Give ‘Em Hell, Sweetheart.
Frank Castle x Reader
Author’s Note: I’m OBSESSED with The Punisher. Personally, I think Jon Bernthal has been the best Frank Castle by far (that Virgo perfectionism though), and after reading so, so many fan fictions of The Punisher here on Tumblr, I decided to write one too. Enjoy.
GIVE ‘EM HELL, SWEETHEART.
Plot: You, the reader, are the owner of Brew From Hell, a highly rated coffee shop in Hell's Kitchen. Frank Castle is one of your regulars, and the two of you slowly get to know each other after a bold conversation on your part. Frank is in for a few surprises...
You looked at the clock as you rang up an espresso con panna for one of your regulars - 12 am. You smiled and sighed. Two more hours plus the extra time for cleaning and you’ll be ready to go home. You sent your pre-closing shift employee home early, since it had been a calmer, quieter night at the shop.
Not that you were complaining, being the owner of one of Hell’s Kitchen’s top rated coffee shops was a major milestone for you to accomplish. You had full control over the shop, and you loved being so hands on with your business. The best part? Putting your twist on a typical drink, working closely with sanitary and public health standards and consistent upselling. It kept bringing happy customers back.
Any coffee shop would have the basics, consisting of various coffee brews, lattes, Americanos, teas, and blended treats. However, your shop, Brew From Hell, was not like any of the other coffee shops. Your shop didn’t shy away from putting a twist on basic drinks and selling impeccably strong amounts of caffeine with the smoothest taste.
Smiling to yourself, you topped the triple shot espresso with a little steamed milk to prevent bitter shots, and added the homemade black whipped cream, running it over to your regular’s booth.
“Can’t get enough of the Sinister style espresso con panna, can ya?” You joked with one of your regulars, Edwin. He was in his fifties and came by the shop fairly often for his Sinister style espresso con panna. At some point, you knew to make sure his mug included a plate and spoon. That man sure enjoyed the whipped cream, no matter how much he stained his mouth and made himself appear as if he ate dirt for dessert.
“If my wife knew I had come here without her, she’d slap me upside the head. This Sinister style drink is decadent. What do you add into this whipped cream?” Edwin chirped, looking up at you with a smile that lit up his eyes.
“Besides the black food coloring, some pretty potent flavor,” you smiled, nodding to him as he thanked you, and let you get back to your duties.
By now, most of your closing checklist was done - trash had been emptied, dishes washed and sanitized, fridges fully stocked and wiped down, and dated food items due for disposal were scribbled on the daily log. The rest would be set for after closing. You felt that because you had achieved so much during your time at the shop, that you’d take a break.
As you pondered the drink you’d be making for yourself, a wide smile spread across your face as you heard “Would” by Alice in Chains begin to play on the shop’s playlist. Unlike the original from the band’s Dirt album, this version started off slower, the build up beginning with acoustics. Remembering your guitar playing from your high school days, you pretended you held the precious instrument in your hands, remembering precisely how to move your fingers.
A sudden throat clearing caused you to stop and look up at the man standing at the register. You remembered him - he kept mostly to himself, occasionally coming in with bruises that you knew were fresh, some nights with fresh bruises to replace the fading ones. Your employees were usually the ones to take care of him, while you simply observed while taking care of your duties. You had become very familiar with the outlines of his persona, and you recognized him, but kept it all to yourself.
Here goes nothing, you thought, as you walked up to the register and smiled at the enigmatic, attractive man.
“Hi, sorry about that. What can I get for you?” You looked into his light brown eyes, noticing they were a little bloodshot. You kept your poker face intact, observing the intricate, hard structure of his jaw. It was relaxed. His posture was upright, but not as rigid and stiff as other nights you had seen him. He was surprisingly relaxed. He feels safe here, you thought, noticing a copy of Stephen King’s book ‘The Shining’ in his hands.
“Hi there,” he greeted quietly, while looking up at your menu, “I’ll take a… Sinister Eye coffee?” It sounded more like a question.
“Sure thing,” you nodded, “This is a more potent version of a ‘Black Eye’ coffee. Three shots of espresso added to black coffee instead of two. Is that okay?”
“Sounds good. I’ll take as much coffee as this place can pump out,” he commented with a small smile. “In that case, it’ll take you a while to wipe us out,” you laughed quietly, “That’ll be $3.33.”
He shook his head, his smile becoming wider as he handed you the money plus exact change. As you gave him his receipt, you noticed him eyeing a particular booth.
“I’ll take your drink out to you, go ahead and sit down,” you grinned, walking over to your espresso machines and coffee pots. Grabbing one of the large black mugs you used for the shop’s dine ins, you poured just the right amount of coffee, leaving the right amount of room for the three espresso shots. While you let the shots pour into the mug, you had quickly made your decision on your drink, making yourself a Sinister style latte in a mug, adding the four ristretto shots for caffeine impact, red velvet flavor and practicing your latte art in the process.
Once both drinks were set, you walked out to the booth where he was sitting, and handed him his drink.
“Here you go, hope you enjoy,” you smiled, setting down his Sinister style coffee.
“Thank you,” he smiled faintly, eyes darting towards your drink, and the book you pulled out of your back pocket, “Break time?”
“Yes,” you nodded, “I could use a drink and a good book.”
His hand gently motioned for the empty seat across from him, “By all means.”
“You sure? I don’t want to bother you,” you hesitate, looking directly into his eyes. They were soft, and genuine. His body faced yours, and he held barely any tension in his posture. He was being genuine.
“If you want to.” He was short of words, leaving it up to you. Shrugging, you sat down, setting down your drink and book. He smiled, then hardened when his eyes landed on your latte art.
“Is that part of your menu?” He demanded quietly, staring you down. On your latte was a very familiar and very particular skull.
“Yes and no,” you said calmly.
“What do you know?” You noticed his right hand was now balled into a fist, as if he were preparing to hurt you. You weren’t surprised, so you remained calm while you stared directly into his eyes.
“What I know,” you whispered, leaning forward, “Is that the Punisher is safe here.”
“How’d you-”
“I never forget a face,” you cut off, motioning towards him, “Pete Castiglione blends in, but Frank Castle is someone I have seen many times.”
“You’re not scared of me?”
“Why would I be?” You challenged, “Here’s the thing, Frank. If you really were what the NYPD and papers said you were, then wouldn’t I be put down the second you walked in?” You rolled your eyes and shrugged at the idea, “People say I’m crazy, but I’m not stupid. I won’t pry because I’ve heard of the things you’ve been through, but I see you. You’re not what they say you are.”
“You serious?”
Smiling at him, you nodded, “Yeah, now drink your coffee, Frank, before it gets cold.” You sighed as you took a sip of your drink. The red velvet flavor was just enough to add a kick to your drink, but not overwhelming for the espresso. You opened your book and continued where you left off, feeling yourself relax.
Frank was surprised to say the least, but nodded and said, "Thank you", giving you a small smile as he read his book and sipped on his coffee.
The two of you made it a regular thing to sit down and drink coffee. You and Frank often exchanged books for the other to read, talked lots about music and guitars, and became well known to each other.
Some nights were harder than others, when Frank would find his way through the back entryway of your shop to you for a patch up for new wounds he sustained during his night work. You’d make sure your employees were in the front lines of the shop taking care of duties and customers, while you fished out your apartment keys and tugged him along with you, grateful that your place was very close by.
“God damn it, Frank. You need to be careful,” you’d curse out loud as he’d take off his shirt, revealing deeper wounds for you to sterilize and stitch. You had to do your best not to shiver as you took in the toned muscle before you whenever he needed help with stitching his wounds.
“Sorry, Sweetheart,” he’d mutter in response, chuckling as you worked. You’d curse worrying over his wounds, but never to complain, because Frank was a friend, and someone you wanted to look out for.
One night that he had gone out for work, his injuries were worse than either of you expected. Had you not been properly trained by your father to tend to serious injuries, Frank would have been a goner.
You had forced your usual phrase, "Damn it, Frank, be careful!", all while forcing a stressed laugh that had him chuckling weakly.
"I'm sorry, Princess. I'll give 'em hell next time."
After tending to the three deep stab wounds you found, you had led him to your bed, making sure he rested his busted ass.
"I'll be right back," you promised, turning around and walking into your bathroom. After cleaning up the mess you made while stitching up Frank, you hopped in the shower, letting yourself cry in relief and pain. Frank didn't give a shit, but you did, and you hated seeing him the way you did, cut up and bleeding, halfway dead.
You had done your best to compose yourself for your friend after your shower, but failed as you crawled into bed with Frank. He was asleep, so you quietly sobbed into your pillow with your back to him, wishing he'd always be protected. You knew you couldn't stop him, so you'd simply be there for him like he is for you.
Little did you know, that Frank woke up to your quiet sobs, seeing you vulnerable for the first time since the two of you became friends. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Frank carefully wrapped his arms around your shaking form, planting kisses in your hair and temple as he tried to soothe you.
"I'm here, Sweetheart," he murmured quietly, causing you to cry harder. Your hands found their way to his, entwining as he let you cry your pain out.
Since then, the two of you became closer than anticipated.
It wasn’t until one particular night, so many months later, when things changed.
Frank's haircut remained somewhat short, long enough to comb back at the top with a fade, while his facial hair grew out into a beard.
Damn, you thought to yourself, smiling as you appreciated his looks for the billionth time in silence.
You sent your employees home early, assuring them that they all did a job well done, and that you’d be alright to close alone. You and Frank were the only two in the shop, an hour away from closing up. You had Frank’s coffee and yours in hands, about to head to his booth when a loud bang caused you to whirl around. Two masked men entered the shop and held hand guns up, pointing at you and Frank.
Your heart began pounding, not for your safety, but for Frank's. It wasn't that you didn't care about yourself, but you had grown rather fond of the man behind you.
It was as if the amount of coffee you consumed throughout a day hit your mind and body in seconds. You felt your breathing quicken, your knees begin to bounce a little, and the need to charge become noticeable.
“Empty your register and your safe,” the masked man in front of you ordered harshly.
You rolled your eyes, very briefly eyeing the drinks in your hands and looking back up, “You know damn well that’s not happening.”
“Easy Y/N,” Frank warned. You looked behind you, noticing the warning glare Frank was sending your way. There was a glint of worry as he stared you down, jaw tensed and posture rigid, leaning forward as he stood up, arms up as he slowly approached you.
Breathe, and don't kill these guys, you thought to yourself, not wanting to lose your shit.
“Yeah, easy Y/N,” one of the masked men mocked, laughing.
Snapping, you doused the masked man in front of you with Frank’s coffee, directly in the face, and did the same to the man behind him with your drink.
You quickly pushed the first man's gun wielding hand off line, away from you as you managed to grip the gun tightly with your dominant hand. With your other hand, you slipped it underneath his wrist and hit the weaker points, allowing you to snatch his gun with ease. With rage coursing through you, you lay a kick to the guy's shin, dead in the middle. An audible snap and his sudden scream satisfied you as he hit the ground.
A loud explosion and a force of impact on your shoulder nearly caused you to stop before you went for the second man trying to rob your shop. You thought you heard Frank screaming your name, but it was hard to tell in the haze of hellfire rage tinting all of your senses.
You had tunnel vision, keeping primary focus on taking care of the two assholes before anything could happen to Frank and your shop.
Realizing that the second guy recovered from the scalding hot coffee faster than you had expected, you aimed and fired quickly, hitting the poor bastard's kneecaps with two bullets in each one.
As he screamed in octaves higher than you had ever heard in a grown ass man, you fired again, hitting the hand that held his gun. He dropped it, screaming in agony as you stood over the two dumbasses.
"That's for interrupting my coffee date and trying to rob my coffee shop, assholes," you snarled, whipping your cell phone out of your pocket. You dialed 911 and quickly explained to the dispatcher about what had just happened, being informed that the cops and ambulance were headed your way. The two men screamed for a while before their audible protests became moans of fear, keeping them from moving an inch.
Letting a sigh of relief, sudden heat began to overwhelm your senses. You felt it in your shoulder, taking deep breaths to calm down as a whine of pain escaped your lips. The pain caused you to sway slightly as you took a step towards a booth.
"Y/N," Frank called you, "Easy, Sweetheart. I gotcha."
Frank closed the distance between the two of you and carefully guided you to a booth, placing pressure on your wound as you did your best to ride out the overwhelming heat. You felt yourself squirm in attempt to get away from the pain, but Frank was stronger in this moment. He held his hand there, making sure you wouldn't lose anymore blood. Another whine tried to escape your lips, but your breath hitched, forcing you to hold in the pain as you rode it out.
"Easy, Y/N, keep breathin', Sweetheart. Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh," he soothed, keeping you steady. As you took deeper breaths, you heard Frank sigh in relief as he noticed you were handling the pain better than most.
He looked at you in concern, wondering how you were so composed in comparison to other women he’s seen in distress. He noticed your pain tolerance was very likely higher than anyone he’s encountered since visiting Brew From Hell.
“Atta girl. Keep breathin’. It’s okay, you’re okay.”
You used your good side to shakily grab your keys, handing them to Frank.
"Head over to my apartment. When I'm done here I can meet you," you started. Frank was already shaking his head, disagreeing with you right away.
"No, Sweetheart. I'm stayin' here."
"Frank, the cops-"
"See those cameras you've got up in here? They'll probably need 'em for the footage and I'm in it."
"Please, Frank-"
"You said so yourself, darlin'," he interrupted, kissing your slightly sweaty forehead, "Pete Castiglione blends in."
The cops had taken a full report from you and "Pete", and the EMT's took the two assholes away to tend to their injuries. After an escorted trip to the hospital by the cops, you were forced to stay for the night as your gunshot wound was treated. It luckily hit just tissue, but you were firmly instructed that you'd have to sit on the sidelines for a while. After debridement, closing and dressing your wound, you were free, leaving the hospital with a sling around you.
Frank had brought your car and carefully helped you into the passenger's side as he drove you back to your apartment. All was cleared from NYPD, but you figured it'd be best to close shop for the day. After calling and texting your employees about the incident, and posting on Brew From Hell's social media about the shop being closed for the day, you realized you had forgotten one last thing.
"Shit, the mess at the shop, I should-" you started, instantly being halted by Frank as he blocked your path towards your door.
"I stayed behind and cleaned up. At some point it hit me that I've watched you work so damn much, I knew what I was doing." Frank chuckled, and gave you the spare key to your shop. You finally got to release a deep breath in relief, noticing that Frank smiled as he watched the stress begin to leave your body.
"Thank you, Frank," you smiled, kissing his cheek.
"Alright, Sweetheart," he started, sitting you both down on your comfy couch as he stared into your eyes, "out with it. You disarmed and damn near killed two low lives. Who are you? How'd you know how to do that?"
You smiled, feeling the nostalgia hitting you, "I'm my dad's kid, Frank. He was a Marine. I thought about serving years ago, but he talked me out of it, said he didn't want that for his little girl." You looked over at Frank, who nodded, listening intently as he looked into your eyes. You took it as a sign to continue.
"He was the one who taught me how to protect myself. The guy instilled everything he possibly could, from gun training to combat and then some. He's gone now, but sometimes I still have a chat with him in the cemetery. He was the one who helped me start my business at the shop. That man loved coffee so much and always told me to 'Give 'em hell' and to not fear anything."
"What do you chat with him about?"
"The usual. How my day was, what I've been up to," you took a deep breath, "I'd tell him about a very kind man at my shop, who people have misunderstood time after damn time." Frank's eyebrows rose in surprise, having caught the reference.
You continued, "I tell my dad that this man is special because I see him through all the shit that he's gone through, that what I feel for him is real to me because I could read him so well."
Frank looked away for a long moment, before taking a deep breath and looking back into your eyes, "Do you ever get a reply back?"
You shrugged, "Yeah. My dad knows I'm strong and can handle anything in my path. He'd say that I'd have to be a little patient, and give this guy a chance to feel safe around me."
"Your old man's pretty wise, Princess."
"He is. You would have liked him."
Frank's hand intertwined with your good one, raising it up to his lips to kiss it, "And you, Sweetheart, sure gave 'em hell last night. You did good."
You smiled, and carefully stood up off your couch, making your way to your kitchen.
"Where do you think you're goin’?"
"I need food and coffee so I can take these," you held your antibiotics up.
Frank quickly blocked your path again, but surprised you with a kiss directly to your lips. After seconds of confusion, you responded back, allowing the kiss to consume your senses.
Pulling away quickly, you playfully narrowed your eyes, "And that was for?"
"That was my way of saying I feel at home with you. I feel safe. Say Sweetheart, maybe you and I could-"
You cut him off with a kiss of your own, feeling Frank smiling as he kissed your lips, your nose, and forehead.
"Yes," you sighed, "Coffee?"
"Allow me," Frank smirked, starting up the espresso machine and coffee maker.
You sighed happily as you came back to the present, locking up your safe and heading back out to the dining area in your shop. That was two years ago, and things had only gotten better. Frank moved in with you, and he was in the shop almost every day. There had been minor incidents where male customers tried to catch your eye, but Frank was faster, staring them down and even coming close to going after them and scaring them off in the process. He knew he was doing them all a favor by scaring them off - If you snapped and defended yourself, it wouldn't be pretty. You’d thank him every time, and he’d only chuckle, simply saying, “Anything for you, Princess.”
Little did he know, that you had a surprise for him.
Spotting him at your booth, your smile came to life as he spotted you, a smile of his own coming through.
"Hi baby," you greeted, nearly yelping when he grabbed you in a massive hug as he kissed you.
"Hey, Sweetheart," he said quietly, pecking your entire face, causing you to giggle. The two of you settled down, and your face turned serious.
"I have a bit of a huge favor to ask," you started, causing his smile to falter. Before he could ask, you slapped some papers onto the booth table, giving him a chance to read it thoroughly.
His face scrunched up several times, and he nodded for a moment before finally looking up at you.
"This looks like a contract."
"Yeah."
"For your shop."
"That it is."
"You're asking me to…" he stopped, studying you intently, as if he were trying to figure you out again. He was caught off guard.
"I was thinking," you started, holding his hand, "That you and I share this place. My dad helped me build my dream business, and I never said this to anyone, but…” you trailed off, holding his hand, “I’ve always wanted to share this place with someone who’s as addicted to coffee as I am. Come on, Frank. Aren’t you made of ninety percent coffee by now?”
Minutes went by, with Frank holding your hand as he sat in silence. You took a deep breath in understanding, feeling that it was probably too soon to have brought this up. He had only known you for a little over two years. He had known his wife, Maria, for so many more.
What the hell was I thinking? You thought, doing your best to keep your composure. Maria was someone you wish you could have met, based off the stories Frank told you about her. She sounded like one of the sweetest women ever. He needed sweet. You felt the opposite about yourself. You were kind, but your father had trained you to be cool, calm, and collected.
You weren’t Maria Castle.
“You know what, Frank, it’s okay,” you started, moving your hand out of his hold, “it’s a lot to ask. I’m sorry if I crossed the line. I should get back-”
“No, Y/N. Stay,” he spoke up, looking into your eyes, “I have a favor to ask you too.”
“What?” you asked, tilting your head.
Frank moved out of your booth, standing in front of you, and slowly taking a knee. You gulped as the gesture appeared familiar.
Frank pulled a small box out of the back pocket in his dark jeans, slowly opening it and showing it to you. Inside, was a large engagement ring, a black stone in the middle with diamonds surrounding it on a silver band. You heard yourself gasp.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a while,” Frank said quietly, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about that first night you confronted me with what you knew. You knew me and let me in without hesitating. You read past the bullshit.”
Tears were gathering in your eyes, causing Frank to reach up with his index finger and catch them, “You’re strong, and you’re kind. For God’s sake, you took down two armed bastards without my help.”
You laughed, feeling more tears cascade down your face, with Frank there wiping them away, “You are home. I hope you could say the same, 'cause it'd be an honor to live by your side and drink this place dry with you.”
You laughed a shaky laugh as you bent down, kissing Frank hard as you let him slip the engagement ring onto your finger. You hugged him, crying as he embraced you as tightly as he could.
“We’re home. We’re safe,” you whispered, smiling with him as he kissed you.
