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Karen used to like the way Matt thought of her– like she was innocent, pure. Like she was good.
It’s been years since he found out the truth– about Vermont, about Wesley– and she’d been under the impression that Matt had come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t who he thought she was. Karen herself had understood that the real Matt was different from the version of him she had in her head. She thought that he’d adjusted, and that even though he no longer thought of her as innocent, that he still cared for the real Karen, the one who was more messy and complicated.
But then they’d fought, and in the midst of the argument Karen had realized that Matt didn’t know her at all.
“You’re starting to sound like Frank.”
“This isn’t you, Karen.”
“What happened to you?”
She’d pushed the fight down, pushed her rage down, closed her eyes and bitten her tongue, because they had bigger fish to fry. The city was suffering, and their issues had to be put on the back burner for now. They could revisit the argument at a later time, when tempers weren’t so hot, when the stakes weren’t so high.
At least, that’s what Karen had told herself.
But now, sitting on a couch next to Frank Castle, his eyes like an x-ray into her soul, Karen wonders if maybe her reason for backing off was because she knew, deep down, that Matt had never really understood her. That even once he’d found out about her past, about what she’d done… he’d still created a false version of her in his head. Had lived with it for years, flirted with it, told it “I love you.” She can still feel her response stick in her throat, that pause before she’d said it back.
Her words had tasted like a lie.
She couldn’t figure out what had made her hesitate– until that screaming match, until she realised that the reason her “I love you” had felt fake was because Matt hadn’t been saying it to her at all. Not to the real her.
And she’s tried, since he’s been in jail. She’s been visiting him as often as she can, keeping him updated on what’s going on in the city, smiling and staying upbeat and being the Good Girlfriend to keep his spirits up. Karen regularly meets with Matt’s lawyers for updates, she helps them find evidence, witnesses, anything to help Matt’s case. She’s trying so hard to be good. To be the Karen he needs.
The visiting room at Riker’s Island is not the right time to bring up their fight. To tell him how she just didn’t understand him, understand how he could let someone like Poindexter live, knowing that he wouldn’t stop killing. It’s not appropriate to air it all out there, separated by bulletproof glass, to spew out how she can’t believe that Matt thought she’d be okay with sharing her living space with the man who murdered their best friend, her colleagues at the Bulletin, Father Lantom, Agent Nadeem, the man who’d hunted her wearing his mask.
Karen’s been pushing all this down, but at every visit, she’s finding it harder and harder not to open her mouth and let her rage and anger out, to let it wash the entire visiting room in vitriol. Every time she sees Matt’s face, Karen feels like she’s choking on her own fury.
It’s nothing like what she feels when she looks at Frank.
Their eyes have met as they sit in silence, both resting on the couch in her apartment. The lights are off, the glow of the tv flickering over their faces as the images flash silently by. Karen can feel Frank’s heavy gaze like a physical touch, like he’s reached into her ribcage and is holding a part of her in his hands.
And maybe it’s the hush of the pre-dawn air, the moments where New York doesn’t quite stop so much as pause, that tiny crystalline moment between the inhale of the day and the exhale of the night. Maybe it’s the stillness of Frank’s gaze, the surety and solidity of his presence, how she never feels alone when she’s with him.
Maybe it’s the sudden certainty that hits her down to her very bones that Frank knows who she is, and accepts her, jagged edges and all.
And maybe she’s just so, so tired of being the Karen that Matt needs.
Whatever the reason, Karen feels something unfurl inside of her, and before she can really think about it she closes the distance between her body and Frank’s.
Her lips brush over his, slowly, gently, delicately. A question and an invitation. Frank doesn’t move, but she feels him inhale sharply, like she’s hurt him.
Karen retreats slightly, and hooks Frank’s eyes with hers. He’s searching her face for something, trepidation on his own, like he can’t quite believe what she’s done. The seconds of his gaze seem to stretch into eternity before he seems to find what he’s looking for, but the moment he does his face morphs into something hungry, and Frank’s hand snaps up to wrap around the back of Karen’s head and pull her lips to his.
His kiss is not slow, or gentle, or delicate. It’s firm and sure and there’s heat behind it, a heat that burns through her whole body and sets her skin on fire. Karen responds immediately, opening her mouth to his, letting his tongue touch her lips, tasting warmth and copper and Frank. The kiss causes a resonating click inside her, the feeling of something locking into place– something she’d known was missing but had given up on ever finding.
Before long, Karen finds herself pressed against Frank’s chest, his arms around her as he kisses the breath from her lungs. She feels wild, and urgent, like she wants him to climb inside her skin or to climb into his and never leave. Their lips slide and part and meet, touching and teasing and pressing, Karen sinking her teeth into his bottom lip and practically swallowing the groan that comes from somewhere in Frank’s abdomen. One of his hands is buried in the fall of her hair, fingers tangled in her blonde tresses as he guides her head to deepen their kiss.
Karen’s brought a little to her senses when Frank slides his other hand down, between her legs, and presses the heel of his palm up into her. Karen moans and grinds down on his hand before she launches herself over Frank, straddling him on the couch, pressing down onto his lap.
The feeling of her own arousal against her underwear makes her stop.
“Shit,” she breathes, pulling back but not leaving his arms, “...shit, we can’t, he’ll… He’ll smell you on me.”
Frank stares up at her, breathing hard. There’s no judgement in his gaze, just an evaluating stare, tinged with naked desire. Karen feels momentarily embarrassed– she’s the one who started this, after all– but Frank speaks.
“What do you want, Karen?” His voice is rough, and low, but it’s not harsh, or demanding– it’s just a question. He’s asking because whatever she wants, he’ll do it. He’ll do it because he wants whatever she does. Karen could kick him out and never see him again and it would kill him inside but he’d do it, for her. Frank is somehow both the most consistent and inconsistent man in her life at the same time, but he knows who she is, and Karen realises that there’s nothing that matters more to her in this moment.
It’s time to let the real Karen have what she wants.
“Take off your clothes,” she whispers, giving Frank a last kiss and standing up. He looks like he’s been struck by lightning as Karen begins to unbutton her blouse, her fingers shaking slightly with the strength of her want. “Take them off,” she repeats, and she can hear the urgency in her tone. Frank moves as though in a daze, standing next to her and pulling his shirt off with one swift movement of his arms. Karen’s managed to get the buttons on her blouse undone and she yanks it off, exposing the mesh bra she’s wearing. She unbuttons and unzips her jeans, balancing on the edge of a desk to wriggle her ass and thighs out of the denim and toe them off along with her socks.
Karen’s eyes haven’t left Frank, and she drinks him in, the solid lines of muscle as he follows suit. She blatantly stares at his deft fingers as he unbuckles his belt, undoes the button and fly of his combat trousers, then lets them drop to the floor and stepping free. He’s watching her too, eyes roving slowly over her entire body, letting himself look. The expression on his face is half lewd and half worshipful.
The two of them stand in front of each other, breathing heavily, naked except for their underwear. Frank has paused, as he waits for Karen, letting her take the lead. She licks her lips and feels a spike of arousal shoot through her when her eyes catch the distinct outline of his cock in his boxer briefs– not quite hard, but definitely on its way.
Karen reaches behind her and unsnaps her bra, pulling it off and tossing it away, somewhere in the dark room. Frank’s eyes shoot to her breasts, and he clenches his fists, like it’s a fight not to reach out and cup them in his hands. It’s a powerful feeling, seeing a man like Frank brought low by the sight of her, and Karen lets it wash through her as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of her underwear and slides them down her thighs. Frank’s adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he copies her, until they’re standing before each other, bare, eyes boldly taking each other in.
Karen bites her lip, suddenly a little nervous, but she slides her hand towards the thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs anyway, watching Frank's face as she moves. His gaze is intent, tracking her fingers move with fascination, chest moving heavily, and she sees his half-erect cock flex.
“Touch yourself,” Karen whispers.
Frank’s eyes stay on her as Karen slips her middle finger through her center, to her entrance, barely concealing a whimper as she find herself wetter than usual. With her other hand, she cups a breast in her palm, fingers moving to massage and grope and pinch, the sensations on her flesh sending little shocks of pleasure through her whole body.
Frank’s cock is now fully hard, jutting out away from his body, too heavy to stand upright. He’s not got himself in hand yet, and Karen can see his erection bob gently in time with his pulse. His breathing is heavy and ragged, his eyes moving over her body so seriously that Karen almost swears she can feel his gaze. She moves a finger against herself and lets out a sharp gasp, and Frank curses and fists his erection, his hand beginning to move.
Watching Frank Castle stroke his cock is scratching an itch Karen didn’t know she had. Her body feels electrified, her skin hot with arousal, cheeks and chest flushed red. When she sees Frank’s hand drag his foreskin back to expose the weeping head she feels a throb of desire in her cunt so strong that she whimpers helplessly.
Frank swallows hard, his hand moving slowly, tantalizingly, like he can’t believe this is happening and wants to drag it out. Karen takes him in– the hard lines of his thighs, the sharp cut of his Adonis belt, the coarse dark hair trailing down from his belly, to his cock, to his testicles and thighs. His hand, with his long fingers and prominent veins, the forearms with tight muscle and sinew, his biceps and shoulders flexing and shuddering.
“It feel good?” Karen asks breathily, surprised by the desperation in her own voice.
“Fuck,” Frank grunts, “fuck, Karen— yeah, honey—feels so good—” Karen can see wetness shining at the tip of his cock, his abs flexing, his hand twisting around the head, his knuckles whitening as he tightens his grip.
Karen feels like she's being pulled into him, like he’s the source of her own personal gravity, so she steps closer, bringing the distance between them to a few scant inches. Frank lets out a breathy groan and leans into her too, his face coming dangerously close to her skin, but before she can warn him away Frank lowers his head and gently blows across one of her nipples.
Karen lets out a soft gasp, her knees almost buckling as the sensation skitters across her skin and through her nerves, straight into her core. Frank moves his face up so his lips are next to her ear, and she can feel him breathing in, smelling her. It’s the most erotic thing she’s ever felt.
“Get them wet,” he rumbles into her ear, and Karen feels her cunt squeeze at the sound of his voice. She manages to bring her hand away from her clit, and presents it to Frank, showing him the wetness on her fingers. He grunts in approval, drawing his tongue slowly across his lower lip, like he’s dying to taste it.
Karen slides her other hand around her entrance, and brings her fingers up to caress and pinch her nipples, rolling her wetness onto the pebbled skin. Frank lets out a "fuck" so wrecked that it's almost a groan, then lowers his head, inhaling, scenting her arousal. He purses his lips and blows across her again, the air sliding across the wetness of her skin making her nipples feel deliciously cold. Karen shivers delightedly, goosebumps of pleasure skittering across her skin, her fingers returning to resume touching herself, pace picking up as she feels the coil inside her tighten.
Frank’s pace is getting quicker too— she can see him try to slow it down, to make it last, but Karen is ready and aching and just wants to let go. She ducks her head and catches his eye, and once she’s sure she has his attention, Karen gathers some saliva on her tongue and leans down, down, keeping her eyes on his, and spits directly onto Frank’s cock.
He makes a sound like he’s been stabbed, a groan like the foundations of a house in an earthquake.
“Karen— fuck, where—where d’you want me to—” Frank grunts out, his eyes glassy, chest heaving. She can see a prominent vein running from his lower abdomen down to his cock and licks her lips, wishing she could follow that line with her tongue. Stick her nose into the fold between his thigh and his groin, smell the sweat and musk gathered there.
“Here,” Karen gasps, and grabs her discarded underwear with her toes, flipping it up to catch it. She presses the fabric into his free hand, and he lets out a breathy “goddamn” when he sees what she’s handed him.
Karen’s fingers are sliding across her clit, the friction delicious, hitting just right. Her thighs begin to tremble and her breath begins to come in pants, little whimpers being rocked out of her by the pleasure winding up between her legs. The color is high on Frank’s cheeks and Karen watches his thumb lazily roll over the head of his cock, glistening and purple, before his hand tightens and he begins to move his fist harder and faster, hips giving little involuntary jerks of pleasure as he fucks himself with his fist.
“Frank,” Karen says, her voice thready and pleading, and she can feel that pressure inside her, the drawing-in that means she’s climbing that peak. All she wants to do is touch him, to feel the warmth and taste the salt of his skin, to have his rough fingers repace her own, to feel his beard on her sensitive thighs as his tongue lifts her ever higher.
“Yeah, sweetheart, yeah, I’m here,” Frank rasps, and he leans in, closer, and she wants to kiss him so badly her heart aches. Instead, she rests her forehead against his, feeling the dampness of the sweat on his brow against her skin, and closes her eyes. She listens to his breathing as it begins to hitch, can feel the heat of his body radiating off him, can smell the musky scent of his sweat, feeling like she’s inhaling pheromones that are connecting directly to receptors in her brain.
She licks her lips and feels it, feels that rising, the drawing in, the coil. She’s so close.
“C’mon, Karen,” Frank encourages her, his voice low and tight, like he’s right on the edge. “I wanna see it. Wanna see you come. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, I can’t wait, gonna be the most gorgeous thing alive, I’m gonna come as soon as you do, give it to me–”
His voice, the filthy words that spill out from his lips– it sends her over the edge. Karen lets out a tight gasp as that pressure inside her breaks and the heat slams out from her core to flood her body with pleasure, every inch of her alive, every nerve singing. The waves pulse through her, she’s shaking with their intensity, her muscles firing and tensing as her orgasm manipulates her body like she’s a puppet.
Frank’s muttering filthy praise, telling her how beautiful she is, how she’s making him feel so good. Karen feels it when his orgasm hits, how his breath hitches and stops as he rides the crest, and then it shudders out of him, his hand working his cock through it, his moans and gasps prolonging her pleasure too. She opens her eyes and her cunt positively throbs as she sees him coming into her panties, the glossy white against the black cotton making her feel a new stab of pleasure that spikes up the whole core of her body.
It seems to go on forever, and yet not long enough, but after a while their movements begin to slow. They both take in deep, shuddering breaths, sucking in oxygen as their bodies begin to come down. Karen doesn’t want to open her eyes, doesn’t want this to end. She wants to sink her fingers into the meat of his chest and run her tongue over his nipples, wants him to get hard again and fuck her and make her come on his dick. She wants to run her nails down his back and his arms, to suck purple bruises onto his neck, leaving her mark on him.
But she can’t do any of that.
Not yet.
Karen finally pulls away, slowly, and blinks her eyes open. Frank is looking at her with a dazed expression, longing and hopeful and also wary— like she’s got the power to kiss him or kill him.
Karen takes a deep breath.
“I have to take a shower,” she says softly, “and I have to go visit Riker’s.”
Frank’s face shutters, his expression going carefully blank.
“But, once I’m done with that,” Karen continues, watching him intently, “it would be nice if you were still here.”
There’s a moment where he doesn’t understand, where his eyes are wounded and confused and hurt, before Karen’s steady and calm gaze seems to tell him what he needs to know. His face opens, expression hesitant.
“Yeah?” He asks, his voice soft, quiet. “You… you sure?”
Karen nods firmly.
“I’m sure.”