Chapter Text
He wasn't supposed to be considered cute or loveable or kind. No, he was Frank Castle – the Punisher – the biggest bad of big bads. He was the head knocker and the guy who could get shit done.
So, why on earth did he have a neighbor who insisted on calling him "Frankie"? She wasn't subtle about it, or harsh. She just called him it, and when she was trying to be frank, no pun intended, she'd call him just that: Frank. But, to her, he was never harsh or a killer or some brute. He was Frankie.
He was suffering and lost and beaten down by the world sometimes. At those times, he struggled to get back up. He often thought of her as the hand reaching for him in the darkness, attempting to pull him from the vast black ocean that was drowning him.
She was nothing more than a friend, though. She'd check on him and leave him baked goods and when he caught her sneaking back to her house in the early morning with just pajama shorts, a tank top and some bunny slippers on -- he'd smile. He'd known her for as long as he had lived there.
She welcomed him into the neighborhood with a box full of brownies that had a yellow sticky note pressed to the top. She was always neat about how she did things.
It was cold, one particular morning, and Frank was waiting for her. He saw her peeking her head out from her door, a clear container with a blue lid pressed to her stomach. He saw the cookies inside and a sly smile sneaked onto his face. He quickly went to his door and opened it, leaning against the doorjamb as the bitter wind smacked him in the face.
He didn't care, though.
Frank heard her slippers scrapping against the ground outside. They were making a soft sound, probably worn out a little from all the back and forth trips as her tired body refused to pick her feet up more than an inch from the ground at any given time before noon. Her head was hung slightly as she walked, barely glancing around as she made it up his walk.
Same flannel pajama shorts. Same fading band tank top. Same grey bunny slippers. Sure, she changed them -- grey flannel shorts, red tank or black tank and red flannel shorts -- but they were still the same, nonetheless.
"You cold?" He asked, cup of coffee in one hand as he leaned against the frame. She nearly dropped the contained, a small yelp coming from her throat. He would've been lying if he said he didn't enjoy hearing the sound coming from her. "You look cold."
"Jesus, Frankie!" She snapped, coming closer. "You scared me!"
"No shit." Frank chuckled, getting an annoyed glare from her. "What have you got today, (Y/N)?"
"Peanut butter cookies." (Y/N) grinned, pushing the container towards him. She had a smaller body, compared to his. Sure, he wasn't superbly tall but he was muscular, perfectly so. "Almost made red velvet."
"Mm." Frank replied, sipping his coffee. "Wanna come in?"
"I-"
"I never give you anything back."
"I told you, you don't have to. Y'know that." She shrugged slightly, her shoulders being nipped at by the cold air stirring up some leaves as the foggy blanket of the early morning hung around them. "But... you got coffee?"
He held up the cup slightly for proof.
She walked inside without a second thought. She thanked God, however, that he was actually wearing a shirt this time.
Last time he attempted to invite her in, he was wearing grey sweatpants, same ones as now, and was shirtless. (Y/N) swore her heart stopped that day.
She heard Frank close the door behind them. She knew where the kitchen was and, more importantly, where he kept his mugs. She slid the peanut butter cookies onto the counter and went for the cinnamon colored mug he kept, just for her, in the back of his cupboard.
It wasn't long before she was sitting on the counter, her legs kicking out slightly while sipping her coffee as Frank stood beside her, munching on his second cookie while she watched him.
"Good?"
"Mm." He mumbled for the second time that morning. This caused (Y/N) to laugh, her eyes crinkling slightly in the corners as her lips curled up a little. "Still warm."
"Baked 'em this morning."
"Not last night?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Ah." Frank's pause hung in the air before he glanced from his cookie to her face and back again twice more. "Wanna talk about it?"
She sighed effortlessly, the sound familiar to Frank.
"You don't have to."
"I know." (Y/N) said, meeting his gaze with her own. "I just-"
He waited patiently as he wiped a crumb off his upper lip.
"My mom is begging me to get married, because I'm getting older, and I told her I was engaged to get her off my back."
"Oh?" His eyebrows went up high at this. "And?"
"I'm not. Obviously." She waved her left hand in front of his face, no ring in sight. "I don't have a boyfriend or a potential marriage partner in my sights and I'm supposed to go to dinner with her, said nonexistent potential marriage partner and my father."
Without missing a beat, or a second thought, Frank shrugged and offered his solution.
"We could fake it."
"We?"
"Yeah, I'll go with you. We'll have a good time, pretend to be engaged and in... say a week," he grasped, shrugging once more. "You can say you broke it off, that I, your nonexistent potential marriage partner, was an asshole and she'll be off your back for a while."
(Y/N) looked amazed. "You been thinking about this?"
"No." Yes. "Got anything better?"
"Not really."
"Then it's settled."
"You'd really do this for me? Your wacky neighbor that bakes you treats at five-ish in the morning because they can't sleep?"
"Sure, why not?"
Her smile was the only confirmation he needed. She set her cup down and he, thankfully, set his down just in time before she swung her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.
It was safe to say that she was the one that nearly pulled him to stand between her legs, even without meaning too.
His hands came up to slowly press against her back before his arms wound tightly around her, giving her a quick but gentle squeeze. She let go, as did he, and his arms dropped as her hand slipped down to his chest.
"You remember where your loyalties lie." She grinned, snatching another cookie out of the container after patting his chest. "Good man."
"If I keep wanting baked stuff, then yeah, I'll remember exactly where they lie."