Latest Posts by cheshirecat484 - Page 4

Foggy and Karen are the perfect team omg. This was such a cute fic, and I love how everything played out!

Underneath the Mistletoe

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Tired of enduring the obvious pining between you and Matt, Foggy and Karen plan a way to get you and Matt to admit your feelings - or at least to kiss.

Warnings/tags: Nothing but holiday fluff and first kisses

a/n: Finally I managed to get a holiday fic written with everything going on here for me for at least one of my boys! This one grew longer than anticipated but I hope y'all enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @mattkinsella @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18

Walking in step beside Foggy with her heels clacking along the sidewalk, Karen twirled the branch of mistletoe in her hand, her eyes transfixed on it as it spun. A soft laugh lightly fell from her lips as she shook her head at the fresh clipping. Glancing over her shoulder, she shot Foggy a questioning look beside her. The movement caught his attention and he shifted towards her, catching her eye in return.

“What?” Foggy asked. “What's with that look?”

Karen raised her hand, holding out the mistletoe towards him. One blonde brow rose up onto her forehead skeptically as she eyed him.

“I don't know, Fog,” she mused. “Do you really think this is going to accomplish anything tonight?”

Foggy let out a huff as he reached out, snatching the branch from her hand. He glared playfully back at Karen as Josie’s bar came into view farther down the block.

“Of course it is!” he exclaimed. “Because it's mistletoe , Karen! When two people stand under it, they are required to kiss.”

Karen rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand at him. “I know what it is, Fog,” she replied. “But do you think it'll actually get them to kiss? Or even go so far as to admit that they have feelings for each other?”

“It has to,” Foggy answered firmly. “Because I for one am personally tired of Matt making plans to come to Josie’s on specific nights after work, at specific times, just to run into our pretty new friend who often comes here alone because she's quite clearly smitten by our dear, frustrating Matthew. I mean, aren't you tired of watching all the obvious pining, too?”

Karen expelled an audible breath, a wispy cloud of water vapor forming in the air in front of her before it dispersed into the frigid night. Running a gloved hand through her hair, she nodded.

“Yeah, I am,” she agreed. “I mean it's so clear that she's interested in him with the way her eyes are always glued to him whenever he's around. Always smiling at him. And Matt is always finding ways to flirt with her. Or constantly inviting her to meet us back at Josie’s whenever he can–there's absolutely no way he can deny it, either. There's clearly something there.”

“So tonight we'll just…help them along,” Foggy told her, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Right? Just to get them to stop dancing around their feelings with a little, festive nudge. That's all.”

Slowly, a devious smile spread itself across Karen’s lips as the pair came to a stop in front of the bar. Foggy shot Karen a conspiratorial wink before he opened the door to the bar, a burst of warm air wafting out immediately. He waved her inside before following after her, his eyes scanning the room for Josie. The moment he spotted her behind the bar he held up the branch of mistletoe in the air high above his head.

“Josie!” he called out. 

Behind the bar, Josie’s head darted up from the bottle of beer she was opening for a patron. When recognition dawned on her face at who had called for her, she shot the pair of them a flat look. 

“What do you want, Nelson?” she called back.

“Two beers and your permission to hang this up in your fine establishment,” Foggy answered her, waving the mistletoe above his head again. 

Josie eyed the branch for a moment before dramatically rolling her eyes. “Whatever,” she shot back, focusing back on opening the bottle of beer. “Just as long as you aren't expecting me to kiss you tonight.”

“Aww, Josie,” Foggy cooed, “you wound me so! And on such a magical evening no less.”

“Pay your tab and it'll be a magical evening,” Josie quipped back.

Beside Foggy, Karen threw a hand over her mouth as a giggle bubbled up out of her. Foggy shot Karen yet another playful glare before he led the way over towards the bar, eager to see how the night would unfold.

“Ugh, it was such a good look on his face, too!” Foggy exclaimed, slamming his palm onto the small wooden table for emphasis. “I mean, when Matt dropped that line to the jury, you could just see the color drain from Samson's face! It was beautiful !”

A smile pulled at the corner of your lips as you glanced down at the bottle of beer before you. You'd made your way through the flurry of snowflakes outside once you'd left your office, walking all the way over to Josie’s just so you could meet up with the three lawyers you'd strangely come to befriend here over the past few months. 

The three of them often loved to celebrate their wins in court here, something you had quickly found yourself invited to as if you'd always been part of the group–or the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page itself–instead of just having been the woman at the bar Foggy had once accidentally spilled a drink on before insisting that he buy you your next drink to apologize. After that night when you'd met his friends, you usually found yourself joining them at this little dive bar on a weekly basis. 

And it was no surprise to you that the three of them would be here again this evening because you'd seen them here only two nights ago when Matt himself had asked if you'd join them again. It was quite a confident gesture of him to invite you out to celebrate their win already that night, too, considering the trial hadn’t even happened yet–though confidence bordering on cockiness seemed the norm when it came to Matthew Murdock. Initially you hadn't been planning to come out tonight, but the moment his red lenses had focused on you from across the table and he had flashed you that charming smile on his handsome face, you knew you'd change your plans just to spend another few hours in his presence. You couldn't exactly resist the attractive lawyer who was always flashing smiles in your direction, and he often wasn't far from your mind whenever you weren’t here. 

But of course you'd never admit that. 

“It was pretty entertaining, I'll agree,” Karen replied.

Across the table from you, Matt shifted in his chair. The moment his knee brushed yours underneath the table, your hand tightened around your beer bottle. Inhaling a sharp breath, you sat entirely still in your seat, glad Matt couldn't see your reaction. Though you could feel the heat rising up your neck as your knee felt like it was pleasantly tingling from the brief contact with his. Across from you, Matt cleared his throat, one of his large hands rising from the table and tugging at the collar of his tie. You fought hard to not openly stare at his fingers as they pulled at the fabric, a tight smile slipping onto his lips.

“If only I could have witnessed it,” Matt added.

Internally you agreed. You could only imagine what it would be like to see Matt in action, delivering such powerful and impassioned speeches that you'd only ever drunkenly heard him recite in bits and pieces after the fact at Josie’s. You'd love to see him with his tie done up tight and his suit jacket on, his broad shoulders squared in that confident manner he had as he walked around the courtroom as if he owned it. Which you knew he must do in court because you saw him do it every time he entered this bar. 

And it never failed to turn you on.

You knew it was stupid and foolish, but you wanted him horribly; you always had ever since the night he held out his hand to you and told you his name. He was a beautiful mystery, always so observant for a man lacking one of his senses. And he was charming and flirtatious, which often threw you off even though you assumed it was just his personality. Admittedly you had a crush on him, one you were too afraid to ever confess because he seemed far too out of your league. 

“Hey,” Foggy said, cutting through your thoughts, “what do you all say to a game of pool tonight? Guys against gals?”

Attention shifting to Foggy who was sitting beside Matt, you noticed the way his eyes were darting around the three of you. Eyes narrowing curiously for a moment, you wondered what was with the look he seemed to keep shooting Karen. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Matt’s dark brow rise curiously above his glasses as if he somehow had also detected something strange in the way Foggy had suggested the game of pool. 

“I don't know,” you began slowly, eyeing the three of them. “I think maybe tonight I'll sit the game out. I'm pretty worn out from work today, I don't think I’m up for a game.”

Foggy’s eyes immediately went wide, his mouth falling open as he gaped at you. Your bottom lip slipped between your teeth awkwardly as you sent him a sheepish smile.

“Oh come on!” Foggy pressed. “It’ll be fun! I promise!”

“Sorry,” you muttered, shrugging lightly. “Not tonight for me.”

Foggy opened his mouth as if he was about to immediately protest, but you felt a hand lightly land on your shoulder. Glancing to your left, you spotted Karen shooting you a wide smile as her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours.

“That’s alright, Fog,” Karen said quickly. “You boys can play a game and the two of us can watch and chat. Right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” you stammered out, confused about the way she was eyeing you while Foggy was staring intensely at the side of her head. “That–that sounds good.”

“Great!” Karen exclaimed as her hand released your shoulder and she slid her chair back. “Let’s go grab another table then.”

Brows furrowed together, you carefully pushed your chair back and rose to your feet along with everyone else. Reaching a hand out, you grabbed your drink from off the table before making your way around it. Though it didn’t escape your notice that Matt still seemed to be wearing a similar look of skepticism on his face. Clearly you weren’t the only one thinking the two seemed off tonight.

Silently you followed behind Karen as she picked out an empty table just beside the pool table and gracefully slid into the seat, sending you a friendly smile as she caught your eye. You returned the gesture, slowly slipping into the seat across from her as Foggy led Matt towards the pool table. Almost involuntarily your eyes flew over to Matt when you saw him set his drink down and begin rolling up his dress sleeves while you settled into your chair. You always did enjoy seeing his muscular forearms covered in those dark hairs, but unfortunately because it was December, he didn’t often roll them up. Though something above his head caught your eye as he was rolling up his left sleeve and you glanced up.

Eyes widening in surprise, you stared at the branch of mistletoe hanging directly above him. That was the last thing you’d have expected to find at Josie’s. She certainly didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d go hanging holiday decorations of any sort in her bar, let alone mistletoe . You were suddenly even more grateful that you’d decided not to play pool tonight so you wouldn’t have to avoid standing beneath it all night. 

“So,” Karen began, the conspiratorial lowering of her voice drawing your eye back to her as she leaned forward towards you, “there’s something I’ve been dying to know for awhile and we never really get a chance to chat as just us girls so I haven't had the opportunity to ask.”

Raising your beer bottle to your lips, you took a deep drink from it under the weight of Karen’s stare. You had a feeling you’d need the liquid courage for whatever question she was about to ask you. Swallowing the drink down, you soon cleared your throat, fighting to keep your gaze on Karen and not Matt as he let out a bark of laughter that had your stomach squirming. He always looked unbelievably handsome with a broad smile spread over his beautiful lips–a look you enjoyed seeing on him. It was difficult not to glance at the sight.

“What’s uh, what’s on your mind?” you asked hesitantly. 

Her dark pink lips curled ever higher as she leaned further forward, placing her elbows onto the table. Her head tilted a bit to the side, a few strands of blonde hair falling forward and framing her face. The angelic appearance wasn’t fooling you though and your stomach twisted nervously.

“Do you like Matt?” she asked bluntly.

It felt like your heart stopped as the sound of billiard balls clacking together on the nearby pool table rang through your ears. Your lips parted in surprise before you could mask your reaction. Despite the fact that you had a feeling she was going to ask you something along those lines, hearing the question aloud still startled you. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Matt’s head turn in the direction of your table. Though there was absolutely no way he could’ve overheard Karen with how quietly she’d asked the question, but that didn’t stop the heat from once again rising up your neck and reaching your face.

“Oh, well, of course,” you replied awkwardly, pushing a few strands of hair from your face as you focused on your beer bottle. “I like all of you. That's–that's why I'm always here hanging out with you three.”

Nervously glancing up from under your lashes, you saw Karen’s face twist into a look that clearly said that wasn't what she'd meant at all. You shot her a nervous smile, hoping she wouldn't push it. Though as you grabbed your bottle of beer and brought it to your lips for another pull, it was obvious she wasn't letting this go.

“I don't mean do you like Matt as a friend,” she clarified. “I meant are you interested in him? Romantically speaking?”

Nearly choking as you swallowed your drink, you covered your mouth as you coughed into your hand. You weren't getting out of answering this apparently. It didn't help that it seemed both Foggy and Matt were glancing at your table as you sputtered on the beer, both of them shooting you curious and questioning looks. Across the table, Karen continued to smile innocently back at you as she waited for you to recover.

A few moments later you did, trying to wipe your now clammy hands on the thighs of your dress pants. Your eyes dropped down to the sticky wooden table as you thought about how to answer. Surely she wouldn't believe you if you said no considering the knowing look she was currently giving you. And if you answered truthfully but quietly there was no way Matt should be able to overhear the conversation at least. Right?

At the thought of him, your eyes nervously darted over to the pool table. Matt was lining up a shot, bent in half over the table and angling the cue in his hands.

“It's sort of hard not to like him like that,” you replied softly, eyes still lingering on him. “I mean he's…sweet. And funny. And incredibly smart and self-assured. Confident. Obviously very handsome. But I mean he's…”

Your voice trailed off, your attention still on Matt as he remained bent over the pool table. Brows lightly furrowing, it seemed like he was taking longer than usual to make his shot. A glance at Foggy beside him had you thinking he'd noticed it, too. Briefly you wondered what he was doing until Karen’s voice broke through your thoughts. 

“He's what?” she pressed. 

Sighing, your attention returned to your almost empty bottle of beer. Unclasping a hand from your lap, you reached out and grabbed the neck of the bottle. You shrugged lightly, unable to meet her gaze.

“Too far out of my league,” you muttered. 

Drawing the bottle up to your lips, you finished the last of the beer. As you lowered the empty bottle back to the table, swallowing down your drink, you spotted Karen shooting Foggy a look. You couldn't possibly have been imagining it now, clearly they were up to something. But before you could figure out what, Karen spun back around in her seat and shot you a bright smile.

“Look at that, you already finished your drink. How about I get the next round of drinks before we continue this conversation?” she offered.

She quickly pushed her chair back before you could reply, her attention focusing on Matt and Foggy. Eyebrows drawing together, a nervous feeling swirled in your stomach, mingling with the alcohol. 

“You boys need another round of beers?” Karen called over to them. “On me this time, in honor of our win earlier today?”

Matt's head tilted a bit to the side as he focused on her. “Oh, I don't–”

“Of course!” Foggy exclaimed loudly, cutting Matt off as he clapped him on the shoulder. “And you know what? I'll come with and help you grab them.”

Before you even knew what was happening, Foggy was waving you over enthusiastically with a hand. That nervous feeling only grew in your stomach when Karen turned, glancing over her shoulder at you with that bright smile that was clearly meant to be hiding something as Foggy called out your name. 

“Why don’t you come keep Matt company?” Foggy suggested. “And you know, make sure he doesn't cheat to win this game while I'm gone.”

Matt audibly scoffed, shaking his head and countering the accusation immediately. But you weren't paying too much attention to their playful banter as you awkwardly rose to your feet and began making your way over towards Matt. Instead, your eyes were occasionally darting up and eyeing that damn bit of mistletoe that Matt was once again standing directly beneath. Which was why you intentionally came to a stop at the corner of the pool table, trying to keep some distance between you, Matt, and that little bit of mistletoe. 

Though what you hadn't accounted for was Karen stumbling in her heels behind you and accidentally bumping into you, pushing you the few steps forward where you tripped directly into Matt. His hands swiftly darted out and grabbed onto your upper arms, steadying you as you tried to catch your balance. And when you finally did, you abruptly realized your own hands had flown to Matt’s very firm, solid chest to stop your fall. Your face flamed from embarrassment and you quickly withdrew them from him, crossing them over your chest awkwardly. But Matt's hands remained on your arms, keeping you close as the warmth of them seeped through the sleeves of your blouse.

“I am so sorry,” Karen suddenly began apologizing behind you. “My heel must've caught on something along the floor. I didn't mean to do that!”

“It's alright,” you replied, your face still burning as you gazed at the handsome face before you. “But uh, sorry for accidentally running into you, Matt.”

His hands slowly began to release their hold on you, that charming smile returning to his face as he remained focused on you. With how close you were standing to him, you could feel your heart slamming harder in your chest. He was just so unfairly attractive.

“Don't worry about it, sweetheart,” he assured you. 

For a moment you stood there staring back at Matt's smiling face, almost feeling mesmerized by the expression on it. But a loud gasp from just beside Matt broke you out of your staring and caused you to glance over his shoulder at Foggy. Your pulse jumped when you caught him pointing a finger at the mistletoe hanging directly above Matt and yourself. Before you had a chance to move, finally remembering that you'd been trying to avoid the damn thing, the words were already coming out of his mouth.

“It appears you and Matt have found yourself beneath some mistletoe!” Foggy exclaimed. 

Before you, Matt's head cocked to the side as his brows drew beneath his dark lenses. For some reason the smile on his face only grew wider as his covered gaze remained fixed on you.

“We have?” Matt asked curiously. 

“Oh, yes!” Karen added from your other side, pointing a finger up at the branch hanging from the ceiling. “Foggy’s right!”

A light laugh slipped out of Matt, the warmth of it raising goosebumps along your arms as you felt rooted to the spot in front of him. You weren't sure if you should move or not; whether you should attempt to run away and come up with some excuse as to why he didn't need to kiss you. But it didn't help that part of you was hoping he'd somehow want to kiss you.

“I find it quite interesting that our dear Josie would put up mistletoe in her bar,” Matt mused aloud. “She doesn't seem the type.”

“Well either way,” Foggy cut in with an awkward laugh, “it's there! And you're both standing beneath it! So you know what that means! I mean it is tradition after all.”

Eyes growing wide, you openly gaped at Foggy and Karen as she came to stand beside him, a glint of something reflecting back at you in her eyes. Your lips parted as a rush of questions raced through your mind. Had they been the ones to put up the mistletoe? Were they doing it to get you and Matt to kiss? And if that was why they'd been acting so strange tonight– why ? Why would they want you two to kiss?

The sound of Matt clearing his throat brought you back to the moment. Your mouth was still hanging open as you focused back on him, noticing the almost nervous smile now spread on his face. Why did he look nervous?

“Fog uh…has a point,” Matt said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “It is tradition for two people to kiss underneath mistletoe.”

You could feel your pulse jumping in your throat at his words as behind him you noticed Foggy and Karen quietly making their way over to the bar, leaving you alone with Matt. As your gaze fell back on him before you, your mouth opened and closed a few times while you struggled to form a coherent sentence until one suddenly blurted out of you. 

“You want to kiss me?”

Your eyes instantly grew somehow wider at the question, your hand flying over your mouth to keep any further stupid thoughts from coming out of it. An adorable grin tugged at Matt's lips at your question, a small chuckle slipping out of him. Behind your hand, your teeth clamped down onto your bottom lip in sheer embarrassment. 

“Well, if we're being honest,” Matt began, one hand readjusting the glasses on his nose, “then I should admit I've wanted to kiss you for weeks now. The mistletoe is just…oddly convenient.”

Swallowing hard, you tried to control your breathing which had begun to come in shallower at his confession. He'd wanted to kiss you for weeks now? That fact had your heart hammering heavily in your chest as nerves raced through your body. You could feel your stomach flipping anxiously as you stood there entirely unsure how to respond. 

“But we uh, we certainly don't have to,” Matt said slowly, breaking the silence that had fallen between the pair of you. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable and ruin things between us.”

Feeling your opportunity to let him know how you felt slipping away, your hand flew from your mouth, hovering in the air between the pair of you as a loud ‘no!’ flew from your lips. The way Matt tilted his head at you, his brows rising up on his forehead as that grin returned to his face, had your cheeks once more burning tonight. But you couldn't let this moment slip past your fingers, not with how long you'd been thinking about it. 

“I'd like to,” you admitted awkwardly. “I mean I–I’ve wanted to–to kiss you, too.” You paused when the grin on his face grew wider, your stomach somersaulting at the sight. “Because I…I kind of have a crush on you…”

“Yeah?” he asked, head still canted to the side. “That's fortunate for me since I have a crush on you.”

“Seriously?” you whispered in disbelief.

Matt nodded, that boyish and charming grin growing ever wider on his lips. The lips you suddenly couldn't seem to take your eyes off of.

“Mhmm,” he hummed out. 

“I never knew…” you murmured, voice trailing off.

As you stood there trying to wrap your head around what he'd told you, Matt took a step closer towards you, closing the small bit of space. He reached around you, his arm almost grazing yours as he leant his pool cue up against the table. 

“So about that mistletoe,” Matt mused, lightly placing his hands on your upper arms again as he leaned towards you, causing your heart to skip. “We should…probably kiss, right?”

Your eyelids fluttered as you stared back at him, your breath catching in your throat with every inch he seemed to be drawing nearer to you. It was taking your brain far too long to comprehend what was happening, let alone to form much of a response besides the quiet ‘yes’ that slipped out of you. 

Matt's right hand released your arm and instead came up to cup your cheek. Gingerly he tilted your head, bringing your mouth in towards his as he finally closed the last remaining distance between the pair of you. The moment his lips touched yours, your eyes snapped shut.

At first his lips merely brushed against yours in a warm, gentle graze. The feeling sent a rush of excitement through your entire body as your hands flew up, gripping both of his muscular arms to steady yourself. He pulled back only a fraction from you before your lips were chasing after his, desperate for more than that soft, teasing touch.

He obliged instantly as if he knew–or had maybe heard the faint whimper of protest you'd made–and dove back forward again, connecting his mouth to yours with a bit more tenacity than before. His hand cupping your cheek held you more firmly to him as his plush lips passionately moved against yours in a way that left you gasping for air in the brief moments your mouths parted before inevitably connecting again. 

For a while neither of you seemed able to tear yourself away from the other, entirely oblivious to the entire bar around the pair of you. Your fingers had curled around the fabric of his dress shirt, gripping tight as you tried to hold yourself up. It felt like you were losing yourself entirely in Matt the longer the pair of you kissed and if you let go, you were afraid you might actually lose your balance.

Which was why it took you a minute to regain your composure when Matt finally broke the kiss. He only moved back a few inches from your face, his warm breath brushing gently over your lips as they remained parted. It was a moment before your eyelids fluttered open, taking in the sight of his smiling face before you. His lips seemed pinker as they glistened with both your saliva, the thought of which had a heat building low inside of you.  

“Can I maybe walk you home tonight?” he whispered. 

“Yes,” you replied automatically.

“And can I take you to dinner on Friday night?” he asked next. “Would that be alright?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes focused on his beautiful mouth. “Yes,” you whispered back. 

Matt's smile grew a little wider as his thumb brushed along your cheekbone. Your whole body felt like it was trembling now, your legs fighting not to give out beneath you. Your hands tightened further on his dress shirt, wrinkling the material. 

“And can I kiss you again?” he questioned.

You nodded again, this time more enthusiastically. “Please,” you breathed out. 

An amused chuckle slipped out of him as he leaned forward towards you once more. Out of the corner of your eye, just before you'd closed them again, you swore you saw Karen and Foggy exchanging a high five at the bar. But you forgot about that the moment Matt's lips were back on yours, kissing you more fervently than before as he backed you up against the pool table behind you.

Reblog if you say "Y'all"

you guys know you can get USB connectable CD, dvd, and blu-ray players right. and you can buy external hard drives with crazy amounts of space for an amount of money that would make the average person from 2009’s head explode bc of how cheap it is. and if you do this and get ripping software such as handbrake for CDs and DVDs and makeMKV for blurays you can both own a physical copy of whatever media you want and make it accessible to yourself no matter where you are. do you guys know this

Gosh I freaking love this so far!!!! They're so cute omg 🥰🥰🥰

A Duplicate of Earth

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 1 

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

Warnings: minors DNI, swearing, implied depression, implied eating disorder (the reader is going to be in recovery in this fic, if it gets graphic I will absolutely warn y’all. This is mostly therapeutic for me lol). 

a/n: This fic was so fun to write!! I love grumpy Frank with all of my heart and I think he deserves to have someone teach him how to feel joy again. So this is my attempt at that. It is loosely based on the poem "A Myth of Devotion" by Louise Gluck at the beginning of the chapter (which is SO Frank!Coded imo, like absolutely fits his fears and self-deprecation) and the myth of Hades/Persephone.

Lastly, a HUGE thank you to @saradika for the beautiful free divider I used in this fic!

w/c: 5.4k (poem not included, this is 17 pages y’all)

When Hades decided he loved this girl he built for her a duplicate of earth, everything the same, down to the meadow, but with a bed added.

Everything the same, including sunlight, because it would be hard on a young girl to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness

Gradually, he thought, he'd introduce the night, first as the shadows of fluttering leaves. Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.

Let Persephone get used to it slowly. In the end, he thought, she'd find it comforting. A replica of earth except there was love here.

Doesn't everyone want love? He waited many years, building a world, watching Persephone in the meadow. Persephone, a smeller, a taster. If you have one appetite, he thought, you have them all.

Doesn't everyone want to feel in the night the beloved body, compass, polestar, to hear the quiet breathing that says I am alive, that means also you are alive, because you hear me, you are here with me. And when one turns, the other turns—

That's what he felt, the lord of darkness, looking at the world he had constructed for Persephone. It never crossed his mind that there'd be no more smelling here, certainly no more eating.

Guilt? Terror? The fear of love? These things he couldn't imagine; no lover ever imagines them.

He dreams, he wonders what to call this place. First he thinks: The New Hell. Then: The Garden. In the end, he decides to name it Persephone's Girlhood.

A soft light rising above the level meadow, behind the bed. He takes her in his arms. He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you but he thinks this is a lie, so he says in the end you're dead, nothing can hurt you which seems to him a more promising beginning, more true.

Tracing his fingers along the page, Frank reread the stanzas. He was not quite sure what kept drawing him back to this piece. He’d never been a fan of modern poetry, more drawn to the subtlety of the Victorian era. Yet every night this week, when his sweat-soaked body bolted upright with a gasping breath, he read through this piece while his heart rate slowed. 

He has a blurry memory of the story from his childhood. Studying the Greek gods in school, reading excerpts of the Iliad or whatever. He has always been drawn to this specific myth, for whatever reason. Hades and Persephone, darkness and light. But he doesn’t remember it feeling so…corrupt. 

The story he had learned was one of great romance: two unlikely lovers fighting against the odds, reshaping the earth to remain together. But the way Glück illustrates the story illuminated a more sinister interpretation. One night, in an insomnia-induced haze, he’d read page after page about the two gods, trying to find a definitive answer to the question that bounced around his mind. Did Hades ruin poor Persephone? Was their love itself ruinous?

Glück sure seemed to think so. Maybe that was what sparked his interest in the piece. The idea that love could tarnish something so pure—Frank sure had a fair share of experience with that. 

With a hefty sigh, he closed the book, glancing at the clock. 4:05 am. Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, he weighed his options. 

“Up for a jog, Max?” Frank murmured, looking to the canine who was curled up in his crate. The dog just snored. “Suit yourself, bud.” 

Slipping into a pair of athletic shoes and a light sweatshirt to accompany his sweats, he stepped out the door and towards the stairs, almost colliding with a young woman frantically darting down the hall. 

“So sorry. Have a nice day!” The figure whisper yelled at him as she ran past. 

He takes a second to regain his bearings, before plastering on a scowl and heading off on his run. 

The outing was refreshing to a degree, but his mind was still plagued with thoughts of his wife and the darkness that had consumed her, just as it had Persephone. 

Curtis let his eyes follow the pacing form in front of him as he let out a sigh. Having been a friend of Frank’s for some time now, he wasn’t a stranger to moodiness or the other man’s incredibly fiery temper, yet Frank had been worse than usual lately. It seemed like the drop of a pin could set him off these days, and Curtis could practically see a cartoon storm cloud following him around with the way he’d been glowering lately. Curtis had hoped David would be able to shed some light on the cause of the behavior, but the technician was as clueless as him. 

They (they is a term very loosely used, given that David was overtly opposed to the idea,) decided to ask Frank about it the next time he visited Curtis. So, here they both were, watching Frank stomp across the floor and waiting for him to explain himself. Finally, Frank turned to them. 

“You gonna keep starin’ at me like I’m a goddamn explosive or are ya gonna ask me your fuckin questions so we can move on?” Frank’s growl made David flinch. 

“Hey, easy there, big guy. This isn’t an interrogation.” David pleaded, trying to wipe off the coffee he had inadvertently spilled on himself. 

“We’re here to help you, Frank. Same as always. Something’s been eating you away recently and we wanted to check in.” Curtis reasoned, looking between David and the marine. 

“M’ fine.” Frank grunted, draining the rest of his own coffee and stalking over to the machine for a fresh pour. 

David rolled his eyes, gesturing to Frank pointedly. “Told you he wouldn’t want to talk about it.” 

Apparently this was not the right thing to say, because Frank stilled with the pot of coffee in his hands. “You two are talkin’ ‘bout me now? Am I entertainin’ enough for ya? Jesus.” He slammed his cup down, grabbing his jacket from the seat next to Curtis and heading for the door. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have somewhere else to mope?” Curtis asked with a raised brow, almost amused by how childish Frank was being. 

“Anywhere but here would be nice. That way I’m not interrupting your fuckin’ drama club.” Frank snapped, twisting around to face Curtis. “You wanna make me your pet project? Fine. Keep doing it when I’m not fuckin’ here.” 

“Frank, we weren’t—we were just worried about you, that’s all. You’ve been really…down lately and—“ David struggled to reason with the furious man. 

“Oh, have I? So sorry to be such a goddamn stick in the mud, Lieberman. We all know life has been real nice to me so I should be more grateful, ‘s that it?.” Glaring at the pair of men before him, Frank threw on his jacket and walked out, slamming the door behind him. 

Curtis sighed, sipping his coffee and turning to David. “I should’ve known better than to think he would talk this out. He says he’s fine, we treat him like he’s fine. He’s a grown ass man who can work up the balls to ask us for help if he needs it.” 

David barked a laugh. “We both know he won’t though.”

“Yah…you’re probably right about that.” 

Frank was still fuming as he trudged through the city streets at sunset. His mood had been worse than usual lately, but his friends’ inquiry just made him feel guilty and stupid for not knowing why. Things hadn’t been too bad recently. The past few missions he’d taken on had gone smoothly—to the point where it had been over a month since Curtis had to help stitch him up, and that had to be a record. Not to mention, he’d stopped an international arms dealer last week while on his own job, putting him on Madani’s good side for the first time in his miserable life. 

His fist clenched around Max’s leash, but the dog seemed entirely unbothered by his irritation. Happily trotting next to him, gazing up with adoration every once in a while. 

Frank sighed as they reached the entrance to his building, stopping his brisk pace for a moment to give the dog a scratch. “I’m sorry I’ve been out so much, bub. We’ll do this more, promise.” 

Max simply spun away from him, sniffing the air. Frank gave a weak chuckle, shaking his head at the dog’s ambivalence. The pair started up the stairs towards their floor, Max pulling harder than usual. When they reached the landing, Max froze as Frank headed for his front door. Stumbling backwards briefly, Frank tried to start moving again, but Max held firm—letting the leash grow stiff between them. 

“Max. C’mon, bud. Le’s go.” The pit bull simply gave Frank a piercing look, before abruptly jerking backwards, wriggling his head. 

“Max, what the hell, stop that!” Desperately, Frank tried to grab his dog, but Max was too quick. Within moments, he’d slipped free of his collar and taken off. 

Frank sprinted after him, heart sinking as he realized Max was beelining for an open apartment door. The last thing he needed was a goddamn dog-induced injury suit. 

Reaching the doorway, Frank saw Max sniffing around a young woman happily—the same woman who had almost run into him this morning. To Frank’s disbelief, she laughed. The sound was surprised, but bright and it pulled at his heart in a way he did not have time to unpack. 

“Hey, big guy!” You held your hand out for Max to sniff, which he did enthusiastically. “You lost?” 

Max gave you a few exuberant licks before sticking his nose back to the ground and snuffling around your kitchen, clearly looking for something. 

Eventually, Frank unfroze from his stupor and spoke. “I am so sorry, ma’am. He’s never gotten loose like that before. Max, c’mere.” 

Seemingly through with his rebellious phase, the dog sauntered up to Frank, tail wagging, before turning to allow Frank to reattach his collar. 

Standing in front of Frank, you gave another beautiful laugh, beaming up at Frank from where you were standing before him. “That’s quite alright. I’m never opposed to a new friend. Besides, my kitchen is quite literally filled with dog treats at the moment, so I can’t exactly blame him for his actions. Still smiling, you pulled a tray of dog biscuits from the counter next to you, giggling as Max sat down expectantly. 

“Can he have one? They’re chicken flavored, if that’s an issue.” You looked at Frank, questioningly. Still mortified by his dog’s outburst and quite honestly shocked that this gorgeous woman was still talking to him, he stammered. “Uh—yah, that’s. That’s fine.” 

Your smile widened as you grasped a few treats. “Here, bubba.” Max snatched the treats from your hand, greedily gulping them down before moving closer to you and holding up a paw. 

Laughing again, you set down the tray and crouched to shake his outstretched paw. “Well aren’t you a talented pup. What’s his name?” You turned to Frank, one hand scratching behind the dog’s ears. 

“This is Max…And I’m Frank.” His vocal chords seemingly operating on their own, Frank cursed himself for the honesty. Why on earth did he feel compelled to give this woman his life story? 

“Nice to meet you, Max!” You ruffled the fur on the pit’s head, chuckling as he kissed your arm. “And you as well, Frank. My name is-“ and your name tumbled off your lips. You held out a hand to him. Frank gave a small grimace of a smile, grasping your hand and repeating your name back to you. It was beautiful and more than suited you. 

“It’s very nice to meet you ma’am. I should, uh, we should go.” Frank said lamely, tugged on Max’s leash to exit your apartment. 

Grinning at him still, you waved goodbye. “Have a nice night, Frank. Stop by anytime” 

The next time he saw you, you were struggling to lug massive cardboard boxes into your apartment. It had been a few days since Max made your acquaintance and he’d been avoiding damn near everyone, which had only worsened his bad mood. 

As he took a few steps towards his front door, trying incredibly hard to not stare at your beautiful figure in the low cut sundress you were wearing, a loud crash caught his attention. 

“Shit!” You cursed, jumping back quickly to avoid smashing your foot underneath the box you’d dropped. 

“You, uh, need a hand?” Frank grumbled, shuffling closer to you. 

“Oh, hi Frank! Sorry I was so focused on this thing that I didn’t see you.” There was that beaming smile again. Frank shied away like it would burn him. 

“Ain’t a problem. So…you want help?” He asked again, rubbing at his nape as he blushed. Why on earth would you want his help when he acted like he’d never met another human before? 

“That would be amazing. This bed frame is way heavier than I was prepared for.” You kicked the box lightly, glaring at it. 

Frank shifted it up into his arms with ease. “Where would you like it?” 

“The room to your left please!” You chirped, pointing him in the room’s direction. “Thank you so much for your help.”

Frank set the heavy box down, turning back to you. “Looks like you needed it. You ain’t exactly dressed for lifting this.” Frank scoffed, before realizing in horror what he’d just said. 

“You don’t like my dress?” Your voice was soft and you looked at him with round eyes. He cursed himself for being born. If the world was fair, no one would ever make you look like that. His darkness was all consuming. 

“Oh, shit, I wasn’t thinking. I—“ 

You bit your lip, a sly grin spreading across your face. “I’m teasing you, Frank. I came right from work and didn’t have time to change. It’s a ridiculous outfit for building furniture. Please, sit! I have something for you.” You ushered him over to your couch. 

Frank tilted his head ever so slightly, surprised that you weren’t immediately put off by his harsh demeanor and towering stature. After a moment of thought, he practically collapsed to the cushions, the exhaustion of the past few weeks crashing over him. He was acutely aware that he hadn’t been sleeping well, but he hadn’t realized the ache that had settled in his bones until now.

You retreated to your kitchen, pulling a tin of cookies out of your pantry and offering them to Frank. “As a thank you for your assistance: my world-famous chocolate chip cookies.”

Gently lifting the tin from your hand, Frank felt the corner of his mouth quirk down at the thought of mooching off of you when you’d just met. “It wasn’t any trouble. I don’t want to take your food.” He grumbled, eyeing the tin for a moment before you groaned. 

“You’re killing me here, Frank. Indulge me, please!” Your eyes flickered between the tin and his grumpy face pointedly. He rolled his eyes, pulling a cookie from the box. 

The cookie was truly one of the best things Frank had ever eaten. Soft and buttery with a sprinkle of salt on top. He finished the treat in three bites, licking his fingers before your giggling reminded him that he was being observed. 

“So…are they sufficient payment?” A shit-eating grin appeared across your face and Frank felt his mood lift even further despite his brief embarrassment. 

Popping his thumb out of his mouth, he felt himself flush. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

You waved a hand, brushing aside his embarrassment. “Oh please, I’m just glad you liked it! Half the reason I bake for other people is for the compliments.” 

“You deserve them. That was…a damn good cookie.” Frank rubbed a hand over the back of his neck but you seemed completely unphased by his stiff social skills. “What’s in that box?” He nodded to the opened one in front of your couch, snatching another cookie from the tin. 

“Well, I moved in a few weeks ago and didn’t have the foresight to order my furniture in advance. So,” you spread your arms, gesturing to the myriad of tools and wooden pieces on your floor. “Tonight is night one of furnishing my apartment.”

“That seems…like a real chore.” 

“Oh it is. But I’ve been sleeping on a mattress on my floor for three weeks, so I sort of need a bed frame. Like ASAP.” You narrowed your eyes at the box in the other room like it had bested you in a fight. 

“Did ya, um, did ya want some help with…” Frank trailed off, gesturing to your inanimate foe. 

“Oh gosh, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I wouldn’t wish IKEA furniture on my worst enemy.” You laughed, shaking your head. 

“Ain’t a problem, if you’re ok with me snackin’ on those miracle cookies while I work.”

“Ok, one:” You began, holding out a finger. Frank bit a lip to keep from laughing. Bossy little thing, aren’t ya? “You can eat all of those cookies if you help me build that motherfucking thing.” A boisterous laugh burst out of Frank at your pretty mouth cursing so openly. “And two: you will be snacking on them while we work because I would actually be the devil if I made a sweetheart like you build the hellscape that is the ‘Songesand’ all on your own.”

“Trust me, I’m no sweetheart.” 

You grinned at him. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart.” 

Hours and an empty tin of cookies later, you were ready to call it quits. 

“If this bolt doesn’t tighten all the way, I swear to God I am going to lose it.” You pouted dramatically, dropping the pieces you were attaching to the floor with a clatter. 

Frank huffed a tiny laugh. “Lemme see.” Inspecting the piece, he unscrewed the bolt a tad and tightened it with ease. You groaned. 

“I swear it was broken a second ago. Are you a witch or something?” You flopped to the ground with a sigh, looking up at him through thick lashes. 

“Nah. Just good at building things, I s’pose.” 

“Well, I really appreciate your help. Can I cook you dinner? As a thank you?”

“I don’t wanna overstay my welcome…” Busying himself with the furniture in front of him, he avoided your studious gaze. 

“It’s not a big deal. And it would actually encourage me to eat today.” 

Frank whirled to face you. “You haven’t eaten today?” 

You shrugged, “Yah, I tend to get distracted.” 

“That ain’t good for ya.” Frank sighed, trying to decide what the priority should be. “A’right. If it’ll make ya eat, ya can cook for me.” 

You smiled, your eyes catching his with a soft gaze. “That’s so sweet of you.” And, with that, you bustled away to start dinner. 

Throwing himself back into the task at hand, Frank had your bed frame assembled and was pulling your mattress onto it in no time. Brushing his hands together, he returned to the living room, tidying up the scraps of cardboard and styrofoam littering the ground. 

“Frank, please sit down! You’ve just saved me hours of work, I can clean up.” You raised your voice so he could hear you from the kitchen. 

“It’s no trouble.”

“Dinner’s ready anyway. Sit, please!” You encouraged, handing him a bowl of some delicious smelling pasta. 

Eagerly digging in, Frank almost moaned at the first bite. “How are you so good at this?” He asked, stuffing another forkful into his mouth. 

You giggled, “Culinary school, and years of practice.” 

“Culinary school, huh?” 

“Yah…” You laughed a little sadly, moving the pasta around in your bowl. “I’ve always liked cooking and I had this crazy dream of opening a bakery a while ago.” 

Frank swallowed, forcing himself to continue the conversation even though he could feel himself blushing at his inability to talk like a normal fucking person. “You’re really good at it. What happened?” 

Stiffening slightly next to him, you waved off the question. “Oh you know, killer capitalism and all that. But, I work in a cafe which means I get to bake to my heart's content without all the nitty gritty business stuff. Like taxes.” You made a face at the thought and Frank snorted. 

Finishing his dinner, he noticed you studying him again. It had been a while since someone had shown such genuine interest and care towards him. His heart fluttered in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and it struck a nerve. Minuscule grin falling from his face, he stood abruptly. 

“I gotta go.” 

“Oh, ok.” He didn’t dare look at your face and risk seeing it fall. 

Pacing to your doorway, he turned towards you marginally. “Thanks for the food.” 

“Thank you for giving me a platform to sleep on tonight. You’ve saved my hips a world of pain.” Your smile was small but genuine. You seemed almost…hesitant. As he was about to tread down the hallway to his own place, you wrapped him in a sudden embrace. “Have a goodnight, Frank.” 

His heart tugged, insisting that he return the embrace, but he couldn’t risk it. Instead, he squeezed your shoulder and quickly headed home. 

After another night of restless sleep, he woke up in an even fouler mood than before. Yanking the door open on his way to work, he almost stomped over a package sitting on his doorstep. Given that it was just past 5 in the morning, he was a little suspicious of the bag at his feet. Gingerly picking it up, he turned it around and, despite himself, broke into a small smile. 

The brown paper bag had a handwritten note, “Don’t be a stranger, Sweetheart” with your signature and phone number underneath. Stapled to the present itself was a brochure for one “Rainy Day Bakery”, complete with pictures of your smiling face surrounded by other employees. Feeling his shitty mood melt away, just a little, he opened the bag and found a short stack of fresh chocolate chip cookies. He sank back against his door, closing his eyes. 

Screw it.

Twirling around the kitchen, softly singing the lyrics to the song playing overhead, you placed your tray of bread into the oven. 

“God. You’re worse than usual today.” Your coworker, Stacy, groused, hefting a giant sack of flour up onto your prep table. You laughed at her, nudging her shoulder. 

“It’s a great day, Stace! It’s beautiful outside and we’ve had steady business all morning. Plus, Janet is letting me try out some new flavors this week and I am stoked!” You squealed. 

“How did I ever become friends with morning people,” She fake gagged and you smacked her. 

“You love our exuberance, don’t lie.” 

“Yah, yah. Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Did someone call for a morning person?” Your other primary coworker, Leo, entered the room with a dramatic spin. 

“The only thing worse than one of you, is both of you. I’ll take the counter.” Stacy mumbled, stalking back out to the front of the store. You and Leo giggled after her, knowing she was hiding a smile. 

“So, what’s on the docket for the rest of the day, princess?” Leo positioned themself at the stainless steel bench next to you, looking ready to take on whatever weird ideas you threw their way. 

“I’m thinkin’ more classic cheesecakes, those did well last week. Then maybe lemon meringue bars or key lime minis? Something citrusy. Thoughts?” You tilted your head, awaiting their response. 

“Let’s do the lemon pie shortbread bars. Those are always popular. You want to prep the dough, I’ll start juicing?” 

“You read my mind.” Whipping out the ingredients, the two of you danced around each other in a practiced waltz. You’d been friends since culinary school and had pretty much been a package deal for every employer afterwards. You acted as a well oiled machine, and the cafe was booming because of it. 

As you gently pressed large wads of shortbread into pans, Stacy poked her head back through the staff door, breaking your focus. “Someone’s here for you, princess.” 

Scrunching your brow, you shouted over your shoulder. “I told her I didn’t have time to grab lunch this week.” 

“It’s not your mom. It’s some guy. Says he’s your neighbor?” 

Your hands stilled. “Yah, ok, I’m coming, Stace.” Scooting past Leo—and their eager, teasing grin—you gave them a pointed look. “Stop it.”

“He came to visit you. At work.” Leo singsonged. 

“It might not even be him.”

Leo rolled their eyes back to the pot in front of them. “It’s him.” 

Traipsing after Stacy into the customer portion of the cafe, your face broke out in a massive smile as you saw Frank at the register. His arms were crossed and he looked nervous, eyes shifting around, trying his best to avoid Stacy’s cold gaze. 

“Hey, Frank! Welcome to Rainy Day! What can I get ya?” You placed your hands on your hips and looked at him with excited expectation. 

“Coffee?” You giggled at his simple response which made his blush deepen. “I uh, shit, that sounded stupid. I don’t know…”

“It didn’t sound stupid, sweetheart. I was just thinking about how nice it is to not have to make a super complicated drink. Stace can you get me a large cup of the dark roast. I’m assuming hot and no cream or sugar?” You looked at Frank, waiting to see if your prediction was correct. 

“Fuck, am I that obvious?” He groaned, his face beet red as he avoided your eyes. 

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the simple things, Frank.” 

Stacy passed over the drink. “2.50.” She stated with no emotion, feigning disinterest in the conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her giving Frank a subtle once-over. 

Frank passed over a ten. “Keep the change.” 

“Aw, that’s so sweet! Thank you,” your lopsided grin was a permanent fixture whenever he was present. It was going to be the death of him. He’d do anything to make you keep that smile. 

“I—um, wanted to visit your cafe, since you asked me to, I mean—“

Your smile softened as his nervousness peaked. “I appreciate the visit, Frank. Come by anytime. Oh! Before you go, actually,” You fluttered off, daintily grabbing a pastry from the case to your left. You handed him a beautifully decorated confection, but your signature smile held a tinge of anxiety. You clearly cared about his opinion, he wasn’t really sure why. 

“I, uh, didn’t order this.” Frank announced gruffly, holding the pastry in his hands as if it was trying to bite him. 

Rolling your eyes, you laughed cheerfully, “I know, silly. You think I’m going to let you leave without breakfast?” Hands back on your hips, Frank felt a familiar warmth bloom as an almost imperceptible smirk flickered across his mouth. Bossy. 

“Are you really chastising me for skipping a meal after what you said yesterday?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

“Do as I say, not as I do.” You shrugged, looking between him and the pastry. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging!” 

“Are you always this demanding?” Frank scoffed with a slight twinkle in his eyes. 

“Yes.” Stacy and Leo called in unison, making you gasp in false betrayal. 

“Fine, I’ll eat it myself.” You held out your hand to retract the pastry, but Frank drew it closer to himself. 

“Never said I wouldn’t try it, Sunshine.” Your exaggerated pout nearly disappeared at the nickname. “Pretty sure you’ll pop your lid if I don’t.” 

He took a bite of the pastry, savoring the incredible combination of flavors. “‘S real good, what is it?” 

“Baklava inspired croissant. It’s something new I am trying and you strike me as someone who wouldn’t be satisfied by my whimsical ideas alone. You’re…honest, it’s nice.” 

Taken aback, Frank hesitated before swallowing his mouthful. “I…uh—thanks.” His voice was soft. He wasn’t quite used to receiving compliments about anything other than his ability to end a life. 

“Sorry if I was too pushy, a lot of the people who come in here are more concerned with their hipster image than truth. It’s nice to have someone who gives their actual opinion on my work, is all.” You bit your lip, eyes trained on his. 

“I was just teasin’, Sunshine. You can boss me around whenever you want.” 

You grinned. “I think I’ll take you up on that, Frankie.” You winked, making him chuckle. 

“Oh, you’re a handful, aren’t ya?”

“No turning back, Frank. You’re my friend now. Ask my coworkers, I’m not easy to get rid of.” You batted your eyelashes at him and he shook his head, looking to Stacy and Leo behind you. 

“Trust me, I’ve tried.” Stacy gave a tremendous sigh and Leo shoved her. 

“Well, thanks. For the…coffee and stuff.” Frank ended with, lamely. 

“I’m glad you liked the pastry! If you ever want to be my guinea pig, let me know. I’m pretty sure my friends are tired of me asking.” You chuckled, looking sheepishly at Leo and Stacy who gave dramatic nods. 

“I’d uh…I’d like that.” 

You beamed. “You’re a lifesaver, truly. Just text me if you’re ever up for trying things. You have my number now.”

“I do. I…uh, gotta run but…thanks again” Frank gave a curt nod to the three of you. 

“Have a good day, sweetheart.” You waved him goodbye. 

You were definitely going to be the death of him. 

Your phone buzzed, startling you out of your post-work tv-induced trance. 

Unknown: Hey. This is Frank. In case you need my number or whatever. 

You: Hey Frank! Haven’t talked to you in forever 😉

Frank: Sorry to bother you

You: Don’t be silly. You could never bother me. 

You: Are you hungry?

Frank: I guess? Why?

You: There’s a cute little Persian place that just opened a few blocks from here. I’ve been dying to try it but was too embarrassed to go alone. They allow dogs on the patio, if you and Max are interested?

Frank: Sounds good. Be over in a sec. 

Your heart spun around in your chest. Dashing to your bathroom, you fiddled with your outfit and hair, reapplying makeup and adjusting your floral patterned dress. Catching your own eyes in the mirror, you scolded yourself. Frank wasn’t fully a stranger anymore, but you didn’t know much about him. He didn’t wear a wedding band, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved with someone. You were getting ahead of yourself. The knowledge that your efforts might be futile weren’t enough to make you wipe off your fresh coat of lipstick, though. 

A knock at your door broke you out of your thoughts. Rushing to open it, you were spellbound. Frank had cleaned up, probably not for you personally, but your naive little heart couldn’t help but hope. His wavy hair was pushed away from his face and his beard had been trimmed. Wearing his signature dark jacket, he looked…marvelous. 

Prying your jaw from the floor, you smiled at him. “You look really nice, Frank.” 

“So do you, sunshine. Max was napping and refused to get up. Is it alright if it’s just us?”

“More than.” You grinned up at him sweetly. 

“Lead the way, Sunshine.” His deep voice rumbled. You grabbed one of his large hands in both of yours (which definitely did not make him blush) dragging him to the stairs. 

Frank knew he was treading a dangerous line. This was the 4th time in a week he’d seen you, but he couldn’t get enough. Your smile was intoxicating and your bubbly yet demanding personality was goddamn enchanting. For fuck’s sake, his hand that you had held still burned with warmth and he never wanted it to fade. He knew his darkness could ruin you, but he was defenseless to your lilting voice and endless optimism. 

Which is how he found himself across from you in a quaint little spot a few blocks from your building. Strings of colorful lights spanned the perimeter. Apparently you knew one of the chefs because the kitchen had prepared a tasting menu of sorts for the two of you, and Frank was not above reaping the benefits of what you’d sown. 

Dish after amazing dish was placed in front of the two of you and Frank was putting them away, you were eating less but seemed to be enjoying everything just the same. As you both moaned around a bite of a sort of lamb stew, your eyes twinkled. 

“So, Frank, how was your day?” The question was eager and genuine. He was still taken aback by your desire to know him, to care about him. 

“Fine. Yours?” 

“My day was lovely! I made a couple of my favorite recipes and had a handsome visitor at the cafe. Now I’m having a fantastic meal. I’m a lucky gal.” Eyes still sparkling, they scrunched as you smiled. 

“A handsome visitor, huh?”

“Oh you’d like him. He’s all tough and brooding, but I just know there’s a good man underneath all of that.” 

“Ya just know, huh? What’s hiding underneath all that happiness of yours then, sunshine?” 

“An overwhelming sense of curiosity.” You smirked at him. Your flirty tone traveled straight down in his being. Giving a breathy laugh, he deflected. 

“How are you so…peppy all the time?” At his question, your seductive gaze faded to a much more solemn one. 

“I don’t know, I guess it just became a habit… My, uh, my dad died. When I was young. My mom didn’t handle it well. So, it started as a defense mechanism? I suppose? But now…now it’s just who I am.” You averted your eyes, picking at the dish in front of you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a downer.” You forced a small laugh. 

“Hey,” Frank’s firm yet gentle tone forced you to look at him once again. “You’re not a downer. Anything ya wanna tell me, I’ll listen, yah?” 

You nodded, smile coming back to the edges of your lips. “Thanks, Frankie.” 

“Can I ask you another question?” When you nodded, he continued. “Do you put, like, crack in those cookies of yours? I swear you gave me an addiction, sunshine.” 

A laugh escaped you and his heart soared. There’s my girl. 

Taglist: @cheshirecat484

This is so heartbreaking omg! amazing chapter Leah, absolutely in my feels right now. Poor Reader....

I know Matt will be there when she wakes up but I'm still so sad 😢

The Sun Will Rise

Wake Up, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: sexual assault themes and descriptions, if non-con themes trigger you please do not read. other warnings: swearing, misogynistic language, violence

This chapter is very intense. I tried to keep the S/A stuff as not graphic as possible to avoid triggering people but it is very much there and the violence is more present than any other chapter.

a/n: Today has been a fucking DAY yall. My new cat got sick (he’s ok he just ate too fast and then got sick on me and my bed which was gross), I am having issues with pay equity at work, and trying to deal with utility issues in my house. I am very sorry for the late update. PLEASE let me know how you feel about this chapter, your comments and reblogs literally make my day every week. 

w/c: ~4.5k

Four years ago, you’d been desperate for a change.  Despite spending thousands on a fancy degree, you had gotten nowhere in the legal field and your job waiting tables at a diner in Queens barely paid the bills, though you were grateful for the work. 

Pouring coffee and taking orders wasn’t the worst job you’d ever had and the majority of customers during your shifts were sweet. You played the role of “cute, friendly waitress” well, making even the grouchiest patrons appreciate your soft smile and quick response time. Maybe this persona you’d adopted in your efforts to avoid your crippling anxiety was the reason he started looking your way. Perhaps it was your obvious desperation to be liked. Whatever it was that drew his attention, it was your eventual disinterest that kept it. 

The first day you met James Lannister was a shitty one. You’d worked a double shift, meaning you had been less than perky towards the end of it, leading to stupid mistakes and screaming customers. Emotions were running high when he took a seat in your section, so his calm demeanor and attentive smile drew you in. 

He’d only made pleasant conversation with you the first few visits. Asking about your day, your week, your hobbies, your interests, your family, your aspirations. Anyone would’ve been eager to spill their guts to him, he was quite charming. The way that his green eyes pooled with fascination as you spoke was almost reverent. No man in your life had ever made you feel that way, like nothing else in the room mattered. 

Which is why the red flags zipped right by you without triggering your internal security system. Day after day, he’d visit your place of work after his own shift at the Pro Bono Association. He’d ask his questions and encourage you to ask your own, which led to a standing invitation to sit with him when there was a lull in traffic at the restaurant. Your shared interest in the legal system and his willingness to share a slice of that life with you compelled you to take him up on the offer. 

Next came the gifts. Little things, at first. Large tips, suggestions for weekend entertainment complete with a gift card or fully funded ticket, books to further your legal studies after work. It was strange, but the attention was divine. He wasn’t an ugly man, and you’d never felt noticed like this before. 

Eventually, he’d goaded you into joining him and his wife for dinner at their house. Mrs. Lannister was beautiful and cunning. On the surface, she was always polite, reassuring, more than willing to host you or have you join them in public, but there was an ominous undercurrent that you never could place. The way she looked at you when her husband turned his back was almost murderous, but you were so caught up in the idea of being wanted that you glossed over the tension between the two of you. 

You were lonely, sure, but you never wanted romance or…other things…from Lannister. To you, he was a mentor, an idol. Someone to live vicariously through while in a transition period in life. But after accepting all of his kindnesses, you’d unknowingly crossed a line. 

Before it all fell apart, it almost seemed like universal intervention. During a seemingly mundane conversation, Lannister clasped his hands over yours with a giddy expression. It seemed that there was an entry level position opening up at the PBA office in Queens and he thought you’d be perfect for it. Not only would it be a substantial pay raise from your current position, but there were opportunities for growth and he would be your boss. 

At the time, it felt like a miracle. Your ticket to the next stage of your life. And it was, but letting your guard down for that shark ended up being the biggest regret of your life. 

Transitioning into your new role wasn’t seamless, but you took it in stride. Your eagerness to take on complex projects and expand the mission of the organization impressed the more seasoned employees. Lannister began taking you to lunches, galas, drinks, anywhere that he could introduce you to his network of attorneys. It was thrilling to be thrown into the world you’d always dreamed of and received with such open arms. 

For a few months, it was pure bliss. Until the night you placed your first case. 

Placing the case itself was unproblematic, you were happy that you fit into the role so well—and you expressed such sentiments to Lannister who invited you over to his house to celebrate. Arriving with a bottle of your favorite wine, it was immediately clear that something had changed. The once cozy house was in absolute disarray, riddled with empty liquor bottles and boxes of feminine clothes. And, although Lannister had implied there would be others there, you found him alone. 

Lannister noticed your wandering eyes and explained that his wife had left him. He told you not to worry about that and to focus on your personal success. The two of you enjoyed some good food and cheap wine, the older man drifting closer by the glass. Eventually, you felt your eyes growing heavy and he insisted that you stay over given the late hour. 

That night, you dreamt of a large shadow, looking over you while you slept, warm touch dancing over your clothes. You tried to protect yourself, but your arms wouldn’t respond to the commands your brain sent. When you woke up, you found your skirt unzipped. 

It got blurry after that. Lannister’s very public divorce led to inopportune inebriation, massive hangovers in the office, lewd comments, and wandering hands. While you still accompanied him to events, he began claiming you in public in increasingly repulsive ways. Holding you by the waist, kissing your cheeks, stroking his fingers over your neck, using that disgusting pet name. My little Princess. 

You only tried expressing your discomfort once before it escalated. You’d approached him in his office after lunch, when he was likely to be more sober, and hesitantly asked if he would consider pulling back. You’d been met with the most terrifying display of anger you’d ever seen. You hazily recall books being thrown, hits landing along your arms and torso, insults being hurled at you. 

He had made you. You would be nothing without him. You were ungrateful and whoreish and conniving just like his wife. While the memories faded, the scars from your skin splitting over the hinges of his office door still shone in certain lights. 

After that his actions were deliberate. His lingering touches scalded you. Being alone with him meant sentencing yourself to torture. When he was angry, he’d call you into his office to “talk it through.” To your absolute horror, these talks often involved a locked door and drunk hands groping your trembling form. 

For weeks you endured his abrupt switches between calculated insults, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, and inappropriate contact. You were barely alive, going through the motions and slowly convincing yourself that you deserved it. You’d fallen out of contact with your friends, were so emotionally fragile that a stern look from a stranger could send you into a panic attack, and you found yourself so nauseous that the first few hours of each day were spent hugging a toilet. 

It was clear you needed help, but Lannister was your boss and his threats terrified you. He’d made it clear that if anyone found out about his behavior, it would cost you your livelihood. As an incredibly well-known attorney with an impeccable record, there was no way you’d win in court, he had too many friends on the force or the bench. Not to mention how new you were to the organization. Despite his growing alcoholism, your coworkers were as enamored with Lannister as you used to be, the chances of them believing you were minimal. 

So, you stayed, trapped in a nightmare of your own unintentional creation. Until a position opened up in Manhattan. 

Applying on a whim, you’d kept your application a secret, not expecting to even get an interview. But, apparently the managing attorney across the East River had heard your name through the grapevine because she reached out within the week to schedule a lunch with you. 

The heavy weight that hung over your shoulders like a shadow has lessened considerably in the days leading up to the lunch. The possibility of escaping the hell you were living in quickly appeared like the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Manhattan was beautiful and the employees of the PBA office in Midtown were ecstatic to meet you. It was the best day you’d had in months, until you got back to your own office. 

Realizing you’d forgotten an important file you needed for a clinic the next day, you walked briskly through the quiet building, hoping to get in and out without running into your supervisor. Unfortunately, the world was not that gracious. 

As you rummaged through your desk, the overhead lights turned on making you flinch. Your hands stilled over the file cabinet, your breath catching on your throat. 

“You little bitch.” Lannister was furious if the rage dripping from his tone was any indication. “Tell me, Princess, why did I receive a call from Midtown about how happy they were to have finally met my assistant?”

You couldn’t speak, your throat constricting as if wrapped with fabric. Frozen in place, you heard him approaching and you cowered. 

“Thought you could go behind my back? Leave me high and dry without a warning? You owe me, little princess. After all I’ve done for you…”

Whether from fear or something else entirely, your brain blocked out the rest of his actions that night. You came to shaking on the floor, bloody and partially undressed, but you weren’t alone. Lannister had disappeared, thankfully, but your coworker stepped into your office with a shaky inhale. 

Erica was a young attorney who’d started a few weeks before you. Your emotional state had made it difficult to grow close to anyone in the office, but she’d always seemed sweet. And, fortunately for you in the end, she’d heard the commotion your boss had caused before storming home. 

As your wonderful coworker helped you clean yourself up, you tearily confessed the secrets you’d worked so hard to hide. Disgusted, Erica had encouraged you to speak to HR and you’d submitted a complaint later that day with her assistance. 

You owed Erica a great debt. Over the period of the investigation, she’d become a fixture in your office, making sure to keep you at a distance from your abuser. Without your prompting, she’d offered the committee looking into the allegations her full testimony. You were quite certain that her statement is the reason Lannister was fired. 

In the weeks following his termination, you felt like a new woman. You’d moved to a cute little place in Hell’s Kitchen and begun your new work as a volunteer coordinator. While you still struggled with crowds of lawyers and the taste of alcohol, a good therapist and a decent amount of time had helped you heal a considerable amount. 

Enough to open yourself up for the possibility of a relationship, which you weren’t sure you’d ever want after everything you’d been through. Meeting Matt had changed that though, turning ‘never’ into a ‘not right now’. 

Sweet, considerate, adorable Matt who had brought you more comfort than you ever thought you deserved. Who was probably still furious with you for falling for him, but you couldn’t help but plead with the universe to send him anyway. Please, Matty, please come for me. 

As the muggy van rumbled over potholes and uneven roads, you pictured his beautiful face. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. How his brow furrowed with concern over the most minor harm that had befallen you. The beautiful way his lips melded with yours as a single kiss made you feel weightless. You regretted not kissing him one last time before ruining what you had. 

I’m sorry, darling. Please don’t let them take me from you. I’m not ready to let you go just yet. 

As Matt neared the 4th floor, a knawing pit of dread grew in his stomach. He could smell your tears, newer than those that had fallen after he’d left, but your heartbeat was nowhere to be found. Frantically pacing the hallway, he quickly noticed your suitcase abandoned a few feet from the door to your shared room. Crouching down, he tilted his head, evaluating the scene. The scent of your fear coated the floor, walls, and fabric of your bag. You must have been terrified for it to penetrate your surroundings to that degree. Underneath your pheromones, Matt shuddered with rage as the sickly saccharine fragrance of Beatrice Snyder’s reached his sensitive nose. Mingling with her perfume was a different smell, smoky and dark. 

You’d been cornered by Snyder and an unidentified man, he was sure of it. Fumbling to find the right end of his key card, he threw open the door and stripped out of his suit. Given that he’d intended to share the night with you, he’d intentionally left his body armor at home. A black long sleeve tee and scarf around his face would have to do tonight. 

Stepping back into the empty hallway, he fled to the stairs. While the scent of your fear only fueled his dark anger, it was strong enough to leave a trail down the stairs and out the back door into the cool night air. As inconspicuously as possible, Matt navigated through the building, dodging employees and guests successfully until he reached the loading dock behind the kitchen. Your scent stopped here, replaced by the smell of gasoline. 

No, no, no. Where are you, angel? What happened to you? 

Matt growled in frustration, spinning around desperately searching for any sign of you, he ripped his phone out of his pocket and pressed your speed dial, hoping that you could still reach your phone. 

Receiving nothing but your voicemail message in return, he felt his fists clench. “It’s going to be ok, my beautiful girl. I’m coming.” 

Replacing the phone in his pocket, he took off in the direction of the strong scent of auto fuel, praying to God that the most recent vehicle would lead him to you. 

The van jolted to an abrupt stop and you slid along the dirty carpet into a seat in front of you. Your back ached from the jostling you’d gotten on the ride to whatever destination you’d apparently arrived at, and you could feel the imprint of thousands of plastic carpet strands that had melded with the flesh on your cheek during the drive. The sound of car doors slamming and the heavy footfalls following made you strain against your binds one final time. 

A large, rough hand snatched your ankle, yanking you towards the night air at the tail end of the vehicle. Kicking your legs wildly, you flopped like a dying fish along the carpet as you were slowly pulled outside. The fingers at your ankle moved to wrap around your throat, forcing the airway to constrict. Struggling fiercely against your captor, you heard a familiar, rasping voice from behind you snarl, “Shut her up, you idiot!” 

Lannister’s goon pressed a sharp implement against the soft flesh of your stomach. “Keep movin’ and you’ll lose a lot more than your man, bitch.” 

As your squirming died down, reality set in and tears began flooding down your face. It was over. He’d won. All of the efforts that went into putting distance between the two of you were meaningless. He’d found you, and Snyder was going to take Matt from you because of it. 

You were roughly stood on your feet and forced to move in the trail of Lannister and his other goon. Eventually, you were forced into a cold metal chair, binds attached to the stiff bars of the furniture. Your blindfold was ripped off, though your gag remained. James Lannister’s ferocious grin appeared in your line of vision, making you flinch. “So glad we’ve been reunited, Princess. We’re gonna have some fun.” 

The group had taken you to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. There were broken wooden palettes and scraps of steel scattered around the floor. Holes in the sheet metal walls allowed cold, winter air to blow crisp waves of wind through the space, raising the hairs on your neck. A gaping hole in the roof above you showers you in moonlight, illuminating a small s circle around you and Lannister. 

A knife glinted in your peripheral vision and you whimpered, squirming involuntarily. Lannister grabbed a fistful of your shirt, yanking you forward with a growl. “The more you squirm, the more damage I do, little princess. I’d hold still if I were you.” 

With that warning, he slashed a jagged cut in your top, nicking the skin along your collarbone. A hand ran over your hair, grasping the strands and tugging so that your face was turned towards your captor’s once again. “There’s my obedient little pet. Was wondering where she’d gone.” 

Bile rose in your throat as Lannister stroked his massive hands along your face, planting heated, bourbon-soaked kisses along your neck and down your chest. Prying away your torn clothes, he turned to face the goons. “Is it ready?” 

“Yes, sir.” One deep voice responded from the shadows of the warehouse beyond your visible surroundings. “Before I have my fun,” Lannister stepped aside, revealing a tall dark shape topped with a blinking red light. “I’d like to record a confession, dear. For my sanity, and for the board to know the truth.” 

Raising his barely slurred voice, he turned to the camera. 

“State your name, for the record.”

“Please don’t do this. I don’t—“ Your pleading morphed into a screech of pain as the point of the blade ripped a gash in the exposed skin of your shoulder. 

“Wrong answer, pet.” Lannister took a swig from a practically empty bottle of liquor that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. A trail of blood wormed its way to the cement floor, pooling at your feet. You stared at the river of red liquid for a moment before stammering out your name. 

“That’s a good pet. What’s your relation to me, my dear?” Chucking the now empty bottle aside, it shattered at your feet, spraying you with cheap alcohol and pieces of glass. 

“I worked with you. In Queens.” A smaller knife plunged into the meat of your thigh and you screamed in agony. The larger of the two goons shuffled into your wavering vision, smiling as he wiped your blood from his hands. 

“More specific, Princess.” Lannister spat at you. 

“You were my boss.” 

“That’s right. Now tell us, how did you get me fired?” 

You sobbed, “I didn’t, I wasn’t—“ Grasping the knife still planted in your leg, Lannister twisted it, grabbing your throat. 

“Yes you did, you miserable bitch. You ruined my fucking life. I lost my divorce settlement, my job, my house, my reputation. All because I took an ungrateful slut under my wing.” Ripping the blade from your body, he hurled you to the ground. 

“TELL THE TRUTH!” Lannister roared, sending a brutal kick into your chest and knocking the air from your lungs. “Tell them that you seduced me for months and then used me to land a promotion. TELL THEM THAT YOU TOOK MY ENTIRE LIFE FROM ME AFTER I’D GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING!”

Stomping over your body again, he stumbled backwards allowing you to cough out a response. “I—I took everything f-from you. I was un-ungrateful.” 

Lannister cackled, pulling you from the ground by your uninjured arm. “Turn the camera off. They won’t want to see this next part.” 

The goons stepped forward to follow your former boss’s orders, but a piercing sound from outside halted them in their tracks. A horrific shriek, the sound of metal grinding on metal, echoed through the warehouse. All three men froze, looking to each other as if expecting to find the cause of the noise at the hands of their fellow assholes. Dropping you hard onto your shoulder, Lannister turned towards the source of the creaking and your head lolled after him.

As the door to the warehouse slammed open, you cried in relief as your weak gaze made out the black clad figure against the night sky. Daredevil. Your devil. He came for you. Tears poured down your cheeks and your limbs tensed, Matt’s presence drawing you in like a magnet. 

Lannister huffs out a laugh. “The fuck do you want, shadow man? Don’t you have robberies to stop?” At his sides, the other men shuffled nervously, knives gripped firmly as they awaited their next command. 

Matt stalked forward into the warehouse, his body stiff as it held his rage back, visible tension like that of water building against a dam. Fists clenched, he prowled an arc around your three kidnappers. “Step the fuck away from her.” His deep timbre was pitched exceedingly low with pure fury and it sent ripples of goosebumps across your bare skin. 

Drawing the handgun from the back pocket of his slacks, Lannister stepped towards you once more. “Do your worst, Devil. She’s not leaving here alive.” The world slowed, as if the air around you was suddenly thick as molasses. Your eyes were processing as much as they could as dread settled in your stomach. The barrel of the gun moved across Lannister’s body and pointed at you as his meaty thumb cocked the weapon. 

Simultaneously, Matt’s athletic form rocketed forward, skillfully dodging the swings from both of your unnamed assailants and leaping at Lannister. A gunshot rang and you traced the bullet as it soared towards you. Suddenly, your vision went white as pain seared through your body following the pointed metal cylinder as it tore through your abdomen. Screaming in anguish, your ears rang with a high pitched tone, the flash of white across your sight fading to black. The only thing you could focus on was the burning agony as the puddle of your blood seeped into your torn clothes. Forcefully shutting your eyes, your inhales turned shallow, and you prayed to your beloved Matthew that he would get you out of here before you took your last breath. 

Matt’s skin was alight with rage as he maniacally tore through the three brutes to reach your collapsed form. The head captor’s words barely registered in his ears over the deafening sound of a gun being pulled. No. Do not let it be her, take me. The safety was undone as Matt ripped one man’s shoulder from its socket, using the falter in his steps to knock him unconscious. He needed to be faster. He had to reach you. Planting a hefty kick into the next guy’s stomach, he brought his billy club up to meet the force of the man’s own body weight bringing him down. A hollow thud of a body on cement meant there was one attacker left. And then came the gunshot. 

As the bullet escaped the barrel it was encased in, Matt roared, the devil inside him fully consuming his consciousness as tackled the shooter. Knuckles connected with a jawbone, then the softer cartilage of a nose, then the lumpy space of a rib cage. Matt poured every emotion he had into this criminal, each punch holding seeds of guilt and regret and desperation. 

The smell of your blood cascading over the dirty floor broke him from his trance. Dropping the battered body of your captor to the floor, he dove beside you, hands hovering over your body as he assessed the damage. 

Sobbing in relief, he cupped your face as gently as he could. “It’s ok, angel. You’re gonna be ok. They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. Just breathe with me, please sweetness, breathe.” 

Your shallow pants stuttered as your hand weakly grasped his shirt. “Ma-Matty?” 

“Yah sweetness, it’s me. I’m right here. Gonna get you out of here, ok? Just hold on.” Ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt, he pressed it over your largest wound, biting back a pained sound of his own when you hissed. “I know, I know, angel. I have to stop the bleeding.” 

The soft smell of salt melded with the metallic odor of your blood. You were crying, holding on to the fistful of his shirt like it was a lifeline. “Y-you came for me? I’m—I’m so-sorry” 

Stroking your face lightly before he dialed 911, he cooed. “Of course I came, lovely. I’ll always come for you. Always. Now you just focus on breathing. In and out, sweetness. Good girl, just like that.” 

At the operator’s greeting, he spit out a rough command for police and an ambulance, giving a brief description of the events that had happened. Next, he pleaded for their help. There was no way he alone could get you to a hospital in time. 

“They were holding her hostage. She’s been shot, stabbed too. Lost a lot of blood. She’s still alive but she needs medical attention, please hurry.” He spit out the approximate location, scrubbing tears from his face as he pocketed his phone. 

Pressing his forehead to yours delicately, he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my sweet girl. It’s going to be ok. I’m so sorry.” Your hand raised shakily to cradle his nape. 

“Matty,” Your voice was weak, but determined. “I—I need you to know—“ 

“Hey, this isn’t one of those moments, sweet girl. You can tell me later, when you’re healing. You focus on—“ 

“No, please.” You begged, he fought back a choked cry so that you could say your piece. 

“I love you. S-so much.” You heaved a breath.  “I’m sorry that I ruined—“

“Shh, you didn’t ruin anything.” Matt chided gently, tears slipping faster after you'd confirmed his previous mistake. “I love you too, my wonderful, sweet girl. I won’t let them take you from me. I won’t.” 

“I’m sorry.” You choked out, and then you fell out of consciousness. 

Matt collapsed against your chest, clinging to the sound of your weak pulse as his body trembled with sobs. He planted soft kisses to your hair and cheeks, stroking lightly over your skin as he willed God to save you. 

The distant sound of sirens forced Matt to pry his face from your pummeled body. As the sound of vehicles approached, he made sure to alert the paramedics to your presence before taking back to the shadows. Hearing the clamor of attendants around you, he made a promise. “I’ll be there when you wake, angel. I’m sorry.”

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

You know what, I'd be acting the same way if Frank Castle was standing shirtless in front of me. I can't contest reader at all 😂

You're Safe With Me [Chapter Five]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of chapters for You're Safe With Me here.]

Warnings: 18+; series contains violence, mentions of mass shootings, angst and comfort, slow burn romance, enemies to lovers, eventual smut

Word Count:6.4

a/n: A little sexual tension presents itself in this chapter, and Reader and Frank bond a little more. You also get a brief Frank POV at the end! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @lunaticgurly @allaboardthereadingrailroad @linamarr @hollandorks @sleeperthelazy @marcysbear @mattkinsella @mattmurdocksstarlight @xxdrixx @v4leoftears @aoi-targaryen @danzer8705 @anon-cat-posts @heimtathurs @kmc1989 @thepunisherfrankcastle @agirlcandream84 @americaarse

The young woman behind the Happy Lodger Motel's front desk warily eyed the folded stack of cash Frank had handed her. Gradually her focus drifted up towards you, silently eyeing you up and down for a moment. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that she was taking in your disheveled appearance and dirty hair. You shifted your weight back and forth on your feet, becoming uncomfortable under her scrutiny as you sent her a tense smile. You figured she was wondering if Frank had abducted you–truthfully that look was a look you'd gotten often with his gruff appearance at your side. Or maybe she was just making sure you weren't a prostitute. 

"So, two queen beds, was it?" she asked.

The woman’s attention finally returned back to the computer monitor before her, her fingers slowly tapping at the keyboard.  

"Yes, ma'am," Frank replied.

At his curt and polite reply, her hand’s stopped their typing and hovered above the keyboard. One of her dark brows rose up onto her forehead as she scanned Frank over the top of her monitor. You saw the moment something shifted in the way her eyes lingered on him, her head tilting a bit to the side as her gaze openly surveyed his face with interest. Your own eyes fell down towards your feet, an uncomfortable feeling unfurling in your gut at her flirtatious stare. Beside you, Frank loudly cleared his throat. 

"Room seven is open," she told him. "As long as this really is sixty-five dollars."

You glanced back up, watching as the woman unfolded the stack of cash in her hand and began counting it, intentionally taking her time. From its place along the edge of the desk, you noticed Frank's finger tapping rapidly in barely contained irritation while she did. You bit back the smile threatening to form on your mouth, enjoying his frustration. 

When she finally finished counting the bills twice , she spun her chair around, scooting it back before grabbing a key from the wall behind her, the number seven clearly written on the tag. She wheeled her chair back over to the pair of you, holding the key out to Frank. He snatched it quickly, shooting her a tight lipped smile. After, he turned to face you, gesturing his head towards the door behind himself.

“C’mon,” he muttered.

With a sigh you followed obediently after him, readjusting the strap of your duffle bag on your shoulder as you walked. Frank pushed the door of the motel’s office open, stepping outside before he stopped to hold it open for you. Hesitating for a moment just before the doorway, you were caught off guard by the unexpected display of politeness from him. But the second the muscle in his cheek jumped, you ducked your head and slipped past him, making your way to your left towards the line of motel room doors.

“Looks like we’re at the end,” Frank said from just behind you.

Wordlessly you made your way all the way down the sidewalk to the last door, stopping in front of the one with a large seven hanging unevenly along it. Moving to the side, you leant up against the building as Frank stepped over to the door and placed the key into the lock. Your eyes drifted across the street to where you spotted a gas station situated next to a bar. Reading the sign atop the bar with its name vibrantly displayed, an amused snort of laughter slipped out of you. Frank opened the motel door, shooting you a curious look at the sound as he pulled the key from the lock.

“What?” he asked.

You pointed across the street to the bar with the obnoxious neon sign flashing on top of it. Frank turned, his eyes following the direction of your finger.

“The Flaming Rose?” you pointed out. 

Frank focused back on you, his face emotionless. “Yeah?” he asked. “That supposed to mean somethin’?”

“No, I mean it just–” you paused, shaking your head as you pushed off of the building, “–seems like such a stereotypical biker bar in a small town,” you finished lamely.

Frank grunted in response, whether it was in agreement or annoyance was undecipherable to you. Ignoring his stony expression, you stepped past him and into the motel room–and then you laughed again when you actually saw the room. 

The carpet, though very noticeably discolored and stained, was leopard print. The wallpaper on the walls was torn in many places, but they were also covered in a leopard print that had clearly faded over the years from the sun. And on both beds were leopard print comforters and pillows. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much animal print in one place,” you said in amazement, heading over to the furthest bed as Frank closed the door behind himself. “I mean it’s–it’s on the walls, the floor, and the bedsheets. They definitely committed to the theme here.”

“It’s a bed at least,” Frank muttered.

“One I definitely wouldn’t want to see under a black light,” you said under your breath. 

As you dropped your duffle bag on the end of the mattress, you heard Frank let out a chuckle behind you. You instantly froze at the mirthful sound coming from the man who barely expressed emotion. Looking over your shoulder at him behind you, you spotted Frank slipping out of his thick jacket, an amused smirk on his face as he tossed his coat on his bed. When he realized you were watching him he looked up, his eyes studying you.

“Did you just…laugh?” you asked him in awe.

“‘Bout as surprised that you can make a joke, Spunky,” he shot back.

Your face fell at the irksome nickname he’d given you. It had seemed to stick for the past couple of days now and it grated on your nerves every time he called you that. Sighing in irritation, you sunk down on the edge of the bed, your eyes scanning around the room as one of your hands reached up, pushing your dirty hair from off your face. 

Truthfully you’d love a chance to shower right now. It was going on almost three days since you’d last had one and you were positive you didn’t smell pleasant at this point. Even a fresh change of clothing would be welcomed right about now. But with the way Frank had kept you tied up in his van, then tied up in the previous motel room before you’d both had to run, and then stuck in his van all day today until right now, you hadn’t had much of an opportunity. 

As your attention returned to Frank where he was currently surveying the parking lot outside the window, you nervously began to chew your lip. Would he even let you shower? Or was he planning to tie you back up now that you weren’t on the road? Even though the pair of you had fallen into a more comfortable silence with each other after your stop at Denny’s earlier today, you still hadn’t gotten a good read on Frank. Most of the time he seemed focused and detached, barely paying you any attention, though on occasion he’d been almost comforting–in his own way. 

Figuring Frank would never break the silence if you didn’t, probably content to be quiet the rest of the night, you cleared your throat and decided to be the one to break it. At the noise, he half-turned towards you, that impassive look on his face.

“You’re not uh…planning to, you know, tie me to the headboard again, are you?” you asked him cautiously. “Now that we’re not on the road?”

“Do I need to?” he asked back.

Pressing your lips together, you slowly shook your head. “No,” you answered. “I’m not–not going to run anywhere, I swear.” Your shoulders drooped as you glanced down, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to go, anyway. I don’t even have a phone since you smashed it on the side of the road.”

"Just don't leave the room," he said. "'S'all I ask."

"So you don't–don't mind if I actually shower then, do you?" you asked in a small voice, peering up at him from under your lashes. Some unknown emotion flashed across his face and you quickly added in a rush, "It's just been a few days and I don't know when I'll get a chance again and–"

"Go on and shower,” he cut you off, something akin to guilt in his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–” he stopped mid-sentence, his focus dropping down to the floor as he hung his head. One of his hands reached up, rubbing awkwardly over the top of his head. “Go shower. Use the bathroom,” he urged, still avoiding looking at you. “I ain’t–ain’t tryin’ to stop you from taking care of yourself.”

For a second you sat on the edge of the mattress, curiously watching him. It was indeed guilt that you saw on full display from him right now. Bottom lip slowly slipping between your teeth, you slid off the edge of the bed and picked up your duffle bag before shuffling through the motel room towards the bathroom. You pushed the door open wider before reaching a hand in, flipping on the lightswitch. Stepping inside, you set your duffle bag onto the floor and then turned, focusing on your disheveled state in the bathroom mirror. Though you promptly shrieked at what you spotted on the wall behind you.

Darting backwards in fright, you nearly tripped over your own feet as you tried to place as much distance between yourself and the giant spider on the bathroom wall. You had barely taken two steps back before you bumped into something solid directly behind you, blocking your path. Startled, you spun on your heel and saw Frank behind you with a serious look on his face, his gun drawn and at the ready. The sight of the weapon in his hands had your heart thundering loud in your ears, your eyes wide as you saw him push past you and sweep the small space from left to right, ready to shoot an intruder. Though he quickly realized there was none.

Lowering his gun, he turned back towards you from his place in the middle of the bathroom, a dark expression on his face. You shrank back from his furious glare instinctively.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?" he snapped.

"There was a–a spider," you admitted sheepishly.

Pointing a trembling hand at the giant black insect still clinging to the wall, embarrassment flooded you. Frank’s hardened stare followed your movement, his eyes landing on the spider. He scoffed loudly, shaking his head and running a hand down his face.

"You kiddin' me?" he shot out, his glare piercing through you. "Don't you ever scream like that for a goddamn spider again. Is that clear?" 

You nodded swiftly in response. Frank curled his large hand into a fist before he swung it with precision at the wall. You flinched at the resounding thud as he smashed the insect in one swift movement, his glare never leaving you. 

"Here I was thinkin’ someone was in here," he continued to rage, taking an intimidating step towards you which only caused you to take an involuntary step back, cowering against the wall, "and it’s just you terrified of a spider. I think you need to take a moment and reevaluate what an actual threat is here, sweetheart."

The burn of tears was in your eyes as he towered above you, his nostrils flaring with each of his sharp, enraged exhales. His dark eyes were practically on fire as they bore down on you. Under that furious stare of his you weren’t even sure if you were breathing anymore.

Truthfully you hadn't meant to scream; it had been a gut reaction. You hated spiders and weren't expecting to find such a large one just out in the open here. And you'd been so on edge ever since those men had broken into your house that you'd been unable to stop the scream from flying out of you when you'd spotted it.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, wiping a hand at your watery eyes. "I didn't mean to. Didn't think you'd–you'd come in here like that. I just–it just–just startled me. I won't–"

You broke off mid-sentence, eyes focusing on the dead spider on the wall as your teeth clamped together, struggling to fight back a sob. You would not break down in front of Frank. 

A moment later you heard him release a rough exhale, the sound drawing your blurry vision back up towards him. The tension had visibly eased from his muscles as his hand rose up, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just don't scream unless someone is actually tryin' to kill you, alright?" he growled, annoyed. 

"Okay," you breathed out. 

Without another word, Frank stalked off out of the bathroom, closing the door behind himself as he went. It was a few seconds before you released the breath you'd been holding, leaning up against the bathroom counter and trying to calm down. That man was absolutely terrifying when he was angry and you did not want to be on the other side of that anger ever again. 

You took a minute to collect yourself after that encounter with Frank before you headed over to the shower, turning it on and letting the water warm up. Not wanting to risk losing your chance to finally get clean, you decided to push aside whatever that moment with Frank had been and focus solely on the shower right now.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Curled up on top of the obnoxious and scratchy leopard print comforter, you’d long ago let your eyes drift closed as you rested your head on the matching lumpy leopard print pillow. Listening to the shower running in the other room, you had slowly begun to relax as you lay there. Thankfully Frank hadn’t decided to zip tie your hands to the headboard again while he washed up in the bathroom, displaying a show of trust on his part that you weren’t about to just run while he was indisposed. Though as you told him earlier, you had nowhere to go. Especially not with the dangerous people out there who were looking for you.

Before heading into the bathroom to shower, Frank had told you that he planned to figure out something for the both of you to eat for dinner when he was finished. And you were grateful for that considering how your stomach had been incessantly growling for a while now. Since Frank wouldn't let you leave the room, it wasn’t like you could exactly go out and find something to eat yourself. It didn’t help that you hadn’t eaten much today other than a beef jerky stick from a gas station a few hours ago and those eggs you’d picked at over lunch earlier when he’d stopped at that Denny’s.

At least things between you and Frank seemed to be moving in a better direction today, though. Despite the fact that he’d just reprimanded you in the bathroom for screaming over a spider, it seemed like he was beginning to trust you a bit more. And you were admittedly beginning to trust him just a little bit in return, especially after what had happened at the previous motel you’d stayed at. He had, after all, saved your life–even if you weren’t ecstatic about the way in which he had. Though he’d had a point, one you were trying hard to come to terms with. Right now, it really was you or these militia members, and if you were forced to choose, you’d rather be the one still breathing over any of the members of that terrorist group.

But Frank remained a confusing mystery to you. The media had painted the Punisher as someone who wasn’t quite right in the head after having witnessed his family murdered right in front of him. And then he’d gone on multiple killing sprees afterwards–as the news portrayed it–seeking revenge on the people responsible for killing his family. And while that wasn’t how things were supposed to be done when it came to justice, all of the people Frank had killed had been criminals. And admittedly what Frank had been through was horrible, something you couldn’t even possibly imagine living through and not wanting to seek revenge yourself. There was a part of you that had begun to understand that Frank wasn’t crazy and overtly murderous because of his actions.

You still remembered hearing all of the stories about Frank in the news and hearing the chatter about him at WGN’s news station back in the day. Everyone had thought he was insane and a mass murderer. Truthfully, at the time, he had sounded like a terrifying nightmare to you, too. You had been grateful that he was New York City’s problem and not Chicago’s. But now you were beginning to wonder just how accurate the media portrayal of him had been. 

Despite his violent tendencies and rough exterior, Madani had trusted him to protect you. She was a federal agent after all, one who would surely not have done that if she’d thought he was an absolute untrustworthy monster. On top of that, he had risked his life for you and attempted to offer you comfort afterwards. He could have just let you walk out of that motel room and see all those dead bodies lying in the parking lot–but he hadn’t. And he’d been adamant earlier today that you understood how serious he was about keeping you safe when he’d noticed you getting upset at lunch. And just a bit ago he had even seemed guilty about how he’d been treating you, even if it was just a hint of guilt that you’d seen on him.

That all had to mean something, right? Because to you, he didn’t quite seem as heartless and monstrous as the media had portrayed him. Angry and violent, yes, but not crazy and certainly not a ruthless mass murderer. He was nothing like those people that were part of the Patriot Militia that were actually opening fire on innocent people just to push their agenda, the same ones then chasing after you to make sure that truth didn’t see the light of day.

No, maybe Frank Castle wasn’t as dangerous as he’d initially seemed. Or at least, not as dangerous to you as you’d first thought.

“Thinkin’ about making a quick run for food,” Frank’s gravelly voice said, breaking through your thoughts. “Maybe to a fast food joint close by.”

Eyes opening at the sound of his voice, you figured you'd try to pitch the idea you'd had earlier when he'd first gone to shower. 

“I was actually thinking,” you began, gradually pushing yourself upright on the bed, “that we could hit up that bar across the street. I’m sure they’ve got–” 

Your sentence died in your throat when Frank came into your line of sight, bending over and digging through the opened duffle bag on his bed. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans but no shirt, his hair still a bit damp as he ran a hand through it. You could see a few beads of water slowly making their way down the vast, muscular expanse of his back, your eyes mesmerized by their slow descent as they trailed down his skin. 

“Sure they got what?” Frank asked.

Blinking hard a few times, you realized you hadn’t finished your thought, having been distracted by his muscular upper body currently on full display. It was even more on display when he turned towards you, holding a black long sleeve shirt in his hands as he eyed you curiously through narrowed eyes. You had to force your focus back up to his face, your cheeks flaming at the possibility that you’d just been caught checking him out. You hoped he hadn’t realized that’s what you had been doing, though you’d surprised even yourself that you had been. But you hadn’t expected Frank to have such very defined abdominal muscles and surprisingly large pectorals on that broad chest of his. The loose-fitting shirt and thick jacket he’d been wearing the past two days had certainly hidden all that brawn from you.

“Food,” you finished awkwardly, your face still burning. “I’m sure they’ve got food there. And I personally could uh, use a beer,” you continued, noticing the way the muscles on his upper body flexed as he slipped the shirt up and over his head. “After–after all of…this.”

His hands tugged the hem of his shirt all the way down, covering his bare chest from your view. Though you couldn’t help but notice that the shirt he’d just put on was vastly tighter than the previous one he’d been wearing. You also couldn’t help but notice how thick his arms were or how the material of this shirt clung to those large pectorals of his. 

“You want to go to a bar?” Frank repeated slowly, his dark brows knitting together. “To drink? Right now?”

“Well we need food,” you pointed out, trying hard to focus on the argument you’d planned out in your head a bit ago and not the way Frank shirtless had suddenly made you feel a little shy. “And we’re stuck here for the night anyway. If we’re across the street you can keep an eye on the motel. See if we were followed. No one would expect us to be at a bar, right? They'd expect us to be in this room.”

Frank grunted in response as he ran a hand over his mouth, clearly thinking about it. Your nails plucked at the material of your jeans as you waited for his response. Inevitably the image of him shirtless raced through your mind and you averted your gaze from him, chewing the inside of your cheek. Why the hell were you thinking about Frank Castle like that?

“I suppose,” he finally answered, his hand dropping from his face before he pointed a firm finger at you. “Just as long as you don’t go gettin’ piss drunk on me. I ain’t carryin’ your ass anywhere and I don’t need you hungover and pukin’ in my van tomorrow.”

“Fair,” you replied, tossing your legs over the side of the bed and rising to your feet. “I don’t want to get wasted, I just want a drink.”

Frank grunted again before he turned, reaching across the bed to grab his jacket. He slung it on before he glanced back at you, his eyes scanning you up and down for a moment.

“Don’t you have a coat or somethin’? It’s cold outside,” he said.

You shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest. “I didn’t have a chance to grab one when I jumped out of my bedroom window,” you told him. “I only have a few things.”

“Gonna have to get you a coat then, Spunky,” Frank muttered, turning and making his way towards the door. “Can’t have you freezin’ to death on me.”

You followed after him, frowning at the nickname. “Why do you keep calling me that?” you blurted.

Frank swung the door open, stepping outside before he glanced back at you. “‘Cause you’re a pain in the ass,” he stated. 

Frown deepening, you stepped out onto the sidewalk beside him, hugging your arms tighter around yourself in the cold. “And you’re a ray of sunshine yourself,” you snapped back. “I don’t like the name.”

“Good, that’s why I keep usin’ it,” he told you as he locked the door behind you.

Turning around, he began to make his way through the motel parking lot, depositing the room key into his jacket pocket as he walked. For a moment you just stood there in front of room seven, openly gaping at him. He had been calling you that to purposely irritate you?

“Get moving before I change my mind,” Frank called over his shoulder at you. “ Spunky .”

Eyes narrowing at his back, you began to follow after him in a huff. If he wanted to give you an irritating nickname, you’d give him one, too.

“Right behind you, Sunshine ,” you shot back.

A bark of a laugh flew out of Frank, his head turning over his shoulder. There was an amused grin on his face, one that actually reached his eyes as he slowed his pace, allowing you to catch up to him. Eventually you fell in step beside him, unable to hide the triumphant smile growing on your face at having managed to make him genuinely laugh.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to be funny,” Frank commented.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to have a sense of humor,” you shot back.

A light chuckle fell out of him next, the sound keeping that pleased smile on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye you saw his grin had morphed into a smile. He looked vastly less intimidating when he smiled like that.

“Keep it up,” Frank began, “and maybe you won’t be so goddamn irritating to be stuck with all day.”

“And what does that get me?” you asked him curiously as you both crossed the street. “Radio privileges?”

“Nah,” Frank said with a definitive shake of his head. “You’re not putting on some pop bullshit in my van.”

“Who says I listen to pop bullshit?”

The pair of you headed up towards the bar and you weren’t remotely surprised to see the line of motorcycles peeking out from around the side of it. The Flaming Rose was a stereotypical biker bar, just as you’d expected. 

“Guess I don’t know what you listen to,” Frank mused as he reached a hand out, opening the bar door and holding it open for you. “But you aren’t playing your shit in my van," he repeated, shooting you a pointed look. "I’ll tell you that right now. Road trip rule number one, Spunky–driver picks the music.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping past him and into the poorly lit little dive bar. The sound of billiard balls clacking together met your ears, a Jimi Hendrix song playing just loud enough over the speakers. There were a couple of televisions above the bar currently airing the news. As your eyes continued to scan the room, Frank came to a stop just at your side. You noticed the bar wasn’t very full this evening; there were a few bikers in leather cuts situated at a couple of tables and you spotted what you assumed to be the ‘regulars’ who were half bent over the bar counter, hands clutching a glass or a bottle of beer as their eyes blankly stared at the news channels.

Frank’s arm nudged yours, drawing your attention back to him at your side. You looked up at him, your brows rising onto your forehead in a silent question. He was currently scanning the bar himself, clearly looking for threats.

“Why don’t you grab a table?” he suggested. “I’ll grab us some beers and somethin’ to eat. I’m guessin’ you eat pizza, right? ‘Cause it looks like they got pizza.”

“I’d eat a shoe right now,” you joked.

At that, Frank glanced down at you, a hint of amusement in his eye. Then he gestured his chin away from the bar, the glint in his eye disappearing as quick as it had appeared. 

“Go on. Grab a table,” he ordered.

“Sure thing, Sunshine,” you replied.

You caught the amused huff he emitted with a shake of his head before you turned, making your way across the bar to an empty table. At least he wasn't being a surly asshole to you tonight. That was progress.

Climbing up into the tall and unsteady chair, you glanced out the window to your left. You'd intentionally grabbed a table with a view of the motel across the street so Frank could keep an eye on it. Resting your chin in your hand, you stared out the window in silence, your mind blissfully blank for once. Though you could feel the exhaustion of the past few days settling in on you like a heavy weight on your shoulders. Hopefully you could manage a decent sleep tonight without waking up to people trying to kill you. The memory of what had happened not quite twenty-four hours ago still sent a chill down your spine. 

It was a few minutes before Frank appeared, sitting down in the chair across from you as he set two beers on the table, sliding one towards you. Head turning in his direction, you reached out a hand and grabbed the cold bottle, softly muttering a thanks. Frank nodded once, shrugging out of his thick jacket before pulling his own bottle to his lips for a deep drink. 

You drew your own beer up to your lips, your eyes scanning the bar as you quickly began to drink it down. The energy of the Flaming Rose seemed surprisingly flat except for the two men playing pool in the far corner. Your eyes eventually slid to the wall behind them, spotting the dart board hanging on the wood paneled wall. For a moment you remembered the times you’d hit up the bars with your friends in Chicago, throwing back a few drinks and playing a few games of darts. Right now, that felt like another lifetime ago.

“What?”

Your head spun back towards Frank at the sound of his voice, taking in the way he was slouched back in his chair looking entirely at ease. One of his hands was absently twirling his beer bottle along the table, his dark eyes watching you. A sudden nervousness washed over you under his stare.

“You just sighed and looked all forlorn,” he observed. “What’s that about?”

Eyes flickering back towards the dart board, you shook your head. But Frank had caught your gaze, turning his head to follow it. He hummed out a noise before he focused back on you.

“You play darts?” he asked.

You shrugged a shoulder, your eyes dropping back down to the beer in front of you. “A little,” you told him. “Just something my friends and I used to do some nights.”

“Bet I’d kick your ass,” he challenged, sitting forward in his chair. “You look like you can’t aim worth a damn.”

Eyes making their way up towards his face, you spotted the smug smirk stretched across his lips. For a moment your eyes lingered on his mouth, the image of him standing beside his bed shirtless flashing through your mind. Goosebumps rose along your arms beneath your shirt as you began to wonder just how solid that chest of his would actually feel beneath your hands.

Clearing your throat, you tried to ignore the heat once again rising to your cheeks. You weren’t sure why you were thinking about Frank like that, but it needed to stop. Especially before he noticed.

“You’re probably right,” you agreed. “Not all of us were blessed with your good aim.”

“What?” he asked in shock, his eyebrows shooting up onto his forehead. “No smartass comeback from you? I’m surprised and a little disappointed, Spunky.”

Rolling your eyes, you raised your beer to your lips. If you hadn’t known better you’d have wondered if he was trying to flirt with you this evening. But you did, in fact, know better. The two of you clearly needed a chance to bond and break the weird tension that had only grown ever since he’d thrown you into the back of his van. After all, you were going to be stuck together for a while. He was just trying to be his version of friendly, that was all.

Frank’s attention abruptly turned towards the bar, lowering his beer back to the table. His other hand patted the tabletop twice before he slipped out of his chair.

“Pizza’s ready,” he told you. “Stay put.”

Your stomach let out a grumble at the prospect of food as you watched him head over to the bar with that swagger in his step you’d started to notice he often had. Eyes following his form as he made his way around a few tables, you couldn’t help but stare at his back and the muscles noticeable beneath his shirt.

°•°•°•°•°•°

“So what else are the road trip rules?”

Frank’s attention remained focused on the window to his right where he had been quietly watching the motel the entire time he had been eating. So far nothing out of the ordinary had caught his attention since you’d both been here; it seemed like tonight might be more uneventful than last night. Which was good. He hated to admit it, but your idea of coming here for a bit to scope out the motel had been a good one. Though he’d deny it if you asked.

But your voice had cut through his focus, drawing him back to the present with you here in the bar. He’d noticed you’d been less chatty once he’d brought the pizza to the table. And then when he’d seen how quickly you’d put down the food, he’d felt guilty realizing just how hungry you had been. While he might be able to focus on his mission, managing to get by with eating the occasional bite of food and thriving on gas station coffees, he mentally noted that he needed to pay more attention to your needs. Especially when it came to making sure you’d had a chance to fucking shower. Fuck , he still felt like a massive asshole with how small you’d sounded just asking if it was okay for you to wash up. How could he have been such a dick? 

But now that you’d both finished eating, Frank assumed you were trying to strike up a conversation with him again. He figured it was so you could get to know him better, maybe to feel less like he’d abducted you outside of Ruby’s Diner a few days ago. He’d been trying his best to be a little less closed off with you, opening up just a bit. If he was going to be stuck with you for a bit, he might as well try to ease your fears of him.

Plus, he really didn’t like when you looked at him with those wide, terrified doe-eyes of yours. Or the way you’d duck your head and speak softly, like you were afraid he’d go off on you. He wanted you to feel safe around him. Wanted you to understand he wasn’t going to hurt you, even if you irritated him sometimes. Like when you’d shrieked over that goddamn spider in the bathroom tonight. He’d grabbed his gun instantly, assuming someone had been lying in wait in the bathroom somehow, and rushed straight to you in a panic, terrified you’d been hurt. But no, you’d gotten worked up over a bug .

He’d done his best to rein in his temper then, too. But still–you’d had those terrified doe-eyes of yours again and spoken in that soft voice. Afraid of him. Clearly on the verge of tears. So when you’d loosened up with him a bit on the way over to the bar, actually cracking some jokes, he’d done his best to drop his guard a bit. Which he figured he should probably try to do with you again now, just a bit.

Just to ease your fears around him, that was the only reason.

“Don’t touch my radio,” Frank answered you.

“Okay, we’ve established that,” you pointed out. “What else?”

Frank’s attention shifted away from the window and over towards where you were sitting across the table from him. His eyes followed the beer in your hand as you drew it to your mouth, wrapping your lips around the bottle before throwing the last of it back. 

“No leaving motel rooms or the van without my permission,” he added. “Don’t need you disappearing on me if trouble is around.”

You nodded once, setting your beer back onto the table. “No unsanctioned bathroom trips without a hall pass, got it.”

He couldn’t fight the grin that pulled the corner of his lips upwards. You really were funny. It was a welcome surprise to him.

“No stupid road trip games, either,” he told you.

He saw the way you rolled your eyes at him before you spoke.

“Why would you even need to make that a rule?” you asked.

Frank shrugged, enjoying the way you seemed lighter than you had since he’d met you. It made him feel good knowing that he had been able to distract you from your situation, even if for a little bit. You’d seemed to really be struggling with that all day, silently lost in your mind as he drove. You probably figured he hadn’t noticed, but he had.

“Seem like the kinda person who’d play I Spy or some other equally stupid ass game,” Frank replied. “Not my sorta thing.”

“I get the impression not much is,” you muttered, glancing over at the bar.

Frank laughed, shaking his head. You were at least feeling comfortable enough to give him shit. He liked that. Though his laughter quickly subsided when he saw you stiffen in your chair, your back straightening as you focused on the television above the bar. He turned, his eyes squinting as he quickly read the closed caption on the screen. There’d been a shooting at a grocery store in Glen Allen, Virginia. Three were dead, seven injured.

Frank’s attention returned to you, his eyes narrowing further as he studied your abrupt shift in demeanor closely. You looked like you were about to be sick and your hands had a death grip on the bar table. Something about that story had upset you, and he had a feeling it was somehow linked to whatever it was you were involved in with the Patriot Militia. Madani hadn’t been too forthright with the details.

“I want to go,” you said, abruptly sliding out of the chair.

Frank’s brow furrowed at your sudden desire to leave. Wordlessly he rose from his chair, watching your body language as you wrapped your arms around yourself, hunching forward and focusing on your feet. Something was clearly bothering you, but you’d quickly just closed yourself off to him. He’d have to pry for answers later.

“Alright,” he assented, pulling on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Without waiting, you spun on your heel and headed towards the exit. Your head remained ducked down as you made your way out of the bar and Frank couldn’t help but wonder what had affected your mood so drastically from that news story. 

He's so beautiful

I know I don’t have many mutuals so I’m not sure if anyone cares but IM GETTING A CAT THIS WEEK AND HES SO HANDSOME.

It took me so long to find him and he’s far away but I’ve been approved and LOOK AT HIM

Ahhhhhhh his name is Cricket and I’m so excited

This fic is so amazing, and I'm so excited to see an x Rosalie story!! Love the way you write her as well, author! Take Care <3

Bound | Chapter 3

Word Count: 4.2K Warnings: implied/reference SA, torture, murder, bodily harm

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever, or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: well, we continue with Rosalie's revenge. Still one more chapter to go for the murder I am sure we are all waiting for. The next chapter will also be from Rosalie's "POV" since I want to show the parallel time frames for both the reader and Rose, and there's a time frame when nothing important is happening for Reader, but it does for Rose. I literally made an entire timeline to make sure things add up. Anywho, hope y'all enjoy! Also, I want to say to any and all survivors of SA that you are not alone and what happened to you is not your fault, it never will be. I hope you have healed or are healing. And if you ever just need an ear to listen, I am here. 🤍

<- Previous

It was astounding how different two lives that were connected could look so different in the same time span. Whilst (Y/N) basked in the presence of her best friend, in their love and closeness, Rosalie was going back to the Cullen residence after taking the lives of two men, with no knowledge that the witch that would change her life was less than four hours away. Had life turned out any differently, that was the closest their souls would have been to meeting. So close, yet so far. 

Alas, neither knew of the existence of the other. Not yet, at least. 

The blonde was angsty with revenge. Her veins itched with the need to rid the earth of those demons, to make sure no other woman ever fell victim to their claws. Her entrails churned and tightened. She needed them gone in order to finally sit with her thoughts, to allow the weight of everything that had happened to her to sink down her body. 

“So you really killed them?” Edward’s voice broke through the silence of the room Carlisle had designated as hers days after the murders. “News is spreading about a psychotic killer that took the lives of the Hubert brothers. Essentially tortured them both without spilling a drop of blood. And apparently, some men have been receiving threatening letters from this killer.” 

“What do you want, Edward?” 

“Don’t you think it’ll serve you better just to move on? Killing those men will accomplish nothing in the long run,” he said. “Even if you think you’re ridding the world of these monsters, they will be replaced by three more. That’s the world we live in.” 

“Just because you can hear my thoughts doesn’t mean that you know me,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “If you’re here to stop me from going through with my plan, then I will save you time. Carlisle could not get me to desist, and you certainly would not be able to.” 

“I’m just saying, Rosalie. It won’t help you in the long run to take their lives. You’ll live with them in the back of your mind for eternity. It’s not an existence you’d want.” 

“This is already an existence I don’t want, Edward. And their faces are already embedded in my head because of what they did to me. They took everything I hold dear. They took everything from me! The least I can do is take their lives. And I certainly don’t need a morality course from you.” 

Edward’s words died in his throat at that moment, and Rosalie was thankful for that. The last thing she wanted was to listen to a man who thought he was better than everyone around him because he could hear their thoughts. It didn’t take long for her to figure him out. He believed he was above scrutiny. He was arrogant and entitled. And he made it all that easy to get over the fact that he did not find her attractive –not that she’d let him know. It was the thought that would protect everything she really felt.

“Well, then. If that is all, I will ask you to leave,” she smiled. “I have better things to do.” 

Rosalie had nothing to do, in reality. As she let fear fester in the other three men, she did not know what to do with her days. She couldn’t leave the house because she was meant to be missing. She felt no desire to do any of the things she loved. Not even work on the 1928 Series 341-A blue Cadillac Carlisle had bought her to fix up. The only thing she could do was grow the fear inside the surviving monsters. To make sure they were sleeping with one eye open as they awaited their reckoning. Once that was over, she truly did not know what she would do with her life after. 

What Rosalie did know was where Ulysses Levitt lived. 

The boy came from new money, but he thought he was larger than life. Everyone in town knew where his family’s money had come from, and it wasn’t through the most legal of methods. Still, they were untouchable. Their money and their reputation made sure of that. They were safe from humans. Safe from the law raining fire down on their house and their businesses. But it didn’t protect their child from an immortal beauty dressed in the finest clothes. It didn’t keep him from becoming the next name on her revenge list. 

It was still morning, but it was a cloudy day in Rochester, New York. The darkness in the sky cloaked the rains of the sun, allowing her to walk freely through the streets. Ulysses’ apartment was in the town center. And where it was usually bustling with people, barely a soul was walking the streets. The town was still reeling from the murdered Hubert brothers,  the case too important to fall into the pile of cases that littered the station. There was too much money and too much influence surrounding these murders, and they needed to be solved so the people of Rochester could sleep in peace at night. 

And they should have. But they did not know that the danger that lingered in their city was directed onto a very specific group of men –boys. Death had kissed the eyes of five men and had given Rosalie the power to execute Her will. If others got in her way… well, every war has its odd casualties. 

Ulysses was her prey, and she was ready to go hunting. 

In a sense, she pitied him. The boy had spent his entire life trying to belong. Old money mixed with new money like water and oil. It didn’t matter how much money his family had. It would never be enough to gain the same power the other families had. So, the boy –only a few years older than Rosalie– had done everything he could to fit in with the world around him. And when the events of that night were taking place, he had gone along with what his friends had told him to do. He had ravaged her body without her consent.  Still, the Levitt boy was the only one of the five who had not even been able to look her in the eyes when the deed was done. He was the quickest to finish and the first one to go. And she remembered that grain of mercy. 

But he had still done it. Ulysses Levitt was still the worst kind of monster. 

She would grant him the same amount of mercy when it came to his death, though. Rosalie would grant him a quick and clean death. Well, with a hint of taunting. What fun would it be to simply kill him? His death would be swift, but that had nothing to do with the foreplay. 

She wasn’t surprised when she found his apartment to be locked. An anxious Ulysses was talking to his father on the phone, asking if he had heard anything regarding the Hubert brothers’ killer. Telling the man that he was terrified about the threatening letters he had received and how he feared whoever had sent them would be true to their word.  Unbeknownst to him, she was standing right outside his door. Granted, they were looking for a him, and they were looking for a human. Two things she was not. 

Rosalie granted him the decency to end the phone call. For him to promise his father that he would call Mrs. Levitt later in the week. That he would go home on Friday for a family dinner. Things he would never get to do. But there were so many things she couldn’t do either. Not anymore. Because of him and his friends. 

Just like him and the Hubert boys, she would no longer be able to have dinner with her parents. She wouldn’t be able to take a stroll outside in the daytime, feel the sun warm her skin, or even breathe the fresh air. She wouldn’t be able to plant roots in any city she would live in. And she would never be able to have children or grow old –what she had wanted most in the world. Well, that and her beauty. The only thing she would have for eternity. 

But it was starting to taste bitter. Her beauty had gotten her everything, and her beauty had taken it all away. Still, she couldn’t dread on that just yet. Not until her job was done. 

When Ulysses hung up the phone, she knocked softly on his apartment door. The sound of the wood echoed deep inside her ears. She covered the peephole with her hand in case he decided to look through it and ruin the surprise. But a man like him had no fears. At least, not ones he knew of. 

“Hell… oh,” he choked. His eyes grew big, all the blood draining from his face. “Wha… how…?” 

He tried to close the door on her, but just by reaching her hand out, Rosalie stopped it. She wanted to laugh at how scared he looked. He tripped going backward, scrambling on the floor for something to defend himself with. “What’s wrong, Ulysses?” she smiled sweetly. “Cat got your tongue?” 

“Y-y-you were dead,” he stammered. “We… you were dead.” 

“And I still am,” she said. “Don’t worry, you’re not going crazy, nor do you see a ghost. I can confirm that I am very much here in your presence.” 

“B-but how? If you are dead, there’s no way you could be here. It’s not possible.” 

“There are so many unexplainable things in this world, Ulysses. My new and improved life is one of them,” she grinned, though the words tasted bitter in her mouth. She hadn’t improved. She didn’t even want that life. But, it gave her the upper hand. It gave her just enough power to end the ones that had given Doctor Cullen no other choice but to turn her into what she was –for her body not to be a waste. “But I won’t bore you with those details. We have other things to attend to… well, we is too many people. I have other things –people– to attend to.”

“You killed Andre and Buck,” he gasped silently. “It was you that murdered them that night. And the letters… oh my god, the letters were from you too.” 

“Guilty as charged,” Rosalie chuckled. “And after I am done with you, John and Royce will get what’s coming for them.”

Ulysses kept silent for a moment, his green eyes staring into the crimson red of hers. His heart had steadied, and his breathing was no longer sporadic. Somehow, being faced with inevitable death was calming him. “I deserve that,” he said. “So did the Huberts, and so do John and Royce. What we did to you was unforgivable, so I won’t stand here and apologize. I know what I took part in, and I know just how despicable my actions were. If someone had done that to my sister, I would have gone to the ends of the earth to make the ones who had done it pay. But, can I just ask for one thing?”  

“And what makes you think you are deserving of a last wish?” she questioned. “I surely did not receive that commodity.”  

“I know I am in no place to ask anything of you, nor do you have to grant me this request,”  Ulysses responded as silent tears fell down his cheeks. “But, my mother, she’s sick, and I know it will kill her to find me here. All I want is to write her a letter. Tell her I’ve left town too ashamed of where our family has made its money. When she calls tomorrow, and I don’t answer, she will surely come here and find the letter. Then, I ask that you hide my body where she will never find it.”  

“Why should I grant you this? What convolutes you into believing that you deserve that?” 

“I don’t.” 

His candor took Rosalie aback. All he wanted was to ease his mother’s pain because a runaway son was better than a dead one. And the look in his eyes, the way they pleaded without any more words, twisted something inside her. Maybe she was pitying the boy. Maybe she wished she could have done something like this for her own parents. Maybe it was the fact that he truly seemed to repent for his actions, unlike the empty apologies of Buck and Andre. 

“Alright,” she asserted. “I will grant you that request. For your mother’s sake.” 

With a sad smile, he scurried to his phone table. It took him maybe a minute or two to scribble down what he needed to say. Her eyes followed him as he packed away clothes and papers to make the lie even more believable. When he was done, it truly seemed like he was ready to journey out of New York rather than to the afterlife. 

“Okay,” he sighed, tears still streaming down his eyes. “I’m ready.” 

Rosalie stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She placed one hand on the back of his head and the other on his jaw. The coldness from her hands seemed to make him shiver, but other than that, he was as still as a statute. 

“May your god have mercy on your soul, Ulysses,” she whispered, her eyes trained intently into his. 

“Amen,” he seemed to say before the cracking of his neck filled the air. 

His body fell limp onto the floor, thudding against the wood. But it was done. His green eyes were now empty, and his chest no longer breathed. Wherever his soul was sent to, she wished it a safe voyage. 

The mere thought made her want to burst out in laughter. How she was wishing him a pleasant trip into the afterlife after what he had done. Even more, how she was fulfilling his last wish so that his mother could die with the hope that one day her son would come back. Those were the kinds of ironies the universe seemed to like to play. 

It wasn’t hard to disappear his body. Dirt in the cemetery had recently been overturned, and it was easy enough to lay his body to rest there. The name on top of the grave would not be his, but at least he had been buried. No family to sob over his corpse, no missing posters littering the town, no one to mourn over. It was clean. It was easy. And it was much more than he deserved. 

Rosalie discarded the suitcases in a garbage pile she walked by a week later on her way to the Cadillac Hotel, where John Harris was probably nursing a glass of whiskey in his room, packing his bags to head back home to Atlanta. Unfortunately, he would not return home to his money and family. He wanted to leave his mark in Rochester, and she would make sure it was a corporal statement. 

Getting into the hotel was easy. As the day transitioned into night, more and more people trickled into the bar, hoping to settle their nerves while a killer ran free in their city. Unknowingly, that same killer walked amongst them in a place they thought they were safe in. And they were, technically. There was only one man amongst them who should have been trembling in his shoes, terrified of all she could do –all she would do. 

She spotted him across the bar, trying his luck with a couple of girls not much older than her. And it irked her that he was not as scared for his life as he should have been. But they were paying him no mind. Thankfully, in there, they were safe. He was alone, and there were too many people around to reveal the monster that lay dormant beneath his skin. After they said no too many times and laughed in his face, he left his glass on the mahogany counter and headed for the elevators. 

Rosalie thought she would lose him, but his scent had already permeated her nostrils, and she could hear the gears of the elevator clanking to a stop on the third floor. She sped up the stairs, quick enough to see him sway into room 314 and hear him lock the door behind him. Not that it would help him in any way, but he would open the door willingly. 

The vampire ensured the coast was clear before she knocked on his door, standing just out of sight from the peephole. 

“Who is it?” he called from the other side. 

“It’s Clara,” she spoke in a higher pitch of voice. “Thought I would take you up on your offer after all.”

“I knew you’d change your mind,” he chuckled. “You girls always do.” 

“Well, I couldn’t give you the wrong impression of us Rochester girls.” 

“Sounds good, darling,” he said as the door clicked open. “Hel…” 

His voice died in his throat as Rosalie pushed him inside. She sped until his body slumped against the armchair, and the light could hit her face. “Hello, John.” 

“You’re… you’re… not…” 

“I’m not Clara,” she grinned deviously. “Luckily, she was able to escape your disgusting claws. You get me for the night instead.” 

“No, no, no!” John stammered. “You’re dead. I saw you… on the street. You were dead.” 

“I’m honestly getting tired of people saying that,” she laughed dryly. “I am dead –in a sense. My heart is not beating, my lungs are not breathing, and my appetite… well, let’s just say it’s out of this world.” 

“W-what do you w–want? I’ll give you anything,” he pleaded. Tears fell down his eyes, and it made her scoff.  “Please, I am a good man.” 

“It’s hard to say with all those clothes on,” she grinned. “How could you ever measure the caliber of a person with a simple look? Especially when your vision is shielded with so many pieces of clothing.” 

“I’m sorry I said that,” he cried. “I was drunk and off my head. I promise I have never done anything like that before.” 

“Somehow, I highly doubt that, John. See, you paint me as the type of man that takes what he wants when he wants it, regardless of who you hurt. You take, and you take until you are satiated and leave others to deal with the aftermath of your actions. You took everything you wanted from my body and left me there to rot on that street.” 

“And I know how wrong it was of us,” he rambled. “But we were drunk out of our minds, and we weren’t thinking straight. We should have come back for you. At the very least, we should have left you at the hospital.” 

“You shouldn’t have touched me in the first place,” Rosalie spat. “You should have let me go home to my family. You should have allowed my marriage to go through. You should have let me have the life that I deserved. Instead, you took everything from me.” 

“Then, tell me what to do to fix this. Please, I know I can fix this.” 

Rosalie smiled, unable to shed tears of anger. There was something he had to do, but it would not spare his life. No. It would only gift him with a few seconds more. “What you will do is pick up that phone,” she said, pointing at the ivory-white device. “You will call your pal, Royce. And you will warn him that someone is coming for him. That somehow, a man found out what you did to me and is picking you all off one by one. You will tell him that he should hide. To burrow himself in the deepest corner he can muster. And then, you will hang up.” 

“And after, will you spare me?” John questioned, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes.

“Oh, John, of course not,” she laughed melodiously. “But I’m saving Royce for last, and I want his death to be delicious. At least make my death count for something.” 

“W-what if I called the police instead? They will tear down this door and stop you.” 

“I’d be long gone before they even had a chance to step foot into the hotel. And you’d still be dead as well as Royce. Because, thanks to your brutality, I have become faster and stronger than any human in existence. I am invincible, John. Something I wasn’t that night. So, pick up that phone and call your friend before I lose my patience and snap your neck earlier in the schedule.” 

With trembling hands, John lifted the receiver from the stand, rotating in the number she dictated. She could see the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead; she could hear the way his heart beat frantically; she could almost feel the way his bones rattled inside his skin. It was an addictive feeling. The power she had over him, and she didn’t even have to move a muscle. All she required was the way she looked and the words she spoke. Maybe that was why they had done it. Simply because they could. 

“Oh, hello, Mrs. King,” John said as the other line picked up, panic deeply laced into his words. “Yes, it’s John. I just had some quick words to say to Royce… I did hear about the Huberts. Such a shame… I didn’t know that Ulysses ran away… Yes, maybe one day… Yeah, I don’t have much time. Is Royce there…? Of course. Thank you, Mrs. King.” 

Rosalie listened to every syllable he spoke, making sure he did not step out of script. She wanted to terrify Royce King with an invisible threat. She wanted him to feel like he was being watched –like he was being hunted. She wanted him to cower into despair, even if only for a few hours. She wanted him to feel weak. 

“Listen, Royce,” John’s voice spoke again. “I don’t have much time. But someone found out about Rosalie just like we thought… I don’t know how, but they are picking us off one by one… He tried to get me tonight, man… Listen, just… you have to hide, okay? Find someplace secluded and stay there until shit dies down… Ulysses didn’t leave, Royce. He’s dead… Just hide. Tonight!” 

The receiver hit the base with a loud pang, and John’s gaze fell back on Rosalie. The devilish smile she wore made his insides shiver; she could perceive that much. He looked frail and weak. Nothing like the monster that had ravaged her body without her consent. The creature that had used fangs and claws to take from her something that she was not giving. 

“Good,” she applauded. “It’s nice to see a man that can follow instructions. Now, John. This won’t be messy, but it will be rather slow. And I’ll tell you exactly how I’m going to do it.” 

“God, please, just spare me. Royce is the one that you want,” he begged, falling onto his knees before her. “He’s the one that should have protected you. Please, just let me go back home.” 

“Do you think I can go home, John? Did any of you spare me and grant me the mercy of going home?” she asked through gritted teeth. “You didn’t. No. You took my life into your hands and watched as, minute by minute, it drained and slipped from your fingers. And that’s exactly how you’re going to go, John. I will wrap my cold, dead hands around your throat and cut out your life source until there is nothing left. I will look into your eyes until your soul leaves your body. And I will make sure I am the last face you ever stare at on this earth.” 

John scrambled backward on the armchair. The piece of furniture clattered onto the ground as the man made a futile attempt to escape to his balcony. There was nowhere he could go. No one he could call.

“You can’t do this!” he wailed. “Not to me. You can’t do this to me!” 

“Don’t you get it? The time for clamoring is over, John. Now, say your goodbyes to the world.” 

In an instant, Rosalie stood before him. Her pale hands wrapped around his neck, just as she had described. He tried to claw at them, to hurt her enough to run. But his nails were met with stone-like skin –impenetrable. He could not even move his head at the grip she held him with. Only his arms and legs could reach for a desperate attempt at freedom. Something that would never come. 

She knew it hadn’t taken long. But time seemed to have slowed as she watched the colors change on the man’s face. Her fingers barely squeezed, but his skin turned an array of reds and purples until it finally paled. And she swore she could tell the second his soul finally left his body. His eyes turned lifeless right before her own. They had emptied themselves, confirming the void that had been created inside of his body. There were no more pleas, no more tears, no more anger. He was simply another body. And just like he had done to her, Rosalie left his body on the ground for someone else to find. 

He wasn’t the death that would satiate her. No. Royce was on his way to dig his own grave. He just didn’t know it yet.

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [6]

description: Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.

word count: 14.5k

trigger warnings: gore/violence (as per) blood, nakedness? Fear of drowning. I have said this before, Dove has a dark past with themes that include abuse in a relationship (torment, manipulation, prostitution etc) drug use, please do not read this if this is not okay with you. Inspired by Last Night in Soho (dir. Edgar Wright) which is rated 18.

main masterlist | series masterlist

“So? What about the other gods?” Marc asked, witholding a heavy sigh as he looked over at Khonshu, Dove still nestled into his chest. The vibrations of his words rattled against her forehead, and she wished that for just a single second she could get a fucking break from the life she lived, from the virus that seemed to spread to every area of her life, from knowing the only denominator that linked every awful thing brought upon herself was her.

If it wasn’t her every waking moment spent pining after any scrap of kindness Marc could give her, then it was wishing Steven was here to talk to. He always knew how to make it better. How to cheer her up. He was a lot like Grace in that sense, that he knew exactly which part of her brain was troubling her and managed to weasel his way into the darkness, draw out the sickness and replace it with only good. And if it wasn’t wishing Layla would understand she was not a home-wrecking mistress, then it was her dreams being riddled by Grace, the one sore spot in her heart that seemed to never heal.

She was starting to forget what Grace looked like, she’d realised with a numbing pain. Started to forget where her freckles were, the way she smelled, the shades of honeycomb blonde in her soft locks. She was forgetting, an ailment no amount of healing armour could eradicate.

She’d rather be ripped to shreds all over again if she could see her in the flesh just one more time. Even as a ghost, even as a mirage, she’d take it all again.

“Are they just gonna stand by and allow someone to unleash Ammit?” Marc asked his keeper, his large hand still resting on her crown with a warm softness. She sniffed, pulling away from him with a troubled frown.

“To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath,” Khonshu explained, resting his goliath form in an oddly casual sprawl on an abandoned car.

“What’s the worst they could do?” Dove asked emptily, her tired eyes catching sight of the dead bodies for a split second before she quickly looked away, pretending her stomach didn’t lurch at the puddle of red sap that pooled beneath them.

“Anger them enough and they’ll imprison Seth and I in stone,” That had her head shooting up to the bird-like god, brain whirring at the golden ticket out of this whole mess.

“What?” She asked, stepping towards him, “You mean they can do that? They can relieve us of duty as your avatars?”

“See how you fair against Harrow without the protection of healing armour, little mutt,” Khonshu snapped, and the girl deflated on the spot. That was something she hadn’t thought of. Even if she were no longer Seth’s avatar, Harrow would still be planning on eradicating innocent lives. It was too late for taking back that duty now, she was in far too deep to bury her head in the sand now, no matter how much she’d wanted to.

How many moles had Grace had? Four, in a horizontal line from her ribs to her spine, or was it five? Fuck, what colour were her eyes? Blue, she knew, but what colour exactly, what shade, what hue?

“Alright, so what?” Marc bit back, throwing his hands up in defeat. He, too, had had the fleeting jump in his chest at the idea of being free from his servitude. “You got any good ideas?”

The god thought for a moment, his skeletal chest taking a deep, weighted breath behind its linen robes. A sigh of dismay.

“I have a bad one,” He said, and with a small movement he disappeared into the cool breeze passing over the two of them, as if he were nothing more than a pile of ash, or a thought thrown to the ether.

The two of them spared a glance at one another, Dove’s demeanour still shaken when Marc surveyed her with a soft, cocoa gaze. The wind picked up around them before either of them could speak, Dove’s hair whipping around her sticky face, catching on her cheekbones, the need to peel and scratch and gnaw at her skin overwhelming her with the texture, anything to get the damned blood off.

“What is he doing?” She asked, her hand subconsciously reaching out for Marc’s when the world around her began to darken. But not just for herself, she realised, but because the sun was disappearing.

No, that couldn’t be right. Throwing a squinted, pained look at the clear blue sky, the smell of the metallic tang on her skin slapping her in the face. Her eyes locked on the white orb in the sky that was indeed being devoured by a slightly smaller black circle moving in front of it, the moon. Khonshu was creating a solar eclipse. Switching the light out on an entire section of the world, drawing far too much attention to himself than would be allowed by the gods.

“Sending the gods a signal they can’t ignore,” His deep voice echoed around the clearing, the wind carrying the sound to their sensitive ears.

She felt Marc take her hand as darkness swept over them, unnaturally fast for any solar eclipse, tugging her back towards the town where cries of startled citizens were beginning to meet her ears.

“Come on,” He murmured, his warmth grounding her astonished mind, her eyes quickly adjusting to the shadow that swallowed the sands.

“I don’t know whether to applaud him for the guts or curse him for putting you in danger,” She mumbled, not missing the way their hands seemed to gum together from the equal amount of ichor on them. She didn’t miss the way Marc’s knuckles were blown open, the flesh around them sore and sliced from his fist fight with the mercenaries. She made a note to fix them later.

“That tends to be the way with Khonshu,” Marc replied sourly, the two of them taking a long set of old sandstone steps back down to the city.

She huffed, more agitated than he had ever seen her with a solid frown on her normally gentle forehead.

“Well maybe when all of this is over, we find a way to get rid of them both together?” She proposed, and he couldn’t help but lurch at the fact she saw a together for the two of them after all of this. Not together in love, he chided himself, but Layla had been the only other person to ever see him as worth sticking around for. It was nice to have Dove too.

Flashing her a barely there smile, he squoze her hand lightly. It fell the second he caught sight of the bird headed god and his jackal like companion waiting for them at the bottom of the steps as if they heard their devious little plan.

“That was abit over the top, don’t you think?” Marc sassed, keeping hold of Dove’s hand and steering her away from Seth’s looming gaze, even if to hold off his intruding presence for a second longer than necessary.

“Hurry, they’re gathering their avatars now,” Khonshu demanded, the two of the goliath gods trailing behind their own minions.

“Aren’t they scattered all over the world?” Marc asked, and Dove was glad he was here with her at least, she was sure by the way her stomach was twisting so painfully she would have retched her breakfast by now. She was going to have to meet more gods? Not just any but the Ennead, the effective high council of Egyptian Deities and plead their case to the ancient beings? The current track record set by the Gods she had met had caused nothing but misery for her short life, so the idea of introducing eight more to that mix sent her chest pounding.

“Yes, but for a meeting with the Ennead, a portal presents itself anywhere,” Seth cut in, halting the two humans in their step. His face, his presence, was not one that they simply could get used to. A chill ran down both their arms, and she felt him tug her just a bit closer to him.

“Okay, so where’s ours?” Marc asked, and as if to summon the portal in question, a low rumble only they seemed to notice rocked the earth beneath their feet, though it seemed too delicate to be an earthquake, too harsh to be oncoming footsteps. It was then that bricks in the nearby building began peeling away, crumbling in on themselves to form a long archway corridor. The walls were lined with hieroglyphs she was certain wasn’t part of that building, more likely wherever it was the portal led to.

“Last time I spoke to the gods, they banished me,” Khonshu spoke solemnly as the two of them stepped towards the doorway. A faint, amber light flickered against the symbols etched into the stone walls, illuminating them with a golden glow that reminded her of Seth’s staff.

“Join the club,” Seth growled with a bitter chuckle, and Dove fought the urge to point out the sheer amount of times he had slaughtered his own brother for power that had led to his banishment, but she thought better of it than to be the one receiving his wrath. “Our case against Harrow must be indisputable,”

The two of them hesitantly stepped forward, Marc subconsciously moving in front of her as if to want to head in there first, check if it was safe. But there was no time for heroics, and he didn’t doubt Seth wouldn’t have her defend herself if things started to go south. Hearing the two gods retreating behind them, Dove whipped around to see the beasts slinking off through a nearby street.

“Aren’t you coming?” It was perhaps the only time she would ever want the God of Death there to support her case. Though, upon thinking about it, she guessed Osiris seeing his killer may not go down well considering the god’s reputation.

He snickered darkly, throwing a glance to her over his muscled shoulder that rippled with corded tendons with every movement.

“You know I love a family reunion.

Dove’s jaw slacked, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline. They were so fucked.

Marc huffed, and the two of them stood looking down the long corridor with a shared hesitance. Once they went in, they were going in blind. Into a space where there were beings even more powerful than the gods they were bound to. Who knows what the Ennead were capable of, whether they were known to hold grudges around two exiled gods and the humans they deemed worthy of their service. Would they see right through her? Right through this innocent little marionette she played every single second. Would they see her for exactly who she was, would they see the chaos festering in her heart? The rot eating away at her bones?

“Ready?” Marc whispered, the sound barely meeting her ears. He looked over at her gently, eyes wide and anxious, though he seemed more worried about her than himself. Her eyes were glazed over, tired. Her hand was cold in his palm, yet she gripped onto him tightly as if he were the only thing she had to ground herself. She looked back at him, though he could tell she was far away, she wasn’t here with him, the same as this morning in the room, when her smile had cracked for just a single second and he saw the sadness behind her eyes that rarely appeared. He hated it.

She didn’t speak, just nodded and it was enough for him to draw her even closer, hold her hand even tighter.

The two stepped into the tunnel, their footsteps echoing down the long chamber, engulfed in a cloak of darkness from the lack of sunlight. It certainly wasn’t a new building they were entering judging by the erosion on the crumbling walls, though the hieroglyphs were surprisingly well preserved. A light flickered at the end of the passage, the only thing giving them any idea where to go as they clung towards one another. A large figure of a head came into view, starting small but the closer they got it became clear the figurine was actually huge, large enough to tower over both of them ten times over. She guessed by the head piece and the jewellery they were royalty, or at least the spouse of a pharaoh, well respected. Revered. A tomb for an esteemed member of Ancient Egyptian society.

She remembered Steven showing her a special edition guide to Egyptian myths they had in stock just three weeks ago, how he’d been waiting for them to get the shipment in for months since it was so low stocked everywhere else. He’d nudged her every chance he could get when they finally got to take their lunch break, turning his new prize to her to show her every diagram or photo or excerpt he could, telling her more facts that he’d read in other books, talking her ear off the entire train ride home too. She thought him the smartest man she’d ever met; thought his intellect, his sheer excitement to share his interest with her was the sweetest and most attractive thing she’d ever seen. He certainly didn’t make it easy for her to not kiss him silly right there on the spot.

Two more figures came into view, two behemoth statues flanking each side of the head, one a falcon, a distinctive crown atop his stone head, the other a woman with two large ostrich wings as her arms, curled around herself.

“I can’t believe it,” Marc’s head whipped to the side, Steven’s face reflecting in the polished golden engravings on the stone walls, his chocolate eyes lit up in wonder like a boy on christmas. His hands clasped together in front of him nervously, though his mouth was pulled into a gobsmacked smile, his gaze flicking around the enormous expanse of the room as if to take it all in at once. “Oh- my days. We’re inside- we’re inside the Great Pyramid of Giza,”

Marc’s head flicked to the room that opened up into a colossal square, unmistakably a pyramid built for the worthiest of pharaohs.

“Steven said we’re in-” Marc started, his voice low, gentle as if to not alert whatever it was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, only for her to cut him off with an equally hushed tone.

“Great Pyramid, yeah” She nodded, her eyes stunned and overwhelmed. Nodding towards the Falcon statue, she pointed with their joined hands, “That’s Horus wearing the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt.”

“God of Healing and Protection?” Marc asked, recalling the few things he knew about the other gods. She nodded, her eyes never ripping away from the expanse of priceless relics in front of them.

“As a man, yes. Horus as a Falcon represents Kingship,” She explained, watching his eyes trail over her face with a strange look, softening just a touch more if it were even possible. Turning back to nod towards the other statue, “The woman with the ostrich wings is Ma’at, judge of the hearts of the dead. She represents justice and order, balance and morality. This was a Pharaoh who wanted the greatest of respects and fortune in his afterlife,”

Marc’s jaw slackened at her brain, practically seeing the cogs turning in her bright eyes, the flame from the torches dotted around the tomb giving her face a beautifully warm glow. She looked divine, as if it should be her with statues erected in her honour, as if she were the one who deserved a wonder of the world in her name.

“I think I’m in love,” Steven’s besotted voice came from the reflection behind him, feeling the alter’s eyes enraptured with her face just as much as he was. Marc nodded once, ripping his gaze away from her to focus on the unfamiliar territory ahead.

Now was not the time for childish feelings, he chided himself, though Steven’s words had cut him deep, confirming for Marc something he already knew. It wasn’t just a little crush he was in the way of - Steven was in love with this woman. And he was wrecking it, he was simply a wall in between two gentle creatures that deserve nothing else but each other.

He always knew he ruined everything.

A frown settled on his face, avoiding her gaze with a sneer as they ventured forward into the tomb.

“Come on,” He murmured, unclasping her hand and quietly stepping into the cold catacomb.

“One evening,” He had said, waving his finger in her face at the door like a master scolding its pup, “You girls can have one evening out,”

It was probably because the neighbours had started getting suspicious about the two girls that would sit in the window but would never leave, or perhaps it was a treat for being such good little victims and remaining complacent. They didn’t know. At first Grace had said it was a test, a test of loyalty. It wouldn’t be unlike him to give them a sick game to test if they really were faithful to his command. But perhaps it was a treat? After the two years they had remained in that house, remained together, this was the first time they were allowed outside that wasn’t the garden.

They were ecstatic.

Don’t be fooled, he was sure to collar the two of them before they could step foot out the door, his fingers squeezing just the slightest bit to tell them exactly what would be waiting if they were to run or go for help. Don’t be stupid, now girls, he reminded with a low grumble. And they were gone.

It had started with a brisk walk down the street, past the abandoned hotel that sat opposite their bedroom window, its welcome sign springing to life every evening even after its years out of business. The girls had a prance in their steps, truly with no idea where they were headed since they couldn’t see past a certain point from their spot in the window. Once the road turned into a long slope down, the houses getting bigger, the yards getting greener, the road getting quieter, was when it settled in that they were outside again.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Grace whispered, her head tipped to the heavens, the crease on her brow ironed out. She took a deep breath, her mouth pulling out into the biggest smile she had ever mustered, Dove swore she could count every single one of her teeth. “We’re fucking OUTSIDE!” She yelled, no doubt waking up the neighbours. It was dangerous, drawing attention to themselves, but Grace couldn’t care. The Summer breeze filled her lungs, the seven o’clock sun fell over her face in full force, the feeling seeming to be extra warm than what she was used to. Because there was no window there. Because they were free.

Until eleven, in four short hours, but they were free nonetheless. The birds had never sounded louder, the air never tasted so sweet.

She couldn’t help but join Grace in taking a long, deep breath, a laugh bubbling out her throat, loud and joyful. Perhaps the happiest she’d felt in years. Like slipping out of a cage, a bird with its wings spread. She rose her arms to her sides, feeling the wind whip entirely around her middle, and suddenly the two of them were running. The street was empty, save for the two sets of footsteps slapping against the concrete as they sprinted down the descending hill, their fingers brushing against each others every now and then before Grace reached over and clasped her hand tightly against hers.

They were free.

It wasn’t long before they’d reached the beach, the one mother showed her as a child, the one she’d been to when the boys were little. It was nothing spectacular, nothing like they’d see in a foreign country. The sea was cold as anything since it was still England after all, the sand was mostly rocks, but the sound of the waves rolling in on their little slice of heaven.

The two lay on the hard sand, shoes kicked off and fingers buried into the course grain, just feeling. The sea was far from lapping at their feet; though ice cold, they wouldn’t find it in themselves to care anyway. The freezing water would barely even scrape the surface of the elation they felt now, there truly wasn’t anything that could simmer the way their hearts pounded in their ears.

“Three hours left,” She reminded, only to have Grace tut her and swat at her arm.

“We won’t be late, stop worrying,” The blonde chided, sand sticking to the side of her cheek as she turned her head in the sand to see her companion, “Just breathe,”

She knew she’d meant ‘breathe it all in’, the day, the feeling of their cage door being blown open, but she couldn’t help but do as Grace had commanded and take a deep salty breath in.

The sun warmed her as the shore breeze cooled her. A balance. An equilibrium. Her mind was blank for the first time in a long time. The waves may as well have been the thoughts ebbing and flowing from her mind.

“In some other universe, this is our life every single day,” She finally muttered, as if too scared to speak it into existence and risk waking up from whatever dream they were having. Grace snickered, their fingers meeting once more. Grounding. Warm.

“Do you think so?” Grace asked, her cornflour eyes squinting in the sun, watching the way her friend’s eyes remained closed, soaking up the entire thing. “You think we’re together in other universes too?”

“I hope so,” She responded, her toes sinking into the warm sand just a touch more, clinging to the back of her bare calves. “I hope I’m with you in all of them,”

Grace smiled, and her eyes opened then, meeting the sky with a tired blink before she turned to where Grace was staring at her. The two simply looked at one another, as if looking in a mirror of themselves though their shell was entirely different. Like their souls had met an equal in their gaze.

“I don’t care which one I’m in as long as I have you,” Grace whispered, clenching onto her hand with a soft desperation. She sighed, turning back to stare at the sky, a new openness at the difference the vast blueness held from her bedroom ceiling.

“I hate that house.” She confessed, though Grace already knew she did. “I feel like I’m-” She welled up, and Grace shifted to rest her forehead on her shoulder, “I feel like I’m in a coffin. Like I’m in a tomb. Like I’m screaming and banging on the door but everyone assumes I’m dead already,” Her brothers. They never responded to her letters, texting was too risky. But the envelope with the money made it to them once a month, she always sent it with the hope they would understand, understand she hadn’t left, that she wasn’t gone. But perhaps she was. She felt already gone. Felt like a corpse walking. “Maybe I already am dead,”

“I would never let that happen to you,” Grace whispered, nuzzling her face into her bare shoulder, “Me and you in every universe, right?” She asked, nudging her arm against hers to make her point, “Cage, house. Beach, tomb. I’m with you in every one of them,”

Dove’s breath was caught in her chest when she saw the sheer size of the pyramid. They didn’t call it the Great Pyramid for no reason, she supposed, but the sculptures alone were some of the biggest pieces of art she had ever seen, larger than any relics they had at work.

Marc took a slight lead, heading towards the centre of the room, where the floor lowered into a pit-like square, the floor a cold stone and undisturbed. Nine smaller, seated statues lined the steps down to the trench, one for each of the Ennead they guessed quickly. Eight doorways, similar to the one they had just exited from, dotted the remaining walls. A slight flash of light came from two of them, where a young woman stepped through the door to the close right.

She was beautiful, Dove noted immediately. Her sepia skin glowed in the dark lamp light, her midnight black hair silk over her shoulders. She was effortlessly graceful, beautiful gold jewellery winding over her wrists and neck, her eyes fox like yet gentle as she peered at the two newcomers.

“Khonshu’s antics are unparalleled.” She said with an accent Dove couldn’t place other than the melody it spelled over her every word. “You must be his avatar,” She said with a glint in her eye Dove knew was not just from the fire light. She was only a single pace behind Marc by the time he reached the bottom of the steps, yet she felt entirely lost, as though she were just floating her way down to where the woman met them, her legs jelly and wobbling.

“And who are you?” Marc asked politely, though she could sense the wariness in his tone. Untrusting. Ready to make a run for it if it came to it. She saw how his shoulders held the tension he rarely seemed to displace, she wished she could simply shove her face in between his shoulder blades, hug him like she had in the room. Feel him relax under her touch. She wished they were anywhere else but here. Anywhere but where the walls seemed inevitable, seemed to seal in around her, their very purpose to keep the dead inside.

“I’m Yatzil, Avatar of Hathor,” The woman announced, nearing the pair with a smile. Friendly, Dove noted, but she saw the way Marc tensed even further as she reached them, a look of plain fear flashing over his expression, as if she were about to be snatched away from him by the relatively kind looking woman. “Goddess of Music and Love? Surely Khonshu mentioned her,”

Marc shook his head slightly, a grimace on his battered face, “The gods aren’t exactly his favourite topic,”

“Not even when they are old friends?” Yatzil pushed, and Dove straightened up when she saw the playful way the avatar studied Marc with. Something boiled in her chest, something hot and sour, like her lungs were trying to choke her from the inside out. She didn’t like the way she was looking at Marc. To say he was hers only to look at drew even more tumultuous feelings in the pit of her stomach, but unlike Layla, who could barely stand the sight of him without steam blowing out her ears, she was interested. She was flirty.

She wanted out of this sinking ship already before she did something she would regret.

The woman looked over Marc’s shoulder then, only just noticing the shadow that seemed to peak from behind him, her eyes wide yet calculating, a vast contrast to Marc’s furrowed brow that glared at everything.

“And who might you be?” Yatzil’s voice was mellow as she took in the new figure, her gentle gaze never wavering. Perhaps she wasn’t so much flirting as she had guessed, and she wanted to chide herself for getting so worked up so quickly. Maybe she was just overly friendly to everyone, being the Goddess of Love and all that.

She was almost embarrassed with how quickly she had become possessive over Marc. It was hard not to when she was accompanied by an extremely attractive man that seemed to draw eyes everywhere he went. She thought she had enough trouble with Steven and Dylan, let alone a Goddess.

Chancing a look at Marc, the two of them agreeing solely with a single silent exchange, she told Yatzil her name.

“I’m Avatar of Seth,” She confessed, not missing Yatzil’s face tightening, her smile becoming a tad more forced. Her once gentle eyes became intrigued, looking the girl head to toe, before turning back to Marc.

There it was. The turn. The moment she realised she was not to be trusted. That she was rotten to her marrow.

“I did not know Seth had a new avatar,” She said, all traces of warmth gone as she surveyed the younger woman with a new suspicion, “How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Marc cut in, sensing Dove’s anxiety by the way she fidgeted with her fingers, grabbing her hand back into his own to stop her from picking at the skin around her thumb. He hated it when she did that, saw how sore it made her digits, how she would bring band aids with her in her bag in case any of the scabs broke skin, “It’s not why Khonshu called this meeting,”

“Yatzil,” A voice called down to them, and it was then that the pair realised the rest of the avatars had made it, standing behind each of their podiums that represented their gods. They looked like regular people, though she supposed so did she and Marc. That was the point of them. It made Dove wonder if there were hundreds of them out there, if she had walked past them in the street before, thinking nothing of them.

Yatzil gave them a strained smile, leading them towards where the four other avatars stood, waiting to pass conviction on the two of them. She couldn’t help but feel like a lamb being led to slaughter after that stilted introduction, as though they were heading to a chopping block with cuffs and a bag over their head, the avatars facing them all judge, jury and executioners.

Her trial was over before she had opened her mouth. Just the very sound of Seth’s name had set Hathor on edge, let alone when she faced the god Seth had repeatedly assassinated. His own brother, Osiris. Or even his sister, Isis.

“Have they told you how this works?” Yatzil asked calmly, heading to the steps towards her own podium, where Hathor’s proud statue watched them approach, a pair of long cow horns straddling a large sun disk signalling her seat.

“Not really,” Marc answered for the two of them as Dove naturally fell behind his shoulder, gaze flicking to the new sets of eyes that peered down on their lowered figures. She hated the way they picked her apart with their unfriendly glares, vultures circling a carcass waiting to dive in and clean her off to the bone. They would have her for breakfast any second now. “Is there somethin’ we should know?”

No, they wouldn’t. Marc would never let that happen. Marc would protect her. She trusted him with every fibre of her being, trusted him as much as she trusted Steven. He would protect her.

“I try not to fight it, it’s a strange sensation but you’ll get used to it,” Yatzil said vaguely, bunching her rust coloured dress in her hands to ascend the ancient steps, her satin-like hair rolling down her back as she turned away from them. Her head flicked back jarringly, Hathor’s spirit consuming her body smoothly, as did the other avatars, the humanity flickering from their harsh stares and swirling into a bright white, the gods taking place in their vessels.

“In attendance,” Yatzil’s voice was still the same, though it held a new level of power, a confidence that only an other worldly being could carry, the clarity of a creature that had seen the earth for thousands of years, “Horus, Isis, Tefnut, Osiris, and Hathor. To hear the accounts of Khonshu and Seth,

A cold spread down her spine, minimal compared to the other few times Seth had taken her body as his own, gentle almost. A soft whoosh of power flooded through her vertebrae, spreading up her neck and through her throat, releasing through her lips as a small sigh. It was benign, as though there was simply a hand stroking down her back compared to the leg numbing force he usually took her with, the kind that made her head dark and fuzzy, the force of being locked out her own body, this felt nothing like that. Perhaps Seth was on his best behaviour in front of his older brother who they both knew could exile the God of Death to stone.

Tormenting and breaking a young girl's mind did not send the message of urgency the four of them needed the Ennead to understand.

She felt Marc’s hand twitch in her own, causing him to drop her palm once more, and she guessed Khonshu had also taken his place inside his avatar. Yatzil would have had a heart attack had she been put through what Seth had tormented her with if she thought this was a ‘strange sensation’.

The weight of Osiris’ glare fell upon her shoulders, and it became clear there was no love lost from the God as she looked upon his frown.

“Brother,” The growl emitted from the human man’s throat, a sneer tugging at his lips, “I trust this is your doing, you and your newfound play thing,” He eyed Dove’s cowering body with disgust, a calculating scowl on his relatively young face. The man couldn’t have been older than thirty five, dressed in a smart business suit and a face that not a single laugh line marred, as though he hadn’t smiled a day in his life. Fitting, she thought snidely, for a god so serious.

Yet those thoughts felt like Seth’s. And with it brought a new wave of peril, unlike the one that came after she would black out. Could he hear her thoughts? Had he buried herself into her head, her only place of solitude? Or maybe was her brain just that cruel all on her own?

“You should be on your knees thanking me, brother,” The words spewed from her chest unprompted, and it took everything in her not to clasp her hand over her mouth to stop it. It felt like someone had reached into her lungs and dragged the accusation up her oesophagus. It was a clap of thunder that echoed around the enclosed chamber, a dark cry that met her ears, leaving her gobsmacked that that was her voice.

“And why is that, brother?” A woman to Osiris’ right, his sister-wife Isis, snarled. Dove wanted to sink to the floor and beg for forgiveness from the two deities that looked at her with a disdain that tainted her skin. She wanted to plead for them to send her home, send her away from all of this mess, just please stop, stop looking at me like that. But instead what came out was the voice, his voice, ripping from her throat with a ferocity that was nothing like hers.

“Were it not for me, dearest sister, and Khonshu, we would not be here meeting to discuss a matter that threatens us all,” Seth’s growl seemed unnatural coming from such a small creature, her eyes wide and afraid as she cursed at the gods with his tongue. Whether it were Seth speaking or not, she was the one they looked to with hatred.

A slender, dark-haired man flanking the other side of Osiris, undoubtedly their son Horus, snorted bitterly, his eagle eyes gazing down the steps to the woman whose head snapped to him.

“You threaten us all, Set. You and your chaos. Your need for vengeance.” He spoke with an Irish lilt, his mouth sneering just as well as his father’s, “It is clear by your actions there is no end to the darkness and turmoil you wish to cause mankind, as well as to your own kind.”

Osiris raised a hand to his son, taking over the brunt of the reprimanding. Dove didn’t doubt this had been what it was like for centuries, she knew the pain of being the oldest and having to mother her own brothers. Though, exiling them to a stone for all eternity for endangering lives was a new concept even for her.

The eyes narrowed in on her as Osiris puffed out his chest to speak, his voice a calm command that rattled her bones.

“It is our job in these vessels to remain unseen, to keep the peace between our world and the humans,” He was rather quiet despite the petrifying effect he held over Dove, the way his and every other god sized her up as she quivered in her place. “Do you not hear how they cry out? That is fear. You scare them, brother, for your own personal enjoyment. We have long since understood you love the taste of their horror. Imagine the hatred they would feel if they saw what lay beneath that young flesh.”

Dove’s eyes lined with tears. She knew the insults were directed at her counterpart that could hear them just as well as she could, that she felt bristling uncomfortably in the back of her mind at the sound of the offence, yet the darkened eyes and sneers they accounted her with churned her stomach in guilt as if this were her own trial. Her own sentencing.

They would fear her if they knew who she really was. What she really was. And the sick part of her knew the darkness had laid under her skin long before any of this. She choked on the words Seth tried to force out of her, gritted her teeth for him to keep quiet, to just let the onslaught end. Let her sentence be carried out, let her be hung, drawn and quartered under their resentful gaze even if to let the pain end, just let it end, just let me go, release me from this life-

“Alright now-” Marc’s voice was fuzzy behind her, the slightest step he took forward towards the gods was stopped by Osiris’ angered voice, a firm look snapping to the new culprit.

“And you. You’ve been banished once for nearly exposing us Khonshu,” Just like that, their attention had been stolen from the pitiful girl that shook in her spot as if no more than a street dog, mangy and yet guilty looking. “And you know we despise your garishness,” He continued, Marc stopping in his place to hear what the high immortal had to say, “Your showy masks and weapons. But manipulate the sky again, and we will imprison you in stone.”

“Spare me your self-righteous threats,” Marc’s voice was a strained call of anger. Clearly Khonshu had a lot to say to the council, Dove mused to herself behind a weakened expression, “I was banished for not abandoning humanity, unlike the rest of you,”

“We have not abandoned humanity,” Horus chimed in, a pinched glower on his young face, “They abandoned us. We simply trust our avatars to carry out our services without calling undue attention to ourselves,” His eyes shifted back to the young woman who gulped under his fire. “Is this why you’ve resurrected the one who caused them so much pain? In the name of aiding the humans? Look at the bloodshed that has already been drawn under her hand,”

He nodded to the state Dove was in, the gummy redness that stuck to her arms, that buried under her nails, that smeared across her face. There was no denying that she had caused such a massacre. There was no running, no hiding from their judging eyes.

“Avatars are not enough! We need the might of gods. Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm. Seth has been the only one brave enough to unleash his strength on those who deserve it,” Marc jolted back as Khonshu left his body, a deep draw of breath expanding his lungs. Dove’s eyes flicked to him in sorrow, seeing the toll the god was taking on him, even if just for a second, the urge to bury her face into his arm and ask to go home overwhelmed her.

“The avatars that remain here are simply meant to observe. We decided long ago we did not wish to meddle in the affairs of man,” Osiris spoke calmly, though the order was clear. The two of them were to submit, to yield under their commands.

“We will decide our best course of action,” Tefnut cut in, under the guise of a glamorous earth-brown woman, her shirt a pop of reds and oranges that brought out her hooded dark eyes even in the lowlight of the tomb. Her gaze was just as intimidating as the others, though she looked at Dove with something more akin to understanding than the rest. The eyes of an elder, who had seen more than the others. A wisdom that only came with thousands of years on the earth they deemed unworthy of their protection. “Speak your purpose,”

“We call for judgement against Arthur Harrow,” Her own voice constricted at the rage that had now overcome Seth’s words, the vitriol that settled under her skin, that boiled her blood for a fight that was not hers.

“The charges?” Came Isis, in the form of a placid, moonlight woman, her doe-like, hazelnut stare serene yet piercing when accompanied with the disappointed purse on her cherry blossom lips.

“Conspiracy to release Ammit,” Khonshu’s exclaim ripped its way through Marc’s chest as a single tear dropped down the man’s tawny cheek from the effort in which the god tore at his psyche.

“That is a heavy accusation, Khonshu,” Osiris said seriously, bringing his hands together as if to search himself for guidance. The man took a deep breath, a silence settling over the room for a moment, the five avatars awaiting to hear their superior's judgement.

She practically felt Marc’s heart pounding in his bones, heard the way the deep breaths rattled his lungs, how his chest burned with effort. She was glad for them at least that Seth had listened to her plea to hold his, her, tongue, allowing Marc to take the brunt of the conversation. She knew the recklessness of the god would only dig them their own grave, that they would be left with little to no hope of taking on Harrow without his help.

Osiris sighed, looking to one of the smaller doorways burrowed into the side of the pyramid. “Let us summon the accused,” He ordered, an orange flicker of light emerging from the catacomb. Dove felt her chest seize at the whoosh of fresh air that came through the doorway, hearing two weary footsteps making their way towards them, scraping against the sand that dusted the hard, stone floor.

And with them, Arthur Harrow appeared.

Handsome for a man of his age, yet his eyes were soulless blue pits, little to no remorse for his schemes behind them. Instead, he seemed to be excited, jumping for the chase, the cat and mouse game the three of them had going. He seemed almost animated to see their newest intervention to halt his plans as he stepped into the tomb, a fake look of bewilderment on his older face.

His hair was greying wisps around his jaw, his suit a plain mahogany two piece that dragged against his espadrilles. He slowly stepped towards them with a cold stare, his jaw clenched in a hidden smirk as he sought the attention of the Ennead.

“So I see from Khonshu’s current makeshift avatar, the purpose for this meeting must be nefarious,” He said plainly, the false innocence in his expression causing a hot anger to wash over Dove’s face.

This time it was her own. Seth was still there, dormant behind her cranium, still seething from his reprimanding from his older brother, twisted with hate at the sight of Harrow, but the overwhelming feeling of outrage was hers.

“Not to mention this poor little soul Seth has taken as his own,” His blue pools of nothing slid to her, the dare to retaliate set and matched in his eyes, “The young one knows nothing of the trouble she’s causing, this is business well beyond her understanding,”

A threat. A call for a challenge. A taunt for her to show what she hid from the world, what festered inside her this whole time. What he had seen with a single touch of her wrist the first day they’d met in the museum.

There is a darkness in you.

And then it was that night all over again. It was the screaming, it was the pure, visceral hatred she had felt for him, for the man that had put her there. It was knowing she was never going home, that she was never going to see her sweet niece grow up to run rings around her teachers. It was knowing her brothers wished for nothing to do with her. It was knowing every one of her letters went unanswered.

And chaos, oh there is chaos,

It was remembering Grace’s laugh through a sob and the fact she would never hear it again. It was the way the light from the abandoned hotel sign next door lit up her room with red, something she had always hated, she could never sleep for the brightness of it. Then again, she struggled to sleep anyway. It was the red of the shoes the girls wore, the other girls, the others from the club. The emerald room, the way they watched her dance like a puppet on a string before things truly went wrong.

Something wicked this way comes.

It was knowing her brothers couldn’t stand the sight of her because of him, because of the choices she’d made for him. For love. She wanted to scoff. It was the men that came at night, the ones that she saw in her dreams even now, the ringleader of them all being the one to tell her what a good little lapdog she’d been for him. The one she’d called boyfriend.

It was the knife, it was the blood. It was the body that burned as she’d torched the house in her escape.

And I see you are truly something wicked.

“You know exactly why we are here,” Khonshu cried from behind her, though Harrow took no notice of the call, his mouth twitching to fight off a smirk as he saw the way her chest deflated at the sight of him, knowing he knew her. He knew her, the way Seth knew her.

The way she was terrified even now that Marc and Steven would someday know her.

“Rip his tongue out,” Seth hissed into her ear, chomping at the bit to be let out from the slight control she had over him in front of the Ennead.

“I must admit I do not miss the sound of that voice.” Harrow turned solemnly to the gods, the nervousness falling over his face like a performance. “But speak, old master, to the point,”

“Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb?” Khonshu accused, Marc’s body being seized by the god’s might. Dove grabbed his wrist in her own when she saw his chest heaving heavier by the moment. The man looked as if he might throw up any second from the weight of it.

“I was in the desert, but if visiting the sands were a crime, the line of sinners would be longer than the nile” Harrow said calmly, his hands weaving together in front of him to solidify the guiltless ploy he was giving, “Khonshu has searched for Ammit’s tomb since he ensnared be into his service. His vision is obscured by jealousy, paranoia and his-”

“COWARD,” Seth struck her chest with a lightning bolt of fury, the growl drawling from her throat in a volume that made her jump, Marc glancing her way when he felt her fingers clutch him ruthlessly, “Filthy, conniving CRAVEN,”

“Do not trust the word of shamed gods,” Harrow countered, turning to glare at the pair that looked at him helplessly, their chests pounding with the strain of a deity overtaking their vocal chords, “These two are unhinged, as willing as one another to cause destruction in the human world. And as for their avatars themselves,” Harrow huffed, though a smarmy smile shadowed his face as he looked between the two of them, “Well, they are about as unwell as the gods they serve,”

“How do you mean?” Hathor asked, a small frown scrunching her gentle almond eyes.

Harrow considered the two of them, his piercing gaze falling on the young woman first, a hint of malice flicking over his face as he watched her squirm under his ruthless stare, as if waiting for the killing blow, waiting for him to run a sword clean through her sternum. Get it over with, her eyes pleaded, let this be done, shoot me between the eyes and set me free.

“This girl,” He began, her breath catching in her lungs, “She seems innocent enough, what with the crocodile tears and the deer in headlights look about her,” Harrow gave her one last sneer, before turning back to face the gods with a faux woeful look plastered on his face, “But this fawn is in fact the hunter with a loaded rifle. I have seen what she is capable of, the anger and vengeance the tortured soul wishes to unleash on those who stand in her way, the corruption in her heart- it’s no wonder Seth found her suitable for his needs,”

Her mouth had gone dry, she realised as she swallowed roughly, tears burning behind her eyes, she felt Marc staring at her. Fuck. He saw her, he saw right through her. And if he saw her, then what would Marc think of her? What would he see if he were to crack open her muddled little mind and peer in? He would hate her. And oh god, Steven-

Her throat bobbed with a silenced sob, her chin wobbling pitifully.

“And as for him- This is a man who literally does not know his own name.” Harrow continued his onslaught, making Marc clear his throat uncomfortably at the fact his biggest wound was bared open for the taking, the scar that wouldn’t close having salt poured into the crevice. “He has a marriage certificate under the name Marc Spector-”

“LIAR!” Khonshu’s agitated attempt at regaining composure was thwarted by the glisten in Marc’s lost, cocoa eyes that seemed to do nothing but watch as his chest was pried open.

“Employment records under the name Steven Grant,”

“Stop,” This time it was Marc speaking for himself. His voice hoarse from Khonshu’s yelling, yet it was more of a wounded yelp, a plea for mercy from the man who knew everything about him, knew all of his darkest corners, and threw it out in the open for them all to see.

“I have seen him speak to himself-”

“Shut up,” Marc yawped, an animal in a cage yowling for release.

Dove felt the anger begin to rev under her skin once more. Marc had been immovable since the moment she knew him, the moment she saw him in her bedroom stiff as a rock as she’d hugged him. Had rarely shown anything but a cold indifference, if not the occasional smile. He had been the only thing keeping her sane between the entire situation, the one person she trusted to quite literally drag her back from the depths of death a thousand times over. Because, while he was a moody sod most days, it was Marc. And Marc would fight tooth and nail for her.

“I have no idea how many personalities he must possess,” She felt Marc weaken under the hold she had on his wrist, “The man is clearly insane,”

It was happening in slow motion. Just as Marc crumbled into a disheartened sigh, the frustrated tears welling in his eyes, the final chord holding together her growing temper snapped. She felt her vision blacken for a moment, as if she had taken a long blink, which she wished she had in hindsight, she’d read on the internet closing your eyes and taking a deep sigh temporarily relieves stress. Something about giving the synapses a moment to process information. But she hadn’t. And neither did she feel the imposter crawling up her spine the way she did when Seth wanted her body as his own. No this was her, this was her entirely alone.

By the time she had come to, she had taken two quick steps towards the snide man, fingers outstretched for a sharp slap across his high cheekbones when she felt five metal claws hugging her fingertips, the razor edge of each enough to take a sizeable chunk out of his face had she made contact.

But she didn’t. Because no sooner had she gotten an inch away from doing so, her hand was stopped by a cerulean ring cuffing her hand mid air, preventing her from moving in the slightest.

Osiris. His hand held the same bluish-grey energy between his two fingers as he seethed down at his younger brother’s avatar.

“We will not tolerate violence in this chamber,” He bit, forcing the girl to her knees to face him, her head hung to the floor. She felt Marc’s eyes burn the back of her skull, his legs itching to approach, to wrap her up in his embrace, if only to protect her from Osiris’ hate. She chewed her cheek in guilt, when a thought quickly struck her as she looked to her knees ashamed.

Her suit, the one Seth usually donned her in. She was in her suit. She had never summoned her suit before, had steered clear from the fact entirely actually, yet the material was stretched comfortably over her skin as it was all the other times Seth shoved her consciousness aside to make room for his own deeds.

But she had summoned it herself.

“It brings me no pleasure to tell you these are two deeply troubled individuals. Khonshu is taking advantage of him the same way he abused me, the same way he aspires to abuse this court. As Seth is preying on a chaos-filled, young woman whose only goal is nemesis. Take action before it is too late,”

Dove tuned him out, her own internal crisis weighing far heavier than the insults Harrow was hurling to her. She had brought out the Hellhound herself. Not as Seth’s puppet or as his doll for toying with but as herself. As a reflection of what she wanted to do to Harrow.

For the first time in almost a decade, her body felt like it was almost her own again.

“Let us speak to Marc Spector. He seems the more reasonable of the two,” Horus ordered, and Marc almost scoffed at them had he not been so hurt by Harrow’s words, not been so defeated by the doubtful looks the Ennead had in their once cold glares now that his illness had been revealed. “Are you unwell?”

It was direct. Inescapable. And yet he didn’t care for their judgement anymore, just the fact she seemed uncomfortable being forced to her knees so harshly, a mongrel forced to sit quietly for a bone.

“I am.” He breathed hoarsely, “I am unwell. I need help. But that doesn’t change the fact that this man is-” Marc could barely finish his sentence without trailing off in angered tears as he glowered at the floor, knowing there was very little he could say to change their minds, “Would you just let her go? Please?”

“This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu-”

“This is not about my feelings, I am not the one on trial here, nor is she. It is him,” Marc seethed at Hathor, Yatzil, who’s pitiful eyes bore into his skin, flaring his anger, god would he just let go of her, look how her head hung low, how her knees pressed painfully into the cold floor, how she was forced to submit, “This is about how dangerous he is if you would just listen for a second,”

“He has committed no offence,” Osiris ruled coldly, tired, as if the situation bored him completely. “This matter is concluded.”

And that was it. The bonds that held Dove into low obedience were ripped away from her, her hands finding the floor gently as she stayed there, her head dipped to glare at the stone, the anger ebbing and flowing at her hot face like the banks of the Nile.

“And brother?” Dove’s head perked the slightest amount, though it was not her, but Seth responding to his counterpart on his behalf. She looked up at the god through broken, reddened eyes, a tear glistening on her cheek that she let fall to the ground with no fight. “Cause chaos like this again and you’ll be begging for a ushabti when I’m finished with you,”

With that, the avatars were returned to their bodies with moonlight white eyes, a jolt in every one of their spines, before they began heading back to their portals with not a single word uttered between them. As if Marc and Doves lives hadn’t just been raked out for all to see, all to judge. All to sentence.

Walking past the girl still crumpled in defeat on the floor, her heart too heavy to lift herself, Harrow watched Marc’s angered eyes carefully, a final sneer on his shit-eating expression.

“I’d leash that bitch of yours before she hurts anyone else, Spector,” He murmured, loud enough for the two of them to hear, not loud enough to cause a scene.

Like a dam breaking, her shoulders sank in on themselves, Marc quickly rushing to meet her on his knee, a warm hug wrapping around her where he could, just as she expected.

“Hey come on, we need to go, princess,” Marc whispered to her, and she could do nothing but give a sad nod, avoiding his eyes at all cost.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, a sob crawling up her throat that felt even more present when she saw her clawed fingertips staring back up at her, “I’m sorry I tried, I tried to push him down, I-”

“Shhh,” Marc soothed, nosing her hairline, “It’s alright, it wasn’t your fault,” He murmured, hands going under her arms to lift her off the ground carefully. She stood, not without clutching onto him, gently of course since her suit and weapons made it difficult to not hurt him, and the entire idea that she had conjured it herself seemed tainted by the way they had looked at her. The way anyone would look at her if they knew.

“Marc,” A voice whispered, but Dove was too lost in her own self pity to take note. She felt as if she was back on that beach, her eyes lost in a canopy of blue, the wind cold on her skin. Lost in the world, yet seen, too seen, by those gods, by Harrow. Too trapped in her past, in what she’d done, knowing there was nothing stopping what Seth wanted her to do. Feeling for the first time, with the suit around her that she had summoned, she had ownership over herself, feeling as if she entirely wanted nothing to do with it.

Release me, release me from this wretched body, release me from this head, take me from this pain with a quick death.

Yet.

Keep me here, grant me control, let me greet my own demise.

An equilibrium yet to settle. A scale tipping to and fro, a puzzle with no solution. A set of coordinates with no longitude. Continuing. Unanswering. A person missing half their soul.

She, impossibly so, felt worse than she had when she woke up.

She found herself again laying back on the hotel bed, staring at the white, plaster ceiling. After Marc had spoken with Yatzil about a possible solution to finding Ammit before Harrow and his followers, the pair of them had headed back to the hotel in silence. Well, Marc had attempted to make conversation as he led her to the taxi, but it was clear from her lack of response, only broken by the occasional sniff or nod of her head, that she was in no mood to talk.

Taking a deep sigh from her place on the cot, she lifted her hand to run over her tired face when she was stopped by a crusted sap rolled up between her fingers at the touch, and she let out a clear gasp, jumping up from the sheets.

In the daze of it all, she’d forgotten she was covered in blood under her suit that she coaxed into disappearing before the taxi pulled up. Her face, hands, legs, all smeared with the sticky substance that now stained the white duvet.

“Fuck, oh fuck, for bloody fuck sake, fucking shit-” She swore violently, bunching her fingers into fists at the sight, Marc ducking into the room from the small balcony faster than she could let out another curse.

“What’s going on?” He took one look at her sad eyes, the way the redness smattered over her face, guilt flashing in her expression as he saw the mess on the sheets.

“I’m sor-”

“I’ll have my guy tip the cleaners, it’s no biggie,” He brushed off, taking a step towards her, attempting to uncurl her fists manually with his much larger hands that had just as much blood on them. Though, it was mostly his from where his wounded knuckles were now weeping. “You should probably take a shower though, we’ll raise too many questions looking like this,”

She barely nodded, eyes glazing over as she understood what he was saying. Clean yourself up, you’re scaring the locals.

“They only have a bath,” She murmured quietly, avoiding his eyes, scratching at the blood that quickly dried on her arms, picking at it like the glue that stuck to your skin as a kid making crafts, coming away in thin, onion peel layers.

“I’m sorry if it’s not the nicest hotel around, but my guy did his best-” Marc snipped slightly, watching her face scrunch up in frustration.

“No, no, not that, it's lovely, I’m just-” She took a deep breath in, her lungs rattling, her throat constricting with the secret she’d never had to tell. He’d think she was ridiculous, a woman of her grown age. “I can’t take a bath,”

“Of course you can, I’ll go run it for you now,” Marc headed for the bathroom, sick of this back and forth. He just needed her clean, needed to get that shit off of her, get rid of that guilty look in her eyes, needed to fix everything-

“No, wait,” She stopped behind him as he turned the brass tap, hot water gushing into the luxurious, square bathtub that had been built into the nude marble, stacks of ‘freebies’ and candles lining the edge. This was definitely meant for a honeymooning couple wanting a sexy week away under the Cairo sun, banging in every room, not two people who were barely friends possessed by gods and racing to stop the end of human lives. “Wait, Marc,”

“What?” He barked, turning back to face her with the first annoyed glare he’d given her all day. She knew the pair of them were at the end of their tethers, and that he was trying to care for her in the way Marc always did, the kind that only half the time involved actual any affection. “Look, I know it’s full of rose petals and shit, but I’m trying, princess,-

“It’s not that it’s-”

“I know it’s shit but it’s the best we’ve got, and I know Steven would have gotten you somewhere better-”

“I’m scared of water, Marc,” He shut up at the sight of her deflated expression looking at him through embarrassment, shut up at the sight of her squirming on the spot at his irritated rant.

“Huh?” He hissed, utterly thrown off by her words, feeling as if he hadn’t heard her correctly, “You’re fine with water, you’ve showered at Steven’s before. Is it me? I can go if you want privacy-”

“No, Marc just stop, please,” She mewled, turning her head to her hands ashamed, picking at the skin that had come loose, no matter if it pained her so. “It’s not you, I- I can’t be underwater, like under under water, not like showering when it’s only there for a second, it’s more drowning than anything, so baths are just a no go,”

But she sounded far away. Because the realisation for Marc had set in, the understanding of being scared to be held down, to feel the water rising up your legs, past your knees, up into your lungs. And then he was back in that cave again, he was feeling the water trickle in, he was screaming for RoRo to talk to him, to take his hand, he was hearing his brother’s little body splashing, hearing the water crowd his throat, drown out his cries for help. He was climbing out of that wretched cave soaked and running back home to tell his parents what had happened.

Taking a laboured breath to remind himself he was in the bathroom, with her picking at her nails, the tap running being the only sound between them for a moment. Sighing heavily, he fought the tears that burned behind his nose, forcing them to be swallowed down in the interest of helping her.

“What if I stayed?” He asked, her head shooting up to look at him in shock, mortified he was being so brazen. Rolling his eyes at her naïveté, he continued, “I’ll turn around and just sit on the toilet seat, but I’ll stay. Make sure nothing bad happens,”

She went quiet for a moment. She needed to get clean, get this forsaken muck off her, it was driving her insane. The smell of it alone, fermenting under the hot sun, was turning her stomach, not including the fact she felt rotten every time she thought about where it came from. Those bodies, that boy.

She nodded, the hot water steaming up the window by the time she’d decided.

“Okay, yeah. I suppose that would be okay,” She murmured to herself, fidgeting nervously. “You’ll just sit right there?”

He nodded gently, his hands coming to pull her fingers from mauling themselves, “Absolutely. Right there.”

“And you won’t look?” She asked shyly, eyes batting up at him through tired lids, to which he smiled slightly.

“Not a peak, now come on, bath’s almost full,” He ducked out of the bathroom to allow her to get undressed, not missing the way her fingers seemed to cling to his hand for as long as possible before he left. “Call me when I can come in,”

“Okay,” She replied through the thickness of the door. Taking a deep breath, she tucked her clothes into a neat pile under the sink, despite the fact they were wrecked with the same red gunk she was going to have to scrub off her skin. Switching the taps off gently with two squeaky turns, she held onto the bath edge with a deathly tight grip. It was only a foot of water, and Marc was right there. He wasn’t here anymore. Bath’s had once been her favourite part of the day. She loved a bath, had never felt so relaxed. She wanted to scream at the way her chest locked up as she stood in the water.

It was piping hot, scalding her skin, and maybe it was the punishment she deserved for all the blood she’d shed. Maybe it was the toll she had to pay to get clean.

Sinking to her bottom, she couldn’t help but clench onto the side of the bath for support, eyes locked on the way the water swayed towards her. It was just a bath, she’d had one millions of times before him, he wasn’t here to-

“You can come in,” She called, conscious of the way her back was to the door, swishing some of the french lavender bubble bath in to make the water milky, obscuring any sight of her body he would have caught a glimpse of.

Not that he would try. Marc was much too respectful for that.

He came in wordlessly, shutting the door behind him to keep the warm air in the bathroom. Plonking himself down on the toilet seat, he saw her hair spill over the lip of the tub edge in his peripheral vision, but little more.

For a moment they were both silent, uneasy at the new atmosphere created. The humid air was thick in their throats, the excuse they gave themselves as to why they weren’t talking. Marc inhaled the sweet vanilla and floral notes of the bubble bath, cursing himself when his mind ventured as to that being what she would smell like all evening.

“I’m sorry the room is so…” Marc trailed off. What was he to say, so clearly meant for two people on a nonestop fuck-a-thon? Aside from the fact the minifridge was stacked with whipped cream and chocolate spread, not for breakfast he’d had to explain to her, the bedside table full of condoms, the bathtub filled with rose petals, it was very obvious they stuck out like two sore thumbs with their rare and short affections in a place like this.

“What? Straight out a porno?” She quipped, earning a short laugh from him, symphonying the splash that came as she began scrubbing at her arms finally.

“A high end porno atleast,” He corrected, the tension in his shoulders loosening when he heard her giggle.

“Right,” She drawled, leaning over to grab the chamomile scented soap, “No one’s getting stuck bent over a tumble drier any time soon in a place like this,”

Maybe it was the fact she couldn’t see him, or it was the least shitty thing that had happened all day, but Marc couldn’t help the way a laugh, a real, chest tightening laugh, spilled out his throat. It was completely out of character for his glacial demeanour, usually the best she’d get is a smirk he’d try to hide or a huff through his nose. But it was a true, amused laugh. She smiled, despite the water coming away pink in her fingers as she scrubbed.

A brief moment passed over them where the only sound came from her hand dipping in and out of the water. This wasn’t so bad, she supposed, if she ignored the way her stomach rolled with bile every time she felt herself slipping further into the water. The milky pool itself wasn’t what scared her, it was the waiting to be pushed under, held under despite her clawing and scratching at his arm. It was his way of keeping her in check, reminding her even in the bathroom she was not permitted to privacy, to her own thoughts. She still felt his hand weaving its way into her hair, shoving her down until the water rushed up her nose, the gasp she’d let out choking on the exotic scented liquid. It was all just another one of his little games, and when she’d resurface, spluttering and clamouring out of the tub, he’d simply laugh and tell her to stop locking the door.

She hated the smell of that soap anyway. Too rich, too perfumed, too fake.

“I used to bath my brothers when I was younger,” She said after a while. She didn’t know why, or what had made her think about it, or why Marc needed to know, but she said it anyway.

“Yeah?” He replied, sounding distant as he picked at the blood under his own fingernails. “How many?”

“Four, all younger,” He blew air out of his cheeks solemnly, “We didn’t have much money, it was just my dad and he could never keep a job to save his life. I tried getting a job but turns out minimum wage for thirteen year olds is pennies,”

Marc stayed quiet, chewing at his lip. He had yet to ever hear her talk about brothers, or parents, or anything other than Steven and how much she wished he was here. That and of course why James Bond is a chauvinist, though he knew the first one was much dearer to her.

“Sounds rough,” He bit out, feeling the need to remind her he was still listening. He saw her shrug from behind the curtain of hair that fell behind her, obscuring his view.

“We got by. I was hungry some nights, but we were happy. They were happy. That’s all I cared about,” Marc felt a guilt gnawing at him. Sure, after RoRo passed his mother became a beast that had yet to release him from her claws, but they had never worried about money. Their house was easily three stories high, he had a meal three times a day, Elias always took him out to buy a new toy when Wendy had been particularly cruel. Birthdays, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, he always had whatever he wanted. Anything, except his mother’s love, but that couldn’t be bought, could never be earned back for what he’d done.

He felt disgusted with himself for being so self piteous about his childhood when Dove had barely afforded to eat at risk of her siblings going hungry.

“I used to get Matty in there first, he was the oldest. Only a couple years between us but he loved when I would give him his toys the others weren’t allowed to play with. We used to have to share everything, clothes, toys, school books, so having his own boat in the tub made him feel special.” A smile, achy but good, passed over her face, a warmth blossoming in her chest at the thought of the life she hadn’t had in so long. “He knew he had to be quick because there was only one tub of water to last all five of us, so we used to play ten rounds of I-spy and then he’d have to get out. Eventually he’d pick the most difficult thing to spy so I’d never guess and he’d get to stay in longer.”

Marc stopped then, watching the back of her head with a silent stare, quickly understanding she was in her own world entirely. “Then it was Sam’s turn, he was a year younger than Matt. He hated getting shampoo in his eyes so insisted I washed his hair for him, even though he made me swear to never tell his friends because it would damage his street cred,” She chuckled to herself, sounding far away from where Marc cracked a small smile, “Kid was seven years old and thinking he was tough enough to take on the world.”

“The other two?” Marc prompted with an ache, a need to know more. More about the little Dove that tended to her hatchlings, to her nest, whose voice sang with something he had never heard from her, a sad kind of happiness he never thought possible.

“Joey was next. He’d start to complain that the bath water was getting cold by this point so I’d sneak some water in from the kettle. He was a little younger than us, I think mom and dad had thought three was it for them. But two years after Sammy, out popped Joey. Fattest baby you’ve ever seen. Refused to speak until he was three, and then suddenly he was blurting out full sentences.” She smirked, eyes glazed over as the pink swirled into the water, beginning to run out of where it dried in clumps in her hair. She would need to wash properly, she realised. Wetting a flannel, she held it behind her, careful not to get any droplets on Marc’s leg. “Marc?”

He snapped out of the reverie he felt he shared with her, his head filled with the image of four little boys, a mirror of her. Maybe their noses were a little bigger, their jaws sharper, but their hair would fall over their shoulders the same way, unless she’d trimmed it for them. He pictured her running ragged after them, reminding them to floss, to tidy their rooms, to do their homework.

“Yeah?” He asked, taking the cloth from her hand.

“Would you be able to get the…” Blood. Blood. Blood. “Stuff out my hair please? I can’t get my head under but it’ll dry soon if I don’t get it now.”

“S-sure,” He said softly, almost caught off guard that she was inviting him to get even closer to her nude form. Setting a towel on the floor, he turned the small bin over to give himself a seat as he gently ran the wet cloth over her locks. He would need to use shampoo probably, there was some on the side of the sink but he refused to push her. “What about the youngest?”

“Micheal,” She said, her voice pure with sweetness. “He was definitely a surprise. Came three months early, came out kicking and squealing like he had a vendetta against the world.” She chuckled to herself. “He was so tiny I could get away with washing him in the kitchen sink. Matty would say we could peel him and put him in a stew with the rest of the potatoes. But he was so good, he would follow me around when I got home from work, even when he turned into a teenager he would never leave for school without hugging me and making sure I had lunch. I never did, but I would lie because otherwise he would worry too much about me,”

The crimson seeped out of her hair with every brush of Marc’s hand against the locks, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up hearing her bliss. She was different like this. Yes, she was usually happy, bar the few times she had gotten teary over the blood and gore, but speaking about her brothers made her glow with something new. A bliss he hadn’t seen in her yet. One he wished he could cling onto with everything he had, keep her wrapped in like a bubble of her happiest memories.

“By the time I got in the bath it was cold, like fully cold. And the water was dirty, I tell you three boys and a baby get into so much mess than I’d give them credit for,” She continued, her eyes fluttering closed at the way he gently stroked her head, stopping every once in a while to re dampen the flannel in the water. There was no way he could see anything since the soap had made it so cloudy, but she didn’t think she could find herself to fully care with how loose her body felt, floating under the heat. She found herself trusting him enough to lean back into his hold, relax under his touch instead of flinch. Because it was just Marc. And Marc would never do that.

She tipped her head back to give him an easier access to her scalp, sighing when his fingers seemed to pick at a clump, removing it manually when it wouldn’t release with the cloth alone. Her stomach flipped as to a guess as to what it could have been.

Flesh? Brain matter? You tore those men to pieces like the savage you are, it’s no wonder Osiris said the people were scared of you, you’re beastly, disgusting loathsome creature who deserves every bit of pain Seth gives you-

“Four brothers and a father? You and your mother must have been ripping your hair out in testosterone,” He said, gently smoothing the tangles out of her tresses, continuing to wipe at the tangles until the water ran clear.

“Just me. Mom ditched when Mikey was born,” She said calmly, though she felt his hands stutter as she did. “It’s fine. She believed that giving her son’s biblical names meant god couldn’t see her drug benders. I think she forgot her kids could though,”

Marc hesitated. Words, some that he couldn’t fathom putting together, caught in his throat. He hated the pity people would give him whenever he were to divulge his own secrets he kept hidden in the dark rooms of his mind even Steven had no access to.

“Please say anything except I’m sorry, otherwise I may have to give you a big wet slap across the mouth,” She quipped, relieved when she heard a small snigger, finally. She’d hate to lose that calm, carefree version of Marc she’d had this evening. Hate to scare him off like the spooked rabbit he was, send him racing down into his dark burrow again. “But yeah, it was grisly being the only girl until Billie was born,”

“Billie as in another brother?” Marc asked with a confused frown.

“Billie as in my niece,” She replied, making a gentle start to clean the gummy resin off her face, “She was named after Billy Joel when Matty lasted all of one week being sixteen and got a girl pregnant. Girl bailed on the kid as soon as she was born, Matty felt like he could do a better job of it than our dad could, and Billie was family. Although she somehow got it in her head that she was only allowed to listen to Billy Joel since that’s where her name came from,” She snickered, remembering the countless mornings she chased the naked toddler as she screamed ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’.

“How old is she?” Marc asked, the water running mostly clean now, yet his gentle pawing at her hair had yet to stop, more for his own state of mind now than her own. She was so soft, soft everywhere. Even the way she sighed into his touch, the few times his fingertip had met her neck, met the top of her spine. Soft, warm; inviting, addicting. Clean, good, pure, god she was heaven on earth. Fixed, he could fix it, fix her hurts.

“She’s…” Dove quickly counted in her head, coming up with a thick throat when she figured the answer. “Nine. She’ll be nine now,”

Nine. She’d missed so much of her little life, she’d barely been at school when she’d left home. Missed her losing her first teeth, missed her learning to ride a bike, missed moving to bigger school.

She’s better off without me. Dove chided sourly, though tears built in her eyes.

“You see her much?” He prompted, letting the short bout of silence settle over them as she rinsed her face carefully.

“No, I uh-” She cleared her throat, her head tilting down to play with her fingers, picking with her thumb nail under the rest, “My brother’s don’t speak to me anymore,”

Marc froze. This, unlike the other time he’d been ready to apologise, felt like dangerous territory. While her mother walking out had felt like passing news to her, this felt like a rope unwinding thread by thread, getting ready to snap in his face at any point.

“Oh,” He eventually came up with, stuck between wanting to ask more and wanting to keep his distance. A tug of war between himself and wondering what she wanted him to do. What Steven would do. “How come?”

“Just you know, life got in the way. We all said some things, did some things,” She sniffed, her eyes closing as she skirted around the truth, “Truthfully I don’t deserve their forgiveness even if they did want to talk,”

“Come on now,” Marc reasoned, his eyes filling with a softness only she saw, his fingertips caressing her scalp with a gentleness he didn’t know his battered hands could muster. “I’m sure that’s not true,”

“It is,” She cut him off definitively, “I think, sometimes, maybe I was just born wrong. Like I just came out the womb rotten. Like I deserve the way the gods looked at me today, like I’m every bit as revolting as Harrow says I am,”

“Hey,” Her head flicked over her shoulder at the anger in his tone. She hadn’t meant to spill, hadn’t meant to overflow her brain like that, have the words jump right out her throat. Maybe she was too relaxed here. She expected judgement, or disgust, or pity. But no, Marc just looked pissed. “That is not true, do you hear me? Everything he said about you is wrong,”

“But if he’s wrong, then why does all this happen to me? Why does it happen if I don’t deserve the badness?” She asked him quietly, because Marc knew all the answers. Marc knew everything, always knew what to say even if he didn’t realise it.

He took in her damp, clean face that stared up at him in naive grace. Her eyes gazed right up at him into his soul, seeing past every defence he had tried to throw up against her, everything unintimate between them gone as she soaked away the blood.

“Sometimes these things just happen to people. Sometimes there is no deserve,” Marc said after a moment to chew on his words. His hands cupped her face gently, her eyebrows furrowing as his thumb wiped the wetness from her cheek that rolled down in a couple glistening bubbles. “You are amazing, do you hear?”

She was silent.

Marc, in what was possibly the most tender thing he’d done since he’d first met Layla, slowly leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on her forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed, a held breath exhaling on his clavicle, cold unlike the warmth of her cheeks.

He drew back, the scent of french lavender and vanilla invading his lips, tasting sweet on his tongue.

And yet the pit of guilt only sank in Dove’s heart at the gesture. The pit that devoured her every second of every day. She didn’t deserve his kindness, his sweet words or his saccharine kisses. Marc would hate her if he found out what she was, who she was. If he knew the reason she left home, left her brothers.

If he knew she was a murderer.

MCU

@blackcat420---69

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery8895-blog @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child d @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly @seraphimcollections @katboops @kmhappybunny240

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra–mae @lou-la-lou

UGH MATT YOU'RE SUCH AN IDIOT!!! I'm losing my MIND!! Now poor reader is trouble that could have PROBABLY BEEN AVOIDED! Or at least Matt would know where she is smh.

Beautiful chapter, and I'm so excited to read more! Take Care author <3

Set Heaven on Fire

Wake Up, Chapter 7

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: implied non-con/sexual assault, misogynistic language, swearing, angst

a/n: I feel really unsure about this chapter so PLEASE like, comment, and/or reblog to tell me you like it! Some angst (before the hurt) before the fluff. 

w/c: 3.3k

A heather gray pea coat passed through your peripheral vision and the sight, combined with the wafts of that deep sticky cologne, made you catch your breath. 

Told you that I’d come for you, Princess. 

Eyes darting around wildly, you meekly shuffled forward in line, inching closer to the hotel employee who looked as frantic as you felt. Breathing as deeply as you could, you tried to calm your stuttering heart. Why did I ever agree to this?? What if he’s here?

You and Matt were currently checking in at the venue of the annual Criminal Law Conference. A conference that you normally wouldn’t attend—especially since you were approaching a year as volunteer coordinator and thus the anniversary of the internal investigation that had ended so poorly—but this event was a rather intimate affair and attendees were encouraged to bring their partners. Matt had practically begged you to come, and you were not immune to his signature puppy dog eyes. According to him and Foggy, there were educational sessions and discussion forums during the day, but prestigious networking events at night—similar to the gala you'd attended together so long ago. You couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of that dreadful night.  

Two strong arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you into a solid chest. With a small squeak, you allowed yourself to fall against the warm body behind you.

“Breathe, sweet girl.” The deep rumble spilled from Matthew Murdock’s lips, giving you a point of focus. You dutifully obeyed his instructions, inhaling a strong breath and letting it out slowly. 

“That’s my good girl,” Matt purred, warming your body with his subtle flirt. “What’s got you so worked up, angel?” You could feel the eyes of the other attorneys in line falling on the pair of you. 

“Dunno.” You murmured in response, shifting in his arms so you could bury your face in his neck to hide from the crowd’s collective gaze. “I just…thought I saw someone.” 

“Snyder?” Matt’s brow pinched as he took his focus off of you for a moment to search for any sign of the crone. 

“Uh, yah.” You whispered, but your heartbeat stumbled. Why were you lying? Who had you thought you’d seen? Was it just a cover because he was the one making you nervous? Oh god, he was totally making you nervous. 

“The line is moving again.” Your quiet, anxious voice cascaded over him once more and he decided to drop the inquiry, for now. You didn’t seem to be in a great headspace for an interrogation. 

“Thanks, angel. Guide me?” He gave a pronounced pout, coupled with his aforementioned puppy dog eyes, hoping the expression would lighten your mood. It seemed to work marginally as he heard the small smile in your sweet voice as you spoke again. 

“Always, love.” You carefully untangled yourself from his grasp, sliding his left hand to the crook of your right elbow. The two of you moved forward with the crowd, your place in line just shy of the front desk at this point. 

“412, 414, 416. We’re in this room here. Hold my bag for a second?” You waited for Matt’s nod before handing over your suitcase so that you could insert the key card in the door. 

Once inside, and away from the prying eyes of your colleagues, you felt the tension seep out of your body. Matt’s hand slipped from your arm, making you frown. He walked into the room ahead of you. 

“Sorry for all the PDA back there, everyone was looking so I…” His voice was soft, almost nervous. 

Sitting on the bed, he removed his glasses and nervously rubbed at his face. 

“That’s not what made me anxious, Matty. I promise.” You plopped down next to him, leaning onto his shoulder. With one hand on the small of his back, you nudged his chin with a single finger so that your foreheads could rest against each other.

“You’re sure?” The undercurrent of fear in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. Matt’s self-doubt didn’t rear its head often around you at the beginning of your pretend relationship, but, as he began to trust you implicitly, he couldn’t quite keep his personal demons at bay. Thankfully, you were more than willing to reassure him when his worries surfaced. 

“Absolutely certain, darling. You know that I get stressed in crowds. Besides, I could never complain about being held by the Matthew Murdock. Do you know how many women would kill for that opportunity?” You poked his cheek, making him smile. 

The lawyer blushed, ducking his head with a small grin. You grinned at him in return. “It’s true. They’re practically lining up just to catch a meager glance from you.” 

Matt snickered. “I don’t know about lining up…”

You looked at him, face softening. “I’m very lucky to have a fake boyfriend like you, darling. I think about that a lot.” Your heart rate picked up as Matt moved closer. 

“You think about me a lot?” Matt’s eyes were dancing with heated mirth and it sent a jolt straight to your core. 

Heat rose in your face as Matt pressed in closer to you, slowly pushing you onto your back and boxing you in with his huge arms. 

“So what if I do, Matty?” Biting your lip, you internally cringed at how wobbly your attempted flirt sounded. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, sweetness.” Matt rolled off of you, frowning, settling on his side next to you. Your heart fell as he distanced himself, as if you’d expected him to tear you apart right there on that bed. 

Recovering your dignity as well as you could, you nestled yourself against the pillows with a sigh. “Speaking of me being shy, could we, um, talk about something later? About us?” 

As if a switch had been flipped, Matt’s body stiffened next to you, his blank eyes growing wide and his demeanor becoming gruff. “Can it wait until after tonight?”

Your heart sank at his reaction. “Of-of course, Matty. How long until I have to put my game face on?”

“Well, there’s a social thing in a couple hours or so, but we do not need to stay long.” Matt’s voice was almost…stern?

Something about his new mood set you on edge. You’d been trying to be more physically affectionate with him in place of outright confessing your feelings. (Every time you thought about admitting how much you liked him, your throat felt like it was closing up, so you had avoided the topic until this moment.) 

Had you been making Matt uncomfortable? Since you’d gotten here, he just seemed…off. The brief flirting session had indicated to you that it was just nerves because of his peers, but now you weren’t so sure. You shuffled around on the bed uneasily, deciding on your next move. 

“Oh, ok. I’ll get ready then.” Your voice was timid as you slid off the bed. Padding into the pristine bathroom, you turned the shower on before letting your eyes fill with tears. He doesn’t want you. He never will. 

Matt’s chest clenched as he smelled salt on the stale air of the hotel room. You were crying in the bathroom, barely 10 feet away from him and yet he was entirely powerless. The sound of your heart rate rising as your body exuded anxiety taunted him relentlessly. 

After talking with Foggy and Karen a few weeks ago, he’d been trying to muster up the courage to ask you out properly. Until today, he’d even had hope that you’d be excited to be in a more legitimate relationship with him—clearly his friends were mistaken. His presence did nothing but drive your vitals through the roof but he wasn’t willing to let you go just yet. 

He’d tried to find the spark that had been there during your first kiss a few weeks ago, but the shakiness in your sweet little voice clearly signaled fear. You didn’t want to do this with him anymore. 

That was what you’d wanted to talk to him about, right? It had to be. “About us?” Your soft wavering voice had crushed him. He’d been waiting for this specific shoe to drop for weeks, but the waves of shock and hurt hit him like a bus anyway. 

Emotion welled up in his throat and he swallowed painfully, trying to hold back the roiling storm in his chest. It was cruel to keep you here with him if you didn’t want to be. Tonight, he’d set you free. 

Fidgeting with the strands of your wet hair, you let out a sigh. Your eyes were bloodshot to the point that you were concerned makeup wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that you’d been crying. An anxiety-inducing cherry on top of the shitty day you’d ended up having. 

A quiet knock on the door drew a small squeak out of you. “Yah?” 

“Hey, uh, you don’t need to come tonight, sweetness. You’ve done enough. Don’t want to force you.” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you peeled the door open to reveal a formally dressed Matt, glasses obscuring his stony gaze. 

“You…you don’t want me to come?” You whispered, throat closing up while your heart pounded. 

“It’s not that I don’t want you there, I just—“

“Did I do something wrong?” You desperately searched Matt’s face for any indicator that he was lying, his sweet self trying to spare you anxiety or something. 

“No, of course not, I didn’t mean—“ 

“Then what did you mean, Matt? I must’ve done something, you’re clearly upset!” You were almost angry now. After everything the two of you had been through and suddenly you having feelings was a deal breaker? Like you just couldn’t help yourself around him anymore?

“You just don’t need to be there, so I’m not going to force you—“

“Force me? Where is this coming from, Matt? Is this because of what I said earlier? About wanting to talk? Because we don’t have to, we can just—“

“Just what, keep pretending to be in love with each other? Kissing and holding hands and bantering like one of us isn’t going to get attached? That’s not fair to either of us.” Matt was yelling now, fists clenched. 

“I—I didn’t know you felt this way about someone getting attached. I wouldn’t have said anything, I—“

“Yeah because that would’ve solved everything, right? Just lying to my face until I didn’t need you anymore?” Jaw set with rage, you realized you weren’t looking at Matt Murdock, but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Matt—“ You tried to reason with the raging force in front of you, but he was having none of it. 

“Go home,” Matt growled your name in a way that made you flinch. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I’m sorry.” With one last angry murmur, he straightened his tie and disappeared through the room’s door, leaving you to crumble to the floor with a new flow of sobs. How had tonight unraveled so quickly? 

Breathing eventually falling into a controllable rhythm, you hastily wiped at your face and set off on wobbly legs to grab your suitcase. Shooting a text to Marci to let her know that you had tried to confess your feelings and it ended up being a huge mistake, you steeled yourself before turning your back on the room you’d planned on sharing with the man you had feelings for. 

Whipping open the door, you kept your head down and took a step toward the elevators, running head first into Beatrice Snyder. 

Matt’s jaw was painfully clenched by the time he reached the ballroom. He’d commit a litany of sins in his life, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would be damned for what he did to you tonight. While it was not your fault that you didn’t return his feelings, his hurt quickly turned to anger. 

Anger was familiar. Anger was safe. Rejection wasn’t. 

Stepping over to the bar, he failed to return the bartender’s smile and polite tone. “Whiskey, double.” 

Downing the glass the moment it was set in front of him, he slammed it back to the bar top. “Refill.” Then, remembering his manners, “Please.” 

Feeling a presence over his shoulder, he cursed his cruel God for letting Foggy find him before he was sufficiently wasted. 

“Going a little hard for a work event, eh Murdock?” Foggy’s chuckle was humorless and a bit nervous as he gave his friend a once-over. “Where’s your better half?” 

“Gone. Sent her home.” Matt downed the second glass of liquor, refusing to let down his guard again tonight. 

“And as obvious as it is that you’re having a great time on your own, why, pray tell, did you do that?” Foggy’s tone was level, but Matt could hear his frustration simmering beneath the surface. 

“She knows, Fog. I don’t know how but she knows that I like her. And she doesn’t feel the same way. So I didn’t see the point of fooling myself any longer. It wasn’t fair to her.” 

“Matt, bud—“ Foggy reached for Matt’s arm but he jerked away from the offered touch. 

“What, Fog? Can you honestly tell me that any of this has been kind to her? I know you expected this to become real at some point, but clearly that’s not going to happen. I think we both just need some time.” The thought of being apart from you was excruciating, but he’d dug this grave himself. 

“Did she say that? Matt, what on earth—“ Foggy was clearly about to chew him out, but someone else beat him to it. 

“Murdock, I have a bone to pick with you!” Marci’s voice was angry and loud, sending a spike of pain through Matt’s pounding eardrums. 

“Babe, maybe it’s best if we—“ Foggy placated, his hands raised in surrender and Marci stormed towards the bar. 

“Save it, Foggy Bear. Matthew Motherfucking Murdock what the fuck did you do?” A well-manicured hand shoved Matt’s chest and, while he would’ve been able to stop it, he took the punishment in stride. It was nowhere close to what he deserved. 

“You’re going to need to be more specific.” Matt remarked drily. 

“Oh, spare me your attitude. You seriously blew up on her because she likes you? How goddamn childish. After everything she’s done for you—“ 

“Wait, what?” Matt and Foggy spoke in unison, brows furrowing in tandem. 

“Let’s drop the innocent act, ok, it’s not a good look. If you didn’t feel the same way, you could have let her down easy instead of blowing up on her and leaving her alone.” Marci rolled her eyes, waving down the bartender. 

“I didn’t—“ Matt’s chest felt tight. It wasn’t possible, you’d seemed so nervous around him. You’d lied to him about the reason. 

“Marce, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Matt, care to shed some light on that?” Crossing his arms, Foggy turned back to his legal partner with a raised brow. 

“I—I thought she was tired of pretending. She said she wanted to talk and she’s been jumpy all day, I assumed she wanted to ‘break up’” Matt didn’t realize how pathetic that explanation was until saying it out loud. 

“Oh my god, you kicked her out and you didn’t even know what she wanted to talk about!? Murdock of all the idiots—“ Foggy was overtly upset now, anger bleeding into his words. 

“I know, Fog. I fucked up. Shit, I have to go find her.” Dread was washing over his body like sub zero water. What the fuck had he done. 

“Yah, man. You do. And I’d hurry.” 

Matt clasped Foggy’s shoulder, making a beeline for the exit. 

Beatrice Snyder smiled at you like a feral cat snarling at its prey. Your name rolled off her tongue like a drop of poison onto your skin. 

“So nice to see you again, dear. Where’s your handsome boyfriend?” 

“Do-downstairs.”

“And you’re leaving without him? Aw, you poor thing. What happened, did the two of you have a lover’s quarrel? Don’t tell me you broke up!” Her manicured hand fell over her heart in a gesture of mock horror. 

“No, he just—“ You started. 

“No need to explain yourself to me, dear,” The cruel woman  spat the term of endearment at you. “You've clearly been through enough already.” Her eyes hardened with judgement. 

A deep voice cleared their throat behind you and all of the hair on your neck stood up. 

Notes of tobacco and bourbon mingled poorly on the air around you, accelerating your nausea. Please do not let this be happening. Please, someone, anyone don’t let it be him. 

“Ah, yes. How rude of me. I should introduce you to the new associate attorney at HCB: James Lannister.” Snyder bared her fangs at you again, gesturing to a force behind you. 

You were going to be sick. The walls were closing in around you. Your body froze, petrified with horror as a gnarled hand crept over your shoulder. 

“It’s been too long, little Princess. You’ve looked better.” James Lannister strode around you, his piercing gray eyes lingering on your body, making your stomach churn. Your nightmares had immortalized him—with his greasy blond hair and broad, towering frame. His smile revealed inhumanly white teeth and a dangerous glint in his eyes. Your mouth felt like it was welded shut, your tongue a chunk of solid lead that was slowly choking you. “Nothing to say to me, huh? No apology?”

Fingers clenching around the handle of your suitcase, you took a step backwards in lieu of a response. Lannister’s wandering hands snatched your arm in a vice grip. “I think you and I need to have a little chat, Princess.” Snyder grinned as he began to drag you towards the stairwell, your suitcase falling to the carpet of the hallway with an inaudible thunk.

“Karma’s a bitch, dear. I’d better get downstairs, I’m sure Matthew would love to know what his sweet little thing is up to when he’s not around to keep her in line.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes again at the thought of poor Matt, who already hated you, being subjected to Snyder’s falsehoods. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone!” Snyder ignored you as Lannister cackled. 

“Aw, the little whore found someone else she cares about, did she?” You were sobbing now, struggling against his humongous strength, weakly battering him with your fists as you tried to run after Snyder. “Shut up, you vile slut. She can’t help you. You’re my gift for joining the firm.” His rough fingertip traced a line over your jaw and you flinched backward as far as you could. 

Pulling your arm downwards as hard as you could, you broke free of his grip and stumbled back up the cement stairs, crying out as you rolled your ankle in your haste to escape. Throwing you down to the nearest landing, Lannister snarled. “That’s it, you little bitch.” Ripping a handgun from his back pocket, he pulled back the hammer and aimed at your pounding head. “Another peep out of you and you’ll never see him again. Get up.” 

The floor felt liquid beneath you as your unsteady legs found their way into a standing position. You raised your hands, terrified into submission once again. 

The pair of you made your way down to the ground level and out through a back door, where two other men dressed in suits were waiting. They grinned their sharp teeth at you, zip tying your hands together and stuffing a gag in your mouth. Hurling you into a waiting van, Lannister snickered. “Tonight I get pay back, Princess. It’ll be just like old times, you’ll see.” 

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

i’m enough of a nerd to see when a weapon would be impractical but not enough of a nerd to give a shit

Oh god why would you do this to me Bella!? This is heartbreaking 😭💔

Don't Walk Away [Part One]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Frank is a good man–you learned that the day he brought your dog Lucky into your life. The two of you soon began a relationship afterwards, one that was rather unconventional with how often Frank was always on the road. But one night when he's back, you're hit with the realization that you're in love with him. Noticing your nerves, Frank eventually pulls the truth out of you–and then you're left confused and heartbroken when you wake up to find him gone the next morning.

Warnings: 18+; Angst with a happy ending (in part two), emotional hurt/comfort, smut (in part two), love confession

Word Count: 5.7k

a/n: This was going to be a one part thing but I wanted to give this story everything I needed to which meant it was growing into something bigger. So there will be a part two coming that has the happy ending and smut. For now, this is angst. Enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Humming absently to yourself, you sealed the lid on the tupperware container of the leftover pasta you’d made for dinner. A crisp breeze made its way through the open windows in your kitchen, that comforting and familiar scent of autumn soon approaching wafting inside and filling your house. You loved this time of year when the nights finally cooled off and you didn’t have beads of sweat rolling down your back from the scorching heat of the day. There was something serene and calming about having your windows open at night, the sounds of the crickets outside a peaceful background to your evenings. 

As you made your way over to the refrigerator, you heard the sound of a car rolling to a stop somewhere along the street out front, the noise louder than usual with your windows wide open. You saw Lucky raise her head from off the kitchen floor, perking up at the noise as you opened the refrigerator door and placed the container of leftover pasta inside. Lucky let out a soft whine from the floor next, your attention fully turning down towards your dog as you shut the fridge.

“It’s just a car, girl,” you told her. “Nothing to be worried about.”

Making your way towards your dishwasher, you pulled the door open and slid out the bottom rack. Turning, you began pulling the dirty pots and bowls out of the sink from this evening and setting them one by one inside of the dishwasher. The loud thud of a car door closing outside rang out through your kitchen and Lucky jumped up from the floor. You paused, half-bent over the dishwasher as your focus shifted to her. She was standing perfectly at attention facing the living room, her entire body absolutely still except for her cropped tail. It was doing that hopeful, eager wag she would get where her tail would wag exactly three times before it stopped for a couple of seconds only to wag three more times. 

And she only ever acted like this when she noticed Frank was back.

“Is your daddy here?” you asked Lucky.

Her head turned back towards you, a happy glint in her eyes. You couldn’t contain your own excitement either, a large grin slipping onto your lips as you slid the dishrack back before closing the dishwasher door. Heading to the sink, you washed your hands, your smile only growing when you heard Lucky softly whining in barely contained joy.

By the time you were drying your hands on the kitchen towel, you heard a knock coming from the front door. Lucky bolted off towards it immediately, her excited barks loudly echoing through your previously quiet house. Making your way out of your kitchen and to the living room after her, you could hear Frank’s laughter coming through the open windows. The warm, resonate sound of it had you picking up your pace as you headed to the front door. It had been awhile since Frank had last stopped by and you'd certainly missed him. 

Unlocking the door, you hurriedly pulled it open to reveal Frank Castle standing on your doorstep–or Pete Castiglione as everyone else in the world knew him as. But you had come to know him for exactly who he was shortly after the night you met him eight months ago now. 

He was the one who’d brought Lucky into the animal hospital you’d been working at late at night. She’d been in terrible shape, barely holding on from the abuse she had clearly suffered from, and she had been covered in injuries from what appeared to be dog fights. He’d been in a panic about her, begging you to do whatever you could to save her that night when he’d barged in through the front doors carrying her limp body in his arms. Frank had barely left the animal hospital’s parking lot for the entire week she’d been in your care. He had always been checking in on her, asking if there was anything he could do. 

It wasn’t long before you’d looked into who he was, curious about the man who cared so much about an abused dog that supposedly wasn’t his dog–and then you’d managed to uncover his past. You’d been a bit wary of him at first, but Frank had only ever been kind and respectful to you and your colleagues. It was clear he had a big heart judging by how much he cared for the dog he’d rescued and couldn’t seem to let go of. Though when she was finally ready to go home and recover, you’d expected he would want to take her with him, but he’d surprised you when he had told you that he couldn’t. He was apparently living on the road for now, traveling from state to state without a real home, trying to find where he belonged. He had stayed only long enough to make sure she was healed and safe before he left.

You had ended up taking her in and naming her Lucky–because she was lucky Frank had been the one to find her and rescue her that night. But you’d also referred to her as your good luck charm because two weeks later, Frank had returned to the animal hospital you worked at and was asking about her. When he learned you’d been the one to give her a home, he’d asked if he could see her again. It was Lucky who had ultimately brought you and Frank together; she was the reason the pair of you had eventually fallen into the unconventional relationship you’d had for months now while Frank continued to live his life on the road trying to find himself–though you always wondered if he was really just punishing himself. 

Pulling the screen door open, Frank stepped inside with a broad smile spread wide across his face, his warm brown eyes focused on you. The sight of him had your heart feeling ready to burst, a large smile spreading onto your own lips in return. Lucky quickly began excitedly hopping around by Frank’s legs, demanding attention as happy barks flew out of her one after another. She only quieted when he'd finally tore his eyes from you and focused his attention on her.

“Hey girl,” Frank greeted Lucky. “You missed me, did ya?”

He took two steps inside before swiftly dropping down to his knees on the floor beside her. Lucky was quick to bombard him in a series of kisses straight away, only further encouraged by his large hands scratching behind her ears. Laughing lightly at the pair of them, you closed the front door and locked it before turning and leaning against it, watching the both of them with that smile lingering on your lips. Lucky’s entire lower half wiggled back and forth in delight as Frank continued to enthusiastically scratch behind her ears, muttering sweet words of praise to her. The reunions between the two of them had always went like this whenever Frank showed back up at your place, and it always warmed your heart to watch them together.

It was a few minutes before Lucky finally calmed, lowering to sit on her haunches in front of Frank with her tongue happily hanging out of her mouth looking as if she was smiling herself. Frank glanced up at you, one hand still absently petting Lucky as he directed that broad smile still on his face at you. The sight of it had your heart almost skipping a beat–it had been two weeks since you'd last had the opportunity to see that smile in person.

His attention not leaving you, he slipped his duffle bag from off his shoulder and dropped it to the floor by his feet. “How’s my favorite girl?” he asked.

“Feeling a little left out of this reunion,” you teased.

“Well I can’t have that now can I?” he mused.

He gave Lucky two more pats on her head before he rose back up to his feet, eyeing you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he slowly sauntered towards you. You quirked a brow at him, the corner of your lips curving even higher upwards. The moment he was within reach, his hands were on your hips. You could feel the warmth of them seeping past the thin fabric of your sweatpants, his fingers firmly gripping you in an almost possessive way. He stepped in closer to you, closing the distance between you both as his face hovered just before yours. Your own hands rose up, landing on his chest just over his dark jacket. Your eyes locked onto his brown ones, spotting that familiar light in them they always had when he was with you. Though every time he said goodbye to you before heading out to his truck, ready to get back on the road again, you swore you saw that light extinguish behind his eyes.

“What about you, beautiful?” Frank asked, his voice a gentle rumble in your ears as he cocked his head to the side. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you when you’re gone, Frank,” you assured him, hands snaking their way up his solid chest until you could wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him in closer to you. “And I’m always happy to see you.”

“Is that right?” he murmured.

Frank lowered his forehead to rest against yours, his eyes closing. Yours closed seconds later, your tongue slipping out to wet your lips in anticipation of your greeting from him. He was so close to you that his lips brushed yours when he spoke next. 

“How much did ya miss me?” he asked.

Without hesitation, your arms pulled him in the rest of the way to you as you tilted your face up, capturing his lips with your own. It surprised you that his lips were always so soft every single time you kissed him because everything about Frank usually screamed the opposite of soft. And right now those lips of his were moving so deliberate and slow against yours over and over again, the feel of them finally back on yours making you suddenly breathless. You quickly found yourself getting lost in him, your body melting into his as he pressed you further back into the front door. The scent of leather and gasoline and smoke filled your nose as your mind went blank to everything else but him. Frank took another step into you, his hands sensually sliding their way down your hips and around towards your ass as he kissed you exactly like a man who'd been gone for two weeks would. 

Kissing Frank for you was vastly different than kissing anyone else you ever had before. With Frank, every kiss and every touch from him always felt full of passion and something more . Something more than just lust and desire and the urge to scratch an itch. You’d never experienced that with anyone else but him, and you’d always been left wondering what that had meant.

When you felt Frank’s tongue drag its way along your lower lip so painfully slow and purposeful, you couldn't resist the faint moan that fell out of your mouth. Frank swallowed down the sound before he squeezed your ass in his large hands. Then he pulled away from you just a bit, chuckling at the whine you emitted in protest. 

"Much as I'd love to continue this, beautiful," Frank murmured, pausing to place a sweet kiss back to your lips, "It's been hours since I ate. Been drivin' all day trying to get back to you before you went to bed. D’ya mind if we catch up while I eat?"

Your right hand withdrew from its place around his neck, gradually making its way towards his face where you began to affectionately stroke his stubbled cheek. Frank’s eyes crinkled at the corners as you did. It was a moment before you answered, just enjoying the slight rasp of his beard against your fingertips, content that he was here again. Though you loved the slightly outgrown beard he always showed up with, clearly not having had a chance to shave in a few days each time you saw him again. 

"Only if you don't eat that packaged shit in your bag," you replied, gesturing your head at his duffle bag with a grimace. "I just finished dinner a bit ago, I can reheat you some of the pasta I made."

Frank's smile widened further, his hands gripping your ass firmly again. "You're too good to me, sweetheart," he told you. 

"Well somebody needs to make sure you're eating more than tuna fish from a bag and beef jerky," you shot back, nails playfully scratching along his jawline. "I need to make sure you're not malnourished out there on the road."

"Oh do you now?" he asked, his hands releasing you.

"Mhmm,” you hummed out as Frank stepped back from you, a grin forming on his lips. “You make sure you take those dirty things off before you make yourself comfortable, though," you told him, gesturing a finger down at his black boots.

Frank's grin curled up even higher before he dipped his head once in a single nod. "Yes, ma'am."

You hummed out a pleased noise before turning and making your way back to the kitchen. It came as no surprise to you that Lucky didn't follow after you, choosing to stay behind with Frank as he gathered his bag and took his boots off. 

Opening the refrigerator door, you pulled out the container of pasta you'd only minutes ago put away before setting it on the kitchen counter. Next you reached up into a cabinet, pulling down a bowl and then grabbing a fork from a nearby drawer. Afterwards, you began scooping a generous portion of food into the bowl–you knew damn well Frank ate like shit when he wasn't with you. You also knew he loved your cooking. 

As you opened the microwave door, you heard Frank's tired feet shuffling their way towards the kitchen. By the time the pasta had begun reheating in the microwave, Frank was at your back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling the back of you into the front of him. He buried his face into your neck and you tilted your head, giving him easier access as your eyes fell closed. He nuzzled quietly against your skin for a moment, the scratch of his beard almost a tickle.

“Missed you,” he murmured into your neck.

Your hands landed on top of his arms where they were wrapped around your waist, a contented sigh slipping out of your lips. You missed him every single day he was gone, constantly checking your phone for a new text or a call or a voicemail from him. Always desperate for anything at all from him. For the past few months you’d found yourself wishing he’d just stay one of these days instead of always slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder in a few days’ time, carrying your heart off with him as he drove away in his truck.

“You know you don’t always have to leave,” you told him quietly.

Frank inhaled an audible, deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he expelled it roughly. He soon drew his face from your neck as his arms began to unwind themselves from around your waist. Your stomach nervously twisted in knots at the physical distance he was clearly creating.

You’d had this conversation with him two times before. The first time it was mostly one-sided with you doing most of the talking. The second time had resulted in a fight. Frank had gotten incredibly upset with you and you hadn’t exactly understood why before he’d grabbed his bag and disappeared. You thought that was the end of things until he’d called you a few hours later apologizing profusely. Though you didn’t see him for almost three weeks after that. 

Before he could respond with anything, the microwave beeped loudly. The sound cut through the tension that had formed in the kitchen. Clearing your throat, you focused on grabbing the hot bowl from the microwave.

“Why don’t you get comfortable and I’ll grab you a beer?” you suggested, shooting him a strained smile over your shoulder.

For a moment Frank stood there silently just a foot behind you, an unreadable expression on his face. You could see the muscles jumping in his cheeks as he ground his teeth together–in anger or something else, you had no idea. It was a bit before he finally nodded, turning and shuffling his way towards your kitchen table. You watched him slide out a chair before sinking down into the seat. Lucky was at his side instantly, resting her head on his thigh.

With the steaming bowl of pasta in one hand, you made your way to the refrigerator and opened it. As you pulled out a beer for him, you could feel the weight of his stare on you.

“So what stories did you bring me back this time?” you asked him, trying to diffuse the tension as you shut the fridge door. 

Almost instantly his face lit up with a smile, another one of his deep, rumbling laughs filling your kitchen. Your nerves quickly melted away at the sound as you headed over towards him, depositing the bowl of pasta and beer in front of him on the table.

“Oh I got plenty of stories, sweetheart,” Frank told you, straightening in his chair as he grabbed the fork, hungrily spearing a few noodles.

Pulling the chair out beside his, you settled down into it before resting an elbow on the table. With a bright smile back on your face, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand, listening intently as he began to animatedly fill you in on his past two weeks.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Slowly waking, your eyelids fluttered open only to be met with the darkness of your bedroom. It took your brain a moment to register the warmth that was at your back, though you smiled in the darkness when you remembered Frank was curled up behind you with his large hand resting on your hip under the sheets. 

The tension had quickly vanished between the pair of you while Frank had eaten and the two of you had caught up. Shortly afterwards, Frank had grabbed a shower while you’d been hurriedly closing up all of the windows in your house. Then you’d made your way to the bathroom and slipped out of your clothes, joining him under the warm spray where the two of you caught up with each other in another way. 

Now he was fast asleep behind you wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers. His breathing filled your bedroom with each soft and rhythmic exhale from his mouth. You always missed having him in your bed whenever he was off on the road. It always felt too big and empty without him here sharing it with you.

That thought hit you hard right in the chest and you winced. It had been nearing a year of this long distance relationship with Frank now, and even though you’d been aware of his situation of being on the road when you’d started it with him, you’d recently come to feel differently about it. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust that he wasn’t with anyone else–though at first you’d wondered about that–but there was something there that you hadn’t been able to put your finger on before. Some other reason that his constant coming and going had started to feel different to you. That you’d stopped being so open to it.

You slipped a hand up out of the sheets, rubbing the heel of it against your eyes. That nagging feeling was back again. It was the same one that had you feeling restless and like there was something missing whenever you thought about Frank lately. With a sigh you shifted in the sheets, carefully trying to maneuver your way out of the bed and away from him without waking him up. Though you knew he was usually completely exhausted whenever he turned up on your doorstep and would sleep through just about anything.

Quietly you made your way down the side of your bed, sneaking past Lucky who was contentedly passed out in her dog bed, curled up in a tight ball. You continued to tiptoe towards the door, exiting your bedroom before continuing to make your way down the short hallway and into your kitchen. You could feel that nagging, unnamable feeling eating away at you again as you stopped beside the kitchen counter, reaching a hand up and opening a cabinet before pulling down a glass. 

Silently you made your way over to the sink, filling the cup halfway with water before you turned, resting your back against the counter. You drew the glass to your lips, sipping on the cool liquid as your eyes focused on the dark hallway nearby. Despite the stillness of your house, if you listened closely, you could hear Frank’s even breaths drifting out of the bedroom. The sound of it brought a faint smile to your lips.

And that’s when it hit you. 

Your hand tightened around the cold glass as the realization came crashing into you all at once, nearly drowning you in the revelation. You wondered how you’d been so blind to what had been right in front of you for so long.

You had fallen in love with Frank.

It had happened somewhere between all those phone calls and text messages you’d shared with him these past eight months, along with those impromptu camping trips he had brought you and Lucky with him on. Somewhere between the nights he’d cooked you dinner and taken you to bed, showing you just how much he’d missed you while he was gone. All those times he’d shown up on your doorstep–sometimes with a bouquet of flowers or with breakfast and coffees in hand–you’d fallen for him. 

There was no denying it.

Though you immediately became terrified of the realization. You knew about Frank’s past. You knew he’d been married and he’d had two children. You knew that all three of them had been brutally murdered right in front of him. And you damn well knew he still thought about them everyday–he still had nightmares some nights when he was with you. Horrible ones that made you feel useless to help him in any other way besides offering him comfort as he wept into your shoulder in the middle of the night. 

How the hell could you tell him you loved him? Did you even tell him that? 

A nervous churning began in your stomach as your eyes dropped down to the almost empty glass in your trembling hand. You were in love with a man who wasn’t a physical constant in your life. Sure, Frank kept in touch with you on and off throughout the day every single day that he was gone, but he wasn’t here with you every day. And that’s what it was you’d found yourself wanting lately. But with what he’d lost and how he seemed to keep spending his days searching for something out there on the road, could he ever even be here with you?

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you turned and dumped out the last bit of water in the sink before setting the glass on the counter. With a quivering exhale, you wrapped your arms around yourself before quietly tiptoeing back to the bedroom. Though the moment you entered, Frank began to stir in the sheets. You stopped instantly at the foot of the bed when you saw his head rise from off the pillow, his brows furrowing together.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Frank’s groggy voice asked.

Nervously you tucked some hair behind your ear, continuing back towards your side of the bed. You shook your head as you pulled the sheets further back, aware of Frank’s eyes following you through the darkness.

“No,” you answered quietly. “Just needed a glass of water.”

You slipped back onto the mattress, laying on your back this time as you turned your head along the pillow. You sent Frank a tight smile as you pulled the sheets back over yourself. A moment later you felt his hand sliding its way carefully up your neck, coming to cradle the side of your face. He carefully drew it further towards his, his thumb absently stroking your cheekbone with such tenderness that your heart stuttered in your chest. You swallowed hard, that tight band of nerves that had formed at your recent revelation in the kitchen a minute ago twisting noticeably in your gut. 

“You sure?” Frank asked.

Your brows twitched together briefly at his question. “Yeah, why?” you asked him cautiously.

“You seem…on edge,” Frank pointed out, his thumb still stroking your cheek. “Did I do somethin’?”

Instantly you shook your head, though your immediate denial only seemed to further pique his interest. He shifted on the mattress, drawing himself up onto an arm as he gazed down at you, brushing some hair from your face.

“What’s goin’ on.”

It wasn’t a question. You heard it in the tone of his voice, he knew something was wrong. Internally you cursed that Frank was such a perceptive man. 

Swallowing hard, you shook your head again as your gaze dropped down to his bare chest. The marks from your nails were still visible along his skin in the dimly lit room and your cheeks heated at the memory of your time with him in the shower earlier. But that heat quickly gave way to your nerves under Frank’s heavy stare.

You knew Frank had only ever been with you after the passing of his wife. He had never let anyone else in–he had never even slept with anyone else besides you after Maria had passed. And he’d opened up to you about a lot of the pain he carried over these past few months, too. But what you didn’t know was how he would react to this thing between you both suddenly being something more than what it had been for the past eight months. 

“Tell me,” Frank ordered.

“I just–”

You stopped, biting your bottom lip as those knots in your stomach from earlier twisted tighter and tighter. Fingers curling around the bedsheets, your eyes snapped shut. You weren’t sure if you could get the words out.

“You just what?” his gruff voice gently pressed.

Inhaling a trembling breath, you tried to find the courage to answer him. You knew he wouldn't drop this now. Maybe he’d surprise you–you hoped so–but if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to reciprocate your feelings. And you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that, either. Could Frank ever even love you? Maybe not now, but possibly someday? Would he ever even let himself feel that way for someone that wasn't Maria? You admittedly weren't sure about the answers to those questions, and you weren't certain Frank himself even had the answers. And that scared you now more than it ever had in the past.

“Talk to me,” Frank urged when you remained silent.

“I don’t–don’t exactly know how to say this,” you whispered, the words falling out of you in a rush. “I guess I never really let myself think about it before so I–I didn’t realize it until…just now. I mean, you’re always coming and going so I’ve never really–really let myself think about the possibility that I–” your voice broke off mid-sentence. Even you could hear the tremble in your words. Closing your eyes tighter, you tried to push the words out, unable to look him in the face as you bore your heart to him next. “I love you, Frank. And I–I don’t expect to hear you say that in return to me. But I–” you sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as you repeated the confession aloud to him, “–I love you.”

Silence met your ears. You felt the way Frank’s thumb paused its repetitive movements along your cheek as he stiffened beside you in the bed. You kept your eyes clamped closed, too afraid to see his reaction. But the longer the silence dragged on in the bedroom, the worse that feeling in your stomach grew. Maybe you should have lied and not said anything at all. Even if you didn’t expect to hear him say it in return, you still expected something .

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”

You were cut off by Frank’s hand on your cheek pulling you towards him before his mouth was suddenly on yours. You rolled over onto your side, your right hand snaking its way around his waist and up his back, fingers digging into his hard muscles. His hand held you to him, firm but gentle, as he kissed you with an intensity you’d never felt from him before. You’d barely had a chance to register much else before he sharply broke away from you. 

Your eyes flew open at the abrupt end to that passionate kiss, confusion written all over your face. Though seconds later Frank was pressing his forehead to yours, his own eyes closed. He remained silent, not saying anything in return as his thumb began its affectionate path along your cheekbone again. For now, you took that as a positive response, one that briefly quelled the rising nerves in your stomach as you brushed your nose up against his. 

Frank pulled away from you after a moment, his lips placing two long, lingering kisses along your forehead before he settled back on his pillow. His hand released your cheek to instead wrap around your waist, drawing you further into him. Easily obliging, you snuggled up against the front of him, relaxing into the heat and comfort of his body as your eyelids briefly lowered.

He may not have said it back, but you figured that kiss meant something good, at least. You figured you had tomorrow to talk to him about it all. You’d make sense of things then. For now, you just wanted to curl up against Frank and drift to sleep in the safety of his arms.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Lucky’s high-pitched whine met your ears first. You rolled over, burying your face into your pillow and trying to block out the sunlight seeping past your curtains and hitting the back of your eyelids. You groaned, throwing a hand out to your right and hoping to pull Frank closer to you–but your hand hit the cold mattress. Instantly your head rose from your pillow, your eyes blinking rapidly as they tried to adjust to the bright light in your room. 

The space beside you was empty.

Frowning, you pushed yourself upright on the bed, your eyes surveying the bedroom. Lucky was sitting beside the bedroom door, her dark gray ears drooping as she ducked her head. She whined again as she looked back at you.

“Frank?” you called out.

When you didn’t get a response, you kicked the sheets off of yourself and hurriedly threw your legs over the side of your bed. Brows furrowing together in confusion, you stood up and made your way out of the bedroom and down the short hallway with Lucky following after you. Though you immediately came to a stop in the living room. Frank’s boots were missing from where he’d set them last night by the front door.

Your mouth went dry as your eyes flew to the couch next. His duffle bag wasn’t where he’d tossed it on the cushions before his shower last night, either. Your heart began to pound in your chest, the beating of it uneven and erratic.

“Frank?” you called out again.

No answer.

Lucky walked past you, making her way to your front window. She nuzzled the curtains out of her way as she looked outside. Feeling like you were moving in slow motion, you made your way to the window after her. Reaching a hand out, you pulled the dark blue curtains back. 

Frank’s truck wasn’t parked out front where it had been last night.

A sharp gasp fell out of you, your hand dropping the curtain and flying up to cover your mouth as you stumbled a couple of steps backwards. You could feel the burn of tears building in your eyes, a tightness forming in your chest.

Frank was gone. He must’ve slipped out of bed sometime last night or early this morning and just left without a word. A strangled noise slid out from behind your hand at that thought and you pressed your lips firmly together, trying to keep from crying. 

A desperate, hopeful thought ran through your mind next. Maybe he’d run out to grab breakfast and didn’t say anything because he thought he’d be back before you’d woken?

Hurrying back down the hallway towards your bedroom, you headed straight to your nightstand and practically ripped your phone from the charger. You unlocked it, noticing there weren’t any notifications from Frank. Opening up your contacts, you quickly found his name and dialed his number. You held the phone to your ear with bated breath.

Though it didn’t ring. Not even once. Instead, your call had gone straight to Frank’s automated voicemail.

Slowly you lowered the phone from your ear and down to your lap as you blankly sank down on the edge of your bed. Your finger ended the call as your vision began to blur from the tears quickly welling in your eyes. It wasn’t long before they began to spill forth, hot and wet as they raced down your cheeks. Lucky’s head gently lowered to your left knee as she softly whined again. Almost instantly you crumpled in half, throwing your arms around her neck as you sobbed into her fur.

Frank had left you. All because you’d gone and fallen in love with him.

This would have been my dream as a kid, I love this so muchh

!???

Omg please add me to the taglist!! I'm so excited to read more <33

WIP poll game

rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got

Ahhh thank you for the tag @chvoswxtch

I’m not going to tag anyone because I’m very new and don’t want to force anybody but let me know which WIP you want me to post a part of!

Ughh I love both of these mini fics so much!! But especially the little Bake x Frank addition, I'm a sucker for a sunshine character!

WIP poll game

rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got

Ahhh thank you for the tag @chvoswxtch

I’m not going to tag anyone because I’m very new and don’t want to force anybody but let me know which WIP you want me to post a part of!

First reblog is for you souliebird <3

The person I reblogged this from is someone I enjoy seeing on my dashboard.