Then, barely awake, your eyes fluttered a few times, adapting to the dark like usual. Watching the dark ceiling above you, you shifted slightly closer to the other side of the bed. Closer to the warmth that should be beside you. That usually rests next to you, that usually clings to you.

Only there was no warmth.

Your hand raised up from under your ear, then moved across the mattress, fingers stretching apart.

Expecting to find Frank.

Trying to find that solid shoulder of his, bruised and so full of memories. Or at least the sleeve of that ridiculous chequered grey robe he insisted on wearing on the boat.

Your fingers met nothing.

Empty space on the mattress.

And that stopped you. You frowned faintly, your eyes slid from the dark ceiling over the whole room to the other side of the mattress. And you finally met the sight on the other side. The space beside you is empty. No sight of the man.

The blanket was thrown completely over you, rumpled at your feet. Definitely put over you when he stood from the bed and left. But Frank was gone.

He had been there a little while ago. Before you went to take a rest. He had been there snugged against you beneath the dark blanket, his body pressed against yours with the familiar warmth and the comfortable weight he dropped over you when he was slightly resting over your body. One of his arms is thrown over your waist, head on your chest or sometimes shoulder. Then sometimes, you are on his shoulder or on his chest. Even his arm too. The slow rhythm of his breathing raises up his chest against your body.

Maybe, he had a nightmare.

And that’s makes you sit up. Far too quickly.

You pushed yourself onto one elbow, the blanket slipping down your shoulder as you let your gaze settle towards the other side of the bed. Your palms spread over the mattress as you’re sitting up. With a sigh, you let one hand up and rubbed it over your eyes. Hard, making tiny colourful shapes swim around your vision for a few seconds. Then they’re gone. Eyes adjusted to the dark, faint outlines of the familiar world now smooth in your eyes.

You looked towards the doorway, the door was shut. With furrowed brows and a tiny yawn to let the tiredness go away, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Dark socks rolled up on your feet. Frank always told you to keep them on, you tried to keep the boat clean. Both of you tried. But it just felt like the floor was never clean even if you scrubbed it for hours.

Now standing up, you move towards the door, open it and slip through. The sleep is still clinging to your legs, forcing you to walk slower than you had intended. Moving through the small metal boat hallway, you move straight down. On one side are the cramped doors leading to the toilet, bathroom and the little supply rooms that stayed there from the last owner. At the end of the hallway is the spare room with its old, but still very nicely kept bunk bed, the room that you mostly call the guest room. A funny thing. You call it that jokingly. Just because there is the very real fact that you never really have guests over.

So, where the hell is Frank and why is he not sleeping?

You pass the bathroom, the light is not turned on. He is not there.

Then you pass the toilet, the light is as well not turned on. So, he is not there either.

Then in the few supply rooms, you open the first door and peek inside, dark and no sight of Frank in it. You don’t bother to check the other supply rooms, if he is not in this one, he won’t be in the other ones. Maybe, he’s outside. Watching the water, the cityscape and the birds fly by. It calms you both, it’s a nice view from down there.

You push through the heavy doors of the guest room and he is not there either. But the lights are on, though. So, he must have been there. You barely glance at the bunk bed as you slip past, your thoughts already moving towards the only room of the boat you can imagine him now being in.

You reach the kitchen door and wrap your fingers around the handle, pulling it open. You then push the door open by your palm. The light spills onto you and you catch the sight of a person in the kitchen. But almost immediately as the door opened, something snapped against the back of your hand. Or stuck up onto your hand. A weird sensation, a weird material.

You freeze instantly and look down.

You try to instinctively pull your hand back from whatever had landed onto your hand, it glues over the back of your hand, on your skin and the door’s metal surface. Caging your hand on it like it is supposed to be holding it together.

What the hell is that?

Your head snaps back up quickly, eyes widening a good bit.

“Who is–” a very unfamiliar voice yelps out, a younger voice.

“Woah!” a woman’s voice rings out just then too.

You jerk back as another thing of whatever you have on your hand flies towards you. You dodge it. Finally, the white thing flies past your face and attaches itself to the metal wall of the tiny kitchen beside you. You stare at it. And you finally realize what that thing is.

A white web.

You snap your head back up towards the kitchen so quickly. And then you finally see what is going on in your tiny, cramped kitchen beyond the doorway you’re standing in.

A figure in red and blue with a mask on.

One hand raised up, fingers bent in that very familiar position you saw too many times on the news, pictures and kids doing when you were in the city.

It’s Spider-Man.

And beside him is another figure.

A young woman, visibly confused and nervous. A coat on, hair slightly pointing to all directions as if she had flown here.

You have no idea who that woman is.

And there is a smell. A quite familiar one. Warm one, spicy one. Chilli. Frank mentioned that he was planning on cooking it throughout this week. Coming from where the burners are still going, steam coming up and smell flying around.

And next to them, is the only person you wanted to find in this room.

Frank.

He is standing there in his chequered grey robe, one hand holding the pot that he is making chilli in and his eyes wide, fixated on the sudden chaos at the doorway in his own kitchen at his own boat. His house! Your house!

His expression changes the instant he sees you. Eyes softening, a small smile coming up. But the second he sees your expression and then the web on your hand, the soft eyes disappear as if they weren’t there before and the smile turns into a strong frown.

A mad one.

“Shit, kid!” you finally hear the man’s voice. Loud and angry.

Frank moves immediately towards you, dropping the hot pot back onto the burners.

“The hell you doin’ with those fuckass webs in my fuckin’ kitchen?” he yells out angrily, storming over to you with a loud hit of his boots against the metal floor of the boat. He looks at Spider-Man with an expression that makes him want to crawl away and before he can do it, Frank barks out and points angrily with his pointer finger at him, “don’t do that again!”

His voice fills the tiny kitchen like a loud storm and thunder. It’s sharp, and makes everyone shut up very quickly. Frank is already crossing the kitchen in stern and quick steps.

He shoves past Spider-Man with enough force to make him stumble and the younger girl steps aside to not get hit by the angry man. You barely have time to register what is happening before Frank reaches you. You literally just woke up.

“Frank—” you don’t get a chance to ask a question. Only his name makes it past your lips.

“What the hell is goin’ on with ya’, kid?” the older man snaps once again, words meant for the masked person in his kitchen. He looks over his shoulder again and then looks towards you. His wide eyes search you up and then he ends up grabbing your shoulders. His hands gripping both shoulders as if he needed to see that you were real.

Pulling you closer and looking you over as if you had been shot. Not webbed by the kid in the mask that is somehow standing in your shared kitchen.

Spider-Man stares at you, the white eyes wide. The woman nervously looks, arms crossed over her chest. This is all so confusing. A fever dream, maybe you’re just sick and this is a dream. Maybe a nightmare.

“Who—who is that, Frank?” the younger voice demands out, high pitched and surprised. The masked boy starts pointing at you with the same hand from where he shot the webs at you.

Frank quickly turns his head and pulls out another grimace on his face, “none of yer damn fuckin’ business, kid.”

“Woah, okay,” the other woman quietly says under her breath and nods her head a few times, leaning her hip against the counter in the kitchen.

There is a brief silence.

Then he stares at the masked person for a few brief seconds before he turns towards you. His face easing up, the furrow leaving and eyes softening at the sight of the only person he wanted to have in his kitchen tonight.

“Man! You never told me–” the loud voice of the masked boy started to boom across the kitchen before getting cut off by a yelp and the sound of a hand hitting something. The younger girl slapped the masked hero on his shoulder, shutting him up. The man in robe starts to turn his head over his shoulder, but he quickly gets stopped.

“Frank.”

The tone of your voice makes the man in the robe stop from barking out something at the kid. Anchoring him in the spot.

“Listen–” Frank starts to say, but you cut him off.

“Why the hell is Spider-Man in our kitchen?”

“Listen to me–” he tries again, his voice dropping, trying to softly explain the situation. But he does not get a chance to continue again. His words are cut off by your own ones.

“And why is my hand webbed to the door?” you cut off the man again, moving your gaze down to where it is still stuck to the metal door.

His eyes drop to your hand and then he groans out loudly that it makes Spider-Man turn around awkwardly, moving further away from the angry man and you.

“Okay, in my defense—” the masked boy starts to speak again, defending himself and his little webbing problem that he threw in this tiny boat kitchen.

“No,” huffs out the older man. Not turning around to face the masked boy.

“You never even told me you had someone else here! What was I supposed to do?” the masked hero throws his hands up in the air, voice raising up.

“Ehh–definitely not shoot a damn web, kid!” Frank then finally, but pointedly looks at him over his shoulder, his hands ripping off the sticky web that holds your hand and the door together. Clinging stubbornly to his own hand, disgusting little thing.

The web sticks to his fingers and he makes a disgusted grimace, lips turning down and nose scrunching, throwing it into the opened garbage bin next to the door. Frank then exhales sharply through his nose, warm breath fanning over your face when he turns back towards you, rubbing a hand over his face in a manner that makes his emotions very clear. It’s an utter joke. This whole situation is one big joke. Spider-Man once again mentioned the stupid Staten Island and that’s what made him accept this favour, according to the spider’s words, he owed him for that. Even though he and you knew it was bullshit. The guy wouldn’t get Frank in any possible scenario and the spider is exaggerating it all.

You stare up at Frank and it feels a bit awkward with the two new additions in your kitchen. Frank shakes his head and his hand shoots up, fingers wrapping around your wrist and he pushes you backward. Pushing you towards where you had come from, the spare guest room.

“I’ll go put some pants on,” he huffs out with a low voice to the guests in the kitchen. Irritated as ever. He was afterall still wearing his stupid grey robe. Then he continued, “and gon’ explain this bullshit to ya’,” he looks down at you at the second part.

He guides you back to the room and shuts the heavy metal door behind him. His hand unwraps from your wrist, but before he completely lets go off you. He raises it up to his mouth gently, his head bending down and plants his lips against the skin of your knuckles. Soft, gentle like he was holding something precious. The big, bad Punisher, kissing your knuckles like a piece of an angel.

Frank whispers out against your knuckles, muffled with another kiss that he gave your hand, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Then he follows you into the bedroom. You lead the way, him trailing right behind you. When you enter the room, Frank reaches for the light switch and switches it on with a faint click, it flickers a few times before a familiar, yellow-ish light fills the small room of the boat that you both share as a bedroom. Frank then walks straight towards the closet, opening it and reaches for the pair of pants that he is not currently wearing. Black, like always.

Then without turning towards you, no sly remark, he pulls the black pants on with a huff of breath. Then he unwraps the grey robe from his waist and hastily throws it onto the bed without turning around.

“You let Spider-Man and his friend into our boat because he claimed that you… owed him for Staten Island? I guess?”

Frank’s silence answers you. He told you about it multiple times, the kid kept mentioning it whenever he’d run into him. Your eyes narrow at the silence that the man gives you.

“Frank.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“He’s dang annoying and wants to keep his girlfriend safe. I was… gon' tell ya’,” he speaks with that rasp in his voice and rubs a hand over his jaw, still turned with his back to you, staring at the opened doors of the closet. Looking at the shelves and hanging clothes.

“When?” you ask the man, stepping closer to the doorway. Leaning your shoulder against it, finding a comfortable stance.

Frank looks up towards the ceiling with a long sigh, “...soon.”

You chuckle at that. He turns at the sound of that and sees your stance. Arms crossed over your chest, shoulder resting against the doorframe as you watch him closely and Frank pauses. Genuinely pauses, life stopping in his chest. Breathing stopped too. And for a good few moments, neither of you speak up.

Then he comes towards you, crossing the room in a few steps. The space between you and Frank shrinks until there’s barely anything left between the two of you. Chest touching chest. Then, his arm slides around your waist, going from your stomach to your back and to your side, his firm hand pulling you closer to him. The other hand comes up under your jaw, fingers slipping over your skin until his hand holds your jawline the way he wants, the familiar way you know. With his hand, he then softly tilts your face towards him, making you stare up to his brown eyes, rough with memories and soft with your presence. He pulls your head up with a gentleness that doesn’t match the sight of him. The sight of how they called him, the Punisher.

Your own arms unlock from where you have them crossed over your chest and loop around Frank’s neck, fingers settling at the back of it. Hands holding the nape, the hairs shuffling between your fingers. Then you rest your weight on the back of his neck, pulling him down. Even closer, if that’s possible. Frank exhales and then he dips down. Down against your mouth.

He kisses you.

Lips slotting against lips.

He tilts your head up to his, adjusting the way your mouths move. His hand at your waist tightens a bit more as he leans into it. Down into the kiss. The hand under your jaw slides slightly up, the palm of his hand now covering your cheek and his thumb rests under your eye. Pulling you in, deepening it like his lips and your lips were the only thing holding him up.

Frank shifts you back without breaking the kiss you are having. He slowly starts guiding you backwards until your entire back meets the doorframe behind you, not just your shoulder. His hand at your waist slides up and then down, hunching your shirt up and then letting it down back down. Then he tilts your head to the side, your neck moving and your ear nearly touches your shoulder. He goes the opposite way, moving the kiss without your noses colliding. It wasn’t messy, just passionate and a good heat involved. Sweet, warm and delicious. Like a dream. Mouth opening, lips wet and hands wandering.

Then his lips fall from your, now the tips of your lips touching. A small, warm feeling.

The man then pulls a bit away, your lips far for another kiss to be done. He doesn’t step away though, keeping you against the doorway, body facing the hallway. His back turned towards the guest room.

“Now,” Frank says with a deep voice, his hand moving slightly higher at your side. The other hand drops from your cheek, moving to the side of your neck, “...’bout the kids in our kitchen.”

He glances briefly towards the guest room, his warm breath fans over your face as he looks over his shoulder and then turns his head back towards you.

Frank does that noise of his before he speaks, “eeeh–kid has been talking ‘bout that goddamn Staten Island shit and how I owe him for tha’,” he chuckles out with a disbelieving expression, “his girlfriend is in danger, apparently needs my fuckin’ help for tha’.”

“Isn’t he already sick of that story about Staten Island?” you chuckle a bit louder, a smile forming on your face.

“That’s exactly what I asked him!” he barks out loudly, shaking his head. His head dips down and he lets his lips fall upon your cheek, planting a kiss there. Warm and gentle. Then he raises his head back up, staring down at you with a hint of a smirk that lays on his lips.

“Listen, sweetheart, he bothered me in the city too. I told ya', ya'know. At that fuckin’ tank. Jesus. The kid’s gon’ tell me what he really needs me t’ do and then I can figure—” the man’s words get once again cut off. This time differently. You pull his hair again, the tiny strands at his neck that aren’t buzzed up into that fade he has on, and he instantly shuts himself off and drops his head down. Lips falling onto yours, slotting to the position like they were before.

His hand instantly slides from your neck back up to your jaw, pulling your head up and making you stand up higher than before as he deepened the kiss. His hand settles against your cheek and jaw, his hand big and heavy on your face. He leans further down, trying to enter himself into your mouth with his own lips.

You pull away, a catch of breath trying to be made, but then Frank, like the man he is, goes back down. Lips finding yours messily, first falling on the corners and wetting them up. Then he moves to the lips, fitting together with a heavy push of his lips against yours. Your fingers grip, tighten up in his hair, pulling.

His name escapes your lips.

Making the sound against your lips, somewhere in between a whine and a prayer. His name is a whisper, a soft and debilitated pronunciation of his name.

His lips turn, pulls slightly from yours into a faint little Castle smirk. And then he pushes further, another kiss and another and another. His lips pull your top lip, his nose nudging your closed eyes. He was so pushy, so full of want and love.

Frank’s hand moves to your side in a different way. With a push, he guides you out of the doorway of your shared bedroom, he turns you towards the wall of the hallway. Not the bedroom. Then neither of you is blocking the doorway, now standing sideways in the boat’s hallway. Your back is against the metal wall and you realize it after he pulls away again, for a breath that fills his mouth.

“Frank. Frank, Frank, Frank,” you manage out, voice not delivering the right tone for the words, voice a bit uneven, “we have—Frank. The kitchen—”

“I know, sweetheart,” he flaps out. No care in his voice.

He continues with the mess, his grip tightens. Fingers dig to your sides, head turns from side to side, tongue swipes and wets. Lips move in a dance that can’t be performed any other time. It’s almost impossible to describe the utter feeling inside your chests, it’s everywhere. Frank is everywhere. His lips, especially. His hands, too.

The guest room doors at the end of the hallway swings open.

Fucking hell.

Then Spider-Man steps out first, mid-sentence, still talking with that high voice of his, gesturing vaguely with his hands in the air, waving and doing shit. Your and Frank’s heads snap towards the sound, both eyes wide.

“—I’m just saying, his whole boat will get burned down because of–”

“–won’t burn because of a chilli!”

Both Spider-Man’s and the girl’s voices stumble over each other, overlapping each other. Louder than every other word they say, trying to get themselves together to form a good sentence to let each other know about the kitchen’s awful smell. The girl steps to the view too.

Spider-Man’s head snaps upward the hallway.

He sees you.

He sees Frank.

And sees the position at the end of the hallway.

The girl looks later, still talking about the chilli that Frank had been cooking. Her eyes snap wide open when she sees the pair of other wide eyes staring at her from the end of the boat’s hallway. Her entire body turns on instinct. Fully away.

“Oh my God.”

And then she is gone.

“Cool, cool, cool! Very cool, so sorry. Sorry–” the younger boy stumbles over his own words, holding his hand out in front of his eyes as if it would cover whatever was happening. It’s not like you and Frank were naked or having a brutally intimate situation in the middle of the hallway, just a slight kissing with a sprinkle of something deeper. Spiderman follows the way of his friend, moving away from the hallway.

Frank’s voice is loud. Very loud. Deep, but loud.

“I swear to God, kid, I’m gonna kill you!”

Spider-Man’s voice comes right back, “your chilli is burned!”

“I don’t give a flying shit about the damn fuckin’ chilli!”

He yells back, his voice rising. His hand leaves your cheek, the other one still rests on your side, the grip no longer the same. Somehow, the boy in the mask continues, “you were cooking it, Frank! I thought you–” he doesn’t get the chance to continue as the older man practically yells out like a soldier back at him.

“Why the fuck can’t you leave me and my wife alone for five fucking seconds?”

And then it’s quiet.

But then you hear muffled voices, hushed. Trying to talk quietly. The girl’s voice and the boy in a mask. In your kitchen with that stupid, burned chilli that Frank was making before he brought two guests onto your boat. Their voices fade farther away, they’re probably shutting the door to let you two have a moment to compose.

You look at Frank, gaze moving from the end of the hallway.

Frank is looking down the hallway. Furrow between his heavy brows, frustration filling his face.

A small chuckle escapes you. You can’t help it. Then he turns and Frank’s eyes slowly move towards you, looking down from where his frustrated face is.

“Eeh–it’s goddamn funny, huh?” Frank nudges you with his voice. He doesn’t find it as funny as you do. You shake your head, disagreeing with the man, even if there is a small smile on your lips. Trying to cover the truth.

You slide your hand from his neck to his chest and smile up at him, “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Nope.”

He gives you a long, exhausted look that says too many things to you. As if he is reconsidering every decision he has made today, he hates this entire day and night. The moments with you fill the blanks with good parts, other than that it's utter bullshit and a waste of a day. Spider-Man and his nonsense. Then a kiss, on your lips. Tiny and gentle before he pulls away and lets you stnd back up from the wall of the bot, moving slowly down the hallway with a blush in your cheeks that you could feel on your face and with a special feeling in your chest that sits there right now.

Behind that closed door, behind the guest room and another closed door is the kitchen. And in the kitchen are two guests who seemed to get quite updated on the life of a certain someone. Specifically Spider-Man who has known this man for a good while. He just did not notice, that’s all. MJ is making it a big deal.

“Wife? Wife?” Spider-Man throws his hands up, his voice is loud and high-pitched, “Frank is married?”

“You didn’t know that Frank had a wife?”

“No, I didn't! How was I supposed to know?”

“The ring on his finger?” MJ’s face is full of disbelief.

“What?

“What what?” she shakes her head so swiftly from side to side, wide eyes staring at him.

“He has a ring?”

“Oh my God, and you call yourself–”

“Well, sorry! I don’t notice rings on people’s hands when they’re shooting at me and others!” he exclaims loudly, throwing his hands up into the air as if he is throwing out some confetti.

“He had it on his hand right now! And you never even asked him–”

“No, I didn’t! Forget it, MJ. I did noooot know.”

And he knows that he is going to have an amazing conversation with Frank himself the next time.

୨ৎ feedback is very appreciated!!!!

i LOOVEDD spiderman brand new day, i saw it twice and i need to rewatch lol!! also obsessed with frank in this movie he's so silly! a bit diff in the show iyk lmfaooooo hope u enjoyed this!! <3