#worried

“It’s not though, is it?” You murmur as you approach him, careful hands reaching up to cup his jaw but he quickly jerks his head and reroutes your hold. Now, your hands are encased in his as he places a chaste kiss to your fingertips. Dismissing your worries with a cushion of tenderness.

“I’m okay, promise.” He mumbles all gravelly.

“Frank.. please just let me—“

“I don’ want you to worry ‘bout it.“

“Just sit so I can—“

“Sweetheart, I’m a big man. I can handle—“

“Frank!”

Your raised voice takes him so off guard that his next defence leaves him, lips still parted as if to speak but eyes now, finally, trained on you.

“I don’t care.” You try.

He frowns in confusion. Having absolutely no idea where you were going with this.

“I don’t give a shit what you want right now. What I want is to clean you up. I’m being selfish. I want to be selfish.” Your voice is firm, hitting him in his weak spot.

Because if there’s one thing Frank Castle loves to do it’s give you what you want.

And now that he can see the track you’re taking, his brows soften a little in understanding, already plotting his counter.

“Baby..” his voice is so soft and the broken skin of his lip pulls as he smiles almost cockily. Like he’d figured out the punchline to your joke.

“Just—“ you take a breath. “Humour me, would you?”

He chuckles and lets you drag him to the stool by the kitchen island, not far from the door. You leave him there for a moment while you go to collect what you need in the cabinet above the microwave.

“You’d think I was asking you to cut off your ear and gift it to me in a jewellery box.” You mumble in frustration as you flit around the small space. It pulls another tired laugh from him as he watches you.

“Your birthday’s comin’ up.” He teases and you shoot him a serious look as you position his face with gentle hands so you can see the damage you’re working with.

“This looks like it hurts, Frank..” your tone is as sympathetic as it is scolding.

You dab an alcohol pad across his cheek and the man doesn’t even flinch. There’s no hiss, no extended blink, nothing. Something about that only fuels your concern.

“I’ve had worse.” He grunts. “You know, baby, you really don’t need—“

“I’m doing this for me.” He shuts up.

“Sorry but I want to go to bed tonight being able to tell myself I did what I could. Maybe it’ll mean I don’t have to fall asleep crying into my pillow again either.” You mumble the last part, too busy patching him up to filter yourself.

He frowns again and takes detailed note of what you just said.

When you don’t take pause at the change in his expression he reaches up and grabs your wrists, forcing you to make eye contact.

“Crying?” He almost chokes on the word. Busted lip and swollen cheek be damned, that image shot straight through Franks chest.

You simply look at him for a moment, recounting what you’d said.

His eyes track every micro-expression of your face and he pulls you a little closer, one hand leaving your wrists to rest on the side of your neck. His brows are knit so tightly it could earn him a new wrinkle.

“Sweetheart. You wastin’ tears over me?” He asks, desperate now.

“They’re not wasted, Frank. Look at you!” Your voice isn’t quite as firm anymore, wobbling a little at the ends.

“You think seeing you like this is something I can just brush off? You think it doesn’t scare the shit out of me?”

“Angel..” his shoulders soften.

“No, seriously.” You shake your head. “I accept what you do. Shit, I even support it. As fucked up as that is.” A shaky sigh. “But if I can’t offer the bare minimum— if I can’t clean you up when you get hurt or kiss your bruises better— then what can I do? Because it’s not nothing. I can’t do nothing.”

He sighs, looking down in defeat as he caresses his large, callused thumb across the side of your jaw. His other hand is holding your wrists against his chest now. You can feel his heart thumping there.

“I don’t wanna’ worry you.” He admits, heartbroken to learn that he’d been unsuccessful in his endeavour. So much so that his girl had cried herself to sleep over it. The thought makes him sick.

“I’m always going to worry. I just.. I need you to help assuage it by being honest with me. The not knowing and the distance you keep me at from this..” you gesture to his split lip, pulling a hand out from his grip to gently thumb at the injury.

“It makes it worse.” He finishes for you and you nod, pouting as you choke back those heavy feelings.

“Yeah.” The word comes out in a breath.

You sit there for a moment, giving space to this new revaluation between you both.

“If I was hurt, wouldn’t you want to do everything in your power to make sure I was okay?” You ask, offering him the perspective.

“Course I would.” He answers fast and the thought itself causes that frown to return. Chuckling lightly at how sure he sounds, you let the amused sound filter out into a soft sigh, biting your lip to compose yourself as you caress his cheek.

“Okay.” He says, looking up at you again, eyes big and pooling with a soft sort of intensity reserved only for you.

“Okay.” You nod. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. A moment of connection unburdened by words.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He hums roughly. “Never meant’a upset you. Thought I was protectin’ you.” There’s an upward inflection in his tone, almost like he was hearing himself clearly for the first time and realising how foolish he sounded.

“S’okay. Just gotta let me in.”

He nods, pursing his lips and squeezing your hand against his chest a little tighter.

When he looks up at you, he offers a sympathetic smile before leaning in to meet your lips but you make a small sound and halt him. His eyes flit back up to yours, worried.

“Your lip.” You frown, clearly not wanting to hurt him further.

He grunts and pulls you in, capturing your bottom lip between his. The kiss is sweet, firm and reassuring all at once. His arms move to circle around your middle— one hand on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him until you are stood between his legs from his position on the stool. The other moves to your face, holding you with more tenderness than anyone would assume him capable of.

His eyes peer down at you when you finally part.

“I’m not sacrificin’ kissin’ my girl just because some asshole got a cheap shot in.” He grumbles.