Frank Castle

Your father had invited Frank over for dinner, as he often did. The two men were sitting in the living room, beers in hand, talking about something you couldn’t quite make out from upstairs. You knew Frank was there and, more importantly, you knew exactly how aware he was of you.

You deliberately took your time coming downstairs, wearing an outfit that was considerably more revealing than anything you’d normally wear around your father’s best friend. You weren’t exactly trying to hide what you were doing. Frank’s eyes flicked toward you the second you entered the room, when his eyes landed on you in that skimpy outfit he quickly averted her gaze and tightens his jaw.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Your father called casually. “We’re ordering food. You want anything?”

Frank stayed quiet, staring determinedly at the television like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. You smiled innocently, “Yeah. I’ll come sit with you.”

When you walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch he finally glanced at you once again, but that was more than enough. His expression alone made it undeniably clear that he knew exactly what you were doing.