The DRAMA!!! I Love It So Much!! I'm So Curious Where Carlisle Could Have Gone, Either He's Really Close

PLEASE IM LOSING IT AUTHOR!!! I need MORE 😭

This is a fantastic fic and a really cool spin on a winter soldier reader. I'm curious (if you still decide to make more) if we'd ever see Bucky. This is an awesome fic and I love reader's personality so much!!!

If you don't mind, could you add me to the tag list?

Thanks for this awesome fic <333

the albatross ii - matt murdock

a/n: my first part two! i really love odd reader shes my favorite person ever. uh i don't really have much else to add i just love their dynamic. sorry the beginning is kind of bad im trying to figure out how much i want to delve into readers past like that. also im going to start a taglist for this so let me know if you wanna be included :)) warnings: cursing, drinking, lots of talk of death, reader has a lot of insecurities, reader has boobs my bad, oh! like a very brief mention that reader has sexual trauma, and lots of talk of sex though nothing happens-- word count: 5.2k summary: if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, matt murdock is going to find her, and foggy nelson is going to suffer. pairing: matt murdock x winter soldier!reader the albatross series : i // ii now playing: the albatross - taylor swift "i'm the albatross/i swept in at the rescue/the devil that you know/looks now more like an angel/i'm the life you chose/and all this terrible danger"

September 19th, 1972

When you wake up, you’re freezing and out of breath. The initial moments after those long-term freezes were always frightening. You do not know how long it has been since you were taken, and part of you wonders if you ever will. You’re only ever conscious here, surrounded by generals and guards.

As soon as you wake up, a muzzle is clamped over your mouth. You’re a screamer, or at least you used to be. But now the muzzle is put on as a reminder that you are truly trapped and have no autonomy.

Someone will come in soon to say a list of words that will snap you out of your brain—Maybe snap is the wrong word. You will be locked out of your brain, conscious enough to know what you are doing but not at all in control.

You’re sitting in this big metal chair that might have scared you all those years ago, your arms strapped to the arms of the chair. The dimness of the room almost makes you scared as if you are a six-year-old who is afraid of the dark.

 A gruff looking man walks into the room, and behind him, you can see some soldiers dragging along an exhausted man, whose hair is long, but your eyes are drawn to him. Are there.. are there other people who are in the same situation as you?

In the back of your mind, a foreign emotion sparks, something that you cannot name at first, but then you find it— hope. Maybe hope is a strong word, maybe what you should be feeling is dread, that the things you are being forced into are happening to some other poor soul. You almost want to throw up when you realize it, but like everything else in your exhausting existence, you are ripped out of your thought by commanding forces around you. The man in front of you follows your eyeline to see you watching the man, and you think you see him grimace.

You have found something that was meant to always be a secret from you. You recall a foggy memory that isolation is the key to abuse.

The man nods towards you, and suddenly, you feel a violent shock go through your body as the man wills you to forget the small detail that you will hang on to for as long as humanly possible.

When a second jab of shockwaves hits you, you black out for a few seconds, only—

• • •

You sit up in bed, gasping or air as you try to orient yourself. Your hands come up to push sweaty hair out of your face, and you grip it tight to try and ground yourself. Your heart is racing as you take deep breaths in your nose and out of your mouth, not wanting to spiral into a panic attack.

You get up from bed to go shower, before changing your now drenched in sweat sheets, and it’s only then do you turn on your light and grab the book you’ve been reading.

You sit on the floor next to your bed, feeling disgusting and upset. You try to read, but you are rereading the same paragraph repeatedly. After twenty minutes of that, you grab your flip phone off the bedside table and dial Matt’s number.

You know it’s four in the morning. He’s asleep. He has to be up for work in the morning, but you cannot help it. You have been seeing the handsome stranger for a little under a month, and he has become your drug.

But there’s a couple of things.

First, you are still lying to him. He has no idea about your time as who is known in government circles as “The Midnight Agent”, and he has no idea that you will never be able to give him the life he deserves. Hell, you haven’t even spent the night with him, your relationship has been the definition of taking it slow.

Which leads to this: You have not slept with the man.

Back in 1945, you were surrounded by purity culture. Sure, you could have had a handsome soldier in your bed, but there was a part of you that always felt guilty when you looked to your large catholic family who were always insistent on saving yourself for marriage.

But you recall the memories of your time trapped, of guards who went unchecked and memories of men who took advantage of the fact that you were brainwashed, and how you might freakout if Matt’s hands wander too far..

And you recall Matt’s comment on your first date, about how he thought a long time to go without a date was a few months.

He picks up the phone before your thoughts can spiral any further.

“Hey, baby. You okay?” His voice is thick with sleep, and you feel a pang of guilt for waking him up. But you also melt at the simple pet name, not quite used to it yet.

“Hi.. I’m sorry I woke you up..”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He lies, “You didn’t..”

“Liar.”

“Okay, you got me.” He chuckles softly, “But seriously, it’s okay. What’s up?” He asks, and you let out this sigh. What to tell him, what not to tell him..

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Wanted to hear your voice. I tried to read The Outsiders, but I couldn’t focus.” You cannot seem to do anything right..

“Okay.” He says gently, “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“..Not really..”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

“Sorry..”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You pause. It’s a good question.

“I dunno..” And then after a few moments you ask, “Matt?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is it okay that we haven’t had sex yet?” The question eats at you. You recall Matt’s assumption that a ‘while’ since your last date had meant a few months. You’re worried that you’re not satisfying him and that he’ll get bored. Bored of you, bored of your quirks and oddities, bored of all of it.

And you don’t know when you’ll be okay to have sex with him, or if you’ll even be able to make it all the way through when you get to that point. And it’s eating you up— You could at least be good at something if you insist on being odd and bizarre throughout this whole relationship.

“Of course it’s okay,” He promised, “Why wouldn’t that be okay?” Sure, Matthew had his fair share of partners in the day, but this was different— You weren’t just a date to him, you were fascinating. If he hadn’t been such a realist, he might have accused you of being a time traveler.

And sure, sometimes he thought about you, about being buried between your thighs, about making you shake and cry with pleasure, and about how well he could fill you up..

But those lewd thoughts always take a backseat to how utterly interesting you are— Your odd taste in ice cream, odd movie and book tastes, the way you speak, some of the things you say..

“Because you’re hot,” you blurt out and then sigh. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re so fucking handsome and I can’t even..” The words die out in your mouth, as you curl up into yourself on your floor, holding the phone pressed tightly against your ear.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to sleep with you to know that I care about you.” He promises. “Do you want me to come over? Maybe you’ll sleep better if we’re together.” He says softly.

You hesitate, looking around your apartment. If you had a nightmare, he’d question what happened.. But on the other hand, you were fucking exhausted, and maybe Handsome Matthew would be the trick to you getting some sleep.

“Sure.. but uh.. My apartment’s super messy..” You confess, and he just chuckles.

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll bother me.” He teases, and you laugh.

“Right, Right.. Sorry..” You say. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“See you soon.” He promises, and as soon as he hangs up, you immediately get up and start shuffling around to clean your apartment.

You do the dishes, you throw all your dirty clothes in the hamper, you make your bed with pristine edge and of course.. You grab the gun you keep under your pillow and stuff it right next to your vibrator next to your fuzzy socks.

You’re finally finishing up with your minor chores when you hear a knock at the door. You open it and have to take a beat to catch your breath since Matthew looks especially good with his grey sweatpants and black sweatshirt.

He grins at you, leaning into greet you with a kiss as he steps into the apartment.

“So, this is where the magic happens, huh?” He asks, and you smile bashfully.

“Something like that.” You shrug, letting him lead you through the apartment. His cane tip-taps against the floor, and your hands come up to rub your arms. It is your apartment, and yet, you feel absolutely exposed. “Uh, just… Keep going straight and the bedroom is on the right. Do you need anything?” You ask, unsure if he has some weird hypervigilant bedtime routine at.. you know.. Four in the morning.

His cane shifts hands and he holds his free hand out behind him, for you to take.

“Just you.” Your face flushes as you take his hand,

“You’re such a flirt.” And he laughs.

“How can I help myself when I’m in a pretty girl’s place?” he asks, and you go to answer but he leans against the wall right next to the doorframe, dropping his duffle bag and cane in favor of pulling you close, your chest against his. Your breath catches and he smirks as if he can see your flustered nature.

“You’re a decent young man,” you start, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to grab people?”

“No, the nuns never mentioned that.” He does that adorable half chuckle before tilting his head. “Why? Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?”

Your face flushes.

“Everything makes me nervous, Matthew, you know that.” You accuse and he laughs again, nodding.

“Yeah, maybe I do know that. Seems familiar.” He hums, his grip on you loosening a bit. He presses another kiss to your lips. “Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.” You don’t protest, simply grabbing his hand and pulling him along to bed. He’s more than happy to follow you through.

You find yourself laying in the bed, and he’s standing to the side as if he’s staring at you. You raise an eyebrow to him.

“What? What is it?” You ask, and he quickly moves, jumping on top of you. You laugh a bit to hide your nerves, and he grins. He leans down and presses a long kiss to your lips before whispering,

“If we never have sex, I’ll still stay with you forever.” He says gently, and your face is deeply flushed.

“Forever?” You ask gently. He nods, leaning down and pressing another kiss to your lips.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says gently, and then, he rolls over and lays next to you. His hand finds yours and he laces his fingers with yours. You look at him for a long time, just holding his hand. “What is it?” he asks softly, glancing over to you.

“I just..” you laugh a bit. “I’ve never had a boy in my bed before.” You confess, and he laughs, his arms wrapping around you.

“You’re so odd.” He says softly, his hands finding your hair to play with it gently. “I love it.”

• • •

And this is how you spend your early morning. You sleep soundly in the arms of the one who loves you, something you have never had the privilege of before.

You slip out of bed rather early considering that you don’t have work today. But you can’t help yourself, you find yourself making breakfast for Matt. Pancakes, sausage, and coffee, just for him. At some point, he calls out to you,

“Hey, babe, where’s the shower?” And it’s rather domestic, in a way that makes you both uncomfortable and giddy. At the same time. Weird.

“Uh, right across the hall from the bedroom,” you tell him. And after about twenty minutes, Matt comes out to the kitchen. He’s dressed for work, but his tie is undone, sitting on his neck. His jacket hangs over his arms, and for a minute, you are just as you were always meant to be—

A young woman, in love with a man who has a good career, who loves you and is kind, whom you cook breakfast for and anxiously wait for him to get home.

And before you can stop yourself, you walk on over to him and begin to fix his tie, and he tilts his head.

“Where’d you learn to tie a tie on someone else?” he asks curiously. Your brain flashes to the soldiers who were never taught to tie a tie, so you learned, making sure to help them make sure their uniforms were in pristine condition.

But better than telling your boyfriend about that, you settle on a different truth.

“Needed to tie my brother’s tie a lot before work.” You settle on, and he smiles. That was the first time you had mentioned any of your family, so he just nods.

“What was his name?” ‘Was’ is a cruel but accurate detail.

“Anthony.” You tell him, finishing your work on his tie. Then, you press a kiss to his cheek. “Ready for breakfast?” He smiles and nods, as you direct him towards your table.

Yes, even though you ate mac and cheese while sitting on the floor when you first met him, you do own a table.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes and sausage. Oh, and Coffee,” You tell him. You serve breakfast and sit across from him, placing a jar of jam on the table as well as syrup. When you pop the lid off the jam, Matt tilts his head.

“Why do I smell strawberry jam?” He questions, and you just raise an eyebrow.

“For my pancakes?”

He begins to laugh.

“This is what I mean when I say you’re odd. The only other person I know who’d do that is my dad, who learnt it from my grandparents.” He tells you. You shrug.

“I grew up with jam. Syrup’s too sweet.”

“Of course you did.” He smirks, taking a bite of his breakfast.

• • •

After Matt leaves for work (After breakfast, a make out session and then ten minutes with you fixing his disheveled look), you begin to actually clean your apartment. But your apartment is only so big, so by lunchtime, you’re bored again.

So, you start cooking and making these chicken ceaser wraps and french fries, before hopping in the shower. You’ve never dated anyone who you’ve felt the need to make and bring lunch to, but there is a first time for everything.

When you get to his office, you take a while to notice and observe every little thing about the walk. When you get to the front door, your hands run over the sign that reads ‘Nelson, Murdock & Page.’ And then you remember that in going up these stairs, you’ll meet his two best friends, and your stomach flips at the idea of it.

But your fingers twitch at the idea of seeing Handsome Matthew again. You’re incredibly down bad for the man you refuse to sleep with, so you push open the door, making your way to the office. When you step inside, you’re faced with a blonde man holding a cup of coffee, talking to a different, more blonde, woman who eats her lunch. 

Maybe you have the wrong office.

“Hi— Uh, I’m looking for Matt.” The words tumble out of your lips, and you wish you could say something more.

“Yeah, he’s in his office, I can grab him for you.” The man says kindly, and steps towards the only office door that’s closed. You nod and stand awkwardly. This is weird, you know that. You are a stranger in this office holding a big lunch box.

Matt steps out of his office and smiles in your direction. Immediately, you relax. There he goes, Handsome Matthew completely messing up your thought patterns and making you go against everything you ever thought you’d do.

“Hi.” He says, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“Hey.” You smile, and you see a moment of recognition on the faces of his coworkers.

“Oh, you’re the girl—” The man starts, and then it clicks that these people must be his best friends.

“And you’re Foggy and Karen.” You smile, sticking a handout for them to shake, and they do. You introduce yourself, and they do the same. It’s not as awkward as you would’ve thought, but you’re making it so much worse in your head.

“What’s going on?” Matt asks, and you redirect your attention to him.

“Uh, I made lunch. I thought I’d bring it to you.” He smiles at this.

“Thank you. Here, let’s uh, eat in my office.” He takes your hand, and you tell Foggy and Karen that it was nice to meet them, as he closes the door behind him. You sit down in one of his chairs.

“Sorry for just barging in on you guys. I probably should have called first.” You decide, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine.” He smiles, sitting down in his own chair as you unpack lunch. You’re seriously not used to any of this, so it’s as if you’re taking foreign steps.

The two of you make pleasant conversations before Matt asks you,

“Hey, do you want to come to the bar tonight?” He asks, “We have a usual spot we go to. I thought it might be a good way for you to get to know my friends.” He hums.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude...”

You also don’t really want to get drunk around Matt, afraid of what you might say. But he answers,

“Don’t worry, Foggy’s wife is going and so is Karen’s boyfriend.” You notice the shift in Matt’s body language.

“You don’t like Karen’s boyfriend.” You immediately recognize.

“What? No—“ He chuckles, “It’s just a complicated history..” The part of you that never grew up, that wants to dive head first into drama, the part of you that is still twenty something, clutching the arm of your sister as she spills about all the people she doesn’t like gets to your mouth before you can stop it,

“What do you mean, ‘complicated’?” You ask, and he just laughs a little.

“Really, sweetheart, it’s not—”

“Let’s make a deal,” You say, “In exchange for me bringing you a delicious lunch,” You start, “And for telling you something about my messy past, you have to tell me about that complicated history.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, than spill.”

“You remember a few years back, the uh, Punisher?” He asks, and you tilt your head. No, you don’t. It was probably before you were allowed to have autonomy and live on your own.

“Uh.. No.”

“What? It was all over the news.”

“I wasn’t living in New York until a few years ago.” Not untrue, you were living in the middle of Europe until recently.

“Oh, right.” He nods, “Well, he killed a lot of people he thought deserved it, and, as someone who has great respect for human life, I don’t know, I just can’t imagine dating someone with a kill count at all, let alone over thirty people.” He sighs, “But Karen sees something in him, I guess.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You realize that you can’t ever tell Matt about what had happened to you. He wouldn’t understand, he’d see you as a monster. Well, you are a monster, but you cannot ever tell him that! Is this a mistake? Are you supposed to break up with him now not to hurt him?

“Yeah, I can understand that.” You take another bite of your wrap.

“I believe I’m owed some of your messy history.”

“Right,” you nod, “Well, Before I moved here, I was living in Europe.” You tell him.

“Really? Where in Europe?”

“Here and there.” You shrug. “I just sort of went wherever I was needed.” You explain, again—Not a lie. Definitely not a lie. You were ordered around and told to go here and there.

“What did you do there?” He asks.

“It’s all kind of a blur,” You’re really being truthful now.

“Has anyone ever told you how weird and odd you are?” He acts, voice full of affection.

“You. Last night.” You grin, and he just grins back.

“Right. I really have a way with words, huh?”

“Yup. You’re a real charmer.”

“I meant it though.”

“Which part? The part where you called me strange?”

“The part where I asked you to come out to the bar with us tonight—And the part where I told you I’d stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes you’ll come to the bar with us or you’ll let me stay with you for a while?”

You get up, circle around his desk, before placing your hand on his jaw, tilting his head up to you. Your other hand comes up to take his glasses off. For a minute, you just admire him, before pushing the hair from his face. Then, you lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

When you pull away, his lips try to follow yours, but your thumb just gently wipes away your lipstick stains from his lips.

“Yes.” You repeat, and he just grins.

He absolutely adores you.

• • •

You make sure to fix your hair before you leave your apartment, and then, you find yourself leaning on the brick wall outside of the bar. Your heart is racing, and although you do not smoke, god you need a cigarette.

Your foot taps anxiously against the pavement.

This will be fine, you tell yourself. Matt likes you, surely you can get the others to do the same. Or at least, you can try your damn best, and not just sit out here like a bitch.

Your head glances over to the door as a rather tall and gruff man approaches the door. He sees you staring at him, and opens the door before asking,

“You coming in, kid?”

Kid.

You’re a hundred years old, but okay.

“Uh, yeah.” You answer, before heading into the bar, “Thanks,” He just nods back at you. You walk in and look around for Matt and his friends. You immediately soften when you see him. Of course you can do this.

As you make your way over to them, the man who opened the door for you also heads over to them. You tilt your head as you get to your boyfriend and his friends before Karen comes over to you guys, sends you a smile, before greeting the man with a kiss. Oh. This is the boyfriend that Matt doesn’t like.

Matt greets you with a kiss, before Karen asks,

“What are you drinking?” You realize she’s asking you. What do you drink?

“Uh, whatever. I kind of like everything,” You smile weakly, before shrugging. She just nods, and then her and her boyfriend head over to the bar. You glance over to Matt, and smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles and kisses you again. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

“Well, I did say yes earlier.”

“Yeah but you were being very vague and odd.”

“You said you liked that!”

“Shhh,” and then he kisses you again.

“You two are gross.” His friend, Foggy, says, and his wife just swats his arm.

“Sorry,” You smile, and then Frank and Karen are back at the table, and this large bottle of whiskey is placed on the table, and six glasses are placed along side it.

“Woah, big bottle.” Foggy whistles, and Karen shrugs.

“Long week. Lots of whiskey required.” Matt leans over to you and says,

“You don’t have to drink that if you don’t want to—”

“I said I like everything,” You told him, “And I meant it.” You remind and the people around you laugh, so it definitely gratifies your desire to please them.

“See, this is the type of energy you needed in a date,” Foggy grins, and Karen laughs as she pours the whiskey for you all.

“I agree, I like her a lot more than I liked the last one.”

“Flattered, I love when people talk about me like I’m not here,” You tell them, as you take a long drink of your whiskey.

“You are odd,” Foggy says, and again, his wife swats his arm.

“Franklin, you cannot say that to someone you just met!”

“I was just joking, really it’s fine,” You assure, and take another sip of your drink. Then another drink. Your eyes get a glint of dog tags hanging around Frank’s neck. You nod to him. “Military?” Everyone’s head snaps to look at you, and then to him.

“Marines.” He answers, and he waits.

“I was a nurse overseas for a while.” And you almost slap your hands over your mouth, horrified at the words that just left your lips. Everyone looks at you, very confused, including sweet Handsome Matthew.

“Wait, you were in the army as a medic?” He asks, and you just nod.

“Yeah, I don’t.. really like talking about it..” You sigh, “It was a long time ago.. Before I was in Europe doing whatever, I was in Europe being a nurse.”

“Europe? There hasn’t been active combat in Europe since the 40’s,” Frank says, and you shrug.

“That’s where they had me. It’s where I learned to drink.” You finish your drink and go to refill it, “You’d be surprised how many young cadets try to assert their dominance over drinking games.” You laugh fondly at the memory.

Matt leans in to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Odd.”

• • •

You and Frank get into your own form of a drinking game as the night goes on. After two glasses, Foggy and his wife stop drinking, something about brunch with her parents in the morning.

Matt stops drinking after three, and Karen after four.

But here you and Frank are, swapping war stories like old army buddies as you make your way through the bottle. Five, six, seven.. You can’t remember by the time the bottle is empty. All you know is you’re leaning against Matt, and Frank is holding Karen close, and you are happy.

You don’t feel hidden anymore.

When the bottle is done, Matt’s fingers run up and down your arm.

“We gotta get you home, honey.”

“You need to kiss me.” You blurt, too drunk to know what you’re saying.

“What?” He grins.

“Kiss me. I want you all over me,” and you lean over to kiss him, and after a few moments, he pulls away from the kiss.

“Alright, but let’s get you home first.” And then you nod, because that’s a good idea. You don’t want Frank and Karen to see all the vicious things you want to do to Handsome Matthew. He helps you up and wraps his jacket around your arms, before glancing back to his friends. “Have a good night guys. See you Monday.”

You take a minute, before smiling at his friends.

“Thanks for having me. I had fun.” You cannot remember the last time you had this much fun. “Sorry I’m so fucking odd,” You start giggling, “But I had fun.” Everyone else, too tipsy and drunk to say much else, just laughs and sends you on your way.

You and Matt stumble home, as you mumble soft things about how much you like him, how pretty he is.

When you get back to your apartment, he locks the door behind you and helps you to your bedroom. Once there, you begin to kiss him.

“Sweetheart,” He mumbles into your lips, “Wait,” He pulls away and smiles at you. “Pajamas first.” He requests, and you nod.

“Yeah. Great Idea.” You mumble, going over to your drawers (Not the one with your vibrator, socks and gun) and pull out an old tee shirt and shorts. You begin stripping down, and you stop and glance to Matt, in just your shorts and bra, before asking, “Wait, how do I know you’re not staring at me?”

He almost laughs at how drunk you are.

“Honey,” he begins softly, and then taps the space between his eyes. Then you laugh, feeling silly.

“Oh.” You unclip your bra and slip on your tee shirt. You sit on the bed, and then lay down. You sigh deeply, your bed surprisingly comfortable after all of those drinks. You watch as Matt begins to strip down. “Handsome.” You mumble, and he laughs.

You fall asleep as he kicks his pants off before crawling into bed with you.

• • •

You wake up at some god-awful hour, maybe around two in the morning. You run over to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet. After a while of throwing up, you wander on over to the kitchen.

You take a big, long drink of water, before sighing deeply.

Your stomach growls. You find a loaf of sourdough bread you had brought home from work yesterday and begin to butter a few slices. You munch on your food, and remember Matthew in your bedroom.

Your Matthew.

You finish your snack, and then find yourself sitting on the floor of your kitchen. Just like you did the first night. Your lean your head back against the cabinet. You think about your boyfriend, and you think about everyone you lost.

In your half drunk state, You only smile when Matt sits next to you on the floor.

“What’re we doing on the floor, baby?” He asks softly.

“Just.. Sleepy..” You mumble, and then a grin spreads across your face. “I’m thinking about my best friend.”

“Your best friend?”

“Taylor.” You say softly, “She was my best friend.”

“And where is she now?” He asked, leaning over to brush your hair out of your face.

“Oh, she died ten years ago.” You say, and then laugh as if it’s funny. “Natural causes.” You shrug. She had died of old age.. And you weren’t there for her. Your best friend..

Matt’s arm is around you in an instant.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He says gently, and leans in to kiss your head.

“And you..” You glance over to him. “You.. I don’t even know what to do with you.” You laugh, and he frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I..” You sigh. “I mean that no one’s ever made me feel like you have..” You mumble, and then you admire him, only in his boxer briefs. “I love you, Handsome Matthew. And I don’t know what to do about it..” You mumble.

Matt just leans in to kiss your head again.

“If I said I love you too, would that help?”

“It would be a start..”

“I love you.”

“Even though I’m odd?” You ask, “Weird and bizarre? Off my rocker, completely out of my fucking mind..?”

“Especially because you’re odd.”

--------------

taglist: @writtenbyred , @indestructeible

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

You're Safe With Me [Chapter Five]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

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

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

Word Count:6.4

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, ma'am," Frank replied.

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

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

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

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

“C’mon,” he muttered.

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

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

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

“What?” he asked.

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

“The Flaming Rose?” you pointed out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I need to?” he asked back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay," you breathed out. 

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

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

°•°•°•°•°•°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure they got what?” Frank asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who says I listen to pop bullshit?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on. Grab a table,” he ordered.

“Sure thing, Sunshine,” you replied.

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“You play darts?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

°•°•°•°•°•°

“So what else are the road trip rules?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm sad that it's over, but this was such a lovely end to it! I love how you tied up the loose end with her sister, and gave us a somewhat vague, but still sweet idea of what the future for these characters would be.

One part I loved was that Reader got a job, and is becoming her own person, outside of Billy, but still with him by her side, it's really great to see that development.

I loved this entire fic, so if I'm not already on the next taglist, feel free to add me, your writing is fantastic!

Thank you for the amazing fic, and I can't wait to see more!

Take Care Author! <3

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Epilogue

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 : R

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

Word Count : 4.3k

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 | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | CHAPTER NINETEEN

MASTER LIST

Epilogue

It wasn’t easy.

But, then, when had anything in your life ever really been easy?

In the weeks that followed, you struggled to adapt to your new reality, your body waking you at daybreak and having you exhausted by nightfall, suffering with pangs of hunger that seemed almost unquenchable. Both Frank and Billy told you it would get better, that you would adjust, but that didn’t stop the occasional breakdown, the moments where everything felt like it was too much.

You watched as Billy’s heart broke over and over again, when he’d find you on the floor in your kitchen, sobbing and eating oreos, or walking around the penthouse in the middle of the day so exhausted that you could barely function.

On the bad days, he would take you into his rooms, close the curtains and hold you in pitch blackness, softly shushing you as you sobbed in his arms, whispering gentle apologies in your ear.

Feeding wasn’t any easier; you still gagged and felt sick sometimes, and certain kinds of blood didn’t seem to agree with you.

Finally you understood why Billy had made you follow such strict rules when it came to your health and diet as sometimes, some blood left you feeling ill like you’d eaten something that had gone off. And, as your senses became more acute, it only seemed to get worse.

But, eventually, a solution was found to every problem; Billy stayed with you for weeks, helping you adjust to your new day/night cycle, and special blood was ordered for you once he figured out exactly what you needed. And, once those issues were sorted, your breakdowns became fewer until you finally felt like you could handle your new life.

After that, the only issue left was Billy and your relationship. 

You loved him, and you knew that he loved you, but you needed time. Everything between you had happened so quickly and it felt like you’d missed out on so many steps. When you finally felt up to it, Billy started to take you out on dates; to dinner, to museum exhibitions, and even to the cinema. Little things, little steps that allowed you to grow closer as a couple. And, at the end of every night, he left you to decide if you wanted to sleep in his bed or your own.

The physical side of your relationship didn’t change or slow; Billy couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of you and you didn’t want him to. Being a vampire made everything feel heightened and you soon got why Billy craved moments of touch and intimacy. But, as far as your relationship went, you took things slowly.

And, after a few months, you were finally able to do what you’d told him you wanted to do. You found a job.

It was only a few nights a week at a local library and, for the first couple of weeks, Billy had insisted on walking you there and back, but he soon had to focus on his own work and you were able to gain the sense of freedom that you sought, both physically and financially.

Billy laughed every time you tried to pay for something or split a check, telling you to spend your money on yourself, on things that you wanted, things that would make you happy. At first, it annoyed you but, as you got closer, and you became privy to things like his finances, you realised just how wealthy he was.

But you didn’t let that deter you. You’d taken a job because you wanted to be able to contribute and that’s exactly what you started doing.

It was a cactus first. A tiny plant that you hoped would grow much bigger. You’d read that, in the right environment and with proper care, some cacti could live hundreds of years and that was what you wanted; something that would stay with you over the decades.

When you’d first brought the tiny little thing into the penthouse, Billy had frowned, then laughed, before getting a little table from the library for it to sit on and placing it by the window.

Over the weeks that followed, you got more plants, more things that made the penthouse feel like a home; cushions, lamps, artwork for the wall. You even insisted on hanging some fairy lights around that, when turned on, gave the place a magical and romantic glow.

And Billy went along with it, never complaining, always helping you, whether it was putting up more shelves for plants, hanging lights, or moving furniture to make space.

Karen gushed over the new furnishings, commenting on how Billy’s bachelor pad now looked like a real home, and your heart melted when he responded that it was a home now that you were in it.

And, every now and then, Billy would turn up with a new stuffed animal for you, until you had a small menagerie of stuffies, each with names more ridiculous than the last, all some loose version of Billy - though he threatened to stop when you announced that one of them was to be called Billiam.

After five months had passed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with Billy and, for the first time in your life, everything felt perfect. You were happy, you were in love. All the self-doubt and uncertainty that you’d carried when you first arrived at the penthouse was gone. And, no matter how much time passed, Billy seemed intent on constantly surprising you and doing everything he could to keep showing you that he loved you.

The moment Karen offered to pick you up after work on your birthday, you knew something was going on, you knew she’d been roped into one of his schemes. But nothing could have prepared you for the surprise party that was waiting for you when the elevator doors slid open and you stepped into the penthouse. 

Everybody yelled ‘surprise’ as they jumped from their hiding spots, but the moment your eyes found him, it felt like there was no one else in the room.

He stepped towards you and took your hand in his before kissing you softly.

“Happy birthday, hummingbird,” he said with a smile that always made you feel loved and safe in equal measure.

“Did you do all of this on your own?” You asked, finally letting your gaze drift about the penthouse.

“I had a little bit of help from Karen,” he admitted. “But I do have something else for you, something special that I want you to have before the party really starts.”

You looked at him, searching his face for some idea of what it could be, your mind racing back to the first party you’d attended in the penthouse. But on his face you found something you didn’t expect, an uncertainty, a nervousness, as if he wasn’t sure how you were going to react to his surprise.

“What is it?” You asked.

“I think it’s easier just to show you,” he explained.

Billy didn’t wait for a response before slowly starting to lead you towards the library. Whatever it was, your friends seemed clued in; you caught a reassuring smile from Karen and a nod from Frank. Even Foggy managed to look silently supportive of whatever you were about to face.

As the library door opened, a figure stood up from the sofa.

You froze in the doorway, a thousand different emotions going to war inside you.

“Irene,” your sister's name fell from your lips as little more than a whisper, too quiet for any but Billy to hear it.

She offered an apologetic smile but seemed just as lost for words as you were. Billy’s hand gave yours a reassuring squeeze, letting you know that he was still there and that he’d support you if you needed him to.

Finally she took a step forward.

“You’re all grown up,” she remarked softly and all you could do was nod.

You hand gripped Billy’s even as you managed to take a step, still not sure how you wanted to feel or what you could possibly say to her after so many years apart.

“Billy found me,” she tried to explain, “he told me about what happened and how you ended up here.”

Your eyes flickered to Billy and he saw just how lost you were.

“Madani tracked her down,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to say anything to you until I knew that Irene wanted to see you. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case she decided that she didn’t want to see you.”

It made sense and you certainly weren’t upset about it, but you still struggled to deal with the situation.

“You left me,” you finally said, voice breaking as you turned your attention back to Irene. “You said you’d come back for me.”

“I -” she started before hesitating, “- I tried. Just before your eighteenth birthday. I came to get you, but dad caught me. He told me that if I ever left with you, he’d make sure I was arrested for kidnapping and I -”

She fell silent again and you watched as she tried to blink back tears. In the silence, you found yourself leaning into Billy’s side.

“I’d just found out I was pregnant,” Irene continued. “I have children now. Three of them. I wanted to take you away with me, but I...”

You watched her wipe a tear from her cheek and your heart ached for her, finally starting to understand what had happened and why she hadn’t come back for you. She had to choose between you and her unborn child, and you couldn’t fault her for putting the baby first.

Nodding, you struggled to find the words. It was overwhelming and, while you didn’t blame Irene or Billy for the situation, you wished that you’d had some warning, some time to prepare all the things you wanted to say to her. Although you’d played this moment over and over in your head since the day she’d left home, you’d never really been able to settle on what you’d say or how you’d feel.

You gave Billy’s hand one last squeeze before letting it go and moving towards Irene. 

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he said softly, waiting just a moment to make sure you didn’t need him to stay, before leaving the library and closing the door behind him.

“He seems really nice,” Irene offered, smiling at you.

“He is,” you answered. “He saved my life.”

“Can you tell me about it?” She asked cautiously. “I want to hear about your life, about everything I’ve missed out on.”

You took a seat on the sofa and waited for her to join you, your mind still racing, wondering how you could ever explain the last eleven months of your life to someone who wasn’t there to see it.

“Well, it started when I saw a job advertisement online, just over a year ago...”

Irene sat, mostly quiet, listening as you explained how you needed to leave home in order to escape a forced marriage, just like she had. You told her about coming to New York and how you and Billy had slowly bonded over your shared love of literature, and how it had culminated in you falling in love. Then, with a little less certainty, you told her how you were turned and how your life had been going since that moment.

At some point she’d taken hold of your hand and held it between her own on her lap, her eyes never leaving your face, completely caught up in your story.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” she told you at the end.

“It’s okay... I wasn’t on my own.”

You could see that now; Billy, Karen, even Frank, and Matt and Foggy. You had people in your life, people who cared about you. People who looked out for you. (People who would kill for you.)

She looked at her watch and a sadness filled her expression.

“I should let you get back to your party. Tom - my husband - and the kids are at the hotel,” she explained and you visibly brightened.

“You’re staying in the city?”

“Yeah, for a few days. I’d like you to meet my family. If - I mean, if that’s something you’d want to do, I know -”

“You want them to meet me, even though I’m a vampire now?”

“Of course,” she answered without hesitation. “You’re my little sister and I want you back in my life.”

“I’d love to meet them,” you told her, finally finding the strength to throw your arms around your sister’s shoulders and hug her tight.

Her arms wrapped around you and, for a few bittersweet minutes, you stayed like that, both of you trying desperately not to cry. After a few false starts, she managed to pull away from you and you both got to your feet. You walked her out of the library and towards the elevator, making plans to meet the next night so you could finally meet your niece and nephews.

No sooner had the doors slid shut, Billy was at your side, his arms wrapping around you as you pressed your face against his chest. You clung to him, feeling overwhelmed again, feeling so full of emotion that you might burst. His hand stroked your hair and he kissed the top of your head, muttering how much he loved you, holding you until you were ready to enjoy your party.

And you did enjoy it.

The night was spent laughing with your friends with Billy always close to your side, barely able to keep his hands off you for more than a few short minutes at a time. You talked about work and made plans for the future, and Karen managed to ruin one of your birthday surprises by telling you about a two-week polar night cruise around Alaska that Billy and Frank had booked so you could have a couples vacation that was vampire friendly.

Billy was a little upset that his surprise was ruined prematurely, but he seemed to forget all about it when you pulled him close and kissed him deeply, something that you didn’t usually like to do in front of other people.

You drank, ate cake, and laughed the night away, until it was time for your friends to start leaving.

While Billy lingered by the elevator, talking to Frank, you waved farewell to Karen and decided to go get ready for bed, stopping off at your room to pick up a little present you’d been holding onto for Billy that you finally wanted to give him. Then, you made your way to his bedroom. 

You quickly washed and changed into a sheer, powder blue negligee, and sat yourself on the edge of his bed next to his gift, waiting for him. It wasn’t long before he joined you, stepping into the room and pausing at the sight of you, making no attempt to hide the way his eyes took in every inch of your body.

Getting to your feet, you twirled, deciding to really give him an eyeful. Billy laughed and, before you knew it, you were laughing too.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s all this for?” He asked.

“I want to sleep in here with you, and -” you hesitated a moment as you turned and picked up the carefully wrapped gift and offered it to him, “- I wanted to give you a present.”

“You got me a present?” He looked down at the present in his hands, confused but still smiling. “But it’s your birthday.”

“I know, but it’s for both of us... kind of...” you said, a sudden feeling of nervousness causing a tremor in your voice.

Slowly, carefully, Billy tore open the wrapping and was left more confused than ever by what he found.

“It’s bed linen,” you explained.

“I can see that,” he answered, a hint of uncertain laughter in his tone as he looked at it.

You’d chosen a striking pattern of dark blues and petrol green, dark but still colourful, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t the bed linen itself that he didn’t understand, it was the gesture and what it meant.

You took a slow breath and started to explain; “it’s just... well, it’s really dark in here, and if I’m going to start staying in here, I thought we could make it a little brighter, and -”

“You want to stay in my room?” He asked, clearly trying to fight back a smile just in case he was jumping to the wrong conclusion. “You want to move into my room permanently?”

In the time it took you to nod, Billy had dropped the bed linen and cleared the distance between you, his hands framing your face and tilting it up so his lips could find yours. He kissed you with an eager desire that told you all you needed to know; he was happy, he wanted you to move into his room.

“I love you,” he muttered against your lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you answered back.

As he kissed you again, your fingers started to tug at his shirt, untucking it from his pants before clumsily pulling open the buttons, so you could touch his bare skin. While you dealt with his shirt, Billy quickly undid and lowered his pants, leading you backwards towards the bed as he stepped out of them.

He kissed you in a way that left you feeling bereft, like you didn’t think he’d ever be able to match the passion and love that he was showing you then, that no moment would ever feel as good as that one did. But it was a silly thought, one you knew was wrong. There was no limit to the depths of his love. And there was none to yours either, not when it came to Billy.

His shirt slipped from his shoulders, joining his pants on the ground just a split-second before you were lifted off your feet and deposited on the bed beneath him. Already, you could feel the hard press of his erection between your thighs, and it was enough to have you moaning against his lips.

For a few wonderful minutes, he was content to stay like that, his body pressed down on top of yours while you kissed. You loved moments like that, moments where there was no frantic rush, moments where it felt like you had all the time in the world to just love and enjoy each other.

Finally, he pulled away from your lips and lifted himself, letting his eyes drift down your body, taking in the sight of you all over again.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you softly, just enjoying the moment of stillness before letting his hand trail over the sheer fabric of your negligee. “And I love this.”

“I thought you might,” you smiled up at him, content to let him take his time.

His hand began to trace the curves of your body through the gossamer fabric, making a point of running his fingers over the ticklish spot on your side that he’d discovered that first night you’d spent together in front of the TV. A smile spread across his lips as you squirmed and giggled beneath him.

“I love you,” he said again.

There was something so serious in his voice, something that had you reaching up to cup his cheek, wanting to settle any terrible thoughts or doubts that might be in his head.

“I know you do, Billy,” you reassured him softly. “And I love you. With all my heart.”

His smile grew wider and whatever had taken hold of him seemed to let go. And, finally, he started to move down your body.

Soft hands slipped up your thighs, fingers hooking the little panties that you wore beneath the negligee and quickly relieving you of them. And, still, despite all the months that you’d spent with him, he always managed to look at you like it was his first time really seeing you. Once your panties were gone, he slowly moved down the bed, settling himself between your thighs, slowly trailing kisses from your knee up your leg.

Even though you were more than used to his lips between your thighs and the way his tongue could make you feel, you still gasped at the first touch, each and every time. In your time together, he’d learned every inch of you and how to make your body shake with pleasure.

Your fingers slipped into his hair and tugged lightly as his tongue slid between your folds. He groaned against you, tasting your arousal before focusing his attention on your clit, circling the throbbing bundle. Unrestrained moans started to fall from your lips and, soon enough, you felt his fingers breach your walls, slowly thrusting into the heat of your body while he undid you with his tongue.

His name fell from your lips over and over as you felt yourself climb higher and higher, your fingers curling tighter in his hair.

You looked down at him, waiting for his permission as pleasure coiled tight inside you and, finally, he gave you the slightest of nods. It was all you needed. You came hard as his fingers and tongue continued to work in concert with each other, trying to prolong your ecstasy until it was too much to bear and your thighs started to tremble violently.

Finally he pulled back, wiping his lips and watching you as your head fell back on the pillow.

“Mmmm,” you hummed, breathless but smiling. “Best birthday present ever.”

“Oh, hummingbird, I’m just getting started,” he muttered.

You didn’t move until prompted, sitting up for him so he could finally remove your negligee, then dropping back to the pillow while he got rid of his boxers. And you watched him, you watched every little move that he made, taking in the sight of him just as he had with you only ten minutes before.

It brought a smile to your face to think how obsessed you still were with each other.

Soon, he was positioned between your thighs again, teasing you, running the leaking tip of his cock between your folds, trailing it up and down from your entrance to your clit until you were needily squirming beneath him.

“Billy, please...”

“What do you need, hummingbird?” He asked, as if he didn’t already know.

“You, Billy,” you whined. “I need you.”

And that was all he needed to hear.

Your head fell back and you let out a long moan as his cock notched into you and started to fill you. His pace was torturously slow and he watched every little flicker of pleasure that crossed your features. You loved these moments when he’d take his time, when he’d make love to you and show you how much you meant to him.

Linking your hands behind his neck, you pulled him down and into an eager kiss. More little moans slipped from your lips and into his as he started to move in slow, deep thrusts that sent bolts of pleasure up and down your spine. You back arched, heels digging into the mattress, lifting your hips to meet his every movement.

When the kiss broke, your lungs felt like they were burning. But there was no time to think about that, no time to think about anything but the way Billy was making you feel. His lips moved to your neck, kissing and sucking at your skin, while one of his hands played with your breast. He was everywhere and everything to you, and when you were together like this, you felt like two pieces of a whole.

He made you feel like the characters from all the books you’d read; you felt like Jane Eyre finally happy and free with her Mr Rochester (just minus the burnt down home).

He made you happier than you’d ever dared to believe you could be.

“Billy,” you moaned softly into his ear with reverence. 

“Come for me, little hummingbird,” he muttered in response.

On command, you fell apart for him, clinging to him as your body shivered and shook with pleasure.

“Billy, I love you,” you managed between your moans.

Billy gasped, suddenly overcome by his own orgasm. The movements of his hips turned sloppy as you felt him empty himself inside you, trembling almost as much as you were.

“I love you,” you said again, finding his lips and kissing him, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight.

When he stilled, he lingered, not wanting to pull out or pull away from you but, eventually, he rolled away, ending up on his back beside you. You both basked in the afterglow as you slowly came down from your highs.

Turning on your side, you lifted yourself so your face was above his. His eyes closed and he let out a contented sigh as your fingers ran through his hair, lightly scratching your nails against his scalp just the way he liked. Then you leaned, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, then one of each of his closed eyes and then, finally, his lips.

“Thank you,” you whispered softly.

“What for?” He dared to ask.

“For loving me for who I am,” you tried to explain, “and for letting me have a life of my own.”

“I should be thanking you for exactly the same thing,” he told you, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you towards him, holding you against his chest.

Neither of you said another word that night. 

You didn’t need to. 

You had each other, and that was all you needed.

End Note : It's finally over 😭😭😭 Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and messages over the last week, it really means a lot that so many people have enjoyed this story. I hope the epilogue gives an added bit of closure on a couple of issues (I know some people were interested in the sister) though I have also left some things open because I would love to come back to this version of Billy some time in the future. (Honestly, I need a little break from gothic stuff because I made the mistake of rereading Flowers in the Attic the other day and it left me emotionally broken 😅) There won't be any Billy fics from me next week, which feels so weird to me, but I realised that I've posted at least once a week, every week for the last 42 weeks so I think I'm due a week off. At the moment, I think I'll be starting the stalker!Billy fic on the 6th of September but, in the mean time I might also work on my omegaverse!Bucky fic. In the meantime, my ask box is always open if you have thoughts/feelings/questions/headcanons about anything I've written.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading and following week after week, and thank you so much to those of you who have liked/commented/reblogged! Hope you all 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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@ashy-kit @jazzclubprincess @arwensloanebarnes

The angst in this chapter, was absolutely DELICIOUS! Im absolutely desperate for more, I love this fic so much!

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Thirteen

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-13

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

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : Sorry not sorry?

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

MASTER LIST

Chapter Thirteen

You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t relax. 

You tried, for the sake of Karen and Frank who seemed to watch your every little twitch and movement as you got up to refill your coffee mug or to look out of the window. Karen had suggested going out for breakfast, reminding you that Billy wouldn’t be awake for hours, and Frank gave a grumbled agreement, obviously wanting the pair of you gone so he could sleep through the day. But you weren’t hungry and you didn’t want to go out.

She tried again at lunch time and received the same response, but, since you hadn’t eaten, she managed to guilt you into going to the little diner down the street for an hour. You could tell that she was nervous, almost as if she knew something that you didn’t - but, of course she did. She’d spent the evening with Frank and he’d probably told her exactly what was going on

It was a feeling that soon started to gnaw at you, wondering what the pair of them had spoken about after you’d gone to bed, hating that she knew more about the situation than you did.

When you got back to the penthouse, you went back to your rooms, showering and using washing your hair as an excuse to get some space, the whole process taking longer than usual because of your broken arm. 

Then you drew blood for Billy, wanting everything to be ready for him when he got up, some part of you hoping that things could go back to normal straight away.

It wasn’t until you reached the fridge that you noticed all of the blood you’d put in there over the last few days was gone. Had he had it all last night or had Frank gotten rid of it? 

You returned to your room until Karen called you out to the penthouse just as the sun was starting to set.

Nerve quickly took hold, no longer sure what you wanted to say to Billy. You just wanted to see him, know that he was alright, the rest could come after that. You took a deep breath before stepping out into the penthouse, expecting to find him there waiting. He wasn’t.

“He’s waitin’ for you in the library,” Frank told you before you could ask. “Wants a quick word before we head to the office.”

“He’s going back to work?” You asked, confused.

It shouldn’t have shocked you, it had been almost two weeks since he’d last gone in, but the state he was in last night made you wonder if it was really the right decision. Frank didn’t offer you any explanation or reassurance, he just shrugged.

You decided it was best to talk to Billy about it, and quickly started towards the library, wanting nothing more than to be able to talk to him and finally get some answers to all the questions you’d been struggling with over the last few days.

He was standing near the window, looking out at the view when you entered, all dressed up in a dark charcoal suit, ready for work. 

Your breath caught when he finally turned to look at you and you felt your heart start to beat a little faster, and you couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something else that was causing it.

You took a few steps towards him, the corner of your lips pulling upwards, happy to be with him again, despite the circumstances. But, when he noticed how close you were getting, he seemed to bristle.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” He said, his voice measured giving a false air of calm.

You frowned, hesitating for a second, wanting to move closer to him, not further away. But, after a moment, you did as you were asked and took a seat on the worn leather sofa. For a few seconds you watched him, expecting him to come and sit with you, or at least move a little closer, but he didn’t.

“I want to start by saying I’m sorry,” he continued speaking in that same tone, sounding almost distant, cold. “I never should have put you in that situation, and I’m sorry that you were hurt.”

“No, Billy, that’s not -” you weren’t sure what you wanted to say to him, but he didn’t give you the chance to finish.

“I realise now that I’ve been selfish. I’ve been putting you in danger, over and over again, and it needs to stop.”

Dread filled you, your heart feeling like he’d reached into your chest and taken hold of it, squeezing it uncomfortably, causing it to stutter. Your lungs burned, refusing to draw breath. You shook your head, trying to convince yourself that he didn’t mean what you thought that he meant, but he soon confirmed all your fears.

“I took advantage of you - I can see that now, and I really am sorry,” he carried on in that same empty tone, barely looking at you enough to see that there were tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “I understand that you rejected the offer Lissa extended on my behalf, but I’m willing to double it. I know it doesn’t make up for the pain I’ve caused you but -”

“You’re paying me to go away?” Your voice broke and the first tear fell.

“No, that’s not - I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

You held up your broken arm, making sure he looked, making sure he acknowledged what he’d done to you. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Billy paled at the comment, taking a step back and letting out a ragged breath.

“Can’t you just -”

“What? Go quietly? Leave so you can pretend this never happened?” You answered back, anger quickly mixing with the hurt. You sniffled, trying so desperately to stay in control of yourself. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you got hurt - I hurt you. More than once. It’s better for both of us if you go.” Finally, there was a break in his tone, actual emotion starting to seep through. You could tell that he was upset, that he was angry and annoyed but, more than that, you could tell he was just as lost as you were.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere. You asked me to stay. You made me want to stay with you,” you told him defiantly, watching as your words hit home. “You don’t get to make me feel like... like this and then send me away.”

“You’re not -”

“How is it better for me, Billy? How is being on my own with nowhere to go better?” The panic was quick to mix with the hurt in your tone, your heart racing a mile a minute.

He gave a heavy sigh, fingers tearing through his hair. “What do you want from me? I’m trying to make this easier for both of us.”

“You’re trying to make it easier for you. I don’t need easy, I want honesty. I want to know what’s going on.”

“You want honesty?” He almost laughed. “You mean like you’ve been honest with me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know about your fiance.”

You could have screamed. You very nearly did scream. “He is not my fiance. I told you - I told you what my parents are like. I will never marry that man after what he did to me.”

The change in Billy was almost instant, a familiar spark in him that seemed to ignite just at the suggestion that someone had hurt you in any way. If nothing else, it was reassuring to know that some part of him still cared, even if he was doing all he could to bury that part and forget all about it.  

“You told me I got to have a choice here. Well this is my choice, Billy; I’m staying,” you told him, getting to your feet. “If you want me gone, you’re going to have to fire me. It should be easy for you, you’ve made me break enough of your rules...”

“You’d make me do that? Fire you and kick you out with nothing?” He asked, trying to make you see how ridiculous you were being.

You shrugged. “If I leave here I’ll have nothing anyway.”

“You’d have money, enough to start a new life, enough to -”

“I don’t want your money and I don’t want a new life,” you almost shouted. “I want my life. I want the life I get to choose.”

“Then you need to start making better choices,” he finally snapped, the forced calm gone from his voice completely and leaving behind nothing but frustration. “Because, this thing that’s wrong with me... there’s no fixing it, it won’t get any better, and the next time you might not get away with just a broken arm and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“And how am I supposed to know about any of that when you won’t talk to me? When you always try to run away every time things get hard?” You asked, your own tone turning just as fraught. “You let me think I was helping, that I could help you. You made me feel like I mattered and now you’re just throwing me away.”

“You do matter. All of this is because you matter.”

You watched as he fought against himself, taking a step towards you then turning away, looking as lost as you felt in all of this. More than anything, you wanted to go to him, to just wrap your arms around him and not let go, but you knew that wouldn’t solve anything.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, “tell me why you’d rather send me away than let me stay. Tell me what happened that night.”

When he looked back, there was anger and discomfort written across his face and something else too. Hatred. He hated that you were doing this to him and it was almost enough to make you feel sick. But, at that moment, you hated him a little too. You hated all of this and everything he was trying to do.

Billy took a slow breath, his jaw clenching before he finally started to speak.

“I went looking for Krista...”

“Did you -” you faltered, not sure how to ask the question, “- you were covered in blood, was that...?”

Billy shook his head. “It was mostly mine.”

Even though you’d asked the question, once you had the answer you wished that you hadn’t. You didn’t ask the obvious follow up, instead you nodded and waited for him to continue.

“The thing that I have - the sickness - she has it too. I didn’t realise until I saw her lose control.” He paused for a moment, taking a breath. “It’s a disease,” he continued, his voice low, “it takes every vampire impulse and makes it impossible to control. It silences every part of us that’s still human.” 

“How do you get it?” You asked quietly, needing to find out everything you could.

“You either get it from the person who turns you, or by being fed on by someone carrying it. It stays dormant in humans and only becomes active if they’re turned.”

You listened carefully, absorbing what he told you, still trying to make sense of it all.

“But Frank -”

“No, Frank doesn’t have it,” he answered before you could even finish.

“Then, how?”

The air between you became suddenly tense and you could tell from the look on Billy’s face that he really didn’t want to talk about it. At any other time you would have withdrawn the question, not wanting to see him looking so uncomfortable, but you knew that you might never get another chance like this to find out what was going on with him.

“When I was a kid,” he offered before pausing, as if he was considering leaving the story there, before continuing. “There was a guy who used to volunteer in the evening at the group home. At first he seemed cool, letting us stay out late playing hoops and stick ball, but then he -”

Billy stopped and you watched him almost twitch at the memory. You didn’t ask him to carry on, you could already guess. Only, you soon realised, that that was only scratching the surface. 

“Turned out he liked the kids more than he let on,” Billy finally carried on, and the sick feeling in your stomach only got worse, “he told me I was pretty and broke my arm when I told him that I wasn’t interested in those kinds of games, then he bit me.”

“Billy, I...” your voice was little more than a whisper, your head spinning. Was he comparing himself to the man who’d hurt him? Was that why he was so set on you leaving? You looked down at your own broken arm and shuddered.

“He only fed on me a couple of times, but it was enough to infect me,” Billy went on. “I didn’t find out until a month or so after I was turned... I completely lost control. Frank nearly had to kill me to stop me.”

“And Krista... did you -”

“No, I never bit her...” he was quick to answer, but there was a strange hint of guilt in his voice.

“Then how?” 

“Layla...” he said, awkwardly swallowing. You’d heard that name before. “She was the one before Krista and I -”

He didn’t need to say it, the look on his face told you everything that you needed to know.

“You turned her?” You asked and he nodded, looking physically sick. “By accident?” He nodded again.

“Krista must have found her after I fired her. I don’t know if they’re working together but Layla must have turned her...” Billy let out a sigh. “Krista wants to ruin my life and she knows that you’re the way to do it. She triggered the thing inside me when she told me about your fiance. And when I saw you that night...”

Mine. That’s what he’d said to you, just before hurting you. He’d been claiming you. (Maybe he hadn’t been trying to hurt you after all - though that seemed like a very dangerous thing to think given the circumstances.)

Silence filled the room for at least a minute as you tried to think of the right words to say. You didn’t want to think the worst of him, even now, but you were starting to see the havoc he’d caused in so many lives. Maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault, but you were so tired of trying to think of excuses for him.

Finally, you had your answers, but they brought you no comfort. In fact you felt worse for knowing; you felt empty, hollowed out. It felt like he was telling you because he was drawing a line beneath whatever you had been, like it didn’t matter if you found out because you’d be gone soon.

“Is there a cure? A way to treat it?” You asked.

“There isn’t,” he answered, “I’ve spent the last fifteen years looking for one.”

“But -” 

“There’s no fixing it. There’s no making any of it any better,” Billy sighed. “So it’s better for both of us if you just take the money and go because there’s no happy ending here, not if we’re together.”

“There’s no happy ending if I go either,” you told him with a sniffle. “If I leave I’ll end up right back where I started, with the man my parents practically sold me to. A man who doesn’t care about giving me a choice...” 

Billy awkwardly swallowed, trying to get rid of a lump in his throat, his hands clenching to fists at your words.

“You don’t have to go back to them. You could go anywhere.”

“They’d find me,” you muttered, starting to feel numb and cold, like he’d reached inside of you and scooped out all the hope and joy. “I was lying to myself thinking I could get away from them...”

“I could -”

“If you’re sending me away, I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you.”

“But -”

“No,” you sighed, finally resigned to what this was. You forced yourself to look at him, despite the tears in your eyes. “You’re not going to change my mind. I’m not leaving unless you make me leave. If you don’t want to see me or have anything to do with me, that’s fine; I’ll do my job and stay out of your way. But I’m not leaving until my contract ends.”

“What if I -” he tried, starting to get frustrated again.

“It’s not a negotiation, Billy,” you told him, managing to sound firm despite the way your heart was racing. “Besides, you said yourself that you keep doing this with the women who come to work for you. What sort of person would I be if I walked away now and let you move on to the next poor girl?”

It was a low blow, and you didn’t want to be cruel, but what Billy was doing hurt and you’d be damned if he got you to leave just so he could move on to the next one.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Why? Because this meant something to you?” You shook your head. “Don’t bother, Billy. I get it. I’m just one in a long line of women naive enough to think you could love them.”

“I’m not doing this because I don’t care.”

“How many times have you said those words? How many times have you brought someone into your home and made them care about you?” You asked but quickly shook your head, not wanting to know the answer. “You told me that you’d never been wanted, but I’m starting to think that was just a line. I think you make people want you and then you push them away because it scares you. I wanted you. I wanted to stay - here, after, with you, just like you asked.”

You started to move towards the door, your hand scrubbing at your cheeks, wanting to wipe away any sign of tears before you had to face Karen and Frank again. Stopping just shy of the door, you turned back to him.

“You could’ve talked to me about this, you could have given me a real choice before we started this instead of letting me think I was helping you,” you told him, desperately trying to hold yourself together. “Broken bones heal, but what you’ve broken today? That’s going to hurt for the rest of my life.”

“Wait -” you heard him as you reached for the door handle.

You didn’t stop, didn’t even turn to hear him out, you knew he was just going to hurt you more. There was movement behind you, but you didn’t wait, walking out into the penthouse to find Karen and Frank waiting for you. 

They were sitting together on the sofa but both stood the moment you emerged, Karen giving you a sympathetic look as you wiped your eyes. You almost expected Billy to follow after you, almost hoped that he would, but he didn’t and that was all the sign you needed that you’d just done the right thing.

“You can come stay with me, we’ll get your things and -” Karen started, already stepping towards you.

“What?” You asked before realising what was going on. They were in on it. Karen and Frank both knew that Billy had been trying to get rid of you, and they’d both gone along with it. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the penthouse for a few seconds, all eyes on you.

“Damn it,” Frank grumbled, “did he not explain to you that -”

“He did,” you interrupted, “and I explained to him that if he wants me gone, then he’s going to have to fire me.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Frank...” Karen tried to calm him down.

“Can’t you see what you’re doin’ to him?” He said, as if he thought he could make you feel guilty after everything Billy had said and done. He couldn’t.

“I’m not doing anything to Billy that he didn’t do to me first,” you answered back, feeling a little bolder than usual. Maybe it was because everything already hurt so much that you couldn’t even bring yourself to care what might happen if you upset a vampire like Frank. 

He looked ready to say something when Karen put her hand on his arm. For a moment more, he stared at you, before huffing. 

“Can you talk some fuckin’ sense into her?” He grumbled at Karen before heading to the library.

You almost let him walk by without further comment, but you found you just couldn’t help yourself. “We were fine until the party. If you want to blame someone for this, maybe you should look at yourself. You’re the one that made him doubt himself...”

Frank paused for a moment and your heart rate spiked as he glared at you. It was almost enough to have you shrinking back, feeling like you’d pushed a little too hard. He shook his head before storming into the library.

Karen let out a sigh before stepping towards you, trying to usher you into your rooms. You went, but not because that was where she wanted to go.

“I know what you’re going to say,” you sighed, walking into your room and heading towards the window, looking out at the city at night. “And you’re not going to change my mind.”

Out in the penthouse, you heard the sound of the elevator; Frank and Billy were leaving.

“Can you at least tell me why you’re doing this? I get that you have feelings for him, but -”

“It’s not that. I’m not staying because I think I can change his mind or make him care about me,” you told her, giving a defeated shrug. “It just... it took so much out of me to leave everything behind and come to New York. I finally got used to being here - I like being here - I can’t just walk out on the only place I’ve ever felt comfortable.”

“You don’t have to leave New York. You have friends here, people besides Billy,” Karen offered softly. 

“It’s not enough, you won’t be able to stop them from taking me back when they find me. I’m safer here than I would be anywhere else.”

“Who is this guy that you’re so scared of?” Karen finally asked the million dollar question.

The question was followed by a long silence, making it clear that you didn’t want to tell her, but Karen didn’t move, didn’t try to change the subject or carry on the conversation. She was waiting for an answer and, it seemed, she would wait as long as it took to get one.

“He’s a very old and very powerful vampire,” you finally answered. “He’s part of a criminal organisation called the Maggia.”

When you heard Karen take an awkward breath, you knew that you didn’t need to explain any more than that, in her work she’d no doubt heard of the organised crime network that spanned the whole globe. 

It felt strange to finally say it, to finally admit just how screwed you were. Honestly, you thought that it would feel different, to expose what you were running from, but you just felt tired and resigned. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

“And your parents owe him money,” she stated and you nodded. “So, what was your plan? Use the million dollars Billy is going to pay you to disappear or were you going to try and pay him back?”

You pressed the heel of your palm to your eye, feeling fraught and exhausted. “I don’t have a plan. I could never raise what my parents owe and, at this point, I don't think he'd let me just pay him off.”

It sucked to finally say those words out loud and admit to yourself that you really didn’t know what you were doing. You’d come to New York with the hopes that you could disappear, that a million dollars would be enough to vanish completely but if you’d learned one thing from Madani it was that you were easy to find. Too easy.

“I thought that I’d have it all figured out by the end of my year here but maybe I won’t. So,” you shrugged again, “if I’m going to end up back there with him, I’d rather spend the rest of the time I have here feeling comfortable and safe, hoping that he doesn’t find me until my year is up.”

“You don’t have to let that happen, we could -”

“Please, don’t tell Billy,” you begged. “I don’t want his pity.”

“It’s not pity. He could help. We all could. You’ve got friends here.”

“No, Frank was right - I just make things worse for everyone - and I don’t want to do that anymore,” you told her. “If you’re really my friend, please don’t tell him. Don’t tell Frank. Don’t tell anyone. If you do, I’ll have to leave.”

It was a childish threat but one you knew you’d follow through on; you didn’t want Billy to know. You didn’t want his pity, didn’t want him to know what awaited you.

“You can’t just give up.”

“Why not? Billy already gave up on me,” you muttered, not wanting to feel sorry for yourself but finding it almost impossible.

“That’s not what happened. He cares about you, he wants to keep you safe. That’s why we all thought it would be best if you left.”

You looked at her for a moment, sure that she believed every word she was saying. But you knew better than that, you’d looked him in the eyes as he said it, as he pushed you away to protect himself, because he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of his actions.

“It doesn’t matter. Billy made his choice, and it wasn’t me.” 

“I know that’s how it probably feels -”

“That’s how it is. He wants to send me away so he can forget all about me,” you interrupted, somehow managing to keep a neutral tone despite the fact that your heart was breaking.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Karen decided. “Whether you stay here with Billy or not, I’m not going to let them take you back home.”

A sigh slipped out and you nodded, managing something of a smile. You knew that she meant well, but you already knew that there was nothing she could do to help. Now there was no chance of you staying with Billy, enjoying the protection that he could offer, you knew that you’d eventually end up right back where you started.

“Now that everything's back to normal, you don’t have to stay,” you told her. “You can go back to your life...”

“I can stay a few more days,” she offered.

“No, I -” you let out a sigh, “- I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I think it’d be easier for everyone if we all just got back to normal.”

Only, you knew that it wasn’t going to be normal for you, not when Billy wanted nothing to do with you. You were going to have to get used to being alone again.

Without warning, Karen pulled you into a hug and held you tight. You drew a shuddered breath, lightly wrapping your good arm around her, knowing she was trying her best to comfort you, even though you felt inconsolable. She held on for a few seconds before finally pulling back.

“Are you sure?” She asked and you nodded. “I’ll still see you on Thursdays,” she promised. “I’ll make arrangements with Billy so you can have a night out with me, Matt and Foggy again some time soon.” 

You nodded along, only half listening as she made plans for things you could do as she slowly began to pack up her things. She lingered longer than you expected her to and, by the time she left, you felt so numb that you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry. You put on your pyjamas and climbed into bed, deciding to watch TV, starting up the next episode of Black Sails, knowing that there was no point in waiting for Billy to continue watching any more.

End Note : 😅😅 Okay so I know that probably didn't answer ALL the questions people have had, but I've tried to at lest answer a few. I'm sorry this one is so angsty and sad. Also... yes the Maggia is something from Marvel comics, is it going to be accurate and canon? No, probably not 😅

Thanks so much for reading/commenting/reblogging/liking. I'm so happy so many people are still following along! 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.

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

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@ashy-kit

PLEASE do yourself a favour and check out this wikipedia-styled template for google drive, made by @ Rukidut on twitter

I decided to try to sort my ideas and whats canon regarding my ocs with this and ITS PERFECT. IT ALL FEELS SO CONRETE. and i sure as hell AM Going to continue to use this with every single OC I have until google drives is set ablaze- Just!!!!!!!!

Also; link directly to the doc, just copy the file and you have your own lil template!!!!

Author, fantastic chapter and if possible could be added to a tag list for this?

This is genuinely amazing, the last line? CHILLS

Gorgeous job, thank you! Take Care Author! <3

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.5

a/n: if you guys start suspecting i have a crush on madelyn stillwell, no you don't, you didn't see shit, forgive and forget. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Blood and Violence (fr fr), Homelander being a Fucking Asshole, Very Questionable Corporate Ethics, Plus Size Reader, Explicit Language.

Summary: You know a slaughterhouse, when you see it.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

A series of loud, demanding knocks startles you right out of your dreamless slumber. The borderline panicked, rapid thumping against your door, forces you to open your eyes, squinting with a groan at the morning sun streaming through the gigantic windows of your room. The mascara from the night before sticks in clumps over your eyelashes, and you blink a few times, until black pieces fall onto your cheeks, where they're promptly wiped away by the back of your hand. There's a taste of stale vomit in your mouth, your stomach feels strangely empty, and you don't really want to remember where you decided to dispose of its contents. As you make your way towards the door, your calf cramps up, making you huff a silent curse through your cracked lips. 

- Fucking Christ... Where's the fire? - you croak out, as you open the door, eyes falling onto a familiar head of ginger hair sticking out behind the screen of a tablet. 

- The fucking Internet - Ashley answers not missing a beat - Someone uploaded a bunch of videos of you from the party, including one where you, like a complete dumbass, decided to smoke a joint. And one where...

She cuts herself off, as her face finally rises to look at you, her expression freezing in shock.

- What the fuck happened to you? - she asks, and if you were any less hungover, you'd notice the sliver of concern lacing her words. 

- What do yo...?

Your eyes follow her inquisitive gaze down, and there, your left tit stares back at you, peaking out of an almost finger shaped tear. Huffing in exasperation, you try to amend the situation, pushing the fabric around to cover yourself, only to feel the last of the stitches give out. You catch your destroyed t-shirt at the last second, as it all but falls off of your body. 

- Shit, I'm sorry - you mutter, giving up on salvaging the shirt, and focusing on saving what's left of your dignity. 

Ashley blinks a couple of times, her eyes dragging themselves back towards your face, as she swallows thickly. 

- Miss, um... - she clears her throat, frowns - Miss Stillwell wants to see you in her office, as soon as you can.

You nod in understanding, still too dazed to be properly worried by this sudden summoning. 

- Give me twenty - you attempt to smile, but your face hurts, and your throat is drier then the Mojave desert.

- Take thirty.

With that, Ashley turns to leave, not before throwing you one last, strange look. 

 Closing the door behind her, you let go of the shirt, letting it pool in scraps under your bare feet. You don't remember much of the previous night, but you sure as fuck know, how you've managed to end up looking like you do. Thankfully, you remember the exact moment, when you slipped out of Homelander's penthouse, your memories fading well after entering the elevator. The mention of the videos from the party being uploaded, stirs some form of morbid curiosity within you, and you pace around the living area of your room, trying to find your phone, before remembering, that you did, in fact, lose it. 

Scratching at the back of your neck, you grab your costume from the closet, and decide to take a shower,  after sniffing at yourself and realizing, that leaving the room smelling like a waste bin would be criminal. An hour spent under the hot water and a thorough teeth-brushing later, you're standing in front of Madelyn Stillwell's office, fingers running through your still slightly damp hair. She lets you in as soon as your fingers thrum against the door, greeting you with that familiar, corporate smile. Despite that, you'd have to be completely blind, not to notice the tension between her plucked eyebrows. 

- Ah, Fireball - her voice is strange as well, a measured expression of something stirring just under the surface. - Take a seat, please.

Her office is just as much of an overstimulating mess, as you remembered, and this time you plop down onto the large couch, noting, that it's much softer, than the one in your room. Stillwell paces the office, filling a glass with water from a dispenser, and placing it in front of you. Then, to your surprise, she grabs her laptop from her desk, and puts it next to the glass, the screen facing you.

You stare at your reflection in the black, and you're not sure who's looking back. Was hangover the domain of Fireball? Or Smirnoff? Perhaps that secret third thing, which almost gave Homelander what he wanted last night. A fight, a struggle, a quick fuck. As Stillwell sinks into the couch right next to you, you start to wonder, if you're going insane. Most likely. There is none other explanation for the turmoil you were experiencing. 

- I'm sure you're aware, why I invited you here today - she says, her slender hand dancing on the keyboard of her laptop. 

She's about to show you the videos from last night, you think with a sigh, already trying to brace yourself for the inevitable stern talk you're about to receive. This, and another several hours spent in media training with Ashley, which, might as well kill you at this point. And then, the screen flickers to light, and your heart stops in your throat. 

There, a freeze-frame from a CCTV camera looks back at you. A washed out, pixelated image of yourself, t-shirt torn, makeup running, you're sneaking away from Homelander's room, holding the scraps of fabric to your chest. The wobble in your legs is visible even through the shitty quality, and your heart sinks with the realization, of how exactly this situation looks like. Of how close to the truth this assumption really is. 

You swallow thickly, as Stillwell presses play, and the video version of yourself springs into action. Supporting yourself against the wall, you begin to make your way towards the elevator. 

The video plays footage of the empty corridor for a moment longer, but before you voice your confusion, the whole image glitches. Your eyes blink rapidly, as you observe with a shocked expression, as the wall next to the door cracks, pieces of paint and plaster falling to the floor in a cloud of dust. It doesn't take a genius to know, the impact has been made from the inside, and your brain does a flip inside your skull. 

Twenty sped up seconds of footage. That's how close you were to getting your head, supposedly, caved in by the Hero of America. The Mental Health King.

 Strange. You were sure you've navigated the situation the best you possibly could. Deescalated, rewarded good behavior, removed yourself as soon as possible. Perhaps you should've given him more? Physical contact most likely wasn't the smartest idea, he would've used it as an excuse, surely. But some more words of encouragement, something to calm the fire within him. Your thoughts are interrupted by the realization, that at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. You're alright, nothing happened. You did what you could, with what you had, and look at you, still standing, dignity (mostly) in place. 

Another reward, that might be the key. Homelander seems to be quite addicted to praise, and as much as you'd love to write him off as an imbecile, you know he's anything but. Before your mouth can open, however, Stillwell slides a folder towards you on the glass table. Your eyes fall onto the papers, and something twists inside your gut. 

- No matter, what you think happened last night. I would like you to sign those documents. - Stillwell says, her whitened teeth staring back at you.

Think?

Your eyes narrow, as your face turns towards her.

- Miss Stillwell - she cocks her head to the side when you address her - I assure you, nothing has happened.

She blinks a couple of times, her eyes involuntarily floating back to the footage displayed on the laptop.

- Homelander gave me a lift from the party, we talked for a bit. That's all. 

That is most certainly not all, and Stillwell knows. She must've done this before, her practiced expression of corporate politeness slipping for only a smidgen. Her lips smack against each other, and then the mask is back full force, her hand pushing the documents closer to you.

- I would still very much like you to sign this agreement - she says - Or, we will have to terminate your contract, and consequently withdraw all benefits enclosed in it.

- I just said, nothing has... - you cut yourself off, because of course. 

This isn't an NDA protecting Vaught and by extension, Homelander, from his actions last night. It's an insurance against future incidents. Which are apparently expected. 

You frown, hard, a pit forming deep within your stomach. Previously, perhaps foolishly, you thought your contract offered some sort of protection. Something, that would ward off potential advances. Stillwell has put so much effort in getting you to sign, to join Vaught if only temporarily, you were convinced you'd answer to her first. Stupid, that was plain stupid. After all, this isn't some wholesome family business. You're working under a corporation, that, for the most part, runs America like the fucking navy. 

You know a slaughterhouse when you see one. 

With a shaky hand, you grab an elegant, probably filthy-expensive pen, the overwhelming realization, that you're truly alone, hitting you like a truck. Next time Homelander decides to get his hands on you, no one will back you up. You're completely and utterly on your own. 

This can't be worth it. Your brain races in your skull, as you try to quickly form some sort of plan of action. Anything, that would help you face the incoming doom. 

- Miss Stillwell - your throat feels impossibly dry, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see her blonde waves move - I left my purse, and my phone back at my friend's house. Perhaps, you could arrange a meeting? So I can get it back?

- As soon as you sign - she says evenly, her manicured hand pointing to the documents with more urgency. 

How many times can you sign your soul off to the Devil, before there's nothing left? 

You're not sure which one of you lifts the pen, which one pushes your hand to glide the ink over this new pact of silence. It can't be worth it, it simply can't. No matter what you try to tell yourself, the vision of your happy friends from the party slips further, and further away from your grasp. You've always thought martyrdom is stupid, laughed at the Saints, at the historical figures sacrificing their lives for the greater good. And yet, here you sit, with Madelyn Stillwell's perfume in your nose, pushing away all sense of dignity in favor of what? A better wedding dress for your friend? Ridiculous. 

- Thank you - Stillwell swoops in, taking the pen away from your rigid fingers and swiping the documents from the table - That'll be all for now. You should get ready for the photoshoot after lunch. I'll get back to you about that meeting. 

Another thought wakes you up from your stupor so suddenly, it feels like a bucket of freezing water dumped over your head. Your knees crack, when you stand suddenly, nearly knocking your hip on the table. 

- Can I ask you one more thing? - your voice raises an octave as you speak, nerves bubbling up in your throat. 

Stillwell turns to you, her hair bouncing over her shoulders, and for just a second you're struck with how unabashedly stylish this woman truly is. Such a contrast with your usually disheveled appearance. 

- I need one more day off this week, or at the very least a couple of hours.

She frowns slightly, a barely visible twitch of her plucked to perfection eyebrow.

- Whatever for? - she asks, and you find a striking familiarity between her and Homelander, in the fakeness of her cheerful tone. 

There's no point in lying, not in this case at least, and you take a step forward, your platform boots padding softly over the fluffy carpet. She watches you carefully, holding your gaze with ease. 

- I'm sure you've read my file - you start casually, your voice growing more and more serious - It's a family matter. 

A flicker of recognition crosses Stillwell's features. Her lips pull back into a thin line, as she regards you in thought, toying with the pen in her hand. Manicured fingers scratch at the grooves in the metal casing, tap at the ferrule. Finally, she takes a deep breath, the satin shirt shifting over her chest. 

- I'll see what I can do - she concludes, ditching the corporate smiles, and the artificial nonsense, her expression bordering on sympathy. 

Anyone would be fooled, you're almost convinced yourself. But once again, this is not a family business down the street. This is an exclusive butcher's shop, and you're the new, hot, cut of meat, displayed in a case, ready for the taking. And as such, you give her a curt nod, the biggest display of gratitude you're capable of in this situation. Her eyes shift towards the doors of her office, and you take your cue with a polite smile. You both had things to prepare for, and you couldn't waste any more time sitting in one place, as the detrimental task of figuring out, how to navigate your approach to Homelander has been thrusted upon you. 

The door clicks softly behind you, as you exit the office, your legs carrying you towards the gigantic portrait hanging on the wall. Blue eyes stare back at you, pupils almost the size of walnuts. Nothing, not the lens of the camera, the printing paper, not even the sheet of glass can hide you from the empty, passive gaze looking past you, through you. In this picture, he looks almost human, his skin moderately textured, his hair in carefully styled disarray. An image of all that's American, all that's always been out of your reach. 

But you've seen the truth. The panting, hungry, terrifying superhero. You've seen his laziness, the unwillingness to work for anything of substance. Your eyebrows furrow, as you lean closer to the portrait, until the reflection of light disappears from sight, until you can see the texture of the paper beneath the glass. 

- If you're looking for a flaw, I'm afraid there are none - Homelander quite literally manifests himself in your peripheral vision, voice filled with arrogance.

Your entire body flies a couple of steps from the portrait, your heart doing flips so close to your throat, you're worried you'll actually throw it up onto the floor.

- Motherfu...! - you stop yourself, hand pressed against your chest - Don't do that.

He laughs in response, a casual sound, that definitely doesn't fit any of your previous encounters. Especially the last one. But to preserve your own sanity, you decide to play along for now. You're not about to hand yourself over, stick your neck between his teeth again. Besides, Stillwell is right behind that stupid wall, he wouldn't do anything too outrageous with her so close. Hopefully. 

- Whoa, jumpy aren't you? - his smile grows slightly sharper, as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back - Let's have a little chat, before the photoshoot. 

With that, before you have the chance to react properly, he grabs you by the elbow, his hold just tight enough, that there would be no chance of slipping away. Your feet stumble against each other, as you try to regain your bearings, being dragged through the corridor. Your mind is already going haywire with all the possibilities, all the different ways this interaction may go, and you scramble to find a suitable plan for every scenario. Homelander looks thoroughly unaffected, his face devoid of any signs of tension, hell, you'd risk saying he seems quite relaxed. Which is beyond worrying. 

The room he pushes you into is completely empty, with some tables arranged into a circle and a bunch of chairs placed around them. A conference room, with the uglies fucking carpet you've ever had the misfortune to lay your eyes on. And then, after taking in the whole environment, your eyes zero-in on a small, black box, right in the middle of the table. Unassuming enough, but you know better. There's no such thing as innocent, as far as your "mentor" is concerned, and as images of the cracking wall flicker before your eyes, you bite down on your tongue. Homelander closes the door with a soft click, lingering for just a second, before turning to you, bright smile in place. 

- I just realized, I don't know the scope of your powers - he says casually, crossing the room, and standing in front of you - Soon, we'll be sent on missions together, I'd like to know what I'm working with. 

Fair enough. You are slightly surprised he even needs clarification, as before signing the contract, Vaught took full inventory of your abilities. The idea of being alone with him in a room still makes your fingertips tingle with nerves, but you swallow it down, like you seem to be doing to most things these days. Pushing your hair out of your face, you nod slowly, pretending this sudden shift in his behavior is not throwing you in a loop. 

- I'm pretty strong - you say, keeping your expression even, and don't even flinch, when he scoffs at your words - I heal faster. And I can use mild telekinesis, although it's really not... Um... Polished. 

To be quite honest, all you've managed to do, is move some objects around. It's not even useful enough to aid you in your day-to-day life. Usually it takes less effort to just, pick the damned thing up. Which is all that he should know, because Vaught knows. 

- Show me - it's not a request, his voice filled with a demanding tone, bordering on arrogance. 

You almost tell him to say please. Your mouth opens, the words ready to jump out from between a small smirk playing on your lips, but you swallow that thought thickly. There's a time and a place for educating his ignorant ass, and being locked in a tiny conference room might not be the right one. So, you shrug, the movement pushing your hair back over your eyes. 

- Which one? - perhaps, you'll allow yourself a cheeky smile, as a treat.

His smile sharpens to a worrying degree, and he claps his hands in front of his chest.

- I'm so glad you asked - his feet carry him straight to the box, and you might get a whiplash from all the confusion you're experiencing - I read your file. 

That raises an eyebrow. Realistically, you knew he would have access to your documents, your wole life exposed to his greedy eyes. And as such, this line of questioning surprises you. Although perhaps, it shouldn't. Since the very first moment you've met him, you had a sneaking suspicion, that he's just... Well... Lazy beyond belief. And your last interaction proved to you the sheer scope of his unwillingness to put any work in. With a raised eyebrow, you watch him open the black box with a soft click, taking out it's contents, his shoulders rolling, like he's preparing to lift some weights at the gym. 

Then, he turns back to you, a gun secured in his leather grip. 

- I'm interested in your healing abilities - he says, smile never faltering, the muzzle staring at you expectantly.

Now that gets your heart racing, but the reason might surprise him. Pain has been a constant companion in your life, and after discovering your powers, probably one of the few ways to keep yourself in check. That's why, your eyes light up at the sight of the gun, and all caution is thrown to the wind. You know, deep down, this is a test. How much can he do, how much can he hurt you. But you'll deal with the consequences after. 

If this will help placate him, lead him away from whatever happened between the two of you last night, you're more than willing to put yourself on the line. Better than the alternative, better than making use of that NDA you just signed. 

- Once, I got hit by a car - you remember with smile - And the next day went to class like nothing happened. 

The gun digs into the soft flesh of your stomach, as you step closer, looking up at him with an impassive expression, and Homelander's eyes light up like a kid's in a toy shop. Dangerous, your brain supplies, so very dangerous, but you've never been shot before, and to be quite honest, you're curious yourself. 

- Lift up your shirt - he says, voice dropping just a fraction - Wouldn't want to arrive to the photoshoot with a hole in that pretty costume, would you?

You do as he says, with a bit of a struggle rolling up the faux leather of your corset top. His eyes fall down in an instant, tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he drinks in the sight of your pliable flesh peaking over the hemline of your skirt. His free hand darts out, as if on autopilot, gloved finger running across the whole expanse of your belly, revelling in the way your muscles contract at the contact.

Too close, you face twists, as his touch brings back memories from last night, your body freezing up for just a second. You need to keep him occupied in some other way, and as such, your eyes roll on their own, whether pushed by Smirnoff or Fireball is anyone's guess.  

To your credit, when you grab the gun out of his hand with an almost laughable ease, he gasps, eyebrows furrowing at the sheer audacity of your action. But before he can have the chance to voice his irritation, you flip the gun in your hold, pushing it into the exposed flesh of your stomach. It's cold, hard, and your pulse spikes, as the anticipation flares within your veins. 

- What are you...? - you cut him off, squeezing the trigger.

The shot rings out, the bullet goes into your stomach, and the force of the impact sends you falling over the table. And, fuck, it hurts like motherfucker on a stick. The smell of blood floods your nostrils, and through your momentary shock, you try to blink back tears welling up in your eyes. 

- What the fuck?! - he cuts himself off again, a bewildered laugh sneaking past his lips, blue eyes drinking in the sight of your trembling form.

- You were taking too long - you try to sound indifferent, but your voice comes out as a broken whisper, spasm after spasm wrecking your body.

Blood trickles down your stomach, soaking into the fabric of your skirt, and as the wound slowly starts to close up, you can feel the bullet travel up, through the tissue. The sensation might be worse then the initial shot, and your face twists, as cold sweat pools over your creased forehead. Seemingly, you hadn't nicked any important organs, or so you hope. 

- Oh, does that hurt? - you barely register his mocking tone of voice, as he comes closer to your heaving form.

Homelander crouches down, wrenching the gun from your hand and throwing it on the floor behind him like it's a piece of used tissue. Then, with mild interest, he inspects the wound.

- Your bleeding - he notes, and you'd be foolish not to note the slight tinge of disdain coloring his words. 

- I'm not fucking bulletproof - you huff out, doubling over with a groan - I just heal faster.

He cranes his head to the side, eyes gliding over your pained expression. You're too focused on steadying your breathing, to notice the way his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek in thought, but you're alert enough to recoil, once his gloved hand wedges itself under your chin, pushing your face ever so slightly upwards. You wish you didn't catch his gaze. The unrelenting curiosity, mixed with barely contained disappointment at your limited abilities. 

- Let's try one more thing, hmm? - he asks, although noth of you know, there's no way for you to refuse.

Homelander grabs you by the shoulder, hoisting you up, despite the weakness in your legs. You groan, as the bullet finally falls out of the wound, creating a small, bloody print on the carpet. His eyes float towards the slowly disappearing dent in your skin, his thumb rubbing over it with a bit more force than necessary, as if he's trying to milk as much pain possible, force you to react again. 

You don't give him the satisfaction, your eardrums buzzing, as you sway on your feet. Then, two things happen at the same time. His gloved hand pushes against your shoulder with enough strength, to force your body to uncurl, expose itself to his greedy eyes. And then, the center of your chest erupts with unimaginable, searing pain, as Homelander's eyes shoot red right at the middle of your collarbones. 

It's a quick, blink-and-you'll-miss-it kinda impact, but it sends you flying backwards, colliding with the table, and then straight to the floor. For the first half a minute, you can't breathe, your chest collapsing like a faulty mineshaft. The smell of burning flesh fills the conference room, and you would retch, if you could do anything more than flail your arms weakly, legs kicking out. 

He must've hit your trachea, you think, when your lungs fill with boiling blood. 

Homelander comes to stand next to your body, moving languidly, as if this is the most regular of interactions. His face blurs in front of your eyes, the fluorescent lights illuminating his blonde hair from above. You want to say something so bad, something smart and cutting, that would throw him off his rhythm again, but all that manages to push past your lips, is a broken gargle, as blood gathers behind your teeth. 

His face twists again, eyes taking on a freezing indifference, that is colder, more terrifying than any snowstorm. Looking at you for a moment longer, he finally snaps himself back to reality, a scowl placed over his features. 

- Get your shit together - he spits out through gritted teeth - The photoshoot starts soon.

The disgusted look he throws you, as blurry as it is in front of your eyes, makes your lips curl back into a snarl. You should've known better, you did know better, but it doesn't matter, because for some reason, when it came to him, you just can't stop your mouth from running wild. So, before he even reaches the door, your gargles form a single, spiteful word, that cuts through the smell of blood, and flesh, and burning. 

- Bitch - you seethe, blood gathering in the corners of your mouth, and you hear his boots stomp over, before you can see him. 

There's a moment of outrage, his eyes burning with that all too familiar, red burn. But then, it melts into something worse, something cold and self-satisfied. He lifts his boot ever so slightly, placing it down on your chest, keeping your body from moving on the floor. Homelander lingers like that for a split-second, eyes flickering all over your pained face. You know what he's looking for, and you refuse to give it. 

- I'll tell Madelyn to reschedule the photoshoot - he muses, lips curling back into a cruel smirk.

And then he pushes down with his foot, slowly, so you can feel every single creak and crack of your bones under his heel. He drinks in the silent scream, that tears through your body, as your ribs break under the pressure. Your eyes roll back into your skull, damn the car accident, you've never felt pain like this before. 

- Take the rest of the day off, alright kiddo? - he quips, his voice deceivingly kind.

Giving one last shove of his foot, he finally lets up, shuffling out of the room like nothing has happened, the cape swishing over your broken body, like a blessing from America itself. The door clicks softly, somewhere over your head, and finally, you give yourself the luxury of crying. Heavy, salty tears run down your cheeks, mixing with the remnants of last night's mascara. At least he won't see you like this. You try to ignore the possibility of him using his X-ray vision to preserve your own peace of mind. 

And as you lay there, feeling your bones, your tissues connect under the never stopping waves of pain, you realize something, which brings upon a new wave of tears tumbling down your cheeks, soaking into your hair, into the ugly carpet. 

This is the first time you've felt truly alive in a long, long time. 

Saving this for later! <33

Fic Recs (Harry Potter Editon III)

All fics are fem!reader

Marvel One Two Three Harry Potter One Two Three Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Specific Characters Tangerine Masterlist

Why Didn’t We Work Out? by @astonishment

Pairing: James Potter x Reader Summary: “James Potter had two girlfriends in his seventh yeat at Hogwarts. Y/N Y/L/N, who he dated for five months; and Lily Evans, who he dated afterwards. When he’s dared to call one of his exes, guess who’s number he dials…”

Morning Coffee by @thewriterghost

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Reader Summary: “You bring morning coffee to the boys.” 

Not So Secret Admirer by @kquil (Part Two)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “you can't hide your adoration for remus lupin and often end up staring at him, good thing he thinks you're really cute”

With All Due Respect by @writesowhatnext

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “Remus and the reader are best friends and that’s it and it’s so absurd that Remus keeps insisting that they’re anything more, right?”

Never His by @weasleykisses

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “when James needs help asking out Lily, he enlists you to play his fake girlfriend to make her jealous. In the process, you end up making Remus Lupin green with envy.”

Dealbreaker by @luveline

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Summary: “you work in a bookstore. sirius keeps finding reasons to need books. ”

Pretty Boy by @alwaysmoncheri

Pairing: James Potter x Reader Summary: “you think james is really pretty—unfortunately for you, sirius notices and decides to take matters into his own hands”

Dizzy by @moonstruckme

Pairing: Roommate!James Potter x Reader Summary: “when your roommate James comes home after a night out with his friends, he's acting even more affectionate than usual”

Coach P. by @soupandsimple

Pairing: Coach!James Potter x Teacher!Reader Summary: “gym coach James being called out by a student for often visiting you during their art class”

Flirtation by @moonstruckme

Pairing: Sirius Black x Shy!Reader Summary: “when Sirius won't stop tormenting you with pet names, you think to take revenge, but he doesn't react as you expected”

Omg this is so cute, I can't wait to see more! Nice job author!!

Trust Me- Chapter 1

Masterlist

summary: Peter has a plan. Peter had a plan. And it sure as hell didn't involve a bunch of judgy adult vigilantes joining him and harassing him about his age.

cw (more like things to expect): canon typical violence, abuse of the words "crawl" and "web", Peter Parker acts his age, characterization will be based off of the tv shows and the comics depending on the character

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter appreciated his Spidey-Sense.

It saved his life several times. 

But, it was moments like these where he wished he could just flip a switch and get it to shut up.

He was sitting on a beam high up near the ceiling of the warehouse where a weapons deal was going to happen soon. Peter had spent the last 30 minutes searching the building for anything remotely suspicious and found nothing. No drugs. No weapons. No technology. Not even a random person just lurking around. The place was completely empty.

But his Sense was screaming at him to be careful. That’s the thing about the Sense, it was never specific. It was just like he instinctively knew he was in danger, he had to figure out what/where the danger was coming from on his own. It wasn’t the beam (it was more than sturdy enough to hold him) and it wasn’t a lack of web fluid (he made sure to keep extra on him), so what was it?

His thinking was interrupted by voices entering the building. 

“Remember we get the money, give them the weapons and leave. The sooner we get this over with the better.” The man Peter mentally dubbed “Goon 1”  told “Goon 2”. They were each holding two large black cases, if it wasn’t for the fact that Peter knew they were selling privately manufactured weapons he would assume they were just selling rifles. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Goon 2 said, clearly not taking this seriously enough.

Good, Peter thought to himself. The less serious they were the easier it would be to follow them back to their base. Just then two more men entered the building carrying two large briefcases each. The four men talked for a bit, nothing interesting, the typical threats of what they would do to one another if the other pair screwed them over. They swapped cases and went their separate ways.

Peter followed Goon 1 and Goon 2 out of the warehouse, watching as they hopped into a black truck and sped away. It wasn’t difficult to keep up with them, it was just annoying to have to run the whole way instead of swing. But, sacrifices had to be made to not get caught. Though he had yet to meet a henchman who was smart enough to realize they were being followed even if he swung to follow them.

Goon 1 and Goon 2 drove all the way to Harlem, got out and entered another warehouse. 

‘What is it with bad people and warehouses?’

Peter jumped on to the roof of the building and climbed down its side to peer into a window. It was a whole system of men and women building, testing and packaging weapons. From all the research Peter has done, it seems like they were inspired by the Vulture and his operation. 

Peter crawled around the whole building to get a head count of just how many people he’s about to be dealing with. There were forty-five people on the first floor but on the second there were another four who seemed to be having a meeting. A meeting that was taking place in a soundproof room, judging by the sound and thickness of the walls. He went back to the roof to pace.

Ok, first take out the guys in the meet. There’s only four and they’re probably the most important ones to catch. Then, crawl around the building webbing up all the exits except for the window to the room where the meeting is happening. Crawl back through that window and get to work. Peter thought to himself.

He knew logically that forty-five people was a lot (even for him). But he was feeling calm and focused. More so than he had in the past few months; even his Sense had stopped going off. 

He could do this.

He broke the glass window and webbed the only door to leave shut. The man closest to Peter went to punch him but he saw it coming. He grabbed the man's arm and swiped the man's legs from under him, forcing him to land hard on his back allowing for Peter to web him to the floor. The hair on the back of his neck rose and Peter turned around, shooting a web to jam the gun that was about to shoot him. He was quick to web the would-be shooter to the wall.

He looked at the last two standing, a woman and a man. The woman rushed forward, pulling a knife out of her boot, going in to stab Peter. He jumped to the side, grabbed her outstretched wrist and the back of her neck and slammed her into the wall next to her fellow criminal. As he webbed her to the wall, the man jumped on him and put him into a guillotine choke and tried to drag him to the floor. Peter reached over and grabbed the man's jacket and used it to throw the man over his shoulder and through the table the group had been sitting at. Webbing the last one to the floor, Peter was feeling pretty damn good about heading down to the first story.

He crawled out the window and started webbing up all windows, doors and anything that could be a possible exit. He walked down the building to the ground and took a couple steps back to look at his work and re-fuel his web shooters. His Sense went off and he immediately looked up at the roof. There were four figures on the top of the building.

Peter sighed, shaking his head, “Why can’t I have one simple night?” He asked no one as he shot a web to the side of the building and used it to fling himself to the roof. He lands in a low crouch, one hand on the ground. 

“Get out of here Spider-Man.” a gravelly voice says dismissing him.

“I put too much work into finding and catching these guys to leave, just cause you tell me to.” Peter tells The Punisher.

He responds with the sound of him loading his rifle. Beside him Jessica Jones is lounging on the ground drinking from a flask. “Put the whiskey away, we move the second Red gives us the cue.” 

“Shut up, Frank.” 

“Will you both be quiet?” Daredevil hisses from the other side of the roof where he stands beside Luke Cage who adds, “Let him work so we can finish this.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter asks, his offense clear in his voice. “I did not do all of this work for you guys to show up at the last minute and take over. No, absolutely not. Get the hell out of here.”

The adults finally turn to actually look at him. The sudden attention makes Peter fix his slouch. Jessica opens her mouth -probably to tell him to shut up too - but Daredevil speaks first, “How old are you?”

Oh shit.

“That’s none of your business.” Peter says slowly, resisting the urge to cross his arms.

“You’re not even out of high school yet, are you?” he asks, his tone shocked.

If all the attention wasn’t on him before it definitely was now. “I’m not taking questions from people who refuse to leave Manhattan.” Peter snaps.

“Why did you cover up all the entrances? How the hell are you supposed to get in?” Luke asks, trying to bring the focus back. Spider-Man’s age was something that could be dealt with later, these people in the building were not.

Peter looked at Luke. He had heard all about Harlem’s Hero; his enhanced strength, durability and stamina was a big point in Peter’s research when he was trying to find ways of coping with his own abilities. “I’m going to get in through a window I left open.”

“The only window open is the middle one on the second floor.” Daredevil unnecessarily pointed out to Peter.

He rolled his eyes behind his mask.

“Not exactly a problem for a wall-crawler like Spider-Boy over here.” Frank said to the group, looking impatiently at Daredevil as if he was the reason why they didn’t have an entrance instead of Peter. “Listen kid-”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Whatever. Open the door and we’ll all go down there and settle this” Frank said.

It was a good idea, Peter probably could use the extra hands since they were on a time limit, only an hour and forty left before his webs began to dissolve. But the whole questioning his age and the tone of gentle parenting mixed with dismissal the group was using toward him really made him want to just abandon them on the roof. 

“Or you can just go in there alone and get shot up.”

Bitch-

Peter bit back the snide remark on his tongue and just jumped off the roof; swinging around the building and into the window he opened earlier. He closed the window behind him and took out a bottle of web solvent and - ignoring the whines of the criminals who wished to be released- used it on the door, walking out of the room. He was pretty sure that he’d be done before the webs began to dissolve but he webbed the door again just to make sure that those four stayed in the room. He slinked down the staircase to the first floor, crawled up the walls and looked at the people below.

They worked in four groups of ten and one group of five, spread out across the floor, completing various tasks. Two groups building weapons, two groups testing and the group of five packaging the weapons into cargo containers. 

First, the cargo group. Then, the builders. Then, the test group.

He crept until he was above the cargo containers. He flipped down, landing on the ground between two containers silently, and waited. Peter grabbed a worker as they passed by, knocked them out and webbed them to the side of the container. He did this until all five were out.

Nice.

The builders were next, they had two assembly lines going right next to each other. Peter stopped to consider how bad it would be to just go crazy, webbing everything insight, because there was no way he was going to be able to take them down one-by-one like he did with the previous group. 

Then an alarm went off.

Not nice.

The main lights shut off, the emergency ones coming on a second later, coloring everything in a red light. The goons panicked and began to take up arms. 

Very not nice.

He started webbing the containers with weapons closed. One of the workers saw him, she picked up a sledge hammer -what the hell do they need a sledge hammer for???- and went to hit him. He grabbed the hammer, distantly Peter felt it crush in his palm, and kicked the woman in the chest causing her and the person behind her to fall. He webbed them both, then used the handle of the hammer to knock out three others. He could tell by the gunshots and the sound of groans around him that his fellow vigilantes found some way into the warehouse. 

Probably just burst through the walls, the barbarians. Peter thought as he ran towards the commotion on the far end. 

He took down about ten more people on the way; hitting a few of them harder than he intended too (he didn’t want to think about what state they might be in, they were down, that was enough).The Spidey-Sense continued to hum in his mind so loudly it was the only thing he could focus on. He allowed it to consume him and moved purely on instinct, dropping to the ground, quick but not quick enough as a bullet lodged itself cleanly into his side

Damn

He turned and caught a fist just before it connected to his temple. Without thinking he punched the person, hard ,feeling and hearing their jaw break. He looked to the owner of the hand and saw Luke Cage looking shocked as he took a step back from the force of the hit. Peter knew he didn’t put his full strength into it, he knew that Luke was capable of handling a hit like that but that didn’t stop the guilt from seeping into him.

The sounds of gunfire stopped suddenly and for a brief moment Peter thought that someone had finally managed to kill Frank Castle. “You sure that’s all of them, Red?”

Nope

“They're all either knocked out, unable to move or dead.” Daredevil said, muttered something under his breath that made Frank push him. Peter began to shuffle towards and up the stairs clutching his side, he needed to get home asap. 

“You two better not start arguing again.” Jessica said, walking towards two of the weapons on the floor. She picked them up and threw them at Frank who started examining them. “Call your officers.” she called out to Daredevil, strutting to the main doors. She pulled at them, trying to open them, she struggled for a bit before trying to kick the door down. “Spider-Kid, get over here and open the doors!”

“No!” Peter yelled from the second floor as he poured some more solvent on the door. 

‘If they found a way in, they can find a way out.’ and with that thought he began to swing his way back to Queens, hoping that he wouldn’t pass out from blood loss on the way there.

Authors notes: thank you for reading