summary: Frank comes back. and you missed him. You just try not to let him know that. warnings: blood, injuries, angst a/n: cannot get enough of frank castle…….. pls give me a break <3
Summary: you get caught in the crossfire as a result of Frank’s intervention. You’re both getting shot at and your latina attitude comes right out. Loosely takes place during s1 of Punisher when Frank is believed to be dead.
Warnings: canonical violence, mentions of blood, guns, people getting killed, some couple bickering between Frank and reader, cursing obviously, some light fluff at the end.
WC: 3k
A/N: this is going to flop, 100% im calling it right now. But yes, yes I know this isnt exactly self insert because I’m specifying the readers ethnicity, but I just wanted to get some representations for myself and for any other PR/latin reader that wished they got to see this in fics. I promise that’s literally the only thing I specify, reader is still physically neutral, I dont use any physical descriptions or anything that falls into OC territory. Just let me have this one. If anyone feels too awkward reading this because of the readers ethnicity then that’s totally understandable and you’re free to skip it. And if you’re cool with it, I hope you enjoy it, this one was a personal favourite.
Also, reader curses like a Puerto rican, because that’s how I curse in spanish. And that’s just easier for me to write dialogue. But it doesnt make much difference, reader still just latina. Im not gonna go into that much detail with it
Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated!
Sometime you put your judgment into questions. Sometimes you wished you were more reasonable. That you didn’t act on impulse all the time. It would save you a lot of trouble, and pain.
about. frank is hoping to keep his vigilante life a secret, but it’s hard when reader asks questions that brings that wish to risk
warnings.lying? nothing really
ricky rocks. ma man
scars on the back of his neck.
that’s it. that’s what you thought about a lot. especially when night rounded around the corner and you were having a hard time finding sleep. so, instead of counting sheep, you counted his scars by memory.
you wondered how they surfaced on his body and who made the execution to create such deep cuts on his body in hopes to hurt him. frank was a scary man. you understood that. but who was scared enough to hurt him?
or not scared at all?
you thought about frank a lot more than you’d like to admit. you knew he’d tease you and you already had a hard enough time dealing with that—it would be a field day for him if he knew what went on in your head.
“you alright?”
“yeah, i’m fine,” you smiled softly to the concern that erupted through franks voice as he looked up from the book he read. you adjusted your place next to him, sinking deeper into the couch and deeper into his side, cuing him to go ahead continue reading with the nod of your head.
but he didn’t look back down to his book like you hoped, “what’s going through your mind right now, sweetheart?”
you smiled at the name and your cheeks began to grow warm when his hand reached and clasped your cheek sweetly.
fuck.
he always got you, if not with his words, then his affectionate actions.
“i don’t know, i just think, frank,” you mumbled, not wanting to finish your thought.
his brows narrowed, struck slightly confused, “yeah, well i hope so.”
“no, i mean, i think about you,frank,a lot,” you were hesitant with your words, not sure if you should speak them aloud, because the thing was, you felt it shouldn’t be that way.
you met frank on the subway station after he saved you from tripping onto the tracks before never really seeing him again until a month later at a coffeehouse—accidentally spilling coffee on him before recognition kicked in and the two of you sat down together.
it felt like talking to your father—scolding you for being so clumsy with both encounters you two had and telling you, you should really study your surroundings more. and then the cell phone thing—
“can i get you number, you know, just to thank you some other time, more properly.”
he had froze from putting his coat on, a hesitant look immediately overcoming his face causing you to cringe, wondering what had gone wrong despite everything going so smoothly for you two being strangers.
“oh, i mean you don’t have to, i just—“
“no, i just don’t really have a phone, at the moment,” he finally had his brown coat slung over himself, giving you a sympathetic smile. “i recently moved into the area, lost my cell in the process and really haven’t found time to replace it.”
what a lie,was what you thought.
“i’m not really a good with a phone in the first place,” he shrugged before pulling out a pen he had in his pocket, sitting back down. “this is my p.o. box, write me a letter sometime.”
he winked, before getting up and walking away.
but it seemed since day one, frank was never one to track, someone who didn’t want to be helddown.
he didn’t get a phone until five months after you sent your first letter, but he still couldn’t keep track of thing for the life of him.
“you want to tell me what it is you think about?” his finger tips teased the side of your face before tucking some strands of your hair behind your ear.
“i feel like… i barely know you,” you pause, feeling uneasy about your words, “i mean, i worry because i don’t know who you were before we met.”
“same person as i am now,” he smiles.
“yes, but,” you sigh, taking a step back in your head, attempting to recuperate. he studied your face with a sudden hard frown, studying the emotions that were crossing your face. you suddenly set your hand on the back of his neck, your finger tips finding one of the many scars easily and tracing it back and forth. “this. i want to know about this.”
his lips twitched upward, “my scars?”
he seemed confused as to what was so fascinating about them, making you feel dumb by the way you couldn’t help but nod eagerly.
“okay…” his tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he thought while his eyes strayed from yours. “i had a bit of rough childhood, i’d come home almost everyday to my mom screaming at me, for no reason.”
he shook his head, a look of distress coming across his face as he spoke, almost reliving that moment, “one day, i had came home a little bit later than usual for whatever reason—maybe i saw a dog, i don’t know—but it just wasn’t her day,” he tsked, his head slightly shaking, “threw a glass vase my way, shattered and sliced my neck all up. one of many, many marks,” he slid his sleeve up, brining light to the small scars that tore up his arms. “she had a short temper.”
a lie. frank was full of lies, but it was better if you didn’t know the truth. and it was good that you ate it up, because he couldn’t imagine how you’d react to the real reason half his body was full of scars and hidden wounds.
“frank, i’m so sorry,” your arms wrapped around his neck as you had practically thrown yourself to his body, a feeling of remorse overcoming you as you held him as close as you could. “you didn’t deserve that.”
even if it was true, he probably did. he deserved every little mark of pain on his body, even more so for lying to you about it.
⊹○ﾟ˖ you and frank started as everyone’s favorite on-screen ship but was that all you saw each other as, just an on-screen flirt?
Francis ‘Frank Castle’ Castiglione is an Italian-American celebrity chef, restaurateur, and reality television personality. Castiglione is the owner and executive chef of several restaurants and franchises, such as Frank’s Cookout and the Hotspot Grill. He has worked with Cook Network since 1995, which won him four Daytime Emmy Awards and a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Y/N L/N is an American chef, television personality and former model. She appeared in the fifth and eighth seasons of Top Baker, Lavo’a cooking competition show. She was a cohost on The Bite, a one-hour talk show centered on food from all angles, which premiered on TBD in September 2011. She spent several years working as a model on the runways of Paris, Milan and London. During this time, she decided to pursue a culinary career.
-summary; Frank ruins you for anyone else. -warnings; 18+ mdni, smut, knife/blood play ish, canon typical violence, blood, graphic description. -a/n; i am a whore <3
“I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”
The words tumble from his swollen lips. You clutch your bleeding side and laugh. Your chest tightens and it’s hard to breath, but you laugh. Your nose is definitely broken, your teeth are stained a blood orange. You can feel cracked ribs and pulled muscles. The life is draining out of stab wounds and bullet holes. But you laugh.
Frank looks just as bad as you. His face is painted black and blue. His knuckles are bloodied and broken. One of his teeth is lying on the floor by his feet. Blood gushes from both nostrils and his vest had been decorated with several fresh bullet holes. You had even managed to weasel your blade into his side to leave a nasty wound.
Your apartment’s a mess. Broken glass littered the floor. Your coffee table was lying in pieces. Frank wants to kill you. You both stood, covered in blood, heaving and panting, in your kitchen.
“Do it,” you grin.
He advances. You make no move to run. It almost surprises Frank. He almost wants you to run. He enjoys the chase. he’ll miss this little game once you’re dead. But as his hand wraps around your throat, he finds himself unable to kill you just yet. So he squeezes, just enough to excite you.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he promises.
“Do it.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs. “I ain’t done with you, yet.”
Frank’s free hand disappears. You watch, half frightened, half intrigued. You don’t see the knife that he pulls. You feel it, instead. You feel it hook under the hem of your shirt. You feel the cool air on your skin as the shirt rips. It’s a clean cut.
You hiss through your teeth. Frank presses the tip of the blade into the skin above your sternum. He grins at his artistry. You feel him drag the blade down. Blood trickles out of the wound, not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to scar. You’ll have it forever. The cuts are clean, it’ll be no gaudy scar, it’ll be dainty, but visible. You feel two more swipes of the blade slicing skin, two across, one below the other. Frank leans back to admire his handiwork. From afar, with a sick grin, he adds another cut, right next to the previous one. You don’t know what he’s painted, but you have your suspicions.
You whine, pushing against Frank. He takes some pity on you and leans in for a kiss. It’s almost sweet, until he bites your lip and the taste of fresh blood floods your mouth. You moan into the kiss. Frank drops his hands to your thighs. He taps them and you jump. He blindly carries you through your apartment. he knocks against the kitchen island and the wall, and several doorframes. You wince and groan against his lips.
“Stop fuckin’ whining,” he chastises.
“Fuck you,” you grin.
He knocks you against the doorframe again, a little harder than before. He stumbles into your bedroom and drops you carelessly on the bed. You sit up. Frank undoes his belt and while he’s unbuckling his jeans, you look around him to the mirror on the wall.
Your eyes go wide. In your sternum, just below the underwire of your bra, are the initials: FC
rating:18+ (minors DNI).soft!frank but make it spicy.
word count: 736
a/n: had an idea.. starting writing it… blacked out…. bon appétit <3
The feeling of the bed dipping abruptly beside you as he slipped off of you. You selfishly already missed his warmth that had surrounded just seconds prior. Your body felt as if it were humming as you rolled lazily in your side to face him where he laid on his side of the bed. Your eyes drinking in the sight of him—
