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1-800marvelqueen · 1 year ago

Text

5:45

Frank Castle (Peter Castiglione x reader)

Part One

WC : 2.5K

SW : No usage of"Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Reader is gender neutral! but is implied to be AFAB. Mentions of blood, knives, stab wounds, etc. Frank and the reader do some smooching and some snuggling because he so cute and I just wanna put him in my pocket and carry him around.

If there's any more warnings to be added let me know!

Ths is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

Pete’s apartment is on a side of town you’d never been to. A shifty looking building with no front entrance, only a back door. You can’t really make anything out, your body slowly shutting down, your vision blurry, lids heavy. But you can briefly make out the fact that Pete removes one hand from holding you to wrench the building door open. It feels as if all the blood that isn’t pouring out of the stab wound in your side floods to your face. Literally on the verge of passing out from blood loss and you can only focus on his muscles, good going, you think to yourself.

You’re snapped out of your drooling reverie when Pete begins the ascent up the stairs. He tightens his grip on you, apologising profusely at the sound of your quiet pained whimpers, briefly explaining that the place had no elevator- it had been broken for years. He once again removes one hand from you to dig into his pocket grabbing a singular key to unlock his door. He quickly rushes you to this bed, placing you down gently. He glides his palm along your forehead as he immediately rushes off to some other part of the house.

Once again your mind is filled by Pete. Bleeding out or no, you can’t help but focus on the way the sheets are absolutely doused in his smell. Looking around you take in the small apartment -- if you could even call it that. The room is bare, as are the walls. The paint is tan colored. The bed he placed you on is small, next to it is a simple white night table. Upon the table is a stack of books, which makes you smile, there's a lamp, and a propped up photo, 4 white lines running through it, showing all the times it had been folded and unfolded. The corners are crinkled and dirty, and in the photo is a gorgeous woman and two children.

Oh.

“That’s Maria.” You gasp, whipping your head around. You hadn’t even noticed that Pete had come back. He places a hand against your sternum, thumb rubbing in a soothing manner. He takes a pair of scissors and begins cutting your shirt from the bottom of your stab wound to the edge of the fabric, gently peeling it from around the area and lifting it up to rest around the bottom of your ribcage. He says nothing else as he gently rubs the skin with an alcohol soaked cloth, gently avoiding the knife. The hand holding you down becomes heavier as he applies more pressure to keep you from squirming.

When he’s done with that he reaches down and grabs a thick leather belt from the rest of his supplies. He stands only to replace his hand with his knee, holding you down. He goes to hold the belt in front of your mouth, uttering a quiet “you’re gonna wanna bite down on this.” You’re confused as to why he’s got his knee on you, pressing down with all his body weight. Your confusion soon becomes painful understanding as he grabs the handle of the knife and slowly pulls it out. Your screams are muffled, teeth clamping down so hard on the leather you think they’ll snap right out of your mouth. Your hearing goes fuzzy, a dull ringing beginning to take its place. You can briefly make out Pete’s praise and whispers of how well you’re doing, that it’ll all be over soon. But you hardly understand him, your head spins, the ringing picks up full force and the world goes dark.

Everything hurts. That’s the first thought that comes to your mind when you wake up. Your whole midriff hurts. Eyes heavy, lids struggling to open. You make the mistake of trying to sit up, only partially getting up before the pain overtakes you. Letting out a loud yelp, eyes snapping open at the sudden burst that fills every nerve of your body. Tears well in your eyes, immediately spilling out the corners. A hand slides to the small of your back, another to the soft bit of your stomach. “Easy sweetheart, easy. I got you baby, don’t worry I got you.” Eyes snapping to your right to see Pete, body immediately going lax. “Pete?” voice wavering as more tears spill out. “Yeah sweetheart it’s me. Don’t move, I don’t want you to pull your stitches.” Your back makes contact with the bed again, pillow fluffed and plush under your head. One of his hands goes to your head, palm smoothing down on your forehead, pushing hair out of your eyes.

“Do you remember what happened?” Voice quiet and… scared? “Yes,” letting out a cough, your voice rough and scratchy, “The man from the diner, he got me. You got him.” The corner of one side of his mouth pulls up, before it drops down. He turns extremely serious in a split second, eyes losing any sort of emotion in them. He goes cold. “Yeah. I got him.” Eyes glancing away from you, his head turning, looking at the walls, the floor, the window, avoiding looking at you at all.

“Pete?” A hand placed on his, you see him physically tense up at your touch, causing you to let go, not wanting to disturb him. He turns his head back towards you, looking in a longing manner at your hand that's now resting back at your side. He gives you a long look before he spins around, sitting on the edge of the bed, back facing you. “Petey are you okay?” His head goes down, shaking. You’re worried you’ve done something wrong, why is he shaking his head?

“It’s Frank.”

“What?”

“My name’s not Pete, it’s Frank.”

This was such a bad idea. He’d be putting you in so much danger by telling you who he really was. But then again he had already put you in enough danger when he befriended you. But you deserved to know, he had literally killed a man in front of you less than 2 hours ago. He could still feel the fear in his system, the panic, the thought that you could’ve been gone, ripped from his world in a split second. He doesn’t realise that his eyes are welling up with tears, his hands beginning to shake.

“What do you mean?” your voice shaking, he can hear you shuffle in the sheets, the apprehension and confusion in your tone. He turns to make sure you haven’t made any drastic moves, that you haven’t hurt yourself further. When he looks at you there’s a tenseness in your bones, a crease between your brows, and a certain look of fear in your eyes.

This was a bad idea.

“My name isn’t Pete, my name is Frank Castle.” He watches the gears turn in your head as you connect the pieces. He knows you’ve put it together when your eyes widen a fraction, eyebrows from furrowed to raised in shock, your body becomes even more impossibly stiff. “The Punisher.” you whisper, eyes turning to make contact with his own, he can only muster a nod of the head. Licking his lips, he opens his mouth as if to say something, but Frank seems to fall short on words.

He starts to feel panic swell in his chest, the idea of you being afraid of him is something that doesn’t settle right. He scrambles for words, anything to say to you to make you not afraid of him.

“I-I never did anything to anyone that didn’t deserve it. Everyone I killed was a piece of shit. I would never do anything to hurt good people, t-to hurt you.” His voice is but a whisper, hoarse, he can feel himself choking up, that impenetrable wall that he had built was crumbling. He whispers your name, “I would never hurt you. Ever.”

“I know.”

Frank can feel the weight of the world fall off his shoulders, even more so when you prove your words by placing your hand on top of his and squeeze. “I know Pe- Frank. I trust you.” He hadn’t realised that any tears had slipped from his eyes until your hand briefly left his own to brush against his cheek, wiping the salty drop away. You trusted him.

What more could he ask for?

It was shocking. To find out the man you had been pining after for months was the Punisher, New Yorks’ most lethal man. Shocking, but not surprising.

Pete-- Frank, had always had the characterization of a dangerous man. At first glance he was an ordinary man. Quiet, respectful, he worked long hours doing construction, he ate the same thing every time he came into the diner. But that was at first glance. You knew him-- to some level, at least. He had that look in his eyes. A caged predator prowling, waiting for someone to forget to lock the door. It had always been there, lurking, waiting. It was second nature to him, pain was his career, in the military, and as Hell's Kitchen’s scariest vigilante.

You honestly feel sort of stupid, for not realising sooner who he was. You remember when he was in court, the trial of the century. You remember that you had honestly felt sympathy for him, he'd only been avenging the deaths of his wife, maria, and his children. He had never killed anyone that didn’t deserve it.

And you had never been afraid of him anyways. Quite the opposite really, the massive crush you’ve harboured for the man since the first time he invited you to sit at his table with him.

You’d fallen for Pete, but you could see yourself falling for Frank too.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when Frank squeezed your hand. His eyes soft and his lips in a soft smile. You feel yourself giving him a soft smile too, “Thank you Frank. For everything. Truly.” Letting go of his hand so you can hold both arms out as much as you can, muscles still weak. He moves slowly, legs straddling yours. One arm slowly weasels its way behind your back, the other gently cradling the back of your neck. He gently moves you into a sitting position. You find it doesn’t hurt as much when he gently lifts you up, the precise and calculated movements hurting less than when you try to push yourself up earlier.

When you’re fully sat up, he accepts your invitation for a hug. One arm coming around your shoulders while the other gently cradles your head against his collarbone. “You really had me worried sweetheart. I was really afraid you weren’t gonna wake up. Your pulse got so weak, I just…” His words fade off as his fingers card through your hair. You snuggle closer to him, arm trying to wrap around his waist with as much energy you could muster. “I’m sorry for worrying you Frankie.” He squeezes you a little, pulling your head away from his body.

He says no words, the creases and hard lines in his face smoothing out. Frown going away. His face becomes soft, the corners of his lips pulling up a little bit. “You ain’t got nothin’ to be apologising for baby. None of this is your fault.” his face moves closer and closer to yours, his arm around your shoulders subconsciously tightening around your shoulders, pulling you closer to himself. His eyes glance down to your lips, “Nothing at all.”

It’s like fireworks going off when his lips fall upon yours. You can’t help the slight gasp that falls from you at the feeling. His lips are chapped, yet his kiss is soft. It’s barely a featherlight pressure upon your lips, his hesitancy to kiss you properly holding him back. It’s only when you weakly put your hand up to his cheek and try to push closer does he put more force behind the kiss. A low groan rumbles out of his chest as he presses his lips harder against yours, the hand cradling the back of your head moves to entangle itself in your hair.

It’s when your hand slides off his cheek, nail gently scraping across his beard does he let out a very loud, strangled, groan. He pulls away from the kiss, his breathing heavy, warm puffs hitting across your face. “We gotta stop before I get too worked up sweetheart.” Dropping his head so it bumps against yours lightly. Frank places a kiss on your temple before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, the coarse hairs of his beard rubbing against the sensitive skin.

You can’t form any words, both of your hands coming up to hold the back of his neck, brushing all the hair off his nape, fingers gently playing with the long strands.

“You’re a really good kisser Frankie.”

His body shakes with the force of the laugh that comes out of him. Frank pulls back from your shoulder, mouth in a full smile, eyes crinkled in the corners. You can’t help but think of how pretty he looks like this. He looks so normal like this, so carefree, like he just left everything that makes him who he is at the front door when he walked in.

You can’t help the admiring and lovesick tone in your voice when you say “You’re so pretty,” bringing your right hand down and around to brush against the crinkle next to his left eye, down to the smile lines just barely visible through his beard.

Frank slowly lowers you back down against the pillows before taking a spot next to you. He lays on his side facing you, half of his body on the edge of the small bed to give you more space. His left arm lays under his head, his right arm gently places itself along your midriff in a protective position. Being extremely mindful of your stitched up wound.

He continues to look at you with that crinkled-eye, dazed smile on his face. “You’re even prettier, sweetheart. Now get some sleep, you’ll need rest to get better.” You say nothing, simply nodding your head in agreement. Right hand going to the side to grab the bottom of his shirt, gently tugging on it. He takes the hint and with extreme caution, scoots closer to you, his front almost pressed completely against your side.

He moves his left arm out from under his head to lie under yours, pressing you snuggly against him. With your right ear pressed to his chest you can hear his heartbeat, even and strong, reverberating in your mind. You find that the warmth radiating off his body makes you extremely sleepy, eyes getting heavy, lids slowly slipping closed. Before you drift off to sleep you make sure you tell Frank how appreciative you are one last time.

You tilt your head to look at him, and just over his shoulder you can make out the beginning of the sunrise slipping through his thin-curtained window. “Thank you for saving me, Frankie.” Eyes closing all the way as you fall asleep.

A gentle kiss placed against your hairline, “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Originally posted July 8th, 2022.

#frank castle x reader #pete castiglione x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #frank castle #1-800marvelqueen #mywriting

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1-800marvelqueen · 1 year ago

Text

11:15

Frank Castle x reader (Peter Castilglione x reader)

Part Two

WC : 3K

SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Reader is gender neutral! but is implied to be AFAB. Mentions of drinking, violence, physically assault (groping), reader is attacked, knives, blood - canon typical violence.

If there are any more warnings to be added let me know!

This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

You hated your job so fucking much.

So far today you had been yelled at, groped, catcalled, had drinks spilled on you, and you were pretty sure someone just threw up all over their table. Working in a 24-hour diner as a waitress is as shitty as it sounds. But you were tipped well, mostly by people on road-trips, or those coming back from a late night's work who needed a coffee to stay awake long enough for the ride home. You had your favourites, sure, but none of them compared to Pete

He came in almost every night, always ordered the same thing, and always tipped you very, very, well. He was also an extremely quiet guy who valued his privacy very much, the only thing you knew about him was that he worked construction.

There was literally no one in the diner except for some shady looking drunk that had already made several inappropriate comments towards you in the 30 minutes he’d been here. You sit in one of the tall chairs at the bar, your foot tapping anxiously as you wait for 11:15 to roll around, knowing that Pete’ll walk in the second it hits. You ignore the drunken man staring you down, focusing on the clock, hoping that if you don’t engage he’ll leave you alone.

Your efforts pay off when you hear the obnoxious ringing of the door behind you, the chime of the bell signalling the arrival of your favourite customer. You put the biggest smile you can on your face, spinning around in the chair to throw your arms up in the air, “Petey!” Hopping down off the stool as he gives you a lazy smile and a return of your greeting. “Your order is already on the griddle and here is your drink,” reaching back behind you to grab the freshly made to-go cup off the counter, “a coffee with the smallest splash of cream, no sugar, just for you.”

He gives you that rugged smile as he plops down at his usual seat in the darkest, furthest corner of the diner. “Thank you sweetheart.” Blood rushes to your cheeks and you feel your heartbeat pick up at a monumental rate. Squeaking out a quick ‘you’re welcome’ you turn and briskly walk away to go find something to keep you occupied until Pete’s food is done. You feel his eyes on you, as you bus tables, count the register, make cutlery sets, and so on and so forth. When you hear the quiet ding of the order-up-bell you run up to the serve window, utter a small “Thanks Benny” to the line-cook slash owner of the diner.

You carry the plate to Pete’s table to find him still looking at you with that same rugged smile on his lips. His foot pushing out the chair next to him at his table for you. At first your friendship with Pete was a little rocky, you’d try to engage in conversation but would just be brushed off. But if you were one thing it was a persistent little motherfucker and you eventually cracked that tough exterior of Pete’s and slowly became his favourite person - not that he would ever admit that to you. Your friendship got to the point where if he came in and you weren’t working, he’d leave, and now everytime you dropped his plate off he’d invite you to join him and tell him all about your day.

If Frank was being honest with himself this was the favourite part of any of his long and tiring weeks. Even though every ounce of his body ached terribly at the end of each day, he’d drag himself to the diner, for shitty coffee, greasy food, and you. And if Frank was being extremely honest with himself, he was in love with your voice, your face, your personality, he was in love with the way you got so excited to see him each and every time he walked through the door, overall he was completely and irrevocably in love with you.

But at the same time he was deeply afraid of you. Of what he felt for you, afraid of the fact that the last time he was in love, the last time he started a life with someone, it ended in death and tears. He was so afraid that if he revealed to you who he truly was, if he showed you that simple Pete the Construction worker was really the Big-Bad Punisher, you would run or get taken because of who he was. Or worse, hurt or killed.

So he kept his affections deep under wraps, buried. With hopes that one day he could sweep you off your feet and pretend to be the good guy in his own made up fairytale.

Gently setting Pete’s plate down on the table surface before you promptly all but throw yourself down into the seat he pushed out for you. Letting out a deep sigh as you bang your head against the table a couple times for dramatics before finally resting your head on your arms, facing towards him. He gives you a raised eyebrow, a smirk pulling on the corner of his mouth.

“That bad, huh?” “Like you would not believe,” “Tell me about it baby.”

Pushing down the feeling of butterflies in your stomach you proceed to go into a long-whirlwind explanation of how your day went, all the assholes you dealt with, the spills, screaming children, and everything else. Pete sits quietly, giving his input and reactions with different sounding noises from the back of his throat as he munches on his eggs. “And that guy over there,” lowering your voice, leaning in closer to Pete, making a small gesture to the drunk bum still in the diner, “He’s been here for almost an hour and a half, Pete. He’s been watching me the whole time, making comments and gestures and it’s really starting to freak me out.”

Pete’s eyes darken immediately, so quick it almost scared you, he brought a hand down to the side of your chair. You try not to pay attention to how close his hand is to your thigh or how the muscles in his forearm move as he slides you closer to him, you could cry at the thought put into the gesture. No matter how rough around the edges Pete was, he cared for and about you, and while he’d never verbally admit it, you knew he showed it through other things.

Like making sure you felt safe.

He keeps an eye on the guy for the rest of the time he’s there. It’s almost midnight when Pete scoots his plate away and goes to dig his wallet out of his pocket. You quickly get up and take his plate to the back, coming to find his money for the food on the counter next to the register in exact change, along with your hefty tip, having ordered the same thing so many times he had its amount memorised. He waits by the door of the diner, eyes glancing worriedly between you and the man in the corner. “You gonna be okay with… that, or do you want me to stay until you get off?” Your lips automatically pull into a small smile - one that makes Frank’s heart do flips - as you place your hand on his shoulder.

“No Petey I don’t get off till’ 4 AM. I can't ask you to stay that long when I know you’re tired, and besides, Benny’s still here so I’ve got him if I need anything” squeezing his shoulder gently before you pull away and turn to go back “Go home and get some sleep Pete, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” You’re stopped in your walk away when he grabs your wrist and ever-so gently pulls you back to him. “You know if you need anything to come find me right? I’m just a yell in the night away, okay?”

Your brows furrow at what his statement could possibly mean, but you inevitably brush it off. Giving him reassurance and a wave as he leaves the diner. Bumbling around the diner for the next couple hours, having a few more customers come in, mostly weary travellers in need of a cup of coffee. The strange man had left around an hour after Frank did, watching you as he left with that strange look in your eye. At a little after 3 Benny tells you to go ahead and take off, which you gladly do, in need of a good shower and some sleep.

Once you hang your apron up and grab your bag you’re out the door. Cold automatically hitting you as you slide on a pair of gloves and a scarf, breath puffing into a cloud in front of you. Your shoes quietly tap against the pavement. Humming a little tune to yourself as you walk the dark and desolate streets. It feels strange out tonight, something making the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up. You look all around you, slightly picking up your walking pace, hurrying to get home.

Your efforts are futile though, when someone comes up behind you, cupping your mouth before you could scream, and pulls you into the nearest alleyway.

Frank always felt awful doing this. He felt like he was some sort of stalker.

But he had to make sure you were safe, that no harm would come to you on your way home. So he’d wait, everynight after leaving the diner, waiting for your shift to end so he could make sure you were safe on your 10-minute walk home. He’d follow along, normally on the opposite side of the street, sometimes along the rooftops, but always far enough away to not arouse your suspicions.

He watches the drunk man walk out and stumble his way down the street until he turns to where Frank can no longer see him. He watches you walk out a few hours later, immediately recoiling at the cold. He can’t help the smile that overtakes his face at your actions, always finding anything you do absolutely adorable. He watches you bundle up to try and fight off the chill. He comes away from the corner of the building as you begin to walk, following behind on the other side of the street. He stops when you stop, confused as to why you quit walking. Ducking behind the building he’s next to the second he sees you turn your head around. That confusion immediately turns into concern when he peeks back around and you’re no longer there.

Without a second thought he immediately begins to run to where he last saw you, feeling his heartbeat begin to go faster and faster, the fear taking over every ounce of his body. He won’t let anything bad happen to you, he has to keep you safe no matter what. The Irrational and scared part of his brain thinks that you’ve disappeared into thin air when he gets to where you were previously standing and there’s no sign of you anywhere, but the more rational and lethal part of his brain knows you’ve been taken. His saving grace arrives in the form of a scream, a yell of his name.

Just a yell in the night away.

Running in the direction of your scream all he sees is red. He promised himself that he would never do this again. That Frank Castle and the Punisher would stay dead, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and right now it was all about saving you.

The man’s hand feels so grimy against your skin, the urge to bite him is overwhelmed by the fear of whatever diseases he may carry. He shushes you like you’re some sort of crying child, “There, there, why don’t you stop fucking squirming now, huh’?” pulling you further into the alleyway, and it’s only on your next struggle away do you feel something prick you in the side.

He has a knife.

The thought makes you immediately stop wiggling, and the man behind you chuckles at your realisation. “Yeah that’s right, you make one wrong move or don’t obey me and this knife is going somewhere you don’t want it to go.” Breathing heavily against the side of your head you can smell his breath wafting into your face and it makes you want to vomit at the pungent smell of decay and alcohol. It’s only when the man asks for all the tips you made for the night do you realise it’s the dirty man from the diner.

The one who was obviously into you in a more sexual manner.

With this in mind you make one more attempt at a great escape. Slamming the heel of your foot down as hard as you could onto his the man lets out a short scream, loosening his grip just enough for you to wiggle your way out and try to run to the mouth of the alley. Your efforts are futile when a grimy hand wraps it way around your waist to pull you back.

So as a last effort you do the only thing you can think of, even if it won’t work, you can’t say you didn’t try. You pull in as much air as you can and scream for Pete.

Your scream is cut off when the hand reslaps over your mouth and the man begins to hurl curses at you. “You really think that freak from the dinner is going to come and help? Huh?” You zone out of his words at the feeling of something wet dripping down your side. When you look down you realise that you can see his hand and most of the knife, but not the end of it. And it’s only when you focus on it do you feel the searing pain emanating from that general area.

The man must have noticed where your line of sight had gone when he began to chuckle. “Yeah bitch that’s right. This is what happens when you don’t listen.” You feel more blood begin to ooze out when he begins to slowly push the knife in further, but he never gets the chance because something rips him away from you.

You can hear the sounds of a struggle, the sound of someone screaming and the distinct sound of someone's skull cracking open on the brick of the alleyway. It’s only when the familiar sound of a gruff voice yells out do you realise who came to save you.

Pete.

Slumping against the wall from relief and blood loss you bring a hand to your side only to find the knife still wedged in your skin. Making a move to pull it out you’re stopped by a rough hand wrapping around yours. “Don’t.” words a hushed whisper. “I don’t want you to possibly hurt yourself anymore.” You find yourself nodding, looking at the man crouched in front of you, his chest heaving, eyebrows furrowed in worry. He’s got blood spray on him, covering most of his hands but there's a few drops across the side of his head and neck.

You look from Pete over to the man who attacked you, only to find him unmoving. Not even a rise of his chest. You find that you don’t really care when Pete brings one bloodied hand up to your chin to pull your face back to look at him.

“Can you stand sweetheart? I need to get you somewhere so I can fix this.” With his help you try and get up, only making it a few inches off the ground when you stop, yelping in pain. He shushes your whines and whimpers of pain as he lowers you back down, a hand moving to smooth your hair back in a soothing gesture, blunt nails gently raking across your scalp. “It’s okay sweetheart I got you, don’t worry I’m gonna take care of this.”

He moves from in front of you to the side of your body that hasn’t been stabbed, the hand in your hair moves to cradle your middle back. He brings your arm up to wrap around his neck, and then moves down to gently slot his arm under your knees. “How did you find me, Pete?” words partially slurred as your world starts to turn blurry, he ignores your question and instead settles for quietly telling you to try and hold still while he lifts you up. He carries you quickly and quietly out of the alley and into the street, going the opposite way of your apartment. You can tell he’s not walking at his usual gait, his steps are calculated, more precise in an effort to not jostle you too much. He looks straight ahead, jaw clenched so tightly you think it might break at any moment. Through your blurry mind you remember he never answered your question, so you ask again. “Pete?” bringing the hand around his neck up to gently thumb at his hairline. “How did you find me?”

His steps falter slightly, eyes quickly glancing over to you before he snaps out of it and continues walking. You can see his jaw unclench, lips parting as if to answer you before they close again. “Pete,” you try in your most pleading tone, “Please.” You can see his inner resolve cracking away as he looks down at you. Eyes losing that darkened look, his face moving into a more relaxed look, lips going from a thin, stretched, line to an almost unnoticeable smile.

“I’m only a yell in the night away baby.”

Originally posted April 23rd, 2022.

#frank castle x reader #pete castiglione x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #frank castle #1-800marvelqueen #mywriting

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