#kastle ff

[zushigirl]

Karen and Frank in San Francisco. Hiding from Fisk. Pretending to be married.

This new life is about to get complicated…Welcome to Chapter 5 of Karen Goes West!

Read it on AO3 ☕️💀💛

Hi Kastle fam! I am sooo late in updating this fic! There’s been some tough personal stuff going on, and I had to put it in the back burner…but I’ve finally returned to Karen and Frank’s trip west. Hope you enjoy it!

[carry-the-sky]

white roses, red dirt

There are flowers outside his door. A simple assortment, all of them white, because on top of everything else she’s still got a fuckin’ sense of humor. Frank dips inside long enough to ditch the vest. Won’t need it where he’s going.

The spot looks the same. Bench might be more dinged up, and there’s some new graffiti, block letters bursting in neon: RESIST! A bit on the nose, but hey, it’s a piece of the city they haven't scrubbed clean, and that's something.

“Took you long enough,” she says from somewhere behind him.

Relief floods through him. Stay safe. He did her a favor, asked for one right back, and she delivered. 

He turns, tilts a glance at her. “Breakin’ curfew, Miss Page?”

Her mouth presses into a line like she's trying not to smile. He's been beat to shit, but this is a different kind of ache, bone-deep and familiar.

"Yeah, never been much of a rule-follower," she says, and the twinkle in her eye could be seen from outer space. She falters a little as she catalogues his fresh mosaic of cuts and bruises. "God, Frank. You look like shit."

"Nahh, this?" He laughs, or tries to. His ribs scream in protest. "Just a paper cut. I've had worse."

"I know," she says, and they're both somewhere else for a second, time stretching taut like a rubber band.

"I got your, uh. Your calling card," he says, pulling as much of an apologetic face as he can. "Didn't get you anything."

"Well, I'm a modern woman. I can buy my own flowers."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Yes ma'am."

She ducks her head, teeth flashing. "Honestly? I wasn't sure you'd show. Thought I'd, I don't know. Used up all my favors."

He has to physically swallow down another laugh. "Come on, Karen. Can't shake me loose that easy."

It's a joke, and it lands, but the aftertaste lingers. Everything in between, all the words that never see the light of day, lined up right there on his tongue. She stares resolutely at the ground, graciously allowing him this moment of cowardice without an audience.

"Hey," he says, and the look on her face when she meets his eyes gets his heart kicking. "You need me, I'll be here. That's it. End of story. I will always come for you, you got that?"

She blows out a tiny breath. "Okay."

"Yeah?" he presses, needing her to understand. Knowing he won't be able to live with himself one millisecond longer if she doesn't.

She's smiling with her eyes now. "Yeah."

"Okay, then."

There's more to say. Intel to swap, plans to strategize. And beyond that, apologies. Explanations. Honest things, pulled out into the sunlight. But for now, she holds out her hand and asks:

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee, Frank?"

[elen-tari2]

Signal (read on Ao3)

While Matt Murdock tries to rebuild a semblance of a life without Foggy, Karen Page does not. Instead she spends a lonely year in San Francisco, trying not to attract attention or get anyone killed. But when the grief is too much, the burner phone from Frank Castle is a lifeline in those moments.

Or

A story of six phone calls between Karen and Frank that take place during the course of Daredevil Born Again.

Excerpt:

“So, where’d you end up?”

She paused. She hadn’t even shared an address with Matt yet. She was going to, eventually, just kept putting it off, like those voicemails he’d left her. But Frank wouldn’t have asked unless he wanted to know.

“San Francisco.”

“You’re far,” Frank said. She wondered if he was calculating how long it would take him to get there. It wasn’t like he could just jump on a plane without risking getting whatever fake identity he used busted by the TSA.

“Traded one big city for another. Felt easy enough to do,” she explained.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“It sucks, but I’m just trying not to make waves. Keeping my head down.”

“Atta girl.” He understood what she was doing. She had come here to hide, not start over or forge new connections.

She sat in silence for a few moments.

“There’s a lot less rats here,” she finally said.

[bernthalslut]

the life of a showgirl x kastle au moodboard

[andp4ge]

Frank finding out about Foggy and going to see Karen (up to you if she’s already decided to leave New York)

frank doesn’t hear about it the way most people do.  there’s no phone call,  no obituary someone leaves clipped to his door.  instead,  it finds him in the quiet way grief always does,  slipping through the cracks when you’re not looking. 

it’s a name said too softly in a bar,  the bartender lowering his voice out of respect.  it’s the way the paper sits untouched on the counter,  the headline too cruel to be real.  it’s the silence on the other end of a burner number he never calls but always keeps,  just in case. 

foggy nelson is dead. 

frank reads the words twice,  then a third time,  as if they might rearrange themselves into something different.  but they don’t. 

he doesn’t ask how,  doesn’t ask why.  the details don’t change a damn thing.  foggy’s gone,   &  karen—

karen. 

it’s late when he knocks. 

the building is quiet,  the hallway empty,  but he knows she’s inside.  he hears the shuffle of movement,  the hesitation behind the door,  like she’s deciding whether to open it at all. 

then,  after too long,  the lock turns. 

she looks like she hasn’t slept. 

her eyes are red-rimmed,  dark circles pressing into pale skin.  her hair is a mess,  like she’s been running her hands through it over  &  over.  she’s wearing some old sweatshirt that swallows her whole,  the sleeves pulled past her knuckles. 

she looks at him for a long moment,   &  he looks right back,  neither of them speaking.  he should say something—sorry or i heard or you okay?—but none of it would mean anything. 

“frank. ” her voice is barely above a whisper. 

he nods.  “yeah. ”

she steps aside,   &  he walks in. 

the apartment feels hollow.  like all the warmth has been drained out of it. 

there’s a glass on the table,  half-full of something dark,  the bottle nearby.  the air feels thick,  weighed down by everything unsaid,  everything she won’t let herself say. 

she doesn’t sit.  just stands there,  arms crossed over herself,  staring at nothing. 

“he was my best friend, ” she says,   &  her voice doesn’t waver,  but it’s close. 

frank watches her,  the way she won’t look at him.  how she keeps swallowing hard,  like she’s trying to keep it together.  he’s seen people break before.  he knows what it looks like. 

but karen’s not breaking. 

not yet. 

“i don’t know how to do this without him, ” she admits. 

he doesn’t know what to tell her.  he never does.  so he says what he knows. 

“you just do. ”

she exhales sharply,  like it’s not the answer she wanted but the one she expected.  her hand comes up,  pressing against her forehead,   &  for the first time,  she looks at him—really looks at him.   &  there’s something in her eyes,  something raw  &  aching,  something that hasn’t faded despite everything. 

the space between them isn’t much,  but it feels heavier than it should. 

they don’t talk about it.  they never have. 

instead,  karen moves first.  sinks down onto the couch,  pulling her knees up,  curling in on herself like she’s trying to disappear. 

frank hesitates.  just for a second.  then he sits beside her.  close,  but not too close. 

a long silence stretches between them.  the tv hums low in the background,  but neither of them is paying attention. 

then,  finally,  she shifts. 

it’s small—just enough to lean into him,  just enough that her weight presses in,  warm  &  familiar.  he feels her exhale,  slow  &  shaky,   &  he stays perfectly still. 

he doesn’t move away. 

he doesn’t pull her closer,  either. 

even though he wants to. 

even though he shouldn’t. 

instead,  he just stays. 

because sometimes,  that’s all you can do

[yourenotdonefighting]

Always, Forever Running Back to You

Post-01x09, Daredevil: Born Again

Frank knocks once, just once, then steps back and glances down the dim, too-quiet hallway. The place is clean and seems safe enough, but it’s not the kind of hotel that has heightened security or anyone who’d notice if something went sideways. Good thing he’s there.

He braces one hand on the doorframe and ducks his head, his other hand curling around his ribs. Something’s cracked in there, for sure, courtesy of those sorry fucking excuses for cops. Bunch of dumbass fanboys. And he’ll deal with them. Soon. But first Frank needs to see Karen. He has things to get off his chest. 

“Karen, it’s me,” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “Open up. Please?”

The lock clicks almost immediately, and the door opens. She’s standing there barefoot, in jeans and a worn Columbia crewneck sweatshirt, her blonde hair still damp from the shower and twisted into a loose bun at the top of her head. 

Her eyes sweep over him, cataloging every cut and bruise that hadn’t been there the day before. They linger on his face, on his left eye that’s purple and swollen.

“You look like shit,” she says, pushing the door wide and stepping back to let him in. There’s no heat behind the words, just a thread of worry and exhaustion. “Been busy?”

Frank huffs a breath, almost laughing because, that’s the understatement of the fucking century. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” 

Karen turns on her heel and pads back into the room, leaving him to follow. It’s as close to an invitation as he’s going to get. He steps inside, locking the door behind him, and follows her to where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sinking down beside her. His body aches from the inside out, but the mattress dips under their weight, and he relaxes — just a little — for the first time since he answered the phone to find her on the other end.

[insomniacirl]

Frank Castle and Karen Page you both deserved the world and I'm on my knees sobbing this straight ship summer

[ninzied]

so flawed, so free

for @superrpowerlesshuman. ~3.5k. e. kastle christmas ⋆ sat dec 28 ⋆ favorite things ⋆ domestic fluff

He still sleeps with a gun in the nightstand, and goes for long runs on those mornings when the nightmares won’t loosen their grip on him. He fights with Karen, sometimes. They’re more alike than most people would probably realize. Both stubborn, both strong-willed. Both entirely reckless when it comes to their own personal safety.

But he also goes to vet group, and gets drinks with Curtis afterward. Sometimes Karen joins them, when she isn’t on a deadline. Other times, he comes home to her on the couch, sipping on her own beer as she types, and he kisses her forehead and can’t quite believe that this is his life now.

And then there are the days when Frank comes this close to losing it again. That control.

.

Or, Frank comes home bleeding, and Karen takes matters into her own hands.

ao3.

no-pressure tagging some of my kastle fam under the cut--

@carry-the-sky @myletternevercame @ejunkiet @evilbunnyking @zushigirl

@fortysevenswrites @garglyswoof @redbelles @heidiamalia @baybelletrist

@onebatch2batch @piratefalls @c-sand @notquitecogent @152glasslippers

@heartonfirewrites @edourado