OHHHHHMYYYYYFUCKINGGODDDDD HIT ME WITH A BUS PLEASE

i mean fuck, i like pills, i like drugs, i like gettin money, i like strippers, i like to fuck, i like day-drinkin and day parties and hollywood, i like doing hollywood shit— snort it, probably would

any way can u write an enemies to lovers w nat (precrash) nat and r hate each other, rest of the yellowjackets are annoyed w them not getting along so they forge an intervention (stick them both in a room and force them to bond) heavy denial about liking each other

𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥 ★ 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝖾-𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

cw. fighting, smoking weed.

wc. 3.2k

n/a. tysm for the request, i hope u like it :) and sorry abt the delay, it took me a while to come up with the beef between them 😭

You tried to forcefully jiggle the door open, but despite your efforts, it remained stubbornly closed.

Nat let out a frustrated sigh and spoke up, "Just stop, it's not gonna work." She said, watching you from the corner of the room.

You turned to her, frowning, and sat on the floor with crossed legs, a few feet away from her.

You should’ve known this was going to happen.

“Give it back you asshole!” Nat exclaimed, annoyance evident in her voice as she reached out for your hand. It held a small bag you had taken from her just moments ago.

“Dude, we’ve got practice in an hour, get your shit together,” you retorted, withdrawing your hand and using the other to push her away.

“I just wanna have a fucking smoke,” she argued, “It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t be a moron,” she said, her anger palpable.

“What is going on with you two?” Jackie intervened, clearly annoyed and confused.

“Just the usual, Y/n’s being a fucking dick,” Nat complained.

“I’m not.” You rolled your eyes, turning to Jackie, “Jackie, could you please tell Nat to be responsible for once in her fucking life and go od after practice? Not before.” You complained to her.

"Fuck you!" Nat exclaimed, shoving you on the shoulder.

"No, fuck you!" you shot back, pushing her in return.

Before you knew it, the two of you were engaged in a childish fight until Jackie and Tai intervened, separating the both of you.

"I don't know what the hell’s been going on between you two, but you need to stop. Right now." Tai said, her tone firm and assured.

"Yeah, this behaviour is starting to affect the team," Jackie added. "Everyone's noticed, even the coach. So cut it out. Consider this your final warning."

"You know what? Fuck it." Nat said, walking past Tai. She turned to face you and pointed at your chest. "And fuck you," she said, before finally leaving.

You shrugged, letting out a stressed sigh, and shook your head in disagreement as you walked out of the room behind her.

Little did you know that the whole team was plotting against you, scheming to trap you and Nat in the gym’s backroom. They played you like fools, telling each of you to grab more soccer balls. Nat fell for it first and slipped away without you even noticing. By the time you entered the room and noticed her holding two soccer balls in her arms, someone had already locked the door behind you, leaving you both stuck inside.

Time crawled by, only ten minutes passing, yet it felt like an eternity. Stranded in that room, both of you had stupidly left your phones outside. There was nothing in that cramped space to distract you except each other, and well, that wasn't even an option at this point. So, you were left alone with your own thoughts, and let me tell you, it wasn't a pleasant experience.

Your eyes kept darting around the room, desperate to avoid making eye contact with Nat. You shifted your position, uncrossing your legs and propping them up in front of you, knees bent. Without even realizing it, you began tapping your foot up and down, making the sole of your shoe smack against the floor.

"Can you stop that?" Nat snapped, clearly annoyed by your restless behavior.

You stopped your foot's movements, but you didn't bother to respond. An eye roll was all she got from you.

In an attempt to get comfortable, Nat got up and rummaged through a box filled with brand new, unworn Yellowjackets sweaters. She grabbed one, went back to her spot, and laid down on her back, using the sweater as a makeshift pillow. With one forearm covering her eyes, shielding them from the dim light, she rested her other hand on her stomach.

A few more minutes passed, in complete silence.

Wait a minute, you thought, a realization hitting you like a lightning bolt. Your hands instinctively shot towards your left pocket, and a wave of relief washed over you as you felt the familiar presence. No fucking way. Thank god. Hastily, you slipped your hand into your pocket, retrieving the small bag of weed and rolling paper that you had swiped from Nat during your argument earlier today. And as luck would have it, you always carried a lighter with you, just in case of an "emergency." You were damn well prepared.

Wasting no time, you excitedly cracked open the bag, readying your supplies with lightning speed. You skillfully rolled up a joint in a matter of seconds. Once you were finished, you placed it between your lips, holding it firmly, and with a flick of your thumb, the little flame on the lighter sprang to life. Bringing the flame close to the joint, you lit it up, shielding it with your other hand to ensure a perfect burn.

Interrupted by the all-too-familiar sound, Nat sluggishly shifted her forearm away from her eyes. As her gaze adjusted to the light, she turned to you, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She blurted out, incredulous, sitting up abruptly. "Is that my stash?" she questioned, her tone a mix of surprise and accusation.

"Indeed it is," you responded, taking a deep drag from the joint. As you exhaled a cloud of smoke, Nat continued to stare at you, her expression transitioning from disbelief to annoyance.

"What?" you asked casually, relishing in the playful taunting. "I mean, it's not like we're going to practice today, right?"

"I can't fucking believe you," she muttered, disbelief and amusement evident in her voice as she let out a chuckle.

Extending your arm, you offered her the joint, a mischievous glint in your eyes. For a moment, she hesitated, but let's face it, there was nothing else to do in that stuffy room, and she was starting to go crazy. Besides, she had been craving a smoke ever since you snatched her stash earlier, so why not indulge?

Nat stood up from her spot and made her way toward you. As she lowered herself to sit down, just a few inches away from you, she reached out and took the joint from your fingers. Inhaling deeply, she mirrored your sitting position, her arm resting on her knee as she brought the joint close to her mouth for another drag.

The two of you remained in a comfortable silence, sharing the joint between you, the smoke weaving its way through the air. Eventually, Nat broke the silence.

"I didn't know you smoked," she remarked, her curiosity evident in her tone.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me," you replied cryptically.

Nat's expression turned serious, but a hint of amusement flickered in her eyes. "Well, I do know you're an asshole," she asserted, maintaining a deadpan face.

A playful grin tugged at your lips as you matched her tone. "You think you're funny, huh?" you retorted.

"Hey, it's the truth," she said, a touch of seriousness creeping into her voice. But you brushed it off, choosing to ignore her comment for now.

"Can I ask why?" Nat inquired, breaking the silence once more.

"Why what?" you replied, feigning ignorance, though you knew exactly what she was referring to.

"Why have you been acting like this?" she pressed. "One day we were cool, and then suddenly you turned into a total dickhead."

“You're a pain in my ass too, y’know?" you retorted, feeling the need to defend yourself.

"But I am because you are," she shot back, her argument strong.

You let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the question hanging in the air. Slowly, you brought the joint to your lips once again, taking a deliberate drag before exhaling, the smoke dissipating into the room. Your eyes fixed on the wall ahead, lost in thought.

"You really don't know, do you?" you murmured, the words almost escaping as a whisper.

Nat turned to look at you, her brows furrowing and her gaze filled with confusion, searching for answers.

You couldn't help but chuckle, a nervous yet affectionate sound escaping your lips, as you deliberately avoided meeting her gaze.

“It’s stupid,” you said with a sigh, “Now that I think about it, it wasn’t even your fault.”

“What is it?” she asked, her confusion evident.

Nat and you used to be good friends. While you weren't particularly close during school hours, barely acknowledging each other as you passed in the hallways with a simple nod, you were close enough to hang out after practice pretty much every day. You both would head to the parking lot and lie down on the trunk of Nat's car. There, you would gaze at the sky as it gradually darkened, listening to music, either talking or simply revelling in the comforting silence. It sort of became your thing, a little secret that held great importance to you.

However, as time went on and your conversations deepened, you couldn't help but develop feelings for her. You would eagerly await the end of practice just to see her again, to enjoy the privacy of each other's company.

But then, you stopped showing up.

"Do you remember that day when Shauna kicked the ball so hard that it hit Van directly in the face and gave her a concussion?" you asked her.

"Yeah, of course I do," she replied with a chuckle, recalling the incident vividly. "And we had to call an ambulance and ended up leaving practice half an hour early."

You chuckled along. "Exactly. And had planned to meet at our spot, but I told you I needed to grab something from my locker. So, you said you'd wait for me there."

She nodded, her brow furrowing as she tried to piece together the puzzle. "Yeah, and then you never showed up. Not that day or any day after."

You nodded, feeling a bit guilty. "Well, I did go to my locker to get something, but that's beside the point," you began, your voice tinged with regret. "The thing is, as I walked back to the parking lot and opened the building door to step outside, I could see your car perfectly. You weren't lying on the trunk as we always did though. Instead, you were standing beside it, with your back turned to me," you explained, "And as I approached, I realized that you weren't alone."

Nat's face shifted from confusion to realization, but she remained silent, giving you space to explain.

"As I got closer, I saw the guy leaning in," you continued, furrowing your eyebrows as you recalled the memory. "And then you kissed." The words hung heavy in the air as you conveyed the pain and disappointment you had felt at that moment. "I didn't want to interrupt or cause a scene, so I turned around and walked away. Seeing you with someone else, especially after realizing my own feelings for you, was more than I could handle."

You paused, letting the weight of your words settle between you. "I didn't have the courage to confront you about it then, and I thought it would be easier to distance myself instead. But it wasn't your fault. I guess I was just angry because I wanted to be with you so badly but I couldn’t have you, so I started acting like an asshole. I'm sorry," you said, your voice filled with genuine remorse. Your gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to meet her eyes. Embarrassment weighed heavily on you.

Nat let out a frustrated sigh, running her fingers through her hair in a stressed gesture. "Damn it, Y/n," she sighed. "I had no idea," she admitted, her voice tinged with surprise and frustration. "The guy you saw me with was Kevyn," She started explaining, "As I was walking to my car, we happened to cross paths, and he said he needed to talk to me about something. We started walking together towards my car, and long story short, he confessed his feelings for me and then kissed me. I was completely caught off guard, so it took me a few seconds to react, but I pushed him away. I guess you didn't see that part," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "I rejected him right away, Y/n. I told him that I had feelings for someone else, and he apologized for kissing me like that and left."

You listened, your heart sinking with every word she spoke. The truth unfolded before you, and you realized how mistaken you had been.

"I waited for you," Nat continued, her voice laced with a touch of sadness. "I waited for an hour, then two, but you never showed up. I thought something might have happened, but you didn't respond to any of my texts, and I got worried." She paused, her expression reflecting the hurt she had felt. "The next day, I saw you at practice, and I felt relieved, thinking everything was okay. But you wouldn't even look at me. And then, you didn't show up at our spot either."

She took a deep breath. "I thought you didn't want to be my friend anymore or something, I don’t know. I got really upset and wanted to talk to you about it, but then you started acting like an asshole. So, I got mad and started acting like that as well. But I never understood why. I guess I just went along with it."

Nat's voice softened, revealing the depth of her emotions. "I started hating you so much because you were the only person I could truly be myself with. I loved you, Y/n, and then you just left without an explanation."

As she poured her heart out, you finally looked up, meeting her gaze. The raw emotions in her eyes mirrored your own.

Tears welled up in your eyes, "I'm so sorry, Nat," you whispered, "I misunderstood everything, I’m so dumb,” A single tear escaped your eye, rolling down your cheek.

Nat's expression softened further, her eyes filled with understanding. "It's alright, Y/n," she reassured you, her voice gentle and soothing. "I had no idea that you saw me with Kevyn, and I never meant to hurt you." With a gentle touch, she used her thumb to wipe away the tears from your cheeks.

"I missed you so much," you confessed, your gaze locked with hers.

A small, affectionate smile graced Nat's lips. "I missed you too, you dumbass," she replied, the gentle teasing highlighting the warmth in her voice.

You extended your arms and pulled her into a tight hug. She reciprocated it, her arms wrapping around you, and her fingers caressed your hair soothingly.

The two of you remained locked in the embrace for a moment, finding solace and comfort in each other's arms. However, the sound of someone fumbling with the lock on the door shattered the tranquility, jolting both of you back to reality. Instinctively, you pulled away from each other, your hearts racing.

"Shit! The stash!" Nat exclaimed in a whisper, a sudden realization dawning upon her. She swiftly moved and positioned herself on top of it, acting on reflex to conceal it from view.

Just as you both scrambled to compose yourselves, the door swung open, revealing Misty standing in the doorway.

As she stepped into the room, she started rambling, divulging how she had overheard a conversation between Tai, Jackie, and Van, who planned to lock the both of you up in the gym's backroom. Misty, in her usual saviour complex fashion, sprung into action, determined to rescue you from such a predicament. She told you to make your exit discreetly through the back, ensuring that the girls wouldn't catch sight of you leaving. Grateful for her intervention, you and Nat thanked her.

However, Misty seemed to be in a talkative mood, wanting to continue the conversation, until Nat, with her characteristic straightforwardness, couldn't help but say, “Okay, Misty, we get it.” She said, her tone laced with annoyance. “Thanks again for your help. See you later.”

Understanding the hint, Misty finally caught on and nodded, her enthusiasm momentarily dampened. "Sure thing," she replied, slightly deflated. "Take care, you two. See you around."

With that, Misty left the room, leaving the two of you alone once again.

"You're so rude to her," you playfully remarked, nudging Nat with your elbow and letting out a light chuckle as the both of you stood up, ready to leave the room.

Nat shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Can't help it," she replied, reaching down to grab her stash and rising to her feet. Then, she turned to you, her gaze softening. "Hey," she called, her voice tinged with shyness. "Would you want to come with me? Like, to the trunk. You know, to catch up and stuff."

A smile spread across your face, accompanied by a gentle blush. "That'd be awesome," you responded, excitement lacing your voice. "But before we head there, can you come to my locker with me?"

"Of course I will," Nat agreed, her tone filled with assurance. "Wouldn't want you slipping away again, not on my watch," she added jokingly.

You chuckled sarcastically, unable to resist teasing her in return. "Ha, you know what should be on your watch though? That big-ass green stain on your butt." A mischievous smirk adorned your face.

Nat's eyes widened, and she quickly spun around to inspect her shorts, discovering the noticeable stain caused by sitting on top of the stash. Feeling a twinge of embarrassment, she hastily patted her shorts, trying to remove the stain as best as she could. "Shut up," she mumbled, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Let's go," she said, taking the lead and walking out of the room. You followed closely behind her, a content smile playing on your lips.

As you both stood by your locker, Nat stood beside you, watching curiously as you opened the lock. With a few swift movements, you arranged some items and retrieved a small box that had been carefully hidden in the back.

You retrieved the box and handed it to Nat, who looked at you with confusion and intrigue. "What's this?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity as she opened it.

"This is what I was getting from my locker that day," you revealed, "About a week before that, I remember we were listening to the radio together, and 'Black Star' by Radiohead started playing. You mentioned how much you loved that song. So, when I got home, I decided to make you a mixtape with songs I like that have a similar vibe."

You watched as Nat's eyes widened, the realization dawning upon her. "You made me a mixtape?" she asked surprised, her fingers brushing against the cassette tape inside.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yes, I did. But, obviously, I didn't give it to you back then because of everything that happened," you continued, "But I've held onto it all this time, just in case."

Her gaze met yours, and you could see the fondness reflected in her eyes. "This is so dope," she exclaimed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Thank you, Y/n."

Another smile spread across your face at her words. "You're welcome," you replied. "Now, let's go to your car so we can listen to it together." Without hesitation, you gently took her hand, intertwining your fingers, and led the way toward the exit, making your way to her trunk.

this genuinely has me in tears

the prophet & the queen

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

all up in smoke

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

summary: based on the prompt: 'sit on my lap and let's smoke a joint'

warnings: alcohol, weed (rolling a joint, smoking, shotgunning), frank being a cute little whore, heavy petting/teasing but no sex, high epiphanies (mostly fluff!)

a/n: happy late birthday to the ever lovely @chelseasdagger , this one is for you babeyyyyy 💗

Home is a solace on your lips as you step inside, your keys joining the others in the bowl by the front door. Despite the events of your day, still fresh in your mind, you feel the knotted tension in your body begin to dissipate, the pressure easing in your temples. The few lights that have been left on are dimmed, filling the house with the kind of ambient coziness you’ve been longing for all day. 

You round the corner, and there he is on the couch: feet kicked up on the coffee table, immersed in a hardcover book you swore he’d never touch. A pang of emotion stirs in your stomach — a cross between yearning and consolation; something you just can’t place, but are grateful for nevertheless. 

“Hi, Frankie,” you smile, drawing the curtains open, letting the cool night air filter into the living room. 

He lifts an eyebrow, glancing up at you from behind the book. “Hey, sweetheart. Long day?”

You stretch your arms over your head, nevermind that his voice stirs something in you, and set your bag up on the kitchen counter. “Mmhm. Glad to be home.”

Frank leans forwards, fingers closing around the drink he’s left on the coffee table. His eyes flick to yours as he takes a sip, caring not to break contact, before jerking his chin at the bottle of scotch next to your bag. “You want some of that?”

He points at you, clicking his tongue as you move to pick the bottle up. “Don’t move. Stay right there.” Setting his book aside, the pages splayed face-down onto the table, he makes his way over, utterly impervious to your flurried attempts in getting him to remain where he is.

“D’ya really think I’d let you pour your own drink?” Frank says, looking affronted, but a furtive smile spreads along his face as you shake your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let me take care of ‘ya,” he adds, delicately.

Carting you gently to the side, he digs around in the freezer, reaching for a couple of ice cubes that clink mellifluously in the glass. You watch intently as they bob in line with the whiskey streaming in, and then as he inspects the amber liquid closely, as if to examine its quality. 

When he’s satisfied, he turns to you, and raises the rim of the glass to your mouth. “Here,” Frank murmurs, condensation collecting around his fingertips. “Drink up.”

You shudder as the whiskey cascades hotly through your veins — each note of pepper, caramel and nutmeg lingering on the surface of your tongue like molten honey. You swallow another mouthful before pushing the glass away, not taking your eyes off of him for a second as he sets it down.

Frank runs his tongue over his teeth, raking his eyes across your face. He focuses on a stray drop of whiskey at the corner of your mouth, using a knuckle to brush it away. Your heart thunders at his calloused touch; as he pauses to swipe his broad thumb over your bottom lip. There’s a faint throbbing within you — a wild drumbeat steering you towards nothing but desire — so you flick your tongue out, circling his fingertip, relishing in his taste of salt, earth and whiskey.   

He lets out a soft groan, mumbling something that sounds like your name; maybe even a plea to slow down. You’re attentive, knowing he doesn’t want this night over yet, that he wants to wait before taking you to bed. 

It’s a good thing then, that you have something planned. 

You inch forwards, swallowing as Frank’s hand sweeps over the contours of your face, coming to rest at a spot near your ear. He tips your chin upwards, letting his ragged breathing fan over you. He stalls, allowing his dark eyes to bore into yours, and for a moment you forget where you are, the stressors of the day long gone.

All you know is him. 

His beard prickles your skin as he captures your mouth with his own, but you lean into the kiss, savouring his ardent warmth. He moves with you, deepening the kiss as you slide a hand into his hair, curling your fingers at the nape. Your thighs squeeze together as he pivots you around, pushing you against the counter while his tongue melts against yours. Using his leg to knock your knees apart, you arch into his touch, gasping as the bulge in his jeans settles where you need him the most. 

You won’t be able to stop if you don’t pull away now.

“Frank,” you whisper. “Frank.”

He looks at you, placing a small kiss to your jaw. “Mm?” 

“Before… uh,” you start, lightheaded and fuzzy, unable to comprehend anything but the heady weight of the whiskey and the ache between your legs. “I've got something for us. A little surprise. And I think,” you indicate, wagging a finger from him to you, “we should save this for later.”

He arches his eyebrows, smiling inquisitively. “Yeah? And what’s that?” 

You step aside to rummage through your bag, taking only a few seconds for you to find what it is you’re looking for. You hold up a clear plastic container, giving it a little shake in front of Frank’s face. His eyes widen in comprehension.

“God, I love you.” 

“Hey,” you smirk, “not God. Just me.” 

He chokes on his own laughter, draining the last of your whiskey. “You got it, sweet girl.”

You bite down on your growing smile. “Anyway, I was thinking the plan could go something like… get a little high, have some fun. You know what I mean, right?”

“S’that right?”

“We both deserve it.”

“You need some help with that?” he asks, pointing at the rolling papers you’ve set down on the counter. 

“Nope. Walk away.” 

You’re an image of rapt focus with your tongue between your teeth, cautiously grinding the weed before packing it into the rolling paper. You slip a filter on one end of the joint, and using your thumb and forefingers, you roll it into place. Bringing the free edge of rolling paper up to your mouth, you skirt your tongue along the narrow strip of glue, quickly moving to seal the joint. 

You shoot Frank a resolute look of determination. “Not bad, huh?” 

He folds his arms over his chest, leaning back into the couch. Almost hidden in the tangle of his beard, the corners of his mouth tick upwards. You can’t quite tell if he’s astonished, impressed, or a mixture of everything in between, but the expression on his face is a priceless ego boost. “Attagirl.”

“Mmhm,” you reply drily, admiring your handiwork from up close.

“Baby?” Frank calls, breaking your tethered focus. A glimmer of a smile in your periphery catches your eye.

“Yeah?” 

There’s a sound of rustling fabric as Frank spreads his legs, motioning you over to him by patting his thigh. “C’mere.”

Your gaze softens at his request. “That sounds good, Frankie. Let me grab my lighter.”

“Got it right here,” Frank chuckles, holding it up and thumbing it open.

Twirling the joint in your fingers, you meander over to his spot on the couch, watching the tiny orange flame dance in his eyes as he holds down the lighter button. 

He’s a solid comfort under you as you sit down on his lap, shuffling back until the side of your body is angled to his chest, using the armrest as additional support. His scent is a blissful, pacifying force – distilling in you where it matters. 

Frank wrests the joint from your grip, assiduous in the way he places it between your lips, then as he lights it for you. The lit end glows as the papered edges begin to burn, flickering in its reflection in the window ahead. You take a drag, letting the smoke fill your mouth before inhaling it into your lungs. Maybe it’s in your head, but your body feels lighter already; even more so as you exhale. 

The grey-tinged smoke remains opaque for only a second, vanishing into the air as soon as you pass the joint to Frank. You breathe out again, more deeply this time, allowing the grassy, herbal scent of the weed wash over you in waves of tranquil calm.

You cock your head to the side, studying the normally terse man before you leisurely smoking the joint, taking two drags instead of one. Gratitude forms a lump in your throat — nights like these are rare, and to see him so carefree, his mind unoccupied by the workings of the larger world, is a luxury you’ll never get tired of. 

After tapping the gathering ashes into his empty whiskey glass, Frank hands the joint back to you, closing his eyes while he waits for your next pass. As the weed-induced euphoria starts to take effect, you wrench one of Frank’s hands from its spot on your thigh, interlacing your fingers together. You take your time in mapping his knuckles, tracing over every crease, scar and perfect imperfection. 

You tap on Frank’s shoulder, wanting him as a credible witness for a successful smoke ring, but like all your past attempts, it morphs back into a cloud, hanging there in contempt. 

He laughs softly, putting you right to shame with a series of flawless rings that fall forwards in an arc towards the coffee table. 

You giggle, jabbing him in the chest with an expertly-placed elbow. “Don’t get too cocky now, Castle.”

His mouth quirks to the side. “Yeah? What are you gonna do, hm?”

“I’ll…” you search around the room for something to say. “I’ll withhold sex!” 

He gasps, feigning an expression of outrageous offense. “That’s cruel, darlin’.”

Laughing, you reassure him you wouldn’t, really, but he takes the opportunity to soar through the cracks of your defense, hauling you backwards until his face is flush with the shell of your ear. “Really think you could resist it? Not havin' sex?” 

The retorts crumble away as he tells you to ‘open up, sweetheart’, lifting the joint back to his lips. He breathes in deeply, turning his head to then exhale the smoke into your parted mouth. Your eyes roll back as he seals it with a kiss, and it catches you a little by surprise, but you run with it, inhaling as much as you can.

Not quite ready to let go of your earlier comments, Frank does it again, shotgunning into your mouth until you're left with nothing but a dreamy expression and no thoughts left in your mind.

You let out a contented sigh as the weed goes to your head, absentmindedly rubbing the spot where his beard scratched your lip. 

Eyes drooping, Frank wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you as close as he can, trailing kisses along your shoulder blades, down your arm, whispering sweet nothings and notes of ‘I love you’ until you slacken in his grip. You touch your lips to his forehead, now resting in the crook of your neck, his steady breathing keeping you anchored to your reality.

The next hour passes by in a haze — you’re mildly aware that there was another joint rolled in that time, courtesy of Frank, probably, but your memory retains the best parts: the giddy, high epiphanies, the smoke-filled kisses, the long-drawn-out touches… the fact that his skin has never felt so soft.

Exceptionally and utterly stoned, you move, draping your legs over his lap, clinging onto his neck so you can bury your face in his shirt – so spaced out that you barely register him talking. 

“...Who the fuck is “Drake” anyway?” 

“What?!” you sputter, snickering as if it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. “He’s a rapper, Frankie.” 

“He’s off limits, so don’t even try” — you stumble over your words — “enacting your justice or… whatever.”

Frank frowns at you, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

And then he bursts into laughter. Unequivocal, heaving sobs of hysterical laughter. And it might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Enacting my justice? That what you think it is?” he howls, bringing his fist down onto the couch. “You really think I’ve got nothin’ better to do than hunt down rappers?!”

“A little bit,” you sniffle, wiping away the tears of joy streaming down your face. “You know who’d love this conversation?” 

He shakes his head as you continue. “Micro.”

“Micro,” he nods, affirming your point. “Bet he’d know more about “Drake” than me.”

You chortle at his aggressive hand gestures. “You don’t need air-quotations every time you say Drake, you know.”

He waves a hand in the air. “Ahh, I know.”

“Frank Castle,” you say, kissing his cheek once, then twice, “I think this is the wisest you’ve ever been.”

“Oh, c’mon. Really?”

You gesture at the stub of your second joint, floating in the bottom of his whiskey glass. “Yep. You might have to do this more.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“Better me than what’s out there. Right, Frank?” you croon, batting your eyes at him.

“S’right, darlin’. That’s right.”

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#just marc being a mood