castle ficlet

Five hours

First time writing from David’s perspective. Don’t worry. Still Kastle. 

Just an itty bitty thing. 

For those who sent me prompts: I have not forgotten you. My brain is just misbehaving lately. But I’ll get to them. Scout’s honor. 

Much love. 

He knew it. He just knew it.

Frank walked in, that relaxed, confident swagger that got on David’s nerves, sometimes, taking his jacket off and throwing it on the back of a chair.

David rolled his eyes, sitting there on his chair in front of his monitors.

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Check Please Police AU where everyone except Bitty is a cop.

(This is hella long so it’s under a cut.)

Jack Zimmermann is the son of former Police Commissioner, Bob Zimmermann. Bob is a legend among the police with his cases solved and arrest record numbers. When Jack became a police office, everyone compared him to his father, and it got to be a little too much for him to mentally handle. So, he transfers to Samwell, a small town with a generally low crime rate.

When he arrives, Jack expects to keep to himself and do his job, but his partner, Detective “just call me Shitty” Knight, won’t let Jack isolate himself. The others at the station all welcome Jack into the folds of their little police family. Ransom and Holster are partners and always seem to be doing everything together. Lardo is small, but no one dares to underestimate her. Johnson doesn’t say much, but gives Jack the nod of approval on his second day.

Samwell is very different, but very good for Jack. Not nearly as stressful as when he worked Homicide back in Montreal where everyone expected him to either fail or do great things. No, here, there is very little of that pressure, and for the first time in a long while, Jack feels like he can actually breathe.

One day, they get a call for a Break and Enter at Bittles, a cute, little, corner bakery that looks like it should be run by a cute, retired grandmother. Jack is surprised when he meets the owner, the very attractive and popular Eric Bittle whom the whole town is in love with. He’s already gotten five marriage proposals this year alone. Shitty calls him Bitty when they get there; they appear to be friendly and know each other already.

“Does everyone in this town have a nickname?” Jack asks later on the ride back to the police station.

“Don’t question it, brah. It’s just how it works,” Shitty said smoothly.

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“Oh…kay, look, man, I really wanna help you but I can’t while you’re waving that gun around." 

"He’s waving his gun around?” Matt asked. He was far more relaxed and amused. While Foggy was freaking out. They were being held at gun point in their own damn house

“He’s not waving around his gun, Matthew. That’s nasty,” Foggy replied. “He’s waving a gun around. And it’s big and scary.” It really wasn’t. It was just a hand gun. But it looked big and scary to Foggy. 

Matt actually laughed. That bastard was having fun. 

So here’s what happened. Someone was feeling hot and decided to sleep with the window open rather than turning on the AC. That’s how they ended up in this predicament. Now Foggy was practically sitting on top of Matt while almost shitting his pants. That happens when you have a mass murdering vigilante in your room at 1 in the morning, waving a gun around in your face because he apparently can’t deal with his feelings for his best friend. Foggy knows the feeling. But he never broke into someone’s house because he was in love with Matt. Because that’s stupid, that’s why. 

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anonymous asked:

Casket - 40 please!

#40 - “I believe you dropped this.”

His usual table on the upper level of Housing Works, a quaint bookstore cafe, is taken, occupied by a group of teenagers paying more attention to their cell phones than their cold coffee or the lines of bookshelves open to them. Instead, he sits at one of the tables downstairs. It gives him some new scenery and a vantage point of the door he doesn’t normally get. It’s because of this newfound location he tends to look up each time the bell chimes, and he notices when a woman walks in, a toddler propped on her hip.

She’s… well, stunning—long legs adorned in black skinny jeans, with a cream sweater and a beanie to match, covering long, flowing chestnut curls. He can’t make out many of her features from his seat, not from this angle, but she’s gorgeous too. He can tell. The boy on her hip bounces impatiently, a broad smile on his little face.

He watches on as she brushes shaggy hair away from his forehead and places a kiss to his temple, the motion so natural it’s almost as if she does it hourly. The boy’s right arm wraps around her shoulders, a small Buzz Lightyear toy gripped in his fingers.

When he makes eye contact with the toddler, he smiles, gives a small wave. The child looks at him questioningly for a few seconds, intense eyes just blinking, then he decides to smile back.

The kid seems to be a little charmer. He’s sure his mother must be equally as enchanting.

Trying in earnest to avoid staring creepily at this woman and her son, he looks down at his notebook, at the pen that sits still at his fingertips. The page is nearly empty, filled only with a few jottings and a doodle or two.

The woman orders her drinks and moves out of line, waits off to the side for her name to be called. He takes those few minutes to guess her name.

Emily? Amanda? Olivia? Maybe something more… creative. Modelesque, maybe. Coco? Chanel? Genevieve?

He almost laughs at himself. She may look like a model, but he doubts she’s the Coco type.


It’s the name called when she retrieves her coffee, and he smiles to himself. Somehow, he finds it fitting. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Much better than his guesses. 

Just as he’s about to go back to his non-writing, he watches her collide briefly with a man, causing the toddler to drop his toy. She doesn’t seem to notice, too busy exchanging apologies with the guy and making sure coffee hasn’t spilled all over, but he sees little arms reaching unsuccessfully towards the ground as she continues moving.

“Momma,” he hears, but he’s already out of his seat.

Picking up the toy, he jogs after the woman. “Excuse me,” he says, catching her just as she’s making her way towards the door. “I believe you dropped this.”

She eyes the toy in his extended hand and trails her gaze back to him. “Oh, thank you,” she breathes, plucking it from his palm. She turns to face her son. “Here you go, baby. Remember you have to hold onto it real tight or you’ll lose it, okay?”

“The bump!” the boy says. “Dropped it.”

A smile blooms across her face as she chuckles. “I’m sorry,” she tells him, handing over Buzz. “And what do you say to this nice man who brought it back?”

“Thank you!” the boy yells excitedly, giving him a toothy smile.

“It’s my pleasure, bud,” he says, returning the boy’s eager smile. “I couldn’t let you go without Buzz, now, could I?”

He shakes his head aggressively, light brown hair covering his face now. Small giggles erupt, and his mother laughs, brushes the hair away once again with her forearm and bounces him in place.

She’s more beautiful close up, he realizes. Her eyes—there’s something about them, so expressive yet guarded, but exquisite all the same. Her little boy shares them, though his seem to be more green than hazel. The hunter green jacket he wears brings them out even more.

“Thank you again…”

“Rick,” he supplies, offering a hand before pulling it back. “Right, coffee. Sorry.”

Smiling, she shakes her head. “No need.” A pause. “Kate.”

He doesn’t tell her he already knows her name, heard when the barista called it, because that’d be weird. So he nods instead.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Gust!” the toddler says, wriggling in his mother’s grip as he looks at him. “Hi!”

Rick’s confused but grins at the excitement anyway. “Hi,” he laughs, then looks to Kate for help.

“August,” she tells him, but that doesn’t really give much more information. August? It’s February. She turns to her son. “Yeah, baby, August.” The boy seems pleased with himself, and Kate looks back at Rick. “His name. It’s August.”

Oh. “It’s cute.”

“But only when you’re in trouble, right, kid?” she teases, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. He’s wholly disinterested, paying more attention now to Buzz. “You’re just Auggie, little man.”

Rick feels a bit like he’s intruding, observing this interaction between mother and son, watching how lovingly she looks at the little boy perched contently on her hip. But it’s beautiful, really, and he can’t look away.

“He’s adorable,” he says, earning a proud smile from her.

“Thank you,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Well, we should get going.” He squashes the ridiculous pang of sadness that bubbles. He doesn’t even know her. But he knows he likes her, finds her intriguing. “Maybe we'll—”

“Momma, draw!”

Auggie seems to have lost interest in Buzz for the moment, the toy held in one tiny fist, and is now pointing towards the notebook in Rick’s hand. He’d forgotten he was even holding it, if he’s being honest.

“That’s not yours, baby,” she says quietly. “That’s Rick’s. We can draw when we get home, okay?”

“I wan’ draw now,” he says, looking up at her with large, blinking eyes. How she says no to that face, he can’t even begin to figure out. “Pwease.”

Kate sighs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s polite, you have to give him that,” he smiles. Auggie’s pouting in his mother’s arms, and Rick speaks before thinking twice. “If you don’t have to be anywhere right away, he’s more than welcome to draw.”

The boy brightens, and Kate’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, that’s okay. You were working in that notebook, and we should be going.”

“I was procrastinating and doodling more than I was working, but—wait, were you were watching me?”

“Of course not.” The flame of her cheeks contradicts her statement. “I was taking in my surroundings.”

He grins, wider even when she ducks her head, pulling one lip between her teeth. “Okay,” he laughs. “If it makes you feel any better, I was taking in my surroundings as well.”

Kate hums. “Which would explain how you knew he dropped his toy.”

“So it may,” he says. “Really, though. I haven’t gotten any actual work done and it’s been hours—Auggie using my pad to draw for a little bit would not be hindering any progress, I promise.”

Pointing to the pen in Rick’s hand and then to himself, Auggie bats his eyelashes at his mother. “Draw now?”

Kate lets her eyes fall closed for a second, chest heaving with a small sigh, and when they open she offers a small smile for her son. “If Rick is really sure—” She punctuates her statement with a glance in his direction, eyes making contact with his. “—then we can stay for a little while. Not too long, okay? You need a nap.”

That gets a fast head shake, a wriggle as he tries to free himself from her grip. “No nap.”

“Yes nap,” she says, allowing him to get down but bending to his level. “No nap, no draw. Capisce?”

His little lips frown but he nods. “‘Pisce!”

“Okay then.” Kate stands, still holding onto Auggie’s hand. “Let’s follow Rick to the table.”

With Auggie trailing beside her, she taps Rick on the shoulder just before they reach the table with the rest of his belongings.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she whispers. “He’ll be fine waiting to draw at home.”

Rick pulls out the chair in lieu of an immediate response, and waits for her to sit down, pulling her son onto her lap. He takes his spot across from them and opens his notebook to a blank page before sliding it over, followed by the pen.

“I know,” he promises, watching as Auggie grabs at the pen and hastily begins his drawing. “But I want to.”

He doesn’t know if the delicate smile on her face is for her son or for him, but he’s delighted to see it either way.

New Ways of Waking

Oh, this is so short and a slight NSFW…but not really. I so wanted to finish this a couple of days again for my most lovely friend @edourado but it needed more editing. But I thought a little Kastle moment with cozy troupe would be fun for you! I really hope you enjoy it, even if it’s a little late.

New Ways of Waking

He used to wake up every morning to ‘hey sleepyhead’ and the phantom scent of lavender body lotion, but it was just a memory; a shadow of what once was. It was predictable, but it wasn’t real, it was a frozen moment one he could never touch again.  

Now he woke to the feel of Karen’s satin skin and even breathing, or the traffic outside on the street, or the neighbors clamoring about, or that damn coffee pot of hers that sounded like it was hauling freight instead of brewing coffee. He’d entertained the idea of the machine having an accident, but wasn’t so sure that he could convince her that it had actually been an accident, so the infernal machine got to live.

This morning he wakes to her back pressed to his front as she shifts against him, seeking his warmth in the chilly morning. He runs his hand up her thigh and over her hip. Gooseflesh runs over her flesh as he reaches the plane of her stomach, the soft part of herself that she’d complained about.

Last night in the dark he’d whispered that a man would have to be dead not to want her. In the light of morning, he feels exactly the same.

“Morning.” She mutters face still half buried in the pillow.

“Mhmm.” He inhales deeply and smells her citrus lotion mixed with sweat.

She angles her neck and nudges her nose against his chin. “Coffee’s gonna start soon. We should make breakfast.”

He snorts and kisses her temple, blonde hair itching at his nose. “Cause waking up to you naked makes me want breakfast.”

“Thought you would have worked up an appetite after last night.” Her blue eyes sparkle with a pinch of mischief.

“Only for you, Miss Page.”

She lets out a little laugh and rolls her eyes, “What a line.”

He cups the side of her face and draws her into a long slow kiss. “Only. For you. Miss Page.” Chuckling as he repeats himself humor in his tone.

“Frank.” She traces her finger under his chin.

“Pete.” He corrects in the hushed light of the dawn.

“I’m never calling you that, ever.” She pulls the blanket back around them and he acquiesces letting her roll him onto his back. She sprawls herself over him, rocking her hips as she teases him.

“Thought you wanted breakfast.” He grunts, grabbing her hips to still her as that damned coffee pot roars to life.

“We’ve got time.” She nuzzles his neck, nipping lightly. “Do you really want breakfast?”

“In a way.”

*HUGS* I really hope you liked it! I know it’s short, but I hope it made you smile!


Just a lil fluffysomething for @ambrosiaswhispers, just  because she’s amazing. 

And because we’re all gonna die once The Punisher is here, so. Yeah, 

Hope you like it, lovely lady. 

He looks at her, sitting there on the bed, typing at her computer faster than he thought it was possible, wearing one of his shirts, hair still wet from the shower they had taken together.

Frank is lying back on the side of her bed he had claimed as his, not even feeling the wound where the knife had cut on his thigh two days ago, Claire’s pills working their magic.

He reaches out a hand and runs it on her back, tracing the curve of her spine, down to her hips and from side to side, sneaking under the shirt and caressing skin, his heart tightening and expanding as if breathing.

She is an universe of contradiction, Karen Page. The face of something holy, pure and full of light, on a woman with many colors, both dark and light. A bright and warm smile that can hide such strength and a dark, complicated, traumatic past. Hands that soothe him, calm his nerves but also rile and excite him, making his skin crawl and his blood run faster.

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“Sophie,” Howl sings, smiling widely as he holds his camera up to her face. “Say cheese!”

Sophie doesn’t smile but gives a rather impressive scowl that Howl still takes a snap of. He chuckles as he takes a look at the picture and smiles rather fondly at the results. Sophie lets out a small huff but leans comfortably into his side, her head against his shoulder.

“I look horrible.” She murmurs, her nose scrunched up in distaste and Howl’s never seen anything so adorable. 

“You look beautiful.” He tells her, words true and laughs loudly when Sophie shoves at him but he doesn’t fail to notice the smile on her face.

Paris Nights

It reminds her of their first night.

The crack of thunder, and lighting jagging across the sky; flashes of jolting brightness that illuminate the otherwise dark hotel room. Rain pouring, warmed by the late spring night, and the petrichor scent thick in the air. Heavy drops that splatter against the windows, jump from the cast-iron railing of the balcony, sluice along her back, dance over shoulders and down the length of her legs. The taste of rain on his lips and her hair drenched, wet heavy strands plastered to her neck and the side of her face.

His tongue curls into her mouth and she angles her head, allows him deeper, opening herself to him. Her leg slides up his calf, foot pressed against the cold wrought-iron of the railing for leverage as her thighs fall open against him, his length nudging between the apex of her thighs, hard, demanding. He pushes her against the balustrade and she hooks her arms over his shoulders, holding on, ready for him, yearning for his touch.

The city alive beneath them, late night traffic circling the roundabout and she doesn’t care, the risk of being seen just adding an extra kick to her senses, making her ache to be taken by him, hard and fast, loud. Their last night in Paris, before they leave for Florence, and who cares if anyone sees; let them see. She wants to shout her love for him from the rooftops sometimes, let the world see just how incredible, how amazing they are together. She feels undone and remade both, her skin alive, tingly all over, heat blooming in her midsection, consuming her with ferocious, almost desperate need.

She lifts her hips, writhes against him, now now now, and he groans into her mouth, his hand trailing between them to grab his length, his knuckles brushing her inner thigh as he guides himself inside her warmth. She sighs and it feels like relief when he fills her at last, and the angle isn’t quite right, barely allows them to move, and then suddenly it’s perfect, so so good, the barely-there thrusts of his hips, his hand digging into the cheek of her ass, pressing her tightly against him, holding her close, chests pressed together, skin to skin, his heartbeat racing against hers.

Her fingers curl into the strands of his hair, angling him to press his lips to her neck, and he sucks on her pulse point, teeth grazing her soft, sensitive skin while his length nudges her deep inside, in sharp, short strokes. Her muscles spasm, squeeze him and he groans against her neck, his muscles tightening as she feels him teetering on the brink of his orgasm.

She slides her hand between them, brushes over her clit, pressing hard, her fingertips caressing where they are joined, feeling the wet movement of their bodies coming together and he moans at the sensation of her touch, her name a plea humbled from his mouth to her skin.

“Come for me,” she urges him, squeezes her inner muscles; wants to feel him lose control, the jolts of his muscles when he falls apart for her, with her, the warmth of him within her, the uninhibited sounds from his lips. The sensations consume her, the quick rough strokes, his touch and hers, coming together as one.

“With you,” he groans, lips meeting hers in not-quite a kiss, mouth just open against her, their breath mingling and yes yes she promises as he thrusts again, once, twice, and then he halts, quakes in her arms, moaning his release into her mouth. The jolts of his length spin her over the edge with him, stars bursting behind her eyelids as she shouts her orgasm into the dark night of Paris.

The city of love, indeed.

– – –

[not my gif; original post found here]


Based on the song Austin by Blake Shelton 

She said she needed to clear her mind, needed time to think. That was almost a year ago. She didn’t know why today was different, she thought about it him every other day but never had the nerve to call him. When she first left she thought it’d only be for a day or two but then three passed, then four and pretty soon it had been weeks each day getting harder and harder to call him.  But today was different; today she actually dialed his number and hit the green button.

She paced in circles as it rang, her heart beating faster each ring. What if he didn’t answer? What if he did? Oh god this was mistake. What was she going to say? How could she explain herself? Did he hate her? What if this wasn’t even his number anymore? She was in luck, after three rings it went to his voicemail. This is what she heard, “If this is Gina no I’m probably not writing right now. If this is Tuesday night I’m playing poker. Everyone else wait for the tone and I’ll get back to you. P.S if this is always, I still love you.”

She gasped and dropped her phone. She couldn’t believe it. What kind of man would hang on that long? That was a stupid question Castle would. He did hang for longer than that but that was before she broke his heart. Oh god she royally messed up she had to find a way to fix this. It took her three of waiting for his call to realize that he wasn’t going to. She had changed her number and didn’t leave a message so he had no way of knowing it was her who called. Three rings later this what she heard, “If it’s Friday night I’m at an event, and first thing Saturday I’m heading to the Hamptons with Alexis. I’ll be gone all weekend long but I’ll call when I’m back. P.S if this is always, I still love you.”

This time left her number and nothing else and kept her phone on her all day on Sunday.

When he called the number back this is what he heard, “If you’re calling about my heart it’s still yours. I should’ve listened to it a long time ago then it wouldn’t have taken me so long to know where I belong. I know you aren’t a detective so if you can’t tell this isn’t a machine you’re talking to. This is always and I still love you.”

“Kate,” He breathed.

“Hi Castle.”

He had one simple request, “Come home.”

“I am home. Open your home.”

As soon as he opened the door he wrapped her in his arms and held on tight.

“Please don’t leave again.”

“I won’t Castle, I promise. I’m staying right here. Always.”

Since in DD, Frank mentioned that he missed a lot of the kids sports games, how about a small piece where he’s home and gets to go watch Lisa play soccer for the first time and he’s like borderline embarrassing at how proud he is of her and her skills. – submitted by the amazing @kteague 

(This is so friggin cute I’m so glad I’m finally writing this!)
“That’s my girl! Yeah, Lisa, get ‘em honey!”

Maria covered her face, hiding behind her large water bottle. “Frank, shhh.”

“What? Babe, that was a great move.” He gestured to the field, following the bright blue jersey with Lisa’s number on the back. “Well, I– I think it was… Shit, I should’ve looked up the rules…”

Tugging on his shirt, Maria begged him to sit down. “Frank, enough.”

“Don’t tell me I’m embarrassing you,” he laughed, lowering into the canvas camper chair next to Maria’s.

“You’re just very enthusiastic.”

“Ain’t that the point?” He leaned forward, elbows to knees, scanning the field for his little girl. “To cheer ‘em on when they do well?”

Maria grinned, despite herself. “I mean, yes, but…”

“Volume, got it.”

“And a little less cursing.”

“That big one on the other team threw an elbow, I saw—”

“I know, I know, but that’s why they have refs. And, the players are nine.”

Frank shook his head. “Never too young to learn not to be a jerk.”

A cluster of parents a few yards away glared at them, but Frank didn’t even notice. He was too busy beaming with pride, clapping every time Lisa even got remotely close to the ball.

“That’s it baby, kick it like you mean it! Get after it! That’s it, yeah!”

Maria sipped her water, wishing it was vodka, and stared at her feet. She was already anticipating the passive aggressive email chains.

When she looked up, she spotted the wet shine in Frank’s eyes as he watched their daughter chase the black and white all over the grass.

It hit her all at once.

He’d missed all her other games. Frank had been deployed when Lisa joined soccer, and the season overlapped with his tours. Maria had taken videos and pictures—a little grainy with her outdated cellphone, but it had been something.

Nothing like the real thing though.

Nothing like getting to see Lisa– their precious, fierce, graceful little girl– tear across the green and move her feet so fast they were a blur of cleats and knee socks.

Nothing like getting a taste of the life missed while gone.

Maria smiled, that small, private smile she usually saved for when they were alone. Frank was on the edge of his seat, wringing his hands, watching like his life depended on it.

Setting her water down, she reached over, rubbing his forearm. When Frank looked over, she grinned even broader. And then she jumped out of her seat.

“Go Lisa! That’s it, honey!! You got it!”

Frank stared up at her in bewildered joy. “What about—”

“Shut up, I know,” she said, playfully swatting at him.

With that, Frank was on his feet, screaming his head off right along with her. They were probably going to have angry notes stuck on their windshield.

Maria didn’t care.

At the end of the first half, they were hoarse and in tears from laughing so hard.

Wrapping her arm around Frank’s waist, Maria leaned in close, staring up at him. “Having fun?”

“Oh yeah,” he chuckled. “Hey, whaddya say to pizza and beer after this?”

“I don’t think fourth graders should drink beer.”

“Stop,” he laughed, smacking her hip teasingly. “The beer’s for us. Lisa can have a coke.”

“Sounds perfect, Frank.”

And it was.

Tell The Truth

Hello Lovelies!!! I haven’t written Kastle in sooo long. I’m so sorry. I been involved in writing other things and I’m trying to get finished with a couple of before November, because I know where my muse is going in November. 

WARNING violence! Sorry Karen. Just a little piece. I have no idea where this came from but here’s a little bit with Karen, Frank and an ex-con named Grindle… don’t put your money on the ex-con, fyi

Tell The Truth

She wasn’t giving this asshole the satisfaction of seeing any fear. The man dressed in all black was locked in a damn cage, no way to get to her.

Grindle dragged the blade’s blunt edge across Karen’s collarbone. He’d already stripped her of her top, leaving her in her purple bra and black skirt. Her lip was split, blood drying on her chin, but her blue eyes flashed angry; no fucking fear.

The ex-con turned the blade and poked her flesh with it just enough to draw a few drops of blood. “He’s not even saying anything. You’d think he’d come to your rescue, instead of sitting there like you’re not going to die under my blade.”

She spit out a mouthful of salvia and blood next to Grindle, staining the cement pink.

“Not much of a lady are you?” He jerked on the flex cuffs that restrained her and flicked the knife against her bicep making a thin red line trail down her arm.

She didn’t whimper; she didn’t cry out; and the man in the cage was still silent.

“Why’s he letting this happen to you? You must really only be a piece of ass to him. Him letting me cut on you like this.” Grindle made another thin line down her arm, before turning to the man in the cage and sneered. “Is she not any good? You use her up already? That why you don’t care if I mess her up? So much for the big bad punisher…” He chuckled darkly before examining Karen again.

He pressed his finger against one of the cuts, forcing it to bleed more. He held his finger up for the woman to inspect, her expression was still stony. Grindle painted her lips with her own blood then grabbed her chin. “I think I’ll fuck you before I kill you, but I just can’t decide if I want to do it myself or use my blade on you.”

Her eyes filled with tears suddenly and she let out a pained whine. “Please.”

“Please what darlin? You want me instead of my blade?” He patronized. “I knew you were scared. No one to protect you… Now you beg me like a good girl.”

“Please.” Her blood-stained lip quivered and she bowed her head.

“There we…”

Whatever else Grindle would have said was interrupted by Karen throwing all of her weight into him in the form of head butt to his chest. He fell back on his ass, teeth clacking together as she struggled to push away from him. Her long legs flailing wildly as she scrambled to her feet.

“Run.” Came the one-word order from the man in the cage.

She paused by the cage for a moment, but then dashed out of the warehouse, looking desperately around the docks for someone to help her.

Grindle was on his feet. He couldn’t believe that dumb broad wasn’t screaming for help. He snagged her hair and jerked her back towards him, but instead of fear in her eyes there was only triumph. “No one’s coming to help you.”

“You dropped your knife.”

“I don’t need a knife to kill you.”

“You dropped the keys.”

He could feel ice run down the back of his neck, like death’s hand was a moment from grasping him.

“and… I kicked them into the cage.”


She had tied her blouse together in a vain attempt to cover herself, but she looked a like a city version of Catherine Bach. Her hands were still shaking as she heard the splash of the body hitting the water. She closed her eyes and tried to take a calming breath, but she was still trembling.

“You’re just out of adrenalin. Gonna have the shakes for a bit. Need to eat and rest.” His presence blocked out the streetlight; the darkness somehow more comforting than the light right now. His voice was a low growl as he questioned, “You good?”

She looked up at him, “Are you?”

“Bit better now.” He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Well he never lied to her.

“How’d you know I was playing possum?”

“You told me once that you’d die before you begged.”

Well she never lied to him either.

He nudged her gently, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“That’s my line.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I’m not sure how Frank ended up in that cage…but I do not want to know what Grindle looked like when he went into that water..Yikes.

Love to my Loves.

alwayswritewithcoffee I still have strong headcanon that they have selfie competitions, but uber professional Kate Beckett won’t set them as her caller id screen. 

dontgiveup88 I accept your headcanon and add  that Kate has folders filled of candids of Castle sleeping/writing/cooking. Her favourite being a moment she caught of him when he is looking at Alexis. Castle, the father is her favourite to photograph and she can’t wait until she can take a photo of the first time he sees their kid.

I said I’d write a fic. So I wrote a fic. Enjoy. It’s pure, adorable fluff with a small dose of angst. 

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lovelyluthor  asked:

Beckett hogs the blankets at night. Castle decides to do something about it.

Castle rubbed his eyes as he rolled over, his eyes searching for the bright red numbers on his alarm clock. 3:00 am? Seriously? he thought. A chill crept over him as he realized that he was without blankets. Again. For the fifth night in a row.“Kate?” he whispered, gently rubbing her shoulder. Kate stirred, but didn’t wake. “Kate, wake up, I’m freezing,” he said, a little louder this time. “Mmph,” Kate mumbled incoherently, rolling herself into a blanket burrito and dragging the sheets even farther away. Castle sighed, slightly exasperated, as he watched her turn away. As he thought about what to do, inspiration struck. Kate’s gonna be so pissed, he thought as a big, mischievous grin snuck across his face. He repositioned his body and waited for her to wake up. “CASTLE!” Kate shrieked a few seconds later as she attempted to roll away from him. “Get…your ice-cold feet…off of me!” she grunted as she weakly flailed and attempted to shove his legs off of her. “Seriously, I’m just trying to sleep, and you keep waking me up,” she whined, not fully awake. She gave his shoulder a pathetic shove and laid her head back down on the pillow. He heard a small huff as she quickly fell back asleep. Castle laughed silently to himself. She was never going to remember this in the morning. He grabbed the sheet from the now scattered blankets and tucked it far under his side of the mattress, hoping it would hold until morning. 

Unfortunately for Castle, Beckett did remember in the morning. And boy, was she mad.

Castle Ficlet: Daughter wants to play Scrabble

“Can we play this game tonight?” Jo asked holding out the Scrabble box towards her parents. 

Rick and Kate exchanged looks. “Where did you get that sweetie?” 

“It was in the back of the game closet,” She shrugged. “It looks dusty.” 

“That’s because we haven’t played it in a long time.” 

“How long?“ 

“Since before we were married.”

Her eyebrow furrowed, she looked just like Kate, “Why not? You guys love playing games.”

“Because.” Castle said, as if that was a good enough reason. He knew by now that their daughter was never happy with that answer but he hoped that it would be enough this time. 

“Why not?” She repeated. Their daughter was five years old but very inquisitive and stubborn. Something she had inherited from both of her parents. 

Ricked sighed, “Kate you can explain this to her.”

Kate laughed, “Before your dad met me he was undefeated in this game. Neither grams nor Alexis could beat him.”

“What does undefeated mean?”

“It means nobody could beat him. He always won.”

Her mouth formed an “o” and her eyes widen when she heard that. “Not even Lexi?! But she’s so int…intel-” she pouted as she tried to think of the word she had learned the other day.

“Intelligent,” Rick filled in for her.

“You taught her that word?”

“She saw me typing yesterday and asked about it.”

Jo pulled on her mom’s sleeve, “I wanna hear the rest of the story.” 

“I’m sorry. Anyways so daddy always won. Until he met me. We played and I won and you know how daddy is when he looses.”

“He throws worse tantrums than me.”

“Hey! I’m right here. I can hear you.”

She climbed into Rick lap and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry I still love you daddy.”

He tightened his arms around her, “I love you too. Now let mommy finish her story.”

“Daddy wasn’t happy when he lost, so he stayed up all night trying to beat me but he couldn’t. So he wanted to play again and he lost again.”

“I told you she was smarter than you daddy.”

“You were right, mommy is definitely smarter than me.”

“Did you guys play again?”

Kate and Rick smiled at each other as they remember what they played and how the night had ended.

“No we didn’t. We put it in the closet and played a game where we both win.” 

“What game can two people win?”

Rick looked to Kate with a look of horror.

“You know what why don’t we try playing this again. I can teach you.” Rick suggested trying to change the subject. 

“Okay! But I want mommy to teach me so I can beat you.”

 “Just for that I think it’s time to bring the tickle monster out.” He threatened, wiggling his fingers towards her.

She shrieked and tried to run but Rick was faster. He tickled her until she couldn’t breath and was yelling uncle. He turned to Kate, a mischievous look on his face.

She slowly backed away, her finger pointing at him and glared at him, “Don’t you dare.”

 Rick winked at Jo before they both jumped at Kate.


      Punisher Ficlet, by kneipho (Request)         

By request, a short Punisher ficlet drawing on Netflix’s Punisher Season 1 material and spoilers for Daredevil Season 3. A one-off (No new full-length stories until I finish the old ones). Trying to reconcile the Comic book Frank I know, with the Netflix Frank I’ve come to love. My apologies in advance. Frank Castle and “After.” Frank’s POV.


He doesn’t get an “after.” Not the in the way she meant it. Karen. Men who exact unrepentant vengeance on a vast and bloody scale don’t get an “after.” Not like that, anyway. Some deeds a body can’t escape, becoming a part of you. They alter you, stay with you forever. In his heart, he knew it. But Madani gave him a chance at life, and he had chosen live. So, he faked it, at least in part -for David, and for Curtis. For Karen. Telling himself, that if he went through the motions of normalcy long enough, he could convince them and, maybe, even himself into believing he might someday find a modicum of inner peace.

It worked for a while. Once a week, every week -for a good six months, he attended Curtis’ group, meeting dutifully with other vets in an attempt heal his wounds and help transition back into civilian life. He rented a clean room in a decent neighborhood, worked on the regular for a landscaping company. He listened to music, read books in bed at night. He adopted a dog. His nightmares faded, as did his dreams of killing. Though neither ever wholly disappeared.

He accepted the life he lived in the name of Pete Castiglione; the identity more than a comfortable, self-preserving lie. Confined with that lie, buried deep within the marrow of his bones, lay Frank Castle, his true and altered nature. An annihilator in waiting spawned from unsanctioned governmental deceit, the slaughter of everything he once he loved, and a gunshot to the head. The wires in his brain, permanently crossed, thrumming on a daily basis with constricted violence. It was only a matter of time until they fused together, again, igniting into a raging bonfire that threatened to consume his soul.

Then, Matt Murdock re-emerged. Daredevil rose from the dead, and Wilson Fisk smashed everyone’s lives to smithereens. Frank Castle cleaned his guns, donned his vest and went to work.

On fire, filled with purpose, relieved.

Coffee’s Always Better

A little bit of Kastle with a mention of Jessica and Trish. Thank you for all of the support as always! Love to my Loves!!!

Jones is passed out on the couch, well on the couch by way of being on top of Trish, who’s actually passed out on the couch. Karen lays a blanket over the two of them and shakes her head.

She sits down next to him on the fire escape. “Sometimes I feel like a hotel for vigilantes.”

He snorts to contain his laughter. “Should change the locks.”

“Because you guys always use doors.” She takes the coffee cup from his hand and pours part of her cup into his, to warm it back up. “Have you ever used my front door?”

“Just the one time before you um… redecorated.”

“You mean the time Schoonover redecorated for me, with a spray of bullets?” Karen arches her eyebrow.

He sips from his coffee cup and shrugs, “I patched the holes.”

“You did. After you broke the lock on my window.”

“It was already mostly broken.”

“Now you’re just splitting hairs.” Karen leans against his shoulder, “Thank you for helping Jessica. She went a little overboard.”

“Don’t think Jones has another speed.” He glances back at the two women on the couch and Karen does the same; he doesn’t miss the worried look Karen’s face. “They’re both okay.” 

“I know.” Karen’s breath is soft against his cheek, the coffee on her breath scenting the air. “Frank, are you alright?”

He turns to look at her, his broken nose brushing her dainty one. “Always fine, Ma’am, just a flesh wound.”

She doesn’t move out of his space, instead, she inclines her head and brushes her lips over his, “It took ten stitches to close that flesh wound.”

He sets his cup down and pulls her onto his lap, claiming her lips more completely, the taste of coffee was always better from her lips.

“You’re going to pull apart your stitches.” She mumbles against mouth.

He pushes her hair away from her face, threading his hands through her long blonde locks. “Think it’s worth it.” 

I think I may have written this just to make a joke about bullet holes and redecorating. LOL

fembot77  asked:

Castle Flash-Fiction Challenge: New voicemail greeting

[Set mid-Season 2]

“Good afternoon, Beckett.”

She froze as she walked into the bullpen and side-eyed her partners. It was not unusual for them to greet her after she returned from her lunch break, though not overly common. Despite this, her suspicion mainly stemmed from the smirks adoring both Ryan’s and Esposito’s faces. Smirks that indicated they were laughing—at her? Possibly. Certainly behind her back. Smirks that indicated a joke she was not in on.

“Hello…” Her tone was slow, apprehensive. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Ryan said trying and failing to mask a laugh with a cough.

Setting her face in a glower, Beckett stalked to her desk half expecting to find her monitor covered in a mosaic tile of stickie notes or to have all the items atop her desk completely rearranged, but everything seemed in order. She dusted her fingers over the keyboard and lifted it just to be sure; there was nothing. Grumbling, she reached back for her char and sat with utmost delicacy, convinced she would plummet to the ground the moment her rear connected with the seat, but the chair did not collapse.

Beckett sat completely still for over thirty seconds, her body humming with readiness, but nothing happened. Everything was as it seemed. Rolling her eyes at how they’d fooled her into thinking something was amiss she scooted her chair into her keyboard and clicked her mouse to unlock the desktop.

For the next ten minutes Beckett returned to her email inbox, completely unaware that sniggering still continued behind her. Ultimately, Ryan—or as he was more fondly known—“Castle Junior” could take the anticipation no longer. “Hey Beckett?”


“You haven’t, ah, gotten any voicemails lately, have you?”

“Wha-” She stopped mid-word when she rotated her chair around and saw the shit-eating grins on both their faces. She narrowed her eyes and dug into her jacket pocket for her phone. Upon further examination, she discovered she had no voicemails.

Okay…what the hell were they—wait.

According to her phone, her voicemail had last been accessed at 10:45 that morning only she knew for certain she had not had a voicemail in over a day. What in the world had…

“Castle.” She growled when the failed attempt at hiding laughter from the boys finally hit her. This situation reeked of him and he had been snooping around her desk that morning when she returned from the bathroom. He was looking for a case, but a murder hadn’t been assigned to her that day, so she shooed him away, but evidently not before… “Damn it.”

Turning her chair back around so she didn’t have to look at the smug mugs of her alleged partners, Kate tapped the password to her voicemail and examined it closely. The two messages she had saved remained, and no new messages existed. So what had he—the outgoing message. It had to be.

Kate tapped a few keys and held the phone up to her ear making sure to follow the prompts correctly all the while seething. How in the hell had he unlocked her phone to begin with? Then, he’d entered her voicemail password, which was different from the main phone password, as well!? She was definitely going to kill him this time.

Once she selected “Listen to current outgoing message” she taped her fingers impatiently on the top of her desk and waited for the message to play.

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of the extraordinary Detective Beckett. If you’d like to leave a message for this sexy, smart woman please do so at the beep. If you’d like to leave a message for her ruggedly handsome partner, Richard Castle, you may also do that at the beep. Have a great day!”

Beckett pulled the phone away from her ear with such fury she nearly threw it onto the desk. She stabbed at the buttons to end the call and, without even bothering to re-record the message, stood from her desk and stalked towards the elevator.

Yep; Richard Castle was definitely a dead man.

Castle Ficlet: Call Connected 1/1

Call Connected
A Follow-Up to One Missed Call and Call First

For everyone who asked for more, I hope this doesn’t disappoint.

The diner is crowded enough to keep him occupied while he waits, but Jim can’t help but think about the reason he’s here today instead of people watching.

After stumbling upon Katie and Rick’s belongings in the hallway outside his daughter’s apartment (and then hearing more than strictly necessary through her door) on the way to invite said daughter to brunch, he had treated himself to a hearty meal and a day out of his office. There had been a part of him that considered texting his daughter later in the afternoon to tell her he’d dropped by and – leaving out specifics of what he knows – needle her about being otherwise occupied, but he’d thought better of it. Katie protects her heart fiercely, the spaces of it that Rick Castle occupies even more so; he refuses to make her feel like she needs to shore up her defenses even further.

Imagine his surprise when she’d been the one to reach out, calling that evening to check in and suggest meeting in a few days for their usual meal. She’d sounded good on the phone, though he’d detected an edge of something in her voice, something that made him wonder if she had figured out that he’s the Good Samaritan who put her belongings outside her door.

Then again, if she knew, she probably wouldn’t have called. No, Kate plays things closer to the vest than that. She would’ve waited him out, waited to see if he would say anything. He has no intention of doing that, no intention of drawing attention to the romantic relationship he knows she’s building with Richard Castle.

Suffice to say, his eyes widen when the door opens and his daughter steps into the diner with Rick Castle on her heels. He starts to move to greet them, but freezes when he watches Katie glance back, sees her smile bloom as she hooks her index finger around her partner’s. He’s never seen Katie look like this, not even before Johanna passed.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hey congrats on the followers!! For the prompt thing (if you are still taking them) cardboard castles; shiro and matt; lie in our graves by dave matthews band!

Okay so, this one ended up being a little more than a ficlet. ENJOY! Finally managed to include the marriage talk that I failed to include in a past request, haha. (Also, shout out to @spiritypowers for planting beach day ideas in my brain.)

Here’s the fic. <3

In which Matt proposes with a piece of seaweed.

Category: M/M, T-rated
Content Warnings: Mature Language

[This was for my 75 Follower Ficlet Requests celebration that I just finished.]