summary: Frank comes back. and you missed him. You just try not to let him know that. warnings: blood, injuries, angst a/n: cannot get enough of frank castle…….. pls give me a break <3
Even on his best day, Frank Castle was a man of few words.
Before his morning coffee, you were lucky if you received more than a grunt or two, and after… Well, even then he didn’t exactly turn into Shakespeare. So whilst Frank didn’t always tell you things, he still managed to show you.
It started with small, simple things.
He’d pick you up from work to save you waking home. He’d cook you dinner in hopes that you’d stop ordering so much takeout. He knew you didn’t always have the time, nor the energy to cook a half decent meal, but he liked to know that you’d eaten at least one portion of vegetables during the week.
He’d take your bins out, fixed your coffee machine – which may have been for selfish reasons more than anything else – and he’d sit and watch ridiculous films with you, even though he knew you’d fall asleep within half hour, leaving him to watch the remainder of the film alone.
And he’d buy you flowers.
So often, in fact, that eventually you had to buy more vases just to house them.
So yes, Frank Castle wasn’t a man of many words, but his actions certainly made up for that.
It was a bog-standard, normal day.
You had awoken next to to Frank’s warm body, pressing your cold feet into his calves, causing him to hiss, but remained where they were, allowing you to steal the heat from him.
He’d been awake for a while, as he always was when he had to formulate a plan for later. Except this time, he wasn’t mapping out a dangerous gang’s headquarters, nor was he plotting any type of recon, assassination…. No. He was planning something much more terrifying. Something that put the living fear into a lot of people, himself included.
Frank Castle was planning a romantic, valentines day.
He and Maria had indulged in only a few valentines, but with two young children and him a military man, it was never something either were particularly fussed over.
You were a romantic, and you didn’t try to hide it. And Frank loved that about you.
Sure, you’d bemoan the commercialization of the day; the expensive cards that would be thrown away after a few days, and the expensive gifts and expectations, but what was wrong with showing someone you loved them?
Sure, you should hold that same amount of love every day, not just one day of the year, but it wasn’t realistic, was it? You couldn’t shower someone with love and attention and affection every damn day of your relationship. Life didn’t work that way. Love didn’t work that way.
So what was wrong with having one day where you went above and beyond?
The morning continued with soft kisses and gentle caresses. His stubble scratched over your thighs, your breathy giggles quickly dissipating into sensual moans, fingers combing through the short hair atop his head.
A shower – where curious hands continued to wander, mapping out each other’s bodies as if you didn’t know every inch of each other’s bodies – followed by the both of you lazily moving around the kitchen in an attempt to make pancakes.
He didn’t have much planned for the morning, you had to pop into work and sign some documents, and he intended to head out to the shipment yard, he’d been given information about a possible new arms dealer in the area, and he intended to – at some point that week – intervene. He’d checked every day so far, and yet nothing had come up, he was just hoping his source hadn’t got it wrong.
Either way, he intended to meet you after work, and take you to a very expensive, Italian restaurant later that evening. He hadn’t told you much, only to dress up.
He was nervous, but for the first time in so long, Frank was also excited about something.
Which was why he should’ve known everything would go to shit.
Turns out, his source was accurate. Or at least, half accurate.
Yes, there was – finally – a weapons shipment. But there was also a huge drug shipment, too. One that Frank knew he couldn’t just leave for another day.
The distributors, a Russian gang that had so far evaded him – were known to be violent drug pushers, using disadvantaged kids to run their products all over the New York Burroughs. Frank was also certain they had a prostitution ring.
Either way, despite the day, he couldn’t let these pieces of shit live a moment longer.
Keeping his eye on them as they strolled around the shipping yard like they owned the place, Frank slid his phone from his pocket, using speed dial to ring you, unfortunately however, it rang and rang and rang, eventually sending him to voice mail.
Huffing, Frank pushed his phone back into his pocket after turning it off. He’d have to just try you again later, or at least hope you wouldn’t be too mad.
He’d watched them for a while,waiting until they began their drive before hopping in his own van and staying two vehicles away. They may have had bravado, but they will still a little paranoid. Once he’d reached their warehouse, he laid in wait, watching them through the sight of his sniper.
He’d have to be smart, his usual going in guns blazing wouldn’t work here. There were a lot of them, spread throughout the two story building. It brought back to use a lot of his Marine training, but also meant he’d spend a lot of time waiting. Checking his watch, he only had just under an hour before you’d be finished.
Shit, he really hoped you were in a forgiving mood.
Sitting on the wall outside of the clinic, you pulled your phone out for what felt like the hundredth time in the last 5 minutes. You could feel Patricia’s eyes on you through the large glass window, but you refused to turn around and acknowledge her.
Pulling up Frank’s contact once more, you wanted nothing more than to throw your phone at the sidewalk when it diverted straight to his answer phone.
It wasn’t like Frank to be late. He was a Marine for practically all of his adult life, he knew how to be on time.
Which meant one of two things.
He was either busy, or injured.
Either way, if he wasn’t already dead, you’d be sure to kill him.
Deciding to just make the short walk home and get changed there, you set off hoping the weather would hold out. February in New York could be unpredictable and if your hair got wet, well, you simply would not be going at all.
You tried your best to give him the benefit of the doubt, and hoped – for his sake – that he would turn up by the time you’d dressed and got yourself ready.
Frank was sweating, ducking down behind a large wooden crate that wouldn’t offer much protection.
He’d managed to infiltrate the warehouse pretty stealthily, taking out a fair amount of guards from his perch on the rooftop a few buildings away. The guards outside weren’t too difficult, either. They’d become complacent in their security, lazy even, and he was able to finish them off quickly face-to-face before they alerted anyone. But inside the building was a different story.
A rogue guard who had definitely left his post walked through the hallway, passing a large look out room and managed to spot the dead guard on the floor. Notifying the rest of the gang via his radio, the whole warehouse was suddenly on high alert.
Frank had to duck and dodge into dark, hopefully empty rooms as he made his way through the top floor, killing whoever he could find on his way down. By the time he’d made it to the main floor, he’d left a trail of dead bodies in his wake.
But they were clearly keeping the hard hitters down here, protecting their stock.
Taking a deep breath, Frank popped his head over the top of the crate, firing another shot before rolling away, dodging the onslaught of bullets that followed closely behind.
Frank – without telling you where he was taking you – had told you that your reservation was for 8pm. He’d repeated the simple fact a few times before he’d dropped you to work, and twice more in the car ride there.
Yet here you were, dressed to the nine’s in a beautiful, red satin dress that hugged you in all the right places, hair and make up looking, dare you say it, damn near perfect, and stomach growling viciously as it awaited Frank’s arrival.
He hadn’t even rang you.
There were not many things in this world that scared Frank Castle was scared of.
An angry, hungry woman, however, was most definitely top 3.
The door swung open before he’d even had the chance to knock, reminding him so much of the first time he’d come to your house to bring you flowers. You didn’t quite have the blaze of absolute fury behind your eyes back then, though.
He knew his demeanor resembled that of a kicked puppy, his dark brown eyes looking at you through his even darker eyelashes as his adam’s apple bobbled.
Watching you silently for a moment, he tried his hardest to keep his eyes on you, but your penetrative stare made him feel all of 5 inches tall. Your arms crossed over your chest, and he used all of his past military training to keep his eyes focused aboveyour neckline.
The whole mission had turned to shit, and a smack upside the head would only be the shitty cherry atop his equally shitty cupcake of a evening.
He waited, ready for your anger to bubble over, as he held out his hand and produced the large bouquet of cherry red roses, the shade almost matching your dress.
Taking one look at them, your brows pushed together and nose crinkled, “Is that your blood, or someone else’?”
His own face contorted as he pulled the flowers closer to him, looking over the rose petals that had blood splotches. He simply shrugged and held them back towards you.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
When you’d slammed the door back in Frank’s face, he didn’t know what to think. What to feel. What to do, even.
He remained on the doorstep until the door flung open once more, your heels clicking as you passed by him, bag now on your shoulder and made your way towards his van, snatching the bouquet as you passed him.
His head snapped around at your 4 simple words, “You comin’ or what?”
Now, here you both sat, in a booth in Pete’s diner. Frank’s clothes speckled with blood stains, cuts and bruises beginning to blossom across his handsome face, and you, sat opposite him in your expensive, red satin dress and sickeningly expensive heels, happily chomping down on a cheeseburger. Plainly put, you both looked ridiculous.
“It good?”
You nodded, licking at the ketchup that had dripped onto your lips. You’d sat in dead silence the whole way to the diner, only speaking to place your order, but now you’d all but ravaged the food in front of you, you were at least a little friendlier.
“I am really sorry, you know? Sorry I was so late and we missed the reservation-”
“Do you really think I care about a fancy restaurant, Castle? In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever cared about something like that?”
“Well… No, but-”
“Frank, if this is going to work, I need you to understand one thing, alright? I might not agree fully with what you do, but I respect it. I get it.I don’t need fancy dinners and expensive gifts and so much hassle. I just need you.Alive, preferably. Just please, in the future… Let me know what’s happening.”
Feeling his cheeks warm up, he pulled the cellphone out of his pocket and waved it a little, “I would’ve but uh… My phone got shot.”
You bulked at his admission, eyes widening in worry before he interrupted you, “It uh, it wasn’t in my pocket. Don’t worry.”
“Then where the hell was it?”
He looked uncomfortable, shifting for a moment or two on the squeaky seat, “It was uh, in my back pocket.”
“Wait… Wait. What? Does that mean-”
“Yes. I was shot in the ass.” He sighed, eyes darting around the diner to make sure nobody could hear you.
Glaring at you as you cackled, Frank almost wished he’d saved himself the silent treatment and led with that information.
“Does that… Is it still in there?”
The look on his face – especially when he shifted in his seat once more – told you everything.
The bullet was definitely still lodged in his ass cheek.
“It’s really not that amusing.” He tried to shush you, the tips of his ears turning beat red.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He simply shrugged, grabbing a fry and dunking it in some ketchup, “I didn’t think it was that important.”
Once your laughter had calmed into a small smirk, he turned his attention to the flowers sat on the table, squashed from where he’d landed on them as he dived into the van in his escape, blood covering some petals as he checked them over with his cut hands,
“I’m also sorry about the flowers.”
You merely quirked an eyebrow, the cheeky smirk never leaving your lips, “Don’t worry about it. Can I uh, can I tell you something?”
He watched as you fiddled with the broken petals, “Of course.”
Your smirk was finally replaced with an almost bashful smile as you looked at him through your lashes.
“I have hayfever.”
Frank watched you for a moment, the clogs in his brain churning slowly before he got it, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
He tried to snatch the offending flowers away from you, as if the soft, beautiful bouquet was a threat to your life, but you were quicker. Holding them close to your chest, you smiled,
“I didn’t think it was that important.”
A/N: So this is just a super quick note to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of the love I’ve received for this mini-series.
This started as just a cute little idea, and I really didn’t expect the amass of followers, likes and re-blogs I’ve gained for it.
I have honestly never smiled so much when I’ve loaded up the website to see that little lightening bolt appear.
So whether you reblogged, liked, followed, or even just read the series, thank you so much for your support. It means so much to a small writer like me, and I really hope to do more of these smaller series with other characters from different TV shows/movies in between writing my full length fics, because it really is helpful sometimes to just get away from a 8,000 word chapter and spent a couple of hours writing something totally different.
So thank you once again, and please remember, requests are open if there is something specific you would like to read by me.
Whilst I am still currently writing my full-length Frank Castle fic (Into Hell and Right On Through It) as well as my full length Steve Rogers fic (The King and the Lion-heart), the next mini-series fic I have planned is a Fezco (Euphoria) x reader, and a Frank Castle x Assasin!Reader, so please stick around if either interests you.
summary: karen, back in the swing of babysitting, gets to meet more of the people in frank’s life — and tears open some wounds along the way. characters:frank castle/karen page rating:g warnings:n/a word count: 51.8k+ (ongoing) a/n: listen, i am aware this chapter comes two months after the last one. don’t look at me. it’s been a Time.
If she’d thought taking care of a small child on an unreliable schedule had screwed her sleep schedule, she’d had another thing coming when she’d committed to taking care of said child andher father. She could’ve taken more days off — Frank had offered her the rest of the month, to compensate for his illness — but she’d refused, citing her desire to keep up a regular schedule. Which was true, for the most part, and only partially to cover up the fact that her tiny apartment suddenly felt unbearably empty after almost a week of being around Frank.
Even as tiny as her place was (“it’s not tiny, it’s cozy,” Foggy always said), it felt lonely without the noise of another person. Before she’d started working for Frank, she’d never considered how truly alone she was most of the time. Outside of Foggy and her regular meetings with Ellison, she’d gotten so used to being on her own that other people almost felt like an extraneous bore, an extra weight on her shoulders that she never really wanted.
But with Frank…it was almost like there was no weight at all. Maybe it was because he was gone so often that he didn’t really make much of an impact anyway, or the fact that he was so quiet that she might as well be alone anyway.
But when he did speak…his voice was some kind of missing piece for her brain, a white noise machine she hadn’t known she needed. Not musical, in the sense that movies and romance novels always describe it — no, it was far too rough for that — but comforting in the same kind of way.
God, she ought to take Foggy’s advice on writing schlocky romance novels to supplement her income.
-summary; Frank ruins you for anyone else. -warnings; 18+ mdni, smut, knife/blood play ish, canon typical violence, blood, graphic description. -a/n; i am a whore <3
“I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”
The words tumble from his swollen lips. You clutch your bleeding side and laugh. Your chest tightens and it’s hard to breath, but you laugh. Your nose is definitely broken, your teeth are stained a blood orange. You can feel cracked ribs and pulled muscles. The life is draining out of stab wounds and bullet holes. But you laugh.
Frank looks just as bad as you. His face is painted black and blue. His knuckles are bloodied and broken. One of his teeth is lying on the floor by his feet. Blood gushes from both nostrils and his vest had been decorated with several fresh bullet holes. You had even managed to weasel your blade into his side to leave a nasty wound.
Your apartment’s a mess. Broken glass littered the floor. Your coffee table was lying in pieces. Frank wants to kill you. You both stood, covered in blood, heaving and panting, in your kitchen.
“Do it,” you grin.
He advances. You make no move to run. It almost surprises Frank. He almost wants you to run. He enjoys the chase. he’ll miss this little game once you’re dead. But as his hand wraps around your throat, he finds himself unable to kill you just yet. So he squeezes, just enough to excite you.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he promises.
“Do it.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs. “I ain’t done with you, yet.”
Frank’s free hand disappears. You watch, half frightened, half intrigued. You don’t see the knife that he pulls. You feel it, instead. You feel it hook under the hem of your shirt. You feel the cool air on your skin as the shirt rips. It’s a clean cut.
You hiss through your teeth. Frank presses the tip of the blade into the skin above your sternum. He grins at his artistry. You feel him drag the blade down. Blood trickles out of the wound, not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to scar. You’ll have it forever. The cuts are clean, it’ll be no gaudy scar, it’ll be dainty, but visible. You feel two more swipes of the blade slicing skin, two across, one below the other. Frank leans back to admire his handiwork. From afar, with a sick grin, he adds another cut, right next to the previous one. You don’t know what he’s painted, but you have your suspicions.
You whine, pushing against Frank. He takes some pity on you and leans in for a kiss. It’s almost sweet, until he bites your lip and the taste of fresh blood floods your mouth. You moan into the kiss. Frank drops his hands to your thighs. He taps them and you jump. He blindly carries you through your apartment. he knocks against the kitchen island and the wall, and several doorframes. You wince and groan against his lips.
“Stop fuckin’ whining,” he chastises.
“Fuck you,” you grin.
He knocks you against the doorframe again, a little harder than before. He stumbles into your bedroom and drops you carelessly on the bed. You sit up. Frank undoes his belt and while he’s unbuckling his jeans, you look around him to the mirror on the wall.
Your eyes go wide. In your sternum, just below the underwire of your bra, are the initials: FC
firstly, wtf thank you for 200 followers?! secondly, i’ll get to requests soon i swear. one thing about me is that i love soft service top frank castle. anyways, in crazy over you i kinda touched on this - but i think i need to expand on the thot. i’m gonna try sum and pray (haha) for the best. no summary if you wanna know you gotta read. but anyway enough rambling - i hope ya like. not proofread.
if frank castle is anything, he’s a sinner. been to hell and back more times than he could count, and most of the time enjoyed it. in fact found himself searching for, and creating destruction. soaking in somber had even become somewhat delightful to him. after all, happy was a kick in the balls waiting to happen.
