Percy, In The Middle Of Battle: Goddess, Save Us All.

He's so beautiful

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

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

Ahhhhhhh his name is Cricket and I’m so excited

Ahhh the slow burn is rough with this one 😭😭

Poor reader, geez! But also... The ghoul turns around and suddenly the reader is missing, lol.

I knew what they were as soon as that nasty dish was in front of us. What else would be in that!?

Fantastic chapter, and I am on the edge of my seat! Can't wait to see more.

From A Previous Life (Pt 3)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You rush to the Ghoul's aid, but find that hospitality doesn't come cheap in the wasteland.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, talk of cannibalism, mention of child loss, canon-typical violence, blood, angst, grief, yearning, rejection.

Word Count: 8.8K

A/N: This is late! I'm sorry this wasn't finished last week, but it took me a while to get the ending to a place where I was happy with it. Part 4 coming up next! I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2

In the weeks that followed, a palpable tension thickened the air, suffusing every moment with a sense of unease. The Ghoul, ever cautious and seemingly intent on minimizing any unnecessary interaction, forwent sleep altogether. Instead, he adopted the role of a silent sentinel, perched upon whatever seating deemed acceptable as he watched over the entryways of your temporary shelters. There he would remain, a solitary figure in the dim moonlight filtering through shattered windows, his hat pulled low over his ghoulish features, shrouding them in shadow.

As you lay awake, restless and watchful, your gaze was repeatedly drawn to him, silently pleading for him to abandon his post and join you in the refuge of your shared space. Still, he remained steadfast, his bed beside you still empty and unused by your departure the following morning.

During the days, you travelled in silence under the relentless glare of the blistering sun, each step bringing you closer to your elusive destination. You would pause occasionally, your keen eyes scanning the barren landscape for any sign of abandoned treasures that could be sold for a fine price. Each discovery was accompanied by a hopeful glance towards your companion, a silent plea for approval. More often than not, his response was a grunt or a dismissive shrug, leaving you to carry the weight of your excitement and disappointment alone.

He had truly reverted back to the aloof and distant man he had been before that fleeting moment of connection shared around the crackling fire—the night he had gifted you the Pip-Boy. It had felt like a heavy reminder of the vast divide between you, a symbol of the distance that must remain for your child's safety.

The internal struggle waged within you relentlessly, tearing at the fabric of your resolve as you walked alongside him. On one hand, the instinct to protect your child, to prioritize their safety above all else, pulsed through your veins like a guiding light. But on the other hand, an undeniable longing stirred within you, a selfish desire to throw caution to the wind and reach out for him, to seek the comfort of the companionship you had felt briefly.

You remembered the warmth of his arms briefly wrapped around you, the intimacy of talking freely together like you had done that night by the fire. The memory tugged at your heartstrings, igniting a fierce longing that threatened to overwhelm your senses. And despite your best efforts to bridge the conversational gap, to break through the walls he had erected around himself, he remained stubbornly distant.

The silence between you grew more pronounced with each passing day, a distinct barrier that seemed to stretch endlessly between you. You couldn't help but feel a sense of resignation settle over you. Some divides were simply too vast to bridge, and perhaps, you thought with a heavy heart, yours and the Ghoul's were among them.

It wasn't until one particularly hot mid-afternoon as you battled against a relentless radscorpion that had sprung at you from beneath an overturned refrigerator in that evenings shelter, the Ghoul's patience reached its limit. With a single, precise shot from his magnum, he dispatched the giant arachnid before turning to you with a sour expression.

"Outside," his voice commanded, firm and unwavering.

You followed behind him obediently, watching in silence as he collected the empty Nuka-Cola bottles scattered on the porch and lined them up along the railing. Once satisfied with his work, he turned to you and nodded, signalling you to follow him. Together, you descended the steps and moved further away until you reached a spot that provided a clear shot at the makeshift targets.

You eyed him cautiously, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of your resolve as you waited for his next instruction. But when his gaze settled expectantly on the gun holstered at your hip, you knew what you were to do. With quick hands, you fumbled to unholster the weapon, your fingers closing around its familiar grip as you prepared to face the challenge that lay ahead.

Despite the sweltering heat and the sweat that trickled down your brow, you squared your shoulders and raised your weapon, determined to prove yourself to the Ghoul—to show him that you were capable of holding your own beside him. And as you took aim at the makeshift targets, a sense of determination surged through you. Today, you vowed, would be the day you proved yourself worthy of his respect.

Pulling back the hammer, you let out a shaky breath as you pinched the trigger. The shot rang out, reverberating through your body like a thunderclap as you felt the recoil jolt through your arms. Taking a step back to steady yourself, you lowered the gun and peered ahead at the targets, your heart sinking as you realized that all five bottles remained stubbornly intact, mocking you from their perch.

A sense of annoyance bubbled up inside you, mingling with the disappointment that weighed heavy in the pit of your stomach. You heard the Ghoul sigh from his spot to your right, where he leaned against a a utility pole with his arms crossed.

"Again," he said, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation. "And keep your eyes open this time."

His words jolted you out of your reverie, pulling you back to the present moment with a sharp clarity. Despite the simmering frustration within you, you nodded in acknowledgment, steeling yourself for another attempt with the gun raised.

"Feet further apart," he instructed, his tone firm and authoritative. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and adjusted your stance, grit crunching beneath your boot. You heard him tut, then suddenly felt him beside you. His heavy boot kicked at the inside of your own, widening your stance even further. His gloved hands pressed against your shoulder with a firm tap, guiding you into position before withdrawing just as quickly. "Again."

As the Ghoul moved back to his post, you steadied the gun out before you, pushing down the giddiness that surged through you like a current. It was an unexpected sensation, sparked by the lingering heat left behind by his brief touch—the first physical contact he had initiated since your embrace around the fire. You took aim at the first bottle, and with the memory of his guidance in your mind, you pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, its echo reverberating through the desolate wasteland. A split second later, the sharp noise of the bottle smashing reached your ears, the shattered pieces scattering across the ground like sparkling jewels.

"Yes!" you exclaimed triumphantly, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you raised your arms above your head in victory. Turning to your mentor with a wide grin, you hoped for words of praise, but you were instead met with a stoic nod of approval, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with a steady gaze. Disappointment panged in your chest, a fleeting moment of deflation amidst the rush of triumph.

"Four more, then you can celebrate," he gestured towards the remaining targets and you eyed him with defeat as your arms dropped to your side.

Eyebrows furrowed in determination, you rolled you neck as you prepared yourself. A brief glimmer of pride flickered in his eyes as he watched you turn back towards your targets with a raised weapon.

"Four more, then you cook dinner," you countered and he laughed quietly, a short huff of air out his nose that was barely perceptible.

As the afternoon wore on, you focused all your concentration on the task at hand, determined to prove yourself capable not just to the Ghoul but to yourself. With each bullet that flew past its target, the Ghoul's sighs of irritation echoed in the stifling air.

He had retreated to the scant shade offered by a nearby fence, his slumped posture a testament to the oppressive heat that hung heavy in the air. From his vantage point, he observed your progress with a stoic demeanour, offering little in the way of encouragement as you struggled to find your mark. Still, you refused to be deterred by his silence, channelling your frustration and determination into each shot. With each miss, you adjusted your stance, honing your focus. Finally, the satisfying sound of shattering glass filled the air as the last bottle exploded into a thousand pieces, scattering across the ground.

Pride swelled within you as you looked down at your gun, a tool that had once seemed so foreign and intimidating. In that moment, a sense of awe washed over you as you realized just how far you had come from the life you had once known. The image of yourself as a wife, a homemaker, seemed like a distant memory, a remnant of a time before the world had been plunged into chaos. 

As you stood there, gun in hand, dirt under your nails, and a sense of purpose burning within your soul, you couldn't help but wonder how absurd your former self would find this scene. The thought of her reaction brought a smile to your lips, a bittersweet reminder of the person you had once been, and the person you were becoming.

A slow clap from behind you drew your attention, and you turned to see your partner walking towards you, his lips pulled into a wry smile. "Well, as long as no one moves, you might just cut it."

Despite his teasing, you welcomed the familiar banter, a reminder of the rapport that had developed between you before it's abrupt end. With a smile, you looked him over, a wave of gratitude washing over you. "Thank you, for this," you said, gesturing with the gun towards the broken glass. "I feel like The Man From Deadhorse."

With a playful grin, you raised your gun towards the Ghoul, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "I hope you like the taste of lead, you commie son of a bitch."

The sudden shift in atmosphere caught you off guard, the playful jest dying on your lips as the Ghoul's demeanour transformed with alarming speed. Before you could react, he closed the distance between you with swift, purposeful strides, his grisly features contorted with rage.

In the blink of an eye, he knocked the gun from your hand, the dull thud as it buried into the sand was loud in the tense quiet. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched in stunned silence, your wide eyes snapping back to him when he seized your arms in a vice-like grip.

"You don't play like that, you hear?" he scolded, his voice low and harsh, the intensity of his gaze drilling into you like a laser. His leather-clad fingers dug into your flesh, leaving behind faint impressions as he held you firmly in place.

With a shaky nod, you swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you replied, "I hear you." The tension hung thick in the air between you. "It was from a movie, I didn't mean nothing by it."

As he regarded you, the intensity of his grip slowly eased, his features softening marginally as he released you from his grasp. Though his anger still simmered beneath the surface, there was a hint of remorse in his eyes, a silent apology for his outburst. "This ain't no movie, darlin'."

"I know that," you said wistfully.

"Then act like it," he grunted, a wheezing cough escaping him before turning away. "Let's get moving," he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation as he retrieved the gun from the sand and handed it back to you.

You holstered your gun, a sense of caution settling over you as you eyed him warily, your footsteps echoing softly against the gravel path as you followed him back to your shelter. He stopped abruptly a few steps ahead, his posture rigid as he doubled over, sputtering into his closed fist.

Instinctively, you moved toward him, concern etched into your features, but you halted in your tracks at the sight of his outstretched hand. "Get back," he rasped, his voice strained, a clear warning in his tone.

You watched with growing unease as he struggled to regain his composure, each laboured breath sounding like a heavy weight upon his chest. The deep, chest-rattling wheeze that emanated from him sent a shiver down your spine, but despite the urge to rush to his aid, you knew better than to defy his command. With a reluctant step backward, you maintained a cautious distance, your eyes never leaving him as you waited anxiously for the bout of coughing to pass.

The coughing had started a few days prior, coming sporadically but with increasing frequency, especially when the Ghoul worked himself up. At first, you had dismissed it as the inevitable toll of his years spent wandering through dust and dirt, but as the days passed and you witnessed the panic in his eyes one evening while he counted his stock of liquid-filled vials, you knew it was something more. The sight of his trembling hands, the frantic glint in his tired eyes, sent a chill down your spine,

You didn't fully understand the significance of the vials, only that they were his medicine—but for what ailment, you couldn't be certain. You had assumed it was for pain, a necessary relief for someone who had endured the relentless exposure to radiation for so long. You knew better than to ask him about it directly. Even in moments of calm, when the worry over his dwindling supply wasn't etched into his furrowed brow, you knew that prying into something so personal would be met with resistance.

The Ghoul staggered back to the shelter and you followed behind him with growing concern, your heart pounding in your chest. You watched in silence as he grasped the stair rails for support, his normally steady gait now faltering. It was a sight you had never witnessed before—him weakened and vulnerable—and fear shot through you like a bolt of lightning, unwelcome thoughts of what this could mean racing through your mind.

You quickly put the invasive thoughts aside, hurrying to join him inside where you found him hunched over his saddlebag. His movements were frenzied as he loaded a vial into the inhaler that distributed the medicine. With a deep, shaky breath, he puffed the inhaler, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space. Minutes stretched into eternity as he fought to regain control of his breathing, his chest heaving with each ragged inhale.

You held your breath in anticipation, watching as his chest heaved and then settled, but your frown deepened when a groan escaped him. He threw himself back against the wall, his movements laboured and unsteady. His arms hung limp at his sides, the inhaler discarded and forgotten on the ground beside him. His hat slipped from his head, tumbling to the dirtied tiles below, leaving his bald head glistening with perspiration, the droplets of sweat trickling down his tired face.

It was a sobering sight, one that filled you with a sense of helplessness as you stood before him, unsure of what to do to alleviate his suffering.

"Told you to stay away," he breathed, his voice weary as he met your gaze, exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I'm fine," he muttered, though the strain in his voice betrayed his words. "Just need to close my eyes."

As his eyes fluttered shut, you moved to his saddlebag with haste, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched desperately for another vial to bring him back to you. But as your trembling hands sifted through the contents, your heart sank like a stone—empty. He had been rationing his vials for days now, telling you there was a place up ahead to get more, but that you weren't to come with him. Another one of his solo trips.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you realized that he was going nowhere in this condition. His shallow breathing reduced you to panic as you fumbled at the inside of his heavy duster, your hands shaking with urgency. Ignoring the incessant clicking of the dosimeter, you pulled out a weathered map that he had drawn up at the beginning of your journey, showing you just how far you had to go until you'd find the haven and the stops that you'd make between.

Your gaze swept over the roughly sketched lines and symbols, tracing the route ahead with a growing sense of urgency. Finally, your eyes landed on a cluster of squares topped with triangles, situated close to the location you recognized as your shelter on the map. Beside them, a lone letter "V" was scrawled, signalling the area designated for his next collection of vials. The distance seemed manageable, just a half-day's journey at most—perhaps even less if you pushed yourself.

The prospect of venturing out alone was daunting, yet despite the risk of leaving him vulnerable, of being scolded for leaving upon your return, you knew there was no alternative. He relied on those vials, and you relied on him.

With a heavy heart, you removed his gun from its holster, carefully positioning his gloved hand around its grip before settling it on his lap. Adjusting his hat back on his head to shroud his closed eyes, you hoped that any passing traveller might be deterred by the implication of a formidable foe awaiting their approach.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at your companion one last time, the weight of your decision settling heavily upon you. With a silent prayer for his safety, you asked him to wish you luck before turning away and setting off towards your new destination, determined to retrieve the vials and save the Ghoul.

The two-story house stood large and imposing before you, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon casting long shadows across the grounds. Its faded white paint was peeling, revealing the weather-beaten wood beneath, and its roof sagged precariously as if it could collapse at any moment. The yard, overgrown with tall grass and weeds, was littered with the carcasses of rusty, broken-down vehicles and an assortment of discarded debris, each piece a story of neglect and abandonment.

Stepping onto the sprawling porch, the creak of the wooden boards seemed to echo through the still air as you steadied your nerves. You rapped your knuckles against the front door that hung slightly ajar. 

"Whaddya want?" a disgruntled voice hollered from inside, and you stepped back as the door was torn open to reveal a man, his greying hair unkempt and greasy, clinging to his weathered face that was etched with deep lines and one large, pink scar from eye to jaw. "Well, what is it?"

Clearing your throat to dispel the tension, you attempted a friendly smile as you greeted him. "Hello, I'm hoping you can help me," you began, holding the unfolded map up to show him. With a pointed finger, you indicated the spot marked by the Ghoul with a "V." "I'm looking for vials, is this where I can get them?"

He peered closer to the map, beady eyes squinting as he considered it. With a dirty hand, he rubbed at the white stubble of his chin as he hummed, his gaze flicking over you quickly before straightening. "Vials, you say? You're in luck," he gave you a toothy smile, displaying his blackened teeth.

Despite the turn in your stomach, you breathed a sigh of relief. Tucking the map away in the side of your bag, you smiled gratefully. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," you laughed.

"Well, don't dilly-dally on my porch all night, girl," he said, ushering you inside.

Stepping into the dimly lit home, you were hit by the musty scent of decay and mould. The house was cluttered, filled with stacks of old newspapers, broken furniture, and various knickknacks. The man led you through a narrow hallway into a small room that served as both a living space and a workshop. A cluttered table sat against one wall, covered in tools, scraps of metal, and various mechanical parts.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to a rickety chair near the table. "I'll see what I got."

You sat down cautiously, the chair creaking under your weight. The man rummaged through a pile of junk on a nearby shelf, muttering to himself as he searched. After a few tense moments, he produced a small wooden box and placed it on the table in front of you.

"Here they are," he said, his tone gruff. "How many you need?"

You glanced at box, your heart pounding with a mix of relief and anxiety. "I need as many as you can spare. How much for all of them?"

The man scratched his head, considering your request. "Caps, or trade?" he asked, eyeing your bag.

"I have caps," you replied, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small pouch. You poured the caps onto the table, counting them quickly. "Is this enough?"

He scooped up the caps, weighing them in his hand before shaking his head. "Not hardly," he said, pocketing them as he stared down at you expectantly. You quickly fumbled in your bag, trying to find something to offer. "How about that there contraption?"

Your eyes followed his to the Pip-Boy on your wrist. What would the Ghoul say if you returned without it? He had insisted you keep it on, gifting it to you as a means of gaining some semblance of control that you desperately wanted. Granted it had recently become an unwanted reminder that loneliness would be your only companion until you met your baby, but he wouldn't want you to trade it. Yet he wasn't here, and you were in desperate need of those vials.

"Please, anything else," you pleaded, one last ditch attempt at negotiation as you rifled through the contents of your bag. "I have scrap, copper, toothpaste, you can even have my gun," you continued, listing your items in a desperate ramble before throwing your gun onto the table beside you. 

The man's narrow gaze swept over the array of items you had laid out, his expression a mask of disdain. Without hesitation, he seized your bag and upended its contents onto the worn tabletop. With a rough hand, he sifted through the items, emitting grunts of disapproval as he scrutinized each one.

"No, no good," he muttered, crossing his arms in a gesture of finality. "That thing's worth more than all that junk combined." His lip curled in distaste as he indicated the Pip-Boy resting on your wrist. "It's the gadget or no deal."

Desperation gnawed at you. You needed those vials; the Ghoul's life depended on it. Leaving empty-handed wasn't an option. Fighting back tears, you took a deep breath and looked up at the man, striving to keep your voice steady. "Fine, it's a deal," you conceded, fingers trembling as you unclasped the precious device from your wrist, placing it reluctantly into his filthy palms.

His cracked lips curled into a predatory grin as he regarded his newfound treasure. With a casual shove, he pushed the box of vials across the table towards you. Eagerly, you reached for it, anticipation tingling in your fingertips. But as you pried open the lid, hope turned to bitter disappointment at the sight within.

"There are only three vials here," you stated, disbelief colouring your voice. "We agreed on the Pip-Boy for everything you've got."

A mirthless chuckle escaped the man's throat as he he leaned back against the table, a smug gleam in his eyes. "There it is," he declared, gesturing towards the meagre contents of the box in your hands. "Lesson learned, darlin'. Always check the goods before sealing the deal."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration, cursing yourself inwardly for falling prey to such a blatant deception. Anger surged within you, fuelled by both the injustice of the situation and the man's smug satisfaction.

"That's not fair!" Your voice rose, laced with indignation, drawing a startled expression from the man across the table.

"Now listen here, you little-"

"What's all this hoo-ha about?" a woman's voice interrupted him as she entered the room. She was about the same age as the man, greying and wrinkled, but whereas his face was stern, hers warmed when she saw you. Her hands went to the apron tied around her thin waist, wiping at the dirty fabric as she spoke. "Well, who do we have here?"

The man released an exasperated sigh, his patience wearing thin. "Just a fool not knowing when a deal is done," he muttered, flinging your empty bag in your direction. "Collect your shit and hit the road."

Before you could react, her hand shot out with startling speed, connecting with the back of his head with a resounding smack. He recoiled, irritation contorting his features as he rubbed the offended spot.

"Goddamn, woman!" he exclaimed, shooting her a venomous glare. "She got the chems, I held up my end of the bargain."

Her eyebrows arched inquisitively as she scrutinized you. "And what might someone like you want with those?"

"My friend, he's unwell," you explained, rising from your seat to begin to deposit your items back in the bag. 

"So, he sent you to fetch them," she deduced.

You nodded, choosing your words carefully as you gauged the situation. Despite her apparent kindness, you sensed it wise to withhold certain details of your predicament. "Something along those lines," you replied cautiously, then pointed to the three vials. "I just hoped there were more."

"There are more," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument as she delivered a swift reprimand to the man beside her. "Edwin, why are you lying to this poor girl?"

Edwin, still nursing a sore spot on his head from her earlier blow, shot her a disgruntled look. "Can't a man try and make a profit in this economy?"

Ignoring his protest, she turned her attention back to you, a friendly smile gracing her features. "My husband will whip up as many vials as you need, don't you fret," she assured, her reassurance a comforting balm to your frayed nerves. Casting a disapproving glance at Edwin as he started to object once more, she added, "And to make amends for his rudeness, I'll whip you up a plate."

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, but I really must hurry these back to my friend," you insisted.

"Of course you must," she affirmed, her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled again. "Edwin will go fetch you some from the cellar. We can't keep such valuable stock out in the open, you understand." Her explanation was delivered with a nod of assurance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Edwin grumbled, leaving the room presumably to fetch the vials.

"Why don't you and me wait for him in the dinin' room," she suggested, her voice carrying a hint of Southern charm from the old world. "You ain't tasted nothin' till you tried my brahmin roast." 

Your protests dissolved into silence as she gently guided you into the room from whence she appeared. A grand wooden dining table commanded the centre of the space, its unpolished surface bearing the scars of time and use. Two weathered candelabras sat empty upon the worn tabletop framing an intricately designed vase that stood proudly in the centre, its once-vibrant bouquet now reduced to a collection of decaying flowers, a red hue faded to a sombre brown. Despite its faded grandeur, there was a certain charm to the room, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times.

Memories of your past life flooded your mind. You remembered the stressful joy of hosting gatherings, the meticulous attention to detail as you fretted over the correct placement of place mats and whether the centrepiece was in keeping with the latest trends from the home magazines you avidly read. Glenn, ever the laid-back husband, would often be found nestled in his recliner, savouring a glass of whiskey as the radio drowned out your worries. He only intervened when you were on the verge of tears, calling for Patti to come and mend his frantic wife.

As you took in the scene before you, a pang of nostalgia tugged at your heartstrings, a bittersweet reminder of a life left behind in the wake of the bombs. In this dilapidated dining room, this family had somehow managed to create a semblance of normalcy amongst the disorder. You only hoped to do the same for your own child.

"I'll have Junior walk you back to your friend," she announced, her voice carrying a gentle authority as she guided you to a seat amidst the array of mismatched chairs. "He's a good boy, you won't come into any trouble out there with him by your side." 

With a tender smile, she disappeared through a swinging door, leaving you to ponder her offer in the dimly lit room. However, your contemplation was interrupted by an unpleasant odour that wafted through the doorway, assaulting your senses with its acrid essence. The stench caused your stomach to churn uneasily, and you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose in distaste.

As she returned with two steaming plates balanced delicately in her hands, the offensive smell accompanied her, its presence overwhelming. Recoiling slightly, you fought to suppress the urge to gag and wondered how the woman wasn't doing the same.

Setting one plate down before you with practiced grace, she deftly produced a worn napkin from her apron, gently draping it across your lap with an air of hospitality. Expressing your gratitude, you watched warily as she took her seat opposite you, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Since your escape from the vault, you hadn't consumed anything that hadn't been prepared by your own hands or originated from a tin can. While her gesture was undoubtedly kind, you couldn't shake the apprehension that gnawed at you, fuelled by the putrid scent emanating from the meat on your plate.

You hesitantly prodded at the dish, watching as the jellied fat quivered around the thick bone it encased. A wave of revulsion washed over you, and opting instead to sample a carrot, you found it had been thoroughly drenched in the juices and carried the same off-putting aroma as the dubious meat.

Swallowing heavily, you mustered an encouraging smile for the woman across from you as she observed your reaction, her gaze expectant. Despite the foul taste in your mouth, you smiled in appreciation, hoping that it was enough to mask your unease. 

"It's delicious," you fibbed, delicately patting the corners of your mouth with the napkin. You eyed the door you had entered through. "Will your husband be joining us soon?"

You didn't want to push, but the urgency of your situation weighed heavily on your mind. Every moment spent away from the Ghoul felt like an eternity, and the thought of his deteriorating condition filled you with a sense of dread. You could have left with those three vials, but what guarantee did you have that they would be enough?

You knew nothing about his condition, nor did you possess the knowledge to provide any meaningful assistance. All you could do was return with as many vials as you could carry, hoping that the sheer quantity would be enough to appease him and alleviate any resentment he might harbour towards you for leaving.

"It's a big cellar," she offered in explanation, her tone carrying a hint of apology for her husband's delay. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on you. "Gets a mite lonesome in this old house."

You offered her a sympathetic smile, sensing a shared understanding of loneliness in her words. "And Junior, is he your son?" you asked.

"One of 'em," she replied with a wistful smile, her gaze drifting momentarily into the distance. "The only one left. Tall as a redwood and about as sharp as one too, bless his heart." There was a fondness in her tone, a mother's unconditional love for her child evident in every word. "But us mothers, we love 'em all the same, don't we?" she added with a gentle chuckle, her eyes flicking to your pregnant belly before returning to meet yours with a glimmer of joy.

Your eyes widened in astonishment at her revelation, and a surge of vulnerability and protectiveness welled within you, prompting your hands to instinctively cradle your bump. You had grown noticeably, your pregnancy now too pronounced to conceal any longer, compelling you to discard your vault suit in favour of garments salvaged from an old dresser. Amidst the solitude of your journey with the Ghoul, encounters with others had been rare, limited to a handful of oblivious traders who had failed to notice your condition. This unexpected revelation felt like a breach of privacy, like divulging a secret that had been shared exclusively between you and your companion.

"Of course," you replied cautiously, sensing the weight of her words.

"I'd move mountains for my boy, just to ensure he's fed and breathing. In this world, that's about all a mother can aspire to," she murmured, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. "It's a pitiful state when a mother can't even provide that much for her own kin."

Your heart constricted with anguish, fears surging to the forefront as you contemplated the prospect of being unable to provide even the most basic necessities for your unborn child. The notion of welcoming a helpless infant into a world of scarcity and violence filled you with terror. You had been hesitant to confront the reality of impending motherhood, unsure of how you would navigate the responsibilities that lay ahead. Despite clinging to the hope that sanctuary awaited you at the haven, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered in the recesses of your mind.

As you looked into her sad eyes, a pang of empathy tugged at your heartstrings. This poor woman had endured unimaginable loss, yet here she was, seemingly trying to cling to a semblance of normality by creating a home for her remaining family in the wasteland.  It was a fragile existence, one that could be snatched away at any moment, and as her resilience struck a chord within you, you wondered: Could this be your future as well? The thought lingered in the depths of your mind, weighing heavy on your chest. 

"Don't feel sorry for me, darlin', I got my time with my boys," she assured you, reaching across the table to rest her hand gently on yours. 

You smiled sadly as you regarded her. "I can't even imagine what you've been through," you admitted, your voice laced with genuine sympathy.

"No, I suppose you can't," she replied softly, her hand withdrawing from yours as she settled back in her chair. There was a moment of quiet contemplation before she spoke again, her words carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "I've come to realize in this world that it's not about what's been done to us, but what we are willing to do."

You nodded in agreement. You had been thrust into this harsh reality, subjected to the horrors of the vaults and the betrayal of those who promised salvation. Yet, despite the trials and tribulations you had faced, you had fought tooth and nail to survive, to carve out a place for yourself in this dangerous new world. And now, with the imminent arrival of your child, that determination burned even brighter within you.

"Are you willing to do anything for your baby?" she asked, her voice soft yet resolute. Without hesitation, you nodded, unwavering resolve in your eyes.

Her gaze dropped to the table momentarily, lost in thought, before lifting once more to meet yours. "So am I," she declared softly, an edge in her voice that belied her gentle demeanour.

With a swift motion, she brought her index and middle finger to her lips, emitting a sharp whistle that pierced through the stillness of the old house. Your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of her action before Edwin shuffled into the room, trailed by a looming figure whose long hair obscured the majority of his face. "Christ, Mag, I thought we'd be waiting all night," the older man grumbled. "Junior, grab the girl."

You turned your gaze back to Mag, the panic rising within you like a tidal wave, but as your eyes searched for reassurance in hers, you found only avoidance. Her gaze remained fixed on the table, refusing to meet yours, her expression inscrutable.

Junior closed the distance with two swift strides, his towering frame engulfing you as he efficiently yanked you from your seat, flinging you onto your back on the table with a brutal force that stole the air from your lungs. The table's decorations rattled to the ground, mingling with the scattered food in a cacophonous crash.

As Mag's now stern voice echoed through the room, a cold shiver ran down your spine. "Don't leave any marks, Junior," she scolded, authority in her tone. Her son nodded in obedience.

Your hands trembled as you instinctively reached for your holster, only to curse under your breath when you found it empty. The realization hit you like a sledgehammer— you had handed your gun to Edwin during the negotiations, a decision that now seemed foolish in hindsight. Defenceless, vulnerable, and at the mercy of forces beyond your control. Like a cruel nightmare, you were back where you had started. 

"Can't sell meat that's all bruised up," Mag's words lingered in the air as she left the room and your eyes widened in terror as the door swung to a shut. You scrambled to rise from the table, but Junior pushed you back down, though this time with less force. 

"Please, you don't have to do this," you begged, tears welling in your eyes.

"She's not for selling, she's for eating," Edwin interjected callously, disregarding your pleas as he seized your ankles. Junior seized your wrists in an iron grip and pinned them above your head, stretching you out before them. 

"Says who, you old coot?" Mag challenged, reappearing with a hefty butcher knife gripped firmly in her hand. The awful smell filled the room again, and you felt bile rise in your throat.

"Says me, the one who got her inside in the first place," he retorted, grunting as you struggled against his grip. "Besides, I'm sick of that rancid meat. He's been festering in there for weeks." He nodded toward the door where the putrid smell was emitting from.

His words sent a chill down your spine as you glanced at the mess of food scattered across the floor. Your eyes honed in on the repulsive meat that now lay splayed on the grubby carpet amongst the ceramic shards of the plates. Brahmin meat, she had told you, but now you realized it was another poor soul who had crossed this family's path.

Perhaps you were naïve to not consider the act of cannibalism in this dire new reality, but your mind reeled at the images of teeth ripping through bloody flesh.

"Please, why are you doing this?" you cried, tears hot on your cheeks as panic consumed you, each futile struggle met with unyielding strength from Edwin and Junior. Mag moved to your side.

"We've had this conversation, darlin', you know why," Mag whispered, her face looming mere inches from yours. The warmth that once suffused her features had now drained away, replaced by a chilling resolve as she gazed down at you. "Motherhood demands sacrifice, and this is the sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Her gaze shifted to your belly, assessing it before turning to address the old man. "We'll keep her for meat and sell the babe for a hefty sum," she declared, eliciting a triumphant whoop from him. As her hand tenderly caressed your sweat-dampened hair, a shiver ran down your spine at the realization of your fate. "I want you to know that I mean you no ill will," she murmured, her voice a soothing contrast to the horror of her words. "But my boy has to eat."

The gentle touch of her hand offered little comfort as you recoiled from her touch. When you shook your head in a futile attempt to rid yourself of her grasp, she stepped back, her voice hardening once more.

"I wish I could promise this won't hurt, but there's only one way this baby's comin' out," she stated matter-of-factly, her words ringing with finality as the weight of your impending ordeal settled like lead in the pit of your stomach.

As the blade hovered menacingly above you, your mind raced with desperate thoughts. You couldn't shake the image of the Ghoul alone, abandoned where you'd left him while you embarked on this ill-fated rescue mission. What if he awoke to find you gone, vanished without a trace? Would he think you'd left him, angry over what had transpired between you both? Or perhaps that you'd waited until his weakest moment to finally run from him. The mere notion tore at your heartstrings.

You needed him to know the truth, to understand that your departure was in aide to help him not abandon him. You couldn't die knowing that he may think so badly of you, even though you weren't sure why it mattered so much. He'd been difficult and stubborn, scolded you and made you cry, but there was a yearning that you felt for him beyond your own understanding. With every fibre of your being, you silently pleaded for a chance to return to his side, to make things right and ensure that he could never doubt your devotion.

But you were trapped, with nowhere to run and no escape from the horrors unfolding before you. The full stretch of your body left your bare stomach uncomfortably exposed to the imminent danger. The cold, unforgiving blade of the knife traced a path across the swell of your belly, its touch sending shivers of dread coursing through your veins. Though the first cut was not deep, the sting of pain accompanied by the trickle of blood down your side served as a grim reminder of the perilous situation you had walked yourself and your unborn child into.

Since escaping the clutches of the vault, you hadn't dared to picture your future, quickly learning that the dangers of the wasteland were capable of shattering your reality with ruthless brutality from one moment to the next. Yet, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing had remained constant: your unwavering determination to protect and nurture the life growing within you.

From the moment you heard the doctor confirm your pregnancy, a flicker of hope ignited within you. Despite the deceit of your husband, the looming threat of war, and every obstacle that stood in your path, you had clung to the unwavering belief that you were destined for motherhood. It was a truth that resonated deep within your heart, but you felt it slowly being swallowed by the hollow ache of despair and regret.

With a heavy heart weighing down every fibre of your being, you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for what was to come. In that harrowing moment, a chilling realization swept over you like a tidal wave: if you were to remain conscious through these next moments, you would meet your baby. You were so far from carrying to full-term, but why would Mag go to such lengths unless she was confident that your baby would survive. Afterall, a living baby must be worth a fortune in the wasteland. A commodity, as the Ghoul had described you. 

Then, the thought pierced your soul: your baby would enter the world alone, without you, unaware of what transpired or why you weren't there beside them. Growing up to think that their mother never loved them. You couldn't let it happen.

With your last shred of resolve shattered, a primal scream tore from your throat.

A distant crash from another room shattered the tense atmosphere, bringing the woman's relentless pursuit with the knife to an abrupt halt. All three members of the family turned their heads towards the doorway, their eyes widening in shock as it was obliterated before them. A deafening cacophony of splintering wood filled the air as a single bullet burst through, sending wooden fragments flying in all directions.

Instinctively, you turned your head away, seeking whatever meagre protection you could get. In the midst of the commotion, Edwin's agonized holler pierced the air, his body recoiling as the bullet sliced through his neck. With a forceful impact, he was thrown back against the kitchen doorway, his form crumpling to the ground with a heavy thud that reverberated throughout the room.

Junior's anguished wails pierced your eardrums. Despite his distress, his vice-like grip remained unyielding, keeping you firmly in place even as he grappled with the shock of his father's demise.

Meanwhile, Mag offered only a fleeting acknowledgment to the lifeless form of her husband before her attention snapped back to the now-open doorway. There, a figure emerged, a silhouette framed by the shattered remnants of the entrance. With each step, the sound of spurred boots rang out like a beacon of hope.

As the Ghoul's hulking frame filled the doorway, a wave of relief washed over you. He appeared worlds apart from the unconscious man you had left behind in search of aid, and as you took in his daunting appearance, you noticed the inhaler clutched in his hand, an almost empty vial inserted inside. 

Locking eyes with him across the room, you watched as his weary gaze swept over the scene before him: you, splayed out and held down on the table, a small cut marring your belly, tears streaking your face.

In that fleeting moment, his expression darkened with a silent fury. With swift and merciless precision, he raised his magnum, his aim unwavering as he first targeted Junior. In an instant, the sound of gunfire shot through the room, a single slug piercing through Junior's skull, extinguishing his cries in a heartbeat.

Mag's horrified gaze barely had time to register the terror before her own fate was sealed. She turned to the Ghoul with venom in her eyes. "Coop—"

With ruthless efficiency, another bullet tore through her chest, sending her crumpling to the floor beside her fallen son. In the span of mere seconds, the room fell almost silent, the only sound being the Ghoul's heavy breaths as he surveyed the aftermath of his swift justice.

A low groan echoed across the room, drawing the Ghoul's attention to the source of the sound. Without hesitation, he fired off two more shots into Edwin's chest, putting an end to his suffering. As the final ring of gunfire faded, the Ghoul lowered his gun, his gaze fixated on you once more. His eyes, dark and brooding, seemed to bore into your very soul, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in their intense scrutiny.

With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up to sit on the table, the weight of so many emotions swirling within you like a windstorm raging inside your chest. Fear, relief, guilt, and gratitude warred for dominance, each vying for your attention as you struggled to make sense of the harrowing ordeal that had unfolded before you. In that moment of uncertainty, you found yourself paralyzed by indecision, unsure of how to proceed as you watched the Ghoul, awaiting his instruction.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he holstered his gun and tucked the inhaler back inside his coat, the look of anguish etched upon his scarred face. With a silent understanding passing between you, he beckoned you to him with a curl of his fingers, a wordless invitation for comfort that you never thought possible from him. Your body moved on instinct, propelled forward by a force beyond conscious thought, as you leaped from the table and into the safety of his waiting arms. In that moment, all pretence of strength crumbled away, leaving you clinging to him with a desperation that bordered on frantic.

You held onto him so tightly that you could almost feel the air being squeezed from your lungs. As his muscular arms enveloped you and your unborn child, a floodgate of emotion burst open within you, unleashing an outburst of tears that wracked your body with their intensity.

"I never left you," you whispered through each sob, your voice hoarse from screaming, the words spilling out in a plea for understanding. "I swear, I was coming back."

His touch was tender as he stroked your hair, his breath warm against your ear as he comforted your trembling form. "Nobody would blame you if you hadn't," he murmured softly, then cleared his throat. "I told you, you weren't to come here."

"I had to save you," you insisted, your voice shaking but resolute.

"Sure did a fine job," he said, glancing around the room at the carnage. "Looked like you had everything under control."

His teasing stung, and you pulled away from him, hurt flashing in your eyes as you stood your ground. "You were unconscious. If I hadn't come, you would have—" your voice cracked, unable to finish the thought.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" he interrupted, irritation thick in his voice. "Good thing too, because I wasn't aware just how dumb you could be."

"I didn't know if you'd make it," you shot back, your voice a raw blend of frustration and fear. "I had to do something, I couldn't lose you."

For a brief moment, his eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. But it was quickly replaced by steely conviction. He pointed a gloved finger at your belly, his tone firm yet edged with concern. "I shouldn't be your concern right now."

You cradled your bump protectively, looking up at him with glistening eyes. "And yet here we are."

He was silent for a moment, his hand dropping back to his side as he regarded you with a mix of frustration and helplessness. "What am I going to do with you?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You didn't answer him. Instead, you moved back into his chest, seeking the comfort you'd felt moments before. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, the tension in his muscles softening as he held you close.

"This can't keep happening," he said after moments of silence passed between you, his words hammering at your heart. You couldn't tell if he was referring to the intimacy of your embrace or your reckless brush with death once again. Regardless, you tightened your grip on him.

"Just a little longer," you whispered, your voice barely audible. He sighed in resignation as he gently disentangled your arms from his waist, pushing you back to look into your eyes. His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat, and he retrieved the device that would sever any remaining physical connection between you.

You had barely had time to enjoy the unbridled freedom of those moments in his embrace, the silence broken only by the rhythmic beating of his heart against your cheek rather than the disturbing clicking. But now, as your eyes fell on the Pip-Boy, you realized you weren't ready to relinquish that freedom, despite the protection it promised.

"I told you not to take it off," he chided. When you started to explain yourself, he cut you off. "I don't care, just put it back on."

You shook your head, your eyes locking with his, defiance met with disappointment. "Don't make me do it," he pleaded earnestly, his voice softening, laden with a desperation you hadn't heard from him before.

"I have a choice, and so do you," you told him, your voice steady but your heart pounding.

He smiled sadly, a bittersweet expression that deepened the ache in your chest. "I wish that were true," he replied, pulling your hand gently and fastening the Pip-Boy around your wrist. The device closed with a sickening clink, severing the fragile connection between you. You held his gaze, chin high, though you wanted to curl into yourself.

"I wonder if it really is me you're protecting with this thing," you said, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow, your hand still enclosed in his as the clicking commenced. "I'm not so sure anymore."

His gaze dropped as he took a deep breath, bracing himself before looking back at you with a rueful smile. "Me neither, vaultie," he admitted, his voice a whisper of regret. He dropped your hand and turned to leave the room. "Maybe it's better that way."

He disappeared through the open doorway, leaving you alone with the heavy silence and the cold weight of the Pip-Boy on your wrist. The freedom of touch you had tasted moments ago now felt like a distant memory, replaced by the stark reality that, regardless of anything else, the Ghoul was determined to keep you at a distance. 

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @lothiriel9 @ancientbeing10 @sillysimping @maeplaysbass @moon-trash1507 @spookyoat @rebelmarylou @writtenbyhollywood

Oh god why would you do this to me Bella!? This is heartbreaking 😭💔

Don't Walk Away [Part One]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Frank is a good man–you learned that the day he brought your dog Lucky into your life. The two of you soon began a relationship afterwards, one that was rather unconventional with how often Frank was always on the road. But one night when he's back, you're hit with the realization that you're in love with him. Noticing your nerves, Frank eventually pulls the truth out of you–and then you're left confused and heartbroken when you wake up to find him gone the next morning.

Warnings: 18+; Angst with a happy ending (in part two), emotional hurt/comfort, smut (in part two), love confession

Word Count: 5.7k

a/n: This was going to be a one part thing but I wanted to give this story everything I needed to which meant it was growing into something bigger. So there will be a part two coming that has the happy ending and smut. For now, this is angst. Enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Humming absently to yourself, you sealed the lid on the tupperware container of the leftover pasta you’d made for dinner. A crisp breeze made its way through the open windows in your kitchen, that comforting and familiar scent of autumn soon approaching wafting inside and filling your house. You loved this time of year when the nights finally cooled off and you didn’t have beads of sweat rolling down your back from the scorching heat of the day. There was something serene and calming about having your windows open at night, the sounds of the crickets outside a peaceful background to your evenings. 

As you made your way over to the refrigerator, you heard the sound of a car rolling to a stop somewhere along the street out front, the noise louder than usual with your windows wide open. You saw Lucky raise her head from off the kitchen floor, perking up at the noise as you opened the refrigerator door and placed the container of leftover pasta inside. Lucky let out a soft whine from the floor next, your attention fully turning down towards your dog as you shut the fridge.

“It’s just a car, girl,” you told her. “Nothing to be worried about.”

Making your way towards your dishwasher, you pulled the door open and slid out the bottom rack. Turning, you began pulling the dirty pots and bowls out of the sink from this evening and setting them one by one inside of the dishwasher. The loud thud of a car door closing outside rang out through your kitchen and Lucky jumped up from the floor. You paused, half-bent over the dishwasher as your focus shifted to her. She was standing perfectly at attention facing the living room, her entire body absolutely still except for her cropped tail. It was doing that hopeful, eager wag she would get where her tail would wag exactly three times before it stopped for a couple of seconds only to wag three more times. 

And she only ever acted like this when she noticed Frank was back.

“Is your daddy here?” you asked Lucky.

Her head turned back towards you, a happy glint in her eyes. You couldn’t contain your own excitement either, a large grin slipping onto your lips as you slid the dishrack back before closing the dishwasher door. Heading to the sink, you washed your hands, your smile only growing when you heard Lucky softly whining in barely contained joy.

By the time you were drying your hands on the kitchen towel, you heard a knock coming from the front door. Lucky bolted off towards it immediately, her excited barks loudly echoing through your previously quiet house. Making your way out of your kitchen and to the living room after her, you could hear Frank’s laughter coming through the open windows. The warm, resonate sound of it had you picking up your pace as you headed to the front door. It had been awhile since Frank had last stopped by and you'd certainly missed him. 

Unlocking the door, you hurriedly pulled it open to reveal Frank Castle standing on your doorstep–or Pete Castiglione as everyone else in the world knew him as. But you had come to know him for exactly who he was shortly after the night you met him eight months ago now. 

He was the one who’d brought Lucky into the animal hospital you’d been working at late at night. She’d been in terrible shape, barely holding on from the abuse she had clearly suffered from, and she had been covered in injuries from what appeared to be dog fights. He’d been in a panic about her, begging you to do whatever you could to save her that night when he’d barged in through the front doors carrying her limp body in his arms. Frank had barely left the animal hospital’s parking lot for the entire week she’d been in your care. He had always been checking in on her, asking if there was anything he could do. 

It wasn’t long before you’d looked into who he was, curious about the man who cared so much about an abused dog that supposedly wasn’t his dog–and then you’d managed to uncover his past. You’d been a bit wary of him at first, but Frank had only ever been kind and respectful to you and your colleagues. It was clear he had a big heart judging by how much he cared for the dog he’d rescued and couldn’t seem to let go of. Though when she was finally ready to go home and recover, you’d expected he would want to take her with him, but he’d surprised you when he had told you that he couldn’t. He was apparently living on the road for now, traveling from state to state without a real home, trying to find where he belonged. He had stayed only long enough to make sure she was healed and safe before he left.

You had ended up taking her in and naming her Lucky–because she was lucky Frank had been the one to find her and rescue her that night. But you’d also referred to her as your good luck charm because two weeks later, Frank had returned to the animal hospital you worked at and was asking about her. When he learned you’d been the one to give her a home, he’d asked if he could see her again. It was Lucky who had ultimately brought you and Frank together; she was the reason the pair of you had eventually fallen into the unconventional relationship you’d had for months now while Frank continued to live his life on the road trying to find himself–though you always wondered if he was really just punishing himself. 

Pulling the screen door open, Frank stepped inside with a broad smile spread wide across his face, his warm brown eyes focused on you. The sight of him had your heart feeling ready to burst, a large smile spreading onto your own lips in return. Lucky quickly began excitedly hopping around by Frank’s legs, demanding attention as happy barks flew out of her one after another. She only quieted when he'd finally tore his eyes from you and focused his attention on her.

“Hey girl,” Frank greeted Lucky. “You missed me, did ya?”

He took two steps inside before swiftly dropping down to his knees on the floor beside her. Lucky was quick to bombard him in a series of kisses straight away, only further encouraged by his large hands scratching behind her ears. Laughing lightly at the pair of them, you closed the front door and locked it before turning and leaning against it, watching the both of them with that smile lingering on your lips. Lucky’s entire lower half wiggled back and forth in delight as Frank continued to enthusiastically scratch behind her ears, muttering sweet words of praise to her. The reunions between the two of them had always went like this whenever Frank showed back up at your place, and it always warmed your heart to watch them together.

It was a few minutes before Lucky finally calmed, lowering to sit on her haunches in front of Frank with her tongue happily hanging out of her mouth looking as if she was smiling herself. Frank glanced up at you, one hand still absently petting Lucky as he directed that broad smile still on his face at you. The sight of it had your heart almost skipping a beat–it had been two weeks since you'd last had the opportunity to see that smile in person.

His attention not leaving you, he slipped his duffle bag from off his shoulder and dropped it to the floor by his feet. “How’s my favorite girl?” he asked.

“Feeling a little left out of this reunion,” you teased.

“Well I can’t have that now can I?” he mused.

He gave Lucky two more pats on her head before he rose back up to his feet, eyeing you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he slowly sauntered towards you. You quirked a brow at him, the corner of your lips curving even higher upwards. The moment he was within reach, his hands were on your hips. You could feel the warmth of them seeping past the thin fabric of your sweatpants, his fingers firmly gripping you in an almost possessive way. He stepped in closer to you, closing the distance between you both as his face hovered just before yours. Your own hands rose up, landing on his chest just over his dark jacket. Your eyes locked onto his brown ones, spotting that familiar light in them they always had when he was with you. Though every time he said goodbye to you before heading out to his truck, ready to get back on the road again, you swore you saw that light extinguish behind his eyes.

“What about you, beautiful?” Frank asked, his voice a gentle rumble in your ears as he cocked his head to the side. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you when you’re gone, Frank,” you assured him, hands snaking their way up his solid chest until you could wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him in closer to you. “And I’m always happy to see you.”

“Is that right?” he murmured.

Frank lowered his forehead to rest against yours, his eyes closing. Yours closed seconds later, your tongue slipping out to wet your lips in anticipation of your greeting from him. He was so close to you that his lips brushed yours when he spoke next. 

“How much did ya miss me?” he asked.

Without hesitation, your arms pulled him in the rest of the way to you as you tilted your face up, capturing his lips with your own. It surprised you that his lips were always so soft every single time you kissed him because everything about Frank usually screamed the opposite of soft. And right now those lips of his were moving so deliberate and slow against yours over and over again, the feel of them finally back on yours making you suddenly breathless. You quickly found yourself getting lost in him, your body melting into his as he pressed you further back into the front door. The scent of leather and gasoline and smoke filled your nose as your mind went blank to everything else but him. Frank took another step into you, his hands sensually sliding their way down your hips and around towards your ass as he kissed you exactly like a man who'd been gone for two weeks would. 

Kissing Frank for you was vastly different than kissing anyone else you ever had before. With Frank, every kiss and every touch from him always felt full of passion and something more . Something more than just lust and desire and the urge to scratch an itch. You’d never experienced that with anyone else but him, and you’d always been left wondering what that had meant.

When you felt Frank’s tongue drag its way along your lower lip so painfully slow and purposeful, you couldn't resist the faint moan that fell out of your mouth. Frank swallowed down the sound before he squeezed your ass in his large hands. Then he pulled away from you just a bit, chuckling at the whine you emitted in protest. 

"Much as I'd love to continue this, beautiful," Frank murmured, pausing to place a sweet kiss back to your lips, "It's been hours since I ate. Been drivin' all day trying to get back to you before you went to bed. D’ya mind if we catch up while I eat?"

Your right hand withdrew from its place around his neck, gradually making its way towards his face where you began to affectionately stroke his stubbled cheek. Frank’s eyes crinkled at the corners as you did. It was a moment before you answered, just enjoying the slight rasp of his beard against your fingertips, content that he was here again. Though you loved the slightly outgrown beard he always showed up with, clearly not having had a chance to shave in a few days each time you saw him again. 

"Only if you don't eat that packaged shit in your bag," you replied, gesturing your head at his duffle bag with a grimace. "I just finished dinner a bit ago, I can reheat you some of the pasta I made."

Frank's smile widened further, his hands gripping your ass firmly again. "You're too good to me, sweetheart," he told you. 

"Well somebody needs to make sure you're eating more than tuna fish from a bag and beef jerky," you shot back, nails playfully scratching along his jawline. "I need to make sure you're not malnourished out there on the road."

"Oh do you now?" he asked, his hands releasing you.

"Mhmm,” you hummed out as Frank stepped back from you, a grin forming on his lips. “You make sure you take those dirty things off before you make yourself comfortable, though," you told him, gesturing a finger down at his black boots.

Frank's grin curled up even higher before he dipped his head once in a single nod. "Yes, ma'am."

You hummed out a pleased noise before turning and making your way back to the kitchen. It came as no surprise to you that Lucky didn't follow after you, choosing to stay behind with Frank as he gathered his bag and took his boots off. 

Opening the refrigerator door, you pulled out the container of pasta you'd only minutes ago put away before setting it on the kitchen counter. Next you reached up into a cabinet, pulling down a bowl and then grabbing a fork from a nearby drawer. Afterwards, you began scooping a generous portion of food into the bowl–you knew damn well Frank ate like shit when he wasn't with you. You also knew he loved your cooking. 

As you opened the microwave door, you heard Frank's tired feet shuffling their way towards the kitchen. By the time the pasta had begun reheating in the microwave, Frank was at your back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling the back of you into the front of him. He buried his face into your neck and you tilted your head, giving him easier access as your eyes fell closed. He nuzzled quietly against your skin for a moment, the scratch of his beard almost a tickle.

“Missed you,” he murmured into your neck.

Your hands landed on top of his arms where they were wrapped around your waist, a contented sigh slipping out of your lips. You missed him every single day he was gone, constantly checking your phone for a new text or a call or a voicemail from him. Always desperate for anything at all from him. For the past few months you’d found yourself wishing he’d just stay one of these days instead of always slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder in a few days’ time, carrying your heart off with him as he drove away in his truck.

“You know you don’t always have to leave,” you told him quietly.

Frank inhaled an audible, deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he expelled it roughly. He soon drew his face from your neck as his arms began to unwind themselves from around your waist. Your stomach nervously twisted in knots at the physical distance he was clearly creating.

You’d had this conversation with him two times before. The first time it was mostly one-sided with you doing most of the talking. The second time had resulted in a fight. Frank had gotten incredibly upset with you and you hadn’t exactly understood why before he’d grabbed his bag and disappeared. You thought that was the end of things until he’d called you a few hours later apologizing profusely. Though you didn’t see him for almost three weeks after that. 

Before he could respond with anything, the microwave beeped loudly. The sound cut through the tension that had formed in the kitchen. Clearing your throat, you focused on grabbing the hot bowl from the microwave.

“Why don’t you get comfortable and I’ll grab you a beer?” you suggested, shooting him a strained smile over your shoulder.

For a moment Frank stood there silently just a foot behind you, an unreadable expression on his face. You could see the muscles jumping in his cheeks as he ground his teeth together–in anger or something else, you had no idea. It was a bit before he finally nodded, turning and shuffling his way towards your kitchen table. You watched him slide out a chair before sinking down into the seat. Lucky was at his side instantly, resting her head on his thigh.

With the steaming bowl of pasta in one hand, you made your way to the refrigerator and opened it. As you pulled out a beer for him, you could feel the weight of his stare on you.

“So what stories did you bring me back this time?” you asked him, trying to diffuse the tension as you shut the fridge door. 

Almost instantly his face lit up with a smile, another one of his deep, rumbling laughs filling your kitchen. Your nerves quickly melted away at the sound as you headed over towards him, depositing the bowl of pasta and beer in front of him on the table.

“Oh I got plenty of stories, sweetheart,” Frank told you, straightening in his chair as he grabbed the fork, hungrily spearing a few noodles.

Pulling the chair out beside his, you settled down into it before resting an elbow on the table. With a bright smile back on your face, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand, listening intently as he began to animatedly fill you in on his past two weeks.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Slowly waking, your eyelids fluttered open only to be met with the darkness of your bedroom. It took your brain a moment to register the warmth that was at your back, though you smiled in the darkness when you remembered Frank was curled up behind you with his large hand resting on your hip under the sheets. 

The tension had quickly vanished between the pair of you while Frank had eaten and the two of you had caught up. Shortly afterwards, Frank had grabbed a shower while you’d been hurriedly closing up all of the windows in your house. Then you’d made your way to the bathroom and slipped out of your clothes, joining him under the warm spray where the two of you caught up with each other in another way. 

Now he was fast asleep behind you wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers. His breathing filled your bedroom with each soft and rhythmic exhale from his mouth. You always missed having him in your bed whenever he was off on the road. It always felt too big and empty without him here sharing it with you.

That thought hit you hard right in the chest and you winced. It had been nearing a year of this long distance relationship with Frank now, and even though you’d been aware of his situation of being on the road when you’d started it with him, you’d recently come to feel differently about it. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust that he wasn’t with anyone else–though at first you’d wondered about that–but there was something there that you hadn’t been able to put your finger on before. Some other reason that his constant coming and going had started to feel different to you. That you’d stopped being so open to it.

You slipped a hand up out of the sheets, rubbing the heel of it against your eyes. That nagging feeling was back again. It was the same one that had you feeling restless and like there was something missing whenever you thought about Frank lately. With a sigh you shifted in the sheets, carefully trying to maneuver your way out of the bed and away from him without waking him up. Though you knew he was usually completely exhausted whenever he turned up on your doorstep and would sleep through just about anything.

Quietly you made your way down the side of your bed, sneaking past Lucky who was contentedly passed out in her dog bed, curled up in a tight ball. You continued to tiptoe towards the door, exiting your bedroom before continuing to make your way down the short hallway and into your kitchen. You could feel that nagging, unnamable feeling eating away at you again as you stopped beside the kitchen counter, reaching a hand up and opening a cabinet before pulling down a glass. 

Silently you made your way over to the sink, filling the cup halfway with water before you turned, resting your back against the counter. You drew the glass to your lips, sipping on the cool liquid as your eyes focused on the dark hallway nearby. Despite the stillness of your house, if you listened closely, you could hear Frank’s even breaths drifting out of the bedroom. The sound of it brought a faint smile to your lips.

And that’s when it hit you. 

Your hand tightened around the cold glass as the realization came crashing into you all at once, nearly drowning you in the revelation. You wondered how you’d been so blind to what had been right in front of you for so long.

You had fallen in love with Frank.

It had happened somewhere between all those phone calls and text messages you’d shared with him these past eight months, along with those impromptu camping trips he had brought you and Lucky with him on. Somewhere between the nights he’d cooked you dinner and taken you to bed, showing you just how much he’d missed you while he was gone. All those times he’d shown up on your doorstep–sometimes with a bouquet of flowers or with breakfast and coffees in hand–you’d fallen for him. 

There was no denying it.

Though you immediately became terrified of the realization. You knew about Frank’s past. You knew he’d been married and he’d had two children. You knew that all three of them had been brutally murdered right in front of him. And you damn well knew he still thought about them everyday–he still had nightmares some nights when he was with you. Horrible ones that made you feel useless to help him in any other way besides offering him comfort as he wept into your shoulder in the middle of the night. 

How the hell could you tell him you loved him? Did you even tell him that? 

A nervous churning began in your stomach as your eyes dropped down to the almost empty glass in your trembling hand. You were in love with a man who wasn’t a physical constant in your life. Sure, Frank kept in touch with you on and off throughout the day every single day that he was gone, but he wasn’t here with you every day. And that’s what it was you’d found yourself wanting lately. But with what he’d lost and how he seemed to keep spending his days searching for something out there on the road, could he ever even be here with you?

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you turned and dumped out the last bit of water in the sink before setting the glass on the counter. With a quivering exhale, you wrapped your arms around yourself before quietly tiptoeing back to the bedroom. Though the moment you entered, Frank began to stir in the sheets. You stopped instantly at the foot of the bed when you saw his head rise from off the pillow, his brows furrowing together.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Frank’s groggy voice asked.

Nervously you tucked some hair behind your ear, continuing back towards your side of the bed. You shook your head as you pulled the sheets further back, aware of Frank’s eyes following you through the darkness.

“No,” you answered quietly. “Just needed a glass of water.”

You slipped back onto the mattress, laying on your back this time as you turned your head along the pillow. You sent Frank a tight smile as you pulled the sheets back over yourself. A moment later you felt his hand sliding its way carefully up your neck, coming to cradle the side of your face. He carefully drew it further towards his, his thumb absently stroking your cheekbone with such tenderness that your heart stuttered in your chest. You swallowed hard, that tight band of nerves that had formed at your recent revelation in the kitchen a minute ago twisting noticeably in your gut. 

“You sure?” Frank asked.

Your brows twitched together briefly at his question. “Yeah, why?” you asked him cautiously.

“You seem…on edge,” Frank pointed out, his thumb still stroking your cheek. “Did I do somethin’?”

Instantly you shook your head, though your immediate denial only seemed to further pique his interest. He shifted on the mattress, drawing himself up onto an arm as he gazed down at you, brushing some hair from your face.

“What’s goin’ on.”

It wasn’t a question. You heard it in the tone of his voice, he knew something was wrong. Internally you cursed that Frank was such a perceptive man. 

Swallowing hard, you shook your head again as your gaze dropped down to his bare chest. The marks from your nails were still visible along his skin in the dimly lit room and your cheeks heated at the memory of your time with him in the shower earlier. But that heat quickly gave way to your nerves under Frank’s heavy stare.

You knew Frank had only ever been with you after the passing of his wife. He had never let anyone else in–he had never even slept with anyone else besides you after Maria had passed. And he’d opened up to you about a lot of the pain he carried over these past few months, too. But what you didn’t know was how he would react to this thing between you both suddenly being something more than what it had been for the past eight months. 

“Tell me,” Frank ordered.

“I just–”

You stopped, biting your bottom lip as those knots in your stomach from earlier twisted tighter and tighter. Fingers curling around the bedsheets, your eyes snapped shut. You weren’t sure if you could get the words out.

“You just what?” his gruff voice gently pressed.

Inhaling a trembling breath, you tried to find the courage to answer him. You knew he wouldn't drop this now. Maybe he’d surprise you–you hoped so–but if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to reciprocate your feelings. And you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that, either. Could Frank ever even love you? Maybe not now, but possibly someday? Would he ever even let himself feel that way for someone that wasn't Maria? You admittedly weren't sure about the answers to those questions, and you weren't certain Frank himself even had the answers. And that scared you now more than it ever had in the past.

“Talk to me,” Frank urged when you remained silent.

“I don’t–don’t exactly know how to say this,” you whispered, the words falling out of you in a rush. “I guess I never really let myself think about it before so I–I didn’t realize it until…just now. I mean, you’re always coming and going so I’ve never really–really let myself think about the possibility that I–” your voice broke off mid-sentence. Even you could hear the tremble in your words. Closing your eyes tighter, you tried to push the words out, unable to look him in the face as you bore your heart to him next. “I love you, Frank. And I–I don’t expect to hear you say that in return to me. But I–” you sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as you repeated the confession aloud to him, “–I love you.”

Silence met your ears. You felt the way Frank’s thumb paused its repetitive movements along your cheek as he stiffened beside you in the bed. You kept your eyes clamped closed, too afraid to see his reaction. But the longer the silence dragged on in the bedroom, the worse that feeling in your stomach grew. Maybe you should have lied and not said anything at all. Even if you didn’t expect to hear him say it in return, you still expected something .

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”

You were cut off by Frank’s hand on your cheek pulling you towards him before his mouth was suddenly on yours. You rolled over onto your side, your right hand snaking its way around his waist and up his back, fingers digging into his hard muscles. His hand held you to him, firm but gentle, as he kissed you with an intensity you’d never felt from him before. You’d barely had a chance to register much else before he sharply broke away from you. 

Your eyes flew open at the abrupt end to that passionate kiss, confusion written all over your face. Though seconds later Frank was pressing his forehead to yours, his own eyes closed. He remained silent, not saying anything in return as his thumb began its affectionate path along your cheekbone again. For now, you took that as a positive response, one that briefly quelled the rising nerves in your stomach as you brushed your nose up against his. 

Frank pulled away from you after a moment, his lips placing two long, lingering kisses along your forehead before he settled back on his pillow. His hand released your cheek to instead wrap around your waist, drawing you further into him. Easily obliging, you snuggled up against the front of him, relaxing into the heat and comfort of his body as your eyelids briefly lowered.

He may not have said it back, but you figured that kiss meant something good, at least. You figured you had tomorrow to talk to him about it all. You’d make sense of things then. For now, you just wanted to curl up against Frank and drift to sleep in the safety of his arms.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Lucky’s high-pitched whine met your ears first. You rolled over, burying your face into your pillow and trying to block out the sunlight seeping past your curtains and hitting the back of your eyelids. You groaned, throwing a hand out to your right and hoping to pull Frank closer to you–but your hand hit the cold mattress. Instantly your head rose from your pillow, your eyes blinking rapidly as they tried to adjust to the bright light in your room. 

The space beside you was empty.

Frowning, you pushed yourself upright on the bed, your eyes surveying the bedroom. Lucky was sitting beside the bedroom door, her dark gray ears drooping as she ducked her head. She whined again as she looked back at you.

“Frank?” you called out.

When you didn’t get a response, you kicked the sheets off of yourself and hurriedly threw your legs over the side of your bed. Brows furrowing together in confusion, you stood up and made your way out of the bedroom and down the short hallway with Lucky following after you. Though you immediately came to a stop in the living room. Frank’s boots were missing from where he’d set them last night by the front door.

Your mouth went dry as your eyes flew to the couch next. His duffle bag wasn’t where he’d tossed it on the cushions before his shower last night, either. Your heart began to pound in your chest, the beating of it uneven and erratic.

“Frank?” you called out again.

No answer.

Lucky walked past you, making her way to your front window. She nuzzled the curtains out of her way as she looked outside. Feeling like you were moving in slow motion, you made your way to the window after her. Reaching a hand out, you pulled the dark blue curtains back. 

Frank’s truck wasn’t parked out front where it had been last night.

A sharp gasp fell out of you, your hand dropping the curtain and flying up to cover your mouth as you stumbled a couple of steps backwards. You could feel the burn of tears building in your eyes, a tightness forming in your chest.

Frank was gone. He must’ve slipped out of bed sometime last night or early this morning and just left without a word. A strangled noise slid out from behind your hand at that thought and you pressed your lips firmly together, trying to keep from crying. 

A desperate, hopeful thought ran through your mind next. Maybe he’d run out to grab breakfast and didn’t say anything because he thought he’d be back before you’d woken?

Hurrying back down the hallway towards your bedroom, you headed straight to your nightstand and practically ripped your phone from the charger. You unlocked it, noticing there weren’t any notifications from Frank. Opening up your contacts, you quickly found his name and dialed his number. You held the phone to your ear with bated breath.

Though it didn’t ring. Not even once. Instead, your call had gone straight to Frank’s automated voicemail.

Slowly you lowered the phone from your ear and down to your lap as you blankly sank down on the edge of your bed. Your finger ended the call as your vision began to blur from the tears quickly welling in your eyes. It wasn’t long before they began to spill forth, hot and wet as they raced down your cheeks. Lucky’s head gently lowered to your left knee as she softly whined again. Almost instantly you crumpled in half, throwing your arms around her neck as you sobbed into her fur.

Frank had left you. All because you’d gone and fallen in love with him.

Don't feel bad about posting angst like this author. There's sickos like me who will snort it like their last line of crack.

Okay but seriously, loved it! I want more angst, NO COMFORT! Lol at least for a little bit. But I can't wait to see more, even if everything gets resolved in the next chapter.

Also quick thought, reader either has to get turned at some point, or Billy needs to be human, if this story has a happy ending. THATS HOW VAMPIRE BOOKS GO! Immortals can't live mortals, so I'm counting on a vampire reader eventually.

Whatever happened to Billy I blame Krista, even if she had nothing to do with it.

Great job author!!!

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eleven

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] Violence against reader. Also some very smutty smut using toys (not related to the violence). All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : Please, please, please read the warning. I'm sorry it's probably a little spoiler-y but I'd rather be safe than sorry even though I don't tend to write these things in the most graphic way. If you don't want to read it, it's the last few hundred words of the chapter (I think it's pretty well telegraphed). Also, I'm sorry for this, please don't hate me 😅

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

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eleven

Billy didn’t go back to work and, as the days passed it got harder and harder to tell if he was better for it. Every time you’d mention it, he’d mutter something about Frank, about not wanting to have to deal with it and, then, distract you by telling you about how he’d rather spend time with you. And, when that stopped working, when you’d try to talk to him about it, he’d move onto more physical means of distraction.

But every time his phone buzzed or lit up with a notification, you’d see his irritation flare.

You sat with your legs draped over his lap as you tried to concentrate on your book, The Count of Monte Cristo, while Billy read emails on his phone. You had wanted to suggest doing something, going out for a drive or to see a movie, but Billy seemed tired and you didn’t want to bother him.

His phone buzzed and he huffed.

“Was that work?” You dared to ask him and received a grumbled answer in response. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to avoid it forever, Billy...”

“I’m not avoiding it,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over your bare calf, “I just don’t want to deal with it right now.”

“He’s not going to change his mind about us unless you talk to him,” you tried again. “Unless you’re planning on skipping work for the next eight months...”

At this point, you were starting to wonder if that was the plan, if Billy was simply going to stay home every night until your contract was over. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go back to work. But, as much as you were enjoying having him in the penthouse every night, you felt responsible, like you were fucking up his life.

“We could go away together? Somewhere with a beach?” He tried to change the subject.

“Billy...” 

“I don’t want him to ruin this for us,” he relented, his tone turning tense. “These last few days have been so good and I just want it to last a little longer.”

“He’s not going to ruin anything,” you told him. “We get to decide what this is. No one else. I just don’t want you to burn bridges and wreck your life for me.”

He fell silent and you hoped he was thinking about what you were trying to tell him. As much as the incident at the party had upset you, you couldn’t just think about yourself; in just over eight months time, you’d be gone and Billy would have to carry on without you. You didn’t want him to lose friends or damage his business on your account.

“Fine, I’ll go in tomorrow.”

You kept your relief to yourself, not wanting to say or do anything to anything that might make him change his mind. Your attention returned to your book while Billy got up and headed for the kitchen, answering his phone as he went. Obviously he wanted some privacy, but that didn’t stop you from trying to listen in to Billy’s quietly spoken half of the conversation.

“What do you mean you lost her?” He practically hissed. “How did she even... past security... whose plus one?” 

His voice got lower making it impossible for you to hear anything else, but the call lasted at least another minute and the look on Billy’s face when he returned told you far more than words ever could; he was frustrated. 

“Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” he answered cryptically. You gave him a questioning look urging him to explain. “I’m just making sure Krista can’t get near you again.”

“Oh.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned her since the party. You hadn’t asked. Honestly, you hadn’t wanted to. The less you thought about other women Billy had let into his life, the better.

“I’m not going to let her hurt you,” Billy promised, sitting back down and pulling your legs back onto his lap. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You both fell back into silence; your attention returned to your book and Billy continued to look at his phone, reading through messages and declining calls. Eventually, put his phone face down on the coffee table. Over the top of your book, you watched him rub his eyes and slouch back.

For a moment you thought he might close his eyes and try to rest but, instead, he caught you peeking at him.

“You know, I was thinking about the other night,” he said as his hand moved back to your leg and softly caressed your bare skin, from your ankle up to the hem of your cropped leggings and back again.

“Which part of the other night?” You asked, a hint of warmth already starting to bloom across your cheeks.

His fingers wrapped around your ankle, lightly holding you, as if he thought there was any chance that you might try to pull away from him.

“The part when you had my cock in your mouth, giving me the best blowjob of my life, and you came without my permission,” he stated with a smirk, making a point of ignoring the way your breath caught. You bit your lip as he looked at you. “You owe me an orgasm, hummingbird.”

“Is that my punishment? To come for you?” You asked, trying to fight back your embarrassment so you could play his game.

His smirk turned to something darker, something almost sinister, something barely restrained and full of wanting. “That depends on if you want consequences for breaking the rules.”

Your heart skipped a beat; at the unasked question and the hungry way he was looking at you. Already he seemed to be forgetting about work, Krista, and everything else that had upset him, and you wanted to keep him that way. 

“They wouldn’t really be rules if they didn’t have consequences,” you said, trying to hide your nerves though you were sure he could see right through you.

“Are you willing to accept any punishment that I choose?” He asked and you nodded. “So, if I told you to go to your room and bring back one of your toys, you’d do it?”

You stopped breathing. You felt completely frozen, like even your heart didn’t know whether to beat or not. Your cheeks felt like they were burning and your wide eyes were fixed on him.

A couple of seconds later, Billy opened his mouth, no doubt about to tell you that you didn’t have to, that he was only playing around. There was a flash of something like embarrassment on his face, regretting taking things too far.

“Yes,” the word leaving your lips in an awkward squeak before he could walk back the question.

Billy seemed just as surprised as you were, so much so that he hesitated before responding, leaving you with time to change your mind if you wanted to. But you didn’t want to change your mind. You had no idea what he was planning or what he wanted to do, but you wanted it, in part because you wanted to try and bring him out of his frustrated mood but, also, because you were feeling brave.

He licked his lips, waiting a second more, not taking his eyes off of you.

“Okay then, go and get the toy you used the morning I heard you moaning my name,” he said, a hint of daring in his tone, as if he was still expecting you to back out. 

Moving your legs from his lap, you stood up and slowly started to walk towards your rooms, trying your best to just breathe through the waves of panic and excitement that were crashing over you. Your steps got quicker once you’d slipped through the door to your room, not wanting to overthink what might happen in case it made you want to back out.

You quickly retrieved the blue vibrator and returned to Billy, watching as his grin grew wider. You didn’t realise that you were clutching it tightly in both hands until Billy extended his hand. 

Your heart raced as he took the toy from you and inspected it, turning it in his hand before looking back at you. Without saying a word, Billy reached for you, placing his hand on your chest above your racing heart and for a few seconds his eyes shut, just enjoying the moment. Then he kissed you, pulling you close. Your own eyes fluttered shut.

His fingers hooked on the waistband of your leggings and you helped him lower them, stepping out of them without breaking the kiss. 

A gasp slipped out against his lips as you felt him press the toy between your thighs, softly rubbing it against you over your panties. You tensed when he turned it on, a bolt of arousal running up your spine, causing you to arch your body against him.

He moved you back, leading you down onto the sofa and following after, keeping his lips against yours and the toy between your legs.

It wasn’t long before your hips started to move, desperately seeking more friction despite how self-conscious you felt. Your heart was still racing and embarrassment was clawing beneath your ribs, but you wanted more. And so did Billy.

The toy was dropped onto the sofa while his hands started to pull at your panties, revealing you to him.

“Fuck, hummingbird, you’re soaked already,” he muttered, roughly tugging your panties the rest of the way down, leaving you in nothing but your baggy shirt that had ridden up to just below your bust.

Your cheeks burned as he lifted the panties to his face and took a long inhale through his nose. His body shuddered and tensed.

“How is it that everything about you makes me want?” He asked, dropping your panties to the floor. He slipped the vibrator between your legs again, pressing the tip against your clit before turning it on again. “I can’t get enough of you. I’ll never have enough of you.”

Before you could even try to wrap your head around what he was saying, his lips were on yours, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning against his lips, almost forgetting that this was supposed to be punishment. Almost forgetting that you didn’t have his permission to come. 

He pulled the vibrator back just in time, turning it off. “Not until I say so.”

You nodded, taking deep breaths and trying to calm yourself. When you were ready, you felt the toy between your folds as he coated it in your arousal, before positioning it at your entrance. 

Your lips parted and a moan tore from you as he began to fill you. Wet enough to take the toy without any resistance, it wasn’t long before every inch was inside of you, and Billy started to fuck you with it. He started slow, but it didn’t last.

“Moan for me,” he groaned against your neck, still fucking you with the toy, “moan for me like you did that morning...”

“Billy...” you moaned, then; “Mr Russo...”

You heard his breath catch and a growl claw its way from him, and even though you were at his mercy, it made you feel powerful.

“Mr Russo...” you gasped, over and over.

His lips covered yours, swallowing down the moans that he’d asked for, as if he’d realised that it was too much, that he couldn’t take anymore. He pulled back the toy, almost slipping it from you entirely before filling you with it again and starting to set a much faster pace. Your eyes stayed closed tight, imagining that it was Billy inside you, that he was finally giving you what you both craved.

That thought alone had you clenching around the toy, your arousal climbing higher and higher, pushing you closer to breaking point. He took you right to the precipice before pulling the toy out, leaving you empty and unfulfilled. 

Your eyes opened, fixing on him, whining when you saw his smirk.

“You wanted a punishment,” he told you darkly, tormenting you by pressing the tip of the vibrator against you, pulling it back again when you shifted your hips, trying to push yourself onto it. “If you misbehave you’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

You stilled immediately, earning a smile from Billy. He kissed you softly, distracting you as he turned the vibrator back on and ghosted it over your swollen clit. Again, you squirmed, wanting more than just a grazing touch.

“Do I have to tie you down?” He asked against your lips, his tone causing your heart to race a little faster, leaving no doubt in your mind that he’d do it. 

It should have worried you, maybe even scared you, but all you could think about was the unfulfilled ache between your legs.

Billy continued to tease you, but even those gentle touches were enough to start you climbing towards orgasm, and he knew it. Every fibre of your being seemed to tense, like thousands of springs being coiled too tight, at any moment you knew that you’d snap.

But, again, Billy denied you.

“Billy,” you pleaded as a feeling of discomfort started to fill you.

“I think I preferred Mr Russo,” he teased, an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Mr Russo,” you tried again, wanting to give him whatever he wanted.

“That’s better.” A moment later, he had the toy against your lips and a dark grin on his lips. “Open up.”

You hesitated for a beat before doing what you were told, parting your lips and letting him slip the vibrator into your mouth. Without being asked, you started to suck the toy as he moved it in and out of your mouth.

“I dream about this mouth,” he groaned against your ear, “and these perfect lips, and how good they feel wrapped around my cock. It’s like you were made just for me.”

Another moan escaped you as his teeth nipped your ear. When he lifted himself over you again, he stared, watching the toy as he fucked your mouth with it, his jaw set. You kept your eyes on his, letting him see exactly what he was doing to you. 

You licked your lips when he finally pulled the toy away. You didn’t look down, didn’t beg for what you needed, you just kept looking at him, giving him complete control.

“Mr Russo...” you gasped as he plunged the toy between your walls again, this time moving at a merciless pace that you knew you’d never be able to withstand.

“Come for me,” he demanded, turning the vibrator back on as he fucked you with it.

You did as ordered, crying out as your body was finally granted relief.

You weren’t sure when he’d pulled his cock from his sweatpants, but there it was as he kneeled over you, your thighs shook wildly as he kept the vibrator buried inside you with one hand and started to desperately fist himself with the other.

He grunted and swore, coming quickly, finally pulling the toy away so he could coat your trembling pussy and thighs with his cum. You whined softly, overstimulated and far too sensitive, as his finger ran through your folds pushing some of his cum inside you, like he was claiming you and marking you as his.

Reaching for him, you pulled him down into a kiss, expecting things to de-escalate now that you were both satisfied. Instead he kissed you roughly, pressing his hips down against yours, letting you feel how achingly hard he still was.

Your fingers tangled in his hair until he took hold of your wrists and pinned them beside your head. Your breath caught and you struggled against his lips.

“Billy,” you gasped, tearing your lips from his.

If he heard, he gave no response, moving his lips to your neck, sucking and nipping, until you felt something sharp scrape your skin.

Fangs.

“Billy...”

A deep, guttural growl vibrated through his chest - a sound you’d heard before.

There was another scrape against your neck, this time causing pain. But before you could say anything, he was already pulling away from you. He moved awkwardly and suddenly, ending up on the floor next to the sofa, his head in his hands.

“Fuck - fuck - I’m sorry.”

It took a few seconds before you could think straight, reaching up to touch your neck and the small cut he’d left on your skin. Not a bite, just a scratch really, but enough to draw blood.

Torn between comforting him and running, you found yourself frozen, trying to understand what had just happened. And, as you thought back, you hated yourself for not noticing the warning signs sooner; the look on his face, the things that he’d said and the way he’d said them. 

“Hey,” you finally managed, awkwardly sitting up, trying to ignore the mess he’d left between your thighs. Gingerly, you reached for him, running your fingers through his hair. Billy bristled at your touch. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he snapped, head still in his hands, “how can you say it’s okay? How can you keep saying that?”

“Because you stopped yourself. Again,” you answered back. “It’s a scratch, Billy. We both know that you could’ve done so much worse.”

“How can you be so relaxed about this?” Billy demanded, finally lifting his head and letting you see the anguish on his face. “I feel like a fucking timebomb and you’re there acting like you weren’t just five seconds away from death.”

“Would you have killed me?” You dared to ask, cutting through all of the usual bullshit, not sure how else to try and settle the issue once and for all.

“I -” for a moment he just stared at you, torn between what he wanted to tell you and the thing that terrified him more than anything, “- I don’t know. I - I don’t even know if I wanted to kill you or...”

A chill ran through you at what was left unsaid, filling that blank with a dozen terrible thoughts, and when you didn’t immediately respond, Billy took that as a sign, pulling away and getting to his feet.

“Stop,” you quickly got up, legs feeling weak beneath you while your hands pulled your baggy shirt down to try and cover yourself. “Please don’t go.”

“Why are you fighting so hard for me?”

“Because someone has to, Billy,” you told him without hesitation, “because you deserve to have someone on your side, even if you don’t think that you do. You haven’t hurt me and I don’t think that you will, so stop trying to scare me.”

He seemed stunned by the sudden firmness in your tone, so much so that he didn’t try to argue.

“Now, sit down. I need to go clean up,” you told him, taking a step back. “If you try to leave while I’m gone, I will never forgive you.”

Billy hesitated but soon sat, fixing his gaze on the window while you grabbed your leggings and panties from the floor and headed towards your rooms.

You cleaned up as quickly as you could, putting a bandaid over the cut on your neck and changing into your pyjamas when you were done. As quick as you were, it still felt too slow and your heart was pounding uncomfortably with the thought that he’d be gone by the time you made it back out to the penthouse.

But he wasn’t. He was exactly where you’d left him.

You cleared the distance and sat beside him, throwing your arms around him before he could even think about protesting, holding him tight.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be around you right now,” he told you, his voice betraying his exhaustion.

“I think it is. I think this is the best place for you right now.” You said, watching as the confusion on his face deepened. “Just let me look after you. I don’t want to be alone right now, and I don’t think you do either...”

Moving slowly, you reached for a cushion and placed it on your lap, patting it softly.

“Lay down,” you said softly, leaning a little so you could take hold of his hand and gently urge him towards you. 

After a moment of hesitation, Billy moved, laying down and resting his head on the cushion. You started to gently run your fingers through his hair, and heard an awkward breath escape him.

“I used to get sick a lot when I was a kid and my nanna used to sit with me like this for hours,” you told him softly, watching as, little by little, he let himself relax.

You let a few minutes pass in silence, watching as the tension started to leave him, fingers still running through his hair. Eventually, you reached for the TV remote and put on Netflix, starting the next episode of Black Sails.

“Pirates again?” He grumbled, the weight of his exhaustion seeming to catch up with him. You weren’t sure what caused him to lose control, but you were starting to realise just how much effort it took for him to rein it back in.

“Pirates again,” you confirmed. “Just close your eyes and relax.”

The whole while you kept stroking his hair, letting your eyes drop to him every few minutes, watching as he slowly gave up on trying to keep his eyes open. It was hard to tell if he was sleeping, but he was certainly more relaxed than he had been.

Hours passed. After three episodes of Black Sails, you decided to turn off the TV and close your eyes. At some point you drifted off, only to be woken when Billy started to move. His body was tense, eyes still shut tight, letting out the most heart rending little mutters, sounding like a terrified, wounded animal. 

For a short while, you waited, hoping it would pass and he’d settle again, but it just seemed to get worse.

“Billy?” You tried, gently at first, running your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him. “Billy, it’s just a dream. You’re okay.”

He awoke with a gasp.

“Hey, you’re okay, everything’s okay,” you continued, still stroking his hair.

“Huh, what  -” it took him a second to realise where he was. You watched him sit up, noticing the way that exhaustion seemed to cling to him. When he reached for his phone to check the time, his hand was shaking so much he almost dropped it. “I’m sorry, I -”

“What are you apologising for?”

“It’s two in the morning, I kept you up all night worrying,” he told you, looking about ready to get up and leave. “I should -”

“You should lay back down and rest. You look exhausted,” you told him softly.

“But you need to sleep too.”

“I was sleeping,” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder and gently tugging him back.

As much as Billy wanted to argue, he was too tired. He laid back down while you grabbed your yellow blanket from the back of the sofa and settled behind him, pressing yourself against his back and covering you both.

He gave an uncertain sort of huff. “I’m not used to being the little spoon.”

And, despite the situation, you found yourself bursting into laughter, pressing your face against the back of his neck and holding him all the tighter. A moment later you felt his body shudder with a tired laugh of his own.

“Go to sleep, little spoon,” you muttered sleepily, snuggling closer. 

He was still for a few minutes, leading you to hope he’d fallen asleep until you heard him sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You whispered.

“I just want to keep you safe.”

“I’m safer here with you than I would be if I left,” you confessed softly, pressing your lips to the back of his neck

“So I’m the lesser of two evils?”

“No, Billy, you’re who I want to be with, even though I know it’ll never be easy...”

You heard him take an awkward breath before starting to move, turning himself so he could face you. In the dark you could barely make out his face, but you knew he was looking at you. 

“Stay with me,” he said suddenly, desperately, like the thought had been weighing on him for hours.

“I am,” you told him, “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, I mean after. I mean for more than a year,” then, much quieter, “forever.” 

“I...”

You fell silent, barely daring to breathe. More than anything, you wanted to say yes; you wanted to belong there with Billy, you wanted to spend the rest of your life in his arms.

“Whatever you’re running from, I can protect you. I can keep you safe,” he continued. “I want to be yours...”

“Billy...”

“I know it’s fucked up to ask you, but I can work on it, I can learn to stay in control, I can -”

“That’s not the problem, Billy. I know you can stay in control, it’s just...” you sighed. “My life is more complicated than you think and I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Is that a no then?” He asked, sounding broken just at the thought.

“No. I don’t know. I need some time to think,” you tried to explain, earning another sigh from him. “I want you to be mine, Billy. More than anything. But I can’t just say yes now and hurt you in the long run. Just - just give me some time, okay?”

“Okay,” he said before falling silent.

Reaching for his cheek, you pressed your lips to his, and closed your eyes tight. “I want you to be mine. I want to stay. Things are just complicated,” you whispered before letting out a tired sigh, “I’ve been dreaming about falling asleep in your arms...”

“Oh, hummingbird,” he muttered softly, pressing his lips to your forehead and holding you tight.

You didn’t feel him start to move until the break of dawn. In your sleep, you’d shifted, ending up with your head on his chest and your hand beneath his sweater resting on his waist, holding him tight.

He gave you a tired smile as you lifted your head.

“How did you sleep?” He asked.

“Five more minutes,” you muttered sleepily, burying your face against his neck.

Billy laughed, holding you tight and kissing the top of your head. “I’d stay like this with you forever if I could.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For staying last night. For trusting me,” you told him, keeping your face hidden. “I know it’s not easy for you and you scare yourself sometimes, but it means a lot that you didn’t walk out.”

He didn’t say anything and, even if he had, you weren’t sure what you would have wanted to hear. Instead, you just closed your eyes again and tried to enjoy your five more minutes.

Eventually, you had to let Billy go so he could go to bed. You weren’t sure how much sleep he’d managed to get but you wanted to make sure he was rested before his return to work that night.

That evening, you met him with his blood, nice and warm in his travel mug and ready for him to take to work. He seemed a little unsettled at the prospect, but you didn’t give him time to linger before ushering him out of the penthouse.

You missed having him around, but you hoped he’d be able to fix things with Frank, and that you’d all be able to move on with your lives. It was a quiet night and you spent it relaxing before heading to bed early, falling asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

A loud crash in the penthouse startled you awake some time before four am. Without even stopping to think you shot out of bed and headed for the door.

You stepped out into the gloom, finding the dining table had been flipped and one of the chairs laid broken and splintered against the wall. And, standing amidst the destruction was Billy.

“Billy, what’s -” 

The question was left unfinished. The moment he turned you had your answer. It was like this first night in the kitchen all over again, only somehow worse. His dark eyes fixed on you, his whole body seeming to tremble and twitch like he was trying to crawl out of his own skin.

A low snarl escaped him and, for a split-second, he flashed his fangs.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer any of the usual warnings or tell you to stay back, he just watched you edging closer and closer.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” You asked softly, knowing you needed to pull him out of it.

As you got closer, you noticed the state of him; his shirt was torn and drenched in blood, and there were deep scratches on his neck like someone had been clawing at his throat. With the holes in his shirt and the cuts on his neck, you couldn’t tell if all the blood belonged to Billy.

You needed to get a closer look.

He gave another snarl. “Don’t.”

But you didn’t let that stop you. You edged closer, trying to get a look at him in the dim light. The corner of his lip curled again, giving you another glimpse at his fangs. His hand tightened to a fist at his side and he almost seemed to move forward before pulling himself back.

“Billy, what happened?” You tried again.

He took a shuddered breath, almost wincing as you reached for him, tenderly placing a hand on his cheek, hoping you could soothe him.

“Who did this to you?”

He leaned into your touch and his eyes closed, and for the briefest of seconds you allowed yourself to believe you’d fixed whatever this was.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could even think to pull away, yanking your arm awkwardly as he forced you backwards, slamming you back against the wall. You yelped in pain, the impact forcing the air from your lungs. And, when you looked in his eyes, Billy wasn’t there anymore.

“Billy,” you gasped, pushing against him, trying to escape his grasp.

A sob slipped out as he forced you back against the wall again, reminding you that you were nothing more than a weak, pathetic human.

Another snarl tore from his lips and he bared his fangs.

You turned and twisted and pulled, doing everything you could to keep him from biting you, raising your knee and hitting him in the groin as hard as you could. Billy staggered, winded, letting out an angry howl, his grip loosening enough for you to pull away.

Starting to run, you almost made it to your door when he grabbed your wrist again, this time pulling so hard that you screamed.

“Mine,” he growled, pulling you back towards him. 

The pain in your arm was overwhelming and only got worse when you tried to move.

“Billy, please,” you sobbed, “this isn’t you. You don’t want to hurt me. Please, don’t ruin this.”

For a moment he almost looked like your words had gotten through to him, but then he continued to pull you towards him, pressing your body to his. 

You lashed out again, kicking and swinging your fist, managing to catch his face in a way that had his nose exploding and blood spraying everywhere.

This time you ran faster, making it into your rooms and into your bedroom.

Billy followed after, only a couple of steps behind, blood pouring from his broken nose.

You tried to shut the door, only to find his hand blocking it - a hand that he quickly pulled back when it started to sizzle. He couldn’t come inside. He couldn’t get to you in your room.

All he could do was stand and stare at you, his chest heaving, his face bloody, looking more monster than man. You clutched your injured arm to your chest, tears streaming down your face.

“I trusted you,” you sobbed, watching for a reaction and getting nothing but anger from the vampire.

A couple of seconds passed before you slammed the door shut and dropped to your knees. A loud thud in the corridor had you crawling towards the door, pressing your back against it even though you knew he couldn’t get in. There were more sounds out in the penthouse, more thuds and bangs before, eventually, everything went silent.

End Note : As much as I love writing chapters like this one, I kinda hate posting them because I know that it's not exactly what some people want to read. So, I guess, no hard feeling if you don't want to continue reading after this one? IDK posting anything darker always makes me a little nervous but I don't want cute fluff all the time, especially not when I'm writing a vampire fic. But I do promise reasons and resolutions to this. It's not just there for shock value, is what I'm trying to say. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now 😅 Thanks for reading! I hope you have a great weekend and, as ever, thanks for all the love and support you showed on the last chapter!!

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

Okay, I haven't read this yet, but I definitely need to go to bed, so I'm coming back for this tomorrow with a proper reblog!!

Help! I've Landed in a Fanfiction

Pairing: fem!OC x Justice League

Genre: OC insert, Soulmate AU, Isekai, Reverse Harem

Characters: OC, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, John Constantine, and other DC characters as the story progresses

Warnings: all warnings not tagged, suicidal ideation, domestic violence, general violence and dark, 18+ themes, read at your own risk

Summary: Katie Smith wakes up in a new world, one out of comic books and ridiculously cheesy tropes. All she wants to do is find her way back home, but no one is helping her. Worst of all, they claim to be her soulmates. Surely it's all dream. How can she make herself wake up?

Chapter 1 (This One)

Chapter 2

Chapter One: This Bald Guy is Seriously Creepy

Katie woke up sore and freezing. The soreness was nothing new, of course, but instead of her weighted blanket and soft mattress, the floor under her was hard and chilly. Goosebumps trailed up and down her arms. Groaning, she sat up, keeping her eyes closed to stave off the headache that was forming at her temple. God, I feel so hungover. Given that Katie hadn't touched alcohol since college, however, she shook that thought from her head.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in a small, empty room. There was a large mirror in front of her, spanning the length of the wall. The other three walls were made of cinder block, and she didn't see a door. It looked like a bastardized version of a police holding cell (she had bailed Matt out enough to know that space intimately), but there was no furniture. Shakily getting to her feet, she examined herself in the mirror.

Her hair was messy, and her pajama shorts did nothing to hide the cellulite on her thighs or the outline of her stomach. She cringed as she noticed her plain gray shirt riding up. She pulled it down and stepped closer to the mirror. Her black eye was fading (small mercies) but the wrinkles around her eyes didn't do anything to make her feel better about herself. Matthew would've commented on her ability to make herself look unattractive even in her sleep, and she felt a strong wave of shame come over her. She was about to turn away from the strange mirror when a shock of color visible on her shoulder stopped her. She pulled down her collar to investigate.

A large circle of dark green vines looked to be tattooed on her left shoulder, trailing from her collar bone to above her heart. In the middle were five smaller intersecting circles, golden yellow and almost sparkling. There was a small outline of a dove in the middle, in the same color green as the vines. She was mesmerized. It almost seemed to throb with her heartbeat. She was about to touch it when she shook herself out of her trance. Where was she?

An intercom buzzed overhead. Katie looked up but didn't see a speaker anywhere. She tried not to flinch. A deep, rich voice filled the space.

"I've been waiting all day for you to wake up, my dear. Unfortunately, I can't be there right now to give you a proper welcome."

Katie counted to ten in her head. She heard somewhere that you could get out of dreams that way and was anxious to try it. The voice sounded friendly, but in a dangerous way. She was well-acquainted with that tone and wondered why her brain would dredge it up here, especially since this week Matthew would be gone on a work trip and she was relatively safe. When nothing happened, Katie cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Um. I. I am confused?" She said timidly, lilting her voice into a question at the end.

"Of course, my rules are simple." The voice ignored Katie. She wondered it it was a recording. "Follow my directions and get privileges. Disobey and you will be more uncomfortable than you find yourself now."

"Where am I?"

The lights plunged into darkness and a screen was projected onto the mirror. A tall man in a bespoke suit appeared on the screen. He was sitting behind a desk, holding a scotch in one hand and tapping his other hand on his desktop as if he were already bored with the conversation. He was bald, but looked to be around Katie's age, if not a little older.

"There you are. I imagine you are confused but I don't have the time to explain everything. Rest assured, you will want to listen to me and listen closely. You are under my jurisdiction right now. You will do nothing without my permission. You will eat when I say, sleep when I say, and shit when I say."

"This has got to be a dream." Katie said absently, touching the mirror, wondering at her own imagination. It was the most vivid thing she had ever experienced.

"Are you listening to me?" The man cleared his throat, annoyed.

"Who are you?" Katie tilted her head.

He rolled his eyes. "You can call me Sir."

Katie snorted.

"You find that funny?"

"I mean, that's such a cheesy line. You realize that right?" Katie was still walking around the small cell, trying to find the door with her fingers.

"Look at me." Katie did flinch here, and cursed her dream-self for having the same reaction to a stern dream-voice as she did to a stern-real-world voice.

"I do not have time for this. All you need to know is I brought you here and I can keep you here."

"Mkay. You might want to chill on the villain talk. You sound like a movie character. I'm not calling you Sir, by the way." That's the thing about dreams, Katie thought. Bravery was a lot easier when everything was fake.

"I'll give you time to rethink that then." With that the video popped off and the room was filled with darkness. Katie couldn't see her hand in front of her face, and after bumping into the wall, she decided to sit down. She squeezed her eyes tightly and tried to transport herself to a dream-cabin or dream-beach. Surely she could imagine Hawaii. Instead of feeling the warm sand between her toes, however, all she felt was cold. It was like the room dipped even lower in temperature. She shivered and huddled in a corner. The darkness was oppressive--the silence was too. Her stomach grumbled, and she held it, eventually curling into a ball. She couldn't gauge the time but it felt like hours. She fell into a restless sleep, her last thought wondering if sleeping in a dream was going to send her into an Inception like trance. She laughed to herself, and hoped when she woke up she could forget everything and take a warm bath.

----

Katie woke up, a little warmer, still hungry, and unfortunately not back in her bedroom. She was no longer in the weird cell, but instead tied to a chair. Her gray shirt had been removed, leaving her in her bra and pajama shorts. Her wrists ached with the bindings and her glasses were slipping down her nose. She tried to push them up with her shoulder but couldn't move much.

She was in a large office. There was a window that spanned the floor to the ceiling and she could tell that she was high up, as the only thing visible was clouds and the tops of buildings.

A clearing of a throat let her know she wasn't alone. Katie groaned.

"You again?" The bald man looked affronted.

She felt at her bindings, again surprised that everything was so vivid. It really hurt and she had never thought being asleep could feel so real. She was rethinking her initial hypothesis. Hadn't recovered coma patients talked about feeling sensations in their unconsciousness?

"I realize I was remiss in not introducing myself the other day. So let's start over. Your name is?"

Katie looked incredulously at the man. "Katherine." She spit out.

"Katherine." He sneered. "I am Lex Luthor," he said self-importantly.

Ok then, back to her original hypothesis. Definitely a dream. Katie barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, right. And I'm Batman." She growled mockingly. "Honestly."

The man stepped closer. It's not like Katie was unaware of the comic books and movies, but she had never had time to really dive in. She was too busy managing Matt's schedule and making sure everything was perfect at home. The last time Katie picked up one of his collectibles to dust, she found herself with a lot more than a black eye. It wasn't really something she was interested in anymore. But she knew of Lex Luthor. He kind of looked like she would have imagined him looking, which made sense she guessed, if her brain was making it all up.

He trailed his fingers on her shoulder, tracing the weird design on her chest from her collarbone to just above her bra. She shivered in revulsion but the way she was tied to the chair didn't allow her much movement.

"Interesting." He hummed. "Have you heard of me?"

She looked him in the eyes and then looked away quickly as he smirked at her. "I mean, yeah? Comic book character, Lex Luthor. Superman's nemesis, right? I mean, I've never really read them or anything, but I saw Smallville once."

He was staring at her like a bug under a microscope. "Mm. What else do you know about me?"

Katie quirked an eyebrow. "I am confused."

"I expected that. You don't seem like a particularly bright woman. Definitely plain looking, overweight, extremely unremarkable. It's fascinating, isn't it?"

It's not like any of that was something Katie didn't think about herself daily, but she still felt a bit betrayed by her brain.

"What is?" She bit out.

"That you were chosen out of all the people in your world. That you were the one the whole universe decided upon. It's a shame. I'm sure there were so many more worthy than you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know me as a character, darling? Tell me. How many people lived in your world?"

"My world? What are you talking about?"

"The global population. Try to keep up."

Katie was confused at what that could mean or why he was asking. She decided to play along since last time ended with her in a cold cell for hours.

"I don't know. Over 7 billion."

"Over 7 billion." He purred, practically petting the weird tattoo on her chest. "How does it feel to know that 7 billion people were sacrificed for the unimpressive specimen you are?"

Katie scrunched her nose. The man cosplaying as Lex Luthor in her mind laughed. "Do you know what this is?" He tapped the tattoo. She stayed silent.

"No. You wouldn't, would you? You don't know much. A world where the greatest minds are comic book characters. Where soul marks don't exist." Soul marks?, Katie mouthed to herself. "I almost feel sorry for you, honey. But at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter, does it? You're here for one reason and one reason only."

He ran his fingers through her messy hair. An alarm sounded in the distance.

"Let the games begin."

DONT STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE! DONT STOP TAKING ABOUT GAZA!

DONT LET THEM MAKE YOU FORGET!!

First off, Author, don't feel bad about jumping around, in my head it made the entire situation feel more frantic as Reader fought back, and Russo fought to find her, I think it tied together incredibly well.

ALSO WAIT EPILOGUE!? LAST CHAPTER!? No it can't be over so quickly, what am I to do without these amazing updates 😭😭😭

Teehee, love the ending, reader's in the middle of dying and Billy's got no choice, which is probably good because reader definitely needs to save her niece. I hope this doesn't affect her relationship with Billy 🤭🤭

MADANI ACTUALLY PULLED THROUGH? THANKS GIRL <3

Krista can go to hell, respectfully.

AHHH I love this series so much, you've done a fantastic job Author! Take Care! <3

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eighteen

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] Violence. 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 : if you haven't already voted for what you want to see me write next, you've got a day and a half left

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

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eighteen

It felt like the world was unravelling around him, like he was coming apart at the seams. While he’d said the words hours ago, it wasn’t until that moment that he started to feel the weight of them. He loved you. He loved you in a way that he’d never allowed himself to love anyone else. He loved you in a way that was so deep, so visceral that if he lost you, he knew he’d never recovered. 

You were inexorably linked, two halves of one soul. You were everything to him and Billy knew he couldn’t go back to the empty, bleak life he’d been living, no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself overwise over the last couple of months.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, running a red light to get to Krista’s building. Frank and Madani were talking but, to Billy, it all just sounded like static in his ears.

He couldn’t lose you.

He wouldn’t.

Pulling up, he killed the engine and before anyone could think to speak or question, he was out of the car, clearing the steps to the building two at a time. Frank and Madani had to rush to keep up with him, each still talking, calling after him. But Billy didn’t care about waiting, about figuring out ‘what to do’. No, Billy knew what he was going to do; he was going to make Krista talk, he was going to make her understand why fucking with you had been the worst decision of her life

It was a blur and, for a few minutes he lost himself; he kicked the door open and the next thing he knew, he had his hands around her throat, with Frank yelling at him to calm down.

“Where is she?” The voice that left his lips wasn’t quite his own.

“Gone. I don’t know where,” Krista answered, grinning despite the grip he had on her. “You’ll never find her. Just like you never found Mary.”

Somehow Frank managed to wrench Billy away but Krista didn’t even try to escape. She was enjoying the scene playing out before her, she was taking pleasure in his pain, glad that she’d had some small part in causing it.

“Mary?” It was Madani who spoke, gun drawn, stepping forwards. “Mary Poots?”

“Poor little Mary,” Krista said in a sing-song tone, barely holding back a laugh. “You thought you could replace me with someone so... fragile...”

“You killed Mary Poots?” Madani tried to continue her line of questioning despite the fact that Krista’s attention was fully on Billy.

“Now you’re going to lose the new one,” Krista carried on, all eyes on her. “I’ll take the next one, too. And the one after that. All of them. Every last one, until I’m all you have left.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Billy spat and that drew a laugh from Krista.

“If I am, it’s because of you, because you infected me...” she laughed again. “Or, no, I suppose it was Layla... not that it matters. You fuck up everything you touch, don’t you, Billy?”

“Just tell me where she is!” Billy demanded.

He lunged towards her, but Frank was too quick, too strong, wrapping an arm around him and holding Billy back.

“I don’t know,” she answered, still smiling, seemingly unbothered. “I never asked and he never told. You shouldn’t worry, I’m sure she’ll make a beautiful bride. Her fiance was so happy to finally have her back.”

Billy snapped and snarled, struggling against Frank and against himself, his last shred of control quickly starting to split and fray. He wanted to kill her, wanted to do what he knew he should have done months ago.

“She’s not worth it, Bill,” Frank told him, trying to pull him away.

“You’ve just confessed to murder in front of a Federal Agent,” Madani finally piped up, earning a laugh from Krista, before her attention shifted to Frank and Billy. “If Justin Drake has her and they’re still in the city, we’ll be able to track her down.”

“And what if she’s not still in the city?” Billy snapped. “There’s only a few hours until dawn...”

“We’re going to find her,” Madani answered, her tone sharpening to match his.

“And what about her?” Frank dared to ask, drawing all eyes back to Krista.

“I can send someone to pick her up.”

Krista finally moved, attempting to bolt for the door but, somehow, Billy managed to wrench free of Frank’s grip and lunged for her, knocking into her so hard that they both fell to the ground.

She ripped and tore at him with her nails, sinking her fangs into his shoulder and not letting go until his elbow connected with her face. They rolled, Billy ending up on top before she caught him across the face, clawing at him. She rolled him, straddling him as she landed another hit across his face while Billy’s hands gripped her throat.

By the time Frank pulled her away, they were both bloody and bruised, each bearing the marks of each other’s hatred. She kicked and screamed against Frank’s grip as he pushed her face first into the wall, pinning her there while Madani cuffed her to a radiator.

“You think that’s gonna hold her?” Frank asked, eying Krista as she dropped to the ground.

“It’s all we can do for now,” Madani answered. “We need to move.”

“She needs to die,” Billy snarled.

It felt like his body was vibrating with rage, like the thing inside of him had finally won. But, before he could move, Frank was on him, forcing him backwards, hands shoving him so hard that he knocked the breath from Billy’s lungs.

“You wanna waste time on her while your girl’s out there? You wanna throw her life away and yours just so you can settle a score with this crazy bitch?” He barked in Billy’s face, shoving him again. Billy didn’t have an answer. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now fucking move, this guy isn’t gonna find himself.”

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

It felt like the world had tilted on its axis and gripping the edge of the table was all you could do to keep yourself from falling. It had never made sense why he wanted you, why he’d been so adamant; you weren’t anything special, you weren’t worth anything (certainly not when compared to the amount of money your parents owed him). But, now you finally had answers, it made even less sense.

He was doing this because you looked like a distant relative who you shared only a fraction of your DNA with. 

He was doing this because she had denied him, just like you were trying to deny him.

He wanted you to be a vampire, to spend an eternity at his side.

“No.” The word fell from your mouth with a certainty that you didn’t feel.

“You don’t have a choice,” he retorted, already sounding like he was done with your denials and insolence.

“Yes, I do,” you answered back, remembering all the times Billy had told you as much.

You hadn’t believed it at the time, you’d thought that it was just a line, something he was telling you to make you feel better but, now, faced with someone who wanted to remove your choice, your agency, you realised that Billy had been right all along. Lifting your head and sitting a little straighter, you silently promised yourself that you weren’t going to cower before him, you weren’t going to let this sorry excuse for a man decide your future.

“You can do what you want to me. I’ll never be yours,” you told him. “Even if it takes my whole life, I’ll do everything I can to escape you.”

“I don’t know what you think you can -”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” you interrupted, not letting him get the upper hand, not letting him treat you like the naive child you had been when you last sat across from him. “You will never get what you want from me.”

Anger flickered across his face and it took him more than a few seconds to tamp it down again. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting such resistance from you.

But then came the laugh, a sound that caused dread to coil in your stomach.

“Like I told you; I’m a patient man and I have an eternity to bend you to my will,” he sai, his voice softer than his expression. “There might be nothing I can do to you anymore, but I already told you that your sister, her children...”

“You won’t hurt them.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you’ll lose your leverage over me if you do,” you answered, trying to hide the discomfort in your voice, hating that you were gambling with your sister’s safety. “And if you think I’m being difficult now, you’ve got no idea how much worse I can be.”  

Drake let out another callous huff of laughter, a twisted smile pulling at his lips.

“You’re right, but there are other ways to hurt you, aren’t there? Other people close to your heart...” he trailed off for a moment, letting his words sink in. “What about William Russo or his little human friend? Karen is it?”

As much as you wanted to remain defiant, the thought of anything happening to Billy made you feel sick to your stomach. You couldn’t let anything happen to him. You wouldn’t. 

Before you realised you were doing it, your hand was gripping the knife in front of you. 

It took him by surprise when you lunged across the table, aiming the blunt knife towards his chest despite knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. You didn’t care. The outcome of this didn’t matter; either he would die or you would. Either way, Billy would be safe.

Plates and glasses smashed as you half-fell over the table, tipping his chair back and knocking him to the floor, you on top of him.

His fingers gripped your wrist, stopping you as you tried to bring the knife down, holding the tip only a few inches from his chest.

There was noise all around you and it wasn’t until some time later that you realised it was you, that you were screaming, telling him you were going to kill him, that you wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

The struggle felt like it lasted a lifetime when, in reality, a few seconds after you’d cleared the table, one of his goons had arrived and pulled you off him. Kicking and screaming, you were carried back to your room and thrown inside.

You landed with an awkward thud, pain radiating up your bad arm despite the cast. But, seconds later, you were back on your feet, banging against the door, trying to get out, only to find that you were locked in. But that didn’t stop you from continuing to kick and scream at the door, telling him that you were going to kill him, that the only way he’d stop you was by killing you.

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

After they’d left Josie’s, Frank had text Karen to let her know what was going on and where they were headed. She decided to stick around and keep asking questions around the bar, making sure that nothing had been missed but, after half an hour or so, she decided to call it a night and head home.

She left with your suitcase, having stuffed Bill the Beagle back inside, rolling it along the sidewalk behind her. Her apartment was only a couple of blocks away and, despite the late hour, she’d never felt particularly unsafe walking home from Josie’s.

“Hey, uh, excuse me Miss?” A voice rang out.

Not thinking, Karen stopped and turned, seeing a large man dressed in a dark suit heading towards her.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked, finally noticing the limo parked in front of Josie’s.

It couldn’t be a coincidence; Josie’s wasn’t the sort of place anyone would want to leave a limousine, especially not twice in one night. Karen took a step back, realisation causing her blood to turn ice cold in her veins.

“Yeah, I think that suitcase belongs to a friend of mine,” he answered, slowly stepping towards her. 

The moment he started to move, Karen reached into her purse, trying to find her gun but not taking her eyes off of him for even a second.

“Funny,” she answered, “because this case happens to belong to a friend of mine.” 

Gun in hand, she lifted it, pointing it straight at him, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. She couldn’t be sure if he was a vampire or not, but she wasn’t going to take any chances, and aimed the gun at his chest. It might not kill him, but it would definitely slow him down.

“Where is she?” Karen demanded.

“It’s none of your concern,” he answered back, daring to take the slightest step but hesitating  again when Karen lifted the gun a little higher, aiming for his heart.

“I said, where is she?” She repeated, taking a step of her own.

“She’s with her fiance and if I were you, I’d just hand over the case.”

Karen opened her mouth about to refuse again when he moved, clearing the distance between them with a supernatural speed, knocking the gun from her grasp and into the road. As she moved to grab the suitcase, he struck her with the back of his hand, knocking her off balance and sending her to the pavement.

Karen scrambled for the gun but, by the time she had it, he was almost back at the limo, throwing the case into the passenger side before moving around to the driver's door.

As he started up the engine, Karen noticed a taxi and quickly tried to flag it down. When it didn’t stop, she stepped out into the street in front of it, making it stop for her.

“Follow that limo,” she told the driver as she climbed into the back.

“Listen, lady, I -” the driver started to refuse.

“No, you listen, the piece of shit that owns that limo has kidnapped a friend of mine and I have a gun, so you can either follow that limo and get paid at the end of this, or I’m going to have to take your taxi.”

The threat hung in the air for a few seconds. She could see the driver wearily eyeing her in the rearview, no doubt taking note of the gun in her lap and her split lip.

“Alright, fine, just don’t go doin’ anything crazy,” he muttered before starting after the limo.

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

They were barely outside of Krista’s building when Frank got the call. Billy watched as his friend's expression dropped from one of calm control to absolute rage in less than five seconds. He’d been busy listening to Madani, to all the measures she was putting in place to try and track you down; tracking the limo, credit cards, checking hotel guest lists. It only vaguely occurred to him that it wasn’t until then that he heard your so-called fiance’s name for the first time tonight.

Justin Drake.

Not that it mattered what his name was; he’d be a dead man the moment Billy got his hands on him.

But, for a few seconds, all of that stopped mattering and his attention was fixed on Frank.

“Are you okay?” he demanded of the person on the other end of the call. “Did he hurt you?” There was a pause for an answer that Billy couldn’t quite make out over the sound of traffic. “Where are you? No - no, stay outside and wait for us. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Billy asked the moment Frank ended the call.

“He sent one of his goons after the suitcase. Karen followed him back to the Park View hotel, she thinks that’s where he’s got her.” Frank explained.

A second later Madani was relaying that information on her call, but Billy was already moving for the car, and Frank was quick to follow.

“Wait, I can get back up and -” Madani started, falling into step behind the men.

“We ain’t waiting,” Frank answered.This time it was his turn to be angry. They’d gone near Karen and, now, it was personal for him. 

The conversation continued as they got in the car and carried on until they arrived at the hotel; Madani wanted to wait for back-up. Billy and Frank didn’t. It was that simple. They weren’t going to wait.

“You can help us, or you can stay here,” Frank told her, though his attention was immediately focused on Karen the moment he saw her, his blood starting to boil at the sight of her split lip. “We’re killin’ this fucker.”

“Yeah we are,” Billy responded.

Frank gave Karen some quick instructions, telling her to go wait in the car and to stay out of the way. He tried to tell Madani to wait with her but the Homeland Agent refused, trying one last time to convince them to just wait a few more minutes for back-up to arrive. Before she could even finish, Billy was moving past her and heading for the hotel’s entrance.

He moved through the lobby, drawing stares from everyone that looked his way; blood from the wounds that Krista had inflicted was still fresh on his clothes and he looked as if he’d just torn someone apart with his bare hands.

By the time he reached the front desk, there were already two members of the hotel security team standing there.

“I’m Agent Madani with Homeland Security,” she spoke before anyone else had the chance, and before Billy had the opportunity to do anything stupid. “You have a Justin Drake staying here, I need access to his rooms, now.” 

“I can’t just -” the receptionist started to answer.

“He has a woman with him up there, doesn’t he?” Madani asked, stepping up to the desk. “A woman that turned up earlier tonight?”

Billy took a step forward, getting ready to take matters into his own hands.

“I can’t reveal -” the receptionist tried again.

“He kidnapped her,” Billy snapped, “and he’s planning on hurting her. So you can either let us in peacefully, or we can make you.”

The security guards moved closer but then, at the sight of Frank stepping forwards, they seemed to shy away.

“We can wait for a warrant, or you can let us in now. Either way, if anything happens, it’ll be on you,” Madani explained. “Call Homeland - hell, call the cops, the FBI, whoever you want. Have us arrested when we’re done. But if anything happens, her blood will be on your hands.”

“And we’ve got Karen Page from The Bulletin sittin’ outside waitin’ for her friend to come out, so I suggest if you don’t wanna be named as complicit in this...” Frank let the threat go unfinished.

The receptionist had turned snow white, her hands trembling as she handed over a keycard and directed them to the elevator. The two hotel security members followed after.

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

You heard the commotion before everything went to hell.

There was a phone call; from what you could gather they had a friend in the FBI who’d gotten wind of a Homeland investigation, and there was about to be a raid on the hotel. They needed to get out of there, as quickly as they could.

“Come on,” he demanded, holding out his hand to you.

“No.”

“I’ve had enough of your games,” he muttered, his voice changing, turning softer. “Now, come with me.”

When he held out his hand again, you took a step towards him, wanting to do exactly as he said.

“N-no,” you said, shaking your head, trying to block him out, trying not to let him sway you.

“Come on, come with me. Right now,” he tried again.

Again you took a step, then another. Something inside of you told you to stop, to fight him, but you couldn’t. All you wanted to do was go with him.

“That’s it, come along and -”

“Boss, they’re in the elevator!”

The sudden disruption was enough to snap you out of it. You stepped back, reestablishing the space between you. You weren’t going to make this easy for him. 

“Told you I’d never be yours,” you muttered defiantly, triumphantly.

You both knew that there was no way that Drake was going to get out of this, at least not with you at his side. He’d have to let you go if he wanted to escape.

But you realised all too late what letting go looked like to Justin Drake.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He asked, starting towards you. “I would have given you everything if only you’d chosen not to act like a tempermental whore. But it’s really no bother. I’m sure when your niece is old enough she’ll be far more amenable, far more grateful for what I have to offer.” 

You stepped back as he closed the distance, until you found yourself against the window.

“At least I get to have one last taste,” he muttered darkly.

“No!” 

Your arms shot out, trying to push him away, trying to keep him from biting you. But he was bigger than you and infinitely stronger. He pushed you back, held you in place despite your thrashing and screaming. You tried everything you could to stop him from pressing closer and closer, trying to turn away as he bowed his head towards your neck.

“Not so defiant now, are you?”

“Please, no - no!” You screamed and begged, tears streaming down your face.

He bit down. Hard. 

Fangs tore through flesh, but rather than lingering to feed, he pulled back, his lips and chin dripping dark with your blood.

It took a moment for you to realise that blood was slowly filling your throat, that he’d left you with more than just a puncture wound.

Your hand lifted as he pulled back and started to walk away, feeling the wound he’d left and the way blood was spurting from it. Lightheadedness quickly over took and you found yourself sliding down the glass and onto the floor. Desperately you reached for the hoodie you’d discarded on the floor when you’d changed for dinner, pressing it against the wound, hoping you’d survive long enough to see Billy one last time.

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you heard gunshots and shouting. Then someone was at your side, her hand holding the hoodie tighter against your wounds and shouting for Billy. 

Madani.

(What was Madani doing there?)

“Hold on, help’s on the way,” she told you, but the words barely registered.

You had so many questions but it seemed too late to try and ask them.

But finally - finally  - Billy was at your side. Dropping to his knees, his eyes filling with tears at the sight of you.

“B-Billy,” you managed to choke out despite the blood filling your mouth and lungs, “you’re h-here...”

You felt him squeezing your hand, holding you so tight, like he never wanted to let you go. There were tears in his eyes as he looked down at you and you knew exactly what they meant; you were dying. In your efforts to save him the pain of watching you die, you’d brought it about decades early.

“I told you,” he muttered softly, “I’ll never let you go.”

Madani continued to press the cloth against your wound but you could tell from Billy’s face that it wasn’t helping.

“S-sorry,” you tried to mutter, wishing that you had more time, wishing that you could apologise properly.

“Don’t,” he told you, “don’t try to talk. Just - just stay still, stay with me, it’s going to be alright.”

“I l-love -” you couldn’t finish, there was too much blood and you were starting to feel so cold, so tired.

“Hey - hey, hummingbird, keep your eyes on me. It’s going to be okay,” Billy told you, but his voice sounded so far away. 

You struggled to hold his gaze, some part of you glad that you’d gotten to see him one last time, but the rest of you hated the agony on his face and the tears streaking down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he told you, squeezing your hand tighter, like he was trying to hold you in this life and not let you slip away. “I love you and - and I’m sorry, I know you’ll hate me but...”

The rest faded into the sound of your own panic, some part of you knowing what he was trying to tell you, knowing what he wanted to do. You tried to shake your head, tried to pull at his hand but you were so weak you could barely move. 

You were so far gone that you didn’t hear him screaming and pleading with Frank, nor did you hear Frank’s initial refusal and Billy’s threat to do it himself. 

Your eyes went wide when Frank loomed over you, looking at you for a moment, an unspoken apology colouring his features. You tried to speak, trying to say something - though, confronted with your own death, even you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. But you felt Billy’s hand squeezing yours and some piece of you wanted to hold on, wanted to have his hand in yours for longer than this moment, longer than the six months that you’d had together. 

You wanted him.

You wanted the man you loved.

(It wasn’t fair. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to leave him.)

But it was too late. Your eyes fell shut and you let out a gurgled breath, and the last thing you heard was Billy’s shouts.

End Note : So, yeah... I have a lot of feelings about this chapter. I know it jumps around and I'm not the greatest at action sequences (I'm working on it). And I know people won't like the ending and so on, but I'm having fun. I'm not sure if next week will be the last part now or if I'll have an epilogue the week after to tie up loose ends. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and it wasn't a let down! Also I'm sorry if any typos slipped through, I lost a night of writing to go see Deadpool last night..

As ever, thank you so much for your support/reading/liking/reblogging/screaming at me in the comments! 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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This is absolutely riveting, I love the soulmate AU, Reader has a messed up backstory, and Daredevil is being as angsty as possible? PERFECT!!!

This is gonna be amazing, I can tell already 😍

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

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

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

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

w/c: 4.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time for Plan B.

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

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

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

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

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

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

If he boxed up the suit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was only amusing for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touching the Devil felt like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The angst was painful today, ouch 😔

Gorgeous chapter with a really cute and wholesome ending. I'm so excited to see more of this series!!!

Running in Circles | Chapter 10

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: mentions of death, religious trauma

Summary: (Y/N) Rossi is following in her father’s footsteps by joining the BAU team as a profiler. The girl genius knew almost everything but she could have never predicted falling for Aaron Hotchner, her boss, and her father’s friend. in their world mutual feelings are not enough to push them together. Will all the adversities and obstacles they face pull them together or push them apart forever?

A/N: a few days behind is better than a whole year 🫣 anywho very sentimental chapter ahead

<- Previous

Winter had come at full force that December, and maybe that was the first sign of all that was to come. But for (Y/N), it only signified the anniversary of her mother’s death.

Just like she had done every year before, she had taken that day off, knowing her mind would be elsewhere, and her body would want to be there. Even if it fell on a weekend, she had to be sure that no calls would disturb the day. The monsters could wait one more day.

She looked herself over in the mirror. The turtleneck she had chosen felt particularly choking, her pants hung too low for comfort, and her mother’s necklace stood out too brightly against the dark clothing. Nothing was right. Nothing would ever be right. She pushed her hair behind her shoulders and sighed. That was as good as it would ever get.

She slipped her coat on before she left her house, and she wondered what her mother would have thought of her home. Would she have wanted her closer to the family home? Would she have liked the décor? Would she have poked fun at how messy the house could sometimes get, or would she not have cared at all?  Those were answers she would never get. At least not from the one person that mattered the most.

Her father’s car was waiting outside for her, his face wearing a similar solemn look to the one she had. It was the same routine every year. He’d come to pick her up, they’d go to the cemetery, and when David would tell stories of Iris, she would listen. Because she had none to share of her own. She had no memories, no stories, nothing to know of her mother that was her own.

“Hey, dad,” she said as she jumped into the SUV. “It’s a cold one today.”

“It really is,” he chuckled softly “I brought you some coffee and a butter croissant. Something tells me you didn’t eat breakfast today.”

“You know me too well, dad,” she snickered, taking the warm cup between her hands to heat her freezing hands. “Did you eat already?”

“Had myself a bowl of oatmeal with berries and bananas like your mom used to like,” he replied. “Washed it all down with some coffee and came here.”

“That’s good,” she croaked, forcing a smile. “Were you able to get the flowers? My local shop was closed when I went by yesterday.”

“Yeah. I’ve got the bouquet back there,” he smiled. “Peonies, irises, roses, lilies, and baby’s breath. All the ones she liked.”

Every time her father said things like that, her heart broke just a little more. He didn’t know it. She would never say it. But the fact that he had lived a life with her mother when she didn’t even know what she sounded like hurt. It pained her to miss a person she never had a chance to remember.

“Do you know it was your mom that would call you little bird?”

“Did she?”

“She said you were always jumping around and fleeting from flower to flower when you were outside, just like a hummingbird would. That’s why she got that necklace made for you,” David chuckled at the memory. “Even when you were just a little baby, you always seemed to calm when you were with her in the garden.”

“Well, her garden has to be the best one in all of Virginia. Even to this day.”

“You have Emile to thank for that,” he laughed. “If it had been up to me, it would have died so many years ago.”

“And I guess I inherited your lack of a green thumb.”

“That you did, little birdie,” he said. “But you did inherit her good taste. For your third birthday, the last one with your mother –may God have her in his glory—you insisted on having a garden fairy party. Iris asked you what flowers you wanted everywhere, and you said peonies. Well, at the time, you called them peenies.”

“I… I don’t remember that,” she stammered. “I wish I did.”

“That’s okay, little bird. We have the pictures, and I’m sure there’s a VHS somewhere with the video. Just have to check in storage, which might take a bit more than it should.”

“It wouldn’t if you let me organize it, dad. I’ve told you many times that you need to set up a system so things don’t get lost in all the junk you still have from the olden days.”

“Hey! You learned a lot from those olden days,” he pouted. “Those olden days paid for everything we have.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not disorganized.”

By the time they had reached the cemetery, they were a mix of laughter and sadness, coupled with the most beautiful bouquet they’d brought to date. There was a thin blanket of snow covering the ground, a cold breeze whistling through the air. It was a horrible day to be out, but they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

(Y/N) was expecting the bad weather. And although her coat did nothing to warm her against the wind, she hugged it closer to her body. What she was not expecting was to find Hotchner and Jack waiting on a bench right in front of her mother’s grave.

“Aaron,” David called out with a smile that alerted the father and son to their presence. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Once they were near enough, Jack took off on a soft run toward the woman. “(Y/N)!” he called as he reached to hug her. “You said we could come, remember?”

“Of course I do, buddy,” she smiled softly. “I’m happy to see you.”

“This is your mom, right?” The boy led her to her mother’s tombstone by the hand. “Iris Jensen.”

“That’s right,” she said. (Y/N) knelt down and ran her hand across the picture of her mother, tears already building in her eyes. “This is my mom.”

“She’s very pretty.”

“She is, isn’t she?” (Y/N) chuckled as her body betrayed her. Tears fell down her eyes before she could stop them, warming her skin before turning freezing under the weather. Jack quickly reached into his jacket, pulled out a blue handkerchief, and handed it to her. “Thanks, kid.”

“Jack, why don’t you join me on the bench, and I can tell you about her?” David said. “I’ve got some great stories.”

“Is that okay, (Y/N)?”

“Of course, Jack,” she smiled. “Go ahead.”

As the kid ran to her father, Hotchner wrapped his arms around her. Normally, she would have grown flustered at the interaction, but at that moment, she needed the comfort. “You okay?” he asked quietly. “This must be so hard.”

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” she muttered. “It’s been years already. I barely even knew her.”

“She was still your mom, (Y/N). It’s only natural that you feel this way.”

“I don’t even remember what she sounds like,” the woman sniffled. “I don’t even know what kind of mom she would have been growing up.”

“I… I’m sorry, (Y/N). I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay,” she smiled softly as she let him go. She got on her knees and started cleaning the tombstone, removing all specs of snow regardless of how futile it may have been. “There’s not much to say.”

“All I know is that I wish I had met her.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Me too.”

Aaron left her by herself then, allowing her the space to tell her mother about the year that had passed. She told her about her cases, told her about her friends, and even told her about her ever-growing feelings for an unmentionable person. But, most of all, she told her about how much she missed her.

But it didn’t go over her head how she missed someone that much without really knowing who they were. She carried inside an emptiness that wasn’t easily filled, and as hard as her father tried, never would be. And David tried, in his own way. He had his own grief to carry, and she knew that. She knew he hurt and wished Iris was still with them. But he’d found solace in the time he had shared with her while (Y/N) yearned for even just a second more with her mom.

“I wish you were here, mom,” she cried as she stood. “I see videos of you, and I can’t tell if that’s what you really sounded like or if your voice is too distorted by the camera. I wish you’d had more time, mom.”

“You and me both, little birdie,” her father said as he joined her. “But she’s in God’s glory now.”

(Y/N)’s blood boiled at that moment. She had never been religious, much to her father’s dismay. More than just the deity not fitting into her scientific mind, she couldn’t believe in a god like her father did. Normally, she didn’t mind his religious interjections. They were a part of who he was, and she didn’t want to belittle his beliefs. But that day, something inside her couldn’t stand it. Much less when he started to mutter a prayer.

“I’ve asked you to please not pray aloud when we’re here, dad. Do you mind?”

“Honey…”

“No, dad. I really don’t want to listen to you talk about your god or ask to have mom in his infinite mercy. I don’t wanna hear about it!” Her tone came out harsher than she intended, but she couldn’t contain herself. Years and years of bottling up her feelings had her at her limit, and it was that moment that they had chosen to spill over. “Just, keep it in your head.”

“I don’t understand, (Y/N). You never minded before,” David muttered. “There was a time you used to believe in God. You even used to ask me to pray with you.”

“Jesus, dad, I did that for you.” As she exclaimed Hotch told Jack to wait for him in the car, that (Y/N) needed a moment to herself. Hesitantly, the boy followed his father’s instructions and walked the short trail to the van. All he could understand was that (Y/N) was upset. Once Jack was gone, she continued. “How could I ever believe in a god that took my mother away before I could even remember what my name sounded in her voice? I only went along with it because it seemed to make you happy, but I can’t anymore. I can’t listen to another word of how your god is merciful and how it was all his plan. He took my mother from me. How could I believe in a god that would take a mother from a child? All the memories I have of her are from behind a screen or moments lived by other people. I don’t remember anything about her that’s mine only, dad. You always tell me how you would love to have a second chance with my mom, and I didn’t even get one.”

(Y/N) crumbled to the ground once more and suddenly felt arms around her. Instantly, she knew who it was and found herself sinking into Hotch’s embrace. He tried his best to calm her, telling her that everything would be okay and that she wasn’t alone. She was normally the strong one. She was always the one who kept it all inside and helped others. But too many years of that had her shattered on the ground of the cemetery.

It took a few minutes for her sobs to finally subside, Hotch’s soothing circles on her arms working overtime to calm her down. They had ended up sitting on the cold ground, the snow slowly making its way through their clothes, but neither seemed to care. All that mattered was the comfort and the presence. Nothing else.

“You okay?” Hotch whispered as she finally seemed to calm. “Feeling better?”

“I don’t even know,” she chuckled weakly. “Your pants are dirty now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I have a washer,” he joked. “But how are you feeling? I know this must be a very overwhelming situation.”

“I don’t know what I’m feeling, honestly,” she sighed, sinking into the warmth of Hotchner. “It’s the first time I’ve ever blown up like that toward my dad, and I don’t know why I did. It’s been over twenty years that we’ve been coming here, and I’ve never acted like this.”

“I think it’s safe to assume you’ve been bottling up all these feelings for all that time. They were bound to come out one day or another.” 

“Don’t profile me, Hotch,” she pouted. “But you’re right. I mean, he lost the woman he loved, and even though I lost my mom, I felt bad for him because he’s the one who had all the memories with her. I never wanted him to feel bad or guilty for the fact that I had to grow up without her. Still, every time he says something like her death was god’s plan or that he has her in her mercy, it just sets me off.”

“Have you ever thought that religion is the way that he copes with her death? Maybe thinking that she is in heaven or that it was her time is his way to come to terms with the fact that she is gone.”

“I guess a part of me does understand that. But there’s a side that doesn’t want to,” she sighed. “But I guess I have to apologize for the tantrum.”

“Your feelings are valid, (Y/N). It’s just the way you express them that could be hurtful to others. But your dad’s a big boy,” he chuckled softly. “He’s at the car with Jack. You ready to go over there?” 

“As ready as I can be.”

Hotchner got up first, waiting with his hand extended until she needed it. And with another glance at the tombstone, she took the hand and stood up as well. The man walked beside her the entire time, his presence alone was enough to keep her grounded. As much as she wanted to break down and fall apart, she needed to keep it together.

“And she could spend days in her studio just painting, forgetting that hours passed. She would just lose herself painting and painting,” her father smiled as he talked to Jack. “She would have been there the entire day if I had let her.”

“Do you have any of her paintings still?”

“Of course! All over the house,” he chuckled. “Would you like to see them, Jack?”

“Yes! Can we, dad?” Jack asked as he noticed his father’s approaching figure. “I wanna see the paintings.”

“If it’s alright with Dave, then it’s alright with me.”

“Of course!” the man exclaimed. “The more the merrier. We’ll see you there.”

David and (Y/N) walked to the car in silence. Not saying a single word until they were inside. “I’m sorry, dad,” she finally muttered. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. You don’t deserve that.”

“I’d say it was long overdue, kid,” he smiled softly. “You like to keep the peace and keep everything in. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before. You have nothing to apologize for, little bird.”

“But I do, dad. I shouldn’t have yelled at you regardless.”

“Your mother used to say that yelling is the way the soul speaks,” he said. “When you can no longer keep anything in, it comes out fast and unmeasured. Words come out with thorns and spikes. And much like a flower, they don’t mean to hurt you, but it is in their nature to protect themselves. It’s okay to let it out once in a while. Doesn’t matter how it hurts. If my beliefs hurt you, mia bella, all you have to do is tell me. I will try my best to keep it to a minimum.”

“And I will try to talk about how I’m feeling instead of yelling it,” she smiled, taking her father’s hand in hers. “I love you, dad. And I’m still sorry.”

“I love you too, little bird,” he beamed. “And you can make it up to me by helping with dessert tonight. We’re making your mom’s favorite.”

“Tiramisu,” they chorused.

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