Lieutenant Bear .𖥔 ݁ ˖
frank castle x fem!reader
summary: after surviving fifteen brutal months overseas, frank has finally returned home to his wife and children that he loves with an all-consuming devotion, only to meet his nearly one-year-old son who doesn’t yet know who his father is.
warnings: slight angst but not really. fluff. frank is wholeheartedly in love with you and his family. use of pet names (sweetheart, baby girl, baby). domestic!frank. [2k]
The house smelled like garlic, onions, and the tomato sauce simmering low on the stove for nearly two hours. The radio hummed softly in the background — some old rock station Frank liked leaving on whenever he was home. You’d kept it on lately out of habit, the noise helping the house feel less empty. The gentle murmur of the dishwasher filled the pauses between Lisa’s running commentary from the living room, the occasional plastic clatter of toys against hardwood, and Frank Jr.’s happy babbling as he sat on the rug near his sister. ling contentedly. Warm afternoon light spilled through the kitchen windows in long gold streaks, turning the hardwood floors amber, and catching the edges of crayon wrappers and stuffed animals scattered around the coffee table.
You stood in the kitchen with your sleeves pushed up to your elbows, one hand wrapped around a dish towel whilst the other stirred the sauce simmering slowly on the stove. Every few seconds, you glanced toward the living room automatically, checking on the kids without even realising you were doing it. Lisa sat cross-legged on the floor in her favourite pink socks, completely focused on her drawing. Her dark curls were still messy from her earlier nap and breakfast syrup still lingered faintly at the corner of her mouth despite your attempts to wipe it clean. She pressed down hard with her crayons, tongue peeking out slightly in focus as she coloured what was apparently supposed to be your family.
Frank Jr. sat beside her near the couch, chubby legs spread awkwardly as he smacked two toy blocks together with serious concentration. Every so often, he’d lose balance and topple sideways onto the rug only to blink in surprise before pushing himself upright again with determined little grunts. He was getting steadier every day. Walking now — sort of. Not confidently or gracefully, but enough to wobble from the coffee table to your legs if sufficiently motivated by snacks or attention. You still couldn’t quite believe it sometimes.
Frank had gone overseas when you were six months pregnant, and at the time, Frank Jr. had only been a weight beneath your ribs and blurry ultrasound photos folded carefully into envelopes overseas. Now he was nearly one year old and stubbornly trying to walk. Frank had missed everything: the birth, the first smile, the first time he rolled over, the first word that was maybe “mama” or maybe just random noise.
You swallowed hard against the familiar ache in your chest. Fifteen months. Fifteen months since he’d kissed you goodbye in the driveway with one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other spread protectively over your pregnant stomach. You’d survived them somehow: the calls that cut out without warning, the weeks of silence, the fear every time unknown numbers appeared on your phone, and the terrible, quiet ritual of checking the news with your stomach twisted into knots.
You’d mailed photographs constantly: Frank Jr. asleep against your chest, Lisa finger-painting, Frank Jr. in the bathtub covered in soap bubbles, Christmas morning… tiny milestones frozen in glossy little rectangles because it was all you could give him from thousands of miles away. And Frank had written back every chance he got. Short letters usually, his handwriting smudged on rough paper: Miss you. Miss the kids. Tell Lisa daddy loves her. Kiss my boy for me.
“Momma!” Lisa called suddenly from the living room. “Look!”
You leaned around the doorway with a smile. “Lemme see.”
Lisa held up the paper proudly. Four crooked stick figures stood beneath an aggressively yellow sun. “That’s Daddy,” she informed you seriously, pointing at the tallest figure. “He got big boots.”
You laughed softly despite the sudden sting behind your eyes. “Yeah? He does?”
“Mhm.” She nodded firmly. “And this baby Frankie.”
Frank Jr. immediately looked up at the sound of his nickname, blinking wide dark eyes before slamming his blocks together again triumphantly. “Baba!”
Lisa pointed at the smallest figure. “That’s me.”
“I know who you are,” you teased, and she giggled.
Then, after a short moment, she spoke again — but this time, her voice was quieter. “When Daddy gets home… he stay now?”
The question hit you harder than you expected, and your grip tightened slightly on the dish towel. “Yeah, baby,” you said softly, “Daddy’s home now.”
Lisa studied your face carefully like she was checking whether to believe you. Then she nodded once and returned to colouring.
The clock on the microwave read 3:17 PM. He should’ve been there already. Your nerves had become unbearable by noon, and every passing car made your pulse jump, every creak outside sent Lisa scrambling toward the window yelling, “Daddy?!”
Frank Jr. didn’t understand any of it. To him, today was just another day at home with Mama and Lisa. He had no idea his father was about to walk through the door. No idea that somewhere only minutes away was a man who had spent fifteen months surviving war with photos of him folded inside his vest.
You heard the truck before you saw it, the low engine rumbling outside the house making you freeze instantly, every part of your body going still Lisa’s crayon dropped from her hand before she yelled, “Daddy!” She launched upright so fast she nearly slipped in her socks, scrambling toward the front door whilst you stood rooted in place for one stunned second, breath caught painfully in your chest.
Outside, the truck door slammed shut, heavy boots approaching the porch, and then the front door opened. Frank stood there carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder, broad frame filling the doorway completely. He looked older. Not dramatically – not enough that someone else might notice immediately – but you did, and you saw it instantly: the exhaustion carved deeper into his face, the heavier lines around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders like his body had forgotten how to fully relax. His hair was shorter than before he left, beard slightly outgrown, skin darker from sun and dust and places you tried not to imagine too clearly.
But it was still Frank.
Still your Frank.
And the second his eyes landed on you, something in his expression cracked wide open. Relief. Pure, overwhelming relief.
“Hey, baby girl–” Lisa hit him at full speed before he could finish speaking. Frank dropped the duffel instantly and caught her with both arms, grunting softly from the force as she wrapped herself around his neck. “Whoa– Hey, hey, c’mere…” His voice broke into a rough laugh you hadn’t heard in over a year. “Jesus Christ, look at you…”
Lisa buried her face into his shoulder immediately. “You came home,” she murmured, the words coming muffled against his neck.
Frank closed his eyes, his large hand spreading over the back of her tiny body instinctively, holding her tighter for a second like he needed proof she was real. “Yeah,” he murmured hoarsely. “Yeah, sweetheart. Daddy’s home.”
You stood frozen near the kitchen doorway, suddenly unable to breathe properly. Frank looked up at you over Lisa’s shoulder, and just like that, every wall inside you collapsed. He crossed the room fast, Lisa still clinging to him as he reached you, one hand immediately coming up to your face like he couldn’t help himself. His palm was rough and warm against your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye before he kissed you hard enough to steal the air from your lungs.
God, he smelled familiar. Soap. Sweat. Cold air. Leather. Frank.
The kiss wasn’t polished or gentle; it was desperate, hungry, fifteen months of missing each other compressed into one moment. When he finally pulled back, his forehead dropped against yours. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
The question wrecked you for some reason, and you laughed shakily instead of crying. “Took you long enough.”
A rough smile tugged at his mouth. “Yeah,” he muttered, thumb brushing against your cheek once again. “Got a little held up.”
Then a small babbling noise came from the living room, and Frank went still. Completely still. His eyes shifted past you slowly to see Frank Jr. sat beside the couch clutching a toy block in one hand, staring openly at the stranger standing in the house. Frank looked terrified — not of combat or war, but of this, of meeting his son.
You watched his throat move hard when he swallowed. “That him?” he asked quietly, voice suddenly rougher than before. And God, the look on his face… it was like somebody had reached inside his chest and split him open. Frank Jr. blinked at him curiously. Then immediately shoved the toy block into his own mouth. A startled laugh escaped Frank before he could stop it. “Jesus,” he whispered softly, his eyes glassing over almost instantly. “That’s my boy?” You nodded, your own tears burning now, and Frank carefully lowered Lisa onto the floor without taking his eyes off the baby. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured distractedly when she protested. “Lemme see your brother, huh?”
Then slowly, he crouched down. His massive frame looked almost awkward lowered to the carpet, his forearms resting against his knees whilst he stared at his son like he couldn’t process him fully. Frank Jr. stared back cautiously, a smile – small, uneven, real – pulled at Frank’s mouth.
“Hey there, buddy.” The baby frowned immediately. Not crying yet, just uncertain, but Frank’s smile slightly faltered nonetheless. You could practically see the heartbreak flicker across his face at the realisation that this little boy had absolutely no idea who he was. “Hey,” Frank tried again softly. “It’s alright.”
Frank Jr. immediately looked up at you instead “Momma.”
Instead of pulling away, Frank exhaled quietly through his nose and nodded once like he understood. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, that’s Momma.”
Lisa climbed into Frank’s side immediately. “That’s Daddy,” she informed her brother very seriously.
Frank let out another soft laugh. “Thanks, Lis,” he murmured gently, though Frank Jr. continued staring suspiciously. Then, very slowly, Frank reached into the pocket of his jacket. “I got somethin’ for you.” He pulled out a small stuffed bear — worn slightly from being packed away too long — and held the bear out carefully toward Frank Jr.
The baby stared at it, then at Frank, then back at the bear. Tiny fingers reached forward hesitantly before grabbing it with a happy noise. “Baba!”
Frank laughed immediately, the sound warm, rough, and completely wrecked with emotion. “Yeah?” he whispered. “You like that?” Frank Jr. smacked the bear against the floor enthusiastically, and Frank looked like he might cry. Instead, he sat there on the carpet staring at his son with this almost disbelieving tenderness, one hand covering his mouth briefly as he shook his head. “He walkin’?” he asked quietly without looking away.
You smiled with a light nod, moving to kneel on the floor opposite your son. “You wanna show Daddy?” You held your hands out towards him and Frank Jr. immediately used the couch to pull himself upright.
Frank’s eyes widened like he’d just witnessed something impossible. “No shit…” The baby wobbled dangerously before taking several uneven little steps toward you, and Frank watched every movement like it physically hurt to miss even one second of it. “That’s my boy.”
Not bragging. Not ego. Just awe. Pure awe.
And when Frank Jr. stumbled halfway there, Frank reacted instantly on instinct — lunging forward to steady him before he hit the floor. However, the baby startled hard at the sudden movement, and his face crumpled.
“Oh, hey– Hey, hey, no, no–” Frank froze immediately, hands hovering uncertainly. Frank Jr. burst into tears. You moved automatically, but Frank beat you to it. “Hey, buddy– Alright, alright…” His voice changed instantly – softer than you’d maybe ever heard it – and scooped his baby into his arms.
Frank Jr. cried harder for exactly three seconds before confusion interrupted him, because Frank was holding him against this huge warm chest, rocking instinctively side to side with the same natural rhythm he’d used on Lisa years ago.
“It’s okay,” Frank murmured quietly against his son’s hair. “Daddy’s got you.”
The room went silent except for Frank Jr.’s sniffles and Frank’s occasional whispers of reassurance, but when tiny fingers grabbed onto Frank’s shirt, he almost stopped breathing. You saw it happen — the exact moment his heart completely gave out inside his chest. His eyes shut briefly, one arm wrapping tighter around the baby automatically and holding him close like something precious.
And when Frank Jr. finally settled enough to rest his head against Frank’s shoulder uncertainly, Frank looked over at you with an expression so open and overwhelmed it nearly destroyed you.
He didn’t look like a Marine or a soldier. Just a husband holding his son for the first time whilst his daughter leaned against his side and you stood only a few feet away.
And for the first time in fifteen months, Frank Castle was home.
