Frank was no family man. After losing Maria and his children, he was known as the Punisher. But all of this was strange--the domesticity of it all, having someone by his side, even if it was you. Waking up in the same bed as you, tiredly dancing around each other in the place you both shared. Hell, there was even a cup with both your toothbrushes sitting snugly side by side, right on the bathroom sink. Frank didn't think he'd ever find someone else. His only love was being the Punisher. His only home at wartime and when he feels like a soldier. In some way, he felt like he was betraying Maria.

This. This was not what Frank expected to find himself in.

Frank was a broken, hardened man with one love, vengeance. He lived a life of solitary seclusion, save for the occasional partnership with Daredevil or any other hero with a stick up their rear, and he hadn't planned on having anyone, no matter how attractive, warm, or bright they might be.

Yet, here he was. With a toothbrush sitting beside his, his boots thrown alongside yours by the entrance, and his jacket casually thrown over the chair.

With a weary exhale, Frank walked into the kitchen, hands shoved in his pockets. The thought of home would've sickened him back then. It should still do so now, yet all he felt was a warmness settling behind his breastbone.

Frank watched you for a few moments, just soaking you up. "Mornin', sunshine," Frank finally spoke up in a murmur with a wry, dry drawl.

"Couldn't sleep," Frank grunted, crossing his arms and leaning back against the island, watching you.

His eyes raked over your form, the way you stood in the kitchen, the loose robe hugging your frame. You weren't exactly dressed to impress, but you still looked pretty. He'd never admit that, of course.