#1 yearner

🌑🐦‍⬛🪦 she/her | 20’s | scorpio frank castle apologist

[bl00dytrail]

𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

———introducing bl00dytrail…

———in her 20’s, pansexual, she/her, USA (east coast)

———i write for any fandom im into at the moment

scorpio ☼ cancer ☾ aries ↑

———marvel. supernatural (the show). paranormal. crypid. true crime. halloween. skulls. mystery and horror. moon and night. daddy issues galore. obsessed with older men.

masterlist

[binchidavinci]

BTW ChatGPT directly contributes to Trump regularly 👍 stop AI generating fanfics for the love of god just write. Write badly write awfully just write

[bl00dytrail]

good looking boy |

frank castle x gn!reader

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

summary: you find franks smile entrancing.

wc: 416

a/n: oh to make frank castle blush

the bar was dimly lit and surprisingly quiet. the two agreed that they needed a break from the yellow walls of their motel room. so that’s why you’re now watching frank hustling two poor college students at the billiard table. you tried to focus on your manila folder that held your and franks recent findings but all you could concentrate on was your partner.

you’ve always pushed it down. he was dangerous, strong, concrete in his beliefs. but my god was he handsome. he was sweet to you, he had warmed up not too long ago and has been protective and kind to you in his own way . now it’s harder, before when you two initially met, he was abrasive and cold, now he’s coming over with a smile on his face and a wad of cash.

“look at this, sweetheart.” he grinned as he dropped the cash on the sticky bar table. that nickname, it made your heart drop and flutter in a school girl manner. “i see, castle. those poor guys.” you shake your head as you try to distract yourself from his smiling face. it was quiet between you two, the music being the only thing keeping you from loosing your mind.

you look up at frank briefly and you’re taken back by his eyes already looking at you. “what?” frank asks as you look back down. he knew you so well it pissed you off. with all the time you’ve spent together at this point he has to know how you feel. you shake your head and decided to make the jump. without looking up from the police reports infront of you, you speak. “your smile…it’s nice.” it wasn’t meek or quiet. you said it matter a fact and with your chest.

frank scoffs and he looks away from you. you glance up for a beat and see a light red dusting his cheeks, you look away before he turns back to look at you. “you should do it more often.” you put the last nail in the coffin for frank. his own heart beating so loud he can barely hear the Led Zepplin guitar solo around him. he grumbles a thank you and sips his beer. you knew you’ve won and smile to yourself.

the rest of the night is quiet, only questions and aha moments in-between the silence, it was nice. what made it nice was the fact frank couldn’t look at you without blushing all over again.

[kkovenn]

Picnics

Frank Castle x Reader (Ao3) || Word Count: 700

General Masterlist

TAGS: frank's relationship with sandwiches, fluff, picnic sorta, 1 piece of chocolate, drabble

TAGLIST: @starlord3000, @rosalia-cher

---

Frank's sandwiches weren't always the balanced full course meals they were right now. Back when he was alone they'd just be stale bread with a swipe of mayonnaise, maybe a slice of ham if he was feeling particularly peckish that day.

Meeting someone to care about again sort of clicked something in him. Just imagining the thought of you eating something so haplessly made always makes him irrationally angry.

So now, sandwich making has become somewhat of a ritual. He always makes sure the bread is toasted, always having a protein component, some leafy greens, a few tomatoes, cheese slices.

You, on the other hand, love to watch. Some days it's a more perverted perspective, watching Frank's hands be so precise, seeing him be so manly. Most days it's the damn good food, made with so much obvious love and care that it makes your eyes water if you think about it too much.

Frank doesn't rush sandwich making. He's not noisy or obnoxious about it either. Doesn't hold it over your head. He enjoys the process. Nothing but the pursuit of eating a good sandwich with you on his mind as he toasts bacon on the pan.

You flip over the bacon while he's at the chopping board, just hanging around and helping out.

"Do you like going on picnics?" You ask.

Frank's brows raise at the question, but he doesn't stop slicing the tomato on the board. "Not really." He thinks back to his time with Maria and the kids. "More of a hotdogs at the park kind'a guy."

You hum. "It's just... your sandwiches feel like they belong in a picnic-"

That makes Frank pause. He glances at the window to check the weather. You're still talking about how 'Pinterest-worthy' his sandwiches are and how nice they'd look on a spread alongside a picnic basket.

"Could go on a picnic right now 'f you want."

You blink, mouth open on your last word. Frank's brows are raised at you, that look he does when he's up for it and is just waiting on you.

"Sure." You're both grinning at each other. Frank watches you for a bit as you move to make some coffee in one of his thermal tumblers.

He slices the sub he'd made in half while you pack some sweets from the fridge into a lunch bag.

—

The exact moment Frank pulls up the handbrake on his van to park at the picnic area, it starts to rain.

This is how you both find yourselves sitting in the back. Instead of atop grass, the picnic mat laid atop the floor of Frank's van.

"Could'a sworn it was sunny when we left." Frank grumbles to himself as he unwraps his sandwich, looking out the window.

"This is still pretty nice. Free rain sounds." You unwrap your half and present it to him. "Cheers."

Frank lets out an amused breath, pressing the sliced side of his sandwich to yours. "Cheers, sweetheart."

You shift so your back is to his chest, Frank accommodates your change in posture immediately. "This feels like we're in some aesthetic van life vlog." You comment. "Except it's not usually this dark in their van."

He huffs, amused, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "Hm."

"Frank I can feel the crumbs!"

Your lover laughs behind you, using his free hand to brush away the breadcrumbs. "Sorry."

You rest your head on his chest again after a while, munching on the food you brought.

Frank's voice rumbles in his chest. "Damn rain."

"Could always have another picnic." You shrug. Your words make Frank pause.

You're right. He has plenty of time now, just enough money to spend the weekends freely without needing to work, enough to stock sandwich ingredients in his fridge, enough for gas to drive to picnic spots. It's nice. This is nice.

He hugs you tighter, looks out the window. He feels something cold against his lips, and sees you're holding up a piece of chocolate for him.

"It's melting!" You turn your head to look back at him.

Frank grins, shakes his head as he puts the chocolate in his mouth, humming at the taste. "Thanks, sweetheart."

[bl00dytrail]

old dog |

frank castle x gn!reader

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

summary: franks aging and he hates it, unlike you

wc: 377

a/n: hi sweethearts i’m sorry i went MIA. my life has been super hectic and so i took a much needed break :) hope you enjoy this post thats been in the drafts for a while!

frank stares at himself in the mirror as he slips out of the shower. he over analyzes the wrinkles on his face, the many grey hairs in his beard and hair, and the worst part…the tummy he’s been forming. he’s been cooling down on his nighttime activities, due to your request, and it’s obvious it’s taking a toll on him.

he’s getting older he knows it and so do you. you see him groan as he squats to pick up something. you see him flex his hand when his wrist is sore. it’s getting worse and he won’t admit it. so you put your foot down.

“baby?” it was a winter night when you started the conversation. he was gonna go out but he confided that it was way too cold and it was hurting his messed up hip. “yeah, doll?” he was at the kitchen table reading up on something that you didn’t care enough to find out about. “come sit with me.” you don’t ask, you say. without hesitation, because it’s frank, he gets up and comes over to you. wrapping his arms around you.

the conversation was hard and there were moments that he felt attacked and vulnerable but he took it well. so he listened, he stopped going out every night (now only 2-3 times a week) and he spent more time with his baby. but that didn’t stop him from getting insecure. it was weird seeing his muscle go away and replace with fat. he’d thought you hate it, maybe force him to go to the gym with you but no.

you couldn’t get off of him! the slowly forming dad bod did something for you. he still had his biceps and quads. a little of his abs but mainly a soft tummy. his hair was greying on the sides and a stripe of grey in his bread that he grew out for you. it was a heavenly sight.

he didn’t know how much you loved it until…well until you should him one night…and then the next..and the night after that too- the point is he understood clearly what his age was doing to you, and now he doesn’t feel that bad about being an old dog.

[bl00dytrail]

my finals are over!! please send in requests. i’m gonna try and write on my own but i would love for you guys to tell me what you want!! Im also down to write for other fandoms i like (look at the hashtags to see which ones)

mwah 😙

[bl00dytrail]

rough seas |

frank castle x fem!reader

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

summary: you’ve entered your luteal phase

wc: 286

a/n: just entered mine and this is a representation of how my boyfriends and I week has been…

you know it's bad when the man you're insanely in love with doesn't seem appealing anymore. it alway starts that way. you’re just hanging out with frank then all of a sudden you hate how loud he breathes or how heavy his hand feels on your thigh. that’s when it clicks. the worse phase of them all.

it gives frank whiplash when you go from ovulating- wanting to crawl into his skin, feel every inch of his body- to luteal -hating when he touches you, he’s suddenly seems mean and more harsh to you, it’s in your head. he doesn’t blame you of course, it’s not your fault.

so he’s grown to know how to be prepared. not physically no, mentally. it’s rough when the love of your life doesn’t want you touching them or being near them period. it’s especially hard when they don’t even wanna sleep with you (in both meanings). again he knows it’s not a conscious decision to not wanting to be around him but it still hurts. and you’ve warned him. you know how bad you get and you wanted him to be prepared.

frank knows when it starts when you’ve grown more on edge, more snippy. he’d never say you have an attitude, oh heavens no, you’d probably punt him across the room if he called you out when you’re feeling this way. but it especially confuses him when you pick an argument with him furiously then a moment later, still angry, start crying.

needless to say he tries his best (and always succeeds) when you’re going through the motions. and when the water clears and you see no damage and just your handsome boyfriend still there, you know it’s not as bad as you think.

[bl00dytrail]

guys i’m going to nyc and you best believe i will be trying to find my boys 😈

[enchantingqueenkitten]

Frank Castle x Reader ~ You okay, ma’am?

A/N ~ I know it has been forever since I have written for Frankie but we are back! This randomly started brewing in my head and I think Frankie would protect you if he met you in a random diner one night.

To my Bruce Wayne readers, the imagines are still being drafted. More to come for him too.

Check out my master list.

Summary ~ You leave home upset and find an unexpected connection with a mysterious stranger at your local diner.

It was the worst. The worst pain possible so sharp that it nearly split you open. You hadn’t meant to say the things you said, not really but he just pushed and pushed until you couldn’t stop. It was always like this. Always. You had never been with someone so infuriating. Then, you had said it. The one thing you could never take back. 

 “I want a divorce.” 

The word divorce tasted strange, almost foreign. Yet, somehow, achingly right. Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned and stormed out.

You didn’t wait for his reply. You didn’t even look back. You just headed for your car, slammed the door and sped down the street as fast as your shaking hands would allow.

Tears blurred your vision, rage rising in hot waves as you drove with no destination, no plan just motion. When you finally stopped, you found yourself in the dim parking lot of a diner, neon buzzing overhead.

You turned off the ignition and exhaled a trembling sigh.

“What am I doing?” you whispered to the empty car.

Your life wasn’t terrible. Not really. You had a steady job, a safe home, enough money to keep the lights on and food in the fridge. Your life was fine.

It was your husband, your soon-to-be ex, who had never fit. The piece that never matched the picture, no matter how tightly you tried to press it in. People warned you from the beginning. You knew it, and they knew it. You just ignored the signs.

Here you were, alone, in a dimly lit parking lot with nowhere else to go.

With a weary breath, you decided there was no point sitting in the car any longer. You stepped out and headed inside.

The diner was far busier than you expected. Friday night, apparently, was the peak hour for comfort food, in this town. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself as you moved through the narrow aisles between crowded tables, the hum of conversation buzzing around you. Every booth seemed taken until you spotted one empty seat in the far back corner.

The only problem was the man occupying the other side of the booth.

You couldn’t see his face at first; a black jacket hunched around him and a navy cap was pulled low over his eyes. But as you approached, his features sharpened into view and suddenly it made sense why he was trying to hide. Cuts marked his skin and a large, ugly bruise was blooming purple and blue across the right side of his face. He stared out the window at the setting sun, expression distant, until your reflection must have caught his attention. He turned toward you.

You must have looked just as rough: your brown hair twisted into knots, mascara smudged around your eyes, your black coat wrapped tight around you like armour. You were exhausted, hungry and on the edge of falling apart. You didn’t have it in you to search for another place.

The man frowned.

“You okay, ma’am?”

His voice was deep, low and rough around the edges. The polite ma’am caught you off guard; you wouldn’t have expected it from someone who looked like he’d been on the losing end of a fight.

“Um…” You tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear,  “Do you mind if I sit here?” 

You gestured to the empty side of the booth.

“Sure.”

You slid into the seat, unsure what to do with your hands, your eyes, your breathing, any of it. A discarded menu lay off to the side, next to an empty plate smeared with the last traces of pie and a mug stained with the remnants of coffee.

“You sure you’re okay, ma’am?”

You looked up. His eyes were dark, steady, fixed on you like he was trying to read something you didn’t want to expose.

“Yeah… yes. I just need some food, that’s all.”

He didn’t believe you. You could see that much but he let it go. Instead, he nudged the menu toward you with a quiet scrape across the table.

“The pie’s really good.”

You nodded, grateful and glanced down at the options. A burger, fries and a milkshake sounded perfect. Comfort you could eat. Something warm, something sweet, something uncomplicated. Exactly what you needed right now.

When you looked up again, a waitress was already at your table. You gave your order, trying to keep your voice even.

“So,” he said once she’d walked away, “Where are you coming from?”

The question hit deeper than it had any right to. Where were you coming from? Home, yes, but also from a fight that felt like it had lasted your entire marriage.

“I was just coming from work,” you said.

A lie. Easier than unraveling the truth for a stranger.

He nodded, accepting it without comment.

“What about you? Those bruises…”

Deflecting was always easier. You’d never liked the spotlight, never liked the feeling of someone peering too closely at the cracks. Other people’s stories were easier to listen to than telling your own.

“You should see the other guy,” he said.

“Should I?” You raised a brow, unsure if he was joking or warning you.

He gave a rough, short laugh and rubbed his hands together. That’s when you noticed them; raw scrapes and angry red cuts across his knuckles. Every sign pointed to stay away. He was a living, breathing warning flag and yet… there was something else. Something you couldn’t quite name. Something off but not in a way that made you afraid. More like curious.

Your food arrived then, breaking the moment. The waitress topped off his coffee and moved on. You ate in silence, grateful for the distraction. Your eyes fixed on your plate, his attention drifting to the window. Still, you caught him stealing glances at you now and then. Quick. Subtle. Like he couldn’t quite help it.

When you finished, you pushed the empty plate aside and pulled your milkshake closer.

“Guess you were really hungry, huh?” he said, nodding toward the clean plate.

You lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“Did somebody hurt you?” he asked, his voice low, strangely gentle.

You shook your head, “Just been a long day, is all.”

He took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes never really leaving you.

“Is it to do with your husband?” he asked.

You looked up sharply, startled. How could he possibly know?

He dipped his chin toward your hand. The gold band on your ring finger glinted under the diner’s lights.

“Oh… um…” You slipped your hands into your lap, suddenly feeling exposed.

“Did he do something to you?” he pressed.

“No, it’s not that.” You exhaled, shaking your head. 

“We… I mean, it was a stupid fight. That’s all.”

A humourless laugh escaped you.

“A never-ending, stupid fight and I finally ended it.”

Your gaze fixed on a faint stain on the red tabletop beside your milkshake glass. Anything to avoid meeting his eyes. 

“Sorry to hear that,” he said quietly.

“I’m not.”

The truth surprised you even as it slipped out. 

“He never deserved me anyway. I was stupid to think he was the one. Clearly, I was wrong.”

You took a long pull from your milkshake, the cold sweetness humming through your nerves.

“Nah,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t say you were stupid. You just made a mistake, is all.”

His eyes had softened. The first real warmth you’d seen in them. Comforting in a way that made something in your chest unclench.

“You don’t know me,” you said, laughing lightly. It felt good. Freer than you’d felt in months.

“Don’t have to,” he replied, “You don’t seem like the stupid type. Just someone who made a wrong choice.”

You nodded, at a loss for words.

“So,” you ventured after a moment, “What about you? Got a wife?”

Something flickered across his face: sharp, pained, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. His expression tightened, shadowed by something you couldn’t name.

“No, I used to,” he said quietly.

“What happened? You made a wrong choice like me?” you asked, half-joking.

“No… she died.”

The words hit like ice water poured over your head.

“I… I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m such an idiot,” you stammered, immediately regretting the words.

“Don’t apologise. You didn’t know,” he said softly.

He signaled to the waitress. 

“Ma’am,” he said, pointing at his near-empty cup, “A bit more, please.”

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out and froze for a moment. Your ex-husband’s name flashing on the screen. Silencing it, you exhaled a shaky sigh.

“Was that him?” he asked, stirring his freshly filled cup.

“Yeah. Probably wondering where I am. I… I left. Didn’t know what else to do.”

“Are you going back there?”

“To be honest… I don’t know. Feels like I just want to leave, you know? Get out of here and never look back.”

“I know the feeling,” he said quietly and for a moment you felt the weight of that shared understanding.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” you asked, curiosity breaking through your gloom.

“No,” he replied, a small shrug in his voice, “Just passing through.”

The diner had begun to thin out, the hum of conversation fading to the occasional clatter of a dish or the scrape of a chair. You pushed your empty cup away, the last swallow of milkshake leaving a cool, sweet trace on your tongue. His dark eyes followed your movements but he didn’t say anything. He let the silence linger comfortably between you as if the world outside had shrunk down to this small booth.

“I’m… y/n,” you said finally, breaking the quiet.

“Frank,” he replied simply, his voice low and steady.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Likewise,” he said, a hint of warmth threading through the words.

The waitress had arrived with the bill. You insisted on paying your share but Frank waved you off, sliding some notes across the table. You argued lightly, laughing at his stubbornness but in the end he insisted and you let him.

Outside, the parking lot was cloaked in darkness, the weak glow of a streetlight casting long shadows across the parked cars. The air was crisp sending chills through you as you both came to a stop in the middle of the lot.

“Well, this is me,” you said, gesturing toward your car.

“Right,” he replied, taking his keys out of his pocket. You noticed his hands again and wondered what had caused the scrapes but didn’t ask. Some questions weren’t yours to voice.

You exchanged quiet goodbyes and began moving toward your respective vehicles. Frank hesitated before reaching his truck, his brow furrowing as if debating something in his head. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, jingling his keys nervously.

“You… uh… you wanna go for a ride?” he asked finally, his voice tentative, almost unsure of himself. Frank could tell that you didn’t want to go back home, that wherever you’d left behind wasn’t safe or comfortable. He didn’t want to push, didn’t want to overstep but he couldn’t let you walk back into that either.

You stopped, your hand hovering over the driver’s side door handle.

Frank was a stranger, someone you’d just met. The bruises and cuts on his face and hands made him look dangerous. He could probably be a killer for all you knew. Yet, somehow, climbing into his truck felt like a better option than going back to your awful husband. Better than returning to the fight, the lies, the suffocating familiarity. Getting into a truck with a stranger you barely knew… somehow didn’t feel entirely unsafe. That probably said a lot about the state of your head right now than anything else. Besides, you had pepper spray tucked in your pocket. You could handle it.

“Sure,” you said.

You walked over to where he stood by his truck, your heart beating a little faster than you expected. 

____

A/N ~ To be continued or not to be continued? Let me know in the comments!

[bl00dytrail]

my boyfriend gave me a punisher t-shirt for my birthday 😏

he’s a blessing <33

[bl00dytrail]

birthday |

frank castle x gn!reader

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

summary: celebrating your birthday with frank

wc: 424

a/n: it’s my birthday!! this is obviously a projection on how i feel about my birthday and wish frank could do all these things for me. enjoy!!

you hate your birthday. blame it on family trauma or the fact that you hate the spot light but you hate it. it just reminded you that even if you have people in your life that care about you it still feels like a burden to have a birthday. frank wouldn't stand for this. his sweet thing can't hate their birthday. he's a hypocrite really, he hates his and refuses to let you do anything for it. but no, god forbid you hate yours too.

it started with you waking up to the smell of bacon cooking in your apartment. you shoot out of bed and stumble into the kitchen to see your boyfriend in the kitchen. you had just recently gave him a key to your place so you assume that’s how he got in at this ungodly hour.

looking around the kitchen you see your favorite fresh fruit and a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers which aren’t even in season. “frankie~” your voice quivers as you shuffle over to him and wrap your arms around him. “go take a seat, baby. you’re not doing anything today, just relax.” he shoves you away with a good morning kiss and into your living room.

he spoiled you the whole day. never letting you touch a thing. he took you to a sweet little lunch at your guys’ favorite restaurant. he took you on a drive in his truck through upstate to look at all the house you dream of living in one day. on the way back home he took you to your favorite stores and paid for everything. it was a dream.

and when you got home, the house was quiet and cozy. he lights your best smelling candles, puts on your favorite record and he ‘sang’ (i use that loosely) happy birthday to you with your favorite dessert. you cried…

it scared him, he thought he did something wrong, maybe you didn’t like the dessert he bought but he could’ve sworn it was your favorite. none of that was true, it was your favorite, everything he’s done and gave you was your favorite. he’s your favorite.

after the cry’s and awkward thank you’s and hugs you two wind down, put on your show you got him into and relax. and when the sun goes down and you feel the love in your whole body, you take him to your room and show him how much he truly means to you, and he showed you how lucky you are to be celebrating your birthday with him.

[ballard96]

[onedaythreeautums]

frank was a hard man to get through to, he's built walls that are impossible to break down. they can be cracked, but that's the farthest you'll see into his complex character. he's not a man of many words, but his body language, the distant look in his eye, it's enough to tell you that his mind is replaying that day. the devastation he must've felt is beyond your comprehension, you've never experienced loss like he has, pain or anger like he has. the most you could do is sit and listen when he needs to get a little weight of his chest.

the slight crack in his voice, the tears swelling in his eyes is enough to make you scoot closer, place a comforting hand on his thigh. your touch was enough to break him from his thoughts, stop him from thinking too much on the pain. he would blink away the tears, place his larger hand over yours. the longer he looked at your touching hands, the more he saw the blood on his hands, the lives he's taken, but your hands remained clean. he would prefer to keep it that way.

frank was not a bad boyfriend by any means, he just needed more patience and understood than the average person. he doesn't tell you what he's doing when he's gone for days at a time and comes back bloody and bruised. you've learned not to question it either, knowing he will throw you a sharp glare, a warning that you're overstepping.

he doesn't want to bring trouble to your doorstep, so he tries his best not to stay long. his worst fear is losing you, and he makes that known. he embraces you like it's your last moment together, hell they might be. you'll catch him staring at you from across the room, you'll be focused on work and feel his gaze boring into you. it warms you, but the look in his eyes, one of a lost puppy, makes you want to hold him close, run your fingers through his locks, whisper reassuring words into his ear. he reminds you time and time again that having a relationship with him could get you into trouble, his tone is scared when he's saying it, and he's gripping onto your hands like you're his only lifeline.

between everything he does on a daily basis he is still as caring as ever, and looks after you. if he's ever gone for longer than he anticipated, he makes sure he sends flower to your doorstep, a card with a short encrypted message, like he's your secret admirer.

when he comes home he quickly pulls you flush against his chest, strong arms wrapping around you and securing you close. you feel his breath across the top of your head as he rests his chin, after a brief moment he will press his lips to your hairline. "i missed you, sweetheart." he'll mutter, an emotion you couldn't quite place hinting in his tone. he runs his hand up your back, then reaches your head and entangles his fingers into your hair. he inhales your scent, like he hasn't smelt it in years, and hold you like he hasn't in years.

he would cook for you, even if he hasn't slept or gotten rest in a few days. and despite your protests, his hands find your hips, a smile tugging at his lips as he presses his soft lips against yours, a silent message that tells you he wants to do this for you. and he's not a bad cook, for a guy who rarely ever does cook, he makes amazing meals, and you often look forward to them, or request he make more so you can eat leftovers when he's away.

he tries not to raise his voice at you, but for a very long time all frank felt was anger. so when you aren't particularly in a good mood when he comes home, and you start jumping him with questions, demanding that he open up to you more, his jaw clenches. but he doesn't raise his voice. he lets you vent, he wants to know how you truly feel, but when you start crying, he feels his heart break a little. he hates having this conversation with you, telling you that he can't even begin to form words to explain what he does or what he's been through. he tells you that he's been doing nasty work, things will make you sick to your stomach and change your views on him as a person. and he would hate for you to see him like the rest of the world does. a monster, someone to be feared, a killing machine.

he holds your face in his calloused hands, wiping the tears from your pretty face. he hates to see you cry, and he hates it even more that you're crying over him.

"I'm sorry baby."

the simplest nicknames make your heart race and stomach flutter, but only when he's saying it. his gruff voice makes them sound so sweet, and he says them with a hint of possessiveness. he rarely uses your real name, he likes seeing heat rise to your face when he calls you certain nicknames. he knows that he drives you crazy, he sees the way you look at his arms, watching his muscles flex when he moves. you'll stare when he removes his shirt, eyes trailing down until they snap back up to see if he is watching. and he always is, which makes you avert your gaze to something else in the room, suddenly the TV remote is a lot more interesting than the attractive man standing shirtless in your apartment.

he's gentle with you, he's good to you, he's everything you've ever wished for. he's the type of man you wished for when you were little, someone caring, compassionate, understanding.

frank is a man you would marry, but you're unsure if you'll get the luxury of that future together. in his line of work, and knowing that making anything official meant attachments, and if anything were to happen to you, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. he still can't forgive himself for his late wife and kids. but what he feels for you is real, and it's strong.

[bl00dytrail]

spooky |

frank castle x gn!reader

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

summary: frank and reader during halloween

wc: 377

a/n: this is totally not based on me being so happy it's finally halloween and wishing i had frank here with me...

this was your season. the chill in the air, leaves finally falling, and the best part; halloween. frank never understood how his sweetheart adored, and i mean adored, scary things. slasher movies where almost everyone is getting gutted, skulls and dead things galore, entire house dark, it suited you but sometimes worried frank.

your comfort movies are the scariest ones you can find, you laugh at the acting rather then squeal at the blood. it's was...different. at first frank was worried for your wellbeing. but now he understands, this is just you and how you are. maybe that's why you two work so well. why you don't faint when he comes home covered in blood, why you don't even flinch when he briefly mentions his 'punishing'. again it was worrisome, but you're his baby.

even though most of your everyday decor is halloween decorations you bought from the craft stores in august, you still somehow decorate for halloween. shocking frank with the tote full of halloween decor. nonetheless, he helps you by carrying it from room to room so you can see what else you can spruce up with spooky cheer.

when the faithful day comes, you are ecstatic, dressing up, getting to put the old spooky music on, giving out candy. you tried to get frank into a costume but it was pointless. however, he did let you put some fake blood under his nose and on his lip. giving him a boxer look, even though he was wearing his usually henley and jeans. he didn't need to fake bruises due to him being out the night before.

he was antsy the whole night, knowing he was stuck in the house while crimes happened more so tonight than another night. but then you'd turn back to him, closing the door after the most recent batch of trick or treaters, with the most content and giddy smile.

he was more than fine with staying in with his odd sweetheart. the one who got happy when there was gore in a movie, the one who finds joy in old vintage records that sent chills down the average persons spine, and the one who he allowed to make him wear a somewhat of a costume.

[bl00dytrail]

sweet moments |

frank castle x gn!reader

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰ summary: how franks shows he loves you

wc: 373

a/n: decided too format this a bit differently. enjoy!

frank adores you. that’s it. this man would crawl on his bare knees till they’re bleeding if you told him too. that being said, he wants to show you how much you truly mean to him. he’s not a man of words, rather grunts and huffs. so at the beginning of your relationship he had to brainstorm how to show you.

flowers:

he found out that you keep old flowers, you press them or even keep the whole bouquet and hang them around your place. so he immediately started researching: what’s your favorite flower? what season do they bloom? does the smell of them matter? but in the end you just like flowers. especially when they’re from him.

opening doors:

franks rather traditional especially when it comes to doors. if he ever sees you touching a doorhandle he’s running over and opening it for you. this includes car doors, he refuses to let you open the passenger door. so you have to wait for this hunk of a man to walk around his truck and open it for you.

touching:

franks really only physical behind closed doors. not that he’s embarrassed about you in public (quite the opposite) but he’s just on guard when you two are out and the last thing on his mind is shoving his tongue down your throat when you’re walking back to his truck after a nice dinner. that being said, he’s all over you at home. his hands always finding your hips if you’re standing, or your thigh when you’re sitting. he’s always guiding you too his lap if he’s sitting and you’re about to sit. and don’t even dare think he’s not kissing you every chance he gets. on the forehead, cheek and obviously your soft lips.

sleeping:

frank doesn’t sleep well, we all know this. you know this. you found out when you woke up after some activity’s and he was just awake reading it was two in the morning. but after a lot of talks and comforting, frank finally was able to sleep peacefully next to you. and that was a big win in your book.

frank loves you. simple as that. and he shows it in many ways but these are your favorites.

[bl00dytrail]

can i do a request for frank castle x reader? just the whumpiest thing you can think of with the reader as the whumpee and frank is her knight in shining armore?? if you cant thats cool

saving grace |

frank castle x gn!reader

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

summary: franks job torments your relationship but that doesn’t mean he’ll never be there for you

wc: 423

tw: blood and stab wound!!

a/n: tysm for the request! i tried my hardest to go in a different direction than i usually do with prompts like this so i hope you enjoy. sorry if the readers not whumpee enough, i just can’t seem to make the reader incapable and not a badass lol

franks heart hasn’t dropped like this since that faithful day at the carousel. your shared apartment door was busted open. the wood trim splintered by the broken handle. his heart beat ringing in his ears, eyes wide open. panic flushed over him like a bucket of ice cold water. calculating his steps inside the chilling apartment he sees it.

blood. not a serious amount but concerning nonetheless. even though his body screamed at him to run, tear the apartment apart, freak out. he couldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t, his military training calculated his steps. his hand gripping his gun as he sweeps the living room and finally spots you.

you’re slumped against the wall, blood smeared by you on the wall and floor. you’re in and out of consciousness but your hand has an iron grip on your side. frank lunges towards you, hands moving your shirt, gripping your face. “f-frankie?” your voice cracks as your eyes flutter open and see your battered boyfriend. “i’m here baby, i’m here.” you can hear the panic in his voice but you know he’s trying to stay strong for you.

he shushes you as try and speak. you’re hand raises and trembles as you point towards your shared bedroom. franks head whips towards the door. it had a bloody handprint on it, smeared by the handle. his eyes find yours again and he stands. he stalks towards the bloody door and pushes it open. the room is a mess. nightstand broken, vase shattered, sheets bloody and torn off the bed. the window, open and blowing cold air. and then the man who lays unconscious on the floor.

frank drags him to the living room then rushes back to you. “i did that.” you speak quietly as you look at the intruder. “damn right you did, proud of you, doll.” a small quirk of you lip gives him relief. as this conversation unfolds he starts addressing the small stab wound on your abdomen.

it hurts, you curse and squeeze your eyes shut as he stitches you up. but you try and stay strong, you know this is killing him to see you like this. so when it’s all said and done, he cleans you up, puts you in bed and then tells you he’ll be back in ten, taking the man with him.

you know what he’s doing but you don’t care. even if you could handle yourself you know you need frank, your frank, to keep you truly safe from the horrors that’ll come knocking.

[bl00dytrail]

the beginning |

frank castle x gn!reader

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

summary: how frank and you started out

wc: 300

a/n: i’ve recently got into a serious relationship and im fueling my admiration and gratitude into this lol

curtis was a mutual friend of yours and he thought, him being who he is, would meddle and pull a few strings to get you two together. now of course frank was skeptical, some random person, no info expect for curtis reassuring him that you two would be perfect for eachother.

but when you and frank first were introduced it was awkward to say the least. you immediately found eachother insanely attractive and that made you two embarrassed. you hadn’t been in a serious relationship in a while and well frank…you know.

so that being said it was difficult at first, painfully slow but you two didn’t want to push it. ruin what felt amazing, not cross lines that needed a few more weeks to form. it was easy though, it came naturally.

curtis was ecstatic to say the least. watching his two friends mold together and open up was so sweet to watch. he was grateful that you could bring frank out of his shell, his hard fifteen feet thick shell. it was especially sweet to watch when frank finally confided in you who he was, what he’s been through, and what he does. curtis finally found a sense of peace.

the peace knowing frank had someone to care for him, that he had another person who could help frank down from the edge. or a person who’d help frank from even getting near the edge. curtis saw how you were with frank, he was different around you. you compelled him with certain care and intimacy that curtis knew frank needed.

you’ll always count your graces and give curtis credit for what he forced. and he sure as hell will never let you two live it down that he was the one who put this happy couple together.