This Is So Heartbreaking Omg! Amazing Chapter Leah, Absolutely In My Feels Right Now. Poor Reader....

Percy, in the middle of battle: goddess, save us all.

Someone: don't you mean gods?

Percy: nope. Most of them are unreliable. I only pray to Hestia, and when I asked she said that she preferred she/her pronounce.

I'm excited to see how they deal with Peter now that they've found him, I predict clumsily with little direction, and lots of arguing!

Can't wait to see more!

Trust Me- Chapter 3

Masterlist

Damn….

I got shot.

That is the only thought Peter had as he fell through his bedroom window, calling out to “MAAAYYYYY!”

She immediately burst into his room with a duffle bag filled to the brim with medical supplies. She got to work and instead of focusing on the way she was digging into his wound, trying to find the bullet, he decided to be grateful that he wasn’t just bleeding out in an alley like an idiot.

It was moments like these when Peter was glad that he told May that he was Spider-Man.

Well…technically he didn’t tell her anything, she already knew.

“May, can we talk? On the couch?” he had asked her.

“Of course, what’s up?” she said, joining him on the couch. Specifically, asking to sit on the couch meant serious talk.

“I-” he paused, standing up to pace in front of the couch. 

The questions that kept him up at night came back to him. What if she doesn’t get it? What if she sends him away? He knew logically she would never send him away, but that didn’t help when he always saw people her age happy. Happily married. Happily starting families. Happily safe.

‘All things she could be if it wasn’t for you.’ his brain unhelpfully added. 

He aggressively shook his head, allowing himself to look at the woman who sat patiently before him, allowing him to collect his thoughts. The woman who raised him despite being only in her early twenties when she and Ben agreed to take him in. The woman who always made sure he was fed, even if it meant going hungry herself. The woman who worked herself to the bone at the hospital to provide for him. 

The woman who loved and took care of him, even though they had no blood relation.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

“Oh.”

The silence was loud. But not louder than his mind telling him he fucked up. 

He opened his mouth to take it back. To lie, to say it was a joke, anything. But he was quick to shut up when he heard May say, “Don’t tell me you thought I didn’t know.”

He felt his jaw drop. “What do you mean you know?”

She face-palmed as if he just told her the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “Peter…I raised you. Of course, I know your Spider-Man.”

Hindsight 20/20, it was stupid that he thought May didn’t know. May knew everything about him. His fears, his dreams, his favorite cereal.

“This super-healing you have is amazing, Peter.” he heard her whisper as she whipped the blood from his side and bagged the bullet she pulled out of him.

The healing factor was definitely the most useful thing to come from that spider bite. Burns, cuts, and apparently gunshot wounds could be healed in a few days max. “It’s nice, for sure.”

She went quiet, Peter pretended not to notice. 

May was not happy with that.

“This is when you're supposed to tell me how you got shot.” she said, staring him down as she put a layer of vaseline and a bandage on him.

He weighed the pros and cons of lying to her. 

Pros: 

Not lying to May

Not feeling guilty

Her trusting him even more than she already does

Cons:

Telling her that he may have tipped off a bunch of vigilantes to the fact that he’s a minor.

“There was this weapons deal that was happening. I had a whole plan but… there were more people than I thought.” he winced at the fib. “I managed to handle it but I got distracted and didn’t notice the shooter until it was too late. I came back the second that everything was done.”

It was true. She didn’t need to know that the distraction was a group of vigilantes fucking up his plan and the fact that he punched Luke Cage. 

“The Spidey-Sense didn’t warn you?” May asked, concerned.

“No, no, it did. It’s just everything was so chaotic you know.” he said, allowing his pain to come into his voice.

May began to run her right hand through his hair, he let her. She always did that whenever she could tell he was upset. He would come to her as a toddler, overwhelmed and crying, and she’d hold him, petting his head until he calmed down.

“You did a good job… if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.” she whispered.

They sat like that for a while. Peter lying on the floor, head on her lap, thinking about how if any of those adults tried to interrupt his plans again, he was just going to web them up and leave them there. Consequence be damned.

The next day was normal. 

By the time he woke up the wound was already a quarter of the way healed, by the time it was done it wouldn’t even leave a scar. He got dressed and walked to school. The walk was peaceful, he took in how some little kids piled onto their bus, laughing. How some lady was speed-walking like she was on a mission. How two men in a building across the street were talking about funding for their business. 

Peter unwillingly stopped walking (the people behind him were not amused that he briefly stopped the flow of the commuters) and got out of the way of the bustle of the sidewalk to listen as the men complained about the fact that people were missing from their meeting. The Spidey-Sense was very very interested in whatever the hell those two were up to. He briefly considered finding them, but the Sense didn’t seem to think they were dangerous just…interesting. His curiosity peaked and he took a step in their direction. 

His phone chimed, he glanced at it, “If you let me and Ned suffer through chem alone i'm gonna beat you up.” Leave it to MJ to threaten him before 8:30.

“Omw” he texted before stuffing his phone in his pocket. He shuffled on his feet, tuning into his Sense. He didn’t feel like it was urgent; if it was, the Sense would have compelled him to run through the middle of the street to break into their office.

But it didn’t.

He took a deep breath, turned on his heel and walked (as quickly as he could without running) to school. The bell rang as he took his seat on the stool between his friends. Ned smiled at him while MJ just raised a judgy eyebrow. They let him get away with not explaining himself. They talked about the newest Star Wars trailer, the decathlon tournament coming up and how Flash should learn to shut the hell up.

“Before I graduate I’m going to beat Flash up, mark my words.” she told them casually as they settled into their usual lunch table.

Ned looked to Peter trying to figure out if she was joking or not. Peter was quick to scream with his eyes that she definitely was not.

MJ and Peter grew up together. Her dad and Ben were old friends, leading to the two being introduced to each other as little kids. They had been a pair ever since, helping each other through all the nonsense life threw their way. MJ was the person that knew him best and vice-versa. 

Hence why Peter was slightly concerned for Flashs’ health; he had seen MJ stand up to bullies since he was four and had seen how ruthless she could be. He was only slightly concerned, because Flash was an asshole and deserved to be humbled. He wasn’t going to stop her but he did decide to keep an eye on MJ to make sure she didn’t do anything to get herself expelled.

The three of them ate lunch quickly so that they could spend the rest of their time before class playing Cool Math Games in the computer lab. Ned and Peter were fighting for their lives to beat a Fireboy and Watergirl level, while MJ was enjoying her time playing Papa's Freezeria. Lunch ended, MJ and Peter grabbed their bags telling Ned to enjoy his coding class. They made their way to AP Lang, sitting in their usual seats in the back corner. 

Peter pretended not to notice the way MJ had turned to stare at him and pulled out his computer to start his warm up. She snatched up the computer the second he put it on his desk, leaning in to whisper, “How’d it go yesterday?”

MJ was the first person he told when he realized that he had powers. He called her for an “emergency debrief” and they sat on the floor of his room, debating whether or not they should tell the adults. So when he became Spider-Man, he immediately told her. Then they told Ned as it was starting to get serious. For the past three years she and Ned had been helping him research mutants and figure out how to best use his abilities. 

He tried to only ask for their help when absolutely necessary but sometimes they would just give him a USB and it would be filled with detailed documentation of criminals, their history and where to find them.

…It was a bit terrifying.

MJ and Ned always listened to his rants about everything he had seen, heard and done on his patrols. But sometimes just talking to MJ was the best way to sort through his thoughts. Ned would give him advice but he always struggled to be brutally honest.

MJ did not care.

“Honestly, it sucked. They realized I was there and one of them shot me.”

MJ, being the great friend she was, completely brushed past the getting shot part and asked the most important question, “Did you win?”

“Yeah, they're all in police custody and the weapons have been confiscated.”

“That doesn’t explain why you're being so weird, then.”

Peter sighed, flopping onto his desk before looking up at her and saying “I ran into Jessica Jones, Frank Castle, Daredevil and Luke Cage.”

MJ’s eyes widened and she punched his shoulder (something she had begun doing since he told her about his increased durability). “I’m going home with you and you are going to tell me everything.”

He nodded without a word. He had expected as much. The rest of the day flew by and before he knew it he was lying on his floor staring at the ceiling as he described his night. “Everything was going as planned: they sold the weapons, I followed them to the base, I webbed up the entrances. It was perfect, MJ.” he told his friend. “But just as I’m about to go in and take them down, the sense tells me to look at the roof and boom, there they are.” He sat up and jumped on to the ceiling, crossing his legs taking a seat above MJ where she was working on her Math homework at his desk. 

He gave her a chance to say something else. When she remained quiet he continued, “Then Daredevil crossed his arms at me and asked how old I was. I lied, obviously, and told him it wasn’t his business.” He claps, “Tell me why, he tilts his head and says “You’re not even out of highschool yet, are you?” Peter tells her mimicking the man's deep, raspy voice. “I panic and tell him I'm not talking to someone who doesn’t leave Manhattan. Which was pretty funny, I’m proud of that one.”

“That was funny.” she mumbled.

“Thank you. Then Frank Castle basically says they’ll work with me then he says “Or you can just get shot up.” So I leave them there obviously- and go inside alone. I take out a group, tell me why an alarm goes off and everything goes crazy. Those adults” -he lifted his hands to put up air quotes- “ broke into the building. Then in the middle of the mess I catch Luke Cage's punch and then I punch him. Then the fight was over and I left cause I got shot and needed May to fix me.” he rambled.

He watched as the girl below him finished the problem she was on before looking up at him, leaning back in his rolly chair, “...another point for my theory that Daredevil has enhanced senses.” is all she says before picking up her pencil again and looking at the next problem on the sheet.

“MJ!” 

She starts the new problem, “I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about, Peter. I mean, they don't really know anything, you know. They don't know your name, your face, or even know your age. All they know is that you're young, that’s not enough to find you.” Her pencil stops for a second before she adds, “Plus you weren’t lying when you said they don’t leave Manhattan. It’s the first time you’ve met any of them and you’ve been doing this for three years. Stay away from there for a bit and you probably won’t see them again. 

His Spidey-Sense went off at her words and Peter instinctively knew that it wasn’t going to be that simple. A couple hours later he was being dragged down the street after MJ slammed her hands down saying, “I need a break!”

That’s how he found himself at Delmar’s, arguing with MJ about how detrimental her consumption of chocolate would be to her health. Ever since he became Spider-Man, moments like these where he could just be Peter became less and less frequent. He began to crave them.

Maybe that’s why he ignored the Spidey-sense ringing in his ears.

This is absolutely riveting, I love the soulmate AU, Reader has a messed up backstory, and Daredevil is being as angsty as possible? PERFECT!!!

This is gonna be amazing, I can tell already 😍

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, a shy knock startled her. Door creaking open, a woman peeked in. She looked to be about Karen’s age, a timid but determined look on her face as she slowly rounded the slab of rotting wood.

Peeking around the office, she looked amazed at the closet-sized space, eyes opening a little wider as her lips curved into a smile. Karen couldn’t help but mirror her soft grin, finding the awed stranger endearing.

“Can I help you?” Karen’s question was posed at a low volume, but the girl jumped anyway, giving her a ‘deer in the headlights’ impression, hands clenched around the handle of her purse.

“Oh, um..sorry, yes.” The newcomer shifted from foot to foot, creeping marginally closer as she responded. Her voice was soft, full of doubt. “I, er, I’m looking for Karen Page?”

“That would be me,” Karen smiled as encouragingly as she could. “Were you looking for legal advice? Because I’m not an attorney–”

Shaking her head, the stranger continued to step forward chewing on her lip. “That’s not why I’m here. I saw your posts about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? If you have time, I had some questions?”

Karen felt herself flush, her eyes flitting down to her clasped hands as she suddenly felt very exposed. “Oh that’s not– I mean, I just wrote a few comments on some nasty blog posts, it’s nothing really. Why come see me?”

Inhaling shakily, the girl rubbed a hand over her arm, clearly trying to muster the confidence to reveal her reason for finding Karen. “I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

i’m enough of a nerd to see when a weapon would be impractical but not enough of a nerd to give a shit

Reblog if you say "Y'all"

As a bag balm fan, I'm insulted. But also I totally understand lol, maybe try Aquaphor or Vaseline! A bit pricier but works really well, and doesn't smell like sheep.

Me, to a group: hey it's like bitter cold and my skin's killing me, old lotion isn't cutting it

Group: try bag balm, it's amazing! Cheap! Farmers use it on their hands and put it on a cow's udders in cold weather! We swear by it!

Me: cool, I'll grab some!

Me, 2 days later:

I SMELL

LIKE FUCKING

SHEEP

Now I feel so awful that Bea is definitely going to die omg. Author why did you have to make the couple so lovable 😭

Also I love the way you wrote this chapter with the narrator acknowledging that these two obviously aren't going to be together forever, with a mix of foreshadowing and saying it straight up. It's a really cool way to write this story and I'm so excited to see more!!

One question I have is if Rosalie and Y/N's romance is going to be during the Twilight timeline? Or before it?

Thanks for the wonderful chapter author!

Bound | Chapter 5

Word Count: 2.3K Warnings: queer harassment

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

A/N: oh, oh, I'm falling in love with a pairing that will not work out... I know I'm the writer, but, damn. I am breaking my own heart here. 🫠🫠 also, two chapters in one day, wow

<- Previous

There would come a day when (Y/N) didn’t have Beatrice Porter by her side. There would come a day when she wouldn’t be able to roll over in her bed and find the onyx-black strands of her hair splayed over a pillow or kiss her eyelids as they fluttered in sleep. But in 1935, she didn’t know that. 

In 1935, she still believed they had forever. At least as long as forever could be in their human lives. And because she didn’t know, she was able to live in the absolute bliss of being with her best friend. 

As she brushed her hair out of the tight coil of the curlers she wore to bed, (Y/N) smiled at the sleeping figure of Bea on her bed. The sun had barely started to shine through the curtains, basking her pale body in the warm light of its rays. Her shoulders peeked through the white sheets, rising and falling with the evenness of her breaths. She was a vision of beauty that (Y/N) had been lucky enough to witness. 

By the time the witch was putting on her earrings, Bea stirred from her slumber, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Good morning,” she croaked. “You look beautiful.” 

“Hm, I was going for smart,” (Y/N) chuckled. “Is it the necklace or the hair?” 

“It’s your face,” the girl smiled. “You could play hooky, you know. Spend the day with me rather than at the university.” 

“A rather tempting offer,” she said as she walked toward the bed, crawling to Bea. “But I’m too close to graduating now. I’ve already had to argue with enough men who believe that higher education is no place for a woman.” 

“Well, in that case, give them hell,” Bea smirked. “I suppose I should do my own studying then. I do have a test this week and have gone to three classes at the most. I just don’t see the point if I’m going to stay here. Magic doesn’t require human schooling.”

“But the coven does need to change with the times. We need to strive for better. For bigger,” (Y/N) explained. “Living in the woods is amazing, but it keeps us secluded. Alienated. We need to find ways to blend in with society. Hide in plain sight. That’s the key to survival.” 

“You’ve always had great plans for the coven. You will make a wonderful High Priestess one day.” 

“One can only hope,” she sighed contentedly. “But for now, I can do my part in gaining more knowledge of how the outside world works. Find a way witches and other supernaturals can live amongst humans undetected. There may not be as many, but you know there are still people out there that hunt our kind. I mean, just last week, we received word of a coven in Louisiana being burnt down by so-called Modern Witch Hunters. We’ve learned to hide, but clearly not well enough.” 

“Cruelty will always be an incurable sickness in humans,” Bea grumbled. “People in high school taught us that early on.” 

The memory made (Y/N) grimace. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Stood by their respective lockers, the two girls had simply been talking and decided to sneak a soft caress. (Y/N) had only brushed a stray ringlet of hair that had fallen over Bea’s eyes. But her fingers had lingered too long, and their stare was a little too intense. A pair of boys had been walking down the hallways at that precise moment and had decided that what the girls were doing was too queer for their liking. 

Deeming (Y/N) as the instigator, they had snatched her and carried her to the nearest dumpster while calling her a slew of slurs and insults. All this while Bea cried and begged them to stop. It took everything in them both not to use their powers, knowing the punishment for using magic with humans was magic binding for an undetermined amount of time. 

As the lid closed above her and the smell of trash engulfed her, (Y/N) promised never to show an ounce of affection to her friend outside of the protective confines of their coven. There, no one questioned or talked in whispers –although some eyes did follow them at times. But it was nothing like the treatment they endured outside. A couple of stares here and there was nothing like finding dead animals stuffed in your locker, or being unable to walk down the street without being accompanied by a big enough group, or having to stay as far away from your best friend as possible because you don’t know who will attack you for what they believe. 

“You know, Annabeth is leaving in July,” Bea said, changing the topic as she saw how it upset (Y/N). “She was accepted to the University of Tennessee. She says there’s something about the state that calls to her, but I don’t understand why she would go so far. There are enough good schools nearby.” 

“Well, she’s setting her own path,” (Y/N) smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind Bea’s ear. “Your sister has always been quite the free spirit.”   

“That she is,” she chuckled. “Momma is going with her to help her settle in and everything. She also wants to make sure she’s comfortable with the coven over there.” 

“Would you go with her if she asked?” 

“And leave you up here all alone?” the girl scoffed. “Wouldn’t even think about it for a second.” 

“All you’d need is a big enough body of water, and you could come here anytime.”

“Are you suggesting that I leave, (Y/N) Carmine? Do you not want me here?”

“Oh please, don’t even say that. But she is your sister, Bea,” (Y/N) laughed. “You could at least pretend to ponder over the idea. Your family has always been so close-knit.”

“She’d understand,” Bea shrugged with a mischievous smile. “I’ve got something special here.” 

“You’re bad,” she grinned before kissing the girl’s temple. “And I’m going to be late.” 

“Fine,” Bea conceded. “I’ll let you go as long as you bring me some doughnuts.” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t dare come home without them.” 

“Good,” she beamed. “Then, I guess you can go.” 

It was simplicities such as those that (Y/N) reveled in. She may not have been allowed to hold Bea’s hand in public or even say how much she loved her, but she had their home. Behind those four walls, they were able to simply exist. No labels to concern themselves with, no judgment, and certainly no harassment. 

As the day trickled by and class after class passed, (Y/N) couldn’t help but have her mind divided between her education and the girl waiting for her at home. Everything reminded her of Bea. The black fabric of the chairs she sat on was the same color as her hair, the blue of the sky matched perfectly with the iciness of her eyes, and the smell of the town’s bakery reminded her of the girl’s favorite treat. 

There was nowhere she could turn that didn’t remind her of Beatrice, and there was no one on Earth she could love more than her… at least, that’s what she believed at that moment. By then, she had no idea her soul was bound to an immortal, nor that her life would go on after Bea passed one day. At that moment, she knew only of the fleetingness of life and the importance of living in the present. There was no way for her to know how fleeting those moments were when eternity came into play. 

For now, she enjoyed every second she had in the life she believed was passing.

She was coming out of the bakery when she was met with Russell Morgan, a witch from their coven who had always been kind and concerned over her and Bea. She knew he’d always had his eye on Beatrice, leaving flowers and trinkets on their porch for her. Though he understood the relationship the girls shared, he couldn’t help the affinity he held for the young witch. And none of it bothered (Y/N). Bea had made her choice, and it had been her. 

“Hello, Russ,” she smiled as he matched her pace, knowing he was escorting her home without mentioning it. “How was your day today?” 

“Can’t complain,” he chuckled. “Just making it through this last semester. Hoping I hear back from med school any day now. That’s been the most stressful thing.” 

“I’m sure you’ll get in,” she said. “You’re brilliant, Russ. They’d be lucky to have you. And you know New Forest witches seem to do well in medical school.” 

“Well, we do have a certain je ne sais quoi,” he laughed. “And, uh, how’s Bea been recently? I haven’t seen her as much in lessons.” 

“You know her. Most days, she doesn’t even want to get out of bed,” she smiled. “But I’ve already made a deal with her. For every day that she attends lessons, I’ll bring her a new pastry from the bakery.” 

“That will definitely get her there,” Russell chuckled. “And Margaret won’t be angry at her.” 

“Oh, Margaret’s a big softie at heart.” 

“She really is. And uh, are you two still…” 

(Y/N) knew he wouldn’t get the words out. He never did. “Yes. Bea and I are still,” she chuckled softly. “Don’t think that’s changing any time soon.”

“Well, not that I’m not happy for you two, but a man can only hope,” he said as his cheeks grew red in slight embarrassment. She knew he meant nothing by it and also understood the pull Bea held. “I do hope for you years of happiness. Even if the world hasn’t caught up to different kinds of love.”

“I know, Russ. And I am grateful for your wishes and your friendship. I know one day you’ll meet a woman as wonderful as you.” 

“I sure hope so. Mom is on me about giving her grandkids already. Apparently, the two kids my sister has already given her are not enough.” 

“No amount will ever be enough,” she laughed. “But she might be closer than you think, Russ.” 

And neither of them had any idea how true the statement was. 

Back at the house, the smell of fresh bread and beef stew filled the air. The scent alone made (Y/N)’s stomach grumble, knowing the flavor would be even better than the smell. The dinner table was already set, complete with a set of flickering candles. 

“What’s the occasion?” (Y/N) smiled as she kissed Bea’s cheek. “Everything looks so beautiful.” 

“Do we need an occasion to have a candle-lit dinner?” Bea said. “I just felt like it. Especially since you brought me some of my favorite doughnuts.” 

“Maybe I should bring you doughnuts every day.” 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” she grinned. “And if they’re sugar doughnuts, even better.” 

“Do you really think I’d bring you any others?” 

“Better not,” she laughed. “But I just wanted to do something nice for you. Because I love you, and you deserve it.” 

“You’re the best, Bea,” (Y/N) beamed. “I love you more than the moon loves the sun.” 

With a flick of her hand, music filled the kitchen, and their bodies swayed to the rhythm that played through the radio. They swirled through the room, forgetting the stew that bubbled on the stove and the candles that were melting on the table. But they didn’t care. All they cared about was the fact that they were happy, they were healthy, and they were together. They filled a house with love and joy, and that seemed enough. 

“Do you think there will ever be a way we could have kids?” Bea asked absentmindedly. “I know it couldn’t really happen naturally. But maybe adopting.”

“I don’t think that could happen, Bea,” (Y/N) sighed. “At least not us together or even as single women living together. The world isn’t ready for that, darling.” 

“Oh, what a tragedy,” she sighed. “You would be a great mother.” 

“As would you, Beatrice,” the witch smiled sadly. “Is that something you really want? Children, I mean.” 

“Well, it had always been my dream to have a big family. Little ones running around, a home, someone to grow old with,” she admitted. “I just thought it was the normal way life would move toward.” 

“But I can’t give you all of that, Bea,” (Y/N) sniffled. She stopped their swaying and rested her forehead against Bea’s, a thin stream of tears falling down her eyes. “I can’t give you everything you’ve dreamed of.”

“Well, darling, I don’t want any of that if it’s not with you,” she assured. “I am perfectly content with just having you for the rest of my life.” 

“I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Beatrice. I don’t want you to settle just for love. What if, one day, you wake up and realize that love isn’t enough for you? That kids and marriage is what you wanted all along.” 

Bea smiled warmly then, cradling (Y/N)’s face and wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks. “And what makes you think that your love is not enough?” she cooed. “I would wait a thousand years if it meant I got to live my life with you. Children are never a sure thing. Even if I married a man, there is no certainty that I could fall pregnant. But, with you, I know there is love. That is certain, and that is what I need.”

She sealed her words with a chaste kiss to (Y/N)’s lips, slipping through her mouth all the love she felt for her best friend. It was a promise of a future together, a promise of forever. But how could they have known that forever would not have been long enough? That the end of their forever was just around the corner. 

“Now, why don’t we sit and eat already?” Beatrice smiled.”I’m starving.” 

“Alright then,” (Y/N) said. “Let’s eat, and cheers to forever then.” 

“Cheers to forever.”

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Read this on AO3 and left a comment there, great job again, I wanted to reblog it here as well 🫡👍

Can't Run from the Truth

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings/tags: 18+; light angst, embarrassment, confession of feelings, happy ending, a smidgen of fluff and implied smut

Summary: After finishing a hunt, you and the Winchester brothers end up at a local dive bar in an attempt to wind down from the evening, though it doesn't take long for you to quickly find yourself drinking down your feelings while Sam flirts at the bar. But when the truth about your feelings for Sam accidentally comes to light, you panic and find yourself immediately ready to split ways with the brothers.

a/n: I'm back on my Sammy bullshit and couldn't resist a little one shot while I'm working on my series for him (Always Waiting for You). Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you absently spun your partially drunk bottle of beer between your thumb and index finger, your chin resting in your other hand. The growing chatter of the dive bar filled the room around you as your beer sloshed back and forth inside the bottle, your attention only somewhat focused on the way Dean was discussing the hunt you'd all just finished–a poltergeist that had been haunting a young couples’ new home.

Truthfully your attention was elsewhere tonight, keeping you from focusing on anything that Dean was saying as he sat across the sticky, wooden table from you. Vaguely your mind registered the sound of him laughing at one of his own jokes, but you were too busy watching Sam where he sat across the bar drinking down his second beer. You could see the dimples visible in his cheeks as he nodded his head, smiling wide at something the attractive brunette who'd struck up a conversation with him shortly after your arrival had said. You couldn't help but notice how close she was sitting beside him at the bar, either. 

Jealousy flared within you as you watched the pair of them continue to chat. Honestly you couldn't fault the young woman for her obvious attraction to Sam or for the way she was openly flirting with him. You weren't stupid, you knew exactly how handsome he was. It wasn’t as if both brothers didn’t always catch the attention of women whenever you all stopped in a new town. That wasn't exactly new to you.

But you also knew Sam was far more than just his outward appearance. He was an incredibly smart and compassionate man, having a bigger heart than most anyone else you'd ever met. He was selfless and courageous; the amount of times you’d firsthand witnessed him putting someone else’s life before his own had been too many to count at this point. But he was also sensitive, funny, and thoughtful. Whenever life on the road had begun to take its toll on you, Sam was always the first one finding ways to cheer you up over the past few months since you'd joined the brothers hunting. 

As much as you’d hate to admit it, even just to yourself, you'd grown to love all of those traits of his over the time you had gotten to know him. Because inevitably you had gone and developed strong feelings for Sam. Ones you couldn't deny existed any longer even if you constantly did your best to keep them to yourself. Which was why you were currently sitting at the table and sulking on your barstool as you drank down your third beer of the night, your eyes glued to his plaid back. 

It hurt to watch him flirt back with the woman. Every boyish grin he sent her way tore at your heart, and the way her hand often lingered on his shoulder or his thigh when she spoke to him had you gnawing your cheek even more aggressively in an attempt to keep from crying. You wished you had the courage to ever just tell Sam how you felt. Wished he would want to pull you aside after a hunt and smile at you the same way he was smiling at this complete stranger.

Releasing a dejected sigh, your hand abruptly gripped the neck of your beer bottle. Life on the road hunting never really presented the opportunity to have relationships, which was something you knew from your own experience over the past few years. And while you were quite aware of the fact that neither brother seemed too interested in forming serious attachments to anyone because of that, you also knew Sam. You knew it wasn't a secret that he longed for a normal life, one free of hunting. You always quietly wondered if he would ever eventually fall for one of these women he randomly met and occasionally flirted back with in one of these towns. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility after all. Would he ever consider getting serious with one of them?

Something lightly smacked into the beer bottle in your hand, the resounding clink the glass emitted jolting you out of your thoughts. Your eyes flew from the view of Sam's plaid shirt stretched across his broad back and came to land on Dean sitting across from you. There was a knowing albeit annoyed look you didn't quite appreciate drawn across his face.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a brow at you. 

“What?” you asked him.

Dean shot you a flat look. “Did you hear anything I just said?” he questioned. “Or were you too busy staring at Sammy over there?”

Heat burned your cheeks at Dean's blunt accusation. You were immediately embarrassed that he had somehow noticed what you'd actually been doing while he’d been talking, but you clearly weren't about to admit you had in fact been staring at Sam. Shaking your head gently from where it still rested in the palm of your left hand, your gaze dropped down to where you once more began awkwardly fidgeting with your beer bottle.

“I wasn't staring at him,” you lied. “I'm just spacing out. We were up most of last night researching the case, remember? I'm just tired.”

“Uh huh,” Dean replied. He gestured a hand at your beer bottle as he asked, “Is that why you're drinking so much tonight then? Because I've noticed that you always drink more when someone gets a little flirty with my brother.”

“I do not,” you grumbled, eyes still downcast.

You heard the way Dean shifted in his stool across from you, emitting a noise of disbelief at your response. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him raise his beer to his lips before taking a drink. You kept your eyes averted from his, focusing on the table in the hopes that he couldn’t see the truth written on your face if you didn’t make eye contact with him.

“That's your third beer,” Dean pointed out a moment later, lowering his bottle back to the table. “I know you only have one drink at most after a hunt. But usually you’re the sober one. Now tonight some chick is over there being handsy with my brother, and here you are downing your third beer already.” 

Twirling your beer bottle even more nervously at how observant he was, you heard Dean sigh before he shifted again in the barstool. Leaning forward towards you, he rested his elbows along the table looking anything but ready to drop the topic. Clenching your jaw, you continued to avoid his gaze–though you could certainly feel the way he was staring at you now.

“I see how you are around Sam. It's painfully obvious you like the guy,” Dean continued, his tone far softer. “So why the hell don't you just tell him already?”

“Because I don't like him,” you retorted. 

“Oh come on,” Dean shot back. “You definitely drink more whenever we stop somewhere and some chick flirts with him. It’s happened more than enough times for me to know it isn’t just a coincidence.”

You shrugged weakly, still refusing to meet Dean’s eyes. “Like I said, I’m just tired. And it’s been a long day. That poltergeist did throw a mirror at me. I think that warrants me trying to have a few drinks to unwind for the night.”

Sam had also very meticulously and tenderly cleaned and bandaged the cuts you’d received on your bicep from the glass shattering immediately after the fact. The memory of his gentle, warm hands on your skin as he’d taken care of your wounds after the fact had been worth the injury in the end, but you'd rather face a vampire nest alone than voice that thought aloud. 

“Bullshit,” Dean challenged. “I see the way you smile at him. I see how you sneak looks at him, especially on long drives. The way you laugh at his jokes–which are terrible, by the way. We all know I’m the funny one.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. As Dean continued on, you raised your beer from the table, taking a deep pull off of it as you turned your head over your shoulder and focused on the window to your left. It was getting fairly late now, the nearly full moon hanging low in the night sky. Just across the street you could see the Impala parked out front of the motel the three of you were staying at tonight, the red neon of the bright sign catching your attention.

“He likes you, too, you know,” Dean told you. 

You huffed out an unamused, bitter laugh at the thought. “Now that is some bullshit, Dean,” you muttered, still focused on the motel across the street. “He sees me like you do. As a little sister.”

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped. “Do you not see the way his face lights up whenever you stay up late with him to research a case? Or how excited he gets when you help him search online newspapers for a new job?”

“Because you never want to,” you replied, finally turning your attention to Dean. “I can’t let him be the only one doing all the work when we're on a job. And I’m sure he just appreciates getting the help.”

Dean pulled a face at you, shaking his head. “That’s definitely not it, I think I know my own brother. I mean, the man gets heart eyes when you find us a diner that has avocado toast on the menu.”

“Well we don’t all enjoy eating greasy burgers constantly,” you argued back. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Across the table from you, Dean’s eyes narrowed. Something smug crossed his features next and you found yourself growing a little more nervous at the sight. You didn’t believe him in the slightest about Sam, but you knew he was far too right about how you felt. And you didn't like that one bit.

“Then what about those times I’ve seen you both share a bed?” he questioned, that smug expression still on his face. “Countless times I’ve woken up to take a piss and I’ve found the pair of you cuddled up together looking rather cozy beneath the sheets.”

Your cheeks burned again as you ducked your head awkwardly, once more avoiding his probing gaze. Truthfully you’d never known what to make of those mornings yourself when you and Sam had woken up in bed wrapped around each other. Usually you both profusely apologized before one of you–usually you–bolted to the bathroom. And then nothing further was ever said after the fact.

“It’s not intentional,” you weakly replied. 

“You know,” Dean began in a cocky tone, “out of all the times I’ve shared a bed with you, we’ve never woken up like that. Pretty sure that says something.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you firmly countered.

“Just admit it already,” he pushed. “Stop trying to deny it. You have feelings for him.”

Eyes snapping shut at his determined persistence, your hand tightened hard around the neck of your beer bottle. You could feel the alcohol in your system beginning to cloud your mind, making you more easily irritated with Dean than you normally would’ve been if he had brought up this subject when you hadn’t already drank so much. 

“At the very least, you can admit it to me,” he continued. “Both of you are so damn stubborn, but I already know–”

“Yes, fine!” you snapped, eyes flying open as you glared across the table at Dean. “If it gets you to finally shut up about it, yes! I like Sam, alright? And I can’t stand watching him flirt with other women whenever we’re out because yeah, I wish it was me instead. So I drink a little extra to try to ignore how much it hurts me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

You were fuming as you glared at Dean, your jaw clenched tight as he sat there with a self-satisfied grin on his face. The sight of that grin confused you, somehow further growing your irritation at him and this topic. If he'd wanted to get a rise out of you tonight, he’d certainly succeeded.

“What?”

At the sound of the voice coming from just beside you, you abruptly stiffened in your seat. Mouth falling open as your eyes widened in shock, you instantly recognized that voice. Sam was apparently standing beside you and no longer sitting over at the bar, meaning he most likely had overheard what you'd just angrily admitted. Your heart immediately began to race in your chest, your palms beginning to dampen with sweat as embarrassment flooded you.

“Yeah,” Dean said, that amused little grin still on his mouth as his eyes glittered with mischief. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, actually.” His attention shifted to just over your shoulder, his expression never wavering. “Perfect timing there, too, Sammy. I’m guessing you caught all of that?”

Panic soon mixed with the embarrassment you felt, your body still rigid where you sat in the bar stool. You didn’t dare to look at Sam behind you as the urge to bolt out of the bar hit you strong and hard. 

This whole situation was mortifying. How were you supposed to go back to the motel and sleep in the same room with either of them after that? How were you supposed to share a bed with either of them? Or continue to even work together? It was one thing when you could pretend you were just friends with Sam and he had no clue about your actual feelings, but now that he knew? You felt like you were going to be sick with the way your stomach was twisting and churning.

You needed to get out of the bar. You needed to get away from the Winchesters. Far, far away.

Releasing your death grip on your beer bottle, both of your hands landed down hard on the table. Abruptly you pushed your bar stool back, the legs screeching along the bar floor. That roiling, sick feeling inside your gut only intensified as the seconds passed. As you rose to your unsteady feet, those beers in your system causing the room to spin just a little around you, you caught the way Dean’s expression finally changed. The smug, self-satisfied look shifted to something like concern as his brows drew together.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“I need to go,” you blurted.

Grabbing your bag from off of the bar stool beside you, you flung the strap of it over your shoulder. Still avoiding looking at Sam who’d remained entirely silent, you spun on your heel towards the bar’s exit and made your way straight to it. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean exclaimed behind you. “Where do you think you're going?”

You didn't respond. Instead, your sluggish and somewhat inebriated mind was quickly trying to piece some sort of escape plan together. Maybe you could call a cab and get a ride to another motel for the night. You could probably book a flight and head out to Bobby’s place tomorrow and get yourself sorted with a vehicle with his help. It wasn’t like you’d needed to hunt with the Winchesters, after all. For now you’d go back to the motel across the street and grab your duffle bag and wait for a car to come pick you up. When you were safely away from the brothers you’d shoot Dean a text to let him know you were planning to do your own thing so he wouldn’t worry–but you weren’t going to mention going to Bobby’s. You didn’t need them showing up there on you.

Pushing the door of the bar open, you exited the building in a hurry, still ignoring the sound of Dean calling after you. The cool air of the late summer night brushed over your cheeks as you briskly made your way towards the street. The bright red neon of the motel sign was like a beacon of safety right now, drawing you towards it and away from Sam and Dean and the disaster that your night had unexpectedly taken. 

It was quieter outside of the bar as you walked, the lack of extra noise allowing the panicked, anxious thoughts in your head to grow even louder. You couldn’t believe Dean had been such an asshole tonight, intentionally goading you into not only admitting you had feelings for his brother, but pushing you into confessing it within earshot of him without you even knowing. He’d ruined everything by doing that. 

And now you were left with no choice but to go back to hunting alone again. Just you by yourself. The thought had tears pricking at your eyes. Ever since you’d decided to work together with the brothers, hunting and living life on the road had been far less lonely, even if you’d had to deal with your one-sided feelings for Sam. But now it would once more just be you again. With no one to watch your back or shoulder the burden of driving. No one to play amusing games of twenty questions on long car rides, to keep you on your toes with ridiculous pranks, or to keep you company as you ate all your meals on the go. No more Sam to shoot you warm smiles that never failed to brighten your day, or to help patch you up whenever you got hurt.

Roughly wiping the back of your hand across your cheeks, you attempted to remove the few tears that had fallen. With a soft sniffle you fought the urge to continue crying down as you approached room number eight, the room the three of you had rented just before heading over to the bar for a few drinks. Unzipping your purse, you stuck your hand inside and dug around, feeling for the room key. It was a moment before your fingers found it and you pulled it out of your bag. 

Quickly unlocking the door, you pushed it open and stepped inside, shutting it behind you a little harder than necessary. Wasting no time, you tossed your room key onto the small, round table positioned next to the outdated and worn armchair in the room before making your way over to your bag where you’d earlier tossed it onto one of the queen beds. Taking a moment to unzip it, you made sure everything you needed was still packed inside. Satisfied that everything was still there, you sat down onto the end of the bed before reaching back into your purse. You pulled out your cell phone and unlocked the screen, but you hadn't even had a chance to search for a local car service before the motel door swung open. 

Head darting over your shoulder at the abrupt noise, you were surprised to find Sam's tall frame filling the doorway. He stood there staring at you for a moment, a hard to read expression on his face as his lips thinned into a straight line. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding under his gaze. You saw Sam's focus shift to your duffle bag where it sat at your side on the bed before his eyes dropped down to the phone in your hands. It looked as if he'd winced before he focused back on you. 

“What’re you doing?” he asked softly.

Swallowing hard, you watched as he entered the room, carefully closing the motel door behind himself and leaving the pair of you very much alone. You could feel your heart beating harder in your chest as he slowly made his way across the room towards you, another pained look on his face when he saw the room key you'd tossed onto the table.

“Are you…leaving?” he asked slowly, his sad eyes meeting yours once more.

Awkwardly biting your bottom lip, not sure you could trust your voice, you nodded. When his expression further fell, you felt like someone had punched you right in the stomach. He looked so unexpectedly hurt at the news.

“Why?” he asked next, voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you leave?”

Silently you watched as Sam lowered himself onto the foot of the bed next to yours. He was looking at you with such raw emotion on his face that it had you feeling tears beginning to well in your own eyes again. You couldn't understand why he looked so upset, which only had you feeling guilty for almost disappearing on them without a word tonight.

Shrugging lightly at his question, your eyes dropped back down to your phone that you were clutching tight in both of your hands. You didn't want to have this conversation, especially not with Sam.

“Because you weren't supposed to hear any of what I’d said to Dean,” you quietly confessed. “And now things are going to be awkward and weird between us.”

“What do you mean?” he pressed. “How would things be awkward and weird?”

“Because I like you!” you blurted, your watery gaze flying towards where he sat on the other bed. The beers you'd drank earlier had fully loosened your tongue, the words easily flowing from your mouth now that Sam had already learned the truth. “And now you know that I don't just see you as a friend or a hunting partner. And I definitely don’t see you like a big brother despite you and Dean seeing me like a little sister. And that’s embarrassing , Sam! You weren't supposed to hear any of that! Now there’s no way that I can just keep traveling with you both. I can't sit in the car with you for hours on end pretending I don’t have feelings anymore. I can’t share a motel room with you, let alone share a bed with you ever again!”

Sam's eyes narrowed, his dark brows furrowing at what you'd said as if he was confused. But just as he'd opened his mouth to say something in response, you barreled on, not giving him the opportunity as the words continued to spill out of you.

“So I'm just going back to hunting alone,” you told him. “I think that's better for everyone. Certainly better than making everyone uncomfortable by continuing to work together. I’d rather go back to being on the road by myself than–”

“Whoa, hang on,” Sam said, raising a hand and finally cutting you off.

You paused, eyeing him nervously as he waved his hand in the space between the pair of you. He was shaking his head, his features tightened together as if he was in thought. 

“So you're what? Just going to run away now?” he asked. “Without even saying anything first? Not even a goodbye or an explanation?”

Your gaze guiltily dropped down to the phone in your hands. “I was going to send a text,” you murmured.

“Did it ever occur to you at any point to hear what I might have to say?” he questioned. “That maybe you might be wrong?”

Pulling a face, you glanced back up at him. He'd leaned closer towards you from his place on the end of the other bed, a softness reflecting in his hazel eyes that you hadn't ever seen before in them. It had your heart nearly skipping in your chest. 

“Wrong about what?” you asked.

A small, unexpected smile pulled at the corner of his lips, something about it seeming almost timid. Your stomach nervously flipped inside of you at the sight of it. Vaguely you wondered what he could have possibly meant, but you remained silent, lost in the tender way he was staring back at you. A way he’d never quite looked at you before.

“That I view you like a little sister,” he answered softly. “Or that things would be weird between us now that I know how you actually feel about me. Wrong about needing to run off and be on your own again because things would be uncomfortable.”

“But Sam–”

“And wrong to think that I don't have feelings for you,” he finished. 

You sucked in a sharp breath at his words, your lips parting in surprise. For a moment you were too shocked to speak, stunned into a brief silence as you studied that unfamiliar look of fondness on his face. It wasn't one you'd seen before. 

“You–you what?” you stammered out.

Sam’s smile widened a little more, the shyness disappearing from his face as he nodded. “I’ve had feelings for you for a while now. Ever since we finished that exorcism out in Georgia.”

Face scrunching up in thought, your attention dropped back down to the phone in your hands as you tried to think back to when you’d all last been in Georgia dealing with a demon. It took you a moment to finally recall the job.

“But that was…months ago,” you said slowly, your eyes once more meeting Sam’s. “About a month after I officially joined you guys on the road back at Bobby’s.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, rising up from his place at the edge of the bed. “Truthfully I’d had a crush on you when we first met in Indiana. During that haunting we all wound up accidentally working together.” 

Sam crossed the small space between the beds before carefully sitting down on the bed beside you. The weight of him dipped the mattress once he sat, causing your body to inevitably slide a little towards him. Heat crept up your neck at his close proximity, aware that his thigh was mere inches from yours now. Trying to keep your breathing even as it started to come in a little shallow, you averted your gaze from his, setting your phone off to the side of yourself.

“I…didn’t know that,” you said.

“I didn’t want you to,” Sam admitted. “Figured I probably wouldn’t be seeing you again after that, even though we’d all exchanged numbers once the job was finished. But then you’d unexpectedly shown up at Bobby’s months later looking for help with a vamp nest. And when we’d officially decided to work together after that job–” Sam shrugged, his shoulder lightly bumping against yours as he did. “Well, I figured it would be easier to work together if I kept my distance.”

“So you mean,” you began slowly, turning your attention back on Sam at your side, “that all this time you’d actually felt the same?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

“But–but what about the women I’ve seen you flirt with?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “The woman at the bar tonight? That waitress the other week in Kentucky? I thought you liked them?”

Sam quirked a brow at you, his head tilting a little to the side as he shot you a questioning look. “What about that guy who bought you a drink last month in Texas? Or the police officer in Montanna who gave you his number? Were you interested in them?”

You frowned at his question, shaking your head. “No,” you told him. “It was just nice to be noticed for once, I guess.”

Sam grinned at you, laughing lightly as he did. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

A silence fell between the pair of you, your mind racing at everything you’d just learned tonight. You hadn’t expected the night to go the way it had, especially with Sam showing up and admitting that he’d also had feelings for you. But as you sat there trying to process everything, you realized he was steadily leaning in closer to you on the bed, his eyes occasionally flickering towards your mouth. Once more you felt your pulse quicken.

“So now what?” you asked him.

“Well,” Sam began in a hushed tone, his eyes once more dropping down towards your lips before meeting your gaze again, “I’m guessing you’re not still planning to run off on your own, are you?”

He leaned in another inch closer and you found yourself struggling to form a coherent thought. Was he doing what you thought he was? Was he going to kiss you?

“No,” you breathed out.

“Then how about tomorrow morning I take you out for coffee?” he suggested. “Before Dean wakes up. Just you and I?”

He’d leaned in even further now, his face so close you were actively refraining from closing the small distance between yourselves and just kissing him. You could feel the soft exhalations of his warm breath brushing over your cheek every time he breathed and it was making you dizzy.

“I’d like that,” you whispered. 

The corners of his mouth curled even higher before his hand rose up, gently grasping your chin with his fingers and carefully tilting your mouth towards his. His nose lightly bumped against the tip of yours and your eyes instinctively closed at the touch. Tongue darting out to nervously lick your lips, you could feel how hard your heart was pounding, feeling as if the organ itself had somehow jumped up into your throat in anticipation of a kiss.

After a moment you were unable to hold back any longer, his warm breath still rhythmically cascading over your skin had already driven you mad with want. Losing the battle against your self-control, you leaned in and finally connected your lips to his. The kiss was somewhat hesitant at first, your mouth moving carefully against his soft lips as if you were unsure of how he’d react at first. But Sam’s mouth responded to yours with such a firm certainty that you soon melted right into him, your body sinking closer to his on the mattress. His fingers quickly released your chin, his hand soon coming to cradle the back of your head as he kissed you more passionately. There was no denying the way he felt about you with the way his lips were moving against yours right now.

Losing yourself in the moment, your hands flew up and latched onto his broad shoulders. Nails digging into his plaid shirt, you drew him closer to the front of yourself as the heat of his body warmed you in more ways than one. He smelled so good–like a mix of leather from the Impala’s seats, a hint of something like cedarwood from his soap, and a bit of gunpowder from earlier’s hunt. You couldn’t seem to get enough of him, your own mouth heatedly matching the pace of his.

Sam’s other hand was soon gripping your hip tight, tugging you towards himself and almost straight into his lap as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. You’d only barely loosed a faint moan against his mouth at the feel of it before he gradually pulled away, breaking the kiss. Chest heaving as you’d tried to catch your breath, your eyelids slowly fluttered open. Sam’s face hovered just before yours, an obvious flush to his cheeks as he grinned back at you. You couldn’t fight back the smile that broke out across your own face at the sight.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed.

“Yeah,” you said, still attempting to catch your breath from your place now halfway in his lap. “Me too.”

“So uh,” Sam began, clearing his throat a little as his hand left its place cradling the back of your head, both of them now gripping your hips firmly in his large palms, “does this mean we always get to share a bed now?”

Nails still digging into his solid shoulders, you shot him a grin. “If you want,” you replied. “But does that also mean it's not weird if we actually cuddle in bed now?”

A wide smile broke out across his face, somehow making him look even more handsome than usual. The sight nearly knocked the breath out of you. 

“Definitely not weird, no,” he answered. 

Easing your grip on his shoulders, you tentatively wrapped your arms around his neck. When he only continued to smile back at you, you relaxed even further against him.

“So…should we head back to the bar?” you reluctantly suggested. “Let Dean know everything is good?”

“Nah,” Sam said, shaking his head. “He'll figure it out. I think I'd rather enjoy the rare alone time we have suddenly found ourselves with.”

Arching a curious brow at him, you watched as a mischievous smile slipped onto his mouth and lit up his face. Without warning, his hands on your hips tugged you forward and entirely onto his lap. A soft, surprised gasp fell out of you as your arms wrapped even tighter around his shoulders, keeping you steady after the abrupt movement.

“What're you up to, Sam Winchester?” you asked, gazing down at him from your place on his lap.

“I guess you'll just have to wait and see,” he said, shooting you a wink. 

A light laugh escaped you before it was quieted by Sam’s mouth once more crashing onto yours. All thoughts of anything but the way Sam’s large hands had begun roaming their way beneath the back of your shirt quickly left your mind.

pls rb if you think cuddling doesn't have to be s3xual

im tryna prove a point to my bf's mother help me out

Gosh I've read so many fantastic fics today! The authors of AO3 and Tumblr are blessing me 🙏

AHHH reader got kidnapped (YAY), the drama is increasing, the plot is thickening, and the plot is spinning. I can't wait for more!!

You are amazing, thanks for this beautiful chapter, and Take Care! <3

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Sixteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smut and angst. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4k

A/N : 😅😅😅

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Sixteen

You tried to wipe away your tears but your hand was trembling too much, and the moment you heard the elevator moving it only got worse. In the three minutes that followed your brief conversation with Lissa, you’d changed your mind at least a hundred times and you were already practising all the ways that you might tell her that you didn’t want to leave after all. 

You didn’t want to go, you didn’t want to leave Billy, but you knew you had to.

That thought was what would carry you through this difficult moment. You didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to turn his life more upside down than you had already. This was best for both of you.

By the time the doors slid open and Lissa stepped into the penthouse, you’d managed to force yourself into a calm and detached state, not wanting to make it any harder than it needed to be. Your suitcase was at her side and on top of it was the outfit you’d been wearing when you arrived, neatly folded for you.

Lissa was silent for a moment, taking a measure of you but, somehow, you kept your nerve.

“You’re aware that once you do this you will not be able to change your mind?” She asked, finally, as if she’d decided that you were serious about it.

“I am.”

“And you’re aware that you will receive no compensation for your time?”

“I know,” you answered, forcing the words past the lump in your throat.

“Are you sure you have everything that you wish to take with you? Once you leave, there is no coming back.”

It was then that you realised that there was something you wanted, something that you just couldn’t leave behind.

You quickly excused yourself, half-jogging back to your bedroom, taking your clothes with you. After quickly changing, you found yourself looking at your bed, your heart broke knowing that you couldn’t take the large bear with you, but you grabbed the stuffed beagle, Bill, and clutched it to your chest, trying to ignore the tears that were starting to well in the corners of your eyes.

You took a minute before stepping back out into the penthouse and facing Lissa again. She gave you a curious look when she noticed the stuffed toy but didn’t say anything.

“There’s something I need you to do for me before I go,” you said, barely managing to hold her cold gaze, “I need Karen Page’s phone number.”

“Of course,” Lissa answered, giving a wave of her hand towards the elevator.

For a second you froze, not wanting to move, not wanting to leave. All you could think about was Billy and how heartbroken he’d be when he realised you were gone. Even if it was for the best in the long run, there was no way of doing this without causing him pain and you hated yourself for that. But it was better to hurt him now than spend decades at his side only to slip away due to age or illness.

“I take it you didn’t discuss this with Mr Russo,” Lissa offered, watching you as you finally took a step and started towards the elevator.

“No, I didn’t.” Those three little words conveyed far more shame than you would have liked.

“It’s not my place to ask why but -” for the first time since you’d met her, Lissa seemed to be thinking twice about speaking her mind, “- I was starting to think you might actually make it through the whole year.”

You knew what she was trying to ask; she wanted to know what happened, she wanted to know what he’d done to finally push you over the edge. You’d made it past the six months mark though, by this point, you’d broken pretty much all of the rules.

“I thought the job would be easier than it is,” was all you dared to offer as the elevator doors slid shut, trying to distract yourself by shoving Bill the Beagle into the top of your suitcase, leaving his head poking out.

“As far as I’m aware, Mr Russo has been happy with your service, perhaps if you were speak to him -”

“No, please, I - I just want to leave.” you abruptly interrupted, before struck with an uncomfortable thought. “Have you spoken to him?”

“No. Staying has always been your choice and it is not Mr Russo’s place to try and influence that decision. I will however have to inform him of your resignation the moment you leave the building.”

If you didn’t know any better, you might have assumed that she was trying to talk you out of leaving, as if she could see through all the bullshit and knew exactly what was going on. Dread coiled in your stomach at the thought of him hearing the news from Lissa. You’d at least hoped you’d be able to ask Karen to be the one to drop the bombshell.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t at least like to wait until morning?” She asked a moment later. “If you need somewhere to stay or tickets arranged, I could -”

“No. It’s fine, Karen offered me a place to stay if I needed it.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either; she had offered you a place, but you had no intention of staying there. 

The elevator door opened and you stepped out in the atrium. Lissa handed you your phone which, surprisingly, still had charge. (Perhaps she’d kept it charged so it would be ready in case you ever needed to leave.) Then she gave you Karen’s number and wished you good luck. 

You felt sick as you slowly started towards the doors, suddenly terrified of the outside world and a life without Billy. You didn’t dare look back until you were outside and your stomach nearly turned itself inside out when you saw Lissa lifting her phone to her ear. All you could think about was Billy, how angry and devastated he would be to hear that you were gone.

Your own phone was buzzing non-stop, alert after alert from six months of messages, voicemails, missed calls and social media notifications. It was almost enough to make you switch the damned thing off again.

Taking a breath, you called Karen, briefly explaining the situation, and asking her to meet you at the bar she’d taken you to before hailing a taxi. On the ride there, your phone started to light up with an unknown number, over and over again. Your heart threatened to stop when you realised that it must be Billy. The number appeared over and over, then the text messages started, pleading with you to answer, asking you not to leave.

Karen was waiting for you outside Josie’s when you got out of the taxi, her arms folded across her chest, and the look on her face was anything but happy.

“What the fuck is going on?” She asked, looking at you and then at the suitcase at your side.

“I’m leaving, I just wanted -”

“I know that part,” she almost snapped, “Frank told me. He says Billy’s worried sick.”

Again, you found your stomach knotting, suddenly feeling sick. Maybe it had been a mistake to want to see Karen, maybe you should have just left town.

“Does he know we’re here?” You dared to ask, hoping that he wasn’t going to show up and stop you from leaving.

“No. I told them I’d talk to you but that if you really wanted to leave, I’d let you go,” she said, not exactly sounding happy about it.

The relief you felt was palpable and Karen seemed to notice. For a moment more she just stared at you before finally relenting and ushering you into the bar for a drink. 

You sat at a table by the window, aware from the noisier patrons, your eyes moving to the door every time that it opened. Karen sat opposite you, cradling a drink and waiting for you to start talking and, eventually, you did. You told her everything - everything that Billy had told you and everything that had happened between you - and she quietly listened, barely holding back the growing confusion on her face until you were finally done.

“So you fixed things with him, slept with him, told him you love him, and then you snuck away the moment he left for work?” She didn’t sound impressed, and when she put things that way, you couldn’t blame her.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you tried to explain.

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

“You don’t understand...” you tried again, “you didn’t hear him when he told me how scared he was of losing me, how I was going to grow old and die, and how he’d be left on his own.”

“You’re leaving him on his own now,” she said, stating the obvious and making you feel worse. “And what about your family? What’s the actual plan here?”

“I... I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’ve got enough to get a bus ticket out of the city and then... I guess I’ll just see where I end up.”

“You know there’s only one place you can end up if you do this. If the Maggia are looking for you -”

“I know,” your voice broke, “but what choice do I have? This thing with Billy, I can’t let it get any deeper. I can’t do that to him.”

“What about -”

Her phone started to ring and your heart stuttered when you saw his name on the screen. You looked at her with pleading eyes, but it didn’t stop her from answering the call. Your gaze dropped to the table as she started to speak.

“Yes, she’s here with me, she’s -” you could almost hear him frantically speaking over her, “- she’s safe. Yes, I’m -” she stopped and looked at you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Despite the way you shook your head, Karen still held out the phone to you. You refused for a few seconds before finally taking it from her.

“Billy...”

“Please don’t do this,” he pleaded.

“I can’t stay, I -”

“Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry.” He said, and the hurt in his voice caused your eyes to well with tears. “I - I love you. I should’ve said it back, I should’ve just told you that -”

“No, Billy, it’s not that,” you interrupted.

“Then what? Why are you doing this?”

“Because you were right. I don’t want to be a vampire and I don’t want to make you watch me grow old and die,” you told him, trying to stay strong.

“I’d rather have you for sixty years than just six months. Please, hummingbird, I know what I’m getting myself into, we can -”

“I kissed Matt.” It fell from your lips and caused Billy to immediately fall silent and Karen to glare at you. Your cheeks warmed and your stomach continued to twist and churn, and you wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“What?” He finally asked.

“The night of the party, we kissed -” you sighed, “- I’ve broken all of your rules, Billy. All I’ve done since I’ve got here is cause problems for you and all your friends and I’m so tired of feeling like I’m in the way, like I can’t even look after myself.”

Your gaze was fixed on the table again, not wanting to see what Karen thought about any of this.

“No, you’re wrong. No one thinks that. I don’t think that. I can’t let you go. I won’t,” he tried to tell but all you could hear was your own heartbeat echoing in your ears, “I don’t care what you did. I’m coming to get you, I’m -”

“Goodbye, Billy.” 

Without further warning, you hung up, put the phone on the table and got to your feet.

“Where are you going?” Karen asked.

“You told him where we are, didn’t you?”

“What? You heard me talking to him, I never -”

“He said he’s coming to get me. I heard him getting into a car.” 

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. Even though she’d always tried to be there for you, Karen was Billy’s friend before she was yours and you didn’t want to blame her for protecting him, but it stung. You’d wanted more time, you’d wanted to be able to say goodbye properly.

“Look, if this is really what you want, then I won’t let him take you back,” Karen told you. “But you should at least talk to him.”

“I just did,” you answered, hating how difficult this was becoming. “Please, just let me go. This is best for everyone.”

“Wait -”

“I’m sorry, Karen. I can’t,” you tried so damned hard to keep yourself from falling apart. “Please, don’t follow me.”

She tried to say something, but you didn’t wait to hear it. You headed for the door.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you almost walked into someone. Or, rather they almost walked into you.

”In a hurry?” 

The voice sparked a glimmer of recognition in you, a memory that you could only half remember. When you looked, your stomach turned itself inside out.

”Oh, so you do remember me?” Krista smiled, her hand wrapping around your arm. “Come on now, let’s not make a scene.”

At first you tried to pull away from her, but then her eyes caught yours and she spoke again. Everything around you seemed to melt away and, soon enough, it felt like Krista was the only other person in the whole wide world, and the only thing you wanted to do was whatever she asked you to.

”You want to come with me,” she told you, her tone soothing, convincing. “You want me to take you away from all of your problems. You want to be free of this whole mess.”

As much as you wanted to fight it, you found yourself stepping towards the curb, your suitcase and purse quickly abandoned as you were ushered into the back of a limousine before you came to your senses and realised what a mistake you’d made.

“I told you there was nowhere you could run that I wouldn’t find you,” he smiled at you as Krista closed the door behind you and watched as the limo pulled away from the curb, leaving you trapped with him.

***************************

He’d been staring at the clock for over an hour and, every time he looked away, he was sure it skipped back a couple of minutes. Frank was still talking. He’d been talking non-stop since he’d first walked in Billy’s office, starting with the boring financial stuff and then going on to trying to update him on a couple of Anvil’s on-going missions.

But Billy didn’t care about any of that. 

All he could think about was you, picturing you curled up in his bed, waiting for him to get home.

He was thinking about the way you’d moaned his name, how good it had felt to come inside you, and how much he was looking forward to doing it all over and over again.

“You even listenin’ to me?” Frank barked, jolting Billy from his thoughts.

“Yeah, Frankie, the senator wants security for his fundraiser,” Billy answered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes and affect a smart-ass tone about it. “And congressman Steven’s is -”

His heart threatened to stop the moment his phone lit up with Lissa’s name. He couldn’t think why she’d be calling, unless something had happened.

Had you been hurt? Were you sick? Panic and dread warred inside of him as he answered the phone, but nothing prepared him for what came next. He answered frantically, nothing giving her a chance to speak at first, asking if something had happened, if something was wrong.

Lissa explained the situation, telling him that you’d left.

Billy was beside himself at the news.

“You didn’t try to stop her?” He demanded, ignoring the look that Frank was giving him from across the room.

“My job is to ensure that the letter of the law is followed in these arrangements, you know I am not allowed to hold people against their wills,” Lissa answered back curtly. “I did, however, ensure that she had Ms Page’s number.”

“Karen? She’s gone to Karen?”

Mention of Karen suddenly had Frank’s attention.

Lissa started to say something but Billy quickly cut her off, thanking her for letting him know and quickly hanging up.

“The fuck’s goin’ on, Bill?” Frank asked, and Billy quickly explained.

“Call Karen, find out where the hell she is,” he told his friend, his desperation quickly prompting Frank into action.

While Frank tried to get through to Karen, Billy found your number on your employment records and started to call you, getting nothing but a full voicemail. Then he started to text.

Please, let’s talk about this.

Don’t leave me.

I don’t want you to go.

Why are you doing this?

Please, talk to me.

“Karen won’t tell me where they’re meetin’,” Frank sighed, “says she wants to talk to her first and find out what’s goin’ on.”

“Can we track her phone?”

“I’m not lettin’ you track Karen’s phone, Bill. You outta your fuckin’ mind?” 

“Damn right I’m out of my mind,” Billy snapped. “I can’t lose her. I’m not going to lose her. Not now.”

He kept trying to call you, kept sending messages, thinking over all the places that you might end up. Eventually, he tried calling Karen and was genuinely shocked when she answered. In the background he could hear the tell tale sounds of a bar; people talking, music, and the clatter of a pool table.

“Is she with you? Is she okay? Is she safe? Has she told you what’s going on?” Billy didn’t give Karen any time to answer. “You’re at that place in Hell’s Kitchen, aren’t you? The place with the pool tables - the one you and Murdock go to. Josie’s.”

And, a second later, Karen said yes.

“Put her on, let me talk to her. Please, Karen,” he pleaded. “I need to talk to her.”

He was already halfway out of his office when he heard your voice, and the conversation that followed caused his chest to ache. No matter what he said, you seemed set on leaving him, and Billy couldn’t let you. He couldn’t just give up without a fight.

He didn’t even realise that Frank was following him to the parking lot until you hung up on him.

“Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this, Frankie,” Billy warned as he got into his car.

“I’m just comin’ along to make sure you don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

It didn’t take long to reach Josie’s. You’d only been gone five minutes by the time he got there. Both men were rushing towards the door, hoping that, somehow, Karen had managed to keep you there, but Billy stopped in the street. Something caught his attention; an abandoned suitcase and purse by the curb.

“Bill, what’s -” Frank started, watching Billy veer off.

“This is hers,” he said.

“How can you tell?” 

His heart almost stopped completely when he tugged Bill the Beagle out of the case.

“I gave her this.”

Frantically, he started looking up and down the street, trying to figure out where you might have gone and why you might have left your things behind. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. 

He barely heard Frank muttering something about Karen before charging into the bar to look for her.

Billy tried calling your phone, only for it to start ringing in your abandoned purse and he knew that there was no way that you would willingly leave your things like this. There was no way you’d take the stuff beagle from the penthouse if you didn’t want it anymore.

His ears started to ring, a sense of panic filling him. He’d lost you. You were gone and he was pretty sure that something bad had happened to you. He clutched the stuffed toy to his chest as his vision started to tunnel.

You were gone.

You were gone.

“No,” he muttered, “no-no-no...”

He could practically feel the thing inside of him clawing and trying to get out. You were his and you were gone. Someone had taken what was his and he would tear down the whole fucking city to get you back

A hand on his shoulder pulled him back from the brink, but it didn’t stop him from snarling, from grabbing Frank by the collar and shoving him backwards, lashing out for the sake of lashing out.

And then he saw Karen.

“Where is she?” His tone was sharp enough to cause her to step back. 

A moment later Frank had him by the throat, forcing him back.

“Get your shit together,” he told Billy, keeping a tight grip while Billy thrashed against him.

“Where is she?” He snarled again.

“I don’t know,” Karen answered, holding up her hands in surrender, trying to soothe him. “But we’re going to find her, okay?”

Billy kept squirming, kept fighting against Frank, desperate to rip and tear and shred his way across the city until you were safely in his arms again. Frank shook him, pushing him back until he was pressed against his car.

“You’re wastin’ time fuckin’ about like this, Bill,” he told him, “you want to save her, then you’re gonna have to calm the fuck down an' think rationally.”

Part of Billy knew that Frank was right, but the noise in his head felt too loud. He forced a couple of deep breaths, knowing that he couldn’t help you if he couldn’t figure out where you were.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’m fine. Let me go.”

Reluctantly, Frank let him go, but his eyes stayed fixed on Billy, watching his every move. Everyone knew that he wasn’t entirely back in control, but they all seemed to agree that they couldn’t waste any more time if they wanted to find you.

“What happened?” Billy asked, and Karen quickly recounted everything that had happened and everything you had told her.

“She asked me not to follow, so I didn’t,” Karen said. “I thought she was going to head to the bus station, but there’s no way she’d leave without her things, unless -”

She fell instantly silent, leaving both men staring at her.

“Unless what?” Billy prompted, his sharp tone earning him an equally sharp look of warning from Frank.

“She asked me not to tell you...”

“Karen, c’mon, she might be in danger,” Frank prompted before Billy could lose his temper again.

Karen sighed. “The guy that’s been claiming to be her fiance, he’s part of the Maggia.”

“What?” Billy dared to take a step forward, but immediately stopped when Frank tensed.

“Her parents owe him money. He wanted her as a partial payment. She didn’t want you to know,” She explained. “She didn't say a lot, but I know she’s scared of him.”

Billy felt sick. It felt like the world was spinning too fast and he was barely hanging on. All the little comments you’d made about not having a choice with this other guy slowly playing over in his mind. He had to get you back.

He had to kill whoever had taken you.

“How are we gonna find this prick?” Frank asked.

“I have an idea,” Karen offered, “but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card, handing it to Billy.

“Agent Dinah Madani, Homeland Security?” Billy read out. “Why the fuck do you have some Homeland agent’s card?”

“It’s a long fucking story and we really don’t have time for it,” Karen answered.

End Note : Sorry to keep ending things on cliffhangers. I'm not entirely doing it on purpose (just mostly). Thanks so much for all the lovely comments on the last chapter, I haven't had time to reply to things yet I'll hopefully try to do that later. As I said last week, I've been busy this week so I'm really behind 😅 As always thank you so much for reading/liking/commenting/reblogging and generally screaming about all of Billy and readers bad choices throughout this. Hope you have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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