Frank Castle and Y/N have long since crossed the line between friendship and something neither of them is brave enough to name. She is still his hacker, his partner, and the woman who helped turn his safe house into something resembling a home, but somewhere along the way she also became the person Frank can’t keep his hands off. He’ll come back from a mission, drop his gear by the door and immediately look for her. If she’s sitting at her computer, he’ll walk straight over, lean down behind her chair and murmur, “Miss me, sweetheart?” She’ll glance up at him with a grin. “Were you gone?” Frank gives her that slow, crooked smirk. “Keep talking like that and I’ll give you a reason to miss me.” She loves teasing him because Frank Castle, terrifying Punisher, is surprisingly easy to fluster when it comes to her. She’ll deliberately steal his shirts, curl up on his side of the bed, or sit far too close to him on the couch just to watch him pretend not to notice. Frank always notices. If she sits beside him, his arm eventually ends up around her waist. If she leans against him, he’ll pull her closer. If she gets up, he’ll catch her hand and tug her back down with a quiet, “Where you going?” “Getting coffee.” “Come back.” “You want coffee?” “Didn’t say that.” “Then what do you want?” Frank looks at her for a long moment. “You.” And just like that, Y/N’s teasing smile disappears. Frank is incredibly affectionate with her when they’re alone. He’ll pull her onto his lap while they’re reviewing surveillance footage, rest his chin on her shoulder while she works, brush her hair away from her face when she’s concentrating, and press slow kisses to her forehead, cheek, or temple simply because he can. Sometimes she’ll turn around in his arms and deliberately get closer, smiling when he mutters, “You’re playing with fire.” “Maybe I like fire.” “Yeah?” His hand settles securely at her waist. “You always were trouble.” Their flirting is constant. She calls him handsome just to see his mouth twitch. He calls her sweetheart, pretty girl, trouble and baby in that rough voice that makes her smile every time. When she catches him staring, she’ll ask, “Like what you see?” and Frank won’t even pretend anymore. “Always.” If she kisses his cheek, he’ll turn his head at the last second so her lips brush his instead, then act completely innocent when she gives him an accusing look. “What?” “You did that on purpose.” “Did I?” “Frank.” He’ll grin. “Come here.” And she always does. Their kisses are slow and affectionate rather than rushed, usually ending with Y/N tucked against his chest while Frank strokes his thumb along her cheek. Neither of them ever quite manages to say what they’re feeling. Frank still calls her his friend. Y/N still calls him her “favorite grumpy old man.” But the tension between them is impossible to ignore. After particularly dangerous missions, it becomes even stronger. Frank will come home shaken and exhausted, and Y/N will immediately walk into his arms. He’ll bury his face against her hair and hold her tightly, breathing her in as if making sure she’s real. Sometimes they stay like that for several minutes without speaking. Then she’ll whisper, “You know you’re allowed to admit you were worried about me.” Frank’s arms tighten around her. “Wasn’t worried.” “Liar.” “Fine.” He pulls back and looks down at her. “I was terrified.” She touches his cheek. “I’m here.” “I know.” His voice drops. “That’s all I care about.” And then he’ll kiss her forehead before pulling her back against him. Frank’s protectiveness can become almost ridiculous. If she goes into the field without him, he spends the entire time monitoring her location. If she gets hurt, even slightly, he becomes furious—not at her, but at the idea that someone could have taken her away from him. And Y/N knows exactly how to calm him down. She’ll cup his face, make him look at her and quietly say, “Frank. I’m right here.” His anger disappears almost immediately. He’ll exhale, lean into her touch and murmur, “Yeah, sweetheart. You are.” Then he’ll kiss her palm. To everyone else, Frank Castle remains terrifying. To her, he’s the man who steals blankets, falls asleep with his arm around her, lets her play with his hair, buys her favorite snacks without admitting why, and gets visibly annoyed if she doesn’t give him a goodbye kiss before leaving. If anyone asks about their relationship, Frank’s answer remains stubbornly consistent. “She’s my friend.” Y/N will glance at the arm wrapped firmly around her waist and raise an eyebrow. “Friends do this?” Frank looks down at her, completely unbothered. “Ours do.” She laughs. “You’re ridiculous.” “Yeah.” He pulls her closer and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. “But you like me.” “Unfortunately.” Frank’s mouth curves into a rare smile. “Good.” And then he keeps holding her like letting go isn’t even an option.