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angel-eyes05 · 11 months

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to leave the warmest bed i've ever known (part 4)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: so much time has passed since you last saw each other. will old feelings come up again once you two find each other again?

warnings: HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, this is so against canon its insane, NSFW (we did it guys we're finally here), switch!reader and switch!miguel, blood mention, fang and claws play, p in v unprotected, cumplay, angsty (i couldnt help it), it goes, angst, smut, and then angsty fluff at the end youre welcome

word count: 3.2k

notes: for some reason, it didn't let me tag as many people who wanted to be on the taglist, so if i didn't end up tagging you for the final part, sorry idk what went wrong

also forgive me i was listening to boygenius while writing the parts leading up to the smut so it might get a little angsty there (i cant help it) (miguel and y/n are so bite the hand and cool about it core)

but then i balanced it out by listening to frank ocean (pyramids specifically) while writing the smut so you're welcome

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Three years had passed. Three years since you finally found Miles, defeated The Spot, and caused the collapse of the Spider Society. Everyone had gone back to their separate dimensions, but were able to still visit each other with their still working portal watches. Miles and Gwen specifically were very happy. Peter B. went back home to live with MJ and Mayday, sending you frequent pictures of Mayday to keep you updates. You were different. You didn’t return to your home world. You didn’t necessarily have anyone to return to per se. Instead, you decided to hop between dimensions, seeing what crime there was to fight in cities that didn’t have anyone to protect it. It was enough to keep you occupied, and as long as your watch still worked, you had the option to stop if you wanted to. Life was nice. You finally had found peace.

But something felt off. Something thudding in the back of your head. Because even though you had been at peace for three years, it had also been three years since you saw him. You had seen him during the final showdown between all of Spider Society, but your team had managed to keep you two apart, due to fear for your safety. After the fight was over, you two had made eye contact with each other a couple of times, but never approached each other. If you were being honest, you were still scared of him at that point, even seeing him tied up there on the floor waiting for someone to deal with him.

It took a while for your gashes to heal, the ones on your back taking much longer to turn into scars than the ones on your tricep and thigh. The marks on your body were frequent reminders of him and the damage he’s caused to your life. Part of you hated him for it. But most of you just missed him. Unlike Jess, who sent you pictures of her baby every now and then, neither of you had reached out to the other. It was crazy how five years of shared history can be thrown to the ground so quickly.

Right now, you were sitting on the railing of your apartment balcony. For the past month or so, you decided to park it in Earth-3819. There wasn’t much crime going on there, so it was a nice place to stop when you needed a break. Your feet dangled off the edge of the railing, as you looked out to see the sunset on the skyline. The wind blew faintly at your face, causing strands of hair to fall out of your high bun. You had been thinking more about him recently, wondering if he was feeling the same way you were.

Almost as if you manifested it, you heard the sliding glass door from your bedroom slide open. Startled, you quickly turned around, ready just in case it was an attacker.

It was much worse than an attacker.

You mouth laid agape as his massive shadow covered your smaller body. Feelings that laid dormant for the past three years suddenly erupting in your stomach. You looked up to the roof of your building as a signal to meet you up there, as you attached a web to the top and swung up there.

Once you were both at the top, you faced your back to him to take time to catch your breath. Your emotions were all over the place right now. “You’re really hard to find, you know,” he said trying to break the silence. You wanted to throw up. As much as you hoped this moment would come, you never realized how unprepared you would be if it ever did. You couldn’t bare to look at him right now, knowing you would lose control of yourself if you did. “You look…good.” How would he know, he only saw your face for a second before you bolted off. You both stood there, the wind growing louder and louder with each second you both stayed silent.

All of your senses came to a freeze once you felt his hand place itself on your shoulder, causing a flinch from you. “I wanted to find you again, mi vida,” he said in that rich, deep, smooth tone of his that drives you crazy. You could tell he was getting closer when you felt the hairs on your neck stand up from him breathing on them. “I missed you, and I was hoping we could pick up where we left off,” he said into the crook of your neck and began to plant kisses there. You broke free from his grasp by the third kiss he left. “No no no no no, no we can’t. It’s not that simple Miguel,” you said, pinching your bridge and sighing. There's no way he could've thought it would be this easy. He's not this stupid….is he?

“Listen amor, I’m sorry for everything that happened. But the past is the past.” He walked closer to you. “And I want my future with you.” He was up against you again. This time instead of your shoulder, he dragged his finger up and down your back in an almost hypnotic motion. God, you wanted him so bad, you wanted it to be this simple. That he can just apologize and everything could be okay. But you were reminded it couldn't be that way once his finger hit a pressure point in your scar. You swatted your hands in the air and walked away from him again. “No Miguel, that's not how this works. You can just do the things you've done to me and just say sorry and expect it to fix everything. You're not a child.”

Once you turned around to face him, you saw him standing there like a lost puppy. You just wish he could see what you were talking about. “Don't act like you didn't do horrible things then too. I saw what you did to Jess.” “Don't turn this onto me Miguel. This is about you.” You walked up to him and pressed your finger into his chest. “This is about you, and the horrible things you've done to me! I can't even take a shower anymore without looking at myself in the mirror and seeing your damage!” You lifted up your shirt sleeve. “You did this! This was all you!” Miguel looks down at you with sympathetic eyes as your eyes began to well up.

“And you can’t just barge in on this life I’ve made for myself and ask for me back because I won't go with you!” You were fully crying at this point, desperately trying to get your words out between sobs and lightly punching at Miguel's chest while he just stared at you. “Because I hate you Miguel! I hate you, okay!” You couldn't manage to talk anymore, overcome with the emotions he caused you to feel. You rested your head on his chest as you continued to sob. He wrapped his arms around you, causing you to do the same to him immediately. You sat there crying into his arms for about a minute, until he lifted up your chin with his finger.

“I’m so sorry I did this to you mi princesa. I’m so sorry. But I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Overtaken by emotion, you grab his face and crash your lips into his. Almost instinctively, his hands find a home onto your hips. You pull away for a second. “Just stop talking already,” you say breathlessly. He rushes to connect the two of your lips again, already going as far as to slip his tongue in between your lips. He’s so passionate about everything he does. His hands hold a tight grip on your body as his tongue explores your mouth. Almost like he’s hungry for you. No, not hungry. Starving. Famished. Three years apart was too much for him to stand without you by his side or in his bed. He needed you desperately. Like his life depended on if he was going to be able to fuck you into your bed tonight or not.

He let out moans as your hands ran through and tugged on his hair. But as soon as his claws came out and dug into your hips, you pulled your mouth off of his, a string of saliva still connecting you two. “No claws Miguel. Bring them out again, and its over okay.” You still weren’t mentally over his attack against you. He nods. “Of course, baby.” With that said, you let go of him to walk over to the edge of the building. Once your at the edge, you signal him over. He follows, almost as if he’s under some spell. You attach one of your webs to your balcony railing below and use it as a guide to fall down to it. You land on your balcony, Miguel following close behind as you open the sliding door to your bedroom.

After you close the door and blinds, you turn to find Miguel almost hovering over you. He looked like some kind of lost dog the way he kept following you around, begging for more of you. You gently kiss him and guide him over to your bed. He sits down on the edge of the bed and begins to pull your hoodie off your head as you help him take off his suit. Once your sweatpants are off as well, you gently push him onto his back on your bed. Goosebumps form all over your body, partially from exposure to the cold air in your room, and partially from seeing him like this underneath you again. Finally, you take his already hard cock, and slide it into your hole, causing a rough groan out of him as you begin to rock on his hips.

You take things nice and slow while you’re in control, knowing the moment you get sloppy he’ll start to take over for you. You kissed down his neck and collarbone as you rode him, with him gripping hard at your back and your hips. “Nng, m-missed you s-so much amor,” he groaned out. “Tan hermosa.” You begin to speed your thrusting, tugging at his hair to get strained noises out of him. His hands make their way up to your back, digging into your skin. But your quick to rip his hands out of your back and pin them above his head once his talons come out again, into your back this time. You also take your lips off of his and stop your thrusting.

Miguel searched your face for some kind of explanation to the sudden stop, to find you panting and nearly frozen still. You’re taken back to that fight, a result from his claws finding a way into your scars. You’re pulled back to reality by Miguel’s voice. “Amor, que paso?” he asks with concern. You quickly wipe the sweat off your face and look into his beautiful crimson eyes. You wanted to forget the pain he caused you all those years ago, but unfortunately you couldn’t. But, you were willing to forgive him though. “Nothing Miggy,” you say gently, pressing a soft kiss onto his lips. He tries to move his hands back onto you, but finds his hands still trapped to the headboard. He looks at you confused. “What did I say about the claws, Miguel.”

“Ay, baby you know its hard for me to control them around you,” he says, slightly annoyed, driven by the need to touch you again. “Well you’re going to need to try to okay? For now though, you’re going to stay like this.” His face drops, and he makes a sound almost like a whine. “Ay coño, lo siento péro you don’t need to punish me.” You felt powerful hearing him whine and beg like this. You were denying a starving man of his woman, his source of energy.

Arms squirmed in your hand, as you began to rock on top of him again. You made sure to not kiss him either, moving away whenever he would try to place his mouth onto yours. He whined as you picked up your speed, desperate to feel you again. “P-please, let me go cariño.” You moved your mouth down and whispered in his ear, running your finger up and down his stomach, causing him to melt under you and whimper like a madman. “Not just yet,” you whispered seductively, sending extra chills down his spine and into his stomach when you bit into his ear lobe.

Overcome with your own urge to feel him, you accidentally let go of his hands and moved yours to grab hold of each of his pecs as you planted kisses over his sternum. Suddenly, you’re overswept as Miguel is freed and takes control over the situation. “I love you amor, but you have to let me touch your,” he says in that beautiful, rich tone of his before he goes at his own pace: slamming himself into you.

He goes much faster than you did, and you almost come there on the spot as he nearly breaks your bed with his ferocity. You grip onto his enormous triceps for leverage as you let out a series of incoherent moans. “You like that, huh?” he pants out. You shove your lips onto his to get him to stop talking. “I-if you’re gonna do this, n-ngh, you’re gonna have to s-hh-ut up,” you manage to get out in between your almost inhumane sounds. He nods and shoves his tongue into your mouth, exploring the insides of your cheeks while his tip slams into your walls, causing that white heat to begin to build up in your stomach.

His hands swarm across your body, making up for lost time before, and eventually land on your breasts as he begins to palm at them. Just as you thought he couldn’t arouse you any more than he already has, he moves his mouth along your jawline, down to your neck, and begins to mark it with kisses and slight sucking. “I-I missed you too, Miggy.”

That nickname you had for him drove him crazy. So crazy in fact, his next move was to drive his fangs into your neck, making sure to not let his poison seep into your neck. He presses his lips and sucks on the skin on your neck while sinking his fangs deeper into you. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, as you held onto his broad shoulders while he basically slammed you into the bed. “Oh Miguel,” you moaned out. He nodded, not able to speak, due to his fangs still being attached to your neck. You could tell he was getting close too with how sloppy his pace was getting.

You’re washed over with bliss when the heat in your stomach finally takes over the rest of your body, almost clawing at Miguel while you come. His hands put more pressure on your breasts as he comes as well, moaning into the softness of your neck. Once you two have both finished, he slowly pulls his teeth out of your neck, and licks up the metallic liquid with his warm, delicate tongue. He slowly pulls his cock out of the sweetness of your cunt and rolls over to lay next to you on the bed, dragging his fingers across your pussy, taking the cum his fingers picked up and putting it in his mouth.

He plants a kiss onto your forehead before saying, “One second, princesa, I’ll be right back,” as he got up to go to the bathroom. He must have been in there for about 10 minutes before coming back into your room and reaching out his hand for yours. You take his hand as he leads you out of bed, reminded of how naked you are when you reveal yourself from the sheets.

He leads you into the bathroom to see that hes drawn a bath for the two of you. You blush slightly at the gesture, as he gets in first and leads you in. The touch of the water numbs your body slightly with the mixture of the cold room to the hot bath water. You almost melt as you sink in, laying your back against Miguel’s chest as he wraps his arms around your body. You could fall asleep right here, mixed between the comfort of the bath water, and Miguel’s body finally against yours again. The bathtub was kind of small, so his body was taking up most of the space, causing him to basically engulf you.

You were surrounded in him, his lips almost attached to the nape of your nack, his arms consuming your upper half, and his legs intwining with your lower half. He wiggles slightly to reach the soap, puts it in the water to wet it, and lathers it onto your body. First, he washes your arms, rubbing the soap back and forth over your arm hairs, and even under your armpits. Next, he moves to wash your chest. He takes the soap and moves it over your breasts and your underboob, causing you to move in closer to him. His response is to peck kisses into the crook of your neck, getting little giggles out of you. You stop giggling though after he stops kissing you and stays still for a second.

You wait in silence for him to do something. “...Miggy…you okay?” you ask when he doesn’t say anything. You turn your head slightly to see him. Out of your peripherals, you see him staring solemnly at your back. He’s finally seen them. The four almost perfectly placed scars warping across your back. They were huge. And he knows they’re from him. You turned your head back to the front and dug it in between your knees, pushing out your back even more. Miguel delicately traced his fingers over them, as you waited curled up for him to say something. “I’m sorry,” is all he can manage to weakly push out.

You decide to turn your body around to face him, splashing water around in the cramped bathtub while doing so. His eyes are down with sadness creeping over his face. You cup his cheek with your hand and press a loving, gentle kiss onto his lips. You bring his arms over your shoulders and wrap your legs around his hips. You wanted to be engulfed by him. You were so pressed on staying mad at him for so many years that you forgot how much you loved being this close to him. You could hear his heart softly beating as you pressed your head against his chest. He soon wrapped his arms around your body, taking you into him, and dug his head into the crook of your neck, almost as if he was hiding.

You stayed there for a moment before eventually turning back around. You laid your head in a position so you could still see his face if you looked up. You could feel yourself slowly dozing off in his arms. Your last thoughts before you slipped out of consciousness was of how perfect this was.

You had found your home again. Moreso, he found his way to you. And this time, you were never going to let go.

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a/n: i just wanted to say thank you to everyone for sticking around during this series. i know it wasn't meant to be 4 parts and only 2 so i really appreciate everyone who stuck around for the whole thing. make sure to look out for my next thing cause i wanna start writing an enemies to lover oc x miguel thing so please go and support that once thats out. thanks guys!!!!

taglist: @jenniferdixon05207 @sweetanimebakery @azxulaa @daimiyu @vinkar345 @pinkninja200 @luvstich @rin-matsuoka345-blog @lillunna @konniebon @hwanunjin @simp-nerd-16 @chucklefuvk @elwyn7 @haileybxxr @ilovemymomscooking @lansy-4 @maxi-ride @d4rno @callsign-blue @obamnas-soda @sophipet @violentlyneon @d1lf-loverrr @afro-hispwriter @kirke-is-my-name @ilovemiguelohara @lavnderluv @konniebon @msecho19 @kiamewrites

#fanfic #fanfiction #fem!reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse

2K notes · View notes

sixzeroes · 1 year

Text

walltalk.

summary | na jaemin has always been the bane of your existence—but he’s also been the centre of your sexual desires.

characters | villain!jaemin x hero!reader(f).

genres | smut, pwnp, bnha au, non-idol au.

warnings | profanity, brief description of blood, jaemin talks about murdering reader, slight hostage situation, sex, rough sex?, mentions of blowjob, use of ‘princess,’ giselle (and ten) lowkey cockblocking at the end.

word count | 2.2k.

so, this was actually posted on one of my old accounts before i decided to delete that and move here without anyone knowing. it did get around 400 notes, so if you recognise this, i am the original writer of it!! i don’t associate myself with that account or pseudonym anymore, but i just couldn’t let this one sit in my files so yeah :))

YOU CAN’T DIE YET.

It’s too early to bid goodbye to the world. There are many things you’ve yet to experience, and millions of people cheering you on. You still need to reach the number one spot. You still need to watch the new Disney movie releasing next week. You still need to try out the mint chocolate fusion that’s been the craze the past few days. You still need to travel to Greece and admire the Athena Parthenon. You still need to—

Bottom line is, there’s hundreds of thousands of reasons as to why your life must be prolonged. You’re a heroine, and your career has just begun.

No, you truly can’t die yet.

But Na Jaemin seems to think the opposite.

The room—prison—you’re confined to is dark, only a sliver of moonlight slipping through the barred window. In the middle of the room stands a chair, a blond man sitting with his chest against the back. His arms cross over the top rail, one foot tapping against the ground in a rather erratic rhythm. His all-too-familiar smile is terrifying, and you resist shuddering under his wicked gaze.

“Maybe I’ll slit your throat,” he muses, watching your every action. Ice forms along his hand, creating a claw-like silhouette in the dim light. You gulp, a little intimidated by his power.

“As if I’d let you,” you huff, sharpening your glower to prove his presence isn’t feared. “You’ve got nothing on me.”

That’s a huge lie. Both you and Jaemin know it. The blonde laughs at your revelation, the ice melting off of his skin. It hits the ground—drip, drip—and forms a puddle at his feet. “Your courage hasn’t changed, Y/N, but neither has the gap between you and I. You may be dubbed a strong hero, but you know better than everyone that you can’t beat me.”

He hasn’t stabbed you yet, but the harsh reality of his words burn a humiliating pain in your heart.

“What use is strength if your intelligence can’t keep up?” you sneer, referring to your high school era just like he had. “Don’t forget, you were always second to me in every theoretical exam.”

You barely flinch when an icicle crumbles against the wall beside your head. The skin over your left cheekbone breaks apart into a cut, a thin stream of blood tracing the curve of your face. Jaemin tosses the chair away, the loud bang leaving a ringing in your ears. He’s mad, and it’s because of you.

You can’t die yet, but you’re about to.

Fuck. All because you refused to follow Ten’s suicidal mission. Well, it’s not like yours isn’t life-threatening either, but there’s less lives getting claimed.

“You know, you always pissed me off,” growls Jaemin, crouching in front of you. Even though he’s left you untied, you make no move to attack him in hopes of escaping. And that’s the thing—you can’t escape, and you know. He knows. Na Jaemin is too strong for you to outrun.

You spit, “The feeling’s mutual.”

There’s no way you and Jaemin could ever get along with each other, much less develop feelings opposite to the word hate. In high school, it was always a battle between the two of you. Na Jaemin—first in practical exams, second in theoretical. And you—first in theoretical exams, second in practical. To be frank, the two of you would’ve been a formidable pair if it wasn’t for his egoistic attitude and your competitive personality. If it was doubtful then, it’s impossible now.

After all, Jaemin’s become the very villain he once wished to eradicate.

“I saw you on television, all your interviews, the blurry cuts of you fighting. Made me wanna wipe that stupid smile off of your fucking face.”

The rivalry between you and Jaemin wasn’t unnoticed by your peers during the three years of high school. But what most failed to detect was the sexual tension that brimmed beneath the surface of the enmity.

“I saw you too, on Wanted posters.” you hiss, wiping the blood on your cheek. It’s a little dried. “Looking all smug for a hero turned evil.”

Jaemin chuckles, prodding his inner cheek with his tongue. He looks to the side, then he glares straight into your eyes. “What can I say? The criminals are less corrupt than the righteous hero industry.” The blond man mimics quotation marks with his hand at the word righteous. “You, too, are a waste as a hero. Why don’t you join me? Wipe the damn system and build a new one from scratch. Doyoung doesn’t bite, you know. He likes pretty girls like you. I do, too.”

You don’t retaliate with phrases that glorify the hero industry. Jaemin’s right, albeit you refuse to outright acknowledge it. Instead, you snap, “Fuck you.”

He licks his lips. “Is that consent?”

Yes. “No.”

Your head jerks backwards as Jaemin grabs your face with force, a throb lingering from the impact against the wall. His fingers dig into your cheeks, thumb dipped in your drying blood. Your hands grip his forearm and he tugs you forwards, decreasing the proximity between his face and yours. It’s faint, but a peach scent surrounds the man.

Jaemin runs his thumb against your lips, and a metallic taste overrides your senses. “I’ll ask again, Y/N. Is”—he parts your lips with the push of his thumb—“that”—his nail grazes your tongue—“consent?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

Before you can release the entire breath, his hand wraps around your throat in a rough yet careful choke. With brute strength, Jaemin lifts you onto your feet, your knees buckling at the sudden exertion. There’s no time to adjust as his lips latch onto yours, snagging whatever oxygen you have left. He’s always been impatient, and even during foreplay, he shows no patience.

Your heavy pants fill the silence as he devours your lips, his tongue sliding against your tongue. Your lips that were chapped are now moist, saliva leaking from the corner of your lips. His empty hand situates itself on your hip, and you gasp when he runs it up under your shirt.

“Would’ve been sexier if you had your flimsy costume on,” he muttered against your lips. “Always wanted to strip you of that red abomination.”

“Sh—Shut up,” you groan, his hand grasping your breast. Your eyes flutter when he pushes aside your bra and pinches your nipple. The act leaves your core throbbing, aching for more. “Fuck, finger me.”

Jaemin kisses your chin. “If you blow me after, sure.”

You make the effort to glare at him. “I fucking hate y—oh.” Your jaw slacks as he shoves the hand on your neck into the warmth of your underwear, knuckles grazing the damp fabric.

“So wet, princess,” he jeers, using the nickname you loathed during the start of your youth. “I wonder who you’re so aroused for?”

“Jeno, obviously,” you scoff, and Jaemin pulls away from you, his touch leaving your skin. “Wh—hey!”

The blonde distances himself from you, licking his fingers clean of your essence. “Hm?” he hums, an eyebrow raised. “I’m not about to fuck a girl who’s got another man’s name on her mind.”

You lean against the wall for support. “Holy fuck, you’re so lame.”

“Run to Jeno, then.”

Fuck. You swallow his saliva from the messy kiss, and with it, your pride. “Shit. Fine, I’m sorry. Can you fuck me now? I’ll even suck your dick.”

Jaemin beams, and it has your pussy dripping. “Of course! Since my princess asked so nicely,” he sings, daintily taking your hands in his. Your heart stutters as he places gentle kisses along your knuckles, and then the pad of your fingers. It’s sweet, until he throws your hands up and restrains them against the wall with ice.

“How pretty,” he muses, trailing his pointer finger down your cheek. Jaemin bunches your shirt and bra so it sits atop your chest, revealing your bare breasts. You shiver from the chill, but are warmed right away when his hands roam your torso. A gasp rips from your throat when the man teases your pants down, sliding two long fingers into your cunt. Soft and shaky moans tumble from your lips, prompting Jaemin to move his fingers. His thumb—the blood clad one—circles your clit, fingers pulsing in and out of you with ease. He’s cruel, dragging the tip of his digits against the soft flesh of your walls.

As Jaemin fingers you, he seals your lips with his once again in a breathless kiss. Your tongue meshes with his, teeth clashing every so often. One hand returns to your neck, laying at the base in a tough hold. “Oh—” you mewl, “I’m so—”

Jaemin removes his fingers, and you fall limp, the restraints preventing you from crumpling to the floor. Your mind is hazy, but you manage to say, “You’re such a bitch.”

“Mhm, I am, princess.” he coos, unbuckling the belt looped around his jeans. Like you, he’s in casual attire, having dressed in civilian clothing when kidnapping you in the mall. He unzips the fly, head thrown back as he frees his hard dick. You whimper, biting your lower lip at the sight. “Aren’t you so honest?”

“Fuck,” you groan, touch-deprived. “It’s huge.”

“Can you make a condom?” he asks, slapping his length against your bare stomach. The precum smears all over your pretty skin. “I didn’t bring one, and I’d rather not get you pregnant.”

Jaemin’s either dumb or clever for relying on you to whip out protection. But you obey, formulating a packaged condom with whatever lipids left in your body. It pops out of your arm, and Jaemin catches it with a lopsided grin. He rips the packet open with his teeth, tossing the foil aside whilst rolling the plastic over his dick. You watch, counting down the seconds until he’s inside.

“Are you ready?” he whispers, lips grazing your ear.

“…Yes.”

Your answer is all he needs as he pushes into you, easily slipping in with the help of your lubrication. You release a shaky moan, eyes rolling back from pure pleasure. Jaemin hauls one of your legs over his bicep, and he catches your face in his hand. Your lustful gaze meets his, and you feel a thrill run down your spine at the look in his eyes.

He’s hungry—sex hungry, and you’re his doll to ruin.

Slowly, Jaemin pulls out before thrusting, the tip of his dick prodding your cervix. You cry out, hitting the ice wrapped around your wrists. Over and over and over again, Jaemin pounds into you, groaning the dirtiest words as does. Your back hits the wall every time his hips meet yours, but the pain drowns in the plethora of pleasure.

“So tight,” he rasps, speed increasing by the second. “You feel so, so fucking good.”

“Ah, oh my—god,” you whine, chasing his lips. He grants you a kiss, and you murmur, “Harder, fuck me harder.”

Challenges are a way to rile Jaemin up, and it seems he’s taken your plea as one. The villain grips your thighs as he lets out a low, guttural growl. He thrusts faster, at a speed you can’t comprehend. You’re seeing stars, tasting stars, in an absolute bliss no writer can describe. Jaemin stutters each time you clench around his dick, your pussy sending him into overdrive.

“Hey, cum for me.” he mutters, biting your lower lip.

You pant, running out of breath. “I’m close,” you chant, relishing the way his entire length fits inside of you. You beg, “Please—please don’t stop.”

“Keep asking.”

“Finish me off, Jaemin,” you moan. “I’m so close!”

Jaemin reaches for the restraints, melting them with his left hand. In one swift motion, he turns you so your cheek lays flat against the wall, ass out for him to see. He whistles, fondling the soft flesh. Your mewls don’t stop, spilling endlessly as he continues to slam into you.

“Jaemin!” you cry, clenching around his dick. “Close—close—so close—”

“Let it out, princess.”

And you do, orgasming with his dick still inside. You whimper when he keeps thrusting, chasing his high while simultaneously overstimulating you. Your mind is hazy when he draws his dick out, the condom full of his cum. Support is gone as Jaemin backs away, and you fall to the ground, recovering from the wild fuck you just had.

“Shit, maybe I should’ve come on your face,” he mutters, fixing his pants. Shirtless, he crouches so his eyes are parallel to yours. “You good?”

You spit and it lands on his chin. “I’m still trapped, asshole.”

“If you blow me—”

His words are cut short when the window explodes, the building crumbling from the impact. Both you and Jaemin glance over to the gaping hole in the wall, a confused Giselle standing atop the debris. She scans your half-naked body, then his lack of shirt, and analyzes the scene in no time.

“Ten! They fucked!”

A snicker flies from Jaemin’s lips as he tosses his shirt back on, ruffling his blond hair in amusement. The man glimpses Giselle’s preoccupied state and looks back at you. With a wink, he says, “I’ll contact you for that blowjob. Later, princess.”

You simply blink as he runs off, escaping before he’s forced to engage in a (tedious) fight. When reality hits you and your mind registers his words, a disturbed scowl settles on your face.

You can’t die yet.

And for now, Na Jaemin seems to think the same as he hints at an upcoming rendezvous.

#neohub #nct u #nct dream #nct #na jaemin #jaemin smut #jaemin scenarios #jaemin oneshot #jaemin imagines #jaemin au #jaemin ff #jaemin fanfic #jaemin x reader #na jaemin x reader

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loadedberetta · 6 months

Text

I'm cruel. breakup hcs for the boys with associated music (written by yours truly; an aro) and for fem reader

cw breakups???, (mean feelings, fighting)

you and Gaz fall out of love. it's slow, it's agonizing, and both of you can feel it. it lingers, gnaws at your insides, your soul. not a distaste toward the other, rather... nothingness- you want to love him, it's just that you're empty, both of you husks as love escaped you slowly.

you sit down and try to talk about it until one of you rips the bandaid off; but letting go is not that easy. it goes on for a while, on and off, little fights, and emotionless sex. sometimes you cry, other days it's the both of you. it finally ends with one last goodbye one night, and no good morning text ever again.

he's gone, but he leaves his mark. long time passes before you realize one day you haven't thought of him for a while.

Johnny and you never really were together. it was always open, never committing to anything; neither of you brave enough to label what you shared. there was a passion, something that ignited each time he looked at you, touched you...

but it became too much, violent, and aggressive as he crawled back to you each time you pushed him away, and vice versa. there was always something that helped you look past eachothers' red flags. no option to move on as long as you fed on eachother... it culminated in big fight; until you were both exhausted, utterly spent, and there were no more tears left to cry. then radio silence.

you don't see him for a long time after that. and the next time you see him, you pass him on the street as if he weren't there. you'd been killing your ankles by wearing heels for weeks for the occasion if you run into him, so you could level with him and claim moral high ground.

no hellos, no nothing, you pass eachother by. your heels clicking with your each agonizing step.

Ghost... well, you never saw him truly. there wasn't enough time to see all of him. he got cold feet way too quick.

pushing you away with all his might, no matter how gently or roughly you approached him. nothing seemed to work. he kept such high walls that it didn't feel like a breakup, rather just a big fight culminating one night in something more. words were thrown around, as you see there's no way out of this, you tell him how you truly feel about being treated how he has been handling you; rough, and with no caution to your wellbeing. he said mean things in return about you. hurtful, vile; his emotions ran rampant. as if a wildcat, cornered, he was lashing out and scratching everything in his path without a second thought.

he packed his stuff afterward and you never saw him again. questions hung in the air. you didn't delete his number, and to this day you keep seeing him in your periphery every now and then; dissipating into fragments of your damaged soul when you turn and look to face him.

you and John met way too soon after his divorce. he needed something to get his mind off of it all, and you were there, eager to give yourself and everything at your disposal to and for him.

but you were never her. you could never be her. that perfect woman, closer in age to John than you were, a person he could imagine having a family with. but you were too sweet for that, too free and way too independent. he found it exciting and was happy for a while. but you couldn't change your ways. it went on for a long time, there was even talk about marriage... but it never came. you felt caged, and it bubbled out of you one night. he understood, listening to you and agreeing with what you were saying. that was the only time you'd seen him cry. and the next morning, you packed your stuff together and left. no fighting, no trying to hold you back, although in the back of your mind you wished he did.

for years, the urge to reach out to him haunted you, but you never did, knowing it was good that it ended when it did.

(a/n: well this one happened to turn out super fucking sad I'm sorry, I don't know what possessed me to write this, I don't usually write about this)

#I'M SO SORRY #I'm not projecting I'm really not #nothing like this has eeever happened to me #berettalks #task force 141 headcanons #task force 141 #tf 141 #cod 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod mw2 #gaz cod #soap cod #ghost cod #price cod #simon ghost riley x you #kyle garrick x reader #soap x you #john price x reader #Spotify

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chronicowboy · 1 year

Text

It's a couple of months after his breakdown when Eddie comes home from therapy to a suspiciously quiet house. Luckily, he and Frank had spent the session working on his anxiety, so he takes a deep breath and begins listing all the things Buck and Christopher could be doing as he goes in search for them.

They could be asleep on the couch, it wouldn't be the first time the early birds had crashed midday from fun, but Eddie finds the couch empty as soon as the thought forms. They could be doing homework at the table, drawing more hearts or puzzling over algebra equations, but the table is empty of its usual clutter. They could be eating in the kitchen, unlikely as neither of them have ever let mouths full of food stop them from chattering away, and he's proven right at a barren kitchen.

The panic rises and crests in his chest like a wave, but he takes another deep breath, reminds himself that the safest place in the world for Christopher is Buck's side.

They could be in the yard tending to their little vegetable garden, but Eddie peeks out to lonely tomato plants swaying in the gentle summer breeze. They could be rearranging Christopher's room again, possibly side-tracked by Christopher's old drawings or Lego creations, but the room is exactly as he'd left it this morning.

Its when Eddie presses his forehead into the doorframe to ground himself that he hears it. A sniffle coming from beyond the cracked bathroom door.

"Okay, buddy," that's Buck's voice, soft and unendingly gentle in a way that makes something behind Eddie's sternum pulse and ache. Eddie drifts towards it, helpless to resist the pull.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait for dad?" Chris asks, voice a little shaky however it is when he's just finished crying. The wave of panic crests again, but Eddie nudges the door open and the wave collapses into foam.

Christopher is perched on the closed toilet, both legs of his jeans rolled up to above his scraped knees, eyes wide and trusting despite his words. And Buck. Buck is crouched in front of him with the first aid kit open at his feet and an expression so tender it takes Eddie's breath away.

"We can, if you want," Buck concedes, trying and failing to conceal just the slightest bit of hurt. Eddie sees it as he sees the guilt lining the tense line of Buck's shoulders, as he sees the anguish swimming in Buck's own teary eyes. "But I specialise in scratches." He grins, wide and way too bright for the fluorescent lights of the bathroom to compete. He lowers his voice, winks, "its all Hen and Chim trust me with on the job."

Christopher's hiccupping giggle is the best sound Eddie has ever heard. And, judging by the way Buck looks up at Chris like the sound fell from heaven, he agrees. Eddie couldn't tear his eyes away if he wanted to. Not with the way Buck looks kneeling in front of his son, like this is some sort of worship and penance all at once, eyes softer than Eddie has ever seen them.

"Okay, superman," Buck cups the back of Christopher's shin with hands so big his fingers could meet around his leg, with hands so gentle Eddie has the fleeting desire to feel them on himself. "Doesn't look like there's anything in there, but I'm gonna pour a bit of water over them first to wash anything away. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah," Chris nods solemnly, and Buck smiles up at him as he reaches for the cup on the sink.

Carefully, Buck pours a cup of water over both scrapes, stopping every time Chris so much as twitches, and Eddie aches. He dries them off with a clean towel, gentler still than Eddie knew a human of Buck's size could be, then reaches for the alcohol-free wipes.

"Okay, I'm gonna make sure they're super clean," Buck murmurs, side-profile illuminated by the afternoon light cutting through the bathroom window, angelic and divine. Eddie has the insane urge to pull his phone out and capture the moment forever. "It might be a little sore, so just tell me if you need to stop." Chris nods again, and Buck uses his free hand to grab Christopher's and drop it onto his curls. "Squeeze as tight as you like, and, if I'm too rough, give me a tug in revenge."

Eddie can't decide which is more beautiful: Christopher's laugh or the smile it provokes in Buck. Both of them are bright and joyful things that make Eddie want to fall to his knees in his own kind of worship. He watches as Buck starts wiping away at the scratches, slow and soft and oh so tender it hurts Eddie himself. Chris waits patiently, bravely until Buck drops one wipe and then tugs on his hair.

"Ow!" Buck yelps, pouting up at Christopher who shakes with silent laughter. "What was that for?" When the only answer is a bubbling laugh, Buck's face twitches into a grin like he just can't help it. Eddie understands, doesn't think there's anything more contagious than Buck and Christopher's joy. "Knee number two, no tugging please, sir." And Eddie thinks that some people might forget to be so gentle after that, but Buck only gets more so.

He drops the wipes into the trash before grabbing a gauze pad and pressing it to Christopher's knee. He waits for a beat or two, undoubtedly watching for blood that might soak through even though the wipes came away mostly clean. Buck tapes the edges down and then moves onto the second knee.

And, look, Eddie knows Buck is a first responder, has seen and treated worse than this on a daily basis, but the ease with which he treats Christopher makes Eddie's stomach clench. Especially, when Buck absently rubs his thumbs over the skin of Christopher's legs like its as natural as breathing.

"Almost done," Buck whispers before leaning down to leave a big, smacking kiss on each bandage. Eddie aches. "There we go, now they'll heal faster and you can go back to being superman in no time."

"Thanks, Buck." Chris leans forward for a hug, and Buck catches him effortlessly.

Eddie watches the guilt creep into Buck's expression as he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face into Christopher's hair. When Buck takes a deep breath, Eddie copies him and tries not to get too flustered when Buck's worried eyes flutter open and land on him. A few months ago, Eddie would've shuttered, would have wiped his face clean of the dizzyingly intense array of emotions on display. But now, Eddie lets Buck see, lets him see that he's not in trouble, that Eddie is so grateful for him it hurts, lets him see the admiration and the softness, lets him see the overwhelming love Eddie feels for him right then and there, always and anywhere.

Buck lets Eddie see it all too.

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petertingle-yipyip · 7 months

Text

WORLD CLASS SINNER - FRANK CASTLE

one - deja vu

tags: n/a two // masterlist // MAD AT GOD (DD CANON)

welcome back to the MAG universe! this time around we are rolling through the Punisher series. i’m so excited to develop her friendship with Frank and see what happens between her and Billy!

Pairing: Billy x Reader (casual), Frank x Reader (platonic)

Word Count: 5, 728

Summary: Being back in the Kitchen almost immediately pulls her back into a fight. But without Matt, what has she become?

You moved over quickly, using Luke as footing to jump from after he knocked her into a short spin so she faced away from you. You moved in a fluid motion to connect the wires between your wrists as you hooked one leg over her shoulders and jammed the other against her spine. You leaned forward enough to get the wire across her throat before you dropped to land on your feet.

She was quick to flip her sai in her grip and slam it through your thigh. Your leg buckled and she used the chance to free herself, spinning to slam her foot against the side of your head. You fell to your back with a wet thump and you pushed to your elbows, craning your neck to see her weapon skewering your thigh. The red stained tip poked through and any movement sent a sharp pain through your body, eminating deep within your bone. She dared to move closer and you kicked the opposing foot against her chest.

Once that foot landed back on the ground, the pain on the other side made you cry out. You managed to drag yourself to your feet and stood unsteadily, hopping on your good leg to try and maintain balance. You reached awkwardly behind yourself for your staffs, having to connect them quickly and use them as a cane for the moment.

“You’ll die down here with us.” Elektra’s voice taunted you, though she was no where to be seen. “As you should.”

You hobbled in a small circle while you tried to find where the voice was coming from. But there was no one, not even the ghost of footsteps or shuffles to give her away. The rest of your group was gone, as if they never came down with you. Not even the elevator.

Hadn’t they just been there?

The tunnels around you stretched as far as you could see, dripping and collecting small puddles. Your labored breathing filled the silence between drips and you felt something eerily out of place about the whole thing.

“Come on then.” You challenged weakly. A deep breathe before you screamed into the wet darkness. “Come out and kill me!”

“Y/N.” He said calmly and you spun so fast you nearly slipped in the water. But when you glanced down to find your footing, you were in a puddle of blood. All of the water had turned to blood. You closed your eyes tightly and shook your head, assuming it was your own mania creeping in, but when you opened them the sight hadn’t changed.

“This is what you wanted.” He used the same eerily calm tone, even as the ground shook beneath your feet.

“You should’ve left.” You said angrily as the drips began to land on your forehead. “You shouldn’t be here, Matt.”

“Then why didn’t you keep him safe?” Elektra appeared at his side, walking around him like a predator taunting her prey. Her fingers trailed along the back of his shoulders.

But even in the dim light, neither of them looked like themselves. They were soaking wet and it looked it was water on their bodies, but it reflected red once it hit the ground. Their skins were tinted blue, cyanotic to match their puffy lips and swollen bodies. Their eyes were hollow, sunken in and hardly even there. Everytime their mouths open, blood spilled. They looked like corpses that had been left at the bottom of the river for months to decay in silence.

“I tried.” You answered but the sound barely registered.

Your eye suddenly stung and when you reached to wipe it, your hand came back with fresh red blood. The scar above your eye, the deep gash your mask left from your fight with Fisk, was now fresh and seeping into your eye. The scar on your cheekbone stained the lower half of your face. Your chest snapped and the cartilage fell loose and the old cracks in your ribs fell open. One by one, old injuries became fresh again and each one felt like a hit to your stamina, to your strength, until you fell back to your knees.

Elektra appeared in front of you now, reaching with a sadistic smile for her sai that still dripped with your blood. You tried to back away but landed against Matt, who moved quickly to pin you to the ground. You struggled against him, but he leaned more of his weight against you and left you flailing and kicking.

“Matt? Matt, what are you doing?” You said in a panic but your own blood filled your mouth.

Elektra twisted the weapon in your leg and you screamed out, a gurggled sound that nearly choked you. You kicked your other foot at her but it moved through her, as if she was never really there.

“You’ll die. Painfully.” She threatened before a second sai appeared in her hands.

She climbed over your body, knees on either side of your ribs as she lined her weapon with the center of your chest. By then you were crying, hair sticking to your face and thrashing your body under her weight. But she didn’t move. Matt didn’t move. Instead, they offered each other wicked smiles before both looking down at you.

“You could’ve saved me, Y/N/N… Why didn’t you?” Matt asked.

You opened your mouth to answer but before your voice could find you, Elektra’s weapon began to press into your chest.

Breaking the skin earned a whine.

Her jamming the heel of her hand against it to break through your sternum drew a groan.

Her slow, intentional pressure against your heart earned a plead.

“I can fix this.” You tried, barely a whisper above the shattering thuds of collapsing rock.

“If you could’ve…” She said lowly, leaning forward to meet your panicked eyes, dripping blood from her lips. “You would’ve already.”

Your eyes went wide at the wet sound of the sai piercing your heart.

———————————————————————————————————————

You shot up in your bed and a hand instantly moved to your cheek. The skin was clear of blood but covered in a layer of sweat. You felt above your brow and found the same. With a small noise of stress, you threw your comforter back and shuffled to the bathroom. A hand was rubbing the center of your chest, haunted by the tip of Elektra’s weapon.

You flipped the light, squinting through it for a minute until your eyes adjusted. You planted both hands against the countertop and leaned in to see the faint lines of scars around your eye. The subtle discolorations that followed the shape of your mask, permanent memories of your time as a vigilante, of that hole deep inside you that you couldn’t quite fill. Quantico had done very little towards that gaping feeling, that hole somewhere too deep for you reach that felt like it would swallow you everyday.

You thought that FBI training, getting away from the Kitchen, would maybe be good for you. It’d be time to breathe, maybe even grieve. But those words didn’t seem to mean anything to you anymore. It just felt like they were adding to that depth, sucking out any remnants of progress you had made.

Maybe coming home wasn’t going to be any better.

You blew out a sigh and splashed your face with cold water, a contrast to the heat that seemed to live in your blood now. You felt warm, everywhere you went. No matter the temperature outside, you were boiling inside. But if someone were to touch your skin, they’d never know.

That was who you were now. Not Y/N. Not even Exodus. You were someone else. Someone with Y/N’s memories and tendencies, with Exodus’ mania and skills, but other things were left unaccounted for. Who’s morals did you maintain? Who’s relationships were important?

Who’s heart beat in your chest? Who’s blood was in your veins?

But if you thought about it too long, Matt’s voice would creep into your thoughts. Random things he had told you throughout the time you knew him. Empty promises he made to Exodus. Honest sentiment he gave to Y/N. The last words you heard him say.

You shoved those thoughts to a deep corner of your mind as you headed back to the living room. The chest in the closet seemed to call out to you. The chest full of boxing memorabilia pertaining to Matt’s father, some of his own collection and some you were able to add for him, one of his bibles, and the false bottom that allowed him to hide his suit.

The suit that would never be there again.

You sighed and shook your head before heading to your bedroom to find clothes for the day. You might as well get ready since you knew your mind wasn’t going to let you sleep again anytime soon.

Wasting as much time as you could, you got ready and headed out into the city. You had been back from Quantico for about a week and you were trying to settle back into the Kitchen, but the nightmare of Midland haunted you every night. It was a little different everytime, sometimes the words they spoke to you changed and once it was Matt that killed you with your own blade, but it always the same premise. The three of you, everything coated in blood, and you died.

It was either your conscious gnawing at you and refusing to let you escape, even in sleep, or it was the universe telling you that death would find you. Either way, it never left your mind.

As you were out, you saw Matt in every face. Everywhere you went, you saw him. You almost called his name a few times until you got a better look and remembered he was dead. It felt like you were losing yourself in the grief, in the hopes that it was all a bad dream. Maybe you were still dreaming?

But then someone bumped your shoulder walking by and you knew you weren’t. Weeks had passed and you still couldn’t fully stomach the fact that he was gone. In your mind, you just wanted him there and he was everywhere but nowhere all at once.

You were wandering your usual streets, fighting through the relentless deja vu, stopping at one of the few lunch spots you missed, and ended up at the only building you thought could help. It was one of the few places you didn’t avoid prior to your time away, and now, maybe it was the only chance to cool the blaze under your skin. To fill the hole.

You walked in with a shaky breath and found Father Lantom outside the confessional, talking to one of the nuns with hushed urgency. But as you approached, he sent the nun away and turned to you with a small but welcoming smile. He gestured to the small, private conversation box and you simply nodded. He stepped inside first and you followed suit into your side about a minute later.

“Good to have you back.” Father Lantom said after a short silence. “How was your training?”

“Good, yeah, it was good.” You answered simply. “Dex said everything went really well so now it’s just waiting for approval or something, I don’t really remember…”

“It was quick.”

“Yeah, it was a specialty.. Accelerated… Accelerated program.” Your eyes fell and you noticed you were wringing your fingers. Since when did you do that? “Look, Father, I don’t know if there’s something I’m supposed to say to start this but…”

“Whatever you need to say, Y/N.” He offered genuinely. “Whenever you’re ready to say it.”

“I keep having this nightmare, Elektra and Matt and me. Under Midland and we all die together… Usually El does it but Matt’s done it too, killed me. And I thought being away would make it easier. But it feels worse… I can’t sleep. I hardly eat. I just feel empty.”

“Have you ever felt anything like this before?”

“When I was younger, when I realized what I was going to have to do in the Red Room. I didn’t feel like a person…”

“Hmm..”

“But then I got out and out of nowhere I meet Matt and suddenly… It was like my heart was beating in my chest for the first time.” You couldn’t fight the sad smile that stretched your lips. “Now, it’s like anytime I think about him, my heart can’t beat. It’s just there, weighing down my chest like a rock.”

“When Matt would first tell me about his night activities, he was so twisted up about some of the things he found.” He spoke carefully, treading a fine line between breaking the seal of confession and finding the details that he hoped would offer you comfort. “Some of the things he had seen, what some people in this town were capable of…”

“People like me?”

“No. He never spoke unkindly about you, even before he knew.”

That seemed to fill the hole a little but the blaze remained.

“Yeah, he wasn’t the type…” You sniffled. “Were you able to help him?”

“What I offered wasn’t the help he needed. I could offer bible verses and quotes to him every day, but he knew them all. He knew the stories and the psalms as easy as he knew his way here.”

“So what’d you say?”

“I told him to listen to his heart, because his had always been good. Angry and hurt, yes, but also good.”

“I’ve never felt this alone.” You spoke, a distance in your voice as you stared at the wood door in front of you. “I’ve been left before, by others and by my own choice. I’ve sabotaged my life to a point where I had to be alone and I’ve sacrificed my lifestyle to protect people around… I don’t want to feel this again.”

“Feeling these kinds of things is what makes us human.”

“Yeah..” You nodded, finding the familiar mental ledge that could take it all away. That could turn it all off so it didn’t matter, that would let Y/N rest. All you had to do… Was give her… A little push. “Maybe that humanity is the issue.”

“Guilt is a good thing.. It’s a soul’s call to action, the innate feeling that something is wrong. The only way to rid yourself of it is to correct your mistakes.”

“Correct my mistakes…” You repeated slowly. “I can’t correct this one… Not the way I’d need to. But I know how to get rid of these feelings.”

“Y/N?” He asked quickly and the concern was palpable in his voice.

“Thanks, Father… It’s been nice catching up.”

And with that, you left the church. You took a deep breathe when you stepped out, the crisp New York air hitting you as soon as you stepped out. There was something freeing in that breath. The heat still blazed with every beat of your stoned heart, leaving a trail of warmth through your veins. The hole still lived in your soul but now you fed it, all the sorrow and despair and loneliness was shoved into the hole. It didn’t fill it by any means, but it satisfied it enough that it wouldn’t swallow you whole. It allowed you to live, and for now that was enough.

The rest of your day was relatively uneventful. You went home for a while and did some reorganzing. You cleaned up some of Matt’s leftover belongings that you were unable to touch before. You even started a pile of things that you figured you should donate. Someone else in the Kitchen could probably use some of those suits.

You took down some photos and put them in the closet with his chest. You even took down that painting from the art gallery you bought. It was the red one Vanessa had showed you. You bought it because you had liked it. It made you think of the Man in the Mask and how turbulent your relationship was but now that he was gone, it was just another token of a dead life. So you shoved it away as well.

You cleaned some of the things you had been neglecting and began to feel like you were actually getting some sort of normalcy back. It wasn’t the normalcy that Matt would’ve wanted for you. You could recognize that, but you never expected to have that anyway. You never had the normalcy he wanted for you when he wasn’t around, so you felt no requirement to find it now that he was gone. And maybe you owed it to his memory to live a real life, live a life of peace, but that was never part of you.

It was later that night when you realized what day it was.

Curtis’ support group for veterans.

You were always welcomed there, ever since you started with Anvil. He never made you talk but the option was always there. And you did, occasionally, if only to shut down one of the other guys. There was a certain respect from Curtis that you didn’t find in other people. He knew you were from an ‘elite covert kill squad’ since childhood but he didn’t ask other questions. He didn’t need to know everything to know that you were lost. It was refreshing and you liked to stay after official sessions to talk about whatever you were thinking or feeling.

But glancing at the time, it was too late for that. So you shrugged it off and decided you’d go next time. At least to say hello to an old friend, the least judgemental one you had left. Instead, you decided you’d go to the bookstore and add to your to-be-read collection while continuing to ignore texts from everyone that knew you.

It wasn’t long until alleged vigilantism found it’s way to you. That next morning, stories of an assault at a construction zone hit your ears. Bodies found under fresh concrete with more blunt force injuries than they should’ve had. Then, estimated to be a few hours later, a hit against a prominent crime family.

It had a familiarity to it that you couldn’t quite place, but it gave you an odd sense of comfort. There was the haunt of concern in your bones, as if you worried that there was something left unanswered within you, but Matt took that part with him. When he died, so did that part of you that wanted to do something good. That wanted to help the neighborhood you loved. You liked the fact that someone else was handling it for you, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t vaguely set off an old itch that liked to be scratched. An old manic, sadistic, worrisome itch that could easily spiral to a full blown bloodbath.

So instead, you carried on with your day. You went to the grocery store to refill your fridge and your pantry. You bought some new clothes, more fitting for an FBI agent, and got some plastic totes to put away some of Matt’s things. The things you didn’t want to look at but couldn’t quite bring yourself to get rid of.

While you were out, you decided to stop by an old warehouse. You weren’t even sure if he would be there, but it was the only starting point you had. You knocked lightly on the door before heading inside, watching the corners and dark shadows carefully.

“Melvin.” You called out when you saw the vague shape of a man sweeping in the corner. “I just wanna talk.”

“Whoever you are, I don’t talk.” He said sharply, coming into full view with a wrench gripped tightly in his hands. “Just go on back the way you came and this never happened.”

“We had a mutual friend.” You said simply, lifting your head a little. “Our Man in the Mask.”

“Shit.” He breathed, slowly dropping the wrench. “I uh, heard he’s gone… That true?”

“Yeah. Your suit protected him from a lot but couldn’t withstand a falling building.”

“Shit.” He said again.

“Mmm.” You agreed. “I came to ask you for something. A vest. Clean lines, simple build. Something I can wear daily, under my normal clothes.”

“Guess that makes you Exodus, huh?” He broke into a small smile that didn’t last. “Sorry but I don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I figured… Neither do I, not really. Ever since Red went down, I…” You took a deep breath. “I got a good job lined up, just need a little something.”

He sighed heavily and turned to the ceiling before facing you again.

“I’ll do you a favor, just this once cause your friend always kept his word. But don’t expect anything else.” He said firmly, pointing a finger at you.

“One and done.” You nodded.

“Alright.. Ah jeez, okay. Your measurements the same? Red and black still?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” You looked at your arms and chest. “And uh, no. No red.”

“C’mon.” He guffawed. “You and Daredevil were partners. You don’t want anything to remember him?”

“Just do whatever.” You shrugged. “How much?”

“It’s on me. I never charged your buddy so… Just gimme a day or two. I’ll get you something nice.”

“I appreciate it.” You offered a smile, though you didn’t quite mean it. “Thanks, Melvin.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off. “Don’t ask me for nothing. Alright? I mean it.”

“I get it.” You insisted as you backed towards the door. “Looking forward to it.”

Later that day, not long after you had unloaded all of your groceries, a hard knock sounded at your door. You ignored it, assuming it was just your friends coming to see if you were home yet. Either that, some kids screwing around, or it was just someone from your past coming to kill you. Who exactly was out to get you at that point, you weren’t sure, but there were enough skeletons in your closet that hadn’t fallen out yet. So you went about your business until the door flew open and someone rushed in.

Calmly, you grabbed the gun you tucked between the fridge and wall and turned to face whoever was in your apartment. You gripped it comfortably and cleared your throat, seeing them turn with a sharp gasp. Your brows raised expectantly and Karen’s hands shot up instantly.

“God, Y/N, you scared me.” She breathed before covering a hand to her chest. “How long have you been back?”

“How often do you come into my apartment?” You asked instead, lowering the gun but not putting it down.

“I just-” She tried to explain but her eyes kept falling to the gun. “Can you put that down, please?”

“Don’t trust me anymore?” You raised your brows before tucking the gun into the back of your waistband. “Answer my question.”

“Has he reached out to you?” She asked instead.

“I’m not playing games, Karen. If you have something to tell me, then spit it out and get out of my apartment. If you only came here to fuck around…”

“Frank.” She said quickly. “Frank’s back.”

“Explains the news.” You tilted your head in acknowledgement. “What’d he come to you for?”

“Something about some Micro, a guy that came after him recently. Knows who he is, that he’s alive.”

“Micro… This guy have a real name?”

“David Lieberman, NSA analyst that is officially shot dead by Homeland Security a year ago.”

“Only he’s not.” You nodded. “Okay. Where’s Frank now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he going after Lieberman?” You closed your eyes and rubbed your forehead, weighing the pros and cons of you getting involved.

“Probably… But Frank said he’s a- He’s a spook. How would he find him?”

“Well, he wouldn’t go for him directly, but someone that knows him or is relevant to him just might work to draw him out. What other names did you work out?”

“Carson Wolf got the whole story cut, could be something there.”

“Probably.. Name sounds familiar.” You felt the scales tilting back and forth in your brain. “Why did you come and tell me about this?”

“Because I-” She hesitated, as if she had just noticed your reaction. “He doesn’t really seem like he wants me involved.”

“So you want me to go run into a fight I know nothing about?” You dropped your hand against your leg with a smack and opened your eyes. “Don’t you think if Frank wanted my help, he would’ve came to me himself?”

“Maybe he didn’t know where to find you.” She offered, clearly searching for anything to convince you.

“Or maybe he didn’t care enough to find me.” You countered with a shrug. But seeing the desperation in her eyes, feeling the plead in her bones, you sighed heavily. “I’ll think about it… I’ll look into Lieberman, maybe there’s a wife or siblings or something. And this Wolf guy, I think I heard his name around Quantico so I guess I can pull some strings in that direction.”

“Thank you.” She let out a sharp exhale, as if she had been holding her breath for your response. “Have you told Foggy you’re back?”

“No.” You turned away to busy yourself in your kitchen. “Haven’t told anyone.”

“I’m sure he’d love to see you.” She tried gently. You noticed the hesitation in her words and realized she was walking on eggshells, completely unsure of how stable you were. “Or at least hear from you.”

“The last conversation we had was an argument.” You admitted, though your voice lacked the remorse it should’ve had and it was too late to add it in now. “And he flinched away from me… He told me that if I wanted to get myself killed, I was more than welcome to as long as I didn’t try to blame anyone other than myself for it.”

Her mouth opened and closed in silence, like she was chomping at the air while she tried to find a response. Finally, her voice found her and it was the same response you expected.

“He had to have still been in shock.”

“He had more than enough time to get over it.”

“I know he wouldn’t say that to you and mean it.” She reasoned.

“Yeah, just like Matt never would’ve said half of what he said to me during the Castle trial, right?” Your brows raised in accusation and you saw her expression drop. “Yeah, sometimes pain or shock bring out what people really mean.”

“Y/N-”

“Doesn’t matter.” You cut in firmly. “Next time you see Frank, ask him if he wants my help. In the meantime, I’ll poke around and start building some intel.”

“Thanks.” She forced a tight smile. “And I’ll talk to Foggy, if you want me to.”

You simply shrugged.

“He’s one of your best friends, isn’t he?” She asked gently, scared for what your answer would be.

“Most of the people I’ve called friends have grown to hate me for one reason or another… I guess I always knew I’d add Foggy to that list one of these days.” You answered flatly.

“C’mon, Y/N.” She tried again.

“Better that than dead… You can go now.”

With a small gesture of defeat, she left. And you wondered if you were going to regret getting involved.

Some quick research into Lieberman showed he did leave a family behind, a wife and two kids. You had no intentions of hurting them but should there be a need, you had blackmail material. He was allegedly shot dead by Homeland after resisting arrest. There was nothing about why he was wanted by Homeland, nor was there anything about his career. But he was NSA, so there should’ve been something other than a passing mention.

That all just meant someone wanted it to go away, and that someone was likely this Carson Wolf character.

You thought about going over to the address you could find for Sarah Lieberman but you assumed Frank would’ve been there already. And two unfamiliar visitors in one day would’ve triggered some sort of concern in the wife, who you had to assume was helping hide her undead husband until you knew otherwise. Instead, you wrote down the address and looked into Carson Wolf. You found that he was one of the higher ups at Homeland Security. It was an interesting connection that you’d have to poke at later.

With a little digging, you also found some information on the construction site incident. There was a feature on the company’s webpage about a new employee, which was asterisked as inactive the day after the bodies were found. There was no picture on the page but you could only assume that Pete Castiglione was the one and only, Frank Castle.

You decided to get out of the house and headed out to get something to drink. You passed by Josie’s and thought about going in. But when you reached the door, you were hit with one of many memories of you and Matt in that place so you had to pass. You passed other bars as you wandered and none really seemed inviting. Eventually, your feet grew tired of aimlessly moving so you settled on a bar you had been to with Billy a few times. Low and behold, Billy was already there.

You felt his eyes following you as you passed by, taking a seat at the bar a few seats down. You ordered your drink and when it came out, you spun the liquid around the glass, listening vaguely to Billy talking about his service and Frank.

The woman kept asking questions pertaining to Frank and their conversation held your interest. Without making it obvious, you noted what she was asking.

Did he get dirty? Could he have been involved in drugs over there?

But why ask questions about a dead man? Who was she?

The gears in your brain were turning when you heard Billy’s question.

“So you’re single?” He asked, clear flirting in his tone. Your head cocked slightly and your brow raised, noticing he was already looking at you for a reaction. He laughed and tilted his bottle towards you but you simply smiled and shook your head.

He went back to his flirting and you rolled your eyes slightly at his next remark. But you did hear a name.

Special Agent Madani.

You could tell she was either going to be one hell of an obstacle or one hell of an ally.

You watched her leave and then decided to slide into her seat.

“Billy Russo, always the player.” You teased with a sly smile and he grinned. “How’ve you been? Lonely?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” He said happily. “And here I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Well, Quantico was fun but I got bored.” You shrugged playfully. “Knew everything they wanted to teach me.”

“Yeah, I bet you did..” He nodded, never dropping that sly smile. “Bet you made one hell of an impression too.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yes, you do… Y’know, I missed you.”

“You did not.” You scoffed lightly, gesturing to the bartender for a second drink. “Judging by your latest visitor.”

“Ah, I see what this is.” He chuckled. “You’re jealous.”

“In your dreams, Russo.” You rolled your eyes with an amused smile. “Who was that anyways? She was asking a lot of questions…”

“Dinah Madani.” He answered simply. “Homeland agent that brought a team through Anvil earlier.”

“Homeland, huh?” You turned towards the door even though she was long gone. “Interesting…”

“Why?”

When you didn’t answer, he reached for your chin and turned your face towards him.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” His eyes darted between yours as he tried to figure you out, but you knew he never would. Not in any way that would mean anything.

“Just curious why a Homeland agent is asking about a dead man is all…” You shrugged. “And it’s a pattern.”

“Oh, it’s a pattern.” He said with a nod, acting as if it explained everything. “What does the pattern tell you?”

“That you like women in power.” You answered plainly. “Me, now in the FBI and everything else I’ve done. Madani, in Homeland with what I would assume is solid standing. Next thing you know, you’re gonna bed a senator.”

“I’ll still come back to my best girl.” He smiled, tapping under your chin with a click of his tongue.

“Yeah, like there was any competition.” You chuckled.

“When’d you get back?” He nodded towards you, decidingly dropping your previous conversation topic.

“Week ago. I thought about coming by, decided not to.” A slight shrug of your shoulder.

“Why not?” He almost sounded hurt.

“Just tired. Needed sound time to settle in.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in slightly and raised his brows. “How about we spend some quality time tonight then, hmm? You got any other plans?”

“Hmm.” The corner of your mouth lifted to a small smile. “I’ll have to check my schedule, Mr. Russo.”

He clicked his tongue and leaned back, wagging his finger at you with an amused smirk of his own. “I missed hearing you say that, pretty lady.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nodded and sipped your drink.

You spent a little while longer drinking with Billy, catching up and teasing each other playfully. It was almost enough for you to forget what you had been asked earlier that night, to involve yourself in Frank’s latest crusade that he likely expected to cover on his own. Finding Frank would’ve been easy enough if you had a general direction to go in, but where could be? Would he be going after Micro or would he be taunting Micro to go after him again?

If this guy was as much a spook as Karen’s been led to believe, it wouldn’t be easy to draw him out. But knowing Frank, he would find a way to pull him out of his hidey-hole. Which meant you could follow your own leads tonight and potentially meet him, or you could worry about it tomorrow and waste a night with an old fling.

Billy was tempting… And Frank would be fine for one more night, wherever he was.

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elderberries-and-honey · 2 months

Text

The couple arrived back home in Wales early in the morning. Neither of them had gotten much sleep after Winifred had finally told Lawrence the truth about her family. He kept his promise not to utter a critical word but after hearing everything, he'd hardly spoken at all and she was too afraid to ask what his feelings were.

Just as Winifred had suspected, the death of Alice Bloomsburg had made the front pages all around Europe, making her mother the moment's fickle gossip and latest topic to speculate on. Part of her understood it, long lost Bloomsburg daughter found murdered in Whitechapel? It was a scandalous headline, even she could acknowledge that and well, if she had been a casual reader, she might be absorbed into the story as much as everyone else was.

But she wasn't a casual reader. This was her mother. Her mother who had taught her to trust women, to be herself no matter the cost, to support herself and stand on her own two feet. Her mother, found alone in an alley, murdered at the hands of a maniac.

The thought was too much to bear and Winifred could feel herself standing on the ledge of madness whenever her mind tried to draw its own pictures and fill in its own gaps trying to make sense of it all.

As they made their way into the heart of the crowd, she tried to keep her eyes averted while using Lawrence as her guide. But when he came to a jarring halt, she nearly tripped over her own feet. There, written in brilliant white chalk, was the truth in all its unforgiving letters.

Lawrence didn't say a word, only glaring down at the young paperboy. It was abhorrent to be out here selling someone's misfortune and for a split second, he imagined ripping up all of the remaining newspapers and knocking over the chalkboard. Anger bubbled beneath the surface, he could feel it under his skin, but he hadn't allowed that side of him to win in so long; he had sworn never to be like his own father.

When the young paperboy, Alberto Frank, mumbled, "are you buying one or not, Mister?", the boys voice snatched him out of his trance, bring him back to reality and Lawrence continued moving along as before, grateful to almost be home after such a tiring voyage.

As they rounded the corner away from the crowd, Lawrence let out an audible groan. Standing in front of them was another member of the Franky family, who fundamentally had a hold on their small press source there in Wales.

"Good morning, Baudelaires! Can I interest you in this morning's paper? It's a very interesting read!" Cooper Frank posed. He was the eldest of the Frank family, but a few years younger than Lawrence himself; they had spent a few years of primary school together but were never what one would call close.

Lawrence knew he meant well, that the kid was only trying to get by like everyone else, but at that instant, none of that mattered. They were predators always looking for their next meal and Lawrence had enough of being the prey. With the fatigue from their trip, and all he learned about his wife's life prior to marrying him, the fury he'd been trying to suppress finally simmered over.

"We're not interested! And you can tell your Father that he'd better stop printing these!" He demanded.

Cooper stood there bewildered with his mouth open, unsure how to respond. It was just a question, after all, however when Lawrence stepped towards him, they immediately began sizing each other up; puffing up their chests at one another while colorful language escaped both their mouths.

"And what if we don't?" Cooper challenged, planting his feet firmly on the ground as if already bracing himself for things to get physical.

Moving in even closer, Lawrence shouted, "then I'll make you!" as he began to coil a fist, jabbing a finger in Cooper's direction.

Winifred had never seen this side of Lawrence in all their years of marriage. All she could do was stand in blinking horror while the two men yelled back and forth. It was until she watched Cooper begin rolling up his sleeves further that she knew she had to do something.

"Stop! Please!" She cried out, putting herself between them. Whether it was the pregnancy hormones, or an accretion of every single awful feeling she'd had within the last two days, her eyes began welling with tears.

As soon as her words reached his ears, Lawrence's shoulders softened. He looked into her watery, blue eyes, catching his own reflection in them, and for only a flittering second, he could swear he saw caught a glimpse of his father's rage.

Both men began to back down, neither of them wanting to accidentally harm a pregnant woman, and really they didn't want to harm the other either. They ashamedly tucked their tails between their legs and apologized to Winifred, hoping to calm the waters before they went their separate ways.

next / previous / first

#ts4 historical #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 storytelling #sims 4 storystelling #ts4 legacy #sims 4 legacy #the baudelaire legacy #1890 #winifred baudelaire #lawrence baudelaire

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mattmurdocksscars · 2 years

Text

Friends?!

Hey all! This is the first snippet of my Fratt x Fem!Reader series. As I mentioned in my other post, this isn’t going to be a cohesive fic, it’s going to be different snapshots into their lives. We’ll see various types of scenes so, as usual, this series is 18+. I hope you all enjoy this first part!

Warnings (For this part): Mentions of wounds and tending to them, cursing, three idiots arguing.

Both Matt and Frank were panting, the extent of their wounds finally catching up to them, as various criminals lay unconscious around them. Frank was sat on the ground, leaning up against the wall, while Matt limped over to him.

“Please tell me you know someone who can help, Red.” Frank muttered. The both of them needed medical care but wouldn’t be able to tend to their own wounds let alone the others. Matt tilted his head back and sighed, clouds of steam billowing from his mouth.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know someone. She’s not gonna be happy though.” Matt grunted as he helped pull Frank to his feet. Matt pulled the other man’s arm over his shoulder and the two of them began to hobble towards an exit.

“Why’s that?”

“Let’s just say she knows about you. Oh, and she only knows me as Daredevil, so please don’t ruin that for me.” Frank chuckled but nodded and then they were on their way.

The rhythmic thudding of your fists hitting the punching bag in front of you was almost drowned out by the music you were listening to. You’d been at it for some time now and sweat made your clothes cling to you. You were working through another round of punches when you heard your door close. There would only be one person coming to your house this late at night.

“D, that you?” You called out, working on unwrapping your hands. You also paused your music and realized that you were hearing two sets of feet in your house. You furrowed your brows.

“Yeah, it’s me and a, uh… friend.” That definitely didn’t seem right, so you tossed aside your wraps and walked to the bedroom door.

And promptly froze in the doorway.

There, standing in your living room was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and leaning against him?

Frank fucking Castle.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, D!” You began swearing a blue streak at the Devil who at least managed to look a little sheepish. The man beside him was equal parts amused and confused.

“Honestly? Honestly. You brought the fucking Punisher into my house. Him?! Of all people! And a friend? A friend?! You always pick the worst friends, D!”

“I do not, I-“

“He shot you! In the head!” You’re furious and Frank tries to ease the situation.

“To be fair-“

“Shut up!”

“I could always-“

“SHUT UP!” Frank damn near laughs as the both of you cut him off before going back to arguing with each other. He doesn’t miss the way you haven’t moved to kick him out yet though and finds himself trying not to smile. Instead, you move towards what must be a bathroom as you come back holding towels and a med kit. You and Matt are still bickering all the while, and Frank almost feels like he’s intruding on something more intimate than a simple argument. The two of you come to a break and you point angrily at your couch where you’ve set down some towels.

“Sit. Both of you.” Your tone brokers no arguments and so the two men shuffle over and sit down side by side.

“Which one of you is worse off?”

“Red.”

“Frank is.”

They both speak at the same time and you turn your head upwards as if beseeching a higher power. Frank has to try again not to laugh but then Matt speaks again.

“It really is Frank. His wounds are worse.” Frank shoots Matt a dirty look, one you ignore as you kneel in front of Frank. You look him over and assess the damage before getting to work. It’s oddly quiet as you work, neither men wanting to upset you. You work quickly, tending to Frank’s wounds with a efficiency that speaks to many nights of doing this before. Once you’re done with Frank, you move over to Matt.

“You know the drill, D. Off, except for your helmet.” Matt moves to unclasp his armor but when he goes to pull the piece over his head, he hisses in pain. Carefully, you reach forward and help him tug the chest piece up and off while being sure not to dislodge his helmet. Once that’s out of the way, you look him over and tut in disapproval.

“The two of you are a mess. You’re bad enough on your own, D. How’d this happen anyways?” You ask, working on taking care of Matt’s wounds. Frank is silent, unsure what Matt wants you to know, but Matt tells you everything. You listen closely as you work, nodding along to his explanations. Once you finish the last of Matt’s bandages, you lean back and wipe your forehead with your wrist. You take your gloves off next and drop them in the pile of dirty gauze that sits beside you.

“There. You both should be good for tonight. D knows the rules but since you’ve never been here before Castle, I’ll explain them. I patch you up, you stay and rest for a couple of hours. Just long enough for me to make sure you aren’t gonna die on me.” Frank opens his mouth to argue but you cut him off with a dark glare. “No. No arguing. You came to me for help, you follow my rules. You can leave a couple hours before sunrise.”

You stand and stretch, ignoring the discontent on Frank’s face, then start gathering up the used supplies.

“D, you can take the bed and Frank you can take the couch.” You tell them absentmindedly while you carry everything towards the trash. Immediately, both men start to argue.

“I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“This is unnecessary. Let Red take the couch and I’ll just leave.”

“Hey! No arguing.”

“But where are you going to sleep?” Matt has his hands on his hips in what you call his mom pose. He hates when you call it that but that’s exactly what it looks like.

“I’ve got a sleeping bag. I’ll sleep in my spare room, that way neither of you will bother me when you leave and you can sleep without your mask on without worrying about me seeing you.” Matt doesn’t appreciate that your logic is solid by the look on his face. Frank also looks displeased.

“I’ll take the sleeping bag, Red can take the couch, and you can take your bed. There’s no reason the two of us should get more comfort than you.”

“Except for the fact that you’re both injured and I’m not.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.” Frank grumbled, holding a hand out. “Give me the sleeping bag.”

You narrowed your eyes dangerously and stepped up to him. It didn’t matter that you had to tilt your head back to look at him, you were still a menacing sight.

“D takes the bed. You take the couch. I take the sleeping bag. No. Arguing.” Frank and you stared each other down for several moments before you both heard Matt sigh.

“She’s not going to back down. We may as well do as she says.” Even though you could only see the bottom half of Matt’s face, you could still see the exhaustion in him. You wondered when the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep was but brushed the thought off. He had made it clear that there was nothing between you two. If there was, he would have told you who he was by now. With that thought, you squared your shoulders and stepped away from Frank.

“Go to sleep you two. I’d say see you in the morning but you both better be gone.” Those were the last words you said before you disappeared back into the spare room you’d originally come out of. Frank turned and looked at Matt with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothin’ Red. Nothin’.”

As predicted, the next morning both men were gone. What was unusual was that you had been carried and placed back in your bed. In a moment of weakness, you buried your head into your pillow and breathed deeply, taking in Matt’s scent.

Maybe one day he would tell you who he was.

Maybe one day he would finally address the tension between the two of you.

But today was not the day and you had bigger things to worry about. Like the Punisher now knowing where you lived and accepting help from you. You shrugged though and got out of bed to begin the day.

After all, what were the chances you’d even see Frank again?

#fratt x reader #matt murdock x reader x frank castle #matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader

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privateanxieties · 8 months

Text

forget my mercy, take my blame (chapter 4)

Summary: You are the same person you were a week ago, only now presenting as you truly are: hiding nothing, free of struggle. With your back to the sun and him before you, your eyes are black and resolute.

Words: 2.6K (graphic depictions of violence)

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SERIES MASTERLIST

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What do people think about in their final moments?

You assume it depends on the amount of time they have, as well as the manner of death. People have disagreed on the subject of an afterlife for as long as they've been able to contemplate it, but the moment of death itself has seldom been the focus of debate. Of all the myriad ways that things can end, when the line is crossed and the numbers are tallied, you suppose anyone would say that all death, each one that has ever been and ever will be, is either violent or lucky.

If there is struggle, there is violence. If there is not, a person is asleep, much like Sam is as you peer down at him.

It's been interesting, this night, but as dawn looms over the horizon, your mood darkens almost in revolt. You can neither do this the way you would have back at the house, nor summon enough derangement to keep him in storage until nighttime returns in a little over seventeen hours, even if the setting permits a bit of mania. The desert looms over Tule Valley, shadowed by white rocks to the North and shapely knolls to the South, a barren nothingness stretching out for miles. Yes, nobody will find you here. No, you will not drag this out any longer. You already shot one more man tonight than you were planning to, though admittedly it was his own fault.

Frank.

You don't know what he was talking about, but hell if you cared to listen. The instant that he blocked that door with his body, your finger squeezed the trigger it had been glued to since you'd laid eyes on him. Served him right for sticking his nose in other people's business. If he'd just been a misguided stranger, you'd have let it go. Clearly, a few too many screws were loose in his head too, but he underestimated just how many were rattling around in yours. The answer was: enough to shoot him in the shoulder and take his van into the desert, with Sam out cold in the back like he'd said. At least he didn't lie about that, because you'd have gone back to shoot him again.

The dark sky gives way to a crack of indigo in the far distance, and you push off the van's back door to approach the man lying on the ground several feet away. Given he's still wearing his server uniform from the diner, you guess Frank must've nabbed him after his shift. There's no visible injury on his person besides a little redness around the clavicles, indicating knockout via strangulation. Good — at least he won't be woozy from head trauma, because you'd like to talk to him.

His face is plain, forgettable to anyone that isn't you. Twenty-two years old and not going to get any older. You scoff at his terminal stupidity. Having this much power over someone's life should come with a degree of somberness, but you're tired and cranky from hauling Sam out of the van and dragging Frank away from the door. You've done more manual labor than intended tonight, and it's not like you've had much sleep in the past week to begin with. You spare another look at Sam's figure, cheek pressed into the ground and breathing even. Nap time over.

You don't have a knife, so you resort to grasping his left pinky and pressing down on the nail bed until he stirs. It takes around a minute for him to awaken fully, by which time you've stood up and retrieved your gun. You move a few paces away. For a moment you wonder what your face must look like, but Sam isn't close enough to catch all the nuances in your expression as he blinks at you with furrowed brows. He coughs twice but finds his voice pretty quickly.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Maybe your face is forgettable too.

"Where the fuck am I?" he demands with a weak cry, voice hoarse from the treatment his neck received. He tries to get to his feet, but he barely turns onto his side before you let off a shot near his shoulder.

"Don't get up, Sam."

The gesture yields the intended effect. He stops and scrambles onto his back, scooting away from you on his heels and elbows as his body kicks up dust. You point the gun at his head, silently commanding him to stop moving. He does. You close the distance to what it was before. Sam glares up at you, but he hasn't had the time in his short life to build up any menacing qualities. There's still some roundness in his face from delayed puberty, because while his documents say twenty-two, the man in front of you looks barely eighteen. Some people just look younger than they are.

"What do you want?"

A hint of the stutter he had the first time you met him returns for that simple question. It's not one you've personally ever asked when finding yourself in similar situations in the past. No reason to play stupid and waste everyone's time. You raise an eyebrow.

"You don't know?"

A look of recognition passes over his features as he studies you, but where you expect fear or nervousness, something akin to vexation appears instead. His lips curl upwards. He's displeased and ready to make it known.

"Look, I passed my fucking test! Tell Emi I'm ready. He doesn't need to do this shit no more," he snarls.

New information. Hm.

"So you don't know me," you say vaguely, studying him in return.

"The fuck do I care who you are? What, are you some new bitch he's fucking this month? It ain't gon' last, I tell you that. Just do whatever he said to so I can go home. Got enough shit on my plate."

There's delayed puberty of the brain too, it seems. He hasn't caught on that you are not who he thinks, but interestingly, the person he thinks you are is expected to behave the way you do. He's been manhandled, kidnapped and brought to the wilderness to stare down the barrel. He does so in defiance, not an ounce of fear in his eyes. Tests. Readiness. Emi.

You put some fear right into his kneecap.

Sam howls his agony into the expanse of the desert as the bullet tears through cartilage and exits through soft flesh. He grabs at his leg with both hands, rocking forward several times as if to get up. He's yet to understand that he'll never use that leg again, you think, because he does try to scramble to his feet again. It's haphazard and desperate, but it grants him valuable knowledge: he falls back on his ass in a stupor, looking at his body and trying to understand its betrayal. He can feel the pain, yet he can't feel anything below the knee.

"Are you a good listener, Sam? I can tell you're not a good observer. Maybe we can change that," you say evenly, waiting for him to register your words over the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He looks up at you and yowls something fierce. From what you can see in the awakening darkness, there are tears gathered in his eyes. The fire burning in them is different now, defiance waning.

"My brother's going to fucking kill you!" he screams. It travels along Tule Valley with its dips and mounds, only to be swallowed up by the sheer expanse of nothing. He has found out who you are not. Now, to refresh his memory.

"You should be more concerned with what I'm going to do, to tell you the truth."

He fumbles over the hole in his knee and wrestles with control of his ligament to no avail, and if you bear witness for a minute or two, it's not something you're ashamed of. A long sigh folds your body into itself as you crouch down to his level, keeping a knee on the ground for stability. Sam's whimpers have lost some of their intensity, and for a moment you watch him watch the blood that flows from his leg into the reddish sand, creating black splotches in the low light that resemble the ones on your front door. The desert is much colder than your neighborhood.

"I've hurt some people," you tell him, commanding his attention before he goes into shock. He lifts his eyes to your face, and suddenly he looks like even more of a child than he did before. You nod both to yourself and him in the wake of your statement, as if to confirm you've really said it. Truths uttered inside a wasteland can be bent into unflattering shapes by something as inoffensive as a breeze.

"I have. Nobody that didn't deserve it, I promise you that. But I've never done this before," you continue, head tilted with a frown. "I've never let anyone go who I knew I shouldn't."

"I don't know what you're talking about, you crazy bitch! Look at what you did to my fucking leg!"

His voice is scratched, not yet broken.

"You've hurt some people too, haven't you? Only, they were good people. Right?"

The spell of dry wind descending from the white rocks to the North has travelled a long way to encounter you both, howling through the valley with a final effort to leave its mark on the wilderness. Its tendrils are harsh and nearly icy right before dawn, sending one last caress through the realm that will soon be transformed under a ball of fire.

A flicker of recognition arises in the man's face again, and this time, he really sees you. In the absence of synthetic light, he sees your face from the same distance he did at the bakery, same hairstyle, same plain clothes. You are the same person you were a week ago, only now presenting as you truly are — hiding nothing, free of struggle. With your back to the sun and him before you, your eyes are black and resolute. You think of nothing and have no decisions to make.

Clarity is good.

The steel feels cold against your hand as it reaffirms its grip on the Kimber, but the trigger burns its shape into the crook of your index finger. You breathe. You pull.

Silencer long detached, the true sound of oblivion rings out over planes and burrows into crevices, a responding hum finding its way back to the source as if the earth itself knows it has just become a tomb. You rise to your feet. A healthy adult man will take a long while to die with just one shot to the chest. That's alright. You want him to have all the mercy of the world he created.

Four steps carry you to Sam Collins, who's a hair removed from shock. Chest rising and falling uncontrollably, it gives way to spasms and sputters both felt and heard as his fists pound the dirt against their will. The sporadic whistling produced by his lungs barely hits your ears for how delicate it is. Most of the gray of his shirt has been chased away by gravity luring his blood into the hungry earth, never to relinquish ownership. You find yourself peering down at his wide eyes and puffing cheeks and slowly get flooded with a sense of impending disquiet.

He shouldn't get to see the sky. He shouldn't get to watch the sun rise over his last day and make the stars disappear by casting light upon them. The oranges and purples of a desert sunrise aren't for him to witness when others only get the rigid monotony of wood and steel, an endless night trapping them inside darkness before it swallows them whole.

You wonder what he's thinking between gasping breaths and choked words. In theory, he wouldn't be thinking about anything but survival. Only if he has accepted death staring down his path can he start contemplating other things, but Sam is still young for the amount of time he has left. Youth is defiant, unafraid. It holds out the longest in the face of calamity. As he so clearly proved, youth is barely even capable of recognizing death. It either flees in the face of it or it falls quiet.

Sam has done both. As he looks at you and you look back, there's no telling what you'll remember of him and this moment in another nineteen years, no use in searching for clues. Whatever your mind will latch onto is outside all control. What it knows of Mark Davidson is a look like a demon's and a fury like God's, and you buried them both under rock without spectacle or prejudice what feels like a lifetime ago. You remember fuel and heat, a thundering slide of earth and gravel.

What you'll remember of Sam could be wind, just as well as it could be silence. It could be pleading eyes or a childlike face. Whatever memory will be kept, you bear witness to his struggle against ample tranquility. He's crossing over into darkness as the first rays of sun slither along the dessicated ground and towards his face, but just before his eyes are kissed by the morning light, the fire within them burns out. You remark on the color in peace. They're green.

Clarity is good.

The downside of being undisturbed following a murder is that you aren't really sure what to do with all your clarity. The last time you did this you were behind the wheel of a stolen car too, but back then you had the benefit of mental turmoil. You weren't thinking about much more than getting away from that quarry, weren't feeling anything but guilt and fear and a pervasive sense of biblical doom.

Now, you're maybe a little restless. Maybe a little inconvenienced. Overall, once you're done getting rid of this van and the coyotes are done getting rid of Sam's body, you don't know where you're going to plant your feet — besides Frank's dash, that is.

Going back to your house is out of the question right now. You're not in Utah— you're in sunny California, staying with relatives and recovering from last week's events. Showing your face so soon will raise eyebrows on faces that you aren't likely to see again anyway, so there is little point in swinging by. You will have to eventually, if you want a clean break. Few things today can't be done remotely if money is no issue, but you sprung too many roots in that town and now have to sever them yourself.

One of them is staring back at you from the phone you've just turned on for the first time in seven days, a written update from Eliza with a photo of Piper and Mae attached. The pair of rose-ringed parakeets are snuggled together on what looks to be a desk cluttered with psychology homework. You're not surprised they've taken to her so quickly as to be comfortable outside their enclosure. Eliza is a good, caring person and as gentle as they come. You don't reply to her text.

Sifting through the flurry of notifications and emails from purveyors with whom you'd unexpectedly suspended contracts, your eyes catch on one message that is neither inquiry nor update. It's an alert from your home security system, encrypted and blinking impatiently for it to be acknowledged. It is.

Only some forty hours too late.

-to be continued-

A/N: No Frank in this one again, sorry! But we'll get plenty real soon, and we might even get some other people we know👀 Please let me know your thoughts, I love reading them and freaking out over this story with you!

Taglist: @itwasthereaminuteago @hellskitchenswhore @theradioactivespidergwen @trashyart-y @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @marieloves-reading @daisyslibrary @trashcan-writes @mind-nine @reblogmisc3 @hufflepufe @this-is-where-i-keep-my-fic

Note: If you'd like to be tagged, reblog the previous chapters or the series masterlist! You have to interact with the story if you want to keep getting tagged for updates.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle smut #frank castle imagine #the punisher x reader #frank castle fanfic #frank castle

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the-rarest-sexiest-coinkydink · 2 years

Text

Happy Campers (Gerard Way x fem!reader)

kinktober day 23(ish): outdoor sex

Summary: On a camping trip with the guys, Gerard and his girlfriend realise that neither of them are capable of being quiet enough for them to get away with having sex in the tent. Luckily, he has an idea that just might work...

Word count: 2537

Warnings: tiny bit of a Frikey mention?? If you need warning about that?? But I think that’s it.

AN: Hello friends! I’m not dead, look! I’m slowly working my way through the last of the kinktober stories (although personal love life crises, a very annoying dose of the emo flu, and two exams I forgot I had to revise for have certainly made it difficult to write. Oops.)

I mean, maybe you could think of this as a treat, you know? This way, kinktober is actually gonna last wayyy longer than it was intended to. Silver linings and all that.

As night fell, the five of them huddled a little closer around the fire, each warmed more by the beers they’d been drinking than by the poorly crackling embers. Except Mikey - he’d drunk four or five bottles of Sprite instead, and was now feeling a little bit sick. It was pretty obvious that none of them would be awake for much longer: actually finding their way to the campsite (which had been all the more difficult because none of them really knew how to read a map, and the GPS on their phones was painfully slow) had worn them out, and that was before they’d even set the tents up. There were three two-man tents in their little corner of the site: one for (y/n) and Gerard, one for Frank and Mikey, and one for Ray and everyone’s bags.

This was a set up they were all happy with; they’d done it before and it had worked out just fine. Ray liked his own personal space, Frank secretly liked it when he woke up to find Mikey ‘accidentally’ spooning him, and as the only actual couple it was pretty obvious that (y/n) and Gerard needed their own space. Not that it saved the others from overhearing things. As they’d discovered quite early on in the relationship, neither of them were very good at being quiet when they needed to be.

The evening was getting cooler by the minute, and it showed. Ray had draped his sleeping bag around his shoulders and bunched his knees up to his chest, cupping the almost empty beer bottle close. “Think I’m gonna get some sleep when this is finished, guys. My legs are killing me.”

With his head in Frank’s lap, eyes closed as the shorter man ran his fingers through his hair, Mikey looked like he was already asleep. “Mmm yeah, sounds good. Might read the comic I brought with me.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Well you’d better let me share it this time. Otherwise I’ll have to steal it once you’re done and then the light will be on for twice as long.”

“Well I’m only gonna share it if you’re gonna read quietly and not keep making stupid comments the whole way through.”

“See, I can’t promise that.”

Keeping his hands warm under (y/n)’s hoodie, Gerard nuzzled into her neck. “You wanna go to bed too sweetie?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty worn out.” She was sat between his legs, her back pressed to his chest as she traced little patterns on his thigh. “It’s been a long day.”

On the opposite side of the fire, Frank smirked at the two of them. “Is that code for sneaking off for some alone time? ‘Cause you don’t need to bother, you guys are noisy enough that we’d know anyway.”

(y/n) made a half-assed attempt to chuck a marshmallow at his forehead, snorting when it landed on Mikey’s face and made him blink in confusion. “No, you weirdo. I’m tired after spending the whole day listening to you whining about your feet hurting while we tried to find this place. I actually want some sleep.”

“Yeah, like I believe that.”

All groaning softly, stretching their tired limbs, the five of them picked themselves off the ground and kicked the dying fire out properly. Wanting to snuggle down in their tents as soon as possible, they said quick goodnights to each other and ducked inside the thin fabrics, each zipping themselves in for the night.

As the little reading lamp in the boys tent switched on, Gerard peeled his jeans off and tugged on a pair of soft plaid pyjamas, not missing the way his girlfriend’s eyes lingered on his soft thighs. “I didn’t think walking would tire me out so much, you know? It’s crazy how exhausted I am.”

“Well, you can blame your little brother’s terrible map reading skills for the amount of walking we ended up doing.” Having changed into her pyjamas earlier in the evening, all (y/n) had to do was snuggle up in the sleeping bag. “C’mere. It’s getting cold already and you’re so warm and cosy.”

He grinned, tucking himself under the thick material and pulling her into his arms. “Aw, is my baby starting to freeze up? Well we can’t have that.” He settled with her head on his chest, littering kisses across her hair as his arms tightened around her back. He was content like that for a little while before shifting a little, lips trailing from her forehead to her cheeks, and finally to her lips.

She smiled into the kisses as he moved to hover over her, breaking for just a fraction of a second to make sure that he was resting her head against the pillow rather than the uneven ground that could be felt through the tent’s thin floor. His knee instinctively moved to settle between her thighs as he stroked her waist, giggling a little as her hands wandered into his hair.

They felt like a pair of naughty teenagers trying to make out at a sleepover without being caught by their friends, especially as his hands slipped beneath her t-shirt. His fingers were surprisingly cold in comparison with the rest of him and she couldn’t help but squeak, the noise lapsing into a sigh as they brushed across her nipples.

From there, things got a little more heated; hands crept beneath waistbands and hips bucked in search of friction, each of them needing just a little bit more from the other person. But they had good reasons to be holding back. There were only a couple of metres between each tent, and the flimsy material would be basically useless at blocking out sounds. They might as well be getting it on out in the open, it made such little difference.

And as a familiarly needy moan escaped (y/n)’s lips as his knee pressed against her core, the idea came to Gerard like it was obvious. “Honey, you have to be quiet.”

She squirmed a little. “I don’t think I can. Not if you keep doing that.”

“Then we’ll just have to move somewhere they can’t hear us.”

A frown creased her forehead. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well, we aren’t too far off the forest... we’d only have to head a little way past the treeline to get some more privacy.”

And she realised what he was thinking. “No way.”

“Come on, it’s a great idea.”

“It’ll never work!”

“Of course it will, you trust me don’t you? I’ll make it work. You can be as loud as you like out there.”

Thinking it through, she nodded. “Fuck it, let’s do this.”

Grinning, he sat up and passed her shoes over, shoving his own trainers onto his feet before unzipping the tent and tiptoeing out into the night. It was almost completely dark now, with the little electric lampposts casting a gentle glow across the entire campsite just enough for them to be able to avoid tripping over the other tents - that would certainly be a giveaway that they were up to no good. He tugged her to her feet, catching her against his chest as she stumbled before leading her towards the treeline.

She hesitated a little as they reached the point half way between their little camp and the woods, folding her arms over her chest as the cool air pricked at her skin. “Hey, you’re not taking me out here because you want to murder me, are you? Because I have to warn you, it’s a terrible idea. You’d get caught before sunrise.”

“Of course not.” He grinned, tilting her chin up so he could press a soft kiss to her lips. “There’s no way I’m ever getting rid of you.” He took a moment to assess her expression in the dim light, wanting to make sure she was still okay with the idea. “Still up for it? It’s fine if you’ve changed your mind, we can just go back to the tent and smother each other with pillows to keep the noise down.”

Sliding her hand back into his again, she kissed the tip of his nose. “Nah, I’m still cool. Just... had a sudden thought about all the spiders and insects and shit that might be crawling around.”

Sweet laughter bubbled from him as he led her on again, keeping her a little closer as they passed the treeline and entered the woods. “Well don’t worry, I promise I’ll protect you from any nasties that are hiding in the dark. That’s what I’m here for.”

They didn’t go too far in: having to text the others to come and rescue them because they’d got lost trying to find somewhere private for a quick shag would be the embarrassment of the century, and the rest of the band would never let them live it down. They’d probably gone less than ten metres in before finding somewhere that looked ideal to stop; there was a particularly large tree that looked like it would be nice and stable to lean against, and a little ring of space around it that wasn’t crowded with much shrubbery.

Nodding towards it, Gerard raised an eyebrow - not that she could really see him now they were under the shadowy leaf coverage. “What do you think?”

“Perfect.”

“Just like you then.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently towards it, making sure to protect the back of her head so she didn’t get hurt accidentally. As her back hit the tree, she tugged him closer, bringing her lips to his ear and whispering seductively. “If I get bitten by anything that isn’t you, I’m not kissing you for a month.”

He giggled, sucking another gorgeous purple bruise into the skin of her neck. “So we’ll make it quick then, yeah? Give those nasty bugs less of a chance to take a shot at what’s mine.”

The way his arms caged her in against the slightly cold wood mixed with the soft possessiveness in his tone made her melt, and she brushed her nose against his. “Sounds like a plan to me.” The ground was mercifully clear of twigs around their feet, meaning they didn’t have to worry about accidentally snapping any. Although it was definitely cold out, the warmth they were both exuding was more than enough to stop it from being a problem - as was the thrill of the thought of fucking each other so openly. Any late night wanderer could pass by.

“Good.” Gerard tugged her fleecy pyjama bottoms down, leaving them to bunch around her trainers as he pushed her underwear aside. He trailed a finger through her folds, capturing her gasp with a sweet kiss as he shoved his own pants down. At least out here, they didn’t have to worry quite so much about being overheard. She was deliciously warm against his cool fingers, her thighs twitching in anticipation every time he drifted away from her core. Hooking a leg up around his waist and giving himself a few quick strokes, he slid into her with a gentle whine.

(y/n) dug her fingers into his shoulders, the soft rustle of the leaves in the breeze above barely hiding her moans. It was her absolute favourite thing, to be filled completely by him. No matter what the situation was: sneaking about in tiny store cupboards and tour bus bathrooms, in a specially booked hotel for their anniversary with rose petals and champagne, at home with their entire toy box to play with - wherever they ended up, the one constant was just how good it felt to be as together as it was possible for two people to be. And this moment, together under the stars and damp foliage, was something incredibly beautiful.

Considering they’d decided it would be a quickie his thrusts were relatively slow, following a languid rhythm that he knew would still drive her insane. One hand rested against her lower back, pulling her hips even closer to his while the other cradled the back of her head. She alternated between letting loose the breathy moans that had been so hard to hold back in the tent and nipping softly at his neck, leaving little marks that would certainly match the ones on her own throat in the morning.

Every roll of his hips hit just the right places inside her, and soon she was writhing against him, his name falling from her lips in barely discernable whines, the sounds echoing a little amongst the surrounding trees. All concerns about volume were forgotten now - with nobody there to hear them, they could be as loud as they wanted. And so they were. Her sounds pitched up as her orgasm hit, tightening around him as her head fell back against the tree with a soft thud.

That sudden increase of friction made his hips stutter, and the little keening cry that fell from his lips as he came was almost enough to make her tip over the edge all over again.

The mixture of his cum and hers trailed across her thighs as he pulled out, groaning softly against her shoulder. He tucked himself back into his pants before helping her pull hers back into place, both of them pulling slight faces at the sticky sensation on their skin. Still, it was a pretty hot reminder of what they’d just been doing - and the others would be none the wiser.

The two of them crept carefully back to their group’s little set-up, very glad they could remember the route they had taken, giggling softly every time a twig broke under their shoes or one of them stumbled in the dark. The little electric lights hung up nearby illuminated things just enough for them to get back without causing too much chaos, shushing each other as they tried to get back into the tent.

As they did the zip back up, tucked themselves back into their sleeping bag and cuddled up, they considered the whole operation a success. But as they settled, there was a slight rustling sound from the tent next to theirs. And then voices: first Frank’s, pitched up and breathy, then Mikey’s, in a scarily good impression of his older brother.

“Oh Gerard, yeah, right there!”

“(y/n), baby, yes!”

The two of them were only able to keep the act up for those two sentences before cracking up, howling as they clung to each other’s shoulders in the dark. They each managed a couple of dramatic moans between bouts of laughter, tears rolling down their cheeks.

(y/n) buried her face into Gerard’s chest, both of them blushing deeply as their friends continued to mock them as much as they could through the wheezing. Then, they heard Ray’s sleepy voice coming from the third tent.

“Guys, knock it the fuck off. You two are worse than they are. Save it for the morning, okay? I just wanna sleep.”

That made the couple laugh too, glad that he was on their side - for now, at least. They fully expected him to join in with the teasing the moment he was conscious enough to. Eventually when the others settled down, they finally managed to get to sleep, drifting off in the cool night air.

It was something they could tick off the bucket list, to say the least.

#mcr #my chemical romance #gerard way #gerard way x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #see look az does actually know how to write things #they're just very behind schedule #fanfic #fic #drabble #oneshot #writing challenge

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

salt, ice and fire

chapter twenty two - teamwork makes the dreamwork

warnings: canon typical violence, graphic depiction of injuries, punisher type shit again boys. swearing, some creepy shit tbh borderline stalker shit like someone call svu. this bitch is kinda creeping me out tbh. NOT loving the vibes.

a/n: okay i hate the beginning of this chapter but just GET THRU OKAY. BARE W/ ME!!!! cute stuff sprinkled in with the pain. you guys should SEE the draft for the next chapter omfg. it’s becoming a lot. OKAY GO.

— also, i’m really hoping i got everyone in the taglist, some of the tags aren’t working maybe due to your tumblr settings?? i’ll keep adding ur names if it fixes itself :) and let me know if ur not on it and would like to be!

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Ten.”

“Fourteen. Easily.”

“Ten.” Frank says a little harsher in your ear. “There’s ten of ‘em.”

“I just counted twelve. The stairway has at least three people.” The other end of the line goes quiet now, and you adjust the volume of the speaker in your ear to make sure you aren’t missing anything. “Frank?”

“Yeah. Fourteen.” He says quietly, and you can almost see the face he’s making. So stubborn.

“You didn’t see the stairwell, did you?”

“Alright, smart ass. Move down, I’ll meet you at the end.”

“What would you do without me?” You sigh and hear the line click off. Even here, tucked away behind the glass window outside the building, it was hard not to smile.

You’d arrived at the base about an hour ago, but there’d been too many people to pull up right away. Frank had spent the rest of the time going through the points of entry and exits in every room from when he was here the first time. There was one area of the holding he didn’t know, though, and a blacked out spot on the map. You’d have to figure it out while you were down there. Down there, even thinking about it made you squirm.

“Be careful.” His voice quickly adds as you shuffle inside the gap of the window, and it clicks off again before you can reply. Your heart still skips a little every time he says shit like that, but when your feet land on the hard concrete ground, any fluffy feelings drop out and splat next to them.

Even the smell of this place makes you want to vomit. It had been a while since you’d seen the top side of this base, but it’s in a hell of a lot worse shape than you remember. Riddled with bullet holes and held up with half-finished scaffolding, it was one gust of wind away from falling in on itself. Besides the condemned state, the building was alive only because of the men crawling around inside of it. Frank was on the opposite side to you, getting the high ground above a group of fourteen milling around the outside. You were tasked with getting inside the locker that held the master keys, and the enhanced strength in your veins nearly hums at the chance of release.

You used to dream about those keys. That box in this room, how teasingly close it was.

Keeping yourself tucked tight to the wall, you try to leave as little trace as possible bare the footprints trailing behind you in the settled dust. As you shift further into the building, you hear something fall and clatter off to your left. You disappear into the shadows as two men walk past, lost in conversation. A familiar buzz rushed in your veins— a feeling you normally hated, but now it was you calling for it, it made you feel strong. Powerful.

You stepped out just as the men stopped in front of the door you needed to enter, and neither of them had the time to scream before you tore them apart— the only sound the clatter of keys falling against the concrete, and the muffled tearing of flesh.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank felt good. It’s a thought he only had admitted a few times, but firing rounds into an open target range, hearing every single one pound into muscle and bone— it felt good.

Even here, surrounded and boxed in on all sides, he still looked down to where you were, watching you try about eight different keys before you figured out the one to the lockbox. His job was to take out as many as he could while you got the keys to go downstairs, and by the time you were done, you’d take it together. He knew the real prize was downstairs, but he’d have to kill every man in this room before he’d let you go down there, and he’d be right in front of you.

The empty click of his gun shot him back into the moment, dropping the larger one for the pistol in his jeans. He moved closer to the remaining five men, making the first shot count right through the eye of the man closest to him. He heard you before he saw you, even the pained groans of the men he was laying into wouldn’t be enough to block out his sensors that honed into you.

A man came from the left, and he took a quick step back, using the momentum to grab the opposite side of his head and slam it over the railing. His skull gave way, cracking in a splatter of dark red, practically pouring over the right side of Franks body. He swung first on the next guy, feeling bones break under the strength of his punch. It was some sick kind of therapy, but it was here he used to feel the most comfortable— throwing his weight behind every hit, there used to be no where else he’d find his brain quiet.

Not now. All he could think of was this morning. Having you laid on his chest, his hands in your hair, and how he didn’t have to think of anything else. Couldn’t dream of it, not when you were that close; close enough he could feel the soft flutter of your eyelashes on his skin, or the trace of your fingers along the scars on his chest. As he watched the consciousness fade out of the eyes of the man in front of him, for the first time in years he found himself wishing he could be somewhere else.

The man drops to his knees in front of him, then face plants onto the concrete floor. You followed, jumping from the upper floor railing down in front of him, your face screwed up as you looked him up and down.

“Way to be discreet.” He can feel the blood pooling in his shoes with each step he takes, ignoring the comment and following you towards the two locked doors that lead to the basement.

“You get the keys?” You were already putting them in the door, but as you turned the key, they didn’t budge.

“These are the ones. It’s just old.” You look up at him, and turn the handle again, shoving your shoulder into the door. It moves slightly, but as you wind up again, Frank kicks it down, stopping you from whacking it again. Rubbing your now bruised shoulder, you look up at him. “I had it.”

“I know.” He steps through first. It’s dark in the corridor, the two of you stopping at the top of the first set of stairs. No lights, and a layer of dust resting mid air gives the whole place an eerie feel. If Frank was even getting a bad feeling from this place, he didn’t need to say anything to know what was going through your head.

He reaches out, threading his fingers through yours and watching as you grab tightly as soon as he fits his hand to you. You were holding him like a vice, and even though your face was calm, your hand was shaking no matter how tightly he held you back.

“Thought you said you wouldn’t hold my hand to do this.” Frank sighs, shaking his head doing nothing to hide the small smile that only you could give him.

“I’m full of shit. You know that.”

“Yeah.” You breathe out, stepping closer to him. You take the stairs two at a time, but he doesn’t mistake the pace for eagerness, if only to get this shit over with as fast as possible. And it would be, fast and quick. In and out. Frank promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to you— and this time, he was planning on keeping it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hadn’t realised how far down you were. All those years down here, and you thought it was only a few levels. You used to be able to hear the gun shots going off above you, and you thought it must only be about 10 flights of stairs at the most. You feel like you’ve been going down sets of stairs for hours now.

You haven’t heard anything yet, but you know Bobby will be hiding out somewhere down here. Very few people knew this place existed, and fewer would know the ins and outs of the cells. His father even used this place as a hideout a few times— and it was this that ticked in the back of your mind when you saw that blacked out part on the map. Knowing how twisted Bobby is, you could only imagine what his father used this giant space for. It was a fucking maze even in the light, but it only got darker and darker the further you went.

Neither of you have spoken, not wanting to give your position away, and about twenty minutes ago your initial fear had worn off and you’d dropped Franks hand, the contact only making you wish you weren’t here. It was like you were magnetised to him— not able to stop yourself from wanting to be closer, no matter where you were. Even here, and maybe it was the perfect distraction, because before you knew it, you caught a glimpse of flat ground, and you know you’d made it to the bottom.

“Stay behind me.” Frank whispers in your ear, his hand lightly squeezing your hip as he gets in position. Still no lights, and not a sound.

“The cell. It’s close. We can start there.” You say, and Frank nods, seemingly remembering. His jaw twitches, a tell tale sign he was hyping himself up for a fight.

You walk behind Frank, not that you’re given much of a choice. The walkway was narrow, and the cell doors next to you were all swung wide open except for the one that the end. Yours. You notice a door between cells, closed, with a chain and lock wrapped around it. Frank stops when you point it out silently, trying the handle. When it doesn’t budge, he pushes you to keep walking, but looks over the top of you at the door again.

“You remember it?” As far as you can remember, there was only meant to be the door they took you out of down here, which was behind you on the opposite side of your old cell. Frank shakes his head.

“Wasn’t on the layout..”

“We’ll come back.” Frank urges you further, sticking to your original plan. Madani had sent him a blueprint of the building from when her and the CIA had raided it all those months ago.

Frank stops suddenly, you nearly running into the back of him. Stepping around, you nearly choke on your exhale.

You didn’t want to feel anything. It was just a room, one that you weren’t attached to anymore. It felt so long ago when you weren’t here, but now you were surrounded by the smell of stale air, and seeing the old stains on the concrete— it knocked the wind out of you. You went to step closer, but Franks arm stopped you.

“Not here. Let’s go back.” Frank says, pulling you back.

Right. Bobby. You look around for any signs of life— and he really wasn’t here. That was impossible, you knew him. You remember what he said last time. He…

“He’s not here.” You spin around, confused. “Why would he not be here?”

“Too open. We can wait him out—“

“He should be here. Or at least, around here.” Your voice gets a little louder, and Frank looks over his shoulder before walking closer to you.

“He’s got men here. We’ll find him. We gotta wait it out.” The room felt smaller all of a sudden, the walls feeling way to close. You felt like if you breathed each shoulder would press into the hard, cold concrete. “He’s hiding. Probably back there.”

You could hardly hear him anymore.

You forgot how cold it was in here. Like standing on a frozen lake with none of the open space. You hadn’t realised your eyes were squeezed shut until Franks hands grabbed your face and you felt the light flood back to them.

“Hey.” His voice is calming, even though it’s low and gravelly.

“I don’t want to be in here anymore.” You whisper.

“Let me get you out of here.” He tries to guide you but your legs move so slow. You were shaking like a leaf. It was too soon to be here— you couldn’t do this. It was too soon. The chains that were wrapped around your ankles were still resting in the corner, wrapped to the leg of the bed.

Your chest started to burn, and a feeling you hardly remembered started to bubble in your stomach, but Frank made you focus.

“Tell me about it. The door up here. You ever seen anyone goin’ in or out?”

“I don’t even know if I’ve seen it before.” Your voice wavered, and Frank stayed close to you as you stepped further away from the cell. “I don’t… I don’t think it was ever open. I would of seen it— an open door only a few meters away. Maybe when I was asleep, or his— no. Wait, I remember his dad said something about it, or something about a hanger or something. He used to have vintage planes restored under the building. Maybe it’s below us?”

“Okay. Good. Doin’ good. You think you can break the chain?” Looking over his shoulder, the rusted locks look flimsy enough for someone like you. Nodding, you reach for them, and the feeling of chains under your hands, and this whole corridor of darkness sends a shiver up your spine.

Frank steadies you with a simple brush of his arm against yours. Accidental, but he doesn’t have to try. He always steadies you now. You give the chains one yank and they break off completely.

“Atta girl.” Frank says, and shoves the doors wide open. You just want to get away from that room, so when the stairs lead down even further, you don’t hesitate to walk down. Frank is behind you, then next to you, then in front of you. “You okay?”

“I am. Now.” You nod, and the way he looks at you has you forgetting that tight chest feeling.

For the first time in a while, you didn’t have to count your breaths.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was getting too dark to see, and Frank could hear the splash of water under his boots. Whoever was down here will be counting on the element of surprise. Frank wouldn’t give it to them.

He kept you tucked behind him against the wall, moving through the dark passageways below the base. He has no idea how far down he is now, but the wall still feels like brick under his palm, so not far enough that they couldn’t build structure. That was good— it meant there was a chance they weren’t so far below sea level, which was more chance for a quick exit.

A loud bang from behind him rings down one of the pipes overhead. You both freeze, heads snapping in the direction.

Frank drags you behind him again, moving towards the sound. It was still pitch black, but another bang made him turn left at the first gap. He was trying to remember how many times they’d turned in the darkness— he was at two lefts and a right, now another left—

Another loud bang, followed by three gun shots, the shells clanging on the floor. It had to be close now, whoever it was. He turned again, keeping one hand on you, the other on his gun. When he rounds the next corner, there’s a sliver of light, and another doorway.

“You think that—“ You whisper, but Frank covers your mouth with his hand.

“Shh.” He knows once Bobby realises your here, all hell will break loose. He can’t see shit in here, but he’s gotta think of another way. Walking straight through their front door would be a dumb-ass plan, but it’s about the only one he’s got right now.

There’s another bang in the opposite direction. Not from the door. Almost in response, there’s three gun shots again, this time under the door. The bang from behind gets closer, and if he waits any longer both of you will lose any advantage you had. They must be communicating through the pipes— no reception down here, and as soon as they heard you coming they’d need a way that couldn’t be intercepted.

“You…in there. I… go around.” You whisper through his hand, mumbled words that he knows mean splitting up. It’s smart, and right now you’re both in more danger together than you would be split up. But he still can’t leave you. Not again.

“Hang on—“

“Bobby… would have the gun. You take him, I’ll get… other one.” You shove his arm off you, and he can only see you about to run off because of how close he is.

It’s smart. He’s almost pissed that you put it together so fast. He feels you push against him, but you stop when you feel him breathe out. He doesn’t have time to hold you here, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to. You lean up on your toes, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him down, his head falling naturally into the crook of your neck.

“An hour. If I’m not back, come for me.” You say, and then you shove him off and disappear into the dark.

He steps back with a stumble, forgetting how strong you were. Another gun shot bursts in his right ear, and the light under the door is interrupted by shadows. A body.

An hour. He’s got an hour. Now you weren’t with him, his mind falls into a colder, harder place. One that has him shuffling back along the wall, loading his gun and slamming the door down.

The light hits him— blinds him for a second, but he hears the three men on the right and takes them out first. Two shots in the first body, blood splattering on the dark green paint behind. The next guy gets too close and Frank grabs him by his neck, using the momentum to crush his head against the wall. He can feel the bone split under his hand, but he’s too busy aiming over his shoulder, watching the next body hit the ground from his well placed shot.

He moves with his body low to the ground, using the cover of the wall in front of him to stay hidden as his eyes adjust. He looks around the room now he can see it, and he can tell no one’s been down here for a while. There’s plenty of canned food lining the shelves in front of him. Whoever brought them down was planning to stay a while. Then there’s black cases, he recognises those. Weapons— outlines of guns, grenades, all empty and unlocked, just leaving behind an outline.

He hears more footsteps and doesn’t hesitate, reaching around the corner and grabbing the neck of the next man. Sending his skull back into the brick, he fires his gun again, feeling the dead weight fall back onto him before shrugging it off and reloading.

He loses count. He always does. Must be nine, ten bodies behind him as he makes his way through the apocalyptic looking basement. The men he catches flashes of don’t look familiar— clearly no one Bobby would of had up top. Frank hasn’t seen any of their faces, not never even in Madani’s database. It makes sense, to keep these guys hidden. Because they were getting harder and harder to kill.

Frank shoots the guy underneath him once, then twice in the chest. Still he fights, clawing at Franks face and punching him in the gut. His fists nearly meet bone, they’re so strong. Too strong. Only one person has ever punched him out like this. Eventually, Frank holds his head down long enough to shoot him in the head, but he’s panting.

Wiped, he drags himself up, shoulders tense as he listens out for more footsteps. He’s made his way into an open area now, with a platform on a second level. For being underground, the place opens up in front of him, the stairs leading up giving space for at least two levels before they reach the room at the top. There’s windows in the room up top, perfectly placed to look over where he is. Another gunshot rings out, and he looks up.

“Not the pretty sight I was expecting. Although, you do know how to put on a good show.” The voice echos throughout the giant room, and Franks already moving towards the stairs. “Ah. I wouldn’t.”

Bobby Gnucci has a gun pointed down at him, but it doesn’t unnerve Frank in the slightest. He moves slower, hoping to draw him down further, feigning a little hesitation. This guys ego is as big as this fucking base, and he doesn’t want to blow it just yet. Not when he doesn’t know where you are.

“You’ve been busy.” He says, not moving when Frank takes a step up. “Do you have any idea how long I spent training those units?”

Frank continues to the top of the platform, now level with the barrel of Bobby’s shotgun.

“Not as long as I spent with her, of course. She is quite special isn’t she? I suppose you already know how special—“

“Say another fucking word about her and I’ll kill you.” He has the balls the fucking smile, and Frank feels his hands get tighter on the barrel.

“That isn’t what I heard.” Frank doesn’t show a damn thing on his face. “You are here to take me into… federal custody. That’s how it was put, yes? Never did I think I would live to see the day. The Punisher returns only to be a glorified pig.”

“You willing to take that chance?” Bobby steps back when Frank pushes up.

“I’m willing to offer to you a deal.” Now Frank smiles, a dry scoff breaking the silence in the room.

“You really got your head up your ass, don’t you?” Bobby backs up against the door of the room overlooking the large building, but he doesn’t seem out of options. Frank considers taking the shot.

He could still do this.

Forget the whole deal, take you out of here and leave all this shit behind. He’d never make you come back to a place like this, never have to watch you walk into a room he couldn’t get you out of. He’d take you away from everything. Maybe upstate, do a few jobs here and there to keep the money coming in— he thought about it too much, probably for too long.

He’d keep you safe.

He knows he could. This shit might not end for him, but he could end it for you here and now. Do the one thing he’s good at.

“Let me show you something that might change your mind.” He opens the door, and the first thing Frank sees is the monitor over his head, and your limp body strapped to a chair.

Your eyes weren’t open, and you were bleeding from your head. That little scar on your face… completely covered with dark blood, your shoulders sagging over. Your hands and feet were cuffed together, and there was a strange haze over the room you were in.

His blood was boiling. He lunged at Bobby, but he’d been too busy staring at the screen. Too busy to notice the three guys in the room. Without the element of surprise Frank gets the wind knocked out of him, and then he feels his face hit the concrete.

They were too fucking strong. Hands the size of his own gripping his arms and legs, holding him to the floor like he weighed nothing. He ripped and strained at anything he could but there was no point in fighting. It didn’t stop him thrashing, only looking at the way your head was flopped down on the monitor, damp with your own blood. He got a few decent hits in before they wrangled him in again, his blood colouring the concrete.

“I admire it. Your… energy. Truely, it would be a shame to waste it here. Which is why I’m prepared to offer you a…solution to your problem.” Frank grunts and spits as the men haul him up, punching him in the stomach over and over so many times his vision starts to blur. Those stitches you did on him are ripped open and popped, blood soaking his shirt. “Clearly you’ve grown fond of my little girl—“

“Fuck you.” His mouth pools with blood, spraying over Bobby’s face as he gets closer.

“But I need her alive. Clearly, she doesn’t want to stay, so I’ll give you a fair deal.” Frank can’t feel the hits any longer, but he knows they keep coming. His legs give out as the men shove him on a chair, one of them focusing a strong hit to the open wound on his side that has him nearly screaming. He wouldn’t give him the fucking satisfaction. “I let you go. Both of you. Today. Enough blood has been spilt, and I’ve already made the mistake of taking one of her little conquests. So, I let you both walk out of here today. You go back to your little law firm, and your loyal friends at the CIA and you tell them it’s over. I’m dead.”

“Y-you must be lovin’ this. You feel like the big man yet?” Frank stutters out, falling into a wave of near unconsciousness. He’s laughing with no breath, loving the look on Bobby’s face, even with his eyes nearly swollen shut. He keeps punching him in the face, and even though Frank is the one getting beat to shit, it’s a win to him. He feels Bobby’s hand on his jaw, pressing hard. It’s nothing compared to the strength under the other sets of arms, but he still has to grind his teeth not to wince.

“You go back and tell them you were too late, and this? This all goes away. She can go home with you.” Frank isn’t focused, but he looks up with what little light he’s still holding in his vision. He sees you stir on the monitor, your head flipping to the other side. He thinks he recognises the room you’re in. He tries to move, but he’s weak now. “She goes with you, and you live your little fantasy for however long it takes for her to get bored, and realise I’m the only one that can give her what she really wants. What she can’t admit she craves.”

You were tugging at the cuffs. Thrashing now. Frank needs to fight— you were fighting, and he needed… fuck. He needs a full breath in, but they aren’t stopping. Fists flying at his ribs, ones that were already half cracked. Fists that could punch through stone, bruising their way through his body.

“The only condition I have, is that when I call, you bring her to me. You let me do whatever it is I need to do— whatever I want to do, and then she goes home free.”

“Free.” Frank spits again, shaking his head. What this guy really wants is for you to be at his beck and call for the rest of your life. Tethered to him, and he’s only offering because he knows you’ll never stop fighting him now you know what’s out there. Never stop fighting for him. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t let you be someone’s prisoner again. He—

“Free. That’s right.” Bobby says, and Frank can’t tell where he is anymore. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? I know what happened to your family. You need this as bad as I do. You get her a nice house, warm bed to come home to. And when I call? You bring her in. It’ll be easy. Look at how docile she is now! I’ll get you some of that stuff and she’s out like a light.”

Frank bares his teeth and lurched forward. Someone’s hands wrap around his throat and restrict his air flow. He sees stars, but he’s still fighting. Bobby says something in a language Frank doesn’t recognise, then talks right in his ear.

“You’ll come around. When you see what I do to her when she doesn’t comply, you’ll be begging me to offer this again.”

Frank can’t make a sound anymore. Too much pressure around his neck. Then he feels something else, something he recognises. It’s the barrel of Bobby’s shotgun pressing into his stomach, and he blacks out before he can hear if it goes off.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Stop moving.” Frank grumbles from beside you. It was impossible not to shift around in this tiny bed, which you were almost positive had been the scene of a crime at some point.

“It’s a water bed. It moves on its own.” Whoever decided putting a water bed in a hotel room was a good idea was dumb. Especially when every time one of you shifted it sent you both closer together. It wasn’t the first time on this trip you’d slept next to each other, but you weren’t sure how you felt about being shoved together in a bed that was stained a faint yellow.

“It moves when you move.” He says and rolls over, and you can feel his eyes burning into your back. “You’re shivering.”

“Do you have any other complaints? You want to point out my grey hairs next?” You feel the heat of his breath of the back of your neck, and then the bed turns tidal as he sits up completely, shifting behind you. “Oh my god. What the fuck are you—“

You’re cut off by heavy fabric suffocating your open mouth, and it takes you a second to realise why everything’s gone dark. The first inhale and you can tell what it is. It smells like him. You haven’t admitted it to yourself yet, but you like that smell.

“Put it on. We’ll get you better clothes next time we stop.” He doesn’t roll over, still watching you as you wordlessly slip into the soft fabric of his jumper. You’ve worn it before, and Frank must of noticed how comfortable you seemed in it.

“Thought you’d want me to freeze.” It’s easier to play it off, the gesture one of many you haven’t decided how to read yet.

“Not when you shake like a chihuahua. Fuckin’ water bed…” He groans again and drops his body back down, nearly sending you flying off the other side. “Better?”

“I think I’m getting sea sick.”

“Go to sleep.”

You wait until you think he’s asleep to speak again.

“Thank you.” You whisper into the dark.

“Don’t worry about it.” He whispers back. When he shuffles behind you, and the waves of the mattress send you back against him, you squeeze your eyes shut and fall asleep before you can figure out why you don’t want to move from his side.

Gunshots woke you from sleep.

Your eyes didn’t open as fast as you wanted them to, and as you sucked in your first conscious breathe, you could taste something was wrong.

It tasted like stale bread— the air had a taste. You didn’t have a lot of experience with poison or gas, but you couldn’t think of anything natural that cause that kind of taste. Paired with how fuzzy your head felt right now, you knew you’d been fucked with in some way.

When your eyes finally opened, all the air you’d reluctantly taken in was shoved out of you. This room. You knew it just from staring at the floor. The stain on the ground. You tried to move your arm, but all it did was rattle the chains tied to the metal frame of your—the bed.

You tried to move your legs, hearing the same clanking sound with no payoff. You still thrashed against them, the fight sense kicking in and you not having enough clarity to save your energy. Everything was dialled to ten, being strapped back in here, held here.

Frank.

Frank would come. An hour, and he would come for you. You knew he would. You just had to outlast the hour.

Footsteps started coming down the hall, and you swallowed dryly, trying to ignore the sickness bubbling in your stomach. Even the smell of this room was the same. Same mattress. Like he was hoping… expecting you to come back. You know it’s him. Before you look up, you know.

“There you are, sunshine. How I missed you.” Bile burns in your throat.

You can’t talk, the gas in the room filling your chest and throat with dry, green smoke. You feel his grimy hands in your soaked hair, and when you’re forced to look up, he’s wearing a gas mask. It doesn’t hide the blood covering his face.

“I think it’s time we got caught up. Shall we?” Your eyes burn. Any of that strength you were feeling before seeps out of you, and the first slap of his hand sends you straight back into the darkness.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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#me finally figuring out how to queue posts #frank castle x reader #frank castle #the punisher #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #marvel tv #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #marvel #the punisher x y/n #grippingbeskar

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stylesparker · 2 years

Text

Mutual Friends

PAIRING: Frank Castle x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

A/N: finally finished this fic that I started probably two months ago, ya proud of me? enjoy the handsome man that is frank castle, and let me know how you like it! reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

Frank doesn’t make friends.

Karen wants him to, which is the only reason why he agreed to it in the first place. She cares, he knows that. But making a friend won’t fix him the way she thinks it will.

But he also knows if he didn’t he wouldn’t have met her.

Without Karen he probably wouldn’t have, but he wonders if he would have just found her anyway, eventually.

Supposedly, she needed somebody too, a friend so to speak. So setting them up would to be to help each other out. In a way, he guesses. He thought it was stupid at first, really, seemed silly. Though once he met her it didn’t seem all that stupid anymore.

***

Walking into the small cafe he was supposed to meet her at, he could already sense something was… off. Looking around first glance, it didn’t seem like much.

There were probably a total of ten people in the place; two waitresses, a cook behind the counter, a couple sitting in the booth near the window, a group of three on the island, and a girl by the phone, leaning up against a wall. A guy stands close next to her. One look and he can already tell he’s standing uncomfortably close.

Roaming his eyes over her, he thinks this is the girl Karen told him to meet. The description matches, so it has to be.

The guy’s hand juts out, grabbing her arm. It obviously was tight enough to make her wince since she attempted to pull away. Her eyes frantically jump around the room, finally landing on him who’s already stalking his way over. Even if she’s not her, he still wants to punch the guy for grabbing this poor girl and scaring her. It takes everything in him to not push his chest and pound him into the ground, make him hurt like he made her hurt.

But all he does is walk up calmly, sharing a look with her and he knows she’s taking a breath of relief when she takes a shaky breath.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks, looking at her comfortingly. She nods her head, giving him a slight sad smile.

“I’m alright.”

“Get out of here, man. This isn’t your business.” The guy lets go of her arm, so she rips it back, rubbing over the part he held. He takes a step so he’s chest to chest with Frank. He almost laughs. The guy has no idea who he is.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Get lost, ass-”

Before he can even blink, Frank’s hand jets out, grabbing his hand and breaking it back at a extremely painful angle. The guy whimpers, breathing hard and staring into his eyes.

“You want to finish that?” He shakes his head so hard, Frank thinks he’s gonna give himself whiplash. “Go.”

As soon as he lets go, he bolts out the door, and they watch him as he sprints down the street, far out of sight. As she laughs, he turns to her, remembering she’s still there.

“Thanks,” she smiles, “I didn’t think I’d have to deal with so much shit today, but here I am.”

“Yeah, what other shit you dealing with?” He grins.

“Been forced to make a friend today, by a certain blonde,” she squints, but her grin makes him smirk and he can’t help this feeling rising up in his chest.

“Wow, that’s weird, cause so have I,” he looks out the window, looking away from her before he looks back and she’s staring at the floor. “You wanna sit?”

“Sure.”

He sits down with her in the booth a couple feet away, sitting on the opposite side she’s on. It seems like their initial greeting wore off and the two of them go silent. The kind waitress comes by and pours them some coffee, they both give a quiet thank you and she walks off. It’s silent for awhile, until he decides this has got to go somewhere.

“Look. I don’t need some therapist friend.”

“Neither do I.”

“To be honest, I didn’t really want to come here.”

“Neither did I.”

They’re both quiet, but then all of a sudden Frank laughs, and it surprises him. She definitely doesn’t take bullshit that’s for sure.

She smiles, “Y/N.”

“Hm?” He hums, his eyes looking over the mug of coffee.

“My name. It’s Y/N,” you say.

“Frank,” he nods.

“I already knew that.”

“Just being polite!” He teases, which makes you laugh. The face you make when you smile or laugh is so... adorable, but he almost wants to punch himself in the face for thinking that way. He takes another sip before he clears his throat and asks, “So who was that guy?”

You shake your head, taking a sip of your own, “Eh, shitty ex-boyfriend’s brother who’s also really shitty.”

“Yeah? Where’s your ex?”

“Dead.” His eyebrows raise. “Hey, I doubt you have the picture perfect life either if Karen sent you here to me!”

“I’m not judging,” he shakes his head, “just curious.” You huff, letting your fingers fiddle with each other on top of the table as you contemplate actually telling him the truth.

“Well you can’t tell anybody,” you eye him.

“Who am I gonna tell, sweetheart? You think I got any friends?”

“Ha!” You chuckle, “Nope.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile adorning his features. Your face falls, just a bit, as you get ready to tell him your story.

“You don’t have to.” Frank says.

“It’s fine, I don’t talk much about it anyway, and it’s not like you’re gonna tell anyone,” you replied. “I was with him for a couple a’ years before I found out he was a part of this gang that had inhabited Chicago for a long time. He’d been stuck in it for forever, before he met me even, but he’d never figured out how to get out. After he ‘fell in love with me’ and realized that by marrying me, some of his shit could get thrown on to me, he proposed. I figured it out obviously, but it took me two years to get away from him. He...” you took a deep breath. “He’d never been abusive until I started trying to run away. I guess the short version of this would end with that I finally got away and had to kill him to do it, and his brother found out of course. The long version would take a bit longer, probably including the part where I met Karen through all this. Want me to continue?”

He nods his head, tilting his head and throwing his arm up in the air, waving the waitress back over.

“I think we’re gonna need some beer.”

***

“I-I can’t even imagine that,” you muttered. Both of you were to the point of tipsy, just on the verge of drunk, and Frank just got done telling his own story. Your eyes locked with his and you gave him a comforting smile, grabbing his hand and squeezing it couple times. “I don’t think sorry is exactly what you want to hear so I won’t say it, but I do feel for you.” You can’t really read the look on his face, but you hope he appreciated it.

Frank couldn’t believe how easy it was talking to you. He hadn’t had such a nice conversation like this since his wife, and that’s… hard to think about. Even though the topics had been pretty heavy, not exactly what you would call nice, it felt nice talking to you. You tease at the right moments, you give a comforting smile at the right moments, and hey, you don’t make him feel like such a bad guy for doing the things he’s done. It’s clear your life hasn’t had as much death in it, but you do know the feeling of pain and grief and guilt.

Hell, you’ve killed before. All for your protection but still, you still live with the guilt, even if the people you’ve killed deserved it. That’s how he knows your better than him, but he can tell that you don’t think of him any different.

Frank sighs, looking at the dark sky outside and stands up from his seat, “it’s really late, can I walk you home?”

“Such a gentleman, but I’m okay.” You stand up out of your seat but sway just a bit, making your hand shoot out against the table to balance yourself.

“Yeah.. I don’t think so, you’re nearly drunk.”

“So are you,” you retort, lifting an eyebrow.

“Touché,” he squints, but still takes one of your arms and pulls you out of the seat, holding onto you as you both make your way down the aisle towards the door. The bell clings as you exit, and as Frank leads you he keeps an arm on you so you don’t fall over.

Nearly half an hour later you finally get to your door, having had almost pushed each other down the flight of stairs laughing since you had to take the elevator. You’d forgotten it hasn’t been working. You’re giggling as you half attempt to open the door and stall a little longer, not wanting to escape his presence just yet. His body is leaning against the wall, watching you with a grin on his face and looking around to scan the area. Finally as your key turns and the door clicks open, you sigh, opening it a bit before you turn around towards him.

“This is it,” you say.

“This is it,” he replies. You’re both quiet until you both start to say something at the same time and interrupt each other, insisting the other speaks first.

“Would you like to come in?” you falter. You glance at him, and suddenly you feel shy under his gaze.

He nods his head, “I would.”

Not a minute later does he have your back pressed hard against the door just as you both slam it shut, his lips already attacking the side of your neck and keeping a hand rested just above your collarbone. It’s not until you feel his hands snake down and grip onto your waist that you realize he’s sucking a hickey into your neck and you can’t help the groan that escapes you as he tightens his hold. When he’s done, he licks over it, kissing it and soothing the tiny bit of pain, but soon it’s gone just as quick as it was there as his lips smash into yours. You finally gain control of your hands and they come up by the side of his face to grip him by the back of the neck and pull him impossibly closer towards you. Just as one of his hands grabs your breast, he pulls away from you, sighing and resting his head on your shoulder.

“We shouldn’t.”

Shit. You look up at the ceiling, hoping you don’t start crying from frustration.

“Trust me doll, not that I don’t want to because I definitely do-” he chuckles, his forehead leaning against yours, “We’re too shitfaced. I’d rather us not be drunk when this happens.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you whisper, nodding at his words. You know he’s right, but you don’t exactly like it. He squeezes your boob with a sly smirk on his face and you gasp, hitting him on the arm.

“Excuse me!” He laughs, letting his head fall into the crook of your shoulder again and kiss there a couple of times.

“Sorry, couldn’t help m’self.” You roll your eyes, but you rub your hands up and down his arms, calming both him and yourself down. After you stay there a moment, leaning into each other and letting your arms wrap around one another, you realize that you’re hugging him and it feels so nice to have such a gentle intimacy with someone, even if you’ve just met.

For him, it feels like he’s above the clouds and he might just throw himself out a window because he’s hugging you right now and it’s one of the best feelings he’s felt in a long time. He’s almost happy he has this rather than sex because yeah, sex is great, but he’s still going by baby steps. This, this is exactly what he needed and he has to stop himself from thanking you, since that would be kind of awkward.

“Damn,” you say softly.

“What?” he asks in a gentle voice.

“I owe Karen twenty bucks. I told her I’d leave within the first 5 minutes of meeting you.” His laughter erupts from his chest and he has to step back from you and look you in the eye, and the cheeky expression on your face makes it so much better.

“Twenty dollars well spent.”

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle smut #frank castle marvel

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thenightlymirror · 3 months

Text

I am in the middle of a manic episode, so left work early. Took it easy, and went to bed at 5:30pm

Last week, Thursday, I woke up in the middle of the night realizing that a monument was installed in the wrong place. 1.5 feet too far to the right. I watched the granite company install this monument in the snow, and even then, I had no idea. I simply could not see what I was seeing. I got out of bed, showered, and drove to the cemetery early in the morning fog. There was a car already there, strangely enough. They left as I pulled up.

See, the counselor knew. That wasn’t the person there. I still have no idea who that was. But they sent me an email right before the blizzard, and it has been under snow and ice this whole time. When I went out there to install, I thought, no this is perfect.

Grounds has done nothing for me since before Christmas. Neither have my engravers (since Thanksgiving). All week, I have been waiting for one dry day to get things done.

That day was today.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Title Fight.

One of the counselors went on vacation, and right before, she handed me a file and said a family wanted a bench and had no idea what they wanted it to look like. They just had some stock photo of a sunset they wanted to use.

I asked her to give me just one sheet, one sheet with the names and everything, and she spasmed and shouted that she couldn’t! She just couldn’t right now. Jesus.

I wasn’t going to touch it at all, but it occurred to me that it might be pretty cool to have designed a bench right in the middle of the cremation garden. So, after getting home on Friday night, I sat around doing nothing for a few hours, and then drove back to the cemetery at night to take photos of the existing bench.

Anything could happen.

I came home and taught myself how to use Inkscape, a kind of free Illustrator. That took a minute. This was after I spent a night using GIMP to construct pasted together ideas. I honestly was so pumped up by my delusions of grandeur that I forgot I was cobbling together clip art from what looked like the world’s worst lower back tattoo.

So, I didn’t sleep for a few days.

Everyone else gets days off, but not me. For the last few months. Harper is always off. My bosses were out for the whole holiday black-out period, which made it seem like it was blacked out specifically so they could vacation.

When I try to fall asleep, I just have Title Fight’s “27” blasting in my head at what feels like an astonishing volume. That, or Cursive, or Joyce Manor, or Braid. I should have known I was going into a manic episode when I stopped compulsively listening to Elliott Smith. I always tell myself, don’t listen to Elliott Smith, you’re gonna trigger yourself. Well, it usually takes a week or two.

It wasn’t so bad. Sure, life is unbearable, but it could be sharply wounding, and it isn’t quite that.

I missed dinner with my friends tonight, which is fine. Last week, I was backing out of my friend’s driveway and sailed on the ice directly into her car. They’ve been a little frosty since. Though, that’s usually the case.

I watched Frank Capra’s You Can’t Take It with You, last week. It’s such a perfect little anarchist film. Like It’s A Wonderful Life, but a little further down the road. Harper mentioned she played Alice in a high school play once. I expressed familiarity, and she looked at me differently for the rest of the week, like I had actually seen her. It was nice. Alice in the movie does some incredible things, like getting introduced on screen picking up a telephone receiver with her mouth. She’s always moaning, “Tony!”

Is it morning yet?

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the-void-writes · 1 year

Note

from the kissing prompts:

17: height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes

Thank you so much buddy 💖 The minute I saw this I knew it had to go to the kings lol. To sum up, Frank still doesn’t believe he’s a king, and Gazali reassures him that he’s the only king he could want. It’s a little mushy, but that’s just how these two are, I guess.

OSOP - The New King - Gazali and Frank

His Royal Highness, Frank Gonzalez. It still sounded foreign to him, as though the words and syllables just did not click. He wasn’t a leader, not in his own eyes, and he had no magic like his husband, but their people looked up to him with all the love and awe they showed for dear Gazali. A doctor like him overseeing a kingdom… his mother might have been proud, if she had ever cared about his life.

Frank sat by the balcony, watching his friends close their stalls and head home for the day. The air was warm and sweet, a purple sky full of cosmic art hanging overhead. Soft music crackled from an old radio, to which Gazali hummed along, waltzing with himself in the bedroom. His robe of red and gold brushed the tiles as he spun with the most blissful smile on his face. That smile, and his everlasting optimism, had won Frank’s love in an instant.

“Don’t get dizzy,” Frank said. “I can’t carry you to bed.”

Gazali giggled, and Frank thought his heart would burst from the sound.

“You doubt your strength, my darling.” He spun onto the balcony. “Perhaps I’d keep my balance if someone were to dance with me.”

Frank rolled his eyes with a smile. “Okay, I can take the hint.”

He let the king pull him back into the room, closing the doors behind him. His head rested comfortably on Gazali’s chest, which shook as he hummed once more, dancing hand-in-hand with his beloved. Neither of them could stop clinging to each other, laughing every time they stumbled over a tile or rug.

“Forgive me, your majesty,” Frank said, “but you’ve married the worst dancer in Paradise.”

“You think I’m any better?”

Gazali chuckled happily, but Frank shook his head.

“You could have any person in Paradise, and you chose a doctor with two left feet.”

The king’s smile faltered. He held Frank’s chin and tilted his head up to face him.

“My darling, I’ve waited three centuries to find you. I never expected to fall in love again, but once you came to us— I could never want anyone else as king.”

Frank’s heart fluttered. “But all that time you’ve been waiting, and you end up with some doctor from—”

“Stop that. Stop being so cruel to yourself. You’ve done so much for our kingdom, Frankie, you’re our hero.” His voice grew low and shaky. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Hey—” Frank dried his eyes for him. “—don’t cry, please. You’re right, and I’m sorry. Believe me, honey, I’m so fucking grateful to be here with you.”

Gazali took his hand and pressed it to his lips. “I know you are, dear. Please, just try to see yourself the way I do.”

“Gaz, I don’t think anyone can see me the way that you do. Your vision of life is so unique.”

The king’s smile returned. “I like to look for beauty in the world. You, my dear, are the most beautiful piece of all.”

Frank blinked away a few tears. “Would you get your ass down here so I can kiss you?”

Gazali laughed and leaned his head down, though he was still too tall for Frank to reach. Frank stood on his toes as far as he possibly could to kiss him. The king’s thick beard tickled his chin as he went from his lips to his neck, tenderly kissing every inch of skin. Then, in one big motion, Frank was pulled up off the ground. Gazali held him securely to his chest, the way one would hold a pillow.

“Your majesty,” he said, “will you come to bed with me?”

Frank stuffed his hands under his glasses. “You’re never gonna stop calling me that, are you?”

Gazali laughed. “Not if I can help it.”

#writeblr #writing community #ask games #wip: our side of paradise

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lifeofkaze · 2 years

Text

Wild Flower

They say there is no love comparable to that of a mother to her child. Since becoming a mother myself I have to say that this is something I can wholeheartedly agree with. And yet, something that often gets overlooked or not much talked about is how much of ourselves we sacrifice for the children we love so dearly. Some things we only give up for a little while, while with others we do so permanently. There is an inherent guilt most of us feel in moments when we wish for our old lives - our old selves - back, when everything was easier and the only people we had to think about were ourselves. But missing these times doesn't mean we hate what he have now, and neither does loving our children mean the times when we had to be no one but uncompromisingly ourselves weren't important to us - it only means that we appreciate what we had then as well as what we have now. Life is about change, and change in itself is neither good nor bad, it's merely what me make of it.

In that regard - happy Mother's Day to all my fellow mums out there! You are doing a terrific job and even if it's hard sometimes (and it is) - never forget that you are amazing 💛💛💛

The grand portal leading into Fraser Estate crashed open with a resounding bang, echoing over the courtyard between the house, the stables and the distillery. Selene Fraser didn’t care for the glances shared between her employees as she stormed past them with her skirts swishing behind her. She didn’t care for their mutterings or the pieces of gravel sticking to the hem of her dress either. She didn’t even care when she stumbled as the heel of her boot caught on a bump in the ground.

All she wanted was to get out.

The morning had been chaotic, as they so often were these days. Selene had been up all night, haggling over a business deal with a tradesman who was rumoured to be as wealthy as he was difficult. Now Selene felt exhausted - not only physically, but from the condescending attitude this dunce of an Englishman wasn’t shy to flaunt in her face.

She would have loved to tell him her exact thoughts on his backwards opinions but the Fraser distillery would profit immensely from her being able to secure a partnership; so Selene had bit her tongue and swallowed her anger, loathing herself more by the second.

Her patience had already been close to running out when Caitlin, her four year old daughter, had marched into her study, carrying a glass showcase with a sparkling necklace in one, and a bouquet of dried wildflowers in her other hand. Selene froze at the sight. Rushing over to the little girl, she ripped the necklace out of her hand, the cursed gemstones rattling against the glass of their case.

“How often have I told you not to play with my things?” Selene snapped, her immense relief to see her daughter unharmed manifesting in a flare or anger. “I forbid you to ever touch that drawer again. Have I made myself clear?”

Caitlin stared at her empty hand, her little face turning red and twisting into a scowl. Tears began streaming down her face.

“I never get to play with the pretty things,” she sobbed and stomped her foot. “It’s so unfair! I hate you!”

The words stinging deep inside her heart, Selene kneeled down and reached out to touch Caitlin’s curly hair, but the little girl thrust her hand aside.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” she raged, throwing the dried flowers she had still been holding to the ground. She turned around and ran out of the study, straight over the flowers which crumpled beneath the soles of her feet.

“That is the exact reason the education of a child shouldn’t be left in the hands of a woman,” the wry remark of the tradesman sounded in Selene’s back. “The child is out of bounds. She needs someone to put her in her proper place, if I may say so.”

Selene rose to her feet, feeling something inside her snap. Smoothing out her skirts with shaking hands, she turned around to face the gloating man next to her fireplace.

“If I may be so frank, you may not say so. You may keep your mouth permanently shut, as far as I’m concerned,” she said with what little was left of her composure. “Your opinion is as unvalued in this room as is your presence in my business. If you’ll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to than listening to your prattling for a second longer.”

Not caring to wait for a reply, Selene turned and left the room. She walked down the long hallways towards the entrance hall, her pace accelerating with every step, until she burst out of the front entrance and dashed across the courtyard at a neck breaking speed. Her feet took her away from the grey waters of the nearby lake and up the winding path leading into the hills. She was running as fast as she could now, her pulse hammering in her ears and the wind bringing tears to her eyes, running away from the Estate, the man in her study, from what she had said when she knew she shouldn’t have. She was an adult, after all. She was responsible for the distillery and everyone living and working in it.

Adult.

Responsible.

The thought made Selene want to throw up, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She was restless and had been for days now, and all of a sudden she felt like she couldn’t breathe, as if the dress she was wearing was keeping her ribcage from expanding.

Her thoughts went to the letters lying in her nightstand. They had been sent to her from her friends all over the world, and they spoke of adventures and unexplored places and making an impact in this world. Selene had read all of them many times and each time it had left her feeling a little colder, a little more bitter; she should be among them and not stuck in one place for the rest of her life.

Selene had reached the top of the steep hills forming the edges of the valley. She was panting, her breath rising before her eyes in steamy clouds. She looked around herself, over the more brown than green hills, interspersed by flecks of bare rock. Come summer, everything would be covered in pink and red heather, but now, with the fog clouding the sky, everything was looking positively dreary.

On a whim, Selene stepped closer to the end of the cliff and sat down, letting her feet dangle over the edge. The wind caught in her hair, caressing the bare skin on her neck with its cold fingers. Selene thought that it smelled like snow.

She imagined how the wind would take her and carry her away, over the mountains, moors and meadows, over the woods and lakes, until it would carry her towards the sea. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost hear the crushing of the waves and taste the salt and freedom in the air. A fist closed around her heart and Selene had to suppress a sob. Oh, how she missed the sea.

“I do hope you don’t have it in your mind to jump. I understand that you were born to fly, but that is more a figure of speech.”

Startled by the voice behind her, Selene cast a glance over her shoulder. The familiar figure of her uncle had emerged from the fog, his bright purple waistcoat shining like a beacon through the fog as he sat down next to her.

“I would never,” Selene muttered, a faint blush spreading on her cheeks. “I was merely taking in the view.”

“And isn’t it a marvellous one indeed?” Uncle Mortimer said wryly, nodding into the grey masses swallowing the world below.

“On some days it is,” Selene conceded. “Not so much on others.”

“I see,” Mortimer hummed, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it over Selene’s shoulders. The heavy wool smelled comforting, like oranges, firewood and the new whiskey blend Uncle Mortimer was working on.

“It's a daunting task,” Selene quietly said after a moment of silence, “leading the family business. Being responsible for all the decisions that have to be made.”

“It’s more than the family business,” Mortimer said with a sideways glance. “It’s the family, too. You may not be the eldest, but you’re the head of it now.”

Selene looked sceptical. “How would I be? What about you, or Grandmother and Grandfather?”

“Your Grandfather stopped being the head of the family the moment he declared you his heir, little one. And as for me,” Uncle Mortimer chuckled, “Father would have rather died than leave the distillery to me - to either of his sons, for that matter. I was never fit to lead a business, and as for my dearest brother… Do I have to elaborate?”

Uncle and niece shared a knowing chuckle; the thought of Selene’s elitist father leading the Fraser distillery was ludicrous at best.

“I do not fret with Father’s choice,” Mortimer continued. “This was never the life that I wanted to lead anway.”

“Then what made you stay?” Selene asked, genuinely surprised. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“This is my home,” Mortimer shrugged. “Father needed help. You weren’t ready to step up. I fell in love. There’s many reasons as to why I stayed.”

“You think I was ready to step up?” Selene asked quietly, feeling the crushing sadness from before descending on her again. “Because I wasn’t.”

“And yet, my darling, here you are.”

“Because I had no choice.” She drew her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly. “I couldn’t justify raising Caitlin without a proper home.”

“Do you regret your decision?” Uncle Mortimer asked quietly.

“Sometimes,” Selene whispered. She imagined how the wind would pick up this simple word and carry it to the sea where it would get lost in its vastness. “Days like these make me feel like I am trapped. I’m a mother - Caitlin’s mother - and I will be her mother until the end of my days. This isn’t something that will go away.”

She absentmindedly turned the heavy signet ring on her middle finger; it was an heirloom of the Fraser family, bearing the head of a golden stag. It should have gone to her father but like so many other things her grandfather had entrusted the ring to her.

“Don’t think badly of me, Uncle,” Selene said, her eyes fixed on the gleaming golden ring. “It sounds like I’m resenting Caitlin but I'm not, I could never. She is my daughter. I love her with every last part of my soul.”

“But it’s just not the life you imagined.”

“No,” she said, “it isn’t. It isn’t the life that I wanted. It isn’t even the life Mother and Father wanted for me.” She clenched her fist at the unfairness of it all. “It’s a life no one wanted.”

“But it’s the life you were given. Be grateful you have one, lass.”

There was sadness in Uncle Mortimer’s voice, and Selene suddenly felt guilty. It hadn’t even been a year since Uncle Mortimer had lost his husband and still he was here, listening to his niece complaining about a life that hadn’t turned out to be the fairytale she’d dreamed it up to be.

“Forgive me, Uncle,” she said softly and laid a hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to.”

Uncle Mortimer took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t fret, lassie, I know you didn’t. My pain is my own to bear and it doesn’t make yours less real. But we are graced with so little time in this beautiful life. Do not forget what you have, even if it’s not what you may have asked for. For some, it might be all they could ever want.”

Selene rested her head against Uncle Mortimer’s shoulder. “How did you learn to handle it?” she asked. “Your life having turned out so differently?”

“I accepted that plans can change, as do the things our hearts desire. But the past never leaves us, Selene, not entirely. It’s always with us, one way or another. It’s what me make of it that counts.”

“But how can you be happy when you can’t let go?”

“You adapt. You accept. And then, little wildflower, you can grow. Cherishing what you have doesn’t make what you lost any less precious. If it was close to your heart, how could you not mourn its passing?”

Selene felt the tears burning at the back of her eyes. She took a deep breath, finding comfort in the familiar scent of her uncle that reminded her more of home than anything else.

“What would I do without you?” she sighed, sniffing slightly.

“All the things you’re doing now. You’re strong Selly, so much stronger than you could ever know. You can do anything by yourself, but you don’t have to. There’s all of us to hold you up, your friends, your family. Darn it, there’s even Alan, that little bugger of a ghost,” he added, making Selene giggle. “And there’s Caitlin, of course.”

“Of course,” Selene repeated softly. “She’s worth it. All of it.”

“She’s a lot like you.”

“She’s a lot like her father. At least she drives me out of my mind as much as he did.”

Uncle Mortimer made a contemplative sound. “Are you ever going to tell me who he is?”

Selene shook her head, thinking about the crumpled wildflowers on the carpet of her study. “It doesn’t matter. My family is here, and he is not. Dwelling on the past doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t miss it.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Selene’s smile was tinged with the same sadness Uncle Mortimer saw on his niece’s face every time the talk came towards Caitlin’s father. He got to his feet, holding his hand out for her to take and pulled her off the ground. The fog was thinning and for a moment Selene thought she could see a glimpse of bright blue sky.

“Let’s go back to the house,” Uncle Mortimer suggested. “I took the liberty to tell your guest he can go and roast his blubberbutt over dragon fire.”

“Uncle!” Selene protested, but it was half-heartedly at best. “He would have made a good partner for the distillery.”

“Bollocks, we don’t need him. Let me treat your taste buds to my new blend and you’ll see why.”

Selene felt lighter as they walked back down the path with a swing in her steps she’d been missing for a while. The fog had indeed begun to lift and a glittering ray of sunlight broke on the surface of the lake. They had just entered the courtyard, when a small voice cried out and Caitlin came bounding towards them.

“Mummy!” she cried and flung herself into Selene’s arms, who held onto her daughter tightly and buried her face in Caitlin’s soft, curly hair.

“Mummy, stop,” Caitlin giggled and wriggled herself from her mother’s embrace. “You’re crushing my bow.”

“Of course, darling,” Selene said softly. “I’m sorry. I’m also sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have.”

“And I shouldn’t have opened your chest,” Caitlin said with a small voice. “And I broke your flowers. You liked those flowers.”

A sad smile tugged at Selene’s lips. “I did.”

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin repeated before breaking into a wide smile. “But look, I brought you new ones.” She held up a bouquet of bright, colourful flowers for Selene to smell. “We can bring them to the library and press them, and then we can make bookmarks out of them.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. Let’s do it straightaway.” A thought struck Selene and she raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “These flowers though. They don’t look like you picked them.”

“I did pick them.”

“Not outside, did you? They look awfully like the ones your great-grandmother is growing in the conservatory.”

Choosing not to answer her mother, Caitlin took her hand and pulled Selene behind her towards the house. “Have I told you that you’re the best mummy in the world and I love you very much? Because I do.”

“I love you, too, my dear,” Selene chuckled, “more than you can ever imagine.”

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #selene fraser #caitlin fraser #mother's day #happy mother's day

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