warnings: none really? this is set right at the beginning of the punisher season 1 so mentions of death, frank as pete, yearner frank, lonely frank, neighbor reader, fluffy, sorta stalker frank, not proofread, pls let me know if i missed anything !!!
wc: 2.1k
a/n: my first series ever yayyyy!!!!!!!! also my first non david corenswet character fic lol sorry papa.... m getting into my the punisher rewatch for the first time since i was like 13 and im falling in love with my frankie all over again!! to be honest idk how consistent im gonna be with this, how long its gonna be, etc etc.... but i hope to be consistent and not go ghost with this too lol ..... anyways, pls send me any reqs/ideas u may have for the series if u have any im all ears !!! :)))
next
frank had sworn himself off love when he lost maria and his family. how could he ever move on? it felt like betrayal. to maria. to their life. to their love.
even now. he wanted to live a normal life. he wanted to be a normal guy. no more punisher. no more frank castle. everyone that needed to be dealt with was dealt with, and he was ready to live the rest of his life in a lie, as pete castiglione. a lonely construction worker. that was it.
he’d even started going to veteran support groups. he wanted to make a change for himself. he wanted to silence all the voices that had plagued his mind for years and years on end. he just wanted, for one second, to be able to relax. to not busy himself with killing someone who wronged him. to not look over his shoulder. to not spend more nights with blood on his hands than not.
but frank oozed loneliness, he couldn’t help it. everyone around him could see it. he just had that look about him. his eye bags, hobo beard, unkempt hair, chronically tense shoulders.
curtis was the first person who found the courage to tell frank to his face: maybe he needed a girlfriend. someone to talk to. someone to hold. someone to love. someone to make him seem normal. someone to make him feel normal.
curtis tried easing frank’s worries about his wife, telling him it didn’t necessarily need to be serious. if frank, or pete, wanted to seem like a totally not suspicious, totally not dangerous guy, he couldn’t just be the typical nightstalking brooder he was. those guys were so easy to read. maybe, curtis reasoned, if he had a girlfriend, an alibi to his normalness, someone to soften him up a bit, he could just pass off as an average joe. it was a stupid reasoning, but frank took it into account all the same.
but how could he betray maria like that? he’d done all of this for her. it didn’t feel right. however, frank did put a lot of thought into it. maybe curtis was right. maybe he did need a girlfriend. he didn’t know where to start looking. he hadn’t done the whole dating thing in years. but he hoped that if this was true, if this was meant to be, then the woman would come to him naturally. if not, he had no problem confining himself to eternal solitude. he wasn’t even a guy that necessarily believed in fate, but it was easier believing in that when it came to this. just leaving it up to whatever higher powers that may be.
you were in a somewhat similar situation when it came to your love life. you were in your early 40’s, still single, and nothing had stuck. there was just something about you that always attracted assholes, liars, manipulators, every negative quality a man could have, you dated one with them.
by the time you were in your mid-30’s, you gave up on the idea of marriage and kids. not that you’d ever really wanted that, anyways. you had cats. three of them, that you loved with your entire being. that was more than enough. besides, as a librarian who reads to kids three times a week, you spend enough time around kids. you didn’t want any more around home.
you, much like frank, were very perpetually lonely. growing up, you constantly wondered if there was something wrong with you. if your aura or something carried some sort of repellant that kept people from even wanting to look your way. you’d accepted it early on, not letting yourself dwell on the “what-ifs” of your social life, trying to protect yourself and your feelings.
you didn’t have friends, not really. you didn’t have girlfriends that you went out to sunday brunches with. you didn’t have people calling up every now and again, checking on you. your phone was chronically dry. every now and again, maybe your mom would call, but other than that, your phone was practically useless when it came to communication.
you’d accepted your future. an old, bitter, cat lady who’d spend all her time sitting on her porch, hissing at everyone that walked by. you even looked forward to it at times, as pathetic as that may sound.
unlike frank, however, you didn’t let your loneliness sour up your life. you tried to find pleasure in everything, leaving the pain for when you were tossing and turning at night with nothing else to listen to but your thoughts.
you had fun going to the grocery store and stocking up on cat food. you had fun walking to work every morning and walking back, passing by the bakery that had pastries so vibrant they made your eyes burn, always stopping to look, but never buying. you had fun volunteering at the homeless shelter every weekend.
unlike what frank felt about himself, you were a good person. the exact kind of person he needed.
even despite the happy front you put on, you always felt like your loneliness was a burden. a curse. maybe you’d wronged someone in a past life. maybe you were just unlucky. who knows?
but that loneliness did bring one positive thing into your life: frank’s attention. you lived in the same building, next door to each other. as soon as curtis put the girlfriend talk into his mind, frank had begun noticing every woman in his age range around him, mentally evaluating them to see if they’d be good for him.
that was when he noticed you, admittedly for the first time, despite living right next to him for months. the first thing that stuck out to frank was simply your looks. he thought you were pretty, simple as that. then, he noticed how quiet your apartment was. every now and again, he’d hear a meow from one of your cats, or the soft sound of your tv, but never voices. never company. just you, your tv, and your cats.
you did notice frank long before he noticed you, but you’d never actually spoken to him. never a good morning in passing. not even a half-assed wave or smile. that was the way you moved past life most of the time, like a ghost, don’t speak unless spoken to.
you, of course, thought he was handsome. even a blind person could tell he was hot. tall, wide, buff. the beard and long hair definitely helped. you had a thing for guys like that, rugged. but you never thought too much about it, dating wasn’t your thing.
but as time went by, frank began paying a lot of attention to you. he almost felt like a stalker at times. he knew your routine by heart. he’d hear your shower turn on at 6:15 am sharp every morning. by 7:00 at the latest, you were out the door. you always packed your own lunch, usually a simple sandwich, and you’d bring a big stanley filled with ice water and a slice of lemon with you to work. you weren’t a coffee person, noted.
you would then walk three blocks down, catch the train downtown, then go to work. you worked monday through friday, 8:00-5:00. you were never late, never called out sick, a disciplined woman. he also noticed you went grocery shopping every wednesday, right after work. you’d always cook your own dinner, but every now and again, you’d allow yourself the pleasure of ordering takeout.
then came saturdays, where you’d spend the entire day at the homeless shelter. then on sundays, you’d usually spend your entire day holed up in your apartment, watching movies, maybe leaving to go for a walk around the block, but nothing too exciting.
but never, not once in your very carefully crafted routine, did you ever go out with others. no friends. no leisure time activities. sometimes, you’d go to the movies alone, frank noticed, but that was as fun as you were going to get.
after a good two weeks of frank silently watching you and analyzing your lifestyle, he came to a realization: if he were to have a girlfriend now, he would want it to be you. you looked normal enough. you could be normal together.
he found the courage to actually speak to you a week after his grand realization. it was a wednesday night—grocery night. the elevator in the building had been under construction, leaving you to haul the bags up seven stories to your apartment. frank had coincidentally—he definitely didn’t change his work hours to match yours—arrived home at the same time as you.
he was about two stories of stairs below you, his hands admittedly getting a little clammy at the mere idea of actually talking to you, but he was a big boy. he eventually cleared his throat and climbed up the stairs, two at a time, effortlessly.
“‘s-scuse me, ma’am, need a little help with that?” he gruffly asked, prompting you to whip your head around to find the source of such a rough, gravelly, sexy voice.
who were you to turn down the help from your super hot neighbor who you definitely didn’t have a little crush on?
“oh! yes, actually, i’d appreciate it so much—” you immediately responded, a smile gracing your features, the same smile frank had admired from afar. without another word, frank stepped forward and took the bags from you, effortlessly hauling them up the remaining five flights of stairs.
neither of you spoke as you climbed up the stairs. even though he’d been thinking about this moment for a week straight, frank didn’t even know what to say. but somehow, neither of you felt forced to speak, forced to fit in a little small talk about the weather or how annoying the elevator construction was like you would with other people. the silence felt natural, it felt correct.
you didn’t speak until you arrived at your door, turning to frank once you unlocked the door and took the bags from him. he didn’t want to push his way inside your apartment to set them down, not yet. “thank you… wait, i just realized, i don’t even know your name! isn’t that silly, we’ve been living next to each other for, gosh, what is it now, 6 months, 7–”
“pete.”
“what?”
“pete. my name is pete.”
your eyes lit up at that, that same beautiful smile spreading across your lips once again. you nodded, introduced yourself as well, before retreating back into your apartment.
despite being sworn off love, you couldn’t help but replay the interaction over and over again in your mind. you were sure it was nothing. he was just being kind, that’s it. but the less rational part of you was already fantasizing all sorts of crazy romantic things with your stupidly hot neighbor pete.
you had absolutely zero idea that right next door, he was going through the exact same turmoil. even despite telling himself he wouldn’t get too serious, that having a girlfriend would simply be a coverup to make him look normal, that he wouldn’t feel anything for you, he was already growing incredibly attached.
all he’d done was carry your groceries for you, give you his fake name with a stiff nod and a grunt, but it felt like the start of his new life. that night was the first night in years that frank didn’t have any nightmares.
every single night, without fail, he’d shoot up in a cold sweat at the exact same time, after seeing maria’s death in his dreams all over again, always feeling too real.
but that night, there was nothing. but to him, that nothingness was peace that he had been searching for all this time, peace he thought killing every last person responsible for maria would bring him but never did.
it was you all along. he felt so pathetic, so guilty. he was a married man. he wondered how maria would feel. would she be jealous? would she want frank to be a monk forever? would she want him to move on? would she be happy for him?
for once, however, he found himself not caring, as selfish as it may sound. he hadn’t even asked you out. all he did was carry your groceries up the stairs. and yet, it was the happiest moment in his life since maria.
he would work on getting to know you more in the coming weeks, of course wanting to eventually ask you out. but he was finding it incredibly hard to keep himself as detached as possible, emotionally speaking. he couldn’t even hold back the smile that grew on his face at the thought of you.
was this it?
was this fate?
were you the one?
frank didn’t know. frank didn’t care. all frank knew was that he needed to start planning on asking you out immediately, before you could slip away from his fingers, before you could leave him, and he couldn’t wait.
wtrdprch - please do not redistribute my works anywhere - want more?
summary: you knew competing with frank’s lifestyle would be demanding, but what happens when it becomes too much?
tags: frank x fem!reader (but nothings super specified) (in this chapter at least), angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, frank and reader are an emotional mess, whos suprised, im not cs i wrote it, slight codependent undertones???, possibly ooc, references to media bc im annoying, toxic rls
A/N: first fic. if uve seen my acc before no u haven’t. is it still a prequel if i post it first or no…
One could say it would be ridiculous to call you and Frank a couple rooted in purity. Sure, from the outside the two of you were no picket-fence, absolute pair. But you were perfectly smooth in the way you weren’t; rough around the edges, gritty, and codependent yet it worked. For the most part.
It started slow. The date nights and movie marathon weekends were blighted with a quick text. Always something along the lines of:
“Sorry mama. Backed up tonight, gonna be home late. Don’t wait up for me.”
And in the beginning you tried, truly, but the ungodly hours at which Frank came home only got worse the longer you let it go on. After months his absence began to span for days. When you’d finally ask him about it over dinner, or when the two of you brushed your teeth, he’d simply rasp a vague explanation and you could practically see him building walls around himself.
Part of you felt crazy. Were you asking too much? Nagging too much? Becoming overbearing in the way that gave Frank the right to distance himself from you? You realized there was no use in asking him about that either, because when he was home he’d often let his mood loom around until both him and your shared apartment felt cold and gray.
It wasn’t always brooding. There were the nights when maybe Frank saw the worry in your eyes, or remembered your his girl, and you’ve stayed with him regardless of who he’s become. Those were the nights you two spent wrapped up together on the couch where his large hands roamed all over. Those were the nights when his soothing rhythms along your soft thighs were what put you to sleep or dragged you back to your room where he took care of you for hours.
And while those times were good, they weren’t quite good enough.
It was another late, rainy night when Frank had come home covered in blood and minor bruises which was rare. You were sat on the couch in black sweatpants that were likely his, and a small white tee. You tried to ignore the nerves that hit your stomach, but it happened every time he came home, because you knew how things would go.
“Hi Frankie,” you offered from the couch before crossing to reach him in the foyer. He gave a soft, “Hi baby,” as he set his stuff down, his hands found your waist immediately after. You felt your stomach drop and again worked to ignore it, because there was nothing wrong. At least not then, not addressed, not spoken.
You checked the bruising on his face and then his hands, which were clean of broken skin for once. “Not too bad today, huh?” He simply shook his head, “Nope.” You never knew painfully casual until then.
He went to shower and in the meantime you cooked up a simple dinner, more of a distraction than an effort to feed yourself. But it was fruitless, your hands gripped the counter until your knuckles turned white while you stirred. You couldn’t make out a single thought in your head, you didn’t even know what was happening.
Frank made his way to the living room, spreading out on the couch. You wiped at tears you didn’t know were falling. Eventually you realized what was eating at you so slowly. Could you really go on like this on a five-word maximum? Could you keep feeling like the longer you stayed with Frank, the farther you drifted apart?
What really sold the deal was the fact that you love him. The screen of your phone lit up and it’s his picture that illuminated your face. There’s memorabilia of your first few dates hung on the wall in black frames throughout your apartment. No matter where you looked you saw it, knew it was there, but just couldn’t feel it.
It really started when the two of you ate dinner that night. The rain hit hard against the industrial-style windows of your apartment, thunder threatening in the distance. “‘S good,” Frank said, breaking the silence. “Thanks,” you replied, not looking up from where your fork danced on the plate.
You heard him sit back in his seat with a sigh. His hands were clasped together, forearms pressed against the table and he was staring. Hard.
At first it was quizzical, brows raised in expectancy. “Alright, what is this?” Your stomach dropped, as if it could any more. “What?” You finally met his eye and thunder boomed in the near vicinity. His expression softened the moment your eyes locked and there it was. He loves you.
His hand reached for yours across the table. “Talk t’me, baby don’t do this,” he said quietly, low in his chest. You couldn’t help the tears that spilled then, and took your hand from his to wipe hard at your wet face. “Every time I do talk to you it’s pointless.” It’s pathetic, quiet, and a half-sob that makes your face and neck heat. You hated every second of it.
“What?” His eyes hadn’t left you, and it made you regret talking in the first place.
“I try to talk to you all the time but you brush me off, Frank,” you told him, more assertive than before.
His hand swiped over his jaw. “‘Cause I don’t want you dealin’ with my mess, sweetheart, you know that.” It landed, hit you right in the chest and small, silent tears fell slowly down your cheeks.
“But you don’t think it hurts me too, Frank? I feel like I can’t talk to you because you’re always so bottled up. I’m walking on eggshells everyday because you go out and nearly kill yourself and refuse to talk about it,” you gushed, voice raising as you grew more upset.
His jaw hardened, and he leaned back in his chair once more. “You think I want this? You think I have control over this? I wake up and the first thing I’m reminded of is the fact that there are people out there dyin’. That I have to protect ‘em. That I have to protect you.” His fists clenched on top of the table. Never a threat to you, always frustration with himself.
“I understand that but I want to know that you’re somewhat… okay. That we’re okay— that you love me.” You wiped hard at your face again, sniffling.
“Is that your point? That what— I don’t love you enough—“
“Yes, Frank, it is, and I don’t understand why you’re so bothered by that,” you shouted, fully ignoring the fast pace of your heart as you got up to put your dish away.
“You make all these promises. ‘Oh baby, this weekend I’m free. ‘S our weekend.’ and ‘Tonight’s special, got somethin’ for us.’ And you used to have the decency to shoot me a quick fuckin’ text to let me know you were blowing me off but not anymore.”
Your plate clattered in the sink along with your fork and knife.
“You just show up and shut me out like I don’t matter to you and then we have sex.”
You paused, and turned around to face his back as he sat at the table.
“Is that all this is to you? Sex? You have a bad day— bad week— bad month but it’s okay because you’ve got a quick lay at home just waiting for you?”
He stood up then, shoulders slumped in some sort of defeat as he walked over to the counter. “Stop it-“
He added something about you putting words in his mouth but you ignored it.
“No. I’m just good sex to you and half the fuckin’ rent. I feel stupid, Frank. I’m an idiot to sit here and put up with your bullshit. I’m waiting around like a damn dog for a guy that doesn’t even love me,” you spewed, shoving the rest of the nights dinner in the fridge. You hadn’t realized you were yelling until you stopped, chest heaving with every breath.
“I do love you, baby I do,” he said low and earnestly from his chest. He rushed over the moment you wept. “This,” he pointed between the two of you, “‘S not just what happens in bed.” His hand found your shoulder and he pulled you into his arms the second you started to cry. You hated every second of it, the crying, being wrapped up in Frank, and how good it felt because it’d become so rare.
“We can sit here, ‘n I can tell you a million times. I love you, that won’t ever change, baby.”
“I can stay home tomorrow, how’s that?”
You groaned and pushed away from him then. “That’s what you always say, that’s the point I’m trying to make-“
“Baby I promise-“
“Like you haven’t promised a dozen other times and fell short,” you spat, leaning against the opposite counter now.
The silence that followed was irksome.
His fingers grazed the crooked bridge of his nose as he sighed. He was frustrated. With you, himself, and probably everything else in the world. It made you feel worse, like some boiling mess inside you thats been eating at you tripled.
“I’m sorry,” you broke the silence to barely even whisper. He didn’t have the chance to look up before you were walking past, “I shouldn’t have said anything. And now I made you upset, so I’m sorry.” He grabbed your hand before you left the kitchen and you found that his big soft eyes were wet with tears. He pulled you into his chest. You stood there for what easily could have been hours.
The rain had lightened to a soft pit-pat on the windows, and the apartment was filled with loud silence. Your tears had mainly stopped, and your breaths attempted to steady.
“Frank.”
“Hm?”
Thunder boomed nearby, just enough to make you flinch, and the muscles in your back tense. The now broken serenity brought you back down to earth, to the downfall of the one thing in your life that was supposed to be steady.
“I just… I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
His eyes snapped to yours immediately, brows furrowed. “What?” It was quiet, like maybe he didn’t hear you, or want to believe that he comprehended what he did.
“I can’t be here, I can’t be with you,” you stammered before reaching for a jacket hung on the wall, likely Frank’s.
“We can talk about this, please.”
The weather must have been in on this, as white streaked across the glass of your apartment. The downpour, the feelings, the truth, it all boiled you over. You bit your lip to quiet yourself.
“I know we didn’t before but we can now, we can fix this. I’ll do better.”
And maybe Frank didn’t believe himself, maybe he knew there was no coming back. His head hung low at the sound of your silence, his own palm cleaning the emotion from his face.
Tears stung in your eyes for what was probably the millionth time that night and you cursed under your breath.
“Not… not right now, okay? I just can’t do this tonight, Frankie it hurts. It…” Your words trailed off and you met his eyes for what you didn’t know would be the last time.
“I love you.” It came out broken, barely spoken, and more of a cry than anything else. Your hands fumbled with the cold metal of the doorknob, as your emotions finally crashed onto you.
He texted you. He knew you were off walking alone so late at night in the torrential rain. He hated it, hated that you were off to your old roommates place because you had nowhere else to go, hated himself for letting you leave, hated himself even more for wanting you to stay.
“It’s pouring down out there, at least let me drive you.”
But you opened the message and never responded.
“Be safe.”
“Please baby.”
He watched as three dots showed up on the screen. Watched as they faded away.
Then he called, countless times, treating your voicemail as a confessional.
He’d slid to the kitchen floor since you left but never moved other than that.
You came back the next day to get your things. You knew he wouldn’t be home, you could feel it. So with shaky hands, you let yourself in and left no trace of you in his life. The key was left under the mat.
the apartment is quiet except for the steady sound of rain tapping against the windows. it’s one of those rare mornings where everything feels slow enough to breathe, but frank is still dead asleep, stretched across the bed with one arm thrown over your side.
you’ve barely seen him all week. too many nights spent waiting up for the sound of his boots outside the door, too many mornings where his side of the bed had already gone cold before you woke up. now he’s finally here, and somehow he’s sleeping through the whole day.
you brush your fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck.
nothing.
“frank,” you mumble, nudging his shoulder. “c’mon.”
all you get is a low, annoyed grunt as he buries his face deeper into the pillow. you smile to yourself. “you’re ignoring me.”
“m’not,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep. “you’re just… talkin’ too much.”
“I missed you.”
he doesn’t answer right away. instead he blindly reaches for you, finds your wrist, and tugs until you lose your balance and land against his chest with a laugh. one heavy arm wraps around your waist immediately, holding you there like you’re not going anywhere.
“frank,” you complain, even though you’re smiling. “I was trying to wake you up.”
“bad idea.”
“it’s noon.”
“don’t care.”
his eyes stay stubbornly shut, brows pinched together in that little frown he somehow wears even while sleeping. you poke his cheek.
“you’re grumpy.”
"shut up.”
the words would sound harsh from anyone else, but they’re followed by the softest kiss pressed against the top of your head without him ever opening his eyes. you melt against him.
after another quiet minute, you whisper, “I really missed you.”
this time he sighs, the kind that seems to leave every ounce of tension behind.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “missed you too.”
his hand lazily rubs circles against your back before settling there, warm and steady. within minutes his breathing evens out again, already drifting back to sleep. you stay exactly where you are, tangled up in his arms, deciding the day can wait too. for once, you have him home, and that’s enough.
romaincrisis
snowghoul
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