#david lieberman

Countdown to The Punisher: One Last Kill [12/25]

title: enough for two, w.c: 1.8k

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

you’re frank castle’s next door neighbor. to you, he’s just pete castiglione, a grumpy, antisocial neighbor. you’re almost the opposite— just a girl trying to get through hell’s kitchen. probably a girl who doesn’t belong there. when pete returns suspiciously after a mysterious disappearance, is it possible for you to turn a blind eye?

a/n: first oneshot being uploaded here! experimented a lot with frank castle, so lmk if you’d like more!

content warning!: corny fluff, petnames used: sweetheart, doll

I sat in my dining room, staring blankly at the tupperware filled with this week’s experiment. My chin rested in the palm of my hand, as I sighed, rolling my eyes. A nice cajun pasta— at least— one that I had attempted to make.

Where the hell has he been? Was he even home? Had he moved out?

I hadn’t seen Pete in what feels like years at this point, but realistically, it had only been a few weeks maximum. I guess I’d been so used to just being able to walk on over and expect a bearded hunk of a man to gladly accept the leftovers I’d have. Or at least for someone to answer the door when I knocked.

I picked up the container of pasta, and as I went on to put it into the fridge and possibly eat it for dinner later, I heard familiar chatter through the wall. God, I’d recognize that voice anywhere. But, he was talking to someone else, unless he really had gone crazy after all. I excitedly grip the container, and zoom straight to the door, and as I walk out, it’s now impossible for anyone to read my dumbfounded expression, trying to decipher what I had witnessed down the hall, right by Pete’s door.

A hooded, raggedy, almost dirty looking hobo of a man, a dirty-blonde blue-eyed one at that— widened his eyes in shock, seeming to shrink behind Pete’s figure as they both snapped their heads towards me. I stand awkwardly, my hands gripping onto the tupperware in front of my chest, as they continue to look at me as if I was a car, and they were a deer in headlights. The man pulls his hoodie down as he turns his body away from my direction, clearing his throat. He paced back and forth, as Pete rolled his eyes, nudging him harshly with his elbow, only slightly moving his head a bit to whisper something into his ear. Pete must’ve worked wonders as the man begins to calm down for a second. Now, continuing to focus back onto unlocking his door, Pete nonchalantly addresses me, the idiot standing, frozen, in her doorway.

“Hey, um..” Pete gets the door to open, the man following directly behind him.

Pete whispers another thing at him, this time I’m able to make it out.

“Christ, quit followin’ ‘hind me like I’m your mommy.” Pete nudged him again, the man behind apologizing under his breath, stumbling behind.

The man awkwardly acknowledged me as well, raising his hand up a bit to seemingly wave, an even more awkward smile following the gesture. Pete turns to see the interaction, scoffing, as he reprimands him,

“Knock it out.”

I stare at Pete’s new look, wow— freshly shaven, it seemed like. Was that a military cut? I can’t lie and say I haven’t been trying to envision the face that lay beneath the bushes of what I can only imagine months of going without a cut.

Soon, I snap myself out of it, shaking my head back to reality, as I make my way towards them, smiling the best I could, Pete cursing under his breath, watching me approach them. He leaned against the doorframe, his arm positioned right by his head, as he shoved the man inside his apartment, closing the door a bit so the only thing keeping it open was his body. Man, he’d always worn these baggy clothes, almost looked like the other guy himself— but now I was able to revel in the figure bestowed upon me, dressed in a tight black shirt, and tight black pants as well as his usual combat boots. Pete looked… younger, somehow. His attitude, though, remained the same. An audible “oof” was made by the man as he was shoved inside, and as I tried to peek over and gaze upon whatever business may have been taking place inside, Pete greets me once again, a slight— oddly uncanny— smile beginning to form on his face. As if he was trying to convince me everything was fine.

“That, uh.. wha’s that you’re holdin’, hm?” Pete cleared his throat, using his pinky to point at the tupperware in my hands.

I feel my face warming up, and I chuckle, bringing to food from my chest to his, trying to smile as much as I could,

“Another sad attempt at cajun pasta.” I shrugged.

He chuckles, taking the tupperware from my hands, while I begin to wipe off the sweat off my palms onto my shirt, sighing. I shrug again, trying to catch up,

“So… where you been, neighbor? Was knocking on your door, but..”

Pete inhales, as he begins to brainstorm different and plausible excuses in his head. He moves his gaze down to his feet, scoffing,

“A trip. Road trip.” He chokes out.

“A.. trip?” I raise my brow, crossing my arms.

“Uh.. yeah.. just.. campin’.” The awkward pauses between answers just increases my fuel to want to leave, which was his plan anyway. Just grab the book and go. That’s the sole reason him and Lieberman were even here.

“‘S’it the Moby Dick one, Frank?!” The other guy shouts from inside, hearing the shuffling of stuff around.

Frank?

Pete’s expression looks as though he was beyond pissed, as he closes his eyes shut for a second, scoffing, and exhaling one sharp breath to maintain his composure. He turns his head, and gives the other guy what I can only assume the deadliest of glares, before he takes another deep breath to focus his attention back on me once more. He stares down at the tupperware, and gives a small smile my way,

“Thanks, sweetheart. Always. I’ve gotta.. take care of sum’n.” He sighs, jerking his head over towards his apartment, before he steps back in order to close the door.

I gave him a smile, hoping I didn’t look more concerned than neighborly at the moment. He slams the door shut, just leaving me alone in the hallway, as I sigh, just standing outside.

Soon, I hear yelling between the two guys, but it’s muffled just enough so that I can’t make out what the yelling was about. Within seconds I hear thuds, and groans, my eyes widening from the abnormalities. The thuds and sounds of struggle continue, until I notice them making their way closer to the door. I step back, wondering why I haven’t left, until a thud hits the door, and I squeal. The doorknob rattles for a few seconds, until the door opens just a smidge, and it almost seems like one wants to open the door, and one’s attempting to prevent it. The raggedy man positions his face just enough so that it can be seen just through the sliver of the door, that seems like it’s being held open by him. He attempts to choke something out, but he’s breathless, before another thud hits the apartment, and I back away even more, my eyes widening at the man. The guy swings the door wide open, revealing Pete’s miniscule apartment, and I see Pete on the ground, with a look on his face like a predator about to attack his prey. He sees me standing awkwardly, and grunts, getting back up on his feet instead. They’re both breathing heavily, and the man in front of me chuckles.

“You got one more of those?” He motions his thumb over his shoulder, towards the container placed on top of Pete’s table, and I’m left dumbfounded.

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I made my way back from my kitchen with two more containers of pasta back to my doorstep, where the two men waited patiently outside. I can only hear quiet mumbled chittering and whispers of arguments, but I’ve begun to think perhaps it was how they’d expressed… themselves. I try to smile once more, as I’d approached the doorstep, them noticing my growing presence, straightening themselves out while I stood, awkwardly, once again.

“Thank you, you’re a kind.. kind soul, truly.” He nods his head, taking the containers from my hands, a comment that seemed to be made as an insult to Pete’s character, as the man scowled.

Pete turns his body toward the guy, and grips his shoulders, looking at him, eye to eye.

“I want your ass in the van, now.” He, once again, shoves him, sending the guy stumbling backwards over his feet, trying to hold onto the containers with caution. Without saying a word, he marches back, towards the staircase leading to the lobby.

I peek out the doorway, and as the man’s figure is nowhere in sight, I turn my gaze back to Pete.

I raise an eyebrow, licking my bottom lip, chuckling a bit.

“That.. your.. camping buddy?” I tease.

He scoffs, placing his fingertips on his hips. He looks in the direction the man pranced away in, and sighs.

Looking at him so close from this angle leaves me staring, until I notice what seems to be a large, but almost healed up bruise on his eye. My eyebrows furrowed together, while he turned his head back to me.

“What were you, fighting a bear out there?” I tease, my fingers reaching out just above the bruise, barely grazing his skin.

He clears his throat, stepping back a bit, letting out a small chuckle and a stifled smile.

“Poor guy can’t even fend for ‘mself, y’know?” He shrugs.

I look at him, unconvinced that he seriously fought hand to hand against a bear in the woods— but considering his friend's hippie look, and Pete’s grown out hair just a few weeks ago, maybe it wouldn’t be the craziest thing.

I let out a scoff at his comment, before stifling down a chuckle, leaning against my doorway. I look up at him through my eyelashes, saying to him,

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t pull your punches against a bear.” I tsk.

For once, Pete flashes a smile that seems more genuine than ever, and I gloat at the fact that my banter was able to make him really laugh just a tiny bit.

It wasn’t my joke that had made him chuckle, but the mere irony of the fact. Because all the lowlives and assholes that had been unfortunate enough to cross his path were the souls that’d be evidence to prove my statement wrong. He couldn’t even recall the last time he did pull a punch, that was.

The growing comfortable silence was interrupted by the loud honking from the parking lot just outside the lobby, and Pete rolled his eyes at the noise, knowing exactly what and who it was.

He steps back, still smiling a bit at me, walking backwards towards the stairwell, and we hold eye contact for a few moments, before he turns around, walking forward putting his hands in his pockets. For another few moments, I watch him just until he turns the corner, which he says loudly,

“Keep the leftovers comin’, doll!”

I laughed, a smile imprinted on my face, leaving me sighing, before I walked back, closing the door in front of me.

Part one - Meet.

Next

A/N: The old Liv can’t come to the phone right now, why? Oh! ‘Cause she’s published two fics in two days. Second, I love Frank Castle sm and I see barely any Frank with platonic reader (or I’ve read them all) so I took matters into my own hands 😛 I’m gonna make this into like a series ig? This is part one anyway.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The first time you met Frank, it was during one of your first patrols after deciding to become a vigilante. Frank was slumped up against the grave of his wife and children with a bottle of something brown and strong smelling in his hand. You approached him, cautiously but not discreetly,