Frank Castle · Y/n story by @rory

The doorbell rang just as Damien was refilling his glass. The sound cut through the chatter—Aunt Carla mid-sentence, Lillian giggling over her juice, the low hum of the TV in the background.

Elora

That'll be Frank.

Damien

Finally. Told him to be here by seven.

Your mom smoothed her apron and shot you a look, nodding toward the door.

Elora

Go on, sweetheart. It's your birthday. You answer it.

The porch light spilled onto the walkway, the evening air carrying the faint scent of cut grass. Frank stood on the other side, shoulders slightly hunched, a wrapped box in his hands.

Frank Castle

Hey, {y/n}…

His smile came soft. A little crooked.

Frank Castle

Happy birthday, kid.