Kastle + 31? 👌🏻❤️
Hello, there, dear darling! Here I am with the filled prompt that I’m pretty sure you forgot ever asking.
I’m so sorry for this ridiculous delay. Last year was crazy, there was so much going on, I didn’t have the time and the will and the inspiration. But here I am, now, and I do hope you like it. To refresh your memory, the prompt was “the way you said I love you, #31: In awe, the first time you realised it”.
I do hope you enjoy it. It’s not particularly big, I’m trying to learn how to write shoter things.
Now, I’ll let you read. Hope you like it. Let me know.
Muah ;-*
I’ll worship
Frank sits there on her couch - a place he came to know well - and wraps a bandage around her arm, near her shoulder.
“What kind of knife was it?” he asked, his brow furrowed, still mad, so fucking mad it actually hurt for him to sit here and not storm out after the fucker who had attempted to stab her not half an hour ago.
She let out an angry sigh, and he doesn’t know where she gets off being angry. He’s the one with his heart in his throat, having to breathe deep to calm down, she’s the one who did exactly what she was told not to do and got jumped by a violent stoner.
“God, I don’t know what kind of knife, Frank, I’m not a weapon’s expert. What difference does it make, anyway? It was a sharp one.”
He closed his eyes for one second, breathing deep, trying to calm down.
“And you’re sure he only got your arm?”
Another dramatic, insolent sigh.
“As I told you the last 27 times: yes.”
“I’m trying to make sure you’re ok, if you haven’t noticed”. He wraps the gauze around her arm one more time, making sure the bandage is secure and her wound is not bleeding.
“It was just a scratch, Frank, you’re over reacting!”
“Over reacting?! I walk in and there’s a man lunging at you with a goddamn knife, ma’am, please explain to me how is this not the appropriate reaction!”
His voice is louder, now. He doesn’t mean to shout at her, but he needs to do something, otherwise he’s gonna explode.
“You seem to forget that I handled it pretty well!” she responds, yanking her arm away, getting up, pacing to the kitchen. “I was the one who jumped out of the way, I was the one who knocked him out, not you!”
He understood what she meant. It was the same point she has been trying to make for almost two years, now, that she can take care of herself, and he knows it, he knows it, but he still tries to twist her words in that particular moment, because he was so mad, he was so fucking mad at her.
Yes, she could take care of herself, he knew that, of course he did, but that didn’t stop him from worrying. Didn’t stop his heart from trying to leap out of his chest at the hint of a threat to her. So he got up, too, apologising, oh so sarcastically, for not arriving in time to save her, forcing her to save herself.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! Why are you being this way?”
They argued for what felt like hours, but it was, in reality, a little more than ten minutes. They both knew and understood where the other was coming from, but they were both so stubborn, so determined to make their own point, that the fight went on. And on. Until she closed the bathroom door with a bang and he heard the shower starting.
He paced for the whole time she was in there, breathing, trying to do that thing where you close your eyes and focus on the air coming in and out of your lungs, urging himself to calm down, he doesn’t want to fight, he doesn’t want to make her mad.
He just wants her safe.
Before he can change his mind, Frank walks to the bathroom door and knocks.
“What?” came the angry reply from inside.
“Let me in”, he asked, willing his voice to remain low and calm.
After almost twenty seconds of hesitation, the lock turned, but the door remained shut. Turning the knob, he walked in, watching her silhouette from behind the shower curtain. He takes a step towards it, but she closes the shower and pulls her robe from the rack. Frank notices the movement is not as violent as it could be, but not exactly delicate, either.
“Ma’am”, he starts.
“Please don’t ‘ma’am’ me”, she says from behind the curtain.
She has as strange relationship with that term. Sometimes she likes it, sometimes she hates it. He’s still trying to identify and separate those situations, but it seems to go with her mood, so far.
When she pushes the curtain back, the robe is tight around her waist, and her hair is pushed back, finger combed. Her cheeks are red from the steam.
Her eyes meet his and screw it. He’ll apologise. He’s right, but he’ll apologise because he already thought something was going to happen to her not an hour ago, that constant fear that he lived with, that she was going to get hurt, killed, taken away from him suddenly, that he was going to live through that again, it was almost real. He can’t take her being angry at him on top of that.
Well, he can. But he doesn’t want to.
“Look, I’m-”
“No, Frank, listen.”
She takes a step to him and she’s actually a bit shorter than him without her heels. With her hands rubbing her face for a seconds, a sigh and and her eyes on his face, she blinks.
“I’m sorry. I know you worry, and I know you mean well. It’s just-”
Frank reaches for her and stops her.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, too.”
She has been through some shit, Karen. He has his demons, his tragic past, but so does she. They could talk about it, now, with each other, it doesn’t hurt as bad as it used to, but just as he has the sudden, violent death of his wife and kids to carry around with him everyday, so does she, with her brother. And he knows she cannot stand being treated like a child or a helpless maiden, so yes, he’ll apologise, even if he does plan on returning to that point later, to ty and explain to her, again, why she should be more careful.
“I didn’t mean to shout at you”, he says and is glad to see the small tug on the corners of her mouth, a reluctant smile appearing.
“Considering that you shot at me the first time we met, I don’t think this was so bad.”
With an annoyed click of his tongue, but a relieved huff of breath, he shifts his weight to his other foot and reached out to pull her to him, catching her face between his hands, looking at her with a sudden surge of… Well. Huh. Fuck.
“I hate that you keep bringing that up”, he says, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.
“I like it. I think it’s exciting.”
Her hands close around his fists and just that simple but intimate touch was enough to have him sighing, as if all the tension and the stress were pouring out of him, evaporating with the steam of her shower.
“I’m sorry I was a dick”, he says, touching his forehead to hers and Karen rises to place a soft kiss on his lips.
“And I’m sorry I was careless. I’ll be more careful. Ok?”
When he nods, pressing another kiss to her mouth, and another, she takes his hands from her face and steps around him.
“Take your shower, I’ll work on dinner.”
“Come with me”, he tries, but she’s already closing the door behind her.
“Tomorrow, maybe”, she decides.
He could use the shower to relax, enjoy the pressure of the water hitting his shoulders, let the day go down the drain with the filth. He doesn’t. Shampoo and soap and scrub, scrub, scrub, rinse, rinse, rinse, dry, a towel around his hips and he’s out, looking for her, the weight of his sudden realization too heavy on his chest.
He stops for a second at the door, looking at her, standing there fixing whatever for their dinner, hair brushed back, wet blond strands almost shining against the white t shirt she only ever wore for bed. It was a man’s shirt, not even his, he didn’t know who it belonged to before her. Maybe her brother, maybe an ex-boyfriend, maybe she just bought it oversized because she knew how good she looked in it, maybe she was predicting, even before she met him, that he would love the sight of her bare legs when she wore it, the hem brushing her thighs, exposing her bottom if she lifted her arms.
How on Earth did he keep getting this lucky? Frank was not a particularly good man, he used to thank the heavens for Maria everyday. And now, after all his faith was obliterated and he thought he was doomed to walk the rest of his days alone, he gets her. He gets Karen, all to himself, and if that’s not proof that there is a God that, for some reason, likes Frank, he doesn’t know what is.
Or maybe she’s God herself. He wouldn’t be surprised.
Walking to her, he feels a lump in his throat that, he knows, will dissolve as soon as he touches her. He knows, because it happens all the time. She dissolved his horrors, his terror, his fear and his worry. She dissolved him under her fingers, her lips, under her smile and her tongue, only to put him back together with a look, her arms and legs around him, every time she opened the door.
Frank stops behind her and weaves his left arm around her waist, bringing her back to his chest, burrowing his nose inside her hair, right hand on the counter.
“It’s almost ready”, she informs him, cocking her head under his lips, left hand quickly stroking the arm around her before going back to her task.
“Ok”, he says, feeling almost dizzy as the truth and the depth of his devotion becomes clear to him. He breathes in and out slowly, enjoying her proximity, wondering, praying, for the millionth time, perhaps, that he’s not still in a coma, that this is as real as it feels, he has her. He has her. And, even if he is still trapped in a hospital bed, somewhere, he still does. He still feels, she’s still real. “I love you”.
It leaves his mouth like a prayer, like a promise, like something so simple and so clean, like the one beacon of light in an otherwise bleak, dark existence. He does, he loves her, and his brow furrows as he breathes her in again, just as she turns her head to look at him and, Lord, he wants to drop to his knees and worship, pray, thank whoever he has to thank for her, forever.
A smile that is nothing but divine spreads on her lips, and she blinks, and swallows and lifts her hands to wrap her arms around his neck, and he’s so close to her, he can feel her heart against his chest when he holds her back, so tight, and that moment stretches, the world stops spinning, just for them.
“I love you, too”, she whispers there in their small space, her apartment that became a sanctuary, a sacred place, the only place he can let go of all that makes The Punisher. “You know that, don’t you?”
He swallows, feeling light, lighter than he ought to feel. Smiles at her when she moves back to look at him.
“I do now.”
He should let go of her, so he could get dressed, so she could finish with the food, so they could eat and he could check on her arm.
But he holds her, holds her up in the air and Karen lowers her head to kiss him again, so slow, so full, so loving, tugging on his towel and he won’t let go.
Not ever.
