabbot) đ
oh always-
Thinking of Jack who rests his hands on Dennis's hips, gently guiding him up and down the length of his cock telling him "You're just such a perfect toy for me, baby. Tell Sir how much you like being used and I'll think about helping you cum."
With little stupid, petty arguments, Robby likes to tell Dennis "You're so cute when you're all upset" and "Don't be shy baby, let's see how hard you get from getting talked down to" and Dennis can't even fucking deny it, and can't hide it when Robby's fucking into him so deeply and harshly it feels like a punishment, even if Dennis won the fucking fight. The way Robby talks down to him just does something to him and Robby knows when he shifts his weight when Dennis is officially distracted.
They like doing little things to get him red and mumbling. Asking him when he last touched himself, if he's been good enough to be played with, Jack likes pictures of whatever panties he's been bullied into wearing that day, Robby likes to grab the waistband of his scrubs and pull just slightly, just enough for a flash of lace and color and Dennis has to take a break somewhere quiet to calm himself down.
They can just snap their fingers and point and he's down on his knees, mouth open, tongue out, ready for whatever they want to give him, cock, fingers, a toy, he's already drooling and chuffing up for it.
"Do you only think about getting fucked?" Jack grunted, cock buried in Dennis's throat, tears running down his cheeks. "You're fucking addicted to it, such a good little slut for me-"
(Trans Dennis that gets random wetness checks at home, gets mocked if he's too wet, gets played with if he's not wet enough) (he can't ever win and that's the whole fucking point)
They like to fuck him on the phone, comparing and competing with his noises. Robby going "Wait, Jack, listen to him for a second" and all Jack can hear is the sound of skin slapping skin and Dennis sobbing for his daddy to be nicer, slow down, please.
Dennis who has already cum twice, whining and crying as he keeps fucking into his fist, touching himself for his Daddy and Sir, who are watching like it's their favorite fucking show in the world. If they're feeling exceptionally mean?
"Eyes on us, Den," Robby chided lightly.
"Not a fucking thought behind those eyes," Jack grinned, gaze predatory. "He'd do whatever we wanted, wouldn't you, baby?"
"Yes, Sir," Dennis whimpered, legs shaking from the build up of another orgasm. "Wanna-fuck-wanna be good for you."
"Yeah? Keep fucking your hand, sweetheart, we'll tell you when you can stop."
thantophobia- frank castle
pairing : frank castle x matt's sister ! reader
warnings : none just might ruin your mental health a little (jk, mentions of torture, violence, death, SA, frank losing his mind etc etc list goes on basically it's violent and it's sad - beware)
summary : frank's worst fear already came true when he lost his family- Maria and the kids. he thought he would never love again. but then you slithered your way into his heart- and now he can't get over the bone crushing fear of losing you too.
word count : 6 k
a/n: this is not proofread so pls excuse an spelling or formatting mistakes :)
You're not sure how long it's been.
Days ? Weeks ? Hours ?
It's all been one big blend.
Your wrists are sore and scraped open, the ropes digging into your skin and rubbing it raw. Your chin is pressed to your chest as blood pours from your forehead, as if your neck muscles have finally given up on you. Your feet scuff against the blood stained concrete- the proof of the people that came before you, ordinary people like yourself that have been subject to this torture.
Except you aren't any ordinary person.
No.
You're Frank Castle's.
You don't really know when that became your label. His. His girl. The one he would burn the world down for to get her back.
Maybe it was when you would be the only one he could turn to when he needed someone to get a bullet out of his side and stitch him up without raising any red flags. Maybe it was when he realised you were a little used to the violence. Maybe it was when he realised your brother was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen- whose moral code thoroughly pissed Frank off- yet he respected it.
Or maybe it was when he came to you after being "dead" for years- needing help to find someone that had been watching him.
In his defence, Frank never thought he'd love again. Or that you'd love someone as fucking broken as him.
The nurse with the heart of gold, that's what he calls you. But somewhere in between, the lines blurred between you being a safe place to hide and being his safe place.
"Hey." Cold water splashes over your body, and you gasp, head springing up as you cough against the sharpness. Whatever clothes they had the courtesy to let you keep are soaked through. "Wakey wakey, sweetheart." The voice sends shivers soaring down your back. Grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back, Billy Russo brings a blade to your throat, his mangled face a sight to behold. Pain explodes across your scalp, a cry ripping out of you before you can swallow it.
"Now.." He hums, a bead of blood trickling down your neck as he digs the knife against the soft plush skin of your neck, teasing right near your pulsepoint, "Let's try this again, hmm ?" He says, his scars pulling in a disfigured smile. "Where the fuck is Frank ?" He spits. You flinch, your body trembling.
"I told you already." You rasp, your voice thready and whistley. "I don't know who that is." He grabs your jaw hard, fingers digging into bruises that havenât had time to fade.
âI know youâre lying,â he snaps. âI saw you with him.â Your stomach dropsâbut you donât let it show.
âDonât know who youâre talking about,â You rasp.
Wrong answer.
His grip tightens, then his fist connects with your cheek so fast your vision whites out. The chair tips, crashes to the ground with you still tied to it. Pain explodes through your ribs when you hit the concrete. You bite back the sound that tries to come out.
Donât give him that.
Donât give him anything.
Heâs pacing now. Agitated. Spiraling.
âThat skull,â he mutters, dragging a hand over his face. âThat damn skullâheâs supposed to be dead.â You stay still. Silent.
Breathing hurts. Everything hurts.
But you hold onto that silence like itâs the only thing you have left. He stops pacing. Looks at you again.
âWhy is he after me?â he demands. âWhat did I do?â Thereâs something almost desperate in it. Confused.
Like part of him really doesnât know.
And for a secondâjust a secondâyou almost believe it. Almost feel bad. Then you remember his hands on you. The way he dragged you here. The way he let his brain-dead veteran crew have their way with you, and the imprint of their grubby hands is now seared into your skin. The things heâs already done. The things he will do. And whatever sympathy tries to rise upâ dies.
âI donât know,â you whisper. Another mistake. He kicks the chair. Hard. It slams into the wall, knocking the air out of you completely this time. You gasp, choking, vision swimming.
âStop lying to me!â he yells. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to breathe through it.
"I-I'm not. P-Please." You rasp, shaking your head as tears blur your vision. "I'm just a nurse. I work in a children's hospital. My-My big brother is a lawyer-" Billy grabs the back of the chair, dragging it back up so that it's upright. Your body slumps forward, spent and bleeding.
"Oh I know all about your brother. Matthew Murdock, works for Nelson and Murdock, attorney's at law. Yeah, I know all about ya, sugar." The lump in your throat doubles in size, and you shuffle your feet against the restraints bound to your ankles.
"He has nothing to do with this." You manage. Billy chuckles.
"I may have lost my memories but im not a fucking moron. I know your brother represented Frank for his crimes as the Punisher. I know you volunteered at the prison he was in as a nurse."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"I-I saw to a lot of inmates. Most times I couldn't see their faces they were so beat up-"
"Stop fucking lying !" He yells, spinning on you, knife raised and angled towards your chest. "You were there- You were there that day. When Frank took out half my guys after that robbery. I saw you - I saw you in the car with Curtis." Panic claws up your spine. You gulp, shaking your head.
"Who ?" Billy's face tightens, "I swear, you've got the wrong person-"
His knife connects with your thigh so fast it rips the breath out of you. The blade pierces skin, burying itself to the hilt.
You can't help it- You scream.
The scream tears out of you before you can stop itâraw, jagged, echoing off the concrete walls like something feral and broken. Your whole body jerks against the ropes, the chair scraping harshly against the floor as pain explodes through your leg, white-hot and blinding. For a second, you canât breathe. Canât think. Thereâs only the knife. The pressure. The way it burns.
Billy exhales like heâs relieved.
âSee?â he mutters, almost to himself. âThere she is.â
Your vision swims, black creeping in at the edges, your head lolling forward as your body trembles violently. Blood is already soaking through your clothes, warm and slick against your skin, dripping down onto the floor in slow, steady taps.
Donât pass out.
Donât you dare pass out.
You force your head up, choking on your own breath, tears blurring everything into a mess of color and shadow.
âIâdonâtâknowâhim,â you manage, each word dragged out through gritted teeth, voice shaking so badly it barely sounds like you. Billy goes still. Then slowlyâslowlyâhe smiles. Not amused. Not pleased. Something worse.
âStill?â he murmurs, tilting his head like heâs studying you. âAfter all that?â He grips the handle of the knifeâ A sound cuts through the room. Distant. Wrong. Billyâs head snaps toward the door. Your heart stutters, weak and uneven in your chest as you try to focus past the pain. Footsteps. Heavy.
Measured.
Getting closer. One of his men shoutsâcut off mid-sentence by a gunshot. Then another. Chaos ripples just beyond the walls, boots scrambling, bodies dropping, something unstoppable tearing through them one by one. Billyâs expression shifts. Recognition.
âNoâŠâ he breathes. The door explodes inward. Wood splinters, metal shrieks, and suddenly heâs thereâ Frank. Framed in smoke and violence, rifle raised, eyes already scanning, already landing on youâ And everything changes.
Frank swears he feels sick when he sees you. Wearing nothing but your bra and your jeans- which seem to have be ripped right at the seam between your legs, it doesn't take a genius to gather what's happened.
For a secondâ just a secondâ he canât breathe. The world narrows down to you. To the blood. To the way your head hangs too heavy, your body barely holding itself upright. Something inside him breaks.Not cracks. Not bends.
Breaks.
Billy moves fast. Too fast. His hand tangles in your hair again, yanking your head back hard as the knife presses flush against your throat, right over your pulse.
âDrop it!â he roars. Frank freezes. Itâs instant. Like someone hit a switch. The gun is still in his handsâbut it lowers, slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving you. Never leaving the blade pressed to your skin. The room goes silent except for your ragged breathing. Frank throws his free hand up, the gun still trained on Billy.
"Russo..." He rasps, taking a step forward, "Don't do this, brother. Just let her go."
âBack up,â Billy says, backing up a step and dragging you with him, your chair scraping loudly across the concrete. âI said, back up, Castle. Or this blade goes in the pretty girl's throat.â Frank doesnât respond. His chest is rising too fast. His grip on the gun tightens.
"Frank-" You manage, but Billy's grip tightens in your hair, tearing a pained whimper out of you. You can see how Frank reacts. His jaw tightens and his eyes narrow, his chest heaving behind that fucking skull vest. Frankâs jaw clenches so hard it looks like it might crack.
âLet her go,â he says. Low. Controlled. Terrifying in how quiet it is. Billy huffs a laugh.
âNot a chance.â He tilts his head, pressing the blade just enough to make you flinch. âHere's what we're going to do.
You put the gun down. Kick it over. Then maybeâmaybeâI let her walk outta here.â
Your eyes snap to Frankâs.
No.
Donât.
But heâs already shaking his head slightly, like heâs arguing with himself.
âShe ainât got nothing to do with this,â Frank says. âYou want me? You got me. Let her go.â Billy laughs.
âNot how this works.â The knife presses harder. A thin line of blood spills down your throat. Frank sees it. Something inside him cracks.
ââŠAlright,â he says. The word sounds like itâs being dragged out of him. Slowlyâso slowlyâit hurts to watchâhe lowers the gun. Your chest tightens.
âFrankââ you whisper. He doesnât look away from you. Not for a second.
"It's gonna be okay, baby. Alright ? You're gonna be okay." The gun hits the ground with a dull clatter. Billy watches closely.
âKick it.â Frank does. The gun slides across the concrete, stopping just short of Billyâs feet. Billy adjusts his grip on the knife, and it presses closer to your throat. He stops.
Immediately. Hands lifting higher.
"Billy. Please,â he breathes, forcing it down, forcing himself back under control. âYou got me. You got my attention. Justâdonât hurt her.â Billy huffs, almost amused.
âOh, I have your attention,â he says. âThatâs the point.â Frank swallows hard, eyes never leaving you.
âYou want me?â he says. âIâm right here. Let her go.â Billy laughsâa broken, jagged sound.
âNot how this works.â Frankâs gaze flicks to the knife, then back to your face, tracking every tremor, every shallow breath.
âYou donât wanna do this,â he says again, quieter now. âAinât gonna fix anything.â Billy tilts his head.
âMaybe not,â he admits. âBut itâll make me feel a hell of a lot better.â Your fingers twitch weakly against the ropes. Frank sees it. Sees everything.
The way youâre fading.
The way time is running out.
You can see every muscle in Frank's body - taut and ready to bolt towards that gun he just kicked over.
"C'mon, brother." Frank coaxes. "Let's settle this. You and me. Leave her outta this."
"Why ?" Billy spits. "What's a lawyer's sister good for ?"
Frankâs entire body goes still at that. Not because of the insult. Because of the question. Because Billy doesnât know.And for a split secondâjust a split secondâthereâs an opening.
âYou donât know?â Frank says, voice low. Dangerous. His head tilts just slightly, eyes never leaving Billyâs. âThat your problem, Russo. You never did know what mattered.â Billyâs jaw tightens, grip shifting just enough on the knife.
âShe matters to you,â he snaps. âThatâs all I need to know.â
âYeah,â Frank breathes. No hesitation. No denial. âShe does.â Your breath hitches. Billy presses the blade harder, almost testing him, watchingâstudying every micro reaction.
âFunny,â he mutters. âDidnât think you had it in you. After your family⊠after all thatâŠâ His voice dips, cruel. âThought that part of you died with âem.â Something dark flickers behind Frankâs eyes.
âIt did,â he says.And then, quieterââTill her.âThe room shifts.Even Billy feels it. Your vision blurs, your head swimming, but you hear it. You feel it. The weight of it settles somewhere deep in your chest, even through the pain, even through the fear. Frankâs eyes softenâjust for you. Your eyes flutter, struggling to stay consious.
âHey. Hey ! Don't do that, baby. Look at me,â he says gently. You do. Barely. âStay with me, alright?â he murmurs. âJust a little longer.â Billy scoffs, but thereâs something off nowâhis stance isnât as steady. His focus split between watching Frank⊠and understanding something he canât quite piece together.
âReal touching,â he mutters. âBut weâre done talking.â His hand shifts. Thatâs it. Thatâs all Frank needs.
"Yeah. We are." Itâs not even a full movementâjust a twitch. A decision made faster than thought. His body snaps into motion, lunging for the gun.
Billy's eyes snap to the movement. His arm raises. Frank's fingers wrpa around the gun- Billy's arm comes down.
"Frank -!" The knife plunges. White-hot pain explodes through your stomach as Billy drives the blade straight into you, burying it deep before yanking it sidewaysâ A wet, tearing sound. Your scream rips through the room, raw and broken.
âNo!â Frank roars. His hand soars up, finger squeezing the trigger. Gunshot. Deafening. Billyâs head snaps back, body dropping instantly, the knife ripping free from your body as he falls. Blood seeps up to your lips, your body slumping forward.
The silence that follows after Billy's lifeless body falls to the ground is deafening. Frank can hear his pulse, roaring like a hailstorm in his ears. His eyes are blurry, the adrenaline buzzing beneath his skin.
A wet cough drags him from the adrenaline high. He tosses his gun to the side, pushing himself off the ground. He ignores the ringing in his ears, or the way his hands are shaking in a way they never had before after a kill.
"No. No, no, no- fuck-" He slides to his knees infront of you, calloused fingers sliding into the knots on your ankles before reaching behind your back and untying your wrist. Your body falls off the chair like gravity has denied it the pleasure of staying upright, and you collapse onto Frank. Frank manoeuvers you so that you're laying across his lap, head tucked near his collarbone. "No. No. No." he repeats, his voice broken. He shakes his head as he presses his hand to your gut, pressing down hard.
A sob of pain escapes from your lips as it melts into a scream, fingers curling weakly into his vest. There's so much blood.
Too much blood.
"Hey, hey-" He rasps, shaking his head as your eyes start to close. He cups your cheek, leaving behind a bloody handprint on your bruised face. "Don't do that. Don't you fuckin' do that, y'a hear me ?" He yells, trying to hide the way his chest is heaving. "You're stayin' with me, baby. You are, alright ?" You manage a weak nod, gurgling on your own blood as you cough.
"F-Frankie-" he shakes his head, splaying his large hand on your gut to try to keep pressure but the cut is too deep, too wide, it's spilling past his fingers.
"Shh, shh. Don't talk. Save your energy, okay ?" Your head lolls slightly against him, breath hitching, unevenâevery inhale a fight, every exhale weaker than the last. The copper taste floods your mouth, thick and choking, and when you try to swallow it just spills past your lips anyway.
Frank feels it. Sees it. And something inside him fractures completely.
âHeyâhey, no, no, noâstay with me,â he pleads, voice cracking open in a way that doesnât belong to the man everyone fears. His thumb drags clumsily across your cheek, smearing blood instead of wiping it away. âCâmon, youâre tougher than thisâyou hear me? Youâre tougher than this.â You try to smile.
Godâyou try.
But it barely forms, trembling and weak, your fingers twitching against his vest like youâre trying to hold onto him and canât quite manage it.
âHurtsâŠâ you whisper.
âI know,â he chokes. âI know, babyâI knowâ" His hands press harder against your stomach, desperate, frantic, trying to hold you together like sheer force could undo what just happened.
âStay with me,â he repeats, softer now, like if he says it enough itâll become true. âStay with me⊠please.â Your eyes flutter.
Blink.
Struggle to stay open.
And thatâ that terrifies him more than anything.
âHey!â His voice sharpens, panic spiking. His hand moves to your face again, tapping lightly, then firmer. âHeyâlook at me. Look at me.â Your gaze drags back to him, heavy, unfocused.
There you are.
Still there.
Barely.
âThatâs it,â he breathes, relief and terror tangled together. âThatâs it⊠stay right there, okay? Donât go anywhere.â His forehead presses against yours for just a secondâjust a secondâlike heâs grounding himself, like heâs trying to hold onto something real before it slips through his fingers again. Not again.
Never again.
âI got you,â he whispers. âI got you⊠I ainât losinâ you too.â Your hand shifts weakly, brushing against his wrist. Itâs so light he almost misses it. Almost. His breath hitches.
âFrankâŠâ you murmur, voice barely there now.
âYeah, yeah, Iâm here,â he says immediately, too fast, like heâs afraid silence will take you. âRight here. Ainât goinâ nowhere.â Your lips part again, like youâre trying to say something moreâbut it dissolves into a shaky breath, your chest stuttering under the effort as sirens start to fill the air, drawing closer and closer. You cough against the blood rising up your throat, gagging as you reach up to cup his cheek, eyes brimming with tears.
âNo, noâdonâtâdonât waste it,â he rushes, shaking his head, pressing his hand more firmly against your wound even as his own hands tremble. âYou save it. You tell me later, yeah? When youâre patched up. When youâre yellinâ at me for somethinâ.â You shake your head.
The sirens are getting louder.
"F-Frank." You rasp, and it comes out wet and gargled, "Y-You have to go. Cops." You manage, wheeezing. The mere idea of leaving you right now makes Frank's heart fall out of his fucking ass. He clutches you tighet, his body rocking on instinct as you whimper in pain, nails digging into his bicept.
"No, no, I'm not-"
"Frank, I can't- You can't go back to prison." You rasp, shaking your head. "A-Amy... needs you." He scoffs, looking down at you.
"Yeah and I need y'a, kay ? So jus' stop talking and stay alive."
"Frank.." You whisper, eyes fluttering closed to let a tear slip by. "Frank, i need you to- I need you to tell Matt-"
"Stop that."
he snaps, sharper than he means to, panic bleeding through every syllable. His hand comes up, cradling your jaw, thumb pressing against your cheek like he can keep you here if he just holds you tight enough. âYouâre gonna tell him yourself, you hear me? Youâre gonna walk in there and give him hell for lettinâ this happenââ You let out the smallest, broken soundâsomething between a breath and a laughâand it shatters him.
The sirens are close now.
Too close.
Red and blue flicker faintly through the broken windows, painting the walls in pulses of light, swallowing you and bouncing off the shadows on Frank's beautifully tormented face.
Time is up.
He knows it. But he doesnât move. He canât. Your fingers tighten weakly in his shirt, dragging his attention back to you. Your eyes are barely open now, lashes heavy with tears, lips trembling as you try again.
âFrankâŠâ you whisper.
âIâm here,â he breathes instantly, leaning closer, like heâs trying to catch every word before it disappears. âIâm right here, baby.â
âY-you have to goâŠâ you manage, voice fading in and out, breath stuttering. âPleaseâŠâ His head shakes before you even finish.
âNo,â he says, firmâdesperate. âNo, I ainât leavinâ you. Not like this. Not ever again.â Your hand liftsâbarelyâand presses against his cheek. Itâs weak, shaking, but itâs enough to still him. Your thumb brushes his cheek, smearing blood there.
âYou⊠donât get to die with me tooâŠâ you breathe. Thatâ that breaks him. A sound tears out of his chest, raw and strangled, his forehead dropping against yours again.
âI ainât dyinâ,â he chokes. âAnd neither are you, you hear me? Weâre gettinâ outta this. You and meâwe always do.â But his voice is shaking. And you can feel it. The sirens scream louder. Closer. Your grip on him slips slightly. You whine, head tipping back as Frank struggles to keep a good press on your wound, his hands slick with your blood.
"Frankie..."
âNo.â His hand tightens on your face, almost frantic now. âNoâdonât say it. Donât you say it.â Your lips tremble.
âI love you.â Itâs barely more than air. But he hears it. Of course he does.
Everything in him goes still. For a second, the world stops. The sirens. The blood. The pain. All of itâ Gone. Just you. Just that. His breath shudders out of him, forehead pressing harder to yours, like heâs trying to fuse the moment into something permanent.
ââŠYeah,â he whispers, voice wrecked. âYeah, I know.â He brushes yur matted hair away from your face, wipes a tear away from your cheek. "You gon' be jus' fine, sweetheart. You jus' hold on. Jus' hold on." He rasps, cradling you tighter against him. But his hand is shaking. And his eyes are burning. He looks ahead, ready to greet whatever cops will come running through the door, subconsciously tightening his grip on you as if preparing for when they inevitably tear you out of his arms. He gulps.
"I love you too,â he adds, quieterâlike itâs something fragile. Like itâs something he doesnât say unless it matters.
Silence.
Pure, bone-chilling silence.
No more gurgling.
No more held back whimpers of pain.
Frank cranes his neck to look down at you, only to find - to his greatest horror- that you stopped breathing. Your lips parted, your body fully limp, your eyes shut.
"No. No, no, no ! Fuck ! No !" he manhandles you around, pulling you up against his chest, arms wrapping around your lower back. He can feel your blood seeping into his shirt. "Baby- Baby, please. C'mon, don't do this to me, Murdock ! Come on !" He shakes youâjust enough to jolt, not enough to hurtâhands fumbling, slipping, trying to find something, anything. âCâmonâcâmon, heyââ his voice breaks completely now, panic ripping straight through him as his hand flies to your neck, searching for a pulse.
Nothing.
âNoâno, no, noââ it comes out faster, louder, like if he says it enough itâll change. His fingers press harder, moving, checking again, againâ âDonât do thisâdonât you do thisââ Nothing. The world tilts. Frank sucks in a sharp, ragged breath, his hands trembling as they moveâautomatic now, instinct buried deep kicking in. He lowers you just enough, one arm still cradling you as the other presses against your chest.
âAlrightâokayâokayââ he mutters, like heâs talking to himself, like heâs holding himself together by a thread. âYouâre okayâyouâre okay, I got youââ He tilts your head back, rough but careful, clearing your airway the way you taught himâGod, you taught him thisâhis hands clumsy because they wonât stop shaking.
âCâmonâŠâ he whispers. He breathes for you.
Once.
Twice.
His chest heaves as he pulls back, hand pressing down hard against your sternum. He counts under his breath, voice cracking, compressions uneven at first before he forces them steady., gulping back gags as he feels your ribs crack beneath the heel of his palm. âCâmonâcâmonâdonât do thisââ The sirens are right outside now.
Voices shouting.
Boots hitting pavement.
He doesnât hear any of it.
His hands press harder, desperate, like he can force your heart to remember how to beat. âYou donât get to go like thisâyâhear me? Not like this, not you too ââ His voice breaks on the last word. He leans down again, breath shaking as he presses his mouth to yours, forcing air into your lungs. âBreathe,â he pleads against your lips. âPleaseâjustâbreatheââ
Nothing. He pulls back, eyes wild, searching your face for anythingâany signâ
Thereâs nothing.
âNoâno, youâre okayââ he insists, like heâs arguing with reality itself, pushing your hair back from your face. Fuck, your lips are turning blue. âYouâre okay, I got youâI got youââ His hands move faster now, compressions harder, more frantic. âStay with me!â he shouts, voice cracking open. âStay with me, goddamnit!â Your body moves with the force of it.
But thatâs all.
No breath.
No response.
Nothing. And it hits him. Not all at once. But enough. Enough to make his hands falter for half a second. Enough to let the fear really sink its claws in. âHeyâŠâ his voice drops, trembling, softer nowâlike heâs talking to you, not fighting you. âHey⊠câmon⊠youâre okay⊠youâre okayâŠâ But his hands donât stop. They canât. Because stopping meansâ âNo,â he whispers, shaking his head hard, tears finally breaking free, cutting clean lines through the blood on his face. âNo, I ainât losinâ youâI ainâtâ Show me your pretty eyes, baby. C'mon- wake up and fucking yell at me !â The door bursts open behind him.
âPolice! Donât move!" He doesnât even turn. Doesnât flinch.
âFrank Castle , step away fromââ
âNo!â Frank snaps, feral, shielding you instinctively, one arm wrapping around you while the other still hovers over your chest like he doesnât know whether to keep going or hold you together. âShe needs helpâshe needsââ
âEMTs are on their wayâsir, you need toââ
âDo something!â he roars, voice cracking into something unrecognizable. âSheâs notâsheâs not breathingâdo something!â Footsteps rush closer. Voices overlap. Hands reachâ And he jerks back, tightening his grip on you. "No, you have to- You have to save her ! Get your fucking hands off of me !"
"Frank !" The voice cuts through the fog. Dinah Madani rushes in, stumbling a little as she notices Billy's body- before landing on Frank.
"M-Madani, Madani, you gotta help her. You gotta- You gotta call Curt, call anyone, please-" She drops to her knees in front of him, hands hovering for half a secondâtaking it in.
The blood.
Your skin.
The way youâre not moving.
Her face hardens instantly.
âEMTs are here,â she says quickly, firm, trying to anchor him. âTheyâre gonna take care of herââ
âNo, no, theyâre too fuckin' slowââ Frank cuts her off, shaking his head violently, clutching you tighter like theyâre about to rip you away from him. âSheâs not breathing, Madaniâsheâs notâsheâs notââ
âI know,â she says, sharper now, grabbing his wrist. âI know. But you need to let them do their job.â
âI am doin' somethin' !â he snaps, voice breaking as his hand presses back to your chest like he canât stop, like stopping means losing you for real. âI got herâShe's safe - I got her back âshe just needsââ
âFrank!â she barks, louder this time, forcing his attention to her. His eyes snap to hersâwild, bloodshot, completely unraveling. âLook at me.â He doesnât want to.
Youâre right there. Slipping. Your face has gone pale and Frank's only comfort is that you're still bleeding, the blood gushing past his hands.
If you were dead, you wouldn't bleed.
Right ?
Frank closes his eyes, trying to shake the image of Marie, of Frankie, of Lisa- hitting the floor, eyes wide, staring at him, faces splattered with blood.
His family.
He looks down at you. Your eyes are closed.
Somehow that's worse. With Maria and the kids he lived with that guilt. That look of confusion and pain and betrayal that hovered behind his children's dead eyes. That drove him forward. Made him angry. Made him want revenge. Made him remember- it was his fault. But your eyes are closed.
You look peaceful.
You look dead.
And the sick, twisted part of him wishes your eyes were open. Maybe it would help him believe that you're still alive. Or maybe that way he could imprint the look of confusion, pain and betrayal from your eyes, burn it into his mind, and turn it into yet another of one of his waking nightmares. Anything would be better than this. Anything would be better than having you look like you were ready to go.
Because he isn't ready to let you go.
He shakes his head.
"No. No, no." He rasps, pressing his lips to your forehead, rocking you back and forth in his arms.
"Frank." Dinah snaps. Frank looks away at first. But something in her toneâcommanding, steadyâcuts through just enough.
ââŠWhat?â he breathes.
âYou want her to live?â she asks. His face crumples.
âDonâtâdonât say that likeââ his voice fractures, shaking his head. âShe is gonna liveâsheââ
âThen let them help her,â Madani says, quieter now, but no less firm. âBecause you canât do this alone.â That lands. Hard. His gaze flicks back to you. To your lips.
Still blue.
To your chestâ Still not moving.
His breath stutters.
ââŠokay,â he whispers, like itâs killing him. "Okay, fuck, okay."
Madani nods once, quick, and signals the EMTs. They move in fast. Professional. Hands on you.
âSir, we need you to step back.â Frank doesnât move.
âFrank,â Madani says again, softer now, her hand still on his wrist. âLet go.â His fingers tighten instead. Just for a second. One last, desperate second. "Let her go. Let go.â Frank does. The second his arms slackenâjust the smallest release, like something inside him finally givesâ hands grab him.
Hard.
âFrank Castle, you are under arrest.â
âHeyâhey!â Madani snaps immediately, twisting toward them. âWhat the hell are you doing? Let him go!â But Mahoney doesnât hesitate.
Click. Metal bites into Frankâs wrists. His head barely turns. Doesnât register it right away. Because his eyes are still on you. Getting loaded on the stretcher. Still watching the EMTs move over your body like they can bargain with death through sheer effort.
âNoâno, noââ Frank mutters under his breath, barely aware of the cuffs, barely aware of anything except you being pulled farther away. âYou have to- You have to take her to Presbytarian, that's where she works, they'll know what to do- You need to- Please, you need to call her brother- Just ler me go with her- get these fucking cuffs off of me- I want to go with her !â
âFrank!â Madani steps between him and the gurney for half a second, trying to block his view, trying to anchor him. âFrank, listen to me!â He doesnât hear her. Or maybe he does and just canât process it. Because the stretcher starts moving. Away.
âHey!â Frank jerks forward instinctively, metal cutting into his wrists as Mahoney yanks him back. âHeyâ! Don't let her die- Please-!â
âStop resisting,â Mahoney says sharply, tightening the cuffs.
âIâm not resisting!â Frank roars, voice cracking straight down the middle. âSheâsâsheâs over thereâshe needsâshe needsââ His words fall apart. Because youâre disappearing. Down the hall. Lights flashing over your still face.
âFrank, look at me!â Madani grabs his face for a second, forcing his attention down, but it doesnât stick. âYou need to breatheââ
"I am fuckin' breathing, Madani !" He snaps back. "She-She was fine ! She was awake, alert- She was fucking talkin' to me, Dinah ! She was fine till you guys showed up!"
"Frank, you were doing infield rescue breaths. Compressions. You kept her alive- and they're going to make sure she stays that way." Dinah reassures as Mahoney drags Frank to his cop car.
"Madani, you gotta- you gotta call her brother, you gotta call Matt-"
"I will, okay, just as soon as I can prove that you weren't behind this and we can get you outta those cuffs-" Frank shakes his head.
Not good enough.
Not fuckin' good enough.
"No, no, you gotta call him now."
"Frank-" Her voice breaks on his name.
âNow,â he says againâlow, deadly calm in a way thatâs almost worse than the shouting. âCall him now.â Madani hesitates. Just for a second. Thatâs all it takes. Frank twists hard against the cuffs, shoulders jerking forward like he can physically force his way out of the moment, out of the distance growing between him and the hallway you disappeared down.
âFrankâstopââ Mahoney snaps, tightening his grip. But Frank isnât looking at him. Heâs looking past him. Like if he just angles his body right, heâll see the stretcher again. Like youâre still there if he refuses to blink.
âMatt Murdockâs gonna wanna know,â Frank says, voice cracking at the edges now, fraying fast. âHeâs gonna wannaâheâs gonnaââ His breath stutters. Because his brain catches up to his mouth.
Heâs gonna want to know sheâs dead.
The thought lands like a bullet. Frank flinches so hard it looks like pain.
ââŠShe was talkinâ to me,â he says again, quieter. Like if he repeats it enough, it becomes proof. âShe wasâshe saidâshe said she loved me.â Madani doesnât answer that. She canât. Frank swallows hard, throat working like it hurts to exist inside his own body. Then his face tightensâsomething breaking loose behind his eyes. Silence. The weight of that realization doesnât crash. It sinks. Slow. Heavy. Irreversible. Frank finally looks down at his hands again, as if noticing the cuffs for the first time. Metal. Cold. Real. He exhales shakily through his nose.
ââŠI wasnât fast enough,â he says. Not a question. Not even guilt yet. Just fact. Madaniâs expression softens, stepping in closer like sheâs trying to pull him back from wherever his mind is going.
âFrank, listen to meâthis isnât on youââ But he shakes his head. Slow. Final.
âI felt her stop,â he whispers. And thatâs when it hits him properly. His knees almost buckle. He catches himself before he fallsâbut only just. Because for Frank Castle, there are a lot of kinds of pain. But the one wrecking through his body right now ?
He never thought he'd feel it again.
But it comes anyway.
Quiet at first.
Then all at once.
His jaw tightens so hard it aches, like heâs trying to physically hold himself together with his teeth.
âNoâŠâ he whispers again, but it doesnât have anger in it anymore. Just disbelief. âNo, noââ
Madani watches him carefully now, her grip loosening slightly on his arm like sheâs afraid heâll snap in a different direction entirely.
Frank doesnât look at her. Doesnât look at Mahoney. Doesnât look at anything except the empty stretch of hallway where you disappeared. And it feels like it keeps going.
Endless.
Like if he just walks far enough, heâll catch up to you.
ââŠI told her,â he says again, voice hollow. âI told her I got her.â His throat works. Hard. Like the words are stuck there, cutting on the way out.
âI said it,â he repeats, quieter now, almost confused. Like heâs trying to fix it by saying it differently. Faster. Slower. More clearly. Nothing changes. The cuffs dig into his wrists when he shifts again, but he doesnât even react to the pain. Because itâs not the worst thing hurting him.
âI said it,â he breathes again, shaking his head once, sharp. Like that should be enough to undo everything. âI said it, I said itââ His voice breaks.
"Said what, Frank ?" Dinah rasps.
"That I love her." Dinah's face falls.
"Frank-" And then he stops trying to be anything but honest.
âI didnât say it back fast enough, Madani.â His head dips slightly, like the weight of it finally pins him down. Frank is shoved into the cop car, his breating laboured. he replays the moment in his head.
You, whispering, using your last fucking breath after he had told you not to, just to tell him you love him.
For the last time.
No, for what you thought would be the last time.
Or maybe for the last time.
And he just held you. he told you to hold on.
And he waited.
He waited for so long before he actually said it back.
The realisation crashes into him like a bullet to the chest. Frank licks his lips and looks up at Madani before whispering,
âShe didnât hear me.â






