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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 2 years ago

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Is It Really That Bad?

Phase 4, the first post-Endgame phase of the MCU, has been a bit of a mixed bag for a lot of people, but I don’t honestly think that’s totally on the quality of the films and shows themselves. While there are some real mid films there are some genuinely great entries, ones like Shang Chi, Werewolf by Night, Wakanda Forever, and No Way Home. And even the more lackluster entries still have some genuinely good things to offer; I’m no fan of Eternals or Black Widow, but they definitely have some great aspects that justify them existing. The real issue, I feel, is how quickly Phase 4 was churned out; in nearly two years the amount of MCU entries has almost doubled, and with that much flooding us all at once cracks begin to show and people who were once more charitable towards flaws will become exhausted and stop overlooking them.

That left She-Hulk: Attorney at Law in an incredibly unenviable position, and one that only worsened as it continued to air. I mean, releasing a trailer that has effects that look unfinished at best is bad enough. But to then have to release while reports of VFX artist abuse start pouring out? This show soon became the butt of various jokes, the subject of obnoxious clickbait videos about how the MCU is woke trash, and gave people fuel to contribute to the fire that is the myth of “superhero fatigue.”

The discourse surrounding the show definitely killed my interest for a long while, but in hindsight I shouldn’t have let it do that; as we’ll get into later, the backlash to this has undertones as scummy as the ones that helped tank a certain Joel Schumacher superhero movie. With all that in mind, it’s easy to assume it’s not really that bad… so this time the question is more, “Is this show any good?”

THE GOOD

Unsurprisingly, Tatiana Maslany carries this show on her back. Jen is such a charming, awkward, likable character in her hands, and she sells her every single moment of the show. It would have been really easy to fuck this up considering the distracting CGI sometimes muffles her performance a bit, but Maslany manages to shine through even in the weaker moments.

The expansion of the Hulk mythos is welcome, especially after the characters spent the past three phases on the backburner. The big winner here thanks to this spotlight isn't even Bruce, though; no, it's Emil Blonsky, AKA Abomination, who makes a glorious return as a major character asking Jen to help him get parole. He's just a really hilarious and cheerful guy, long past his villain days, and when he gets out he seems to genuinely be a changed man. Dude even becomes a self-help guru leading a class of other villains in redeeming themselves. It also helps that when he turns into his monster form, the effect is one of the better ones in the show.

The guest star characters are all a lot of fun. Bruce's appearance is a bit of a mess (which I'll get into below), but I don't think seeing Mark Ruffalo is a bad thing even at his worst. Wong is, of course, absolutely fantastic, and even Jen lampshades how much everyone loves the guy. But best of all is when Matt Murdock shows up in the penultimate episode, and gets to crack a few jokes, kick a few asses, and bang Jen like the true Chad that he is. How they managed to make such a cute, believable romance that you can't help but root for in a single episode is absolutely astounding, and considering the shit Jen and Matt go through on a regular basis it’s just so refreshing to see.

While she sadly ends up a bit underutilized, Jameela Jamil's take on She-Hulk archnemesis Titania is a lot of fun. Here, she's imagined as an over-the-top evil influencer (redundant, I know) who just goes out of her way to be a petty bitch to Jen for no good reason. The fact we never learn any backstory about her and the fact she remains as an unrepentant asshole throughout all her appearances makes her a hell of a lot of fun as a bad guy. I wouldn't call her one of the greats like Killmonger or High Evolutionary, but she's still a very enjoyable foe for the type of show this is.

I love how this show isn’t afraid to dig deep into the well of Marvel characters to throw in some obscure faces to spice things up. I think that’s one thing the shows have done consistently well, elevating lesser-known characters into the limelight, so it’s nice to see an entire episode revolve around Leap-Frog of all characters and for the Wrecking Crew to show up and get their shit wrecked. Blonsky’s little villain therapy session is a wealth of D-listers; how many people were aware Man-Bull and Porcupine were a thing before this, let alone that Saracen is a combination of two villains with the same name (one of whom is actually a vampire)? The average person isn’t like me, trolling through wiki articles looking for obscure supervillains to obsess over, so it’s nice to see them get utilized even in a minor way. The only one I can see people bristling at a bit is Mr. Immortal, who is quite the opposite of his comic counterpart, but in my opinion he’s the Great Lake Avenger I’m least bothered that they changed; if it was Flatman, Big Bertha, or (God forbid) Squirrel Girl I’d probably be angrier. At any rate, this show is clearly not afraid to give wacky minor villains a role, so I’m half expecting season 2 to include Jen’s enemy Dr. Bob Doom, the more famous Doom’s distant relative who’s an envious evil dentist who wants to conquer the tri-state area.

The very best thing about this show, beyond cameos and weird characters and whatever else, is just the fact that it’s a very down-to-earth story about a woman who just wants a little bit of control and happiness in her life. Jen’s goals are relatable—she wants to do the job she loves, hang with her friends, and maybe find a nice guy who likes her for who she is—and a lot of the issues she faces as she tries to accomplish these are the sort of things women have to deal with on a regular basis. Obviously these things end up being filtered through a Hulk-green lens, but I’m sure a lot of women can relate to some of Jen’s struggles. Hell, the big bads of the show are incels who make revenge porn of Jen because they don’t think she’s worthy of her skills, and goad her into losing her cool so that she’ll be the one vilified and have her life ruined… It’s pretty obvious but effective, and it makes the moment where she forces the narrative to right itself to give her control in her own story a really great bit of wish-fulfillment.

THE BAD

The first episode is ROUGH. It’s a showcase of the poor special effects that made this show infamous, particularly the “She-Hulk clap” scene, though honestly her entire fight with Bruce is pretty bad. The way she gets her powers is ridiculously contrived and goofy, especially compared to her more lowkey origin in the comics (they really couldn’t have just done a blood transfusion here?). The worst moment of it all, though, is when Jen mansplains controlling your anger to Bruce. You know, the fucking Hulk?

This does end up highlighting a big issue with the Hulk, though it’s not really the show’s fault: Hulk is the major hero the MCU has dropped the ball on the most. A lot of this has to do with the issue with the film rights, as Marvel can’t use him in solo films, but the fact that after Joss Whedon’s movies all of Bruce’s character development happened offscreen between films and all his tragedy and complexity was dropped in favor of making him “big green wacky science guy” is unbelievably lame. It leads to a lot of the moments in this first episode falling flat, especially the ones where Bruce reminisces about Tony. And then there’s Bruce being surprised Jen doesn’t have a different personality as a Hulk, implying to me that Bruce’s tragic backstory and DID are written out (if he had DID he’d know Jen probably wouldn’t get it from a car accident). It’s a shame because Ruffalo is great as the character when he gets the chance to be, but it’s to the point now where I wasn’t sad that he was barely in the show. At least there’s hope for the future given the ending and upcoming movies set to feature Hulk and his supporting cast, so maybe we’ll finally be able to say someone who isn’t a massive creep really gets the Not-So-Jolly Green Giant.

Anyway... I really don't want to harp on the effects too much, but they are pretty subpar. Still, it was around the time these episodes were dropping that the stories of employee abuse and crunch time and all that were coming out, so it's not easy for me to be overly harsh considering the working conditions the VFX artists had to endure. I will say this: The jokes about how expensive the effects were in the final episode feel a little more tasteless in light of that.

Speaking of the final episode, while it's a funny use of a deus ex machina to resolve a ludicrous plotline and while I find it hilarious they lampoon how formulaic Marvel can get, She-Hulk smashing the fourth wall comes a bit out of left field because of how little they really build up her fourth wall-breaking abilities. Like yeah, she addresses the audience at the start and end of her episodes, but because of how episodes are paced it doesn't feel quite as fleshed-out as when Deadpool makes those same sorts of jokes in his movies. I wish they'd spent more time building up to that finale throughout the series, maybe have her do little things here and there beyond just talking to the viewers. It's not the biggest complaint in the world, and it wasn't a dealbreaker, but I didn't find the ending quite as satisfying as it could've been.

Ultimately though, the biggest flaw I think this show has is just that by its very nature it's not going to appeal to everyone. It's a goofy slice of life comedy, and in a franchise known for over-the-top action and adventures the story is very grounded and most of the action that shows up here sucks. It's not something that appeals to the average MCU fan, is what I'm saying, and while that doesn't make it inherently bad (we could use more variety in these films, after all) it does make this a bit of a hard sell.

THE UGLY

It is embarrassing I even have to address this, but unfortunately this was the biggest controversy the show had. You see, there is a post-credit scene where She-Hulk twerks with Megan Thee Stallion. This scene, which is maybe thirty seconds long (with only maybe ten of those being twerking) became the thing people would point at to call the show stupid and awful.

Let me be clear here: This joke is meant to be dumb and cringey. There is literally a shot of Jen’s boss walking away in embarrassment upon seeing this. And beyond that, Jen is a cringey person. That’s why she’s so likable in the first place! So it’s not even like this is out of character.

But ignoring all that, this is literally a post-credit scene, and getting mad at those is lamer than a twerking joke could ever hope to be. And if nothing else it’s still better than that shitty mid-credit scene in Multiverse of Madness.

IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?

I have no fucking clue what everyone’s problem with this show is.

Like, okay, I can’t deny this show isn’t for everyone. It has a rocky start, its special effects aren’t the best, and it is different from the rest of the MCU in that it’s just low-stakes slice of life comedy (at the insistence of the main character). The villains are mostly down-to-earth threats that happen to have powers, and the main focus is on comedy arising from the weird situations Jen gets into by being a lawyer who is also a Hulk. But with the amount of sheer vitriol this show’s existence managed to generate, you’d think this show killed someone’s grandma.

I genuinely think this has to be motivated by misogyny. Like this show is perfectly harmless, completely fine, average at worst, and yet it has the single worst score of anything in the MCU. You cannot look me in the eye and tell me this is worse than Thor 2 and 4, Iron Man 2, or even Age of Ultron—and that’s just if we’re looking at the weaker MCU films and not the superhero genre as a whole. The fact that most (but not all) of the criticisms for this show are just really unfounded and show a lack of even the most cursory knowledge about the source material it draws from combined with the fact the final challenge of the show is overcoming a cabal of incel nerds furious at the mere existence of a female superhero (the sort of parody of real life toxicity in comic fandoms these so-called fans constantly bristle at) really just highlights how nerds won’t be beating the misogyny accusations any time soon. I guess women are only okay in Marvel properties when they’re supporting male leads or are viciously murdering scores of innocents so she can sacrifice a teenager to bring her Sims to life.

I’m not usually one to shout “Bigotry!” when something has a low score (the only time I can think of where I linked bigotry to poor reception was with Batman & Robin), but I just really can’t see any other way to comprehend this score being what it is. There is nothing this show does so poorly that it warrants a score anywhere in the 5s, and I’ve gotta believe the score is simply the result of review bombing. Then again, this superhero media dared to show things that women go through in real life via a superhero lens instead of shoehorning in Jesus imagery and having the conflict be resolved by Jen and Titania’s mommies having the same name, so I guess it can’t be that good.

But again, let me stress that disliking this show doesn’t inherently make someone misogynistic. This show has its issues, and even I feel like a lot of the story elements and effects could have been handled a lot better, so it’s not like I’m trying to convince you all this is some unsung masterpiece. If you don’t like this show for a reason that isn’t “I hate women superheroes,” that’s fine! What I’m trying to point out here is that this initial score reeks of malicious intent, and I honestly don’t feel people really gave this show a chance because of the initial low audience scores.

Realistically this show deserves something around 6.6 - 6.9. It’s a solid enough show, but there’s no denying that even in its genre it is an extremely niche entry that’s not going to have the same widespread appeal as some of the other shows. If you can get on board with the concept and can stomach a rough pilot and some weak visual effects, there’s a sweet, amusing story about a woman just trying to live her life here that’s honestly refreshing in a sea of “save the world” plots.

Of course, it could definitely improve with a second season. And the best way to do that? Make Spragg the Living Hill the big bad.

#is it really that bad?#IIRTB #review #show review #MCU #Marvel #Disney #Disney+#She-Hulk #she-hulk: attorney at law #tatiana maslany #superhero #superhero show

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amhrosina · 2 years ago

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Holidate (Frank Castle x fem! Reader)

MASTERLIST // TAG LIST REQUEST

A/N: Hi hi hi! Writing this was wild and took over my social life for a second there. This hasn’t been beta read, or edited yet (lmfao), but it’s 13k words and I’m very proud of it. Please enjoy! (Matt Murdock next????)

Summary: Holidate – a prearranged fake date that you can bring to family holiday events to avoid awkward conversations about your love life.

When reader realizes she’s the last single person in her family, a run-in with an old acquaintance sparks a genius idea that could get her family off her back once and for all.

(Warnings: slow burn, pining, fake dating, brief description of a severe injury (it’s in the fourth of july section), cursing, eventual smut (p in v, oral (fem receiving)), no use of y/n, wholesome family content, Frank in a bunny suit, let me know if I missed any bc it’s 1:30am and I'm tired lmfao

New Year’s Eve:

The bass of the club speakers pounded in your skull, sparking a fresh wave of annoyance within you. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. You were supposed to be somewhere nice, celebrating the new year with your loving and loyal boyfriend of four years, Ben. But Ben was an asshole who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants long enough to realize he had butt dialed you while he was knee deep in “the best pussy he’s ever had”.

You rolled your eyes at the memory. You weren’t even that upset about it – Ben had become a dull and predictable aspect of your daily routine. The spark that had ignited your affection for him had died out months before you found out he was cheating. It was a brutal wake-up call, though.

Your life, you realized, had become entirely too comfortable, which limited your ability to grow as a human being. The few weeks without Ben leading up to New Year’s Eve had taught you a lot about yourself, but you couldn’t help feeling a little lonely when you looked around and saw happy couples everywhere.

Your sister was happily married to her high school sweetheart. Your mom and dad were disgustingly in love with each other, even after almost 30 years together. And your idiot baby brother had chosen tonight at dinner to announce his engagement to Kim, his girlfriend of 3 months.

After the obligatory congratulatory toasts, your mother’s attention had fallen on you. You had tried so hard to get out of the room before she could open her mouth, but your mom had spent enough time with you to know your tricks and had managed to corner you by the bathroom.

“Sweetie, I want to introduce you to someone. My OB/GYN has a new set of interns, and one of them is very cute.”

“You’re worried about my,” you paused for effect, “vaginal health, Mom?”

“No, of course not, though you should probably get it checked out after the whole Ben fiasco. I don’t even want to think about where he put his pe-”

“Okay, thanks for that, Mom. Really. I just have to pee now.” You slid against the wall until you could grab the doorknob and slip into the bathroom, effectively shutting the door in your mom’s face. You had hidden yourself in the bathroom for 15 full minutes before finally facing your family again. Then, Sammy had the bright idea to take all the siblings out clubbing to celebrate his engagement.

That’s how you ended up here, surrounded by sweaty, drunk partygoers who apparently had so much to celebrate. It was 10 minutes to midnight, and you were doing everything in your power to make it to the exit before you had to be surrounded by sweaty, drunk, kissing partygoers.

The club was so packed you had barely made it five feet before you gave up your efforts, deciding to chug the rest of your drink when the clock struck midnight as your midnight kiss. You watched the dance floor from your vantage point on second floor balcony. An overwhelming presence next to you had your back stiffening.

You turned, ready to tell the guy off, but you lost your voice somewhere between “Fuck off, buddy” and “Not interested”. You definitely knew the guy from somewhere, but you couldn’t put your finger on where that might be. His size was intimidating, and you could tell he was absolutely ripped, but his eyes weren’t those of a drunk asshole. In fact, the look on his face told you he recognized you from somewhere, too.

“Do we know each other?” You had to yell over the music for him to hear you.

“You don’t remember me?” He was smiling, and you knew that smile, but you couldn’t put your finger on how you knew it. You studied his face, trying to remember. Dark hair and eyes, strong eyebrows, and a big nose.

“Oh!” You exclaimed suddenly, “You’re Eagle!”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“You were the TA for my Psych class, right? Like six years ago? Frank, right?” You grinned at him.

“You do remember!” He smiled wide for a second, but quickly furrowed his eyebrows in confusion again. “What did you call me? Eagle?”

“Oh god,” you groaned, running your hand over your face. “We used to call you that. The girls in the class, I mean. You know what they say about men with big noses?”

Frank let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back.

“I didn’t think anyone in those classes even knew I existed. That was the easiest job I’ve ever had. The professor wouldn’t let me do anything, and I still got paid.”

“So, I don’t have you to thank for the A, then?”

“Sorry, I guess you did that on your own.” He shrugged, sipping his drink and smiling. “Did you come with someone? Where’s your date?”

You raised your cup to your mouth, gulping down a mouthful of alcohol in response.

Frank chuckled and nodded. “Ah, I see.”

The clock began chiming, starting the 60 second countdown to the new year.

“Where’s your date?”

Frank smiled and gulped down the rest of his drink, copying the response you had given him. You raised your glass, and he clinked his against yours in solidarity.

When the countdown got to 10, you awkwardly shuffled back and forth on your feet. The couples around you were gravitating towards each other, grabbing each other’s hands and holding their drinks up in the air. You and Frank watched as the clock hit 0, silver and gold confetti floating down from the ceiling and coating the kissing couples on the dance floor.

Your brother seemingly appeared out of nowhere, tugging his fiancé behind him. “Hey! We’re going!”

You nodded, turning to Frank. “I have to...” you trailed off, pointing towards your brother with your thumb, “but it was nice to see you again. Happy New Year, Frank.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around.” He grinned, nodding.

You waved at him as you walked towards the exit, wondering if you’d ever see him again. Fortunately for you, you didn’t have to wonder for long.

A few days later, you parked your car in the mall parking lot, sighing as your mother continued her rant from the passenger seat.

“All I’m saying, sweetie, is that you should get out more. When’s the last time you left the house besides New Year’s Eve? What about one of those dating apps?”

“I don’t want to date anyone right now, Mom. I’m trying to find myself, you know?”

She scoffed. “Oh, please.”

You followed her into the mall, clutching the items you had bought for Ben before the untimely death of your relationship. Your one and only plan for the rest of your week off work was to return the gifts, but your mother had insisted on going with you, claiming she had some shopping to do. You couldn’t imagine what she could possibly need this soon after Christmas, but you didn’t want to argue with her about it.

It took forever, but you were finally at the last store you needed to make a return at. It would’ve been an easy in and out if your mom hadn’t stopped to look at every single sweater in the store. The sound of your name being called perked you out of your thoughts.

“When I said see you around, I didn’t realize it would be this soon after.”

Frank walked towards you, clutching a return receipt in his hand. You waved your receipt back at him.

“You didn’t like a gift?” You asked, eyeing the receipt.

“Oh, uh,” Frank scratched the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly, “No. I bought it for someone, but it didn’t end up working out.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Same. I think we may have more in common than I thought. Same girl that left you alone on New Year's?”

“The one and only.” He chuckled, shuffling his feet.

The sound of your mother’s voice so close to your ear startled you. You hadn’t noticed her standing next to you.

“Who’s this?”

She had a devious smile on her face, and it took everything in you not to outwardly groan.

“This is Frank. He was my-” Frank cut you off, reaching forward to shake your mom’s hand.

“Friend in college. Nice to meet you. We were just talking about regrettable Christmas gifts.”

“Oh!” Your mom eagerly shook his hand, sending you a wink over her shoulder. “Well, I’ve been trying to tell her she needs to get out more. You know, her boyfriend ch-”

“I don’t think he’s interested in hearing about my love life, Mom.” This conversation derailed far too quickly for your liking.

“Honey, I’m just trying to help. Frank is very handsome.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You probably resembled a tomato more than a human being.

“Thank you, Mom. Very helpful.” You gritted through your teeth. Your mother was nothing if not sneaky. She sent you a smirk and turned back to Frank.

“It was lovely to meet you, Frank. I hope I’ll be getting to see more of you soon.”

You gaped at her as she made her way back towards the cashmere sweaters, dreading having to look back at Frank. When you finally faced him, he was clearly trying hard not to laugh in your face.

“I’m sorry,” You groaned, running your hand through your hair, “My mom can be very forward.”

Frank let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s okay. It sounds like she just wants you to be happy.”

“She has an interesting way of showing it. I mean, being single on holidays isn’t that pathetic, right? Plenty of people are single. Like Emma Watson! She’s been single since forever and she’s thriving! Oh god, you probably don’t want to hear this either. I’m sorry. I ramble when I get nervous.”

You regretted ever getting out of bed this morning. This was turning out to be the most embarrassing day of your life, and it wasn’t even 10am yet.

Frank’s face had turned thoughtful. You were a little afraid to ask him what he was thinking about.

“I have an idea,” he finally said, glancing between you and your mom, who was holding up a blue sweater and talking to an employee.

“Okay?” You cocked your head to the side.

“What if we dated?” Your eyes grew wide, “Just for the holidays, I mean. We show up together at events or parties and it keeps the questions at bay. Like a, um-”

Frank searched for the right word, and you couldn’t help the word that came out of your mouth.

“A holidate?”

Frank snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “Exactly. A holidate. It’ll get your family off your back for a little bit, and you won’t have to worry about being single. For the day, at least.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time, trying to fully comprehend what he was offering.

“What’s in it for you?”

“Same as you.” He shrugged. “My family’s like yours.”

“And it’s just for the holidays?”

“Mhmm.”

“What about the smaller holidays? Like 4th of July.”

“I’m fine with whatever you want to do about those.”

“What if one of us meets someone we like?”

“Then our problems are solved, right?”

You studied him for a moment, weighing the idea in your head. You stole a glance at your mother, who was now standing out of Frank’s direct eyeline and smiling at you and Frank.

You turned back to Frank, holding out your hand.

“Deal.”

The smile he gave you as he shook your hand sent a shiver down your spine.

Valentine's Day:

“Frank, you are not getting my mother flowers. She’s never going to let you leave.”

“I can’t show up to dinner to officially meet your family without bringing something. My mom raised me better than that.”

You were currently standing in the flower section of Kroger, picking out flowers to get your parents for their anniversary. Every year, they hosted a family dinner on Valentine’s Day to celebrate their marriage and the family that came out of it. This was officially your first go at this holidate thing, and Frank kept insisting that he had to bring flowers.

“If you absolutely have to get flowers, don’t get red roses. My dad called dibs on those 30 years ago.”

Frank grinned at your compromise and picked up the bouquet of tulips he had been eyeing. You had to give it to your mom, Frank was handsome, but the holidate deal was strictly platonic, so you turned and headed for the checkout lane.

When Frank caught up with you, he was holding not one, but two bouquets. The tulips he had picked out for your mom were bright yellow. The other bouquet had a dozen red roses in it, and it had been carefully wrapped in expensive-looking brown paper.

“Who are those for?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Well, I can’t get my holidate’s mother flowers and not buy my holidate flowers too. That’s just unclassy.”

You followed him in stunned silence. You hadn’t been expecting that.

When you finally arrived at your parents' house, you were nervously applying and reapplying your lipstick in the passenger side mirror. You didn’t know how your family was going to react to Frank. Obviously, your mom would be pleased, but you didn’t want to sit under your sister’s scrutiny for too long. If anyone was going to figure out what you were doing, it would be her.

“You’re nervous.” Frank pointed out, watching you from the driver’s seat. “Why?”

“I’m not nervous.” You scoffed, ignoring how easily he just read your body language.

“Yes, you are, but you shouldn’t be. I’m the perfect gentleman. Parents love me. You’ll see.”

He smiled at you and jumped out of the car, running around to open your door for you.

“See? Gentleman.”

You led Frank around to the side door, hoping for a subtle entrance. This plan was almost immediately foiled when your mom busted through the door, Cheshire grin planted on her face.

“Frank! It’s so good to see you!” She brushed past your open arms, pulling Frank into a hug.

“Hello, ma’am. These are for you.” He held out the tulips, smiling.

“Oh, you.” She muttered, taking the flowers from him. She rushed through the door, calling out to your dad.

“I think it’s safe to say that I've won over your mom.” He chuckled. “You ready?” He held out his hand in question.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You sighed, intertwining your fingers in his.

Dinner was as dramatic as you expected it to be. Your dad had kept up the “tough” act for a whole 30 seconds before Frank managed to win him over. All it took was a subtle nod to your dad’s “impeccable grill set-up" for your dad to shake Frank’s hand and ask him for help grilling the steaks.

Speaking of grilling, as soon as Frank had exited the back door into your backyard, your sister immediately pulled you aside, demanding to know anything and everything about Frank. You kept your answers short but put enough detail into your responses that it seemed to win her over. Your brother had waved at Frank when you introduced him, and that was the end of that interaction. If only the rest of your family could be as relaxed as your brother was about the men in your life.

When everyone sat down for dinner, your dad gave a long-winded speech about love and had everyone toast to your mom, who never failed to cry before dinner was served every year. Frank mixed in well with your family, holding conversations on his own with everyone at some point.

The dramatics really amped up during dessert when your sister announced she was pregnant with her second baby. The room filled with gasps and excited squeals, mostly from your mom, and you watched as your mom wrapped her arms around your sister, teary eyed and smiling wide.

When everyone had finished saying their congratulations and gathered in the living room for the annual “anniversary slideshow”, you settled against the back wall, content to observe the tradition from afar. Your mom snuck up beside you, pointed look on her face.

“Don’t say it, Mom.” You mumbled, resting your head on the wall.

“I wasn’t going to say anything!” She insisted, raising her eyebrows.

“You were about to point out your lack of grandchildren from me, and I’m asking you to drop it, please.”

“Oh, fine.” She joined your dad on the couch, snuggling into his side and pressing play.

Your brother and his fiancé were also snuggling, whispering into each other’s ears and quietly giggling. It was sickeningly cute. Your brother-in-law was slowly rubbing your sister’s stomach, even though she wasn’t anywhere near showing yet. It was all annoyingly cute, and you sighed, wishing you could be anywhere else in the world.

Frank sidled up beside you, bumping your shoulder with his. He was incredibly warm, and you couldn’t help but lean a little closer to him. You told yourself it was just because your parents kept the house cooler in the winter to save money.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” He asked, lips so close to your ear that you couldn’t ignore the shiver racing down your spine.

“I’m just standing.” You responded nonchalantly, pretending to be engrossed by the pictures on the screen.

“Yes, but why are you so far away from everyone?”

You didn’t respond, finally turning your head to look at him. His face was inches away from yours. You blinked, looking between his eyes. He was fully concentrated on you, and it was making you squirm. He was an expert at focusing his attention fully on the person he was talking to. This was something you had noticed about Frank before, but it never failed to affect you.

“Do you want to go?” His voice was soft, full of concern.

“Yes.” You breathed, trying not to look at his lips.

“Okay. I’ll cause a distraction. You bolt out of the house, and I’ll meet you in the getaway car out front. But grab some of that pie on your way out.”

He was smiling, obviously just saying something to make you laugh. You tried to stop the wide grin from forming on your lips, but when he was smiling at you like this, it was impossible not to match it. He was getting too good at reading you.

“But seriously,” he started, still smiling, “I’ll say my friend accidentally cut his finger trying to seduce his Valentine’s date with a meal or something.”

Frank did exactly that, and he handled it with such grace and confidence that even you caught yourself believing him for a moment. When he closed the car door behind you and began to walk around to the other side of the car, you studied him.

There had to be something you were missing. This guy, who was seemingly full of green flags, was having the same relationship troubles as you? It didn’t make any sense. There had to be something seriously wrong with him. Otherwise, there’s no way in hell anyone would let him slip through their fingers.

When he climbed in the car, he looked at you expectantly. “Where to, Miss Daisy?”

“Want to get ice cream?” You asked, mouth watering at the thought.

“What Miss Daisy wants, Miss Daisy gets.” He chuckled at his own joke, pulling away from the curb. The silence with Frank was comfortable, and you found yourself more relaxed than you had been in months.

When you walked into the ice cream shop, you immediately regretted every decision you had ever made. You stopped mid-stride, and Frank very nearly ran into you trying to stop himself behind you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, scoping out the store. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but then again, to any normal person, it would seem like that.

But you were focused on the couple sitting in the back of the parlor, sharing a bowl of ice cream. It was Ben, and he was spoon feeding ice cream to the girl he had cheated on you with. Frank narrowed his eyes at them, trying to put the pieces together.

“I suddenly don’t have an appetite for ice cream,” you mumbled, turning back to walk out the door. Frank’s brow was furrowed, and the expression on his face read as pure confusion, but he followed you through the door without question.

You had almost made it to Frank’s car when you heard your name being shouted behind you. Ben was slightly jogging to catch up with you, and you made a show of rolling your eyes.

“Hey! Wait!” Ben called, waving his arm.

Frank’s posture stiffened beside you, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him as he lightly pulled your waist closer to his side. Another shiver slid down your spine. You were going to have to get rid of that side effect as soon as possible.

“Hey, I just saw you leave the shop. I wanted to see how you were doing after, you know.” Ben was slightly panting. He eyed Frank’s hold on your waist, standing a little taller than before.

“I’m fine, Ben. Thanks. Bye.” You responded, looking anywhere but his face. You were not going to cry in front of Frank, and you certainly wouldn’t be giving Ben the satisfaction of an emotional breakdown at his expense.

“Who’s this?” he asked, finally acknowledging Frank.

“Frank, this is my loser ex-boyfriend. Loser ex-boyfriend, this is Frank. Are we good? Can we go now?” You asked, losing your patience.

Frank stiffened, a signal that told you he had caught on to the situation. His hand crept across your waist and settled on your stomach, pulling you fully against his front. His movement was slow, barely noticeable to anyone else, but the trail Frank’s hand left behind would be burned into your memory forever.

Ben looked between your face and Frank’s, scoffing.

“Oh, I see. He’s the rebound.” Ben nodded to himself.

Anger coated your tongue. You opened your mouth, ready to scream, when Frank’s voice cut you off.

“Buddy, why don’t you fuck off, okay? She’s clearly not interested in having this conversation with you.”

“Okay, buddy.” Ben responded, putting his hands on his hips. “I don’t think this is any of your business.”

“You made it my business when you upset her.” Frank’s deep voice reverberated through your chest. “We’re going.” He opened the car door, guiding you into the seat with a gentle push from the hand on your waist.

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You eagerly climbed in, squeezing the seatbelt as you buckled it. Frank joined you seconds later, starting the car and carefully pulling out of the spot. Your eyes didn’t leave your lap until the car was safely on the road again.

“Are you okay? God, that guy’s such an asshole. Sorry about the ice cream.” Frank gripped the steering wheel with one hand, resting his other arm on the windowsill and running his hand through his hair.

“I’m fine.” Your voice was meek compared to Frank’s deep one.

“You’re not, but that’s okay. You’re allowed to be upset.”

You stayed silent, counting the streetlights as you drove past them. Frank didn’t pry. He put the radio on a low volume and quietly hummed along to the Sum-41 song playing. After a while, he turned into a gas station parking lot, pulling into one of the spots in front of the store. You looked around, confused.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back. Lock the door.” He moved to get out of the car, but stopped when you made a noise of discontent, raising your hands in the air in question.

“Wait! What are you doing?” You asked, exasperated.

“I promised you ice cream, didn’t I?” He smiled, climbing out of the car. Your fingers fell along the arm rest, pressing the lock button. You couldn’t help the smile that crossed your face as you watched him walk away from the car.

Easter:

Easter was a holiday that you hadn’t celebrated until you were a few years into your adulthood. Your parents didn’t press religion onto you or your siblings when you were growing up, but your sister had married into a somewhat religious family, so the annual Easter egg hunt they hosted had become a regular part of your Easter plans.

When you called him, Frank had insisted that his family could spend the day without him. You hadn’t spoken to him much since Valentine’s Day, but you smiled when he immediately said he’d be there, holidate ready.

He showed up, sporting a button-down shirt and slacks. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and he had let his hair grow out a little. You tried not to stare as he opened the car door for you, ever the gentleman.

“Have you been okay?” he asked, lightly tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio.

“Actually, yes.” For the first time in months, you didn’t have to lie when someone asked you that question. Ben was a memory you had all but forgotten about.

“That’s great. I'm glad you called. My family was trying to force me into dressing up like the Easter Bunny for my nieces and nephews.” He shuddered at the thought.

Your head whipped around. “You have siblings?” you asked, genuinely surprised. He had never mentioned them before.

“I have a brother and a sister, like you. They both have a million kids. I love them, but they couldn’t pay me enough to dress up in a giant, fuzzy bunny costume.”

You threw your head back against the headrest, laughing loudly.

“You never told me that!”

“You never asked.” He responded, raising an eyebrow at you and smiling.

“Hmmm. Let’s change that.”

You spent the drive asking him every question you could think of. His favorite color was purple, even though he didn’t own anything that even remotely resembled the color. He didn’t have a favorite tv-show because he didn’t ever turn the tv on in his apartment. He loves dogs, but never adopted any because he thinks they should have a big backyard to run around in. He has a perfect attendance record at work because he never gets sick.

When you pulled up in front of your sister’s house, you still had a million questions for him, but your mom’s waving hand at the front door forced you out of the car. Frank grabbed onto your hand as you walked up the driveway and squeezed it. You tried not to blush. Why did he have to be so God damned dreamy?

He pulled his hand away to give your mom a hello hug. She winked at you over his shoulder, and your eyes stung at the thought of the holidate deal coming to an end. She was going to be heartbroken. She really liked Frank. You and Frank hadn’t discussed how long you’d be each other’s holidates, but you knew he would eventually meet someone else and have to put an end to your deal.

“Frank, I’m so glad you’re here. Uncle Steve was supposed to be the bunny, but he fell off his motorcycle last night and can’t walk without crutches. What a shame. But we really need an Easter Bunny.” She shook her head sadly, clasping her hands together.

The cackle that came out of you was obnoxious, but you didn’t care. This was the best thing that could’ve possibly happened. Frank looked back at you, eyebrows raised.

“You didn’t mention that your family also did the ‘dress up like the Easter Bunny’ thing.” He muttered, expectant look in his eyes.

“You never asked.” You responded, wiping the tears gathering under your eyes. Another fit of giggles had you gasping for air. You clutched your stomach, taking deep breaths, and then immediately busted out laughing again when your mom appeared with the bunny head in her hands.

You spent the afternoon laughing every time Frank walked by you in the costume. He looked so defeated, but he was putting on a good show for the kids, who loved him. When it was time for dinner, Frank fell into his seat next to you. He looked exhausted, but the grin he sent you was to die for.

“You could’ve told her no, you know?” You said, patting his hand.

“I know, but it made you smile, so I didn’t want to.”

Frank said this nonchalantly, but you felt his words in your gut. The chime of a knife on a wine glass stole your chance to respond. Frank lightly ran his fingers along your hand, and you spent the entire speech and prayer focused solely on the feeling of his skin against yours. If someone asked you about the speech, you’d be at a loss for words. You didn’t hear a word of it.

After dinner, you had drunk so much wine that you excused yourself to the bathroom. Your sister busted through the door approximately 30 seconds after you had entered the bathroom, slamming it shut behind her.

“Okay, it’s not like I’m in the middle of peeing or anything.”

“Oh, shush. I need to talk to you.” Her hand subconsciously rested on her stomach. She was showing a little bit, and her lilac dress showed off her baby bump perfectly.

“What is so important that you couldn’t wait for me to finish peeing?”

She smirked, leaning against the door. “It looks like it’s going good with Frank.”

“Oh my god. This could definitely wait until I was done.”

“We’ve all noticed it. I mean, come on. The bunny suit? He did that for you, not the kids.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, trying your best to nod enthusiastically.

Your sister’s face fell. “What? Is he not good in bed or something?”

“What? No! I mean, I don’t know. We haven’t-”

“Oh, is he one of those wait til marriage kind of people?”

“No! Well, I don’t know.” You threw your hands up in exasperation. You couldn’t imagine Frank being bad in bed, but that was something you had been strictly not thinking about.

“What are you hiding?” She asked, eyeing you. You should’ve known she would see through this eventually. You rested your elbows on your knees, dropping your face into your hands.

“It’s not...real.” You finally mumbled. “We’re just faking it on the holidays for our families. A holidate, ya know?”

“A holidate.” She repeated, voice full of confusion.

“A holidate.” You sat back, looking up at her.

“But he doesn’t look at you like it’s fake.” She shook her head, crossing her arms.

“That’s the point. It’s an act. You can’t tell anyone, especially Mom.” You pleaded with her.

“This could end very poorly.” She said after a pause, concern lacing her words.

“I know.” You nodded slowly, then sent her a playful glare. “Can I wipe, now? In private?”

Your sister left, quietly shutting the door behind her. You stood in the bathroom for an extra few minutes, contemplating the decisions that led you to this point. When you finally rejoined Frank at the table, he was engrossed in a conversation with your dad. He didn’t look at you, but he grabbed your hand, pulling it into his lap. Your sister sent you a pointed look, which you promptly ignored. The pattern Frank drew into your skin burned so hotly that it felt like a brand.

4th of July:

The 4th of July was always a huge affair for your family. Your parents rented a cabin on the lake and invited everyone and their grandmother to spend the weekend there, and this year, you were being upgraded to your own bedroom, courtesy of Frank’s presence. In the years you were with Ben, he had never joined you for the 4th of July celebration, so you had always been stuffed into a room with someone else. But not this year.

When you called Frank, it was the first time you’d actually spoken in over a month. The few text check-ins barely counted as a conversation, and they were usually brief. You had nervously paced around the room as you listened to the ringing on the other line, hoping it’d go to voicemail. It was a big step, even if it was technically fake. Not only would Frank be spending the night with you, but he’d also be sharing a bed with you, which was a terrifying thought.

Frank picked up, panting into the phone. His grunts were downright sinful, and you momentarily forgot what you were calling him about.

“Am I interrupting something?” You asked, mind immediately jumping to the worst conclusion.

“I’m at the gym, but I didn’t want to miss your call. What’s up, buttercup?”

You explained the situation, pacing back and forth around your kitchen when you got to the ‘one bed’ part.

“Of course, I’ll come. I wouldn’t miss it. Do you want me to stay somewhere else?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I can tell you’re walking a hole into your floor right now. We don’t have to share a bed if you don’t want to. I can stay at a hotel or something.”

“No! I mean-” you paused, closing your eyes, “I just meant that if you would be uncomfortable, you don’t have to come. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything. I don’t mind sharing a bed if you don’t”

You bit your lip, waiting for his response.

“Cool. I’ll drive. What time are we leaving?”

And that was that. Frank picked you up in his car, so giddy about the trip that he was practically bouncing up and down. The drive there wasn’t too long, but you spent the time catching up with Frank. Besides the occasional text, you really didn’t talk to him often when it wasn’t a holiday. After the conversation with your sister on Easter, you had set boundaries with yourself. You only let yourself think about him some of the time, and you certainly didn’t reach out to him. It was better if you distanced yourself from him on the regular days of the year.

Frank insisted on unloading the car himself and wouldn’t let you lift a finger to help. He even carried your purse in for you. Your mom hugged him so tightly you winced out of sympathy for the poor man. Frank was a big man, but your mom could summon the strength of three grizzly bears when she wanted to.

Frank said his hellos, shaking your dad’s hand and asking your sister about her pregnancy. Being only 2 months away from her due date, she was fully showing now. When you finally made it to the room you were sharing with Frank, you were so nervous you started to gnaw on the inside of your cheek.

The bed was big, but so was Frank. He’d take up at least two-thirds of the space. You didn’t let yourself think about tonight, or the rest of the weekend. That was a problem for future you. Your brother bolted past the doorway, stopping only to invite you both to swim in the lake before he took off again. He was only a couple years younger than you, but he had the energy of a 12-year-old boy.

“Do you want to go?” Frank asked, flopping onto the bed. He propped his head on his hands, which were stretched behind him. His shirt had risen up, giving you a full view of his happy trail. Your mouth dried at the sight.

“Oh, sure.” You finally responded, shaking the thoughts from your head. “Do you?”

“Whatever you want to do is fine with me. Your mom’s not going to make me dress up like a giant firework, is she?”

You stifled a laugh, reaching for your swimsuit. “I don’t think so, but you never know with her.”

Frank closed his eyes, settling into the mattress.

“You can change. I won’t peek. Holidate’s honor.”

The idea of being bare in front of Frank was not something you had prepared yourself for, and you could feel yourself begin to sweat. You slowly closed the door, which increased the heat in the room to suffocating levels.

You studied Frank, whose eyes remained closed. He looked peaceful in this position, unbothered by the trials and tribulations of life. You slowly unbuttoned your shorts, pushing them down your legs. Your gaze remained on Frank, blissfully unaware of what he was doing to you. Heat pounded between your thighs, and you couldn’t help the image that popped into your head of Frank’s head dipped between. You bit your lip, watching as Frank shifted his hips on the bed and cleared his throat.

The sound of your brother’s footsteps stomping past the closed door startled you out of your thoughts. A cold wave washed over you, chilling you to your bones. You hurried to put the rest of your swimsuit on, almost falling over in the process.

You stepped out of the room, taking a deep breath. This weekend was going to be rough, and you had only been there for 15 minutes. When Frank joined you outside, you had to look away in order not to groan. Frank was unreasonably fit, muscles bulging in places you didn’t even know muscles existed. You focused on rubbing sunscreen into your skin, looking everywhere but at Frank.

He stopped behind you, grabbing the bottle of sunscreen off the table. You froze when you felt his hands gathering your hair, moving it in front of your shoulders. He squirted sunscreen on his hands and began lathering it across your back and shoulders. You watched the group of people gathered around the lake, taking turns swinging into the water off a rope. The only thing that stopped you from turning around and slamming your lips against Frank’s was the horrible awkwardness that would settle between you for the entire weekend if Frank rebuffed your advances.

His hands worked their way down your back, stopping millimeters above the waistline of your bikini.

“All done.” His voice was husky in your ear. You slowly turned around, looking up at Frank. He brought his hand up to your shoulder, rolling the strap of your bikini between his fingers.

“Purple.” He observed. “I like this color.”

He stepped around you, taking your hand in his and tugging your arm. You tried not to stare at his ass as he led you down to the lake.

Later, after hours of swimming and eating the burgers your dad had grilled for everyone, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Even though the lake water had been freezing, and you had spent most of dinner leaning into Frank’s natural body heat, you had taken an ice cold shower. Frank was in the room, already showered and probably in bed. You prayed that he would be asleep when you finally got the courage to enter the room.

You took a breath, stepping out of the bathroom and making your way down the hall. When you stepped into the dark room, Frank was lying flat on his back in bed, scrolling through his phone.

You crawled into the bed, doing your best to avoid touching Frank. Frank was broad, though, and your shoulder ended up touching his no matter what position you laid in.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, turning on his side and facing you, “you’re freezing.”

You cleared your throat. “I’m fine.”

He gave you a flat stare, pressing his shoulder into yours. You pushed back, settling against him. Your body seemed to have a mind of its own. Frank was warm, and you really were freezing after your cold shower, so you relaxed into the touch, shutting your eyes. The back of Frank’s hand brushed yours as you fell into a deep sleep next to him.

The next evening, you watched as Frank and your dad set up the firework area that everyone would be gathering around soon. Your sister lounged in the chair next to you, fanning herself.

“Why don’t you just date instead of faking it? You act like a couple already.”

“Because that wasn’t the deal, and who says he even sees me like that?”

“Do you see him like that?”

“I don’t know. No.” You shook your head. “It’s not like that.”

“That suggestive sunscreen job I witnessed yesterday says differently.”

You didn’t want to argue with her, so you remained quiet, watching Frank’s back muscles flex as he lifted a piece of wood and chunked it to the side. When he made his way back to you, he was coated in sweat, which somehow made him even better to look at. He smiled at you, stopping to press a kiss on the top of your head. Your sister shot you a look when he continued walking towards the cabin.

When it was finally dark enough to shoot off fireworks, your dad counted down, setting off a huge firework when he got to zero. The night took a turn for the worse shortly after that.

It had started with your brother jokingly shooting a firework near you that landed a little too close for comfort. Frank had a competitive side apparently, thus began an outright firework war that ended faster than it began. You ran for the cabin, stopping when you heard the unmistakable sound of Frank grunting in pain.

He had fallen to the ground, clutching his hand to his chest. You turned on your heels, bolting to Frank and falling to your knees in front of him. His finger was missing, and you did your very best not to puke all over your severely injured holidate.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD. Frank!” You faintly heard the sound of someone calling an ambulance behind you. You clutched the sides of his face, trying to figure out what to do. Your brother was searching the ground around you, and you balked in horror when you realized he was looking for Frank’s finger.

“Is it bad?” Frank asked, grunting when he tried to lift his hand.

“Is it bad?” You repeated, incredulously, “Yes, it’s bad. Where the fuck is your finger, Frank?”

He barked out a laugh, and then groaned at the movement.

“You’re the only person who’d get mad at someone with a missing finger.”

“This is totally karma getting us back for lying to my parents on Valentine’s Day!”

The ambulance arrived shortly after that, and you jumped into the back with Frank before the paramedics could tell you any differently. You spent hours in the waiting room as Frank had his finger surgically attached, drinking shitty coffee and flipping through the months-old magazines on the table. When the doctor finally told you he was ready to be seen, you had to stop yourself from running down the hall towards him.

He was in a recovery room, lying on the bed in a hospital gown.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, plopping down on the chair next to the bed. The hand that had lost the finger was wrapped in pounds of gauze, propped up on a pillow.

“Like shit.” He grumbled, taking your hand in his uninjured one. “I totally ruined your family’s holiday.”

“Frank, my brother is the one that shot your finger off. You didn’t ruin anything. I’ve gotten about 75,000 texts asking for updates on you since we got here. They’re not worried about the holiday, they’re worried about you. ”

“This is the worst holidate ever.” He moaned, exaggerating his eye roll.

You giggled, resting your chin on your free hand.

“At least you still have all your extremities.”

He chuckled, looking at his injured hand.

“Thanks for staying.” He squeezed your hand as he said it, looking over at you.

“Holidates don’t leave holidates behind.”

Halloween:

Halloween was something you hadn’t officially celebrated in years, but your brother was finally getting hitched, and you were actually pretty excited about it. Frank was coming as your plus-one and holidate, even though technically the event wasn’t holiday related. It was the same weekend as Halloween, so Frank had insisted on joining you. He had even gone as far as pointing out that it would be strange for you to show up to the wedding alone, considering how long he’d been attending family events with you.

Your mother had done all of the hotel booking, so you and Frank were sharing room again, but you weren’t as nervous this time around about that. The weeks after the finger incident had changed something between you and Frank. At first, you basically lived on his couch, waking him up throughout the night to give him the medicine his doctor had prescribed him. You had to help him button his shirts for work, a task you still thought about daily, and stocked his fridge with meals that he wouldn't have to fuss over with his injured hand.

It was now a fairly regular occurrence to hear from Frank throughout the day. A random text every few hours, or a phone call during his lunch break was something you’d grown used to in your daily routine. You still didn’t know what you were doing. The idea of actually dating someone was terrifying, but you couldn’t decide if it was worse than the idea of not seeing Frank.

Frank’s voice coaxed you out of your deep thoughts.

“I can’t get this bowtie to sit right.” Frank called from the bathroom.

You moved towards his voice, clutching the front of your dress.

“Zip me, please.” You mumbled, turning your back to him. He obliged, running his cool knuckles up your spine as he zipped the dress up. You focused on the bowtie, undoing the ridiculous knot he had wound into it while trying to fix it.

“You look great. Beautiful.” He sighed, looking you over.

You smiled. “You’re only saying that because the dress I’m wearing is purple.” You didn’t mention that you had picked this dress out specifically because of the color.

“I can like the color and also like you in the color. They don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You retied the bowtie, patting his chest when you finished. “You look good, too.”

“You’re making me blush.” He chuckled, leading you out the door.

Your sister met you in the lobby, holding the newest addition to the family in her arms. She had gone into labor in the middle of September, bringing your nephew into the world a short 6 hours later. Frank’s first interaction with him had been so annoyingly adorable that your mother didn’t stop sending you meaningful looks for hours afterwards.

The ceremony was short, but as weird as you expected it to be. Anything your brother was involved in guaranteed a strange experience, but Frank didn’t seem to mind. He spent the ceremony clutching your hand between his and toying with the fabric of your dress.

The reception is when it got really interesting. You finally escaped the dance floor, where your dad was thoroughly drunk and had been whipping you around in circles for what felt like hours. You stepped off the raised floor, heading directly for Frank, who had been watching you dance with a bemused expression on his face.

“That looked fun.” He observed, passing you the glass of water on the table.

You gulped it down, all too aware of Frank’s heated gaze. You could always tell when he was looking at you. A fiery shock would slide down your spine and settle deep in your bones when his eyes were on you. You never got used to it, but tonight you decided to welcome the feeling.

Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe you were just tired of sitting on the relationship fence with Frank, but you leaned over him, giving him an unrestricted view down your dress as you set the empty glass down on the table. He remained unfazed, glancing over your shoulder at the dance floor.

You tried not to look disappointed. You had spent so much time with him that maybe you had created a false narrative about him. It had been 10 months since you’d reconnected, and he’d only ever been affectionate with you when you were in front of your family. Which, you reminded yourself, was the deal.

You shook your head, ridding the thoughts from your head. You held out your hand in question, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Dance with me.”

A goofy smile spread across his face. “It'd be an honor, ma’am.”

You led him across the dance floor, swaying to the music that had changed from fast paced to slow and romantic. Your steps were clumsy and awkward, but that didn’t deter Frank.

“Let me lead.” He mumbled, looking down at your feet.

“I can’t not lead. I always lead.” You respond, trying and failing to relinquish your control.

“Let me lead.” He repeated, squeezing your waist. “Relax.”

You took a deep breath, following his steps as best you could. It was rather nice, dancing with a man that you could trust to guide you around the dance floor. With Ben, you’d always had to lead. He was a terrible dancer. Frank, though, was a natural.

He effortlessly led you around the floor, pulling you closer every time he spun you around. Your chest was fully pressed against his, and he smiled as he rested his forehead against yours. You couldn’t hide the ridiculous smile that mirrored his. On any other occasion, you would pull away and stick to the holidate rules, but tonight didn’t feel like a holidate date, so you stayed exactly where you were, cheesing so hard your cheeks were beginning to hurt.

His eyes darted down to your lips, and then quickly returned to your eyes. You couldn’t help it. You leaned in, just barely grazing his lips with your own. It didn’t qualify as a kiss. It barely qualified as anything, but the expression on Frank’s face had you reeling back. You couldn’t tell if he was upset, confused, or mad, but you opened your mouth to apologize anyways.

“I’m-”

The feedback from the microphone cut you off. Frank’s grip on your waist tightened as you whirled around, looking toward the stage. It was time for the ‘father of the bride’ speech, and you couldn’t believe how unlucky the timing was.

You didn’t look at Frank as you made your way back to your family’s table. Instead, you grabbed your nephew out of your sister’s hands, rocking him in your arms as the speech began. You didn’t need to look up to know Frank was staring at you. He hadn’t stopped since you’d barely kissed him moments before. Heat traveled up your neck and across your cheeks. You felt like crying, but you didn’t know why. Did you just ruin possibly the best friendship you’d ever had by misreading the situation?

The speech finished, and you went to hand your nephew back to your sister, when the worst possible thing that could’ve happened, happened. Your nephew, cute and as bubbly as could be, decided he wanted to projectile vomit all over your chest. You didn’t move for several moments, trying to comprehend everything that led to this moment.

Your sister wouldn’t stop apologizing as she took the baby from you. The anxious ringing in your ears was back, and you couldn’t breathe. Tonight was going so poorly, and you were so overwhelmed with Frank that frustrated and embarrassed tears began pouring down your cheeks. You could feel Frank’s hand wrap around your wrist as you turned towards the exit, but you shrugged him off, moving out of the reception hall and towards the elevators in the lobby of the hotel.

You knew you’d have to face him eventually, but all you could think about was getting out of there, away from his overpowering presence. When you finally got to your room, you couldn’t stop the overflow of tears. Your dress was ruined, probably cursed to smell like baby puke forever, and your makeup was so smeared it would have to be completely redone if you wanted to return to the reception.

You decided you had had enough of dancing. You stripped your dress off, stepping into the boiling hot shower. You wiped your face, staining the white washcloth black. Your fists squeezed into tight balls as the bathroom door opened and shut.

“Are you okay?”

Frank’s voice was soft, and tears welled up in your eyes again at the sound of it. He was always so nice.

“Why do I feel like you’re always asking me that?” You finally responded, resting your head against the cool tile of the shower wall.

“You’ve had an off year. We all have ‘em. Are you okay, though?”

The sympathy in his voice caused even more tears to fall down your face. You couldn’t even figure out why you were crying anymore.

“I’m...I don’t know.” You mumbled, wiping your cheeks. “I don’t know. Is that okay?”

“Of course. But you’re allowed to not be okay. I’m here for you either way.”

You groaned, closing your eyes. “Happy fuckin’ Halloween.” You mumbled.

You turned the shower off, drying yourself off with the towel hanging on the wall of the shower opposite the shower head. You opened the curtain, clutching the towel to your chest. Frank was sitting on the toilet lid, leaning against the back of the toilet, looking directly at you. His gaze was hard to read.

“We don’t have to go back, do we?” You asked, stepping out of the shower.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He stood, moving to lean against the counter next to you.

You gazed at your reflection. A few tear paths, stained with mascara, were scattered across your cheeks. You rubbed them with the palm of your hand, trying to wipe away any of the remnants of tonight.

“Beautiful.” Frank mumbled, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror.

“What?” You asked, meeting his gaze.

“You’re beautiful, even when your makeup is all over the place.”

“Oh.” You breathed, turning away from the mirror to face him.

He took a step forward, towering over you. His hand cupped your cheek, and he swiftly leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. The spark was electric, snapping the restraint in both of you. You pressed against him, opening your mouth for him to explore. He groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You didn’t let yourself think of the consequences as you dropped your towel, fully bare before him. He pulled away, looking your body up and down, before reconnecting his mouth with yours. You pulled on his bowtie, undoing the knot you had tied so many hours earlier. The buttons on his shirt slid apart easily, and suddenly Frank was tugging his shirt off, dropping it to the floor behind him. He cupped the back of your knees, hoisting you into the air as you gripped his back and wrapped your legs around his waist.

He carried you into the bedroom, grunting as he fell on top of you on the soft mattress. His tongue made its way down your neck and onto your chest. He licked a path down your sternum and onto your stomach, planting kisses along the way. His path downward stopped suddenly as he lightly kissed and sucked on your hip, leaving what was sure to be a mark the next day.

He lifted your legs, resting them on his shoulders. He looked up, lustful and heated in his gaze.

“Can I?” He asked, squeezing your thighs.

“Oh, please.” You responded, spreading your legs wider for him.

He dove in, tongue lapping at your cunt. The moan you let out would surely wake whatever unlucky neighbors you had on either side of your room. You arched your back, giving him more access. His tongue made slow circles up your slit, settling just below your clit. He left kitten licks all around it, grinning every time you moaned. You scoffed when you realized what he was doing. He was teasing you.

You let out a frustrated whine, arching your back further.

“You need somethin’, darlin’?” He asked, punch drunk on your pussy.

“I need you, Frank.” You whined, looking down at him.

His gaze darkened, and you were almost afraid of what would come next. He finally, finally, circled your clit with his tongue. You saw stars, letting out the most uncouth moan you’d ever heard yourself make. He flattened his tongue, licking from your clit to your cunt and back again. Your legs began to shake, and he tightened his grip on your thighs.

He drew figure eights with his tongue, sucking and licking you until you were so close you thought you might explode. He ate pussy like a man starved, and when your orgasm finally crashed over you, white-hot and all encompassing, you thought you might never reach that level of euphoria again.

He rested his head on your thigh, grinning as he watched you come down from what was probably the best orgasm you’d ever have in your lifetime. Your heart was racing, and you let out several unsteady breaths. Your entire body was numb, and you couldn’t feel anything but bliss inside of you. Frank had wrecked you with his tongue, and all you could think about was doing it again.

He crawled up your body, hovering over you. He ran his hands through your hair a few times before settling his gaze on yours.

“Let's do that again.” You sighed, skin buzzing where he touched you.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss onto the bridge of your nose. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. He was still wearing his dress pants, and you wiggled with discontent.

“You’re too clothed, sir.” You said, grinning.

“Yeah?” He asked, sitting back on his heels.

“Yes.” You replied, watching as he slowly removed his belt. The sight of him kneeling over you, removing his clothes, was drool worthy. You had to remind yourself to close your mouth as he got off the bed and dropped his pants to the floor.

The front of his briefs were stained with wetness, precum soaking through the fabric. Your mouth watered and you swallowed thickly as he stroked his hard cock, stepping out of his pants and underwear. Frank naked was a sight to behold. His cock was veiny and long, and your legs widened out of sheer shock.

He smirked, pumping his cock again. You bit your lip to hide the moan crawling up your throat. He leaned over, pulling a condom out of his wallet.

“Do you always keep condoms in your wallet when you’re a plus one to a wedding?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“Only when my dates are incredibly sexy and wear my favorite color.”

“Oh, so this happens often?” You tried to sound seductive instead of insecure, which is the feeling that began bubbling in your chest.

“No. Not until tonight.” He shook his head, eyes following the curve of your hips and settling between your thighs. He slid the condom on and crawled over you again.

Relief washed over you, and you spread your legs wider, inviting him to use you as he pleased. Your groans filled the room as he pushed into you, inch by inch until he was fully inside of you. It stung a little, considering how long it had been since you’d had sex with anyone, but he didn’t move, cradling your face and waiting for you to give him a signal that he could positively fuck you into the mattress.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his mouth to yours. His thrusts started slow, but the heat in your kiss sent another shock to both of your systems, and soon he was pounding into you. Skin met skin in a sinful, symphonic rhythm that overtook the room. He grunted into your ear when you lifted your hips, allowing him to push deeper into you.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him with every deep thrust. Your heart pounded as he thrusted into you, over and over, pushing you closer to the edge. Your moans got louder, and that seemed to motivate him into fucking you harder into the mattress underneath you. He dipped his head into your neck, sucking the sensitive skin and leaving small marks in his wake. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears of pleasure rolling down the sides of your face. You’d never been fucked this good before, and the only logical reaction your body could think of was to cry.

He kissed the tears, smiling as you clenched around him. He reached down, settling his finger on your sensitive clit. It took about 3 seconds before your body couldn’t handle the overwhelming pleasure washing over you. You moaned loudly, orgasm shattering through you. He groaned, squeezing you tighter against him. You both met your highs, hearts pounding wildly in your chests as you came.

His thrusts slowed, until he finally stopped, breathing hard over you. Your body was so blissed out that it took you several minutes before you could open your eyes. Frank kissed your nose again, pulling out of you. You both groaned with oversensitivity.

He disposed of the condom, falling onto the bed next to you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, still breathing heavier than normal.

You could barely hear him. The pounding in your chest had moved to your ears.

“Mhmm.” You sighed, snuggling into the comforter under your head. “You?”

“I’m in awe of you. I always am.”

He grasped your hand, pushing the covers back and helping you crawl under them. He settled next to you in the bed, running his fingers through your hair. Your heavy eyelids tracked the movements, watching him watch you. The expression on his face was unreadable, but sleep was fast approaching, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to question it. You could barely keep your eyes open, the last thing you remember being the soft press of Frank’s lips on your forehead.

A pounding at the door woke you from your deep slumber. The hotel room was filled with daylight, and you shielded your eyes as you tried to find your bearings. Frank was next to you, lying on his stomach and hugging the pillow under his head.

Another knock at the door had you jumping to your feet, grabbing an extra blanket and wrapping it around yourself as you made your way to the door. You opened it to your very concerned-looking sister.

“You’re alive.” She observed, glancing over your blanket wrapped body, “And naked.”

“Yes, thank you. Is that all?” You gritted your teeth, unintentionally snarling.

She looked over your shoulder at Frank’s sleeping form and back at you.

“Didn’t you agree with me that this would be a bad idea?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“And you did it anyways?”

“Yes.” You rolled your eyes, itching to slam the door in her face and crawl back into bed with Frank.

“You’re going to get hurt. Or hurt him. Or both.” She stated, matter-of-factly.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.” You admitted, leaning your head against the doorframe.

Frank shifted behind you, and you looked at your sister incredulously. “Are we done?”

“Check out is in an hour. That’s all I wanted to come tell you.” She said, floating down the hallway towards her room. You closed the door, rolling your eyes again.

You turned, intent on forgetting the entire interaction, when you noticed Frank sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hey.” You said softly, moving towards him.

“Hey.” His response was blunt, voice hard and cold. He stood, sliding past you. He didn’t even spare you a glance as he rifled through his bag, quickly getting dressed. You sat on the bed, watching him move around the room and gather his stuff.

You didn’t know what to say, or why it had gotten so awkward all of the sudden. You chewed your lip nervously. He finally looked over at you, resting his hands on his hips.

“Can you check us out on your own?” He asked, seemingly annoyed.

Your brow furrowed. “Um,” You started, trying to figure out where his coldness was coming from, “Yeah, I can do it.”

“Okay.” He nodded, lifting his bag. “I’ll see you in a few weeks then?” His voice had softened a little bit, but the expression on his face was still cold.

“Yeah.” You responded, not knowing what else to say. He walked out of the hotel room, not sparing a glance behind him. You watched as the door clicked shut, and you took a deep shuttering breath. Tears prickled behind your eyes, and you didn’t know what else to do besides packing your stuff. When you got to the lobby 20 minutes later, Frank was nowhere to be found.

Thanksgiving:

This was probably the most nervous you’d ever been to see Frank, even more than Valentine’s Day when you’d officially started being holidates. You had barely spoken to him since Halloween, which bothered you more than you thought it would. You’d grown so used to his daily texts and phone calls that the radio silence was increasingly frustrating. When you’d texted him to ask if he was still coming to your parents' house for Thanksgiving, he’d sent a simple ‘yes’ 12 hours later.

You were perplexed by Frank’s behavior, but you chalked it up to overthinking your night with him. You’d never agreed to anything more than holidates with him, and you couldn’t just assume that Frank would be different with you after having sex with you. You had simply misread the signals he’d been sending you, and that was your fault.

Your mother hadn’t stopped audibly sighing since you’d shown up on the front porch alone. You hadn’t talked to Frank about riding together, so you’d texted him that you were driving yourself. He hadn’t responded, and it was now 15 minutes past the time he was supposed to be here.

“Are you sure he’s coming, honey?” Your mom asked, fiddling with the oven mitts on the counter.

“He said he’d be here.” You muttered, trying not to look at the clock again.

Your phone buzzed, and you read a text from Frank: ‘I’m outside.’

You walked out to the front porch, where you met Frank, who was holding two bouquets of flowers in his hands.

“More flowers?” You asked, looking at the beautiful array of orange, yellow, and red flowers he had picked out.

“Of course. You know I never show up empty handed.”

“I’m surprised you showed up at all.” You couldn’t keep the bite out of your tone as you said what you’d been worrying about since Halloween.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Frank didn’t raise his voice, and for that you were glad, but the tone was definitely sharper than you were used to.

“I just meant that you haven’t been very communicative lately. If you met someone else, that’s fine, but I need to know that stuff so I can tell my family we broke up.” You crossed your arms and shuffled your feet.

“Is that what you want?” He asked, eyeing you.

“What?”

“To break up.”

“We’re not together, Frank. It’s not real.”

He inhaled sharply, nodding.

“Okay.” He said finally, handing you both bouquets. He turned, stalking back towards his car.

“Where are you going?” The tremble in your voice was entirely too noticeable, and you kicked yourself for being so emotional over this non-relationship.

“Home. We're not fake-together anymore. Remember? Tell your mom sorry for the inconvenience.”

He climbed into his car and pulled away from the curb at an alarming pace. You stood there, dumbfounded, watching his car until you couldn’t see it anymore. The tears that you’d spent the last few weeks holding in finally made an appearance, and sobs began to overwhelm your body.

You had totally fucked everything up, and now you had to go inside and tell your family that you and Frank had broken up. The thought of it made you cry even harder.

The door opened behind you, and you felt the soft embrace of your sister around you.

“I’m so sorry, honey.” She mumbled into your back, squeezing you into a hug.

“I don’t know what happened.” You said, clutching the flowers to your chest.

“I know, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

She held you for longer than you care to admit before you finally went inside to deliver the news.

Christmas:

You layed on your parents’ couch, watching as your mom slowly decorated the Christmas tree in the living room. You usually helped her, but you’d been a wreck since a few weeks ago at Thanksgiving, and your mom hadn’t asked for your help, just your company.

The tree came together perfectly – it always did when your mother was involved – and you tried not to think about Frank, or the fact that you hadn’t been able to sleep or eat since you’d seen him last.

When your mom sat on the couch next to you, she sighed, which was always a sign that she had something important to discuss. You tried not to outwardly groan.

“Honey,” she started, taking your hand in hers, “I know you miss Frank, but you can’t let this ruin your happiness. He is very handsome and nice, and I don’t know what happened between you two, but I need you to remember that you deserve a kind and forgiving love like the rest of us. If he can’t offer that, he’s not worth your time.”

The overwhelming urge to come clean to your mom about the entire thing ate at you as you listened to her. You responded before you could lose the nerve.

“Mom, I made a mistake.”

She nodded, leaning forward to listen to you.

“Frank wasn’t really my boyfriend. We were faking it, so that you and dad would stop worrying about me. Except, I think I really fell for him, and then everything went to shit, and I think I accidentally fell in love with him, and I don’t know what to do.”

Your voice cracked, and another wave of tears fell down your face. The only thing you could manage to do lately was cry, and it was beginning to drain you of your will to function.

“Oh, honey.” She chuckled, squeezing your hand against her chest. “We don’t care if you have a boyfriend or not. We just want you to be happy, sweetie. And I’m sorry if it came across like we were trying to marry you off. We just wanted you to find someone who could make you as happy as we make each other.”

She pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back in a soothing pattern as you cried into her chest.

“You know, we’ve never seen you as happy as you were with Frank.” She murmured.

“It wasn’t real, Mom.” You muttered, shaking your head.

“You can’t fake that. He looked at you like you hung the moon. And you looked at him the same way. Even if it started as something fake, that’s not something you can fake for long.”

You stayed quiet, mulling over her words.

“You should call him.” She suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

“I can’t call him. We fake broke-up.”

“You can do anything you set your mind to.” She stated, raising her chin. “I didn’t raise you to give up so easily.” She flicked your nose, smiling. “Do you want some hot chocolate? I’ll make it the way you like.”

You sent her a small smile, nodding. “Yeah, thanks.”

After she made it to the kitchen, you pulled out your phone. You weren’t going to call him, you weren’t insane, but you could text him.

You asked him if you could talk and watched as the bubbles next to his name appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared on the screen. Your phone buzzed, and an uneasy feeling settled in your gut.

‘Yes. Can you meet me at the Christmas tree farm off of Jones?’

You jumped up, pulling on your boots and yelling at your mom not to make the hot chocolate.

“Where are you going?” She exclaimed, briskly walking into the living room. You were already a foot out the door.

“Frank!” You yelled behind you, running to your car.

The drive was frustratingly long, and you didn’t remember there being so many stoplights in town, and of course you hit every red light.

When you pulled into the lot, you spotted Frank’s tall frame looking over a sad-looking tree. You got out, slowly making your way towards him. When you finally stopped next to him, you were convinced you might bite a hole through your cheek.

“This looks like Charlie Brown’s tree.” You stated.

“There aren’t any good ones left. I waited too long to get a tree.” He responded, shuffling his feet. You still hadn’t looked at each other.

“Why’d you wait so long?” You asked, stalling.

“I wanted to get one with you.”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“With me?”

He nodded, finally meeting your gaze. You didn’t know what else to do, so you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. His arms tightly surrounded you, breathing you in for the first time in weeks.

“I missed you.” He whispered, squeezing you for emphasis.

“I missed you, too.” You murmured.

When you pulled away, tears threatened to spill on your cheeks for what felt like the millionth time in the last month.

“What happened?” You asked, confused at his behavior the last two times you’d seen him.

“You told your sister sleeping with me was a bad idea, and I know I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but I took it as you didn’t want to be with me, and I freaked out. I thought we would be together after Halloween. Like seriously together, and then when you said that, I thought maybe I had been misreading everything since I met you. And then I realized what a dumbass I am, because the sad look on your face when I left on Thanksgiving told me that you actually did care about me. And then I didn’t know what to say to you, so I didn’t say anything. But what I should’ve said was ‘I’ve been in love with you since Easter, and I want to be your holidate for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.’” He finished by throwing his hands up in the air.

You smiled, eyes glistening. “Remember when I was the one who rambled when I was nervous?” You asked, giggling.

He threw his head back and let out a loud laugh.

“I do remember that, yes.”

“Would it help if I said I came here to tell you that I fell in love with you a long time ago? And that I’m an idiot for ignoring it for so long? And that I love you so much that these last few weeks have been absolute hell for me?”

He grinned, cupping your cheeks. “Yes, that does help a little bit.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, leaning into his hold. “I could grovel more if you need me to. I came ready for anything.”

“I’m sure, sweetheart.” He softly pressed his lips against yours, and you physically felt all of the pain of the last few weeks leave your body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

When you finally broke away, you were breathless and on cloud nine. You nodded towards the tree he had been looking at.

“I like this one. Wanna get it?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “What Miss Daisy wants, Miss Daisy gets.”

You giggled, pulling him into another kiss.

If you’d told yourself a year ago that you’d be here, kissing Frank Castle in the middle of a Christmas tree lot, you would laugh at yourself. Frank wasn’t what you were expecting, but you had learned over the last year that the best things in life usually come when you least expect them to, and that when you have something good, you shouldn’t let go of it. You weren’t planning on letting Frank go anytime soon, or ever if you could help it, and the way Frank refused to drop your hand, even when you tried to get into your own car to drive to his house, told you he wouldn’t be letting go of you either.

End Note: I really hope you enjoyed this! If you want to see this in a series with other Marvel characters, let me know! Also, can we please figure out how to get Jon into a romcom. I need that in my life IMMEDIATELY.

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen

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queen-haq · 3 years ago

Text

Fic: A Woman Reborn - Part 7

Fic: A Woman Reborn (Part 7)

Pairing: Billy Russo X Reader (from A Woman Scorned)

Rating: R / 18+ only

A/N: This is a sequel to A Woman Scorned and takes place a few years after the events of AWS.

MasterList (includes links to AWS and previous chapters here)

Summary: You and Billy are happily married when tragedy strikes, jeopardizing your relationship and everything you two have built together. Can the two of you find your way back to each other or is the special bond you once shared broken forever?

Thank you to the uber-talented @thatbritishactor for this lovely moodboard.

Now…

Your hand skimmed down Matt’s back, his defined muscles flexing under your touch. There were old scars on his skin, extensive wounds drawing your curiosity. Before you could ask about them, he turned around to face you, distracting you with one of his adorable smiles. You smiled back, blushing. It had been so long since you felt this satisfied, happy even, that you just wanted to scream with joy. Before Billy, sex had never really been that enjoyable for you. The only way you’d been able to orgasm was with vibrators or through masturbation and he’d changed that. A part of you had always assumed it was because of your feelings for him that had made the sex so great but maybe that wasn’t the case. You didn’t love Matt, but you did like him, and he also made you come. Maybe it’s because you felt comfortable with him, or that there was no pressure, maybe it was his disarming smile that instantly charmed you. Whatever it was, the last couple of hours had been an absolute blast.

“Hungry?” he asked.

You nodded ‘yes’ before remembering he couldn’t see you. “Shit.”

“You nodded, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry. I forget sometimes.”

He laughed it off, sitting up in bed. “Should we order in?”

You pursed your lips, thinking. “You got snacks around here?”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t, do you? You’re one of those annoying people who don’t keep any junk food around the house.”

“I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

“Chop chop, Murdock. I’m waiting.” Head tilted, you admired his very cute butt as he slipped into his boxers and headed out of the room.

Minutes later the two of you were giggling in bed, eating from the random assortment of cheese, chips, cupcakes and fruit he’d put together on a tray. You made a face at the gross taste a grape left in your mouth. “Ugh, no, absolutely not. Salt and Vinegar chips and grapes are not a good combo.”

“You need more adventurous tastebuds,” he teased, popping a chip in his mouth followed by some apple slices.

“There’s no way you eat junk food.”

“Of course I do.”

“Bullshit.” Laughing, you reached out to touch his flat stomach, running your fingers down his abs. “You can’t get these with a diet of chips and cupcakes.”

“Well no, not those.” Smirking, he took your hand and guided it up to his upper ab muscles. “These are from the chips and cupcakes.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah.” He moved your hand to his lower abs. “And these are from the grilled chicken and broccoli.”

“They’re not as nice.” Laughing at the exaggerated pout on his face, you moved the tray aside and pushed him back down on the bed. You straddled him, still chuckling, trapping his arms above his head. “Oh, did I hurt your feelings?”

“Absolutely. I’m crushed right now.”

“Aw, poor Matt. How do I make it up to you?”

“I’m sure you can think of something.”

You crawled down his body and dropped tender kisses on his stomach muscles. “This making you feel better?”

“Maybe…”

Smiling, you traveled lower. “How about now?”

The moan that escaped his mouth as your tongue traced along his body was response enough.

Until he suddenly flipped you over and took charge, and then you were the one begging for more.

***

Next morning you were in one of the conference rooms, listening to Curtis as he briefed you, Frank, Sonia on the assignments for next week. You spent the night at Matt’s and had rushed over to your own apartment in the morning to shower and get ready for the day ahead. Of course you were tired, but you didn’t mind. Last night had been completely worth it.

At that moment the door opened and Billy sauntered in. The smile on your face stiffened. Despite everything that happened in the past two years, your heart still fluttered when your gaze fell upon him. You reminded yourself it was because he was a good-looking guy and it was normal to find him attractive. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t.

Both Frank and Curtis stood up to greet him, huge grins on their faces.

“Bro, I heard you were coming back.”

“Knew you couldn’t stay away too long, Bill.”

“Can’t have you two jackasses trying to steal this place, can I?”

As the three chatted in front of you, the longing for your life from before hit you like a tidal wave. Since you and Billy didn’t have families, it was your respective friends that filled that void in your lives. The barbecues, birthday parties, Christmases and Thanksgivings that you spent with Billy and these guys, the jokes and laughter you shared, it was all etched into your memory.

Then you remembered. You were no longer a part of their group.

While Frank and Curtis would never purposely ice you out, you also recognized that they probably wouldn’t invite you over for things when Billy would be there. It would be too awkward, too tense. And it wasn’t fair to expect them to pick you when they were originally friends. It was one more thing you had to prepare yourself to lose.

“They seem very happy he’s back,” Sonia commented.

You cast her a quick glance before speaking up. “Guys, guys!” You spoke loudly, trying to get their attention. They all turned to look at you. Your gaze drifted between Frank and Curtis, purposely skipping over Billy. “You guys can shoot the shit or do whatever it is you want after. For now, can we just continue? I have things I need to do.”

You felt Billy’s gaze on you, sensed his cocky smile as he took the seat across from you on the other side of the table. His eyes regarded you closely, as if waiting for you to fall apart in front of him or start an argument. You refused to do either. “Curtis, what were you saying about the Halston project?”

Shortly after, Frank was giving updates on the new recruits when you felt your phone buzz. At first you ignored it, assuming it was your mother calling you again. However, when you glanced down, you found a text message from Matt.

“How about apples and dill pickle chips tomorrow night?”

You smiled as you texted him back. “Only if I can wash that disgusting combo down with some bourbon.”

“It’s a date.”

You looked up, biting down on your lip, only to find Billy’s darkened gaze concentrated on you. The smirk had disappeared, now replaced with an expression of sheer jealousy. Your heart started pounding in your chest. The need on his face was so achingly familiar, reminding you of all those times when he was freaked out about losing you. If this was your Billy, he’d fuck you right then to remind you that you were still his and assure himself of the same. That was how it worked, always, anytime he felt threatened.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” Frank asked.

You broke eye contact with Billy immediately, chastising yourself for your own stupidity. The asshole in front of you wasn’t your husband; he only looked like him. There was nothing of your Billy left in him and you couldn’t afford to forget that. “Yeah, sorry. Just got distracted for a moment.”

“Maybe pay attention to Frankie instead of texting your boyfriend,” Billy lashed out of spite.

“Maybe mind your own goddamn business,” you fired back. “I don’t answer to you.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s not lose our heads,” Curtis preached.

“I think we’re done here, aren’t we?” Frank asked, looking at you. “Why don’t you and I grab a coffee or something?”

Curtis practically dragged Billy out of his chair. “Billy, come with me. I wanna show you some of the changes we made.”

You realized Frank and Curtis were trying to separate the two of you to keep the peace, and you immediately regretted your childish outburst. Billy was an asshole but you already knew that. His sole aim was to taunt you until you lost your temper and you stupidly let him.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you and Frank exited the conference room and headed to the kitchen. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that.”

“It’s fine. It’s what he does. He’s great at messin’ with people’s heads but you just gotta not fall for it, you know?” Frank made you a cup of coffee and handed it to you. “Him wanting to work here again, that’s a good thing. Means he’s getting his drive back. Maybe even his memories-”

“Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t say that. He’s here because he’s worried I’m trying to take Anvil from him. That’s all.”

Frank peered at her closely, sipping his own coffee. “You tryin’ to convince me or yourself?”

“Neither. I’m just trying to move on with my life.”

“He’s been through a lot, Y/N. We all gotta be patient-”

“Are you kidding me, Frank?” You snapped, your voice rising. “I’ve been patient, for two years! And in that time all he’s done is humiliated me and looked down on me and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of him.”

“But things are changing. He seems more and more like his old self every day.”

“Maybe to you, but I only get hate and contempt from him. That hasn’t changed.” Frank didn’t speak, silently drinking his coffee. Maybe he came to realise you were right, but it still bothered you that he’d broached the topic with you in the first place. “You’re here telling me I need to be more patient with Billy but did you or Curtis ever talk to him about not being such an asshole? Being more patient and understanding when I piss him off? Or is it just me that gets the lecture, Frank?”

“Y/N, come on. You know it’s not like that.”

“He’s here one day and you’re already criticizing me.” You shook your head, disappointed. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” You turned around and walked away, angry at yourself. Why did you think Frank would look at the situation from your perspective? He was Billy’s friend, after all. Whatever friendship you’d cultivated with Curtis and Frank had been because of Billy and when push came to shove, they’d choose him every time.

Your phone buzzed. Hoping it was Matt, you checked the screen. The number was from the nursing home your mother lived in. You hit ignore. Ever since your father passed a year ago, your mother had tried to re-establish contact several times but you refused all her attempts. Your life was already difficult as it was, you didn’t need additional stressors to impact your mental health.

“Y/N!”

You turned around to find Sonia rushing from the other end of the long hallway. “What is it?”

“The receptionist transferred a call over to my line. It was from Copperfield Nursing home.” Sonia glanced at you with concern, her voice hesitant. “They’d been trying to contact you since this morning?”

So you were wrong, it wasn’t your mother but the administration office trying to reach you. There must have been an issue with invoicing or something. “I’ll call them back.”

“It was about your mom… they said she passed away last night.”

You stared at Sonia.

“Did… did you hear me?” she prodded gently.

Dead. Your mother. Mom.

You didn’t know how to feel. Actually, you felt nothing. Empty, really. That made sense. She’d never protected you, she actively tried to keep you from leaving home so she wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of your father’s abuse alone. Growing up you resented her for holding you hostage emotionally, for manipulating you with guilt when you wanted to escape. Yet she was the one who took care of you when you were sick, who hugged you and held you and bandaged the bruises your father left on your body. The same mom who worked overtime for months to buy you a doll you so desperately wished for when you were eight.

“Are you okay?”

“Would you please cancel all my meetings this week?” You didn’t wait for an answer, instead heading to your office. You shut the door and locked it behind you.

For a long time you just sat on the couch, eyes leveled straight ahead.

There were things that needed to be done.

Call the nursing home back.

Funeral.

Deal with mom’s stuff.

Mom.

Guilt and sorrow flooded over you and suddenly you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You fell to your knees, heaving and gasping. You just wanted all this pain to end. Why wouldn’t it end? Why wouldn’t it leave you?

And then the tears hit, and you couldn’t stop sobbing.

***

Then…

Your mother had left another message on your voicemail, alternately weeping with despair and screaming with anger. Your father’s funeral service was held today and while you’d made all the arrangements and paid for everything, you purposely skipped it. There was no part of you that wanted to go to the service and pretend that his death was some great loss to this world. It wasn’t.

When you were younger you used to pray for his death. If he died, your life would be better. You and mom would be safe, you’d never have to worry about physical violence, his fits of rage or the verbal assault. Then when you were older, you started saving money so you could take your mom and run away – except, during one of those rare moments when your father actually showed her some kindness, she’d told him about it and he’d beaten the hell out of you for your insolence. That was the first time you realized you couldn’t trust your mom.

“That thing is annoying. Either turn it off or pick it up.”

Billy’s voice brought you out of your reverie. He’d been out running, something new he’d taken up recently. When he first started jogging, you’d offered to join him. You needed to get in better shape and a part of you hoped it would be something the two of you could do together. Except he’d turned you down, saying Dumont had recommended he do this alone.

You watched as he cut across the spacious living room and headed for the kitchen. As he retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and started guzzling from it, your phone rang again.

“Pretty popular today,” he remarked.

You met his gaze. “My father died a few days ago. The funeral was today. My mom’s pissed I didn’t go.” It had taken you such a long time to open up to Billy and it had been one of the most difficult things you’d ever done. A part of you desperately hoped he remembered something, anything, of that moment when you’d finally trusted him with your heart.

“You weren’t close to him?”

Pain shot through you like a bullet. He didn’t remember anything. There was no recognition, just a polite expression of pity. “No.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

More often than not he was irritated with you, but right now he was offering you compassion. That was something, wasn’t it? “I have to go to Chicago to make arrangements for my mother. She doesn’t want to live alone, so I’ll need to find her a retirement home or something. Would you…” You swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart pounding. “Would you come with me?”

The silence dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. “I’m busy. I’ve got things I need to take care of. Sorry.”

You watched after him as he strode away, shutting you out of his room and his world.

***

Now…

Billy knew something was wrong. He couldn’t explain why he felt so anxious, just that something didn’t feel right. It started the moment he entered the conference room this morning and saw you sitting at the table. Even as Frank and Curtis gathered around him in excitement, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. You were hot, insanely hot, your skin glowing, your hair beautiful. But it wasn’t just how you looked, there was something different about you that drove him mad. Then you took charge of the meeting and all he could do was sit back and admire you in all your boss bitch glory. Until he saw you glancing down at your phone and noticed that smile.

You weren’t talking to just anybody. It was someone you cared about, someone you liked, because only then would your smile have radiated with such sunshine and joy. Instinctively he knew it was the blind fucker texting you.

It was like a punch to his gut, the pain so sharp and piercing it almost knocked the breath out of his lungs. He couldn’t remember the last time you’d looked at him like that. Of course he’d reacted in anger, and picked a fight even though he knew he shouldn’t. But there was no room for logic or rational thought when you were slipping away and he couldn’t get you out of his head.

Later in the afternoon Sonia had informed Frank and Curtis that you’d be taking the rest of the week off because of your mother’s death and they’d passed the message onto him, with blatant warnings from both to leave you alone. He’d attempted to see you but your office was locked and Sonia refused to let him in. Then he made conversation with one of the cleaning ladies and charmed her into giving him a spare key.

It was after five, people were leaving work. Sonia was a goddamn bulldog when it came to guarding you and he’d waited for her to leave before coming to your office. It was almost six when he unlocked the door and walked in, only to find you on the floor.

Instantly his heart started hammering in his chest, he rushed to where you were and dropped to the floor to check on you. It took a few seconds for him to realize you were sound asleep, not unconscious, and even then he checked repeatedly to make sure you were okay. Gently picking you up so as not to wake you, he moved you to the couch. You were wearing a dress today that reached down to mid-thighs, and he sensed that your bare legs were cold. Unfortunately, there was no cozy throw or blanket he could cover you with. Instead, he removed his jacket and placed it over your lower half.

For a long time he lay beside you, your soft breaths humming his skin while he watched you sleep. There were so many things he didn’t remember but something about this moment of simply watching you while you rested beside him felt achingly familiar. This was an intimate gesture he’d done many, many times before. With a hesitant touch he stroked your cheeks, your skin dried with tears.

You’d locked yourself alone in your office for hours, in anguish, the thought of which unleashed such anger in him that it made him want to destroy the fucking world. You needed to be okay. You had to be. There was no other option.

The subtle scent of your perfume was intoxicating, beckoning him closer. Leaning his forehead against yours, he breathed you in. Only a few weeks ago he found you irritating and cloying, not even remotely beautiful, and now you were ingrained into every part of him, everything about you so fucking dazzling he couldn’t look away no matter how hard he tried.

As he studied you closely, the panic that crept in whenever he got too close reared its ugly head. Last night it had unsettled him so much he rushed to Krista and fucked her just to recalibrate and remind himself of who he was now. His survival instincts urged him to do the same again, to save himself from getting lost in you completely, but then he recalled finding you on the floor, the devastation from seeing you in distress – and he realized the idea of you suffering was worse. He’d deal with his own fucked up mind later. For now, he just wanted to be with you.

You stirred next to him, a change of rhythm in your breathing, and he caressed your arm, trying to lull you back to rest. “Shh… sleep,” he murmured.

Half-lidded eyes brimming with slumber opened to meet his gaze. The lazy, drawn-out smile you gave him made his cock twitch, especially when you reached out to touch his lips. “Billy,” you murmured. Caught up in a dream, you snuggled up to him. “Billy…” you repeated, your head tucked under his chin.

Billy sensed it right away when you withdrew emotionally. One minute you were all over him, the next you’d jumped up from the couch and scurried away. “What the hell are you doing?”

He sat up. “You fell asleep on the floor.”

“So what? It’s my office. You shouldn’t be in here.” You glanced down at the coffee table. He followed your movements and noted the to-do list you’d made. As he shifted forward to retrieve the note, you snatched the paper from his hand and marched back to your desk. “Get out, Billy.”

He picked up one of the cushions on the couch, started twirling it. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Fuck off! I don’t need your pity.”

You pretended to rearrange the stuff on your desk but he clearly saw through your ploy. You were worried he’d been snooping. “I didn’t take anything from your desk.”

“Good. Now leave.”

He stood up, sliding his hands into his pocket. Slowly, deliberately, he started closing the distance between you two. “I heard you crying before. I tried to come in but Sonia wouldn’t let me.”

You stiffened. As much as you tried to compose yourself, he noted the flash of hurt flitting across your face, how much you were struggling to not fall apart. “Why are you here, Billy? To make yourself feel better? You shit on me and then go home and tell your fucking bitch about it?” You shook your head. “If that’s the basis of your toxic relationship, you two are even more pathetic than I thought.”

He ignored the rage in your tone, instead focusing on the grief saturating your gaze. “I’m worried.”

You laughed, the sound bitter and acrimonious. “Why? Because you want to be the only one to break me?” Tilting your head to the side, you sent him a hostile smile. “You don’t have that power over me anymore. So go find someone else to kick when they’re down.”

You turned away from him and walked to the window, your face hidden from view.

“It’s just flashes,” he confessed softly. “Sometimes it doesn’t make any fucking sense, and then later it hits me again. Except it’ll make sense then, there’s context, and feelings that time.”

There was no response, you simply stood still.

“I remembered seeing your mom in person. I followed her to a grocery store. She looked so much like you but older, shorter. That really pissed me off.”

Your voice cracked when you spoke next. “Get out. Please.”

Billy approached you silently, taking his time. “She hurt you. They both did. I was going to kill them, but I knew I’d lose you if I did.” Standing directly behind you, he felt you trembling, as if physically fighting off the tears that threatened to overwhelm you. You were trying so hard to be strong, to pretend her death didn’t matter. Your heart and mind were shouting for reprieve, your grief so potent he experienced it with every fiber of his being. Desperate to console you, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind. You struggled against him at first, trying to push him away, but he was strong, resolute and determined to anchor you and soon you stopped fighting, giving into him.

“It doesn’t matter what she did, how much she fucked up. She’s still your mom and it fucking hurts like hell.”

The dam broke.

You were no longer in control, sobbing violently. He cradled you in his arms and held you, murmuring soothing words. And when the tears left your body and you were physically spent, he picked you up and took you to the couch, nestling you in his embrace while you slept beside him again.

To be continued...

A/N - Thank you for reading as always. Your support in the form of feedback, reblogs and messages are always appreciated :)

I had started a Shadow and Bone fic a long time ago but it never really found an audience. With the show coming back, I’m feeling the itch to get back into that universe. If you want to give it a shot, you can find it in my MasterList.

Tag List:

@yourfavoritefruitybitch @voyevoda-thejoy @adreamemporium @queenmalhinewahine @gubleryum @galaxyjane @xceafh@maralisa124@tomhollandisabae @daybleedsintonightfa11 @lil-baby-nor @all-art-is-quite-useless @tanyaherondale @nashibirne @dour-trash @thetallassgirl @athenamikaelson @agent-jbarnes @primadonnasdream @aleksanderwh0r3 @elisemockingbird @nihilismworld @archisur@nemesis729 @lysawayne@kaqua @ladyblablabla @lemasonda@advictedtohim @24-martie @tarkanelima-blog @shinebrightlikeafanbase @krystal-clear1 @damalseer@dontjinx-it@darkishx @wanderlusting-about-life @thatguppienamedbae @happypepperdog @bat-revival @sassygirl25 @consulting–heroes @the-celestial-kitsune @mackaywhore @ablxssm @competitive-dust @red-head011 @exo-1204 @sunsetenigma @millieb-3199 @chatnain @licensedcheek @tinkertailor1212 @vertesalope @safetyhtom @acourtofglassandroses @eliwinchester-barnes @finnismyoriginalsin @weallhaveadestiny @beananacake @beauty-and-the-beast97 @smurfelle @fire-treasure-iii @charly-0 @kestrafagnor @pigwidgeonxo @damagelove @allegra-writes @pensandthings @jad3djay @batshitbarnes @kashimayuki @secretsthathauntus @odetostep @awesome-eccia @mackaywhore @stories-you-wont-hear @vvsdiamond28 @supernaturalcat7 @arieltwvdtohamflash @iknownoqueenbutthequeeninme @devs-stufff @ticosas @moodacheeks @myakai13 @carlywhomever @fvckthisbxtchup @its-evita-here @papapapadumb @talesfrommycell @bat-luna-cat @fific7 @elluvians @dailydoseofchoices @everythinghappens-love @papapapadumb @mylife-love-and-other-things @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @ancientbeing10 @natty2245 @stuckysavedmylive @kasslucilfer @simp-for-ben-barners @originaldeputycalzoneegg @bdffkierenwalker @kimoranelson03 @sadbi-hours @haushinka27 @haushinka27 @caylaxwrites @extraneousred @agentmstark @crazywitchkitty @its-an-idea-not-a-blog @partypoison00 @fictional-hooman @hoglady @helnicks @luckyfreakfishpeach @chiquitita18 @rachlovesactors @icecream50055 @doloreschanal @lupinsfavslytherin @swthxrry @wanderlusting-about-life @dreamer7black @leahnicole1219 @superawesomegeek @weallhaveadestiny @toxicenough @tiiffanym @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @cap-just-said-language @edithsvoice @natashasilverfox @ohsorandomlyme @lupoliatova @alltheloztboys @bl0ckedurl @nothingbettertosay81 @antideppresants @clarissahunter @profoundme444 @shazianazir05 @zos-things @my-day6 @thelightinmyshadows @lincerad @ramadiiiisme @blanchedelioncourt @wondergal2001 @aunicornmademedoit @sarcasm-n-insomnia @outlawadvocate @loki-yoursaviourishere@littlebobree @daybleedsintonightfa11 @fire-treasure-iii @binooo98 @ilsalicechepiangeva @lilypad-55449 @arimistery @evanscavillstan @theblogofb @iamgettingalife @eginv-blog @profoundme444 @derangedcupcake @ just-a-harmless-patato @simp-for-ben-barners

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo x you

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prince-septimus · 3 years ago

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your matt murdock kiss scene made me blush and i don't blush wtf is in ur writing?????

okok butt matt murdock neck kisses to multiple pecks leading to a make out?

originally wasnt going to do this bc i dont normally do requests unless its from a prompt list i use but this is cute so whatever

also my writing is full of crack thanks for asking ❤

"Long day?"

Matt hums against your neck, the vibrations tickling your throat as he continues to place kisses across your skin. "The longest."

"How's that new case going?" You readjust yourself, sprawled out across the couch with Matt tucked in against the cushions next to you. You've got an arm around Matt's shoulders, and as you make yourself more comfortable you end up meeting him face-to-face.

"Good," he says gently, his lips turning up as he leans in to kiss your lips. He only holds them there for a second before pulling away. "We've got enough evidence. Foggy says we have a good chance."

"Did Mr. Willis in 2B ever get his money back?" you ask, rubbing Matt's shoulder where your hand rests.

"Yeah. We were able to prove fraud on the landlord's part."

This time you lean in, pecking his lips quickly. "I'm glad to hear."

Matt's grinning ear-to-ear now. "Me too."

When you lean in again, Matt reaches back to put a hand against the back of your head, urging you forward. When his lips meet yours this time, you know neither of you are going to pull away.

#jk about the crack thing fjdjdjd #am i like a fic dealer #and y'all are the addicts?#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #my fics #my drabbles #my writing #lmao i wrote this at work on my break #mobile post

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leossmoonn · 3 years ago

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ok for concepts/dialogues, not sure if this is nsfw or sfw but i have not seen enough matt murdock ass appreciation. like matt noticing how often you like to give it a playful smack or squeeze and he teases you for it but he also can't help but blush at the thought, ok i'll stop now

Haha I don’t think this is nsfw lol

But omg agreed? Like his ass in his black suit? WOOOO. like save some cake for the rest of us sir ✋🏻

Nah okay bc thinking abt this as me punching my pillows rn (in a good way).

The first time you do this is when he’s brushing his teeth. You two aren’t living together yet, but you’re in that stage of like staying over every other night. You both are getting ready for work and he’s still in sweatpants and very very tired. But as soon as you smack that cute butt of his, he wakes up

He’s like “did you just.. spank me?” Youre like “so what if I did”

He’s like 😐 “what for?” You can’t help but giggle “you have a cute butt babe.”

He tries to hide his blush but he’s like “thank you.” BRUHH AND HED DEF REACH OVER AND SLAP YOUR ASS TOO AND BE LIKE “so do you.”

👹👹 snabwowjwnelwwnnw

Ahhh and you usually do this stuff when he’s washing dishes, helping you clean the apartment, or even like getting out of bed. LMAO IMAHKEN YOJ DO IT WHEN YOURE VISITING HIM AT WORK

you’re like “bye baby.” And you give him a little kiss and as he turns around to go back to his office, you smack his ass

Foggy and Karen are like 👁👄👁 and as soon as you leave foggy is like

“Did she just —”

Matt gets all flustered and whatnot and is like “yep. Thats her thing.”

LMAO IMAGINE FOGGY LOOK AT HIS OWN ASS AND IS LIKE “no girl has ever done that for me and I got a better ass than him. It’s absolutely disgraceful” 😭😭

#foggy lmaooo #matt concepts #matt murdock x reader

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drowningheta · 4 years ago

Text

Why Peter hates alcohol

The party was held at the Baxter Building. The Fantastic Four’s five-year anniversary was supposed to be low-key, but as more and more superhero allies and friends caught wind of the celebration, so did the media.

Peter was happy to have been invited, even though he had to reject the offer- after all, he couldn’t attend as both Spider-Man and Peter Parker.

There were only a handful of guests that Peter didn’t recognize, and dozens he had to pretend to not recognize. A couple tipsy guests had come up to him asking for their picture taken. Including at one point a lawyer and his partner, Matt Murdock, who spent the whole time pointedly ignoring Peter. Smooth Matty.

Peter spent the most of his time snapping pictures, carefully avoiding people and snacking at the food table.

Johnny Storm had caught his eyes a couple of times, leaving Peter to careful avoid him. It was Johnny’s house, and Peter knew he was bound to catch up with him sooner or later.

The party had been going for about two hours when Peter realized he had been cornered. The only spaces to move were through the throngs of people he was also trying to avoid, or through Johnny. Peter took a deep breath and put on his game face.

Johnny had a glass of champaign, and was swaying gently to the music. Peter stuffed the rest of his hors d’oeuvre into his face and waited for the inevitable.

‘Parker!’ Johnny exclaimed, leaning on Peter’s shoulder. ‘Sent by the Bugle, huh?’ Johnny was a little tipsy, his eyes wide and intense.

‘You know it.’ Peter responded with a tense smile.

‘Can’t be often you get to come to parties like this? Bet your gonna get a butt load of money off of this party. Better this than slandering Spider-Man, right?’ Johnny gave himself a shake as though to shake of his irritation. Johnny snatched another champagne flute. ‘There’s gotta be a good amount of money in showing off the superhero lifestyle, huh? Gotta show people what their missing out on more than just violence.’

‘Anything you say, Hotstuff.’ Peter chuckled raising his camera to snap a candid of Jennifer Walters with her boyfriend.

Johnny pushed the extra champagne towards Peter. Peter acquiesced if just to diffuse his own tension.

Peter sent him an amused glance. With a blush Johnny realized he’d been staring.

‘So, what are you taking pictures of?’ Johnny cleared his throat.

Peter simply gestured at the crowd.

‘Yeah, but of what? I figure if you’re making money from this, it’s probably more than just a group picture.’ Johnny finished his drink.

‘Well, I got a nice one of Jen and John over there.’ Peter held up the display showing Jennifer Walters towering over her boyfriend, with him gazing lovingly up at her. The chaos of the party was blurred around them like a halo.

‘I was told to -and I quote- ‘get the superhuman angle, Parker! We want to bedazzle the readers so they don’t realize how boring those schmutz parties are.’’

‘You’re bored?’ Johnny asked, only half listening. All of the guests painted a gorgeous picture. Everything that was good about parties without the bad choices and drinking games. Johnny itched to be among them, while also feeling suffocated by them.

‘So, you weren’t listening to anything I just said?’ Peter’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

‘What? I … No!’ Johnny stuttered.

‘Oh yeah, what did I just say?’

Johnny got ready to snap back before recognizing a teasing pull at Peter’s lips.

‘Okay, I might have zoned out for a moment there.’

‘I was saying that I almost got a good one of Sue, but she went invisible just as I took the picture, so it’s just an empty space. Here, see?’ Peter showed Johnny a shot of empty space that Janet van Dyne and Hank Pym seemed to be talking to.

‘Yeah, well… are you almost done? You got enough pictures yet?’

Peter’s pretty brow creased, whether in frustration or confusion Johnny couldn’t tell. ‘C’mon Parker, drink with me, for new times sake.’ Johnny plowed on. Johnny didn’t want to re-join the party just yet; he also didn’t want to just linger on the edges. A small part of him didn’t want to leave Peter either.

Peter woke from one of the worst sleeps of his life. His head pounded and mouth was dry. He groaned lightly. Head buried in the pillow; Peter tried to work out who had beat his ass this time. He had been at the Fantastic Four’s party, but he didn’t remember swinging home. Or getting home at all. Moments passed and Peter realized that only his head hurt. There were no tell-tale pains or aches in his limbs that could justify the headache.

Peter pushed himself up. His stomach lurched. ‘Oh god.’ Peter muttered. He could taste bile. Peter lowered himself down.

‘Good morning to you too.’ A familiar voice responded, cocky and familiar.

He was in Johnny Storm’s bedroom. He was dressed in only his jocks, and he was in Johnny Storm’s bed. ‘Oh god.’ Peter repeated.

Something smelled really good. ‘I made us bacon and eggs!’

At this, Peter pushed himself up. His stomach gurgled unhappily. Johnny pressed a glass of water into his hands. Peter drank it down greedily.

Johnny looked infuriatingly good as usual. He was in only a pair of white and blue trackpants, slung low over his hips. There were tiny bruises on Johnny’s waist. A small pattering of finger sized bruises over the swell of his hips. Peter remembered causing them.

Embarrassment washed over Peter.

‘I don’t remember much?’ Peter trailed off looking down and missed how Johnny’s face fell.

‘Well… We mostly just made out, a little bit of hand stuff.’ Johnny told him as easily as if they were discussing the weather. ‘I gotta say, you have an impressive physique for someone who takes photos for a living.’ Johnny gazed Peter up and down. He really was a work of art. Peter blushed at the praise. A cute work of art too.

‘Here, I’ve got some Panadol that will make short work of your headache.’ Peter accepted the pills even though they wouldn’t be effective on him.

‘You don’t drink much, do you? I would almost be worried if it wasn’t you coming on to me all of last night.’ Johnny couldn’t help the pride in his voice. He knew was very attractive, confirmation was always flattering though. Peter blushed again.

‘The photos,’ he gasped, shooting up from the bed just to sit down as a wave of dizziness passed over him. ‘What- what time is it?’

Johnny passed him his camera, ‘About 10 am. There’s some really good pictures in there, by the way.’

‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck shit fuck. I have to go. Jameson is going to kill me.’ Peter looked around wildly for his shirt. Shoving it on, grabbing his camera and his shoes, Peter propelled himself out of the door without a goodbye, which he would later come to regret.

Johnny looked at the sizzling bacon with a twinge of disappointment and loneliness. Looks like he was eating breakfast alone again.

#Spideytorch #Peter Parker #Johnny Storm

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helpinghanikan · 5 years ago

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Forgot the tie

Avengers (And Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: Even for heroes not everything will go right, even the fun things. (A Coitus interruptus story)

AN: Obviously I’m going through something, that something is exams. When the beast is slain hopefully my stuff will get better, until then this is what I got.

Steve Rogers:

At first it seems like a dream come true to have a man that has an unlimited amount of stamina. Then it became a game of balancing risk and reward.

Starting hours before the big event. His hands gently touching your hips, a gentle kiss on your cheek and a whispered “do you have work tomorrow?” in your ear. It doesn’t matter if you nod yes or no, either way he’s leaves you alone for the moment. It isn’t until later, when you’re both settling in for the night, that he makes his move.

It shouldn’t be surprising that America’s golden boy was mostly vanilla. Best described as a soft dominate you had no fear of saying no to. That being said, you still had a safe word.

One that was considered halfway through the night. When you reach to the bedside table for water and his hands pull you back into position. Kissing your back and moving your hair. Pulling your head to look at him and kiss, a non-verbal beg for “just one more, please, one more.” That one more never just stays one.

“Ice cream, Steven, Ice cream…” You finally pant out. The safe word was used almost every time. Not out of pain or fear, but out of exhaustion. When your legs are shaking from trying to stay in one position and your hair is sticking to both of your bodies from sweat and grease. Steve moving the hair to get to your mouth for one last kiss, a distraction for his hips to stop moving and he gather himself.

Next morning you’d wake up late, take a shower and the sheets would be changed before you had to.

Tony Stark:

Despite the tabloids and reputation, it was rare you could get him out of that black shirt. Having to play the part of the lovely arm candy that distracted any cameras for him to make a quick exit from any celebration in public. In private playing the part of the lovely partner sliding between gently reminding and full on yelling for the bastard to take care of himself.

What little time was left between them you had to patient, had to be understanding. Sitting on the edge of counters, catching him as he passed. It wasn’t hard to trap in your arms, wrap your legs around his center and refuse to let him go without at least a kiss.

Most of the time he escapes quickly after a quick peck. Making a comment about “later” with a grip to your hip or side. Leaving you hanging on the counter.

Thor:

First rule of being walked in on; do not stop. If you stop, then you become the couple that got caught having sex. If you don’t stop, and pretend not to notice the intruder, then they become the person who watched a couple have sex.

Your agency wasn’t willing to splurge on cabins for this stupid retreat. Instead forcing everyone to bring their own tents, and if you forgot, then you had to share. Your coworkers were clamoring to get to share a tent with you and your legendary man. To a point there was actual jealousy on your part.

It was what brought you to drag your man away from your adoring coworkers. Pulling him into the tent you were forced to share and zipping the tent door behind you.

Bracing both hands on his shoulders to balance, you were so focused you would have never heard the unzipping behind you. Thinking back, the only indication that there was an intrusion was Thor’s eyes flickering slightly to the side. His hand going against the back of your neck, pressing you into him.

Your tent mate didn’t bother zipping the tent back up. Leaving a cold draft that pressed you harder into your man’s chest.

Bucky Barnes:

He’s grinning at you like a naughty teenager. A hand on your knee while driving, making it’s way up your thigh by the time you pulled into the lookout point that wasn’t nearly as popular at four in the morning.

The car hadn’t even stopped rumbling before Bucky was on you. Holding your face in both hands, pushing you back against the passenger side door.

It was a cute idea to stop at a look out point, make out and do more in a confined space. Having to scooch your butt down on the seat, making enough wiggle room for your legs to intertwine. Bucky’s hand so much colder then usual after being exposed to the night. Too much pressure on your breasts as he tried to pull the bra cup out of the way.

“Sorry,” He groans into your mouth. Both your teeth clicking against eachother as he tries to wrap your legs around him. “I forgot there’s not a lot of room in cars. Hold on,”

“I’ll wear a skirt next-oop!” It was just the little noise that finished your sentence. Bucky’s hands behind your knees shutting you up faster then a kiss. Your knees spread and pressed into your chest. Groaning into his mouth at the sudden pull and press of your legs. Fantasies of exotic positions always are easier when you don’t think about the training that it would require. “Fuck, stretch…”

Bucky didn’t have time to respond to even acknowledge that your legs couldn’t naturally stretch that far. A few little knocks knock above your head stopped any of that from being expressed.

Before you can ask who it was Bucky reached past your head to roll down the window. A stream of light going directly into Bucky’s face coming first. Next, a friendly officer’s voice: “Alright, kids, zip it up and-.” His voice cut off at seeing the grown man staring back at him.

“Everything’s zipped and haven’t been a kid for a while, sir.” Bucky says, cringing into the direct light.

The light when down into your face. You giving the same cringed face at the direct light. “Do you need to see my ID, officer?” You ask.

The poor man sighed as his flashlight clicked off. “No, just save it for home. Okay, guys?” He says, disappointed that there was a distinct lack of teenagers to yell at.

“Yes, sir.” You say while Bucky does a mock salute.

The window rolls up as the cop leaves, Bucky, skootching back enough for your legs to fall back into a comfortable position.

“Did he recognize you?” You ask.

“I don’t know, do you think we’d be arrested if he did?”

“Yeah, then he’d ask for a picture. That would be some serious bragging rights.”

Natasha Romanoff:

It’s been actual months since you or Nat had seen each other. This was a common occurrence; she disappears in the middle of the night. Leaves behind a note and a lip gloss coated kiss on your knuckles.

For weeks everyone knew that Nat was gone, also knowing better then to ask about it. Just letting you stir your drink alone during lunch.

It was a pleasant surprise when Steve came in one morning. Casually saying “I’m pretty sure Nat has a signal now. If you want to, I’m sure she’ll appreciate a call-.” If Steve weren’t such a wall you might have taken him out.

“Hey, Pretty,” Nat says when her face appears on screen.

“Hey yourself, Beautiful,” You say back. “It’s been so long, I miss you.”

“I miss you too, traveling for work is part of the job, though.” She quickly turns her to the back of the room. Looking to the heavy door behind her as though to mentally will it to lock tighter. “I mean I really miss you.”

You roll your eyes but still smile at her. “It’s only been a few weeks and you’re already like this.” It just happens to be a coincidence that your shirt is starting to unbutton. From under your chin to your naval, open to expose whatever bra you wore that specific day. “What are you going to be like when you get back?”

The same strange occurrence happened on her end. The night shirt she was wearing pulled down far to the side. Showing an exposed shoulder and collarbone, the pajamas were purposefully loose. If she pulled it any further your get a look at the perfect breasts.

“Just wait until I get back, Pretty.” She says but her face has completely stopped moving.

“Babe? Are you-I think you froze? I think my WIFI is getting funky.” You say, tapping the mouse pad a few times.

“No, it’s me. I’m not exactly in the best place for a signal right now. I’m sorry.” She says. “Just consider this technology a tease, Pretty. When I get back, then we’ll have real fun.”

“You better, otherwise Sam is starting to look really handsome.” You warn.

“That not funny,” She says, although you could hear the smile in her voice.

T’challa:

T’challa was seven hours ahead of you, meaning you had to do major math if you didn’t want to wake him up. The safest time was to hit him up on your lunch break.

‘I miss you,’ You text off, a quick reminder that he had someone across the sea.

It was very sporadic if he responded. Sometimes right away, ‘I miss you, too. Are you busy next week?’ or he wouldn’t respond until you were already in bed. There was an internal fear that he was saving those texts you wrote while half awake, more then a few were random declaration of love and want for cuddles.

‘At meetings like these, I miss you too.’ He responded.

You had him. Skootching back in your office chair, lunch disregarded, and fully delving into your phone.

‘Important prince meeting? Are you wearing the black dress?’

It took a second before he responded to that.

‘It’s not a dress. It’s a cutaway coat and pants, not a dress.’

It takes a few steps before reaching your office door. It’s thick frame shutting with a chunk noise, announcing to the office to stay out.

‘Can you step away? Can I see?’ It took you months before taking this step. Knowing that if it were an important meeting he wouldn’t have responded until late at night.

Another few seconds.

‘I’ve already tried.’ He texts.

Formal wear for the office was just a regular pencil skirt and button but. Easy to manipulate just enough. Opening the first few buttons, pulling the undershirt down a little further to show the shadow of cleavage. Lifting the phone high and snapping a shot of the exposed collar bone you show by pulling the shirt further to the side.

‘Good thing I can.’ You send with the picture.

Sending pictures was usually a one-way street between the two of you. What little he shared was always without any identifying markers; no face or birthmarks, and never anything that was unclothed. It was the same rules for you, never show your face or any moles. Worst you had sent were of underwear and even then, your face would be cropped out.

It’s likely he didn’t respond as he had flipped his phone over at the sight of your picture. Sneaking a peek every few seconds before taking it completely off the table. Doing his thing of cupping it with both hands to hide the view from anyone near him.

Stepping around your desk it’s easy to roll your skirt upwards, kicking yourself for not wearing a garter belt instead of regular tights. Skirt up past mid-thigh, sitting with your knees together and getting the picture of your exposed thigh and tight skirt in the next shot.

‘I like your coat and pants. I’ll wear the dress for us.’ You text back.

It’s another few seconds before you get a response. Not from T’challa, but from Shuri. A picture of the office space they were both at. Picture pointed forward from her perspective. Pointed across the table toward T’challa on the other side. His hands cupping his phone like you had predicted, looking down at it with the serious face he has to keep on for meetings.

The only thing that made your eyebrow raise was the reflection behind his head. A glass window showing almost everything that was in front of it. Including the back of T’challa’s head and his phone screen. An almost perfect image of your thigh displayed just above his head.

‘I like your skirt,’ Shuri texts with a smirking smiley face.

It’s amazing your phone hadn’t broken being dropped onto your desk.

Pietro Maximoff:

It started as a romantic, cute moment that went wrong real fast. Starting with your hand on his bicep and a question in your ear. Escaping from whatever social obligation you had dealing with, hand in his, almost jogging. Even when he wasn’t running, he would walk too damn fast.

You had never vocally told him it was a bad idea, but Pietro had revenge fantasies for a while. Always casting less than a friendly glance towards the toaster his sister had decided was a good match.

It was why you only rolled your eyes when he led you to this specific door. Vision’s office, his little space, and he didn’t bother to lock it. The grip on your hand was tight, practically ripping you through the door before you get out “Are you serious?”.

Pietro tries, he really does, but he gets excited about something he’s no better than a rowdy kitty cat. Moving faster than you can track, walking you backwards with a sever danger of tripping. His paws going everywhere with too much claws and too sharp teeth, but he’s just too happy to make complaints at. Just gently moving his hands to more appropriate places he could grab.

Vision’s office could be describe as that over paid history professor. A lot of books, a lot of hard wood and dark colored leather furniture. All surrounded by the crown jewel of a thick wooden desk that was probably heavier then both of you. It’s edge hit a little above the small of your back, something that’d you’d have to do a little hop to get onto.

Instead those paws held either side of your hips. Spinning you around and down way too fucking fast. He was very excited, a hand between your shoulder blades, moving you into position. The thunk your head made from hitting the heavy desk straight on was worse then any pain that came with it.

Pietro immediately leaned over you, too scared to touch after causing this much harm to touch you. Hands, instead, hovering over your head while you cover your face. Trying to hide from an assault that wasn’t actually happening.

“What the fuck?” You are asking between bursts of “I’m sorry!”.

Peter Parker:

Studying never involved studying for long. It was that rare night Peter used to catch up on his homework, for a smart guy he was turning things in late. Most mornings you’d let Peter use your back as a table, quickly jotting down the answers from Nate’s homework.

Starting at either end of the couch, his legs stretching out for his feet to rest over your legs. Asking questions, he probably knew the answer to but cheated by looking at the sheet anyway. Doing this so often you lunged across the couch dramatically, reaching for the paper he held over his head.

“You aren’t going to be able to use it on the test!” you said, pressing against him to reach over his head.

“I’ll write it on my ankle, I’ll cheat!” Peter says, laughing that he was the one holding something out of reach for once.

The big guns came out after you taunted him, stating that he didn’t even know how to cheat. Coming close enough to his face that it too him a second to register that you kissed him. A closed mouth press against his jaw, another one under his ear, followed by a nip he squirmed at.

“No, this cheating.” He said, trying to hold the paper farther as if you still cared about it at all.

Innocent high school grinding was always a little painful and really annoying. From your underwire stabbing into your chest to not being sure where to put your hands. This would have been more comfortable in pajama pants. Instead your jeaned legs are tangled together, the fabric chaffing your thighs. Underwear protecting the worst of your areas from the pain of the clothes.

Forgetting the paper Peter let it fall to the floor. Putting his hand on your sides below the breasts. Making out was nothing new to either of you, but kissing was one thing. Over the clothes touching was another.

Slowly inching upwards towards heaven, he went slow like this every time. Not that you were any better. Only once had your been brave enough to direct his hand, after a better then usual date, putting his hand over your breast. He frozen for a second, gently squeezing as if he was surprised.

After that night he was braver but never reached right for his goal. Instead inching upward. Having to map out your ribs and side boob before reaching home.

He was close to it, too. Finding the shape of your thinnest bra that you just happened to wear that night. Like any teenager he slid upwards, pressing against your mound like he was trying to find the right shape of it.

Thank the Lord the coffee table was moved before the studying started. That flat palm against your breast pressed way too hard for a second, his other hand on your hip working to throw you right off. Stupid carpet way too thin to break your hard landing. Back hitting the floor so hard the ‘oof’ that came out was the same sound level as the door opening.

“Hey, guys,” Aunt May says, using her foot to close the door. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“I- You said you’d be home at nine.” Peter stammers, sitting with his knees to his chest. You taking up the position of pretending to read over the study sheet.

“I got off early,” Aunt May has that smile like a cheery thirteen-year-old who learned a secret. “Do you want me to come back later?”

“No!” You both practically yell in unison.

Stephen Strange:

This thing was bought as a joke. From the combination of Black Friday sale and a won gift card from a friend’s bachelorette party. A red and white dress that barely went mid-thigh, matching stockings and garter belt that were surprisingly comfortable. It could probably be worn again if you happened to find a long enough dress or skirt.

You had only showed it to your friends as a joke, in the ‘I’m gonna win at Halloween’ way. She only a little laughed at it’s presentation. “I just assumed it was for your man, didn’t he used to be a doctor?” she had said, laughing more at how your face changed then the outfit.

He was sitting on the end of your shared bed. Holding two papers that was nothing but numbers and symbols to you. A quick look over some new information hidden in the corners of books before bed time. Sliding between the two as though they were self-referencing eachother.

If he hadn’t known you were in the adjoined bathroom he would have looked up when you entered. Instead just scooching to make room for you. Expected the nightly tradition for you sitting down next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder and reading the papers that still don’t make any sense.

“Stephen,” You said, stepping out from the doorway more.

“Hmm?” he doesn’t look up, just making the noise and slightly tilting his head.

Taking a few sides steps to be a little closer you put both hands on your hips. Perk the hip out a little, pretend like you’re the model that showed this thing off, and try again.

“Paging Dr. Strange,” You say.

It still takes him a second to look up at you. Head turning before his eyes left the page, a look of surprise with a twitched eyebrow.

“We need go over the last patient’s operation,” You say.

Unfortunately, the outfit did not come with a script. Instead having to make a guess about what to say or what to do. Thanks to the thicker walls you got a few minutes to test out a sexy voice, upon realizing that it just made it seem like you needed a cough drop it was best to stick with your normal one.

The papers are tossed to the desk across from the bed. Not caring that he might have missed. Sliding back onto the bed as you walked forward, knees spreading apart for you to set a knee between them and lean forward against him. Arms around his shoulders, breasts pressed further against his chest. His hands don’t keep a firm grip on your sides, hovering just above so you wouldn’t be able to feel his shaky fingers.

“You know I never mess those up, Nurse,” He says, looking over your face. Smirking at the outrageous red lipstick and eyeliner that no professional nurse would wear. “Are you saying I’m losing my touch?”

He get’s braver, a hand sliding over your backside. Pressing against to both fondle and support your balance on one knee and heels.

“Well, based on his reaction to ten milligrams of…adrenaline,” You push his chest forward until he is laying flat on his back. “You just might need an evaluation.”

“Being dead is not the same as a reaction.” He says, staring up at you.

“What?”

“Eight milligrams of adrenaline would give him a heart attack or hemorrhage. Ten and he’s not going to make it.” Stephen is doing that thing where he twitches his head slightly while talking. Reading the little notes in his head he made years ago.

“It doesn’t, that doesn’t really matter, Stephen.” You say, while still straddling him.

“No, but not even an intern is that stupid.” He says, holding your hips.

“Okay, wow,” even in those comical heels it’s easy to slide off him.

“No,” He reaches out, but you’ve already stepped out of his reach. “Sweetie, I didn’t mean it like that!” he calls. But the bathroom door had already shut behind you.

Matt Murdock:

It was a pretty commonly known fact that when you lose one sense the rest will get stronger. That was why you never had to announce yourself when you got to Matt’s door or that he would always belly-ache about the amount of pepper you use in cooking. It was also why he was always more of a giver then a receiver.

“Too much…Angel…Too much…” He speaks slowly, breathing out in puffs towards the ceiling. As though he were talking to the angels up above instead of the one right below.

You were a sadist, Matt told you this every time. Even though he knew that if he really told you stop you would do so immediately. A safe word isn’t commonly used for such a vanilla couple as yourself, but it came in handy when Matt tended to babble when overstimulated.

He does everything but grab your hair. Grabbing his own hair, the bottom of his shirt, covering his mouth and groaning deep into his hands.

You had threatened to completely stop if he covered his face from you. You had taken him in as far as you could when he tried to retort. Calling you a sadist again but only getting out the “say” in the entire word. The rest lost towards the ceiling, in a surprised yelp. Your name following as he tried to moan instead of talk and annoy the neighbors.

It was an awkward thing for Matt to admit that he didn’t last long. It was something that you both had to figure out yourself and force him to admit. Not that you were complaining about the other ways he got things done, even if you did come in second during the race.

The real issue was getting the dramatic bitch to sit back and enjoy it. Not just for himself, or even for you, but for the both of you.

Carol Danvers:

There are a hundred romantic ways to describe the woman over you. About how her blond hair looks twined in your fingers. How her mouth makes an oval every time, having to work just a little harder to get the rolling back eyes to match.

Now though? In the same poetic fashion; it was like trying to fuck a star.

At first it was beautiful, the woman above you, bursting into a kaleidoscope of flames and colors. Without thinking you had reached out towards the flames. With so many colors that your woman was sitting on you had reset your brain. Whatever primal part was operating your brain assumed that that many colors couldn’t possibly be a bad thing.

While carol would never intend to hurt you, she was busy in her own little world. Riding it for all it’s worth before you yelped.

Panic set in at the same time for both of you. Carol falling off the bed in an effort to get away from you, the usual composed soldier scrambling on her hands and knees towards the kitchen.

It was tingly at first. Becoming a burning that you couldn’t get from a regular fire. More like a sunburn, then a sunburn under a hot shower. Then add salt to that same feeling. Holding your hand close and groaning at the pain, burying your face into the pillow and crying into it.

“Babe, babe, I’m so sorry,” Your woman is next to you again. Kneeling next to the bed and trying to coax your hand towards her. “I’m just too hot, I’m sorry.”

You can hear her chuckle at her own little joke. Releasing your hand to the ice she applies.

185 notes · View notes

pomegranate-belle · 5 years ago

Note

happy new year! for the prompt game thing: mattfoggy, soulmates!au, fake dating, prompt 19? 😂

Fake Dating + Soulmates AU = Fake Soulmates AU, right?? Right?? Anyway this took too long because it spiraled out of control and now it’s 2k+ words and there’s like four or five more snippets of future scenes in this AU hiding in my notes app now, lmao

(Also, apologies to anyone reading this who’s named Stephanie, lol)

—

It all starts because Matt is a flirty bastard who gravitates towards women that are capital-T Trouble like a child in galoshes gravitates towards puddles. That is — eagerly, enthusiastically, and with precisely zero regard for the people in the splash zone.

Foggy, who has become a permanent resident of the splash zone, is best friends with him anyway, for some unfathomable reason.

Which is a mean thing to think. It’s not unfathomable. Matt is funny and whip-smart and a big nerd and he just gets Foggy, and his smile...

Anyway, life in the splash zone is worth it. Just, you know, it’s hard to remember that after your bestie’s date steals your wallet or gets you sexiled or stuck in the middle of a bar fight that is definitely not your fault. Or, apparently, tries to swap out the non-accessible petition form your (blind, by the way) best friend means to sign with a marriage certificate.

Yeah. Really. That’s the level of what-the-fuckery they’ve reached now.

“I think I need your help with this one,” Matt says with a grimace.

“You didn’t actually end up signing it, did you?” asks Foggy, because, well, with their luck who knows.

But Matt shakes his head.

“No, it’s just. Uh... I, um, don’t think she’s going to stop.”

Maybe Foggy should just smother himself with his pillow. Or smother Matt with his pillow. The second one seems like it would solve a lot more problems, since this mess is entirely Matt’s fault.

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do about that, Matthew!” he demands. “You’re the one who decided to sleep with Stephanie Jenkins even after I warned you about her crazy eyes!”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, ok? You told me so, is that what you want to hear?” Matt all but whines, burying his face in his arms just enough to leave his eyes peeking out.

He’s on his bed, head towards the footboard and rolled onto his stomach for maximum cuteness. His eyes aren’t quite pointed the right direction, but that hardly matters. Matt’s pleading expressions are more effective even when they’re aimed a little right of their target than anybody else’s could be from straight on.

“Ugh.”

“Foggy, come on.”

“Ughhhhh.”

“Foggy.”

Matt’s big, wide sad-puppy-dog eyes get impossibly bigger and wider.

“Ok, ok! Fine, I’ll help! Stop pouting, jeez,” Foggy concedes in the face of Matt’s pleading expression and general air of hopelessness. “But don’t expect me to come up with a plan or anything, she’s yourcreepy hookup.”

Matt’s posture changes immediately now that he’s gotten what he wants. He goes up on his elbows, grinning the grin that always means chaos is coming.

“Gotta pull out the big guns for this one,” he claims. “Even she’d have to back off over a soulmate match.”

Foggy, who has maybe spent the past year and a half idly checking his skin for a mark that could potentially tie him to Matt, feels his stomach flip uncomfortably.

“You’re not suggesting...” His throat goes dry. “You and I fake being...”

“Well, I need someone in on it with me who won’t get the wrong idea,” explains Matt, cheerful as can be while he crushes Foggy’s stupid heart into tiny little pieces.

Foggy swallows hard.

“Yeah, um. Makes sense,” he croaks out.

“Good,” says Matt, all business, sitting up fully and holding out a box. “I already borrowed some temporary tattoo pens off Marci, and she promised to keep our secret if we buy her drinks next weekend.”

“Why does Marci have temporary tattoo pens?” asks Foggy as he gets up off his own bed and accepts them, since it seems like the most innocuous of all the questions rattling around in his head.

“To take notes on her arms, apparently,” Matt replies.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

Marci’s the kind of person who could get away with slightly-eccentric behavior like that, mostly because she was dead terrifying. And also hot. She was the kind of person people wanted to step on them. Not that Foggy did. Or anything.

“Anyway,” Foggy said, maybe a little too loud, clearing his throat. “Where is it you want your soulmark, then?”

“Umm.” Matt tilts his head. “My... Arm, I guess? Isn’t that the best place to make it visible for Stephanie? I mean. Where did you think I wanted it, my butt?”

As Matt asks the question, his ears go a little pink, which offsets his sarcasm and is also hilariously adorable. Matt’s a cool guy, but he also spent like ten years surrounded by nuns, and every so often that becomes very, very clear. It’s definitely one of Foggy’s favorite things about Matt. Well, along with literally everything else about Matt. He grins.

“No offense, buddy, but you definitely are the kind of person who’d have one on your butt.”

“I am not!” laughs Matt. “What does that, what does that even mean?”

“Listen, Murdock, some people are just butt-soulmark people, that’s all. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Shut up,” Matt says, his voice still bright with humor. “It’s going on my arm.”

He shoves up the sleeve of his slightly-baggy sweater and holds out his right arm, palm up. So, Foggy digs around in the box of temporary tattoo pens until he finds one with black ink, and then settles next to Matt on the bed. Once he’s got himself in a good position, he accepts Matt’s arm, grabs it gently by the wrist to draw it down onto his lap.

And it’s like it finally sinks in, what he’s about to do. He’s going to literally mark Matt Murdock as his — never mind that it’s a farce to get rid of some creepy chick, or what Matt said about not getting the wrong idea. In a very real and physical sense, he’s about to draw something that will bind them together, at least in everyone else’s eyes. This goes way beyond bar napkin doodles, beyond wistful musings about Nelson and Murdock. People are going to see this mark and know—

They’re going to know what Foggy’s been trying not to know for a long time now. That he’s hopelessly, irrevocably, pathetically in love with Matt.

“What should it be?” Foggy asks, heart thundering in his chest as he holds the pen in one hand and the soft, pale expanse of Matt’s upturned arm in the other.

The smile on Matt’s face looks sweet and coy. A knock-out punch disguised as a cool, sweet drink. And as much as he pretends he’s a beer and cheap whiskey man, Foggy’s always been a sucker for the kind of fruity cocktails that knock him on his ass.

“Something fitting.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that,” mutters Foggy. “Speak now or I’m giving you an avocado.”

Matt tries halfheartedly to tug his arm away, laughing.

“No way, not an avocado. Something serious! Like... Scales of justice.”

“I see your hard-on for Lady Justice hasn’t diminished at all,” Foggy jokes, but begins drawing the scales anyway.

It takes enough focus that he’s able to override any feelings of embarrassment. And then he’s scrawling the same design onto his own skin, his left arm and Matt’s right pressed side-by-side as they lie across Foggy’s knee. Finally, it’s done and he caps the pen.

“Perfect,” he says, pleased, as he compares the two marks. “They’re identical. Suck on that, Mr. Trenkamp, I can too draw straight lines.”

Is it the height of maturity to invoke your hated fourth grade art teacher like ten years after he first insulted your mediocre art skills? No. But being the height of maturity is lame anyway, Foggy decides.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” jokes Matt, and his expression is so soft that Foggy has to look away before he, like, spontaneously combusts or something.

“Well, trust me, pal, those are some primo fake soulmarks.”

“Thanks, Fog.”

Matt nudges Foggy’s shoulder with his own, then holds out a loose fist. Knocking their knuckles lightly together, Foggy can’t help the giddy smile on his face.

“Anytime, Matt.”

—

They don’t get a chance to show off their marks until two days later, when they’re strolling across campus towards the dining hall and Matt pauses apropos of nothing and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, juggling his white cane a little in the process. He then proceeds to fumble for Foggy’s wrists and roll his sleeves up too.

“Matt, what—”

“Shh, act natural!” Matt mutters, knocking his cane lightly against Foggy’s shoe, and then pressing a warm hand to his back to get him walking again.

And, honest to god, not a minute later up walks Stephanie Jenkins. Foggy takes a good moment to consider that maybe Matt’s lady-radar is actually real. In the next, Matt is stretching his arms (and his cane, the goof) above his head, right wrist crossed in front of the left so his fake soulmark will be in sight. Stephanie jerks to a stop, eyes trained on it. After the stretch, for which Foggy very carefully avoids looking at Matt to see if his shirt rides up, Matt folds up his cane and holds out his hand, fingers curled slightly, the way he usually does when he’s asking for Foggy’s arm for guiding purposes.

“Fogs?”

Well, it’s a cue if Foggy’s ever seen one, so he presses his arm into Matt’s grip, making sure the underside of his forearm is turned up for Stephanie’s sake. Her eyes go huge. Foggy gets the feeling that, no matter what he’s trying to save Matt from, he’s going to feel like an asshole if she cries. Thankfully, her face turns puce and angry instead. She’s probably thinking something unflattering about Foggy’s suitability for a guy like Matt but, well. Fuck her anyway.

Just to nail in his point, apparently, Matt traces his free hand up Foggy’s shoulder and into his hair, brushing a long lock of it behind his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

In all honesty, Foggy pretty much forgets all about Stephanie Jenkins after that. Just continues on towards the dining hall, narrating on autopilot in between long bouts of staring at Matt with a racing heart and pathetic cow eyes.

—

The two of them get a frankly embarrassing number of ‘I knew it’s from their classmates, go nearly broke keeping Marci Stahl in vodka, and kiss four more times (three on the cheek, and one chaste, close-mouthed peck on the lips that nearly stops Foggy’s heart).

Also, Foggy gets Stephanie Jenkins’ crazy-eyes glare for three straight weeks. He loves every second of it. Suck it, Stephanie Jenkins, he thinks every time. Which is, yeah, probably a little mean, but hey, this is the lady who tried to take advantage of Matt’s blindness to trick him into (admittedly, a definitely not legally enforceable) marriage. Foggy doesn’t have an ounce of sympathy for her.

Though he risks jinxing himself, Foggy does eventually ask how long Matt thinks the ruse should go on. When Matt decides they should keep up the act until at least the end of the semester, Foggy tries not to agree too eagerly. After all, he’s not supposed to get the wrong idea. Eventually Matt’s heartbreaker ways will win out and he’ll want to find a hot girl to kiss. He’s trusting Foggy with an awful lot, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to... To, you know, fall in love with him or anything. But they’ll still always be best friends. That’s what really matters.

—

After three months, Foggy is used to seeing the fake soulmark on the inside of his left arm when he showers. It doesn’t make his heart squeeze anymore. He no longer has to remind himself that it’s still fake even when soap doesn’t wash it away — all it would take is a little makeup remover, after all. He knows that. It’s fake even though it’s there in a form of semi-permanence. Just another fact of life.

But this particular morning he stops cold, because there’s something on the inside of his right arm too. A perfect, identical mirror image of the scales of justice on his left.

Maybe he was so tired he drew another one on the wrong arm when refreshing the fake soulmark. Maybe. But probably not. Foggy takes slow, deep breaths until the end of his shower. Then he dries off, dresses — pulling on his shirt with the sleeves rolled all the way down — and hurries back to the dorm room for the box of makeup remover wipes they keep next to their sink now.

It’s fine, he tells himself. It’ll wash off. It’s ok. His hands are trembling so hard that he has to squeeze the wipe to keep hold of it and some of the remover solution drips onto his left arm. The fake soulmark there begins to smudge.

The one on the right stays stark and perfect.

“That’s not funny,” Foggy tells it, voice shaking, but though he scrubs at it until the skin’s raw — with the wipe, with hand sanitizer, with isopropyl — it doesn’t come off.

Eventually he’s got to face the facts. His dumb heart has somehow conned his body into producing a genuine, grade-A soulmark for his fake soulmate.

He is so monumentally fucked.

#mattfoggy #writing #thanks for the ask!#ellicelluella

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dumbbitchnumberone · 5 years ago

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Maybe its one of their birthdays,,,

Okay so this ficlet… kinda got away from me. It’s 3500 words. That’s longer than 2 of the full fics in TVG, but I just started writing and couldn’t stop. without further ado, enjoy:

Truth be told, the only reason Wade looked the kid up on Instagram in the first place was because he needed to figure out where he’d be and when to prevent him from getting assassinated, but even after the hitman situation was dealt with he found himself checking the kid’s profile every now and then.

Peter posts pretty frequently, but when he does it isn’t like there’s any sort of strongly curated theme. He doesn’t just post aesthetically pleasing pictures of coffee and designer clothes—he posts what’s going on in his life.

There’s a picture taken from a hospital bed in Avenger’s Tower. There’s a picture of a cool looking pigeon. There are multiple pictures of cute dogs he passed on the street and some dumb selfies with his friends. The thing is, those aren’t the ones that catch Wade’s eye.

The ones that catch his eye are the off-guard ones of the tall girl he hangs out with. The pictures of the city that had to have been taken while the kid was webbing his way around the city. A shot of the kid’s aunt (she’s his aunt? Is she old enough for that?) drinking coffee and sitting on the fire escape. Peter has quite the eye for what makes a good picture, but it’s obvious he doesn’t have anything to take pictures on other than his phone that’s quite a few generations out of date.

Wade has money. Granted, he’s been known to spend it all on plastique explosives so that he can build himself a throne out of them, but right now he has money. He’s also spent a lot of his life being poor—both regular poor and power shut off in the winter, breaking up bits of furniture to burn in a grate in the floor so you don’t freeze to death poor—which is why he knows that the kid won’t accept a gift from him without a good reason. Peter hasn’t talked about being poor exactly, but Wade has heard some of his epic rants about how annoying it is that Stark is always throwing money at his problems and trying to give Peter a new phone or laptop because “this one still works just fine—why would I get rid of it?” That along with the way he hardly ever goes out anywhere (if his Instagram stories are anything to judge by) and wears the same worn but well taken care of clothes almost every time Wade sees him as a real person is enough context for him to get a grasp of the kid’s attitude. It helps that Matt mentioned the kid’s aunt is a nurse and the uncle is dead. Living in New York on a nurse’s salary with a kid? That can’t be easy on the old wallet.

It isn’t until he’s leaning out of Matt’s bedroom window so that he can smoke without bothering the guy that he finally thinks of a time the kid might accept a gift. Peter always says that he’s almost sixteen, but there haven’t been any sweet sixteen posts on his Instagram, meaning his birthday is still coming up. The only question is when.

Wade stubs the cigarette out on the brick outside Matt’s window before dropping the butt to the street.

“Hey, when’s the kid’s birthday?” he asks, turning to look at where Matt is lying on his stupid, wonderful silk sheets.

Matt raises his eyebrows. “Considering what your heart just did, that is not the question I was expecting.”

Wade snorts. “Very funny. Seriously though, do you know when it is?”

“August tenth,” Matt answers. “Why?”

Thank god—still a week or so out. “Cause I wanted to get him something. Sixteen is a big deal and all.”

“That’s true,” Matt agrees, pulling himself up into a sitting position. “I’ve been trying to think of something to get him, but I’m not sure what he’d like.”

“I want to get him a camera—one of the really nice ones. You wanna go in together on it for him?” Wade offers.

“Sure—but why a camera?”

“If you could see his Instagram then you’d know,” Wade teases, and Matt snorts.

“Asshole. Well, I don’t know anything about cameras. Do you?” he asks, and shit, Wade doesn’t know anything about cameras.

Matt must be able to read that realization in his pulse or whatever, and the smirk it puts on his face is so incredibly annoying.

“Shut up,” Wade says.

“I didn’t say anything,” Matt replies with the smirk still on his face.

“Yeah, well you didn’t have to.”

Matt must take pity on him for once, because the smirk fades away to a much nicer smile. “Put your clothes back on and I’ll help you track down Jess and get her to tell us about cameras.”

“You really want me to put my clothes back on already?” Wade tries, because he is but a man and asshole-ish smirk or not, Matt’s got it goin’ on.

After a second of consideration Matt says, “No, I guess not.”

-----

“Okay, seriously, let’s go find Jess and get this figured out,” Matt says eventually as he’s doing up the buttons on his stupid fancy shirt.

Wade gets that matching clothes can be hard—but a suit every day has got to be some form of penance because no way in hell would anyone other than a Catholic willingly do that to themselves.

“Ugh, fine. Give my healing factor a second,” Wade groans.

Matt snorts and throws Wade’s shirt at him. “Don’t be a bitch. I’ve seen you walk off stab wounds quicker than that.”

“Haven’t seen anything,” Wade mutters under his breath, getting his pants thrown at him as well for his efforts.

Once they get down to the street looking like the world’s strangest yet most fitting couple (seriously, a horribly scarred guy and a blind guy—the perfect combination), Wade realizes that he’s the one blindly following after Matt.

“Hey, where are we going? Did you call Jess when I wasn’t looking?” he asks even though he highly doubts that’s the case. With Matt it’s almost always something stranger.

Wade’s hypothesis is proven once again as Matt shakes his head. “I know where she is.”

“… why do you know where she is?”

Matt shrugs. “We were hanging out last night and she mentioned she was getting lunch with her sister today around now. I know the general area she’ll be in, and I can find her from there.”

Freak.

“You’re so fucking weird,” Wade says, and Matt just smiles brightly at him.

He follows after Matt for another two blocks before the man stops abruptly and turns onto the next street then into a café that Wade doesn’t recall seeing the last time he was in this part of the city.

Matt heads straight for a table near the back, and Wade takes his arm so that it at least looks like the blind guy is the one being led.

“Jessica,” Matt says as they come to stand at the edge of a table tucked into a corner.

Jessica looks up from where she had been talking to a blonde lady who looks absolutely nothing like her yet still strangely familiar. Jess groans, and the blonde one just gapes at the two of them. Wade’s used to it, so he just waves at her. She looks embarrassed and immediately tears her eyes away from his face.

Jessica gives them a scrutinizing look and wrinkles up her nose. “Really? You couldn’t even bother taking a shower before you came and tracked me down?”

“We tried,” Wade replies, putting his arm around Matt’s waist and yanking him closer even if it does get him an elbow in the ribs. “We just got distracted.”

“Gross. What do you want?” she says, though she doesn’t actually sound all that grossed out.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, Jess?” the blonde one asks, but it’s really very clearly a demand.

Jessica sighs. “They aren’t my friends, they’re a pain in my ass. The blind one’s Matt—my lawyer. You’ve met him once,” Matt smiles his charming smile in the blonde’s general direction. “The burn victim is Wade. Assholes, this is Trish. Now, tell me what you want.”

“We need to know about cameras,” Wade chimes in.

“What about them?” she asks.

“What’s a good one for someone who’s new to photography,” Matt asks.

“Sorry Murdock, but no matter how fancy a camera you buy, the pictures are still gonna come out blurry.”

Matt gives her a very flat look. “It’s for Peter. His birthday is coming up.”

Jessica’s demeanor softens a little bit at that, and it’s precious—not that Wade would ever say that out loud. But he’s noticed that at least he isn’t the only one who has a Peter-shaped soft spot in his heart.

“How much are you guys willing to spend?” she asks.

“I just took a job,” Wade says.

Jess nods in understanding. “Foreign or domestic?”

“It was in Brazil.”

“Ah, thought that one might’ve been you. Usually you’re more obvious though,” she says.

“This one called for subtlety. Made the paycheck higher, so I can’t complain too much.”

Trish looks like she’s just dying to ask what Wade’s job is, but she must be smart considering she doesn’t.

“Well, if money isn’t an issue, you can’t go wrong with a Sony Alpha A7 III. It’s around 2000, very beginner friendly, but if he has any trouble with it then I’ll be more than happy to show him how to get started with it,” Jess replies, taking out a pen from her pocket and scribbling something down on a napkin. “Get this lens with it—it shouldn’t be more than 500.”

“You’re a godsend,” Wade says, taking the napkin from her and blowing her a kiss.

Jessica rolls her eyes. “Save it for someone who’ll put out, Wilson.”

“Wonderful talking to you as always,” Matt says. “Nice to meet you properly, Trish.”

“You too,” Trish says with a smile.

Wade and Matt leave the restaurant and trek all the way up to the nearest Best Buy to get their hands on the camera and lens Jess recommended. The sales associate looks at them a bit strangely, and when he asks what they’re going to be using the camera for Matt somehow knows to slam his hand over Wade’s mouth and answer himself. Good choice; Wade’s answer would’ve been nudes.

“Do you know how to wrap presents?” Wade asks, looking at the boxes the camera and lens are in and then looking back to Matt to see the bitchiest look on his face.

“No, I don’t know how to wrap presents, Wade.”

“Well do you know anyone who knows how to wrap presents?”

“Yes,” Matt says with a defeated sigh.

-------

Half an hour later, Wade finds himself in a rundown apartment building with a two thousand dollar camera in a bag on one arm and a roll of Spider-Man wrapping paper from the dollar store with Matt standing beside him and knocking obnoxiously on the door.

“I know you’re in there, asshole,” Matt calls out, thumping his fist against the door again. “Stop calling me a bitch under your breath and say it to my face.”

“You’re a bitch,” comes a response that’s loud enough for Wade and his sad, normal hearing to pick up.

“To my face,” Matt repeats.

“I’ll shoot you!” the voice calls back.

“That’s a lie!” Matt says.

There’s silence for a moment followed by the sound of heavy footsteps and the door opening.

“What the hell do you two clowns want?” Frank asks, pinching the bridge of his nose much like a put-out parent.

“We need help wrapping a present for Peter’s birthday,” Matt says.

Frank looks like he just might shoot them both. “And why the hell did you decide to come to me for that?”

“You were the nearest fully functional adult I could think of. Take it as a compliment. Help us wrap the present and we’ll put your name on the card too.”

Frank stares at them for a moment but eventually loses the stare-down with Matt and lets them in.

While wrapping the present, he interrogates them on their choice of gift. Once he gets an answer that he deems suitable for that, he moves on to giving them shit about the choice in wrapping paper. Then he gives Matt shit for something Hell’s Kitchen related that Wade has very little interest in.

“Are you two done flirting?” Wade asks when Matt and Frank are still talking long after the present’s been wrapped.

“Why? Eager to be alone with me again?” Matt shoots back.

Frank gags.

Matt punches him in the shoulder.

They leave after that, and it’s determined that Matt should be the one to keep the camera safe until Peter’s birthday. Wade gets to keep the definitely-not-officially-licensed Spider-Man wrapping paper though, so it’s a pretty fair trade.

----

Peter’s apparently got his hand full with a combination of school, his internship, and dealing with the lowlifes of Queens, so Wade doesn’t get a chance to see the kid—either as himself or his alter-ego in the next week. In fact, it isn’t until he’s scrolling aimlessly through Instagram that he sees a picture of a poorly-made cake on the kid’s story and realizes that it’s the tenth. One frantic flurry of text messages to Matt later, he confirms that Matt hasn’t had the chance to see the kid either thanks to being up to his non-functional eyeballs in lawyer work for the entire week.

Matt isn’t a fan of texting, so he elects to call Wade instead of suffering through any more grammatical errors and excessive punctuation.

“Should we bring it to him tonight?” Matt asks.

“I mean, it’s his birthday. I doubt he’s going out as Spider-Man on his sweet sixteen,” Wade points out. “Come on orphan, at least pretend you have a functional knowledge of childhood milestones.”

“I’m flipping you off right now,” Matt says.

“Glad to hear it—wait, he just added to his story again.” Wade taps on the gradient circle surrounding Peter’s profile picture and sees a short video of the kid, his aunt, and the two friends he’s always with at a restaurant. Wade’s pretty sure he actually knows that restaurant, and that’s confirmed when he checks Peter’s location on Snapchat. “He’s like, six blocks from your place. Carmine’s—you ever been there?”

“Ugh—yes. Worst date of my life,” Matt replies, and Wade makes note of that comment so he can wheedle out all the wonderful, cringeworthy details at a later date.

“Great, meet me there. Don’t forget the camera.”

“Don’t forget the card,” Matt shoots back before the line goes dead.

Wade won’t forget the card. He put way too much effort into the card to forget it—including hand-done illustrations and glitter. Rather than bother Dopinder or, god forbid, take the subway, Wade just gets an Uber and talks the poor driver’s ear off the whole way there.

When they pull up outside, Wade sees Matt standing casually outside the restaurant and the driver is more than happy to have the weird, rambling burn victim out of his car.

“Matthew!” Wade calls, pulling Matt into a half hug. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, dumbass,” Matt replies in that charming way of his. “Peter and his people are still inside—let’s go give him the present. Oh, by the way, his aunt thinks I’m his Spanish tutor, and I don’t think either of his friends know who I am either. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Um, well, his friends definitely know who I am, so how are we gonna explain how Deadpool knows his Spanish tutor?” Wade says, and god bless poor Matt for having to keep all these different stories in order. Super-secret identities are a bitch.

“I’m Daredevil’s lawyer, I met you through him,” Matt answers.

“Wow, you had that one prepared. Have to use it a lot?”

“More often than you’d think. Come on, it smells like sewage out here,” Matt says, putting his free arm through Wade’s and dragging him towards the restaurant.

Even with Wade on his arm, Matt still manages to charm the maître d’ into escorting them to the Parker’s table.

“Hey, kiddo!” Wade says, loud enough to get the attention of everyone at the table, but not so loud as to draw unwanted attention. Contrary to popular belief, he can manage some sort of subtlety on occasion. “Thought you could ditch out on us on your birthday?”

Peter looks shocked at first and then pleasantly surprised by the two of them. That adorable smile spreads across his face, quite the contrast to the unreadable look on the girl’s face and the awed one on Ned’s. Peter’s aunt is doing a pretty good job of not staring at his general appearance, so props to her.

“Wade—Matt, hi!” Peter says. “What’re you guys doing here?”

“Wishing you a happy birthday. And giving you a reminder—what did I tell you about Snap Maps the first night we met?” Wade says.

“Hitman’s best friend, I know, Wade. You’re one of, like, six people who can see where I am,” Peter answers in a very exasperated ‘yes, dad’ sort of way.

Wade is touched by that, and he puts his hand over his heart.

“Hi, Matt. It’s good to see you again,” the kid’s aunt says with a smile that Matt can get from any woman on the planet. “And Wade, was it? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before,” she adds on with a very deliberate look at Peter.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Wade says. “I’m a friend of Peter’s. From work.”

May’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline and she gives Peter another look.

“Um,” Peter says, looking over at Wade who gives him a big ole thumbs up. “Deadpool,” he whispers to his aunt.

She looks shocked, and Wade speaks up to fill the silence.

“Anyway, sorry DD couldn’t be here, but you know how much of a bitch he is about his stupid secret identity. He sent his lawyer to serve as a proxy. We come bearing gift.”

Matt sets the nicely wrapped gift onto the table. “Courtesy of my clients.”

Wade sets the card on top of the box and pushes both towards Peter.

Peter picks the card up off of the box and admires Wade’s doodles on the front of it before opening it up to read what Wade wrote inside.

Hey kid, happy birthday! You might be sixteen, but I’m sure we’ve all stressed you out to the point your heart is in its mid forties. We might be a bunch of dysfunctional alcoholics with the emotional maturity of thirteen year olds, but here’s hoping you’ll be the first of us to break that cycle. With so many examples of what not to do, how hard can it be? Anyway, we’re proud of you for sticking (ha! Get it?) with us. I like to think I’m pretty observant, so I think you’ll be able to put this gift to good use. You can thank Jess for lending her experience in the area to DD and me, and Frank for being the only adult we know who can wrap presents.

Happy birthday, webhead.

–Wade, DD, Jess, and last but not least Frank.

Peter smiles up at Wade after reading the card. “Thanks, Wade, and tell DD thanks too. And Ms. Jones, and Mr. Castle.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it along,” Matt says with a smile of his own.

Peter sets the card aside very carefully before taking care in opening the package. As soon as he sees the box, the kid just gapes up at Wade.

“This is too much,” he says, and Wade is reassured in his choice of waiting for a special occasion to give the gift.

“Baby-child, there’s nothing I’d rather do with my paycheck from murdering a druglord and burning down his empire than get you something you’ll undoubtedly put to good use,” Wade replies, earning himself a rather horrified look from the kid’s poor aunt.

Rather than being disturbed by Wade’s declaration, Peter gets up from his place at the table and flings himself into Wade to hug him.

“Thank you,” Peter mumbles where his face is smushed up against Wade’s chest.

Wade smiles down at him.

“You’re welcome, kid.”

#ask shit #ficlet fest!#The Teenage Vigilante's Guide

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titconao3 · 6 years ago

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Balance (8765 words) by titC Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock Characters: Frank Castle, Matt Murdock, David "Micro" Lieberman, Sarah Lieberman, Leo Lieberman, Zach Lieberman, OC - Character Additional Tags: Kidnapping, plot starts to happen, frank and matt are being cute, Community: daredevilbingo, lucy the dog - Freeform, Blind Character, BUT NOT THE DOG, check the end notes for more info about the kidnapping, it's still Daredevil and the Punisher so butts are kicked too, Homophobia, blood and violence (it's the punisher) Series: Part 3 of Lucy Summary:

Matt and Frank's relationship gets deeper, but something unpleasant is looming (aka, plot started to happen in the middle of my happy Fratt-ing). Good thing they're also Daredevil and The Punisher...

Follows Clean Slate and Domestic, beta by @beguilewritesstuff . Thank you *hearts*

For my @daredevilbingo card prompt, Handsome Wounded Duck

#daredevilbingo #daredevil #daredevil fic #punisher #punisher fic #lucy #my fic

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ao3feed-fratt · 6 years ago

Text

Balance

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2Aog4og

by titC

Matt and Frank's relationship gets deeper, but something unpleasant is looming (aka, plot started to happen in the middle of my happy Fratt-ing). Good thing they're also Daredevil and The Punisher...

Words: 8765, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Lucy

Fandoms: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen, M/M

Characters: Frank Castle, Matt Murdock, David "Micro" Lieberman, Sarah Lieberman, Leo Lieberman, Zach Lieberman, OC - Character

Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock

Additional Tags: Kidnapping, plot starts to happen, frank and matt are being cute, Community: daredevilbingo, lucy the dog - Freeform, Blind Character, BUT NOT THE DOG, check the end notes for more info about the kidnapping, it's still Daredevil and the Punisher so butts are kicked too, Homophobia, blood and violence (it's the punisher)

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2Aog4og

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Fratt #FrankMatt

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

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Frank Castle/Matt Murdock meet Coldwave fic

Set in @jewishfrankcastle's domestic AU where Mick and Len have retired to a farm and are villainously herding a small armada of children and animals - all details come from that. For their birthday, @jewishfrankcastle requested Frank Castle and Matt Murdock meeting Len and Mick.

Happy birthday! I hope you like it!

link to ao3

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

They meet, perhaps unsurprisingly, at the dog park.

Frank's never been to Central before - his work tends a bit more towards exotic or politically influential locations, but there are corrupt cops and murderers everywhere, and that means he goes everywhere.

He's been mostly focusing on corrupt cops and politicians lately, rather than run-of-the-mill murderers - Matt'd made a good point in their last dust-up about how people abusing the levers of powers were full on destroying the systems that most normal people relied on, while random murderers sometimes had reasons.

Never excuses, but reasons.

And, well, in the heat of the moment Frank'd had some sort of pithy remark about how vigilantes weren't really part of the system either, so there Murdock, but after the adrenaline faded, Frank had to give him the point. Frank's always focused mostly on gangs for a reason - institutional power's a bitch - and it seems wrong not to go after the biggest blue-clad gang of them all.

Especially given how often corrupt cop seemed to be synonymous with murderer nowadays.

Anyway, he and Matt ended up settling their differences the way they usually did these days - talking shit at each other till their voices start getting hoarse, then one of 'em making a final call. If Frank thought there was something particularly vile about 'em, he'd end them his way; if Matt was dead on convinced that they were innocent or something, Frank'd let Matt rescue the scumsucker.

And then they'd go off their separate ways, of course, and bicker about it some more over a few cups of hot cocoa back at home.

It is, no two ways about it, the weirdest relationship Frank's ever been in, but what the hell, it makes them both happy. Frank likes things that make him happy, and nowadays he tries to keep life simple.

Unfortunately, simple doesn’t always agree with him about that.

Take this trip to Central, for instance. Frank'd gotten a tip-off about the organized crime in Central (they called them Families here, with chewed off syllables and a grimace of distaste), some offshoot of which was forcing kids to traffic their drugs with their families at gun point, with corrupt cops on the payroll ready to bury any confession by any kid dumb enough to try to turn on them.

Ready to bury any kid, too, and call it self-defense.

So Frank'd packed up his shit (Matt likes to tease him about how many suitcases he packs, but he has no room to talk; Frank's been on vacation with him before and he doesn't even bring guns!) and planned on heading out the way he always did, except Matt ended up being asked to join one of his weird slumber parties ("Defenders team-ups are not slumber parties!" yeah they are) and all their friends were out of town, and that meant there was no one to watch Max.

Which, fine. Frank's used to taking Max with him when he goes out - poor dog's a sweetheart and perfectly happy to stay in a safe place while Frank does what needs to be done, but Frank's starts feeling bad if he doesn't let Max stretch his legs a bit.

Thus the dog park.

Most people there have these dumb little city dogs that they try to keep away from Max, probably because they're bigoted assholes that buy into the whole 'pit bulls are evil' crap, and Frank's just about to drop his disguise sunglasses (Matt thinks they're hilarious, but seriously, the red-glasses-wearing kettle can stop calling the pot black any day now) to glare at the fuckers keeping Max from having a good time when some big ol' fucker walks into the park with two pits and a mutt, none of which he's keeping leashed, and everyone just -

Relaxes?

Seriously, they stop clutching at their Pekingese and Bichon Frises and shit and let 'em go to scamper around smelling each other’s butts, and Max is in doggie seventh heaven or some shit.

The tough guy - six-foot-something with a bull's worth of muscle on him, shaved bald and looking dangerous - looks around the park, spots Frank, and comes over.

Doesn't sit right next to him, no intimidation shit or anything that Frank might be inclined to take issue with, but close enough that having a chat's not a big deal.

If anything, the rest of the park gets even more relaxed.

Guy don't say nothing for a couple of minutes, so Frank decides to start up this ballgame.

"People here sure are friendly," he says.

The big guy snorts. "Sure they are," he says, voice halfway between ironic and fond. "Once they know you ain't Family or a pig of the human variety."

Frank straightens up, kinda insulted. They thought he was a mobster? Or a cop? Him?

"Easy now," the guy laughs. "They know you ain't one anymore, now that I'm here, but you can't blame 'em for being wary."

"Now that you're here?" Frank echoes.

"I hate Family," the guy says. "A lot. And my partner hates corrupt cops - most cops, not gonna lie, but corrupt ones worst of all - and we ain't shy about chasing them outta our parts of the city."

"Your parts of the city?"

"The slums," the guy clarifies. "Where half the population or more's taken a swing by our resident jail cells - that's Iron Heights, here, and I'd avoid it if at all possible if I were you."

"And here I heard the thing to avoid was the Flash," Frank says, unable to keep from commenting on the superhero-shaped elephant in the room. He'd started seeing the memorabilia nearly a hundred miles away, and in Central proper it gets positively overwhelming.

And a little concerning, Frank's not gonna lie. He's used to superheroes like Matt, like Matt's friends - some powers, yeah, but kinda down to earth like. People he could stop with a bullet (or, in Luke's case, a bunch of nets or superglue or something; he's still working on that). He's not quite sure what to do with someone who can purportedly catch a bullet in midair and have Frank on the ground before he's had time to fire the next one.

He's planning on getting his business in town done quick and quiet and hopefully over before he has to make the guy's acquaintance.

"He's easy enough to avoid," the guy says with a shrug. "Especially this time of year; it's gorilla season."

Frank pauses, because he's gotta have heard that wrong.

"Yeah, gorillas," the guy confirms. He sounds tired out just thinking about 'em. "Some lab cooked up a super intelligent gorilla with telepathic powers -"

"What the fuck."

"I know right? Anyway, the Flash ended up tossing that gorilla somewhere in another universe or some bullshit like that - don't ask, you don't want to know -"

Guy's right. Frank really, really doesn't.

"- and it turns out that universe has its own gangs of super-intelligent gorillas, and once a year they manage to open a portal back to our earth to try to invade. That's how you get -"

"-gorilla season," Frank finishes. "Jesus."

"Yeah."

They sit in companionable silence for a while.

"Your big pit's got a lot of scars," Frank eventually observes. The big one's all scarred, while the smaller one's a bit roughed up but no more than a bit of tough living would get him. The last one, the mutt, he's just a goddamn lazy shit, rolling around on the grass and barely getting up to prance around, but he seems fine. "That something we should be talking about?"

The guy shoots Frank an approving look, of all things. "Nah," he says. "We rescued Tony from a Family dogfighting operation that we were shutting down with prejudice, if you know what I mean."

Well, shucks. Look at that. Frank thinks he may have made a friend.

Matt is never gonna believe him.

"Got my Max much the same way," Frank says. "New York gang."

"Fuckers," the guy says agreeably. "The smaller one, Poppy, we got her the same way, but she was new, y'know? Hadn't gotten to too much fighting yet. Well. She fights with the goats - my partner and I own a farm outside of town," he adds, seeing Frank's raised eyebrows. "That's where she gets all those band-aids from."

Frank buys it. Those band-aids are cute enough, but also located just where an exasperated goat might decide to butt an irritating dog away.

"And the mutt?" he asks, nodding at the dog, which seems to have decided to take a nap.

"Turtle."

Frank snorts.

"Yeah, he's always like that," the guy laughs, and that’s that. They sit around, don’t talk, and it’s all nice and domestic and shit until it’s time for Frank to collect Max and go.

Of course, next time they run into each other, Frank’s in the middle of a warehouse with a bunch of screaming children and a lot of dead mobsters, splattered all over in blood and trying to figure out if he should’ve worn gloves because he can’t exactly go on picking up kids with bloody hands, now can he?

Big guy – Frank never got his name – walks through the door, holding some weird sort of reddish gun.

Frank blinks at him.

Guy blinks back.

“Well, that saves me some trouble,” the guy says. “How’d you get tipped off about this before I did? You’re not even local.”

“They picked a kid whose parents kicked her out for being trans,” Frank says. “After all the work she’d been putting in to save their asses from these assholes, too. No idea how she got my number.”

“Guess she was really pissed,” the guy says. He’s as agreeable as ever, even though they’re surrounded in a sea of blood and bunch of dead mobsters. “I probably would’ve just scared the shit outta ‘em for the first offense.”

“I don’t really believe in first offences when kids are involved,” Frank says.

Said kids have also stopped crying and screaming, actually, even though they're still just as traumatized. If anything, though, they're looking at big guy like he's come to rescue them - which, hey! Frank did all the hard work here! One of the kids actually pipes up and goes, “Can you get us home, Heatwave?”

That's the most coherent thing any of 'em have said since Frank arrived, guns blazing. He'd been trying to get words outta them for ten minutes before this.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” the big guy (Heatwave?) says, then looks at Frank. “You need a place to crash while the heat dies down on you for this?”

Frank makes a face. He’d been planning on getting bloody, of course, but maybe not quite this bloody, and a classic Punisher attack will bring the Feds down like nothing else. And Feds mean road blockades, and he’s got Max to think about.

Aw, what the hell. This guy seems pretty cool. Even the kids seem to trust him, and the kids don't trust Frank even after he's rescued 'em, which is clearly a sign of good discernment and excellent survival skills.

“Sure,” he says. Then, awkwardly, he sticks out a hand and says, “Frank Castle.”

The guy shakes (ignoring the blood) and says, “Mick Rory.”

The name pings something familiar, but Frank can’t recall what. His memory’s not the best nowadays.

Rory ushers everyone outside and does a quick check of the area to make sure nobody’s still in there, just in case, and then he takes that dinky little water-gun-looking red thing in his hand and lights the whole goddamn place on fire.

“What the hell,” Frank says. That gun should not be able to make a flame that large. “You know that won’t cover my tracks, right?”

The Feds have gotten to tracking Frank's bullets. Frank doesn't mind - he likes getting credit for what he's done.

“It’s not for that,” Rory says.

Then he stops and waits for something, Frank’s not sure what.

And then Frank does know what, because there’s a goddamn burst of yellow lightning and suddenly there’s a kid in a red suit standing there where he definitely wasn’t standing before. The rumors were not kidding about the Flash’s speed.

“Mick, what are you doing?” the kid says, hands on hips, frowning a little. “It’s not like you to go off without warning anymore. Aren’t you retired?”

Retired? Retired from what, arson?

No, wait. Heatwave. That was one of the Flash’s supervillains, part of that gang, whatever they’re called. Heat-themed guy, cold-themed guy, weather-themed guy…the Rogues or something like that. Frank’d heard decent things about them – rules about no killing women or kids or capes, no casualties at all when possible, focus on the money and even that aim at those that can afford to lose it – so he’d never really investigated.

He had heard that they were in semi-retirement or something, though; they only came out once or twice a year.

“Some Family offshoot got the big idea of getting kids to traffic for ‘em,” Mick tells the Flash, gesturing at the kids all huddled up by the wall.

The Flash looks stricken. “That’s awful,” he says, looking at them. “You guys okay?”

The kids nod. Their faces are all shining bright and cheerful now that a proper superhero’s here.

Typical.

“Any of you undocumented?” the Flash then asks, which Frank is about to take exception to, except the Flash continues, “If you are, or any of your families are, I’ll get the police to sign off on a U-visa for helping stop a crime; maybe get that rushed through for you, make sure you get safe. If you don’t want to come forward, that’s okay too.”

Okay, fine, maybe this superhero kid doesn’t seem so bad.

“I’ll get them home,” the Flash tells Rory, who nods, satisfied. “Was there anyone, uh, inside the warehouse?”

“Not anymore,” Frank says.

The Flash squints at him, then his eyes go down to the skull on his vest and his eyes go a little wide.

“I’m letting him crash at the farm,” Rory says before the kid can say anything.

The kid just sighs, all the steam let out of him. “Of course you are.”

“He’s got a dog.”

“Of course he does.”

With that, the kid rolls his eyes and zips back into lightning speed, taking the kids away one by one.

Rory catches Frank’s eye and jerks his head to the side. Frank follows him, feeling kinda out of his element on this one. He’s not really used to superheroes and villains hanging out all peaceful-like this way.

“We’re retired,” Rory says, seeing his expression. “Mostly only do jobs on birthdays and anniversaries. Rest of the time, we’ve got a deal going that we’ll only act when people are being really awful, like here, and the Flash’ll just handle mop up.”

“That’s an interesting approach.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rory says, waving a hand. “Oh, hey, I’m gonna guess from your comments earlier about the trans kid that any of that stuff ain’t gonna be an issue?”

“Nope,” Frank says. “My, uh –” How does he even define Matt? His boyfriend? His superhero? His nemesis-with-benefits? His person-I’m-in-a-relationship-with-that-neither-of-us-are-characterizing-because-we-are-manly-men-incapable-of-properly-articulating-emotions? The last one’s probably the most accurate, let’s be real, but it’s a bit of a mouthful, and no one deserves to have a shit ton of Frank’s issues dumped on them at first meeting. “I’m seeing a trans guy,” he finally settles on, because, sure, he’s definitely seeing Matt. At least once a day, if he’s lucky. Of course, Matt isn’t ‘seeing’ him, if you want to get technical about it… “And I’m, uh. Nonbinary. Sometimes.”

“Fair,” Rory says, and Frank feels that moment of relief he always gets when he finds out he won’t have to shoot someone who helped him out for being a transphobic dickwad. “Same here, ‘cept my partner and I are married now. Do you mind being around kids? Living space-wise, not rescuing-wise.”

Frank gets that awful feeling in his gut that he gets every time he thinks about his own kids, his Lisa and his Frank Junior, and how they’re not here anymore, but he’s been trying to think of them as good things, trying to remember them as the bundles of light and joy that they were, as more than just the pile of blood and bone they ended up as, and even though that ain’t easy with the way his brain is wired now, he’s gotta try. So he says, “I like kids.”

“Good, ‘cause we’ve got a whole heap of ‘em,” Rory says. “Some of ‘em have moved out, and some of ‘em are shy as anything, so you’ll probably only see a few of ‘em, but, y’know, just fair warning.” He pauses, considering. “Also, my partner Len? He’s got the worst damn sense of humor you’ll ever meet. Want to warn you about that, too.”

“I can handle a sense of humor,” Frank says, and he goes on believing that right up until he follows Rory onto a nice little farm outside of Central and the guy standing in the kitchen – curvy guy, wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a skirt, skinny jeans and socks all together, despite the blisteringly hot weather – turns around and says, “I see you two have been having a bloody good time.”

“Len,” Rory says, sounding long-suffering.

“You know, when you said you were planning on painting the town red, I figured you meant metaphorically.”

“Len.”

“Though, given your company, I guess it’s no surprise you decided to put your clothing through some serious punishment.”

Frank just starts laughing, because that’s the first time he’s ever been compared to Tide With Bleach, and he thinks to himself that he’s going to like Central more than he thought he would.

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

“I swear you’re gonna like ‘em,” Frank says encouragingly.

Matt just shoots him a seriously skeptical look, like he still thinks Frank is making the whole thing up. And, sure, Frank going on a job and ending up becoming besties with two retired supervillains who live on a farm with a bunch of animals and an even larger gaggle of kids, kids that Frank likes, yeah, Frank can see that being a bit hard to swallow.

But it’s true.

Len even used the words ‘besties’. He’d been dripping with sarcasm and doing air-quotes at the time, but Frank’d figured out pretty quick that the only way to put up with Len’s trolling was to go in with it, full-hog, and after one thing led to another, they were scheduled to have a frilly dolly tea party with Enku and Opan and baby Coral the afternoon after Frank arrives. Having met said kids, Frank figures there’s about a 90% chance of Enku getting bored and walking away after ten minutes (probably after having said something characteristically tactless to Matt; he’s already warned him), while little seven-year-old Opal and four-year-old Coral just watch in fascination as Frank and Len try to one-up each other in increasingly absurd levels of fake-niceness.

Frank’s been brushing up on his sign language just to make sure that Coral feels included in the battle royale. She might be little more than a toddler, but she is vicious, and Frank wants her on his side, hearing or no hearing.

He figures Matt will be too busy having fun with the older kids to mock him for going to a four-year-old for help. Between Basi’s tendency to start fights and Tahmid’s tendency to get into them, there is zero chance that Matt won’t find some way to sneak out to go a-vigilantism-ing with them.

Of course, Matt doesn’t actually have to sneak out – Len and Mick believe firmly in teaching their kids the meaning of the word ‘justice’ and the concept that when the law doesn’t do it, someone else has to make up the slack, but not too much because that'd interfere with the thieving they all like to do – but Matt will enjoy trying anyway. He won’t succeed. Nothing gets past the goats’ notice. Frank tried.

Matt, meanwhile, is looking ahead to where the farm has just barely come into view. “Do they have cows?” he says dubiously.

“And pigs,” Frank says. “And horses, goats, dogs, cats, rats, and chickens. Avoid the chickens.”

“…why?”

“Chickens are dinosaurs, Red,” Frank says solemnly. “Just smaller.”

Matt shoots him a Look.

“Relax, city boy,” Frank says, cracking a smile. “You’ve got superpowers. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“This isn’t making me more comfortable with this,” Matt says dryly. “Tell me again how we’re going to go visit criminals?”

“Retired supervillains.”

“Which you bonded with over rescuing kids from organized crime.”

“And then we went out and hunted down a dog-fighting ring,” Frank says. He’d been very satisfied with how that visit had turned out.

Matt is rolling his eyes. The glasses don’t hide it as well as he thinks they do.

“And the local superhero may or may not be swinging by,” he says.

“Running by,” Frank says. “I keep telling you, keep the swinging metaphors for the kid up in Queens.”

Frank likes the kid in Queens. He's an asshole. Sure, he agrees more with Matt than with Frank about how to deal with bad guys, but he’d made some snarky comments to Matt about the fatality rates of people with severe head trauma that endeared him to Frank forever. Matt's still sulking.

“Fine. The local superhero may be running by. And – not arresting anyone?”

“They’re very nice supervillains.”

“Why is the superhero running by again, then?”

“Because he’s worried we might start some shit,” Frank explains, very patiently. He’s said it before, but he gets how it could sound weird. “He wants to make sure we ain't messing with his precious supervillains, and it only takes the kid something like three minutes, tops, to run from the city to the farm, check up on us, and head back, and that’s when he’s going at a casual speed."

Matt frowns.

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird. Don’t over-think it.”

“It’s too late,” Matt says, frown deepening. “I’m over-thinking it. Just mechanically, how does that work? What does he wear?”

“Low friction spaceman suits.”

“But the effect of his feet on the streets…”

“Don’t think about it,” Frank advises again. “Just…don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“I’m a lawyer. Overthinking things is what I do…how do they even determine the mens rae/actus reus division for someone moving at that speed?”

“Red. Please.”

“But –“

“Hey, look at that!” Frank announces. “We’re here!”

He makes enough of a show of scrambling hastily out of the car that Matt’s laughing quietly to himself.

Lapis, one of the teens, is on the porch, reading something; she looks up with the resigned world-weariness of goths and teenagers, the pinnacle of which can really only be reached by teenagers who are goths (like Lapis).

"Nice to see you, ma'am," Frank says with his absolute best aw-shucks New York military kid attitude.

There's only the slightest flicker of amusement on her lips - like all teens, she enjoys getting 'ma'am'ed in a way that she really won't in about five years - but Frank's pretty sure he can wear her down to in actual smile. Maybe even a laugh; he's feeling ambitious.

Sure, she's probably too cool to go outside the monotone even when she laughs, but a man's gotta try.

"Where're your parents?"

There's a definitely flicker of amusement this time.

"Watering the backyard," she says. "Pleased to meet you," she adds to Matt, then back into her book she goes.

Matt arches his eyebrows a bit, but he takes Frank's arm and lets himself be led in the direction of the backyard. He doesn't need leading, and Frank's already explained that Mick's ridiculously on-point ability to read people will mean that Matt's secret is a sooner rather than later reveal, but Matt insisted.

Sometimes Frank thinks the whole blind lawyer disguise is like a security blanket for Matt. If only Matt would just admit that's the case, Frank would be a whole lot more understanding, but as it is, Matt likes to pretend he's doing it for increasingly dumb reasons that Frank can barely bring himself to pretend he believes and he already knows Matt knows he doesn't.

Eh, they'll get over it. They wouldn't be them if they weren't squabbling over something stupid.

In the backyard, Len and Mick are, in fact, watering the backyard.

"Frank," Matt says, very calmly. "Is it raining?"

"Just part of it. Over the yard," Frank says, watching - no small bit impressed - as some asshole waves his hands at the heat and cold guns Len and Mick are currently wielding and turns them somehow into rain.

"I need another cold front," the guy shouts. It's hard to hear over the miniature sized storm hovering over the lawn.

"I'll give you a goddamn cold front, Mardon," Len shouts back. "You want your torso or your legs to get it?"

"I'm doing you a goddamn favor, Snart!"

"And here I thought you were paying me back for all the times I broke you out of the Heights!"

"I think we've got enough water," Mick bellows from his side of the field.

"Thank God," the guy in the middle, Mardon, says, waving his hands again and making the whole cloud break into pieces until the sky above the fields is as bright and clear as the rest of it. "That’s it; I'm out."

And he goes.

"Come back next week, asshole!" Len shouts after him.

"Frank," Matt says, very quietly.

"Yeah, babe," Frank says, staring. "It’s not just you. He really did just up and fly away."

"...do they grow any form of hallucinogenic narcotics on this farm?" Matt asks suspiciously.

"Nah," Len says, holstering his gun. "Don't need the heat."

"Don't you dare start with those cold jokes again," Frank warns.

"So you're the guy who's been leaving those awful voicemails," Matt says, smiling suddenly. "You're my best friend's new favorite person, just so you know."

Len preens. "And you must be Murdock," Len says. "Frank says good things."

"Call me Matt, please."

"Leonard Snart, but you can call me Len," Len says agreeably. "Want to get the city kid guide to animals tour? Raised in the slums myself, so I know all the highlights."

"I'd be delighted," Matt - who as of literally five minutes and the whole last three weeks had been protesting how much he didn't care about farm animals - says with, as far as Frank can tell, all apparent sincerity.

Len proceeds to swan off, Matt in tow.

"What just happened?" Frank asks the air, absolutely bewildered. He'd kind of figured on Matt and Mick being the ones to get on, given how prickly both Matt and Len could be.

"That, my friend, was a prime example of two world class asshole trolls recognizing a kindred spirit," Mick says, coming up behind him. "Be afraid. Be very afraid."

Yeah, Frank reflects, that sounds about right.

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

By the time they go home, the Flash has an invite to the Defenders if he ever wants one, Frank and Mick went after another dog-fighting kennel, Frank and Matt are leaving with one more dog than they arrived with, Matt may or may not be helping one of the kids write their law school admissions essay, and they've already arranged for Len and Mick and some of the kids to come visit them in New York in a few months.

"I can't believe I made new friends," Matt says blankly. "Foggy and Claire are never going to believe me."

"I know, right?" Frank says.

#dccoldwave #fratt #matt murdock #frank castle #leonard snart #mick rory #my fic

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