amidst her world falling apart around her and wilson fisk closing in; despite being forced to return to the familiarity of his cell, frank takes karen away from the city to keep her safe. it’s awkward, at first, the pain of his open rejection stinging worse than the fear of capture. but, away from every distraction, frank allows himself to embrace what he’s been putting off.
He breathes into her slowly, and she feels his shoulder rise and fall with the movement, stilted but steady. In, out. In, out. His forehead is slick where it rests against hers. She doesn’t know if it’s her blood or his, or if maybe the blast had—
But she can’t think about that right now.
Karen squeezes her eyes shut, as if that could make everything else disappear – everything but what she can feel, Frank’s arm in her hand, the way their bodies are anchored together.
He has to get out before it’s too late.
“Frank.” It’s whispered, and she’s not sure that he hears her at first. “Frank. You have to go.”
He blinks at her, eyes dark without any understanding behind them. They’re skirting over her face, down her body and back again, seeming to catalogue nothing but blood and places where she might have been injured. He sways closer, brow furrowed, and she realizes then. He doesn’t know how to leave her like this.
“It’s okay,” she tells him. “I’m okay.”
She’s definitely not okay.
Her ears are still ringing, and there are things the bomb has shaken up inside of her that she hasn’t even registered yet – things that will visit her later that night, when she’s tossing and turning and trying to sleep.
But for now, all she can let herself think about is Frank. Getting him out of here. Keeping him safe.
She nudges him back, just a little. Enough, she hopes, for him to get the idea.
“Look at me, Frank.”
He does, then, and the expression on his face almost knocks the wind out of her. She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen him look this broken and exposed, like he has just enough strength to keep from collapsing in front of her.
Karen touches a hand to his cheek, leans in, and kisses him.
It’s soft, and over before either of them seem to understand what just happened. Frank’s breathing has changed – it’s heavier now, but his eyes are bright when he looks up at her, some of that bleakness faded away, and it’s something.
It’s enough, for now.
His gaze travels back down to her mouth, a different kind of searching this time. Heat touches up her spine, light-fingered and dizzying, as he steps away from her and nods.
Five months since the hospital. Five months of hearing about him on the news, reading about his exploits in the paper, and unlike the last time he came back from the dead, none of it is speculation now. Frank Castle, the Punisher—
She sees that goddamn skull wherever she looks.
kastlesmutweek 2019 || tantalizing tuesday // ‘i need a place to stay’ + bed-sharing (or couch-sharing, in this case)
+ the following prompts from @spaceismymuse: the cold, sharp smell of the first frost / the smell of blood / the feeling of fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade
also on ao3!
This is the stupidest thing she’s ever done.
The thought buzzes in her skull, or maybe it’s just the sedan shuddering as she hits another rut in the road. Karen tightens her grip on the steering wheel. In five-point-two miles, your destination will be on the right, her GPS had assured her almost half an hour ago.
She flicks her eyes towards it now, tracking the snaking blue route line and the coordinates it leads to. Something constricts beneath her ribs.
One thing at a time, Karen. Current priority is to not die on this back-country forest service road.
Said road — a very relative term for the narrow, winding stretch of gravel she’s currently white-knuckling her way up — switchbacks sharply, and Karen pumps the brakes. “Shit,” she hisses, and the back tires protest, spinning against dirt, before catching again.
Stupid. This whole thing is so, so stupid.
The trees are starting to thin, and between them Karen catches glances of frost-swept hills that arc against a clear, cold sky. She’s reminded sharply of home, how quiet everything was beneath that first blanket of fresh-fallen snow. Maybe that’s why Frank’s here.
Frank.
Five months since the hospital. Five months of hearing about him on the news, reading about his exploits in the paper, and unlike the last time he came back from the dead, none of it is speculation now. Frank Castle, the Punisher—
She sees that goddamn skull wherever she looks.
“In point-seven miles, your destination will be on the right,” the GPS chirps. Her stomach churns, a mixture of nerves from the drive and uncertainty about what’s waiting for her at the end of that thin blue line. Her eyes ricochet between it and the road, heart kicking in her chest as the number of miles slowly drops— point-two miles, point-one—
There. Nestled a short distance back in the trees is a small cabin. It looks cozy enough, with its snow-dusted roof and smoke curling up from the chimney, and that’s what gives her pause, her foot sliding over the brake pedal and slowing the car to a stop. It’s too cozy. Very much the opposite of Frank.
Karen’s considering the possibility of turning around, driving out back the way she came and attempting to forget this whole thing, when the cabin’s front door swings open.
It’s him. She’d recognize that stance, those sloping shoulders, anywhere. Even from this distance, she can see that he’s let his hair and beard grow out.
He hesitates a moment, then lifts an arm in greeting.
Karen’s not sure if she wants to laugh or cry.
.
The cabin is— nice. Really nice. When Frank had called her a couple days ago, asking to meet and giving her these coordinates, she’d pictured him holing up in a shack somewhere. She’d pictured guns and a dingy mattress, not a fully-furnished living room and pictures on the walls.
“Lieberman?” she asks, inspecting the closest photo. David and his family, she’s assuming. All four of them are laughing, looking at each other and not at the camera.
“Yeah,” Frank says. He’s watching her in that way he does, like he can see every thought rattling around in her head. “His place. Mostly uses it in the summer, with the kids. He, uh, didn’t approve of my last apartment. Called it a ‘murder lair’.”
Karen laughs. “Sounds like a smart guy.”
“Too smart,” Frank snorts, but he’s grinning. Karen thinks abruptly of the photo of him at the carousel, arm slung around Maria and Frank, Jr., Lisa’s bright smile, all teeth.
It’s a little strange, seeing him smile now. The thought makes her sad.
“You want a beer?” he asks.
“Please,” she says, settling herself on the couch in the living room.
She lets her gaze follow him as he moves around the kitchen with the fluidity of someone who’s comfortable with this routine. He seems so at ease, so calm. Something just sideways of anger simmers under her skin— hadn’t she offered him this? A normal life, a way out, together? Somewhere, somewhen, it could’ve happened. There was only one problem—
I don’t want that.
“You find the place okay?” Frank asks, returning with the beers.
“Okay enough,” she says. “I used to drive roads like these all the time back home. Guess the city’s made me soft.”
"Where’s home?”
"Middle of nowhere, Vermont.”
She doesn’t elaborate, her unspoken question filling the silence that follows. Why am I here, Frank?
He takes the hint.
“I owe you an apology,” he says. “For the hospital. I shut you out, after you stuck your neck out for me. I’m sorry, Karen.”
She just looks at him for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him fidgeting, his knee bouncing. “I can handle rejection, Frank,” she says. “We’re not in high school. What disappointed me was the reason why.” She hears how tight her voice sounds, and takes a breath before continuing. “You know, you know how I feel about— what you do. You deserve more, Frank. We both do.”
It feels good, saying all of this, feels good knowing hers aren’t the only heavy shoulders in the room. Frank’s been thinking about this. He’s been thinking about her.
“I thought—” his eyes dart away, then back. “I thought the war was what I wanted. Thought I needed it, yeah? I needed it, wasn’t myself without it. There’s a part of me still buried in that desert, Karen. I need you to understand that. That’s the part I gotta live without. Thing is— the thing is, I didn’t think I could ever be Frank Castle again. He died that day in Central Park, right, every last bit of him, dead, gone. I had to be someone else. I had to be. Putting on that vest— it was a choice, but it was more than that. It was a necessity. That vest kept me alive, Karen. I know how batshit that sounds, I know it, but—” his eyes bore straight into hers, as if willing her to understand what he’s saying. “That’s why I shut you out. You make it so goddamn easy to forget, Karen. When I’m— when I’m with you, it’s hard to remember that Frank Castle’s dead.”
He’s watching her so intently she feels like she might split in half beneath the weight of his gaze. The beer is long-forgotten in her hand; she feels the condensation, now, beads of it slicking her palms.
“You’re not—” she swallows, hard. “You’re still—”
“Still the Punisher, yeah.”
“So where does that leave us, Frank?”
“I don’t know,” he says, his face darkening. “I don’t know, Karen.”
For a horrible, swollen moment, she wants to yell at him. She wants to scream at the top of her lungs, scream until her throat burns. They’re right back where they’ve always been— the skull in one hand, Frank Castle in the other, and yeah, maybe asking him to choose between the two is unfair, but so is this—
Karen blows out a breath and the fury follows, gone as quickly as it hit.
“Well,” she sighs, waving her beer bottle, “looks like we’re we’re gonna need something stronger than this to figure it out.”
.
The rest of the night is a honey-colored blur. Frank discovers a bottle of Jack stashed in the cabinet above the sink, and they pass it back and forth as the sun dips low in the sky. Karen starts to feel it halfway through her third glass, warm and tilty like the world’s slightly off its axis. City-living has made her soft — she’s a fucking lightweight, now — but if Frank notices, he doesn’t say anything.
They skirt the nebulous, looming elephant in the room, and instead take turns filling in the blanks from the past year. Matt, Billy Russo, a copycat Daredevil, a leaked NSA disc, the attack on the Bulletin — Frank’s knuckles go white, gripping his glass.
“Don’t,” Karen warns, just as he’s opening his mouth to say something. “You’ve apologized to me once already, Frank, and I appreciate it, but you don’t need to again.”
Frank laughs harshly. “That’s bullshit, Karen. I should’ve been here, I should’ve been here for you.”
She hesitates a moment, neither agreeing or arguing. “You mean a lot to me, Frank,” she says. “But I don’t rely on you. I can’t. Every time you come back into my life, I wonder if it’s the last time.”
Frank tilts a glance up at her, his face a tangle of emotion. Suddenly self-conscious, Karen tears her eyes away and turns to look out the window. It’s now completely dark outside; even if she wasn’t on the other side of tipsy, there’s no way in hell she’d attempt to drive down that road in the middle of the night.
Frank must read something in her expression, because he crosses the room and starts digging something out of the hall closet. When he returns, Karen sees a pile of blankets in his arms.
“You sure?” she asks, hesitant. It’s not like either of them planned this, but it still feels like they’re stepping over a line.
“C’mon, Karen.” Frank jerks his chin towards the couch. “I’ll sleep out here. Bed’s too soft for me, anyways.”
“How chivalrous of you,” Karen says, or tries to, before her words dissolve into a cavernous yawn. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until now.
“Bedroom’s just through there,” Frank says, gesturing down the hall.
“Thanks.” Her body’s moving before she can talk herself out of it, rocking up from the couch to lean in and kiss him softly on the cheek. “Goodnight, Frank.”
“Night,” he rasps, low in his throat. He’s so close she can taste the Jack when he exhales, can see the flecks of green in his eyes. Her pulse is thunder in her ears. She should move away, she should move away now—
“Karen,” he breathes, and a warmth entirely unrelated to her buzz unfurls in the pit of her stomach. She wants to hear him say her name again. She wants to kiss him, and so she does, pressing her lips firmly to his.
This, this right here, is the stupidest thing she’s ever done, but she can’t bring herself to care, not when he’s kissing her back. His mouth is softer than she expects, but she doesn’t want soft. Emboldened, she snags his lower lip between her teeth and nips.
He hisses through his teeth, pulls away, and her stomach plummets. She fucked it up, how did she fuck it up already—
But then she looks up. He’s staring at her in a way he never has before, with a wild hunger that sends a thrill skittering down her spine. He’s looking at her like he wants to pull her apart, make her beg for it.
“You sure about this?” he says, rough like he’s having trouble breathing. “You’re in charge here, Karen—”
She responds by kissing him again. He tastes like Jack, smoky-sweet, and she slides her tongue past his teeth. He groans low in his throat; the slow-moving heat in her belly erupts, and she digs her nails into his shoulder. The other hand darts to his belt.
Frank follows her lead. His fingers move deftly, making quick work of the belt and his pants, and then his hands are at her waist, tugging softly at her sweater. She wrenches it over her head, and his hands slide over her bare skin, splayed just beneath her ribs. She can feel his hesitance, the uncertainty in his touch. Something flickers in the back of her mind, a small warning voice. They’ve crossed a lot of lines together, but not this. Never this. She’s not sure how either of them will come out the other side unscathed.
He’s watching her carefully, pupils blasted wide and his lips slightly parted. There’s a bruise blossoming across his temple, dark circles smudged under his eyes. Familiar landmarks.
Karen reaches up and draws her fingers softly against his cheek. His eyes shutter closed at her touch, his breath swooping out in a shaky burst, and her heart clenches. She meant what she’d said— she can’t, and won’t, expect anything from him after this, but right now—
Frank opens his eyes. Okay? they seem to ask.
She nods softly. Okay.
They come together again, slowly this time. His hands cradle her waist and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down onto the couch with her. His mouth is everywhere, taking his time, lips drifting to the hollow of her cheek, then down, tracing her jawline. She shudders, tipping her head back, and the movement shifts her hips forward, against his thigh.
He growls. In one swift movement, he’s pinning her to the couch, the full-length of him pressing against her. It’s good, it’s better than good, but not enough. She wants more.
“Off,” she commands, grabbing at his shirt. He wrestles it off and her fingers scrabble at her bra and jeans, tossing both unceremoniously to the floor. Frank settles over her, bearing weight through both his elbows as he stares down at her with a mixture of hunger and awe. One of his hands slips behind her head, his huge palm cupping her skull. The other scours a line of fire down her sternum — she arches as his thumb skims the curve of her breast — and slips under her panties.
God, she wants this. She wraps one leg around Frank’s waist, urging him down, and he complies, pushing himself off the couch and onto the floor as he slowly peels her underwear off. The palm of his hand is hot and firm against her thigh as he slings her leg over his shoulder and lowers his head.
It’s been a while since someone’s touched her like this — more than a while. She spasms as Frank’s teeth graze her inner thigh, and he freezes. He’s got a hand on her leg, still, and his thumb presses softly to the jut of her ankle. A signal-flare, something to say, I’m here.
Karen glides a hand through his hair, tugs gently. I know. I’m okay.
And then his mouth his moving again, his tongue slow and slick. Her heart’s beating so fast she thinks it might burst out of her chest. She screws her eyes shut and tries to breathe. The world narrows, everything going concave— nothing is real beyond Frank and his mouth and the tension winding up in her gut. His tongue is moving faster now, laving up her slick-hot center. It’s too much—
Her orgasm hits like a punch. Karen feels all the breath leave her lungs in a guttural cry, her chest heaving. Frank’s breathing hard too; she pulls at him feebly, and he drags himself up to rest his head against her belly. They stay like this for several moments, her fingers buried in his hair and his breath tickling the plane of her stomach.
He moves first, propping up on his elbows to look at her. “You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.
Karen grins and stretches languorously. “Fuck, yeah, I’m okay.” She slips a hand down and laughs softly when her fingers graze against the firm bulge of his erection through his boxers. “Looks like you’re doing okay, too.”
Frank dips his head and kisses her, slow and deep. “You gonna do somethin’ about that?”
Karen laughs against his mouth, working him free of the boxers. Her hand glides around his dick, stroking the length of it. “On your back, Frank,” she whispers, pushing him down and straddling his waist.
Frank gazes up at her. She can feel him trembling beneath her hands. The Punisher, at her mercy.
“As you wish, ma’am,” Frank says. Karen laughs harder, and gets to work.
.
Some time later, boneless and sweaty and feeling more at peace than she has in a long time, Karen lifts her head to see that Frank’s eyes are shut, his breathing slow and rhythmic. She’s sprawled on top of him on the couch, their bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs. Hardly the most comfortable position to sleep in, but here he is, fast asleep. Karen watches him for a moment, committing the way his face looks in this moment to memory. She can hear his heartbeat, and she closes her eyes, anchoring herself to the sound. She’s here, with Frank, and then she’s floating, falling away.
She’s in her old apartment. It’s exactly how she remembers— white walls, white carpet. A blank slate. It’s exactly the same, except—
There’s a man face-down on the floor, and a smell, sharp and metallic, so strong she’s surprised she didn’t notice it sooner. Her stomach clenches. Something’s wrong, this isn’t— this isn’t her apartment, after all, it can’t be. She turns on her heel and starts towards the front door—
There’s nothing there, nothing but a blank stretch of wall. Heart thudding painfully, she spins in every direction, looking— but the windows are gone, too. Turning slowly, her gaze settles on the man on her floor. There’s something, something like a rusty stain on the carpet, framing his head like a halo. How did she not see it before?
It’s very important, suddenly, that she see his face. She takes a few cautious steps towards him, nudges his torso with her foot, and when he doesn’t stir she reaches down to tug at his shoulder.
The body flops supine.
No, this isn’t— this isn’t what happened—
Kevin’s empty eyes are staring up at her.
Karen bolts up, then instantly wishes she hadn’t. Her head pulses, bright spots fuzzing in and out behind her eyes. She blinks once, again, and the living room slowly materializes, dark but splintered with milky sunlight. She’s still on the couch. There’s a blanket, twisted between her legs. Frank—
He’s there, the shape of him slumped against the side of the couch. He must’ve moved in the night, but he didn’t leave.
There’s a lump forming in her throat, pressure stinging behind her eyes. It’s too much, this is too much. She needs some air, she needs to be somewhere else.
Moving as quietly as she can, Karen extricates herself from her blankets and searches in the half-darkness for her clothes. She feels around in vain for a few moments for her sweater, then gives up and pulls her undershirt on over her head. Shivering, Karen snags one of the blankets from the couch, draws it around her shoulders, and slips out the front door.
The smell hits her at once, sharp and crisp in the winter air. There’s a thin layer of frost on the ground, dusting the tips of the trees. It makes everything look softer.
Karen curls onto the chair that’s propped on the porch, flinching as her bare legs graze the cold wood. She wraps the blanket more securely around her. The frosty winter landscape before her, while, beautiful, only serves to remind her once more of Vermont, which reminds her of her brother.
She squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry. It’s been months since her last nightmare, and of course, of course, the night after she’s been with Frank—
Karen doesn’t believe in things like fate, but it does feel like a cruel coincidence, like the universe is reminding her why she can’t have the things she wants. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to be happy.
“Karen?”
Frank emerges from the cabin, fully-dressed but barefoot. He has a wild, slightly-panicked look in his eyes. Karen feels a stab of guilt. Did he think she would leave without saying goodbye?
“Hey,” she says simply.
“Are you—” he shifts his weight between his feet, rubbing his arms. “Are you okay? It’s fuckin’ freezing out here—”
“I had a bad dream. Just needed to get some air.”
He nods, but doesn’t press her. She feels a swell of gratitude. Of all people, Frank understands.
They’re both quiet for a beat. Frank’s still shuffling between his feet, so Karen looks at him and says, “You should go back inside before you get frostbite. I’m okay, I promise.”
He looks like he wants to say something, but seems to decide it’s better if he doesn’t. “Okay,” he says, holding her eyes for a second before turning and going back inside.
She’s not sure how long she stays outside. Her thoughts blur, hazy like the thin scattering of clouds in the sky. Finally, aware that she’s starting to lose feeling in her lower extremities, she stands and pulls the cabin door open.
Frank is sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, but he snaps his eyes up at the sound of her coming back inside. Karen moves towards him and settles herself beside him on the couch.
“Hey,” she says again.
“Hey,” he echoes.
She drops her eyes to her hands. The silence that stretches between them isn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s heavy, full of all the things they should and need to say in the aftermath of the previous night.
“So,” she begins, and feels him tense beside her. “Last night.”
When she glances sideways at him, she sees that he’s squeezing his hands together, his knee jittering up and down. She leans over and folds a hand over his, squeezing gently. “Last night was amazing, Frank.”
His leg stills. “It was, yeah,” he agrees, the corners of his mouth turning up. His eyes search her face, then drift lower, to where the blanket that’s still around her shoulders has slid off her shoulder. He reaches up and drags his thumb across her bare skin. “Will you stay?” he asks, softly.
“You want me to?”
Frank snorts. His thumb is still moving in lazy circles over her shoulder. “Think you know the answer to that.”
“I do, but I want to hear you say it, Frank.”
He dips his head, presses his lips to her bare shoulder. “I want you to stay, Karen.”
She tucks a finger under his chin, lifting it so she can kiss him gently. “I’ll stay, then.”
Karen came out of the shower with her hair still wet, wearing a black shirt which barely hit her mid-thigh.
Frank smiled when he saw it, remembered when she’d first brought it home and she’d been nearly giddy with laughter. She’d been walking home when she’d seen the vendor selling the black shirts with white skulls on them: Punisher merchandise.
Naturally, he couldn’t wear it, but Karen got to wearing it around the house and the first time he’d seen his mark on her chest he’d fucked her on the living room floor until the neighbors complained about the noise. He wasn’t overcome with lust just now, but it always made him smile to see her wear it.
“You’re cooking?”
“I figured it was better than letting you near the stove,” he teased. “For someone who worked at a diner for years, I’d think you’d be better be at it.”
“There was a reason I took orders,” she quipped back, pulling herself up on the counter. “I never forgot a face or an order. Foggy wants to know if you’re coming this weekend.”
Frank paused, knowing Karen had intentionally made the last comment sound casual to avoid pressuring him, but he also knew how much his answer meant to her. “Do I have to go?”
Her expression didn’t change at all but he thought he saw her eyes dim a little as she picked up one the peppers intended for the stir fry. “Of course not, I just… He’s trying, Frank, and that means a lot to me.”
Foggy was getting married and his engagement party was going to be a bash held at Josie’s-which proved just how much his fiancée love him. Karen was the best man and Foggy had told her she was more than welcome to bring her boyfriend.
When Karen had asked if he wanted to come Frank had been evasive; Foggy was hardly Frank’s biggest fan, even if he’d often been Frank’s biggest advocates. Franklin Nelson might have kicked ass as his attorney, but Frank knew the lawyer had to be dragged to the case kicking and screaming.
But that had been his reputation on the line, and now it was his friendship with Karen, which Frank knew was probably more important to Foggy than his job.
And Karen was more important to him than anything. He couldn’t very well tell her no, could he? “I’ll come.”
Her smile was bright and warm as she leaned forward to kiss him. “Thank you.”
He’d do just about anything to keep that smile on her face. “Is he going to remember to call me Pete?”
“Absolutely not,” Karen laughed, taking two more peppers and eating them like popcorn. “He’ll probably introduce you as ‘Karen’s guy’ to everyone he meets to avoid saying the wrong name.”
Frank laughed, “I’ve been called worse.”
“Cute.”
He took the pepper out of her hand, the fourth one she was trying to eat from the cutting board. “If you eat all the veggies there’s not going to be any left for dinner. Are going to head back to work tonight?”
Going back to the office after six pm wasn’t anything new because she tended to work herself to exhaustion and he didn’t try to stop her, she was a big kid and could make her own decisions, he just made sure she was fed and slept at least six hours.
Which was why he was cooking veggies and meat and not ordering take out for the third time this week.
“No, Ellison said if I came back to the office this weekend he’d fire me.” She leaned forward to try and steal a piece of steak but he swatted her hand away. “God, this smells good.”
“I thought he threatened to fire you yesterday.”
“He threatens to fire me everyday,” she clarified. “Some days he means it and some days he doesn’t. I think this time he might have meant it so I’m yours for the rest of the weekend.”
Frank glanced at the clock above the stove. “All six hours of it?”
She smiled and shrugged. “Have you gotten any more information from Dinah about the trip?”
Dinah had done some masterwork of bureaucratic nonsense and gotten him a kind of freelance job with Homeland. On occasion she would call him up for help; Frank told Karen it was basically SWAT work, and it mostly the truth. Since the foundation of their relationship was built on the fact that he always told her the truth, he didn’t lie to her about what he was doing, but he did downplay the danger involved.
And he was pretty sure she knew that. “We leave on Tuesday morning, should be back within 24 hours.”
“You’ll call me?”
Frank stood in front of her, keeping his gaze level on hers so she would see he was being honest. “As often as possible.”
“Is it weird that I hate you being in danger far away more than when you’re close by?”
He hated it too, and the more time he spent with Karen at his side, the less he liked leaving it. Hell, it had been almost a month since he’d gotten himself in any kind of serious scrape. “Maybe it’s because I’m too far away to yell at.”
She loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, “It is more fun scolding you to your face.”
Frank leaned forward and kissed her, nothing rush or hurried, because they had all the time in the world. He enjoyed these quiet moments when the rest of the world was held at bay, and even the violence which had brought them together couldn’t touch them. “You remember Schoonover?”
Karen snorted, “I think I remember him, yeah. Why?”
“Well, I think we can both agree he’s an asshole.”
“Was an asshole,” she reminded him with a sharp look which was a fraction of the anger she’d had that night in the woods. “What about him?”
“He may have been a terrible person, but he did say something to me that stuck back in the day. That our job was stressful, and heavy, and that everyone needed a chair.”
“A chair?” she asked with a tilt of her head.
Frank nodded, “A place to sit down, to set down your worries and destress from the job. For some people it’s scotch, or a book, or the boxing ring. You know what I figured out when you came in here just now?”
“That I need matching Punisher sweats to go with my shirt?”
“No,” he answered, wondering at the calmness in his chest. Awed by it. “I figured out you’re my chair.”
Her smile was small, but warm and soft so it filled him from the inside out. “That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Give me a second, and I’ll do you one better,” he promised. “I’m in love with you, Karen Page. And I figured I should tell you at some point because it doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere anytime soon.”
Karen’s eyes went wide, her mouth falling open just a little at the confession and then her lips curved into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She reached out and ran a thumb over his cheek, “I love you, too.”
Overwhelmed because he didn’t think he’d ever get a chance to have this again Frank kissed her, this time with more than just the moment in mind. He buried his hands in her hair, enjoyed the feeling of the damp silk threading through his fingers.
She kissed him back with a littler more desperation, a little more want, and clutched at his shoulders. “Take me to bed, Frank.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice, he tugged on her ankle and getting the hint, she hooked her legs around his waist and he carried her from the kitchen to the bedroom, to the place they’d slept and loved each other every night for the past few months.
Technically he still kept a place in another part of the Kitchen but it was more safe house than anything else at this point.
This was home.
With her.
He laid her down on the comforter and kept on kissing her because he had hours until either of them needed to be anywhere. She reached up and tugged off his shirt, her fingers tracing old scars and new tattoos. Frank had always felt like a brute, but she always managed to make him feel like something else, something he didn’t have a word for.
Maybe it was loved.
He reluctantly stripped of her shirt, and happily tossed her underwear to the side so he access to all the smooth skin beneath. When he kicked off his sweats settled on top on her, the feel of her skin against his was a familiar feeling but it still got him going every damn time.
He wanted to remember everything about this moment, how nothing was rushed or frantic between them. This was not the time for rough hands or dirty talk, instead it was all soft touches and easy sighs as they loved each other.
He kissed her on the mouth, the cheek, the lovely length of her neck and down her body to crest her over that first climax with lips and tongue. She said his name a benediction, her fists clenched in the pretty pastel comforter that always slid around on the bed while they slept.
Frank felt her peak and sigh, her body going liquid beneath his hands.
When one of their phones rang they both ignored the sound, preferring instead to stay wrapped in each other.
She guided him with soft sounds and sharp breaths and he followed the road map she created for him, enjoying every inch of the journey. When he was done tasting the heat of her he rose up above her, looking down at her. Her hair was going to dry in a mess and she was going to complain about it later, but loved how she looked just now in that moment.
“Say it again,” Frank asked as he settled between her thighs.
“I love you,” she whispered, her hands touching every inch of him she could reach. “I love you.”
“I never thought I’d get so lucky,” he confessed as worked through them both up towards a quiet and easy pleasure with hands and teeth and pressure.
“It’s not luck,” Karen assured him as she ran her hand down the back of his neck, pressing her lips to his jaw and throat. “We deserve this, Frank. We earned it.”
And he couldn’t argue with that.
They’d fought to be where they were; they’d both clawed their way out of darkness and despair, fighting against guilt and depression.
Falling in love hadn’t been luck, and it certainly hadn’t been easy.
In fact, Frank thought as Karen slid over that second climax, falling in love had been the hardest thing for either of them to do.
She dug her heels into the mattress as she arched against him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back and he wanted to give her as much as she’d given him. He wanted to kiss her for every scar she’d healed, for every reason he’d had to smile in the past few years.
For the rest of his life he wanted to make sure she was happy, protected, and loved.
Frank didn’t want there every to be a moment where Karen wondered if she was wanted, if she was needed, because she was everything to him.
Wild, reckless, curious, dangerous Karen Page.
His Karen Page.
Just as he was hers.
He could feel his own orgasm building at the base of his spine, could feel his own control slipping and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself in check.
“Hold on to me,” he whispered as he wrapped her close.
She did as he asked, wrapping her legs around his body, her arms around his neck, and when he spent himself inside it was a different kind of release than he’d ever experienced before.
Karen was pressing her lips to his as he came too, and spoke to him between kisses. “We forgot to turn the stove off. I think dinner’s ruined.”
“Fuck,” Frank answered, more out of a knee jerk response than any actual anger. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be angry again. “Guess you’re going to have to make dinner tonight.”
She grinned. “Then I’m definitely making Thai food.”
“I’ll get your phone.”
But she didn’t let him go so he could get up, instead she held on tighter. “It can wait, Frank. I want to hold onto this a little bit longer.”
He brushed a hand down her back. “It’s not going anywhere, Karen. I’m not going anywhere. And the smoke detector’s going to start screaming in a second.”
With a reluctant sigh she let him go and he got up to turn off the stove, then picked up their phones to see who had called-her phone didn’t show any missed calls but his did.
“That’s not a good look,” Karen commented as he came into the bedroom. “Who called?”
“Matt.”
Her brows furrowed. After coming back from the dead Matt had been distant at best, and Karen still hadn’t quite forgiven him all the way for lying to her again. And because he was on Karen’s side first and foremost, he hadn’t quite forgiven Red either. “Did he call me or you?”
“Me,” he pulled up the message and read the voicemail Matt had left. “He needs my help.”
“Tonight?”
“Now.”
She took a deep breath and reached for her shirt, pulling it on as she walked towards him. “Okay.”
Frank looked up at her, surprised. “That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say? If Matt called you for help, he needs help.”
“Okay.” He turned and went to the closet, pulling down his gear as Karen texted Matt back saying he was on his way. “I’ll call you as soon as I know more about what’s going on.”
“I love having the exclusive,” she teased as she handed him his phone back and it almost made him smile because they were now both wearing his signature white skull. “Be safe.”
“Of course.” He framed her face and kissed her. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And off to the darkness he went, carrying a piece of the light with him.
Yes I am just as surprised as you are. I swear I wasn’t gonna have anything to contribute however my brain had other plans. I don’t know what it is about Wet Wednesday for these weeks, they inspire me but I digress.
Anyway this fic came about because of Meat Loaf/Bat Out of Hell: The Musical. There. Full stop. Apparently I’m at the point where I can be inspired by anything and make Kastle content.
This fic falls mostly under the body worship aspect of the prompt(s) given but only just. The real, true inspiration was this line from I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That):
Some nights I just lose it all when I watch you dance and the thunder rolls
So yeah it’s a stormy night, Karen is gonna dance, Frank is gonna lose it (and by that I mean finally kiss her jfc), and implied smut will ensue. Sorry, I still can’t write full on smut to save my life.
And that’s pretty much the fic you’re about to read.
Enjoy!
“I can’t do this all night Frank. We are clearly not getting anywhere.”
Karen pinches the bridge of her nose as thunder cracks for the umpteenth time tonight. It’s so loud Frank swears her apartment shakes at its mercy.
“You want me to go?”
“No. This storm is gonna be nasty. You can stay but when it passes... please go.”
“Okay.”
She goes to her bedroom and closes the door. The rain finally comes and Frank is left with its relentless smacking against the window. Eventually Frank lays down on the couch.
He would do anything for Karen. Hell he’s pretty sure he has. He took a bullet. Saved her life a few times. That shit is high up on the list things you do for the people you love.
So why is loving her the one thing he can’t do? That’s not true, he can. He knows he can surrender to it. To her. But every barrier inside is caging him in. It’s like barbed wire, the pain pricking him to the point of immobility.
Frank is almost out the door when he hears it. It’s soft but he knows that song anywhere.
Ain’t no doubt it we were doubly blessed
Cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed
He crosses to her bedroom door. She didn’t close it all the way like he thought. She’s dancing to Paradise By The Dashboard Light while cleaning up the clothes scattered on the floor. Karen had a habit of leaving them everywhere but by the end of the week she’d get them in the hamper.
Frank knows this is an invasion of her privacy but as her hips shake and a smile appears he’s enraptured. His heartbeat drowns out Meat Loaf and there’s only Karen, softly singing and head banging. She’s a whirl of blonde hair as she drops a pencil skirt and reaches for something on her dresser.
It’s a goddamn hair brush. Now she’s in front of thousands, giving the performance of her life.
And we’re glowing like a metal on the edge of a knife
Glowing like a metal on the edge of a knife
And then it happens. Slowly but then as soon as thunder cracks every barrier is down. Karen deserves the world. She is the only thing good and pure and right in his world. And for some insane reason she cares for him. Maybe even wants him, needs him in her life.
How could he let her go?
He pushes her door open. She whips her head to him and drops the hair brush. She’s clearly embarrassed as she runs to close her laptop. Meat Loaf disappears and now it’s just the two of them.
“I can do that.” He says quickly to fill the awkward silence he created.
“Do what, Frank?”
“I can call you. Text you, send a carrier pigeon if I have to. I’ll let you know where I am. Not disappear for weeks at a time.”
“Okay. That was all I wanted. I know you don’t believe it but I care...”
“...About what happens to you.”
Karen’s mouth gapes open but she closes it a half second later.
“I remember.”
“Right. You remember.” Karen barely conceals the sarcasm. He doesn’t blame her but he’s gonna forge on. There’s no turning back now.
“I do. And on those days when I do I can do it. I can run here to you and promise to never leave. Promise to make you happy, to protect you. Because I love you, Karen. I do. And... the hard days, the days I can’t get out of bed, they’re not going away. Not any time soon. But let’s try, yeah?”
His hands are shaking as Karen crosses over to him. She places her hand against his cheek and he closes his eyes. He could collapse right then and there.
“Frank.”
He opens his eyes. He didn’t think she could more beautiful but then she licks her lips and they shine in the muted light of her bedside lamp and holy shit he just wants a taste.
“Dance with me?”
She takes his hand and he follows her lead. Karen opens the laptop again and a few moments pass while she picks a song. Frank distracts himself by running the pad of his thumb along her knuckles.
And that familiar piano riff of I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That) comes through the speakers.
“Oh no...”
“Come on.”
She pulls him to her and wraps her arms around his neck. His hands immediately go to her waist. They sway as Frank tries to remember how to breathe. And also not step on her toes. Then Karen kisses his cheek and pulls away.
“Where are you...”
Then the band kicks in. Karen has mischief written all over her face as she starts to head bang to the beat of the drum. She half sings, half laughs the lyrics and spins in a circle and Frank can only stand there dumbfounded. But he’s smiling all the same, he could watch her all night.
Karen slows her movements and strides back toward Frank.
“I guess dancing is not really your thing...”
“That what you were doing?” He asks dubiously.
She slaps his shoulder and he feigns pain.
“Okay sorry. That wasn’t nice.”
“No it wasn’t.” She says in a teasing tone.
“I liked it. I just liked it better when I was holding you close.”
He pulls her to him by the waist. He swallows her gasp as he crushes his lips against hers. His hair is in her hands in a vice-like grip but he loves it and the feeling of her body pressed so close and tight to him...
He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about this moment. How it would go, where they would be. In her bedroom on a stormy night with Meat Loaf playing in the background was the absolute last scenario he would come up with but he wouldn’t change a damn thing. Especially as she grips the back of his shirt and darts her tongue into his mouth.
“Think you could dance for me a bit more?” He asks in between kisses.
“I have a better idea.” She says breathlessly. Karen pushes him down on her bed.
Yeah, her idea is definitely better he thinks.
makeout monday (down, something about us, breezeblocks)
tantalizing tuesday (contact, fade into you, needy)
wet wednesday (big god, howl, talking body)
thirsty thursday (beat the devil's tattoo, fire meets gasoline, wild)
freaky friday (bad things, rude boy, make up)
satisfying saturday (it will come back, yeah i said it, shoop)
silky sunday (falling for u, sunday morning, i love you)
