I Love This And Can't Wait To See More! It's Cool To See The Series Starting As Little Pieces Of Memories,

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

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

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

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

Take Care Author! <3

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Epilogue

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

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

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

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : 😭

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

MASTER LIST

Epilogue

It wasn’t easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally she took a step forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay... I wasn’t on my own.”

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

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

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

“You’re staying in the city?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you did enjoy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s bed linen,” you explained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too,” you answered back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” he said again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Billy, please...”

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

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

And that was all he needed to hear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you whispered softly.

“What for?” He dared to ask.

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

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

Neither of you said another word that night. 

You didn’t need to. 

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

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

Anyway, thank you so much for reading and following week after week, and thank you so much to those of you who have liked/commented/reblogged! Hope you all have a great weekend!

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

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i watched one (1) video on how to draw hands that changed my life forever. like. i can suddenly draw hands again

these were all drawn without reference btw. i can just. Understand Hands now (for the most part, im sure theres definitely inaccuracies). im a little baffled

UGH MATT YOU'RE SUCH AN IDIOT!!! I'm losing my MIND!! Now poor reader is trouble that could have PROBABLY BEEN AVOIDED! Or at least Matt would know where she is smh.

Beautiful chapter, and I'm so excited to read more! Take Care author <3

Set Heaven on Fire

Wake Up, Chapter 7

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: implied non-con/sexual assault, misogynistic language, swearing, angst

a/n: I feel really unsure about this chapter so PLEASE like, comment, and/or reblog to tell me you like it! Some angst (before the hurt) before the fluff. 

w/c: 3.3k

A heather gray pea coat passed through your peripheral vision and the sight, combined with the wafts of that deep sticky cologne, made you catch your breath. 

Told you that I’d come for you, Princess. 

Eyes darting around wildly, you meekly shuffled forward in line, inching closer to the hotel employee who looked as frantic as you felt. Breathing as deeply as you could, you tried to calm your stuttering heart. Why did I ever agree to this?? What if he’s here?

You and Matt were currently checking in at the venue of the annual Criminal Law Conference. A conference that you normally wouldn’t attend—especially since you were approaching a year as volunteer coordinator and thus the anniversary of the internal investigation that had ended so poorly—but this event was a rather intimate affair and attendees were encouraged to bring their partners. Matt had practically begged you to come, and you were not immune to his signature puppy dog eyes. According to him and Foggy, there were educational sessions and discussion forums during the day, but prestigious networking events at night—similar to the gala you'd attended together so long ago. You couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of that dreadful night.  

Two strong arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you into a solid chest. With a small squeak, you allowed yourself to fall against the warm body behind you.

“Breathe, sweet girl.” The deep rumble spilled from Matthew Murdock’s lips, giving you a point of focus. You dutifully obeyed his instructions, inhaling a strong breath and letting it out slowly. 

“That’s my good girl,” Matt purred, warming your body with his subtle flirt. “What’s got you so worked up, angel?” You could feel the eyes of the other attorneys in line falling on the pair of you. 

“Dunno.” You murmured in response, shifting in his arms so you could bury your face in his neck to hide from the crowd’s collective gaze. “I just…thought I saw someone.” 

“Snyder?” Matt’s brow pinched as he took his focus off of you for a moment to search for any sign of the crone. 

“Uh, yah.” You whispered, but your heartbeat stumbled. Why were you lying? Who had you thought you’d seen? Was it just a cover because he was the one making you nervous? Oh god, he was totally making you nervous. 

“The line is moving again.” Your quiet, anxious voice cascaded over him once more and he decided to drop the inquiry, for now. You didn’t seem to be in a great headspace for an interrogation. 

“Thanks, angel. Guide me?” He gave a pronounced pout, coupled with his aforementioned puppy dog eyes, hoping the expression would lighten your mood. It seemed to work marginally as he heard the small smile in your sweet voice as you spoke again. 

“Always, love.” You carefully untangled yourself from his grasp, sliding his left hand to the crook of your right elbow. The two of you moved forward with the crowd, your place in line just shy of the front desk at this point. 

“412, 414, 416. We’re in this room here. Hold my bag for a second?” You waited for Matt’s nod before handing over your suitcase so that you could insert the key card in the door. 

Once inside, and away from the prying eyes of your colleagues, you felt the tension seep out of your body. Matt’s hand slipped from your arm, making you frown. He walked into the room ahead of you. 

“Sorry for all the PDA back there, everyone was looking so I…” His voice was soft, almost nervous. 

Sitting on the bed, he removed his glasses and nervously rubbed at his face. 

“That’s not what made me anxious, Matty. I promise.” You plopped down next to him, leaning onto his shoulder. With one hand on the small of his back, you nudged his chin with a single finger so that your foreheads could rest against each other.

“You’re sure?” The undercurrent of fear in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. Matt’s self-doubt didn’t rear its head often around you at the beginning of your pretend relationship, but, as he began to trust you implicitly, he couldn’t quite keep his personal demons at bay. Thankfully, you were more than willing to reassure him when his worries surfaced. 

“Absolutely certain, darling. You know that I get stressed in crowds. Besides, I could never complain about being held by the Matthew Murdock. Do you know how many women would kill for that opportunity?” You poked his cheek, making him smile. 

The lawyer blushed, ducking his head with a small grin. You grinned at him in return. “It’s true. They’re practically lining up just to catch a meager glance from you.” 

Matt snickered. “I don’t know about lining up…”

You looked at him, face softening. “I’m very lucky to have a fake boyfriend like you, darling. I think about that a lot.” Your heart rate picked up as Matt moved closer. 

“You think about me a lot?” Matt’s eyes were dancing with heated mirth and it sent a jolt straight to your core. 

Heat rose in your face as Matt pressed in closer to you, slowly pushing you onto your back and boxing you in with his huge arms. 

“So what if I do, Matty?” Biting your lip, you internally cringed at how wobbly your attempted flirt sounded. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, sweetness.” Matt rolled off of you, frowning, settling on his side next to you. Your heart fell as he distanced himself, as if you’d expected him to tear you apart right there on that bed. 

Recovering your dignity as well as you could, you nestled yourself against the pillows with a sigh. “Speaking of me being shy, could we, um, talk about something later? About us?” 

As if a switch had been flipped, Matt’s body stiffened next to you, his blank eyes growing wide and his demeanor becoming gruff. “Can it wait until after tonight?”

Your heart sank at his reaction. “Of-of course, Matty. How long until I have to put my game face on?”

“Well, there’s a social thing in a couple hours or so, but we do not need to stay long.” Matt’s voice was almost…stern?

Something about his new mood set you on edge. You’d been trying to be more physically affectionate with him in place of outright confessing your feelings. (Every time you thought about admitting how much you liked him, your throat felt like it was closing up, so you had avoided the topic until this moment.) 

Had you been making Matt uncomfortable? Since you’d gotten here, he just seemed…off. The brief flirting session had indicated to you that it was just nerves because of his peers, but now you weren’t so sure. You shuffled around on the bed uneasily, deciding on your next move. 

“Oh, ok. I’ll get ready then.” Your voice was timid as you slid off the bed. Padding into the pristine bathroom, you turned the shower on before letting your eyes fill with tears. He doesn’t want you. He never will. 

Matt’s chest clenched as he smelled salt on the stale air of the hotel room. You were crying in the bathroom, barely 10 feet away from him and yet he was entirely powerless. The sound of your heart rate rising as your body exuded anxiety taunted him relentlessly. 

After talking with Foggy and Karen a few weeks ago, he’d been trying to muster up the courage to ask you out properly. Until today, he’d even had hope that you’d be excited to be in a more legitimate relationship with him—clearly his friends were mistaken. His presence did nothing but drive your vitals through the roof but he wasn’t willing to let you go just yet. 

He’d tried to find the spark that had been there during your first kiss a few weeks ago, but the shakiness in your sweet little voice clearly signaled fear. You didn’t want to do this with him anymore. 

That was what you’d wanted to talk to him about, right? It had to be. “About us?” Your soft wavering voice had crushed him. He’d been waiting for this specific shoe to drop for weeks, but the waves of shock and hurt hit him like a bus anyway. 

Emotion welled up in his throat and he swallowed painfully, trying to hold back the roiling storm in his chest. It was cruel to keep you here with him if you didn’t want to be. Tonight, he’d set you free. 

Fidgeting with the strands of your wet hair, you let out a sigh. Your eyes were bloodshot to the point that you were concerned makeup wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that you’d been crying. An anxiety-inducing cherry on top of the shitty day you’d ended up having. 

A quiet knock on the door drew a small squeak out of you. “Yah?” 

“Hey, uh, you don’t need to come tonight, sweetness. You’ve done enough. Don’t want to force you.” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you peeled the door open to reveal a formally dressed Matt, glasses obscuring his stony gaze. 

“You…you don’t want me to come?” You whispered, throat closing up while your heart pounded. 

“It’s not that I don’t want you there, I just—“

“Did I do something wrong?” You desperately searched Matt’s face for any indicator that he was lying, his sweet self trying to spare you anxiety or something. 

“No, of course not, I didn’t mean—“ 

“Then what did you mean, Matt? I must’ve done something, you’re clearly upset!” You were almost angry now. After everything the two of you had been through and suddenly you having feelings was a deal breaker? Like you just couldn’t help yourself around him anymore?

“You just don’t need to be there, so I’m not going to force you—“

“Force me? Where is this coming from, Matt? Is this because of what I said earlier? About wanting to talk? Because we don’t have to, we can just—“

“Just what, keep pretending to be in love with each other? Kissing and holding hands and bantering like one of us isn’t going to get attached? That’s not fair to either of us.” Matt was yelling now, fists clenched. 

“I—I didn’t know you felt this way about someone getting attached. I wouldn’t have said anything, I—“

“Yeah because that would’ve solved everything, right? Just lying to my face until I didn’t need you anymore?” Jaw set with rage, you realized you weren’t looking at Matt Murdock, but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Matt—“ You tried to reason with the raging force in front of you, but he was having none of it. 

“Go home,” Matt growled your name in a way that made you flinch. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I’m sorry.” With one last angry murmur, he straightened his tie and disappeared through the room’s door, leaving you to crumble to the floor with a new flow of sobs. How had tonight unraveled so quickly? 

Breathing eventually falling into a controllable rhythm, you hastily wiped at your face and set off on wobbly legs to grab your suitcase. Shooting a text to Marci to let her know that you had tried to confess your feelings and it ended up being a huge mistake, you steeled yourself before turning your back on the room you’d planned on sharing with the man you had feelings for. 

Whipping open the door, you kept your head down and took a step toward the elevators, running head first into Beatrice Snyder. 

Matt’s jaw was painfully clenched by the time he reached the ballroom. He’d commit a litany of sins in his life, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would be damned for what he did to you tonight. While it was not your fault that you didn’t return his feelings, his hurt quickly turned to anger. 

Anger was familiar. Anger was safe. Rejection wasn’t. 

Stepping over to the bar, he failed to return the bartender’s smile and polite tone. “Whiskey, double.” 

Downing the glass the moment it was set in front of him, he slammed it back to the bar top. “Refill.” Then, remembering his manners, “Please.” 

Feeling a presence over his shoulder, he cursed his cruel God for letting Foggy find him before he was sufficiently wasted. 

“Going a little hard for a work event, eh Murdock?” Foggy’s chuckle was humorless and a bit nervous as he gave his friend a once-over. “Where’s your better half?” 

“Gone. Sent her home.” Matt downed the second glass of liquor, refusing to let down his guard again tonight. 

“And as obvious as it is that you’re having a great time on your own, why, pray tell, did you do that?” Foggy’s tone was level, but Matt could hear his frustration simmering beneath the surface. 

“She knows, Fog. I don’t know how but she knows that I like her. And she doesn’t feel the same way. So I didn’t see the point of fooling myself any longer. It wasn’t fair to her.” 

“Matt, bud—“ Foggy reached for Matt’s arm but he jerked away from the offered touch. 

“What, Fog? Can you honestly tell me that any of this has been kind to her? I know you expected this to become real at some point, but clearly that’s not going to happen. I think we both just need some time.” The thought of being apart from you was excruciating, but he’d dug this grave himself. 

“Did she say that? Matt, what on earth—“ Foggy was clearly about to chew him out, but someone else beat him to it. 

“Murdock, I have a bone to pick with you!” Marci’s voice was angry and loud, sending a spike of pain through Matt’s pounding eardrums. 

“Babe, maybe it’s best if we—“ Foggy placated, his hands raised in surrender and Marci stormed towards the bar. 

“Save it, Foggy Bear. Matthew Motherfucking Murdock what the fuck did you do?” A well-manicured hand shoved Matt’s chest and, while he would’ve been able to stop it, he took the punishment in stride. It was nowhere close to what he deserved. 

“You’re going to need to be more specific.” Matt remarked drily. 

“Oh, spare me your attitude. You seriously blew up on her because she likes you? How goddamn childish. After everything she’s done for you—“ 

“Wait, what?” Matt and Foggy spoke in unison, brows furrowing in tandem. 

“Let’s drop the innocent act, ok, it’s not a good look. If you didn’t feel the same way, you could have let her down easy instead of blowing up on her and leaving her alone.” Marci rolled her eyes, waving down the bartender. 

“I didn’t—“ Matt’s chest felt tight. It wasn’t possible, you’d seemed so nervous around him. You’d lied to him about the reason. 

“Marce, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Matt, care to shed some light on that?” Crossing his arms, Foggy turned back to his legal partner with a raised brow. 

“I—I thought she was tired of pretending. She said she wanted to talk and she’s been jumpy all day, I assumed she wanted to ‘break up’” Matt didn’t realize how pathetic that explanation was until saying it out loud. 

“Oh my god, you kicked her out and you didn’t even know what she wanted to talk about!? Murdock of all the idiots—“ Foggy was overtly upset now, anger bleeding into his words. 

“I know, Fog. I fucked up. Shit, I have to go find her.” Dread was washing over his body like sub zero water. What the fuck had he done. 

“Yah, man. You do. And I’d hurry.” 

Matt clasped Foggy’s shoulder, making a beeline for the exit. 

Beatrice Snyder smiled at you like a feral cat snarling at its prey. Your name rolled off her tongue like a drop of poison onto your skin. 

“So nice to see you again, dear. Where’s your handsome boyfriend?” 

“Do-downstairs.”

“And you’re leaving without him? Aw, you poor thing. What happened, did the two of you have a lover’s quarrel? Don’t tell me you broke up!” Her manicured hand fell over her heart in a gesture of mock horror. 

“No, he just—“ You started. 

“No need to explain yourself to me, dear,” The cruel woman  spat the term of endearment at you. “You've clearly been through enough already.” Her eyes hardened with judgement. 

A deep voice cleared their throat behind you and all of the hair on your neck stood up. 

Notes of tobacco and bourbon mingled poorly on the air around you, accelerating your nausea. Please do not let this be happening. Please, someone, anyone don’t let it be him. 

“Ah, yes. How rude of me. I should introduce you to the new associate attorney at HCB: James Lannister.” Snyder bared her fangs at you again, gesturing to a force behind you. 

You were going to be sick. The walls were closing in around you. Your body froze, petrified with horror as a gnarled hand crept over your shoulder. 

“It’s been too long, little Princess. You’ve looked better.” James Lannister strode around you, his piercing gray eyes lingering on your body, making your stomach churn. Your nightmares had immortalized him—with his greasy blond hair and broad, towering frame. His smile revealed inhumanly white teeth and a dangerous glint in his eyes. Your mouth felt like it was welded shut, your tongue a chunk of solid lead that was slowly choking you. “Nothing to say to me, huh? No apology?”

Fingers clenching around the handle of your suitcase, you took a step backwards in lieu of a response. Lannister’s wandering hands snatched your arm in a vice grip. “I think you and I need to have a little chat, Princess.” Snyder grinned as he began to drag you towards the stairwell, your suitcase falling to the carpet of the hallway with an inaudible thunk.

“Karma’s a bitch, dear. I’d better get downstairs, I’m sure Matthew would love to know what his sweet little thing is up to when he’s not around to keep her in line.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes again at the thought of poor Matt, who already hated you, being subjected to Snyder’s falsehoods. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone!” Snyder ignored you as Lannister cackled. 

“Aw, the little whore found someone else she cares about, did she?” You were sobbing now, struggling against his humongous strength, weakly battering him with your fists as you tried to run after Snyder. “Shut up, you vile slut. She can’t help you. You’re my gift for joining the firm.” His rough fingertip traced a line over your jaw and you flinched backward as far as you could. 

Pulling your arm downwards as hard as you could, you broke free of his grip and stumbled back up the cement stairs, crying out as you rolled your ankle in your haste to escape. Throwing you down to the nearest landing, Lannister snarled. “That’s it, you little bitch.” Ripping a handgun from his back pocket, he pulled back the hammer and aimed at your pounding head. “Another peep out of you and you’ll never see him again. Get up.” 

The floor felt liquid beneath you as your unsteady legs found their way into a standing position. You raised your hands, terrified into submission once again. 

The pair of you made your way down to the ground level and out through a back door, where two other men dressed in suits were waiting. They grinned their sharp teeth at you, zip tying your hands together and stuffing a gag in your mouth. Hurling you into a waiting van, Lannister snickered. “Tonight I get pay back, Princess. It’ll be just like old times, you’ll see.” 

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

This is one of my favorite fics so far! I love the way you've written Matt as well, I think it's very accurate, and sweet! Billy needs to get his crap together, cause making Reader miserable isn't helping anyone.

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Fourteen

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

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

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

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : I'm dialling the angst up to 11...

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

MASTER LIST

Chapter Fourteen

Everything changed.

It felt like it had when you’d first taken the job, like you were alone in the penthouse with no idea of where Billy was or if he’d even come home the night before. The only indicator was the blood you left for him; if it was gone, that meant he was home but some days it would collect until there were three or four days worth waiting for him.

Those days were the worst.

You hated not knowing where he was or if he was drinking someone else’s blood, wondering if you weren’t enough for him anymore, if your blood wasn’t enough. If he stopped taking your blood, you knew you’d have no purpose there.

Day after day, your thoughts spiralled, and you hated yourself for how much of your time was spent thinking about him.

Despite her promises, Karen hadn’t been to see you. Instead, when Thursday had rolled around you’d been greeted by a note from Billy, lacking all the charm and feeling of his previous notes.

Karen asked me to let you know that she can’t see you today because of work.

B.

The next week there was a similar note. It made sense, you supposed; she’d missed work to look after you for a week, she probably had to make up for lost time. Or, maybe she just didn’t want to see you again. You wouldn’t have blamed her, not when you’d caused so much chaos in the lives of her and those around her. Either way, it meant you were stuck in the penthouse. Alone.

It wasn’t long before you fell back into old habits, following a little routine every day to try and keep yourself from losing your mind; exercise in the morning, followed by a shower, preparing and cooking dinner, and some reading and baking in between. 

You still sat out in the penthouse during the day, in your favourite spot on the sofa, alternating between taking in the view and reading, but you didn’t dare linger until sunset anymore.

Every few minutes you found yourself looking at your watch, knowing exactly when to head to your room, knowing with almost pinpoint precision how to avoid him. By day the penthouse was yours and, once late afternoon started to give way to evening, it was Billy’s. As it always should have been. As per your contract.

So, when he chose to slip out of his room far earlier than expected, you weren’t sure whether to be shocked or annoyed.

It was the first time you’d seen him since he’d tried to pay you to leave, and being near him again was enough to remind you that that wound still hadn’t started to heal. You tried not to watch as he made his way to the kitchen.

For a moment you waited, expecting him to do whatever he was doing and then return to his room. Only he didn’t and that prompted you to start moving.

“What are you reading now?” He dared to ask, watching you as you closed your book and started to gather up your things.

The question caught you off-guard, it made you think of how things had been only a few short weeks before, it reminded you of all the times you’d sat and discussed literature, the way he’d always wanted to know your thoughts and feelings on whatever you were reading.

But things weren’t like that anymore, and the question felt weighted, like he was trying to draw you back in, even though he’d been the one to try and send you away.

“The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,” you answered, your words coming out sharper than intended, making it sound almost like an insult. And, a moment after you said it you realised how it might seem to him, how he might draw parallels between the book and his own situation.

Billy didn’t respond straight away and you took it as your cue to leave, tucking the book and the pack of Oreos under your bad arm. You heard him sigh as you turned away but didn’t think to look back.

“Hummingbird,” he called after you and, then, your name when that didn’t work, a hint of desperation in his tone.

It made your heart ache.

You kept walking, speeding up, wanting to reach your room and close the door on this uncomfortable experience. But Billy didn’t want to give you that.

Your breath caught and you flinched as his hand wrapped around your wrist, reminding you of the night he’d lost control. Billy noticed your panic immediately and let go of you before taking a step back, giving you a little bit of space but nowhere near what you wanted. It took a moment before you could bring yourself to turn and look at him and, when you did, you found that you hated the look of anguish on his face.

“What do you want, Billy?” You asked, barely holding back a sigh.

“This is unbearable,” he told you.

It was. Everything about the last couple of weeks had been so much worse than you ever could have imagined when you first decided that you were going to stay against his wishes.

You quickly found that you couldn’t look at him, that you didn’t want to see the torrent of emotions from behind his dark eyes.

“This is what you wanted,” you muttered.

“I didn’t want this.”

“No, that’s right, you wanted me gone completely,” you said, your voice betraying the pain you still felt at that fact.

The last thing you expected was for him to take your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Seconds ticked by and he just stared, his gaze seeming to look right through you. His head shook.

“That’s not what I wanted,” he replied softly.

When you tried to look away, his hold remained firm.

“You didn’t want me anymore,” you told him. “You tried to send me away.”

“You think I don’t want you?”

“Of course you don’t.”

His head shook again and, before you realised what he was doing, he’d closed the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. He stepped closer, trying to eliminate the space between you, causing you to step back. Billy didn’t let you pull away from him, continuing to kiss you until you felt the door at your back.

“Billy -” you managed to pull your lips from his for a moment, but anything that followed was quickly muffled by another kiss.

It was easy to surrender to it. Far easier than you would have liked. For a moment you kissed him back, feeling his hand drop from your cheek to your neck, fingers over your racing pulse. He pressed closer, filling you with a longing that you’d been trying so hard to forget. Your lips parted, allowing him to deepen the kiss, allowing him to make you want.

You wanted to melt into him, to lose yourself in his embrace, in his kiss. In him. 

For a few wonderful seconds, you forgot everything that wasn’t him, allowing yourself to believe that the moment would continue to escalate. Your thighs clenched at the familiar press of his erection against your hip, and you let your hand grip his shirt at his waist, not wanting it to end. 

For a moment you felt wanted again, like you could really belong here, in his life. For a moment it almost felt real.

But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not now, not after everything that had happened.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him back. Billy choked back a desperate noise, giving you only a fraction of the space you wanted. His hand remained on your neck, fingers curled against skin, as if wanted to hold onto you in any way that he could.

You watched as his tongue ran over his lower lip as he struggled to find the words.

“Please,” he muttered softly, his voice causing your stomach to knot, “let me...”

He leaned in again and you allowed his lips to ghost yours before turning your head. The shuddered sigh that left him was almost enough to break your heart completely. As much as you wanted to be strong, you wanted to give in just as much. You wanted to close your eyes and let him kiss you, you wanted to pretend that the last few weeks hadn’t happened.

His hands pulled away from you, though not by much. He placed each on the door on either side of your head, keeping you boxed in as he lowered his head in shame.

“I just...” He started and stopped just as quickly.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to know what he wanted to say or how he was feeling. It felt like too much to bear, like you couldn’t carry the weight of your own emotions along with his.

It took a few seconds for you to realise that your hand was still pressed against his chest, over a heart that barely gave a beat.

Finally you shook your head.

“This isn’t fair,” you muttered.

Billy finally dared to look up, the flicker of hope on his face quickly extinguished when his gaze met yours. You didn’t dare ask what he thought you’d meant by the comment but it was clear he now understood what you really meant; he wasn’t being fair.

“I can’t do this again,” you confessed, your voice little more than a whisper, and almost immediately regretted the words when you felt him tense beneath your hand. “It hurts too much when it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“Don’t say that,” he said as his chest lurched. “Of course it means something.”

“It means something now, because you want something now,” you said, trying so hard not to break down completely. “What about tomorrow, or next week, or the next time something bad happens? The next time you decide it’s better for me to not be here anymore?”

The change in him was visceral, his hands finally pulling away from the wall, the corner of his lips curling. When he pulled back, he stood at full height, making you feel impossibly small, practically looking down his nose at you. Gone was the pleading look of desperation and the flashes of shame, leaving a nothingness on his face as he looked at you a moment longer.

It was as if a mask had dropped and you were finally seeing him for the first time. Your hand dropped lifelessly to your side and you bristled, holding your breath and ready to move at a moment's notice. 

But nothing happened.

“Fine,” was all he said before pulling away from you and heading towards the elevator.

You remained pressed back against the door, barely daring to draw breath as he left, running away instead of daring to admit that you were right. Even though you knew it was for the best and that you’d done the right thing, there was a pang of regret deep in your gut and a feeling of inconsolable loneliness that you weren’t sure you could handle.

The next few days, you watched as the blood in the fridge started to pile up, and there was no sign of him in the penthouse. Another Thursday came and, this time, there wasn’t even a note to tell you Karen wasn’t coming. You waited, daring to hope, but by mid afternoon you’d given up on ever seeing her again.

Another week passed and you continued on, refusing to give in and give him what he wanted. You kept drawing blood and leaving it for him, content to fill the whole damned fridge just to prove a point. You weren’t going to stop doing your job just because he’d rejected you. It became something of a passive aggressive statement, making sure you wrote the date on the jar in big, bold numbers, even going as far as to start doodling little smiley faces on them.

You didn’t allow yourself to think about him, to wonder where he was or what he was doing for blood. The thought of him having someone else’s blood still turned your stomach and caused a jealousy inside you that you couldn’t quite temper.

But, when your period hit, you found you couldn’t help but miss him. You missed his notes, his little gifts, and the way he’d always be waiting for you. Now you were alone, with nothing but the stupid bear and stuffed beagle for company. It didn’t stop you from drawing blood, didn’t stop you from doing your job, but it was definitely the closest you got to quitting.

Somehow, you made it through, refusing to feel anything when there were thirteen jars of blood in the fridge. It was just your job to provide blood, you told yourself, if Billy chose to waste it, that was on him.

The only problem, you realised, was the cast on your arm; it had been about six weeks, and you hadn’t seen a doctor since. You knew that, eventually, you’d have to use the intercom and ask Lissa about it if Billy didn’t return, otherwise you could be stuck in the cast for the rest of your year there.

At around ten on Friday evening, you finally heard the sound of the elevator and movement in the penthouse.

You pressed your ear to the door separating your rooms from the penthouse, trying to build up the courage to face him, practising what you were going to say while your hand gripped the door handle. But, then you heard something else; a laugh. A woman’s laugh. Your heart sank at all the possibilities, a thousand terrible scenarios playing out in your head.

Wasn’t this what you wanted? For Billy to give up on you and move on? 

Yes.

No.

Your chest tightened and it got harder to breathe, your stomach threatening to turn itself inside out. You loved him, but he didn’t love you. That  had been painfully clear for weeks now.

He’d found someone else and he’d brought her home. You didn’t know whether to be jealous or worried about what might happen. Would he fuck her? Would he hurt her?

There was only a slight sense of relief when, about twenty minutes later, you heard the elevator again and more voices. Music started playing, like there was a party going on out there - a party that you weren’t invited to.

You moved back to your room, settling on talking to Lissa about your arm and your need to see a doctor, resigning yourself to avoiding Billy for the foreseeable future. You got comfortable and tried to ignore the noise from the party that only seemed to be getting louder and louder as the minute passed.

Less than an hour later, a knock on your door startled you, and you were slow to go and see who it was. Your mind racing over what you might do if it was Billy standing out there, what you might say to him. 

“Hey, there you are,” Karen smiled at you, “we were looking for you.”

Matt was at her side, his arm looped with hers, smiling.

“What?” You answered, obviously confused. 

“At the party. We were looking for you,” Karen stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why are you hiding in here? Aren’t you feeling well?”

“No, that’s not -” you shook your head, more confused than ever, “- I wasn’t invited.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told you, not giving you a chance to protest as she grabbed your arm and started to pull you out of your room. “Of course you’re invited.”

“She dragged me here too,” Matt said, barely holding back a smirk. “It’s best not to fight it when she gets like this.”

“No, wait, you don’t understand -” you protested, voice threatening to break.

They both stopped, attention fully on you. For a moment you felt like you might burst into tears. It was overwhelming. You felt suffocated by the situation. 

There were so many things you wanted to say, so many thoughts and feelings that had been bottled up inside you over the last few weeks, but when your mouth opened, all you were able to say was; “he doesn’t want me out there.” 

“Yeah, well, fuck what Billy wants,” Karen said. “If he has anything to say about it, he can say it to me.”

You relented realising it was futile when she started to pull on you again, leading you out into the penthouse.

The party wasn’t quite what you expected. There was none of the style and propriety of his vampire night party and, instead, it looked more like you’d wandered into a frat party. You glanced around uncomfortably, easily finding Billy in the kitchen with two beautiful women hanging off him and a third looking at him like he was the only other person in the room.

It took a moment or two, but he eventually looked your way. You held his gaze for a split second before his attention returned to his guests, as if you didn’t even exist. As if you didn’t matter. And Karen didn’t miss the exchange.

“Okay, what’s going on?” She asked, finally seeming to understand that something was seriously amiss.

You glanced at Matt who seemed just as interested to hear your answer, even though he didn’t really know all of the details like Karen did. Your cheeks warmed and your gaze dropped.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” you answered with a forced shrug. “We had an argument a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t really seen him since.”

“He’s been avoiding you?” Matt offered.

“He hasn’t even been here,” you answered. 

“Wait, what?” Suddenly it was Karen’s turn to act surprised. “If he hasn’t been here, how did he know you were still sick?”

“What? Still sick? I haven’t been sick...”

Karen looked like she’d been hit by a sudden realisation, the smile dropping from her face completely.

“That son of a bitch...”

Before you could even ask, Karen had let go of your arm and had started striding across the penthouse towards Billy, looking angrier than you’d ever seen her.

“I wouldn’t want to be Russo right now,” Matt muttered under his breath.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“He told Karen that you were sick from the stress of everything that’s happened lately, and that the doctor had recommended complete bed rest,” Matt explained. “We were all kinda worried, so when Karen heard he was throwing a party, she thought that meant you were finally feeling better.”

An awkward sound managed to claw its way from you, something so painful that it almost sounded like a sob. He’d deliberately lied to you. Again. He’d gone out of his way to isolate you, and left you feeling unwanted and alone.

When you took a step back, set on returning to your room, Matt’s hand took yours. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

“He made me think no one wanted to see me...” you muttered in little more than a whisper, not expecting Matt to even hear it over the loud music.

You watched from across the room as Karen stopped in front of Billy, quickly clearing away the women who’d been hanging on his every word. He looked annoyed, then just as angry as Karen. Her finger was jabbing at his chest and your heart nearly stopped when Billy took hold of her wrist to force away her hand. There was no telling where Frank had come from, but the moment Billy laid a hand on Karen, he was at her side making sure Billy didn’t repeat the mistake.

And, while you couldn’t hear what was being said, it was very clear that Karen was explaining what Billy had done to you when all eyes looked your way.

You took another step back and felt Matt’s hand squeeze yours, trying to reassure you.

“I should go, I should -”

“You have every right to be here,” he told you, “he has no right to keep you prisoner.”

It didn’t strike you until Matt said it that that was precisely what Billy had been doing. You’d been willing to agree to the idea of not going out alone, but by stopping anyone from taking you out, he was effectively making you a captive.

Billy’s gaze burned into you for a few moments before returning to Frank and Karen, obviously trying to respond and defend himself from whatever criticisms they were levelling at him.

“I need a drink,” you decided, moving towards the library and pulling Matt along with you.

Billy had a small liquor cabinet in there, no doubt for the rare occasion he worked from home and made use of the desk in the library. You picked the bottle that looked the most expensive, and the most full, before grabbing two glasses, filling one for Matt and then filling one for yourself. He took a drink the moment he had his glass and then let out a huff of laughter.

“I always suspected he was hiding the good stuff.”

His little joke almost managed to bring a smile to your lips.

Ordinarily you didn’t drink whiskey. Growing up it had been classified as a man’s drink, and it wasn’t proper for you to drink it. The moment you took your first sip and felt it burn down the back of your throat, you found yourself almost believing it.

“Oh god,” you muttered, “that’s awful.”

Matt laughed fondly before taking another drink, seemingly unaffected by the burn.

“You get used to it,” he shrugged.

“I’m not sure I want to.” Though that didn’t stop you from taking another large gulp from the glass, coughing as it set your throat ablaze.

Matt was quiet for a few moments before he finally asked; “do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and didn’t say a word.

“Did you shake your head?” He asked a few seconds later, and you realised your mistake.

“Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry,” you said, feeling your cheeks start to burn.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he told you, still smiling at you, like he was glad to just be around you. “I think it might help, though - talking about it, I mean. I think you’ve been in here on your own so long that maybe an outside perspective might help you figure things out.”

There was nothing forceful about his comment, nothing that seemed to suggest he’d keep pushing if you said no. And, after a moment of thought, you wondered if maybe he was right.

So, you started to explain.

You used broad strokes, not giving away any part of things that weren’t yours to tell; you told him how alone you’d felt when you’d first arrived, how you and Billy had bonded over literature, and how spending time together had developed into something more physical. You made sure to tell him that you’d always consented, that you’d wanted it and had even agreed to it being something purely physical. Leaving out mentions of his illness and times he’d lost control.

Once you were done, Matt was silent, thoughtfully sipping his drink.

“You fell for him,” he stated softly, and you didn’t have it in you to argue.

“We agreed it wouldn’t be like that,” you sighed. “He doesn’t know, I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t want me here anymore.”

Again, there was silence. You drained your glass and quickly refilled it, before topping up Matt’s glass for him.

“It’s not your fault, you know?” He offered. “Billy keeping you here, keeping you isolated - that’s on him. Especially since he already knows how it affects you.”

“He’s trying to make me quit...”

“Maybe it’s worth considering,” Matt said, shrugging. “Do you really want to keep doing this? Letting him play these mind games with you?”

“It’s... complicated,” you sighed, knowing better than to tell a lawyer about your predicament. “Anyway, it’s not like he could do anything worse...”

“That’s a terrible way of looking at things,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips that almost had you laughing.

He was right, of course, but the ridiculousness of it all made it funny in an awful sort of way.

Grabbing the bottle again, you decided to take hold of Matt again, telling him that you were going to find Karen and have your own party in your room with Billy’s expensive whiskey, and seemed more than willing to oblige. 

You took a deep breath before stepping out into the party. More people had arrived in the half an hour or so you’d been in the library with Matt, and the party seemed to be in full swing. Looking around, you tried to stop Karen, instead finding Billy, surrounded again by his trio of beautiful women.

As they spoke, one leaned into him, pressing her lip to his, and you felt your heart shatter in your chest. 

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, feeling your arm involuntarily tighten around his.

“Nothing,” you muttered, your eyes fixed on Billy and the woman kissing him, watching her fingers running through his hair and -

The kiss broke and Billy looked your way, an indiscernible look on his face, and you felt sick.

“Come on,” you told Matt, starting to lead him towards your rooms. “Karen can come find us.”

Matt agreed and you quickly pulled him through the door and closed it behind you, not daring to look back at Billy again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked once you were both settled on the sofa in your room.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied, betrayed by your own voice.

You knocked back another drink before refilling both of your glasses, content to sit silently. Matt didn’t try to push for conversation. He was just there. Silently supportive while you tried to rationalise what you’d seen.

Billy wasn’t yours. He didn’t want you. It shouldn’t have mattered that he was kissing someone else. But it did, it hurt so fucking much.

Soon enough your glass was empty again and you could feel the effect of the alcohol. It didn’t numb the pain like you’d hoped, in fact, it seemed to be making it worse. But that didn’t stop you from pouring yourself another.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Matt offered gently, placing his hand on your arm.

“Why did you ask me to go to dinner with you?” You asked abruptly, ignoring his suggestion.

“What?”

“The night we met, you asked me to go to dinner with you... or for coffee...” 

He’d been so kind that night, keeping you company and making sure you felt included, and you - you’d be so caught up on thoughts of Billy that you’d barely noticed. Matt was alway so kind, so attentive, and all you did was think about Billy when you were around him.

“Because I wanted to take you out,” he shrugged.

“On a date?”

“Well, yeah -”

Before he could finish, you let go of your last scrap of common sense and leaned towards him, surprising him with a kiss. Despite being stunned for a moment, Matt didn’t push you away, instead he indulged the moment, letting you deepen the kiss. You quickly lost yourself to it, trying to hide from your pain by pressing yourself closer to him.

“Are you sure you want -” he said against your lips, only to be cut off by another kiss. And it seemed to be all the answer he needed.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but you soon found yourself on your back with Matt on top of you. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingers finding taut muscles as you pulled him closer.

He didn’t kiss like Billy and, when his hands started to explore the curves of your body, you realised that he didn’t touch like Billy either. He didn’t steal your breath away or make you feel like the world could end at any moment.

No matter what he did, or how you tried to lose yourself in the moment, Matt just wasn’t Billy. 

Your hips moved, pressing up against his, moaning into the kiss when you felt his erection.

You weren’t being fair but you were too drunk and heartbroken to care. That is, until his hand slipped into your panties beneath your leggings. Your breath caught, threatening to choke you, but it wasn’t enough to make you stop, even though it was Billy’s fingers you were craving between your legs.

Matt wanted you. Billy didn’t. And that was all you wanted to think about.

You just wanted someone to want you.

His fingers circled your clit, drawing gasped breaths from you, while his other hand had slipped beneath your top to grope your breasts. Your body felt like it was on autopilot, responding because that was what it was supposed to do and not because it desperately needed his touch.

Pulling from the kiss, his lips moved to your neck, and even that made you think of Billy and the way his every touch seemed obsessed with any place he could feel your racing heart.

Your eyes closed tight, trying to think of all the reasons you should want this, why Matt was better for you than Billy, but you couldn’t. In theory, Matt was perfect and, more than that, Matt actually wanted you. But Billy, in all his fucked up glory, was the one you loved so desperately and painfully that you couldn’t even allow yourself to indulge in one moment of pleasure without him.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, no doubt noticing the sudden tension in your body. 

“I -” you needed a second, suddenly feeling on the brink of tears at how awful you were being, “- I’m sorry, I-I can’t do this...”

Matt slowly pulled back, and you could feel the shame burning across your cheeks as you righted your clothes. You hated yourself, hated how disgusting the whole thing had made you feel; he’d been so nice and you’d taken advantage of him. You were no better than Billy.

“I’m sorry, I -”

“It’s okay,” he told you, sounding a little breathless but, surprisingly, not upset. 

“I just -”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said, “I get it, you’re going through a lot right now. We both just got caught up in the moment.”

“Why are you being so nice about this?” You asked in a choked up tone, struggling to keep your emotions in check.

“Because you’ve been through a lot lately and I know none of this has been easy for you.”

You didn’t know what you could say to that. There were no words to excuse what you’d done, but there was something you could say to at least explain it.

“He was kissing someone else.” The words tumbled out and, before you could stop yourself, the tears started to fall.

His arm pulled around you as you started to cry, hating yourself for being so weak, for still caring so much after everything Billy put you through. He muttered softly, trying to comfort you, but there was really nothing he could say or do to stop the tears once they started.

At some point Karen appeared, finding you drunk and sobbing in Matt’s arms, and decided to take control of the situation, ushering Matt from the room. She made sure to make you drink a glass of water before putting you to bed and trying to settle you. She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair out of your face - an act that reminded you of your sister and the gaping hole that she had left in your life.

“You’re going to get through this,” she told you softly. “I promise I’m going to be around from now on. He’s not going to pull this shit again.”

As much as you wanted to believe her, you knew that Billy was going to keep trying to get you to leave. You just weren’t sure how much more you could take.

End Note : 😅 I promise that I have a plan, I just need you all to trust in the process. As always thank you so much for reading/commenting/liking/reblogging. Hope you all have a great weekend!!

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

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Gosh this is so good 😭😭

I love the way you write the both self deprecating yet also cocky and confident Ghoul, it comes off really well in this fic!

I can't wait to see more, and also the way you write Reader is so cool, the way she's dealing with her trauma in the fic is captivating and realistic.

Awesome writing!!

From A Previous Life (Pt 2)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You find comfort in your routine with the Ghoul, but an evening of bonding turns into harsh realizations.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, more flirting (less squinting),

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: The second part to what was a one-shot but the responses were so overwhelmingly lovely about it that I just had to write more! I have more ideas for these two because they break my heart, so part 3 will be happening next week :) I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1

A routine had solidified between you both, born out of necessity in this unforgiving landscape. Each day, you travelled further through the barren wasteland, seeking refuge in abandoned structures come evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you gathered around the crude fire, its flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the worn walls of whatever shelter you'd found. It was a skill your companion had imparted through countless arduous nights, a beacon of warmth and security in the darkness.

With the day's journey behind you, you would compare your spoils. Tins of pork and beans, salvaged copper, and screws—valuable commodities in the market of survival. Occasionally, luck would smile upon you, offering a giant mole rat to add to the evening stew. It wasn't gourmet by any means, but a welcomed reprieve from the Ghoul's ever-present jerky stowed away in his saddlebag like a grim reminder of the world you now inhabited.

Few words had been exchanged between you. You'd come to understand that the Ghoul valued silence, speaking only when necessary, and expected the same from his companion. He had provided a brief summary of the world's changes over the past two centuries, yet remained guarded when pressed for further details about his own involvement. Despite your efforts, he remained as enigmatic as when he first found you.

Despite the grim reality surrounding you, you found comfort in the routine. Far removed from the life you once knew before the war, you still managed to extract a glimmer of joy from the simple act of preparing the evening meal. With meagre resources at your disposal—a small iron pot, a battered ladle, and two cracked but serviceable dishes—you endeavoured to create sustenance that mimicked the warmth of a homecooked meal, even in these bleak times.

The Ghoul stood as your protector, his watchful presence having undoubtedly spared you from peril on numerous occasions during your brief time together. Cooking was a way to prove your  significance in your partnership, no matter how seemingly insignificant it may appear.

The heavy thud of boots and clink of spurs against wood jolted you from your thoughts, the ladle in your hand halting its rhythmic stirring of the broth as you cast a wary glance towards the doorway. It wasn't the first time he had left you alone, deeming it safer to venture into the bustling towns without the added complication of a young woman in tow. He had armed you with a revolver and a combat knife, imparting what little training he could in their use, but you couldn't shake the feeling that his trust in your abilities extended only as far as your loyalty not to run in his absence.

"Well, that smell's delicious," drawled the Ghoul, his figure framed in the doorway, hat tipped low over his scarred features. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you couldn't help but return it, the warmth of his presence a rare comfort after just an hour alone.

"Did you get them?"

"You doubted me?" He teased, stepping towards you and offering out a small cloth bag. You accepted it eagerly, peeking inside at the plump, juicy tomatoes nestled within.

You wasted no time in incorporating the fresh produce into your cooking, the aroma of the simmering fruit mingling with the savoury scent of the meat in the broth. Seated together by the fire, the weathered dining chairs offering a semblance of normalcy, you couldn't help but inquire about his expedition.

"Did everything go alright?" you asked, eyeing him cautiously as he slumped back in his chair, a groan escaping his cracked lips as he stretched out.

"Hunky dory," he sighed, his voice tinged with sarcasm, head back and fingers entwined over his stomach. You could tell he was lying, noticing the slight clench of his jaw and his reluctance to meet your gaze. 

It was a tell that you had picked up on in your short time together, one that betrayed his otherwise stoic resolve. For some reason, the Ghoul had taken to concealing parts of the truth from you. Maybe he thought you were too weak, too naïve, or perhaps he simply didn't want to subject himself to further questioning. Regardless, it had begun to grate on your nerves. While you appreciated his protection, you couldn't afford to remain in the dark about so much in this dangerous world.

"I'm coming with you next time," you declared, your gaze unwavering as you stirred the pot, the clinks of metal against metal punctuating your determination. "Two guns are better than one."

A playful glint danced in his eyes as he countered, "Not when you're the one holding it." Yet, the lightness in his tone ebbed away, leaving a hard undercurrent. "Already told you no."

There was a flicker of frustration that passed across your features, but you held his gaze firmly, refusing to back down. "And I've already told you not to underestimate me," you retorted, the fire of conviction burning in your words.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. A furrow creased his brow, his gaze intense as he pointed a finger towards your growing belly.

"And you underestimate everyone else," he admonished, his voice edged with concern. "You think those vultures would take one look at you, at that cargo you're carryin', and let you walk on by? It's every man for himself out here, sweetheart, and the wasteland makes a man do terrible things. You're a commodity, and it's best you not forget it."

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of the truth settling upon you like a leaden cloak. Despite your defiance, his words struck a chord of fear within you, a reminder of the harsh realities of the world beyond the safety of the little sanctuary you have cultivated together.

The ladle slipped from your grasp, forgotten, as your trembling hands instinctively hugged your pregnant belly. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over, as the weight of his words settled heavily upon your shoulders. A commodity. That's what you and your unborn child had been reduced to in this unforgiving world, one that felt alien and hostile, yet one you were forced to confront day in and day out.

Anger simmered within you, a fierce blaze fuelled by resentment towards those who had stripped you of your former life, of the safety and belonging you had once taken for granted. And though you knew it was irrational, a pang of ungratefulness gnawed at your conscience, directed towards your reluctant protector for the loss of the freedom you so desperately yearned for.

In that moment, amidst the swirling emotions and the harsh reality of your circumstances, you felt an overwhelming sense of isolation, as if you were adrift in a sea of uncertainty with no safe harbour in sight. Perhaps even the promised haven would prove to be a deception, like the vault you had been a prisoner in for so many years. Yet, for the sake of your child, you couldn't afford to surrender to despair. Hope would become your anchor, however fragile.

With a firm resolve, you brushed away the tears before they could show your vulnerability, steeling yourself against the torrent of emotions threatening to engulf you. Turning your attention back to the bubbling broth, you scooped two large servings into the worn bowls, the aroma of simmering spices mingling with the heaviness in the air.

Handing one bowl to your companion, you found him slumped back in his chair, his weathered face illuminated by the flickering glow of the fire. His fingers traced the jagged contours of scars etched deep into his weathered face. A palpable aura of silent desperation hung around him like a shroud, casting a shadow over the dimly lit room.

Tucking into your meals in silence, the rhythmic clinking of spoons against bowls filled the room, a familiar melody that spoke volumes without the need for words. Each bite was a small reprieve from the harsh reality that surrounded you, a momentary escape from the relentless cruelty that had become all too familiar.

His voice, barely a whisper, cut through the quietude of the room, laden with a heavy weight of remorse. "I've upset you," he confessed, the words hanging in the air.

You looked up from your meal, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. Despite the turmoil within you, there was a flicker of understanding in your eyes as you acknowledged his veiled apology. 

"It's not just you," you replied, your voice tinged with weariness. 'I just feel so useless. I can't protect myself or by baby, can't help you without being a burden. I feel like I have no control.'

He nodded, his expression grave as he processed your raw admission of vulnerability and contemplated what to do next. Setting both bowls aside, he reached into a sack he had brought back from the town, his movements deliberate and methodical. From within the depths of the bag, he withdrew a familiar metal gadget, its sleek design reminiscent of the cuffs you had seen the scientists wear during your captivity.

Your breath caught in your throat as memories of your ordeal flooded back, the sensation of cold surgical equipment against your skin sending shivers down your spine. They had treated you like nothing more than a lab rat, subjecting you to experiments and tests that had left scars, both physical and emotional, that may never fully heal.

As he held the device in his hands, his gaze softened, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and trauma you had endured. "I know what this represents," he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse and a tinge of anger. "But it can give you the control you've been denied for so long."

His words hung in the air, laden with the weight of possibility and hope. And as he extended the cuff towards you, offering you a chance to reclaim a measure of agency in a world that had sought to strip it away, you knew that this was more than just a piece of technology—it was a gift, a symbol of resilience. With trembling hands, you reached out to accept it, a silent vow echoing in the depths of your soul: never again would you allow yourself to be reduced to nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game.

As the cuff clicked shut around your wrist, its surprisingly light weight belied the bulk of its appearance. You found yourself staring down at the blank screen, uncertainty knotting your stomach as you grappled with the unfamiliarity of the device. The Ghoul, ever the steady presence beside you, reached over and deftly twisted a knob at the side of the device.

In an instant, the screen came alive with vibrant green text, welcoming you to Vault Tec. An animated image of the grinning mascot of the vaults, a sight you had come to loathe, greeted you with a cheery thumbs-up. You couldn't help but sneer at the sight, the irony not lost on you as the Ghoul swiftly navigated through the interface, replacing the obnoxious Vault Boy with a menu that offered a dizzying array of options.

"It'll take some understanding, but you'll get it in time," the Ghoul reassured you, his voice a steady anchor amidst the chaos of information overload. "The important part is the Geiger counter—it'll keep you out of trouble you didn't even know was there."

Your attention was drawn to the right of the device where a dosimeter's needle bobbed with the steady wave of radiation through the air. Another twist of the knob and on the screen appeared a walking depiction of Vault Boy, displayed percentages accompanying each limb. Below him, a nearly empty bar filled only with a small green block indicated the radiation count of the user. After weeks spent on the unforgiving surface, it came as no surprise that you had been touched by the poison that tainted it.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of the device on your wrist. Looking up, you met the Ghoul's gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes.

Those words didn't do justice to the gift that he'd given you — it was a lifeline, a tool that held the power to protect not only yourself but also your unborn child. It wasn't a weapon meant for moments of attack, as the revolver he demanded you carry on your hip was, but it was equally essential in its own right. The significance of being able to monitor and mitigate the dangers that lurked in the new world was not lost on you. It wasn't just about surviving anymore; it was about thriving, about carving out a future for your child in a world that had become a battleground for survival. One day, the Ghoul would not be there to protect either of you.

"It must have cost so much," you continued, a note of wonder in your voice, and he simply shrugged in response.

"Always something to be bartered in the wasteland," he replied nonchalantly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Don't go crying again, now. You'll give me a bad name."

You chuckled softly. Wiping at your wet eyes with the back of your hand, you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement. "It's the hormones, I swear," you joked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He seemed amused by your explanation, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gave you a knowing look. Instead of arguing, he simply winked at you, and you felt a flutter in your belly—you brushed it off as a small, subtle reminder of the life growing within you.

"Got any more of that stew?" he asked, his tone light and teasing as he reached for his bowl, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his blue eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating like smoke in the wind. "Of course," you replied, ladling some more stew into his bowl. "I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, it's been many years since I've had a homecooked meal," he told you, his tone tinged with nostalgia as he tucked into his food with relish.

You smiled warmly at his words, a sense of pride swelling within you despite the simplicity of the meal you had managed to put together. It may not have been a lavish feast, but the fact that you could provide him with a taste of home filled you with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

"Maybe we could get some vegetables next time. Carrots maybe," you suggested, a hint of excitement in your voice.

He hummed approvingly through his mouthful, nodding in agreement. "Saw some fine-lookin' turnips on my way out of town too. Reckon you can do anything with those?"

Your eyes lit up with inspiration. "Turnip and carrot mash. We could get some milk from a Brahmin, make it nice and creamy."

He licked his lips, a spark of anticipation igniting in his eyes as he set down his empty bowl. "Well now, that's just given me something to look forward to."

The two of you talked well into the night, the crackling of the fire providing a comforting backdrop to your conversation. You noticed a shift in the Ghoul's demeanour as the topic veered towards plans for future meals and the road ahead, his tense posture easing as time went on.

Determined to keep his attention and the mood still light, you regaled him with tales of your life before, weaving together anecdotes from your childhood and high school years with a touch of self-deprecating humour. He listened with genuine interest, his deep laughter ringing out like a balm to soothe the ache of your weary soul.

You found yourself deliberately steering the conversation away from his own past, choosing to focus instead on the light hearted memories of your own. You spoke of your best friend Patti, with whom you had been inseparable, recounting the antics and adventures that had filled your days. You mentioned how close you had become, so much so that you had even moved into houses next door to each other and planned out each meticulous part of your lives..

However, you made a conscious decision not to mention your husband, feeling a pang of uncertainty as to why. Perhaps it was a desire to keep Glenn and your companion separate in your mind, two distinct chapters of your life that you were reluctant to intertwine for some unbeknownst reason. Or maybe it was a subconscious attempt to shield yourself from the painful memories that lingered just beneath the surface. 

Regardless of the reason, you found solace in the simplicity of the moment, in the shared laughter and camaraderie that felt like a bond forging between you both. This was the most that the Ghoul had spoken to you in the weeks since you'd started traveling with him, and you relished the comfort that it brought you. Despite the superficial nature of the conversation, there was a sense of intimacy in the shared laughter and you felt giddy at the prospect of you both becoming more than strangers to each other.

When a yawn escaped you, the Ghoul smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded towards the makeshift beds you had prepared earlier that afternoon. Two tattered twin mattresses salvaged from the wreckage of a long-forgotten room, a decent width apart and covered with old, vermin-chewed sheets. It wasn't glamorous by any means, but it was a far cry better than some of the makeshift sleeping arrangements you had been resigned to during your journey through the wasteland.

"Go get. That's enough jaw flappin' for one night," he teased, a playful glint in his eye. Despite his jest, there was affection in his smile, a silent reassurance that you were safe and perhaps even cared for in his company.

With a chuckle, you nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. Rising from your seat by the fire, you made your way towards the makeshift beds, the promise of a few hours of rest beckoning you like a siren's call.

The unwelcome pest of a thought nagged at you, persistent until you found yourself unable to ignore it any longer. With a determined resolve, you moved back towards the Ghoul, your steps fuelled by a sense of urgency you couldn't quite explain. Ignoring the look of alarm that flickered across his face, you leaned over awkwardly as he sat in his chair, and wrapped your arms around him in a brief but heartfelt embrace.

For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stand still as you felt the surprising warmth of his strong arms around you, the comforting weight of your pregnant belly nestled between you serving as a tangible reminder of the life growing within you. You wanted to thank him, to tell him that this simple gesture meant more to you than words could express—that it was the most human you had felt since thawing from that cryo-chamber all those weeks ago.

But before you could find the words, your thoughts were shattered by the rapid clicking of the dosimeter. Startled, you pulled back, confusion clouding your features as you looked down at the device on your wrist, its needle flitting erratically with each click.

As you glanced between the dosimeter and the Ghoul, a sense of realization began to dawn on you. His eyes remained downcast, his expression unreadable, but the sudden silence of the dosimeter spoke volumes.

In that moment, the pieces began to click into place, like a puzzle slowly revealing its hidden picture. You knew that everything on the surface was a danger, that radiation flooded every inch of land and contaminated everything it touched. Every mouthful of food you took, every swig of water, every wash of your body—each was a necessary risk in the struggle for survival.

But naively, you hadn't stopped to consider the threat that the Ghoul posed—not beyond the immediate danger of him putting a gun to your head or the possibility of him selling you to the highest bidder.

As the suffocating realization settled over you, you felt the overwhelming sense of isolation creep back in, wrapping around you like a vice. Your protector was also your potential killer, and he had wanted to ensure you had a Pip-Boy—to keep you out of trouble you didn't even know existed.

He had given you the knowledge, the control, to make your own findings and decisions, all for the sake of your unborn child. And yet, despite his intentions, you couldn't help but feel a hint of betrayal. You almost wished you could have remained blissfully ignorant about this particular aspect of life on the surface. It was as if you had lost a friend you hadn't really ever had.

"You keep that thing on," he said with a hint of sadness, pointing to your wrist. The only acknowledgement of what just happened. You nodded silently, your hand instinctively running over the cool metal of the Pip-Boy before you turned away.

"Goodnight," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you retreated to your bed. With each step, the weight of the truth bore down on you, a heavy burden you would carry with you as you drifted into a troubled sleep, haunted by the knowledge that even in this new world, friendship was a luxury you could ill afford.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484

Neighbors [Chapter 1]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.6k

[Series Chapter List and Summary]

Warnings/tags: 18+; contains friends to lovers, violence, fluff, eventual smut, angst

a/n: Finally chapter one is here after that initial prologue! And so is Frank in this part! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mycobrakai1972 @stilllivindue2spite @luvr-bunnyy @pone21

Keeping your hand steady, you continued to write out the new seasonal menu on the chalkboard hanging by the coffee shop's register. Every beginning of the month you'd change the specialty lattes over to some different flavor combinations that you'd come up with which you felt were fitting for that time of year, and this morning it was time for that list to change.

You had been focused on what you were doing for the past fifteen minutes now, teeth biting down on your lip in concentration, until a noise coming from the back of the coffee shop caught your ear. Your hand momentarily paused on the ‘B’ you'd been trying to write as you attempted to decipher the sound, beginning to feel slightly on edge. Despite the fact that your shop was bright and airy inside, full of natural light from the large shop windows that allowed for the varying plants you had everywhere to thrive, you always found yourself a little nervous when you were here alone. It was always a fear of yours that something would happen–even if this was generally a friendly small town.

Turning your head, you focused on the door that led to the backroom as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. Your hand tightened around the bit of chalk you were holding, your body tensing. Seconds later you spotted Allison making her way through the doorway. Quickly relaxing at the sight of her, you felt ridiculous for having been on edge thinking it could've been anyone else.

Of course it was just Allison, you told yourself. She was on the schedule to open today.   

She sent you a smile when she saw you standing in front of the chalkboard. “Good morning, boss!” she greeted you.

“Morning, Aly,” you replied, attention returning back to the chalkboard. “Do you mind unlocking the front door so I can finish working on this?”

“Already on it!” she replied.

She made her way around the counter, grabbing your keyring from off of the top of it as she passed by. You heard her make her way over to the front door and stick the key into the lock as you finished up the second line on the seasonal menu. You lowered your hand, taking a step back and eyeing your handiwork, trying to see if the lettering looked even enough by your perfectionist standards. 

“So I went on that date last night,” Allison told you.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, head turning to the side as your eyes narrowed at the spacing of a few words. “How'd the second date go?”

Allison placed the keys back onto the counter near you before she made her way back around it. With a sigh you finally figured the second line looked perfect enough and you began to focus on starting the third line.

“Awful,” she told you. “I don't think I've endured so many awkward silences in my life. I mean, it's like he lost the ability to make small talk entirely this time!”

“Maybe he was just nervous?” you told her, focused on the ‘L’ you had begun writing. “You are a big personality after all.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Allison grab an apron from off the back wall and throw it on. Chewing on your bottom lip again, you tried to perfectly space out the next letter with the lines already written above this one. If anything was just slightly off, you knew it would bother you all month long. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Allison said with a sigh, coming to rest her forearms onto the countertop near you. “But I like my men bold and outgoing, you know that.”

You laughed lightly, nodding your head. “That I certainly do,” you agreed. “But maybe someone more subdued could ground you sometimes. Never hurts to give people a chance.”

“Speaking of giving people a chance,” Allison began, the tone of her voice causing you to stop writing and shoot her a side-eye, “when are you going to let someone take you out on a date?”

“Never,” you told her, focusing back on the chalkboard. “I like my men nonexistent. I don't have time to date, you know that, Aly. Besides, there's not a decent option in this town near my age who's still single and doesn't slog it up at The Crooked Antler most nights.”

“You do know there's a thing called the internet, right?” she asked. “That's what dating apps are for.”

“Dating apps are mostly for hook-ups, Aly,” you pointed out, focused on spelling out the word ‘lavender.’ “I'm not looking for that. Or anything. I'm busy enough with the shop and Lily right now.”

“Okay,” Allison said, drawing the word out suspiciously. “But what if you happened to meet a guy in person? Could there be someone who might change your mind?”

“Considering I don't leave this town hardly ever and I've already said there's not many prospects here,” you replied, “I find that highly unlikely.”

Out of your peripheral you saw Allison shrug, her attention fixed on the front of the shop. You continued to work on the third line of the chalkboard, knowing full well Lily would want to decorate it this morning when you finished with it.

“Well what if a really hot guy just walked into Common Grounds looking like a tree that needed to be climbed?” Allison asked casually. “Like a really, really hot guy?”

Your eyes narrowed at her, your hand hovering over the ‘E’ you'd just written. “I'd say that'd never happen and sounds like its bordering on inappropriate work talk.”

Aly rolled her eyes at you. “Only because you don't like to talk about your love life,” she said.

“Because it's not up for discussion,” you stated, turning back to the chalkboard. 

“If you say so,” she sing-songed under her breath.

Beginning to draw out the ‘R’, you heard the door to the shop open behind you. You half-expected to hear Lily’s excited voice greet you along with the cold blast of wind from the early spring morning, but instead you heard heavy footsteps making their way over to the register.

“Good morning and welcome to Common Grounds!” Aly cheerfully greeted the customer. “What can I get you today?”

“Just a large coffee,” a deep voice rumbled out. “Black.”

Finishing the letter you were working on, you couldn’t resist glancing over your shoulder at the man standing in front of the register. He was broad-shouldered under the black jacket he was wearing, his presence easily commanding the space he was in. He stood with almost perfect posture as he focused on swiping his card through the reader once Aly had read off his total. 

The slight head gesture Aly was making at the man when he wasn't looking caught your eye and your attention shifted over at her. She mouthed out ‘he's hot, get his number’ to you and you immediately shot her a pointed glare in return, shaking your head. Aly abruptly straightened back up, plastering a smile onto her face as if nothing had happened when the man looked up at her, sliding his card back into his wallet.

“Your coffee will be ready in just a minute,” she told him.

You watched as Aly turned around, beginning to work on making the man's black coffee. For a moment you stood there, silently eyeing him as he waited patiently for his drink. You had to admit, Aly was right. He was attractive. He had a chiseled profile with a prominent nose, and thick dark hair on his head that you wouldn't mind running your fingers through. A bit of dark stubble covered his jaw, accentuating his cheekbones. He even looked well-built beneath his jacket as he stood with his hands clasped at his waist in front of himself. But the more you observed him, the more you were positive that you'd never seen him in town before. Before you could stop yourself, the question was already leaving your mouth. 

“I haven't seen you in here before, are you just passing through or visiting?” you asked.

The man's full attention shifted to you at the sound of your voice. There was a faint scowl on his lips, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he briefly looked you over. A sudden self-consciousness washed over you under his gaze and the surly, unfriendly expression on his face.

“Neither,” he answered gruffly.

“I just say that because I'm usually great with remembering faces and coffee orders,” you continued, hoping to ease the awkwardness with a friendly smile, “and I don't recognize either with you.”

“Look, I'll be honest ma'am,” the man said, that dour expression never changing, “I’m not one for small talk. It's been a long week and I got a long day ahead of me. I just want some coffee.”

He took a couple of steps farther down to the end of the counter, turning his back slightly towards you and abruptly ending the conversation. Your eyes widened in disbelief at his rudeness, your eyebrows rising up onto your forehead. That wasn't common in this small town. 

Shaking your head at his back, you were about to return to your chalkboard menu when the door to your left once again opened. The sight of Lily beaming at you as she dragged your brother into the coffee shop had a smile instantly returning to your face.

“Good morning, Nini!” Lily happily greeted you. 

“Morning, coffee bean,” you greeted her back. “You ready to help me here this morning?”

Her index finger landed on her chin, tapping it lightly as she glanced up towards the ceiling as she often did when pretending to be in thought. A smile tugged at your lips as you exchanged a look with your brother. You both knew what was coming next–a pastry request.

“If I help, can I get a cinnamon sugar scone?” she asked, her eyes going wide and doe-eyed as they landed back on you.

“Of course, coffee bean,” you answered, taking a step forward and reaching a hand out to ruffle her hair. 

She giggled, beaming back up at you. Just as you were about to say something more to her, the man who'd been rude to you made his way towards the three of you congregating near the door, his large coffee in his hand. Your mouth closed again, your lips instantly thinning into a straight line along your face at the sight of him and that still grumpy expression.

“‘S'cuse me,” he muttered, head ducking down.

He slipped past the three of you, accidentally bumping into your shoulder as he headed towards the door. Your eyes narrowed at his back, watching as he made his way out of the shop and down the sidewalk. 

“Who was that?” Jaime asked curiously, a thumb gesturing over his shoulder. “He doesn't look like one of your usuals. Never seen him around here before.”

Your attention returned to your brother as you shook your head. “Don't know,” you answered. “But he sure was grumpy. Anyway,” you continued, not wishing to spend anymore thought on the stranger's rudeness, “I'll drop her back home at half-past five tonight? As usual?”

Your brother's eyes darted down to his feet, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets. He suddenly looked almost nervous.

“Is it possible you could watch her until eight?” he asked. “I've uh, pulled some strings and got some extra time at work tonight.”

Your head tilted to the side, brows knitting together. “At the Antler?”

“No uh, at work,” he answered, his eyes still avoiding yours as a hand slipped out of his pocket, awkwardly running over the back of his neck. “There's a project that is being rushed and my boss was accepting a few volunteers to work more hours to help speed things up.”

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, curious as to why he was acting so strange about this. “I can drop her off by eight. Maybe we can order pizza for dinner,” you said, glancing down and shooting Lily a wink.

At the mention of pizza, Lily instantly perked up. She began bouncing up and down as she clutched her stuffed husky to her chest. You smiled, your mood instantly lifted by her presence.

“Thanks, sis,” Jamie murmured. “You don't know how much I appreciate your help.”

You waved him off with a dismissive hand. “Don't worry about it, we're family,” you told him. “And I love having my little coffee bean helping me keep things running smoothly here.”

Jaime nodded, shooting you an almost sheepish smile before he turned and knelt down towards your niece. The pair of them exchanged their usual goodbyes along with a hug before Jaime made his way out of the coffee shop without another word. You watched him leave for a moment as he headed back towards his car, still curious as to why he’d seemed so off this morning. 

“So, Lily,” you began, eventually tearing your eyes away from your brother and focusing back on your niece, “why don’t you go fill that watering can in my office while I finish this sign? And then after you’ve finished watering the plants I can grab you that scone to enjoy. By the time you’re done with that I should have this month’s menu written out and you can decorate it. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, yes!” she exclaimed, excitement shining in her eyes. “I’m going to draw butterflies and bunnies and flowers on it!”

Grinning, you gestured your head towards the back door of the coffee shop. “Sounds perfect, coffee bean. Why don’t you get started with that watering can?”

Without being told twice, she darted off through the coffee shop and around the counter, disappearing through the doorway and down the hall towards the back office. Allison was smiling after her, pointing a finger in the direction she’d disappeared.

“If only someone could bottle up that energy and brew it into a coffee,” Allison joked. “I’d like five of those.”

“You and me both,” you agreed.

Heading back to the chalkboard, you tried to focus on finishing it, but you could feel Allison’s eyes on you. With a sigh you turned towards her, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly.

“What?” you asked her.

“That guy might’ve been hot, but his attitude?” she said, shaking her head and making a face. “Wow. I was not expecting that. Definitely no longer Allison-approved for you.”

You shot her a cheeky smile as you teased, “Especially because he despises small talk so much?”

Allison laughed, shaking her head. “Yes, that too. I guess it’s true when they say looks aren’t everything.”

“No, they certainly are not,” you agreed with a sigh.

Once more focusing back on the chalkboard, you began to start on the final line. You wanted it finished before the usual morning rush appeared in a few minutes. But as you were drawing an ‘R’ on the board, you heard Allison speak again and the comment she made had you botching the letter.

“Bet he’s still good in bed, though,” she said, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your face heated as a brief mental image of that man in a more intimate setting flashed through your mind, but you quickly tried to push it away. It had been far too long since you’d last been with someone and you didn’t need to start thinking about that right now.

“Alright, Aly,” you lightly scolded her. “Lily is just down the hall. Let’s keep it PG for now, alright?”

“You got it, boss,” she answered.

But you didn’t miss the tone of her voice that told you she’d noticed your reaction to her comment. Clearing your throat, you focused twice as hard on your chalkboard in silence.

Hanging up the call on your cell phone, you set it down on the small kitchen island. “So Lily,” you called out, turning around and making your way out of the kitchen and back towards the living room. “I just finished ordering us a large pepperoni pizza from Francisco’s and–”

You stopped dead in your tracks as you entered the living room at the sight before you. Both Lily and your dog Penny were perched at the front window, faces pressed to the glass and looking out of it. Presumably the pair of them were once again staring at the neighbor’s driveway–something you'd scolded her for doing a few times already now. 

“Lily, what do you think you’re doing?” you asked her, arms crossing over your chest.

Both her and Penny looked back at you simultaneously. The sight was almost laughable with how much of a pair they always made together, especially with the matching looks of guilt on their faces. You fought to keep a fairly stern expression on your own face at the sight because she’d been trying to watch the neighbor all evening ever since his truck had pulled up and she had told you that he'd been unloading it. The only way you managed to pull her away from the window for any length of time earlier was when you told her she could plate the cookies she’d made for him. Which of course turned into her picking out a leftover plate from Valentine’s Day, one that you’d used when the pair of you had baked heart cookies and handed them out to neighbors and friends the other month. You'd reluctantly helped her plate them, your embarrassment at the prospect of dropping the cookies off only growing with her plating choice. But at least she was coming with you, because there was absolutely no way in hell you’d have delivered them yourself.

“Seeing if he’s done unpacking,” Lily answered guilty. “So that we can go give him the cookies.”

“Lily, you can’t be staring at people outside,” you told her. “It’s rude and people don’t like that. Don’t be a nosey Nancy.”

“But he just grabbed the last box!” she whined, turning around towards you. “Can’t we go give him the cookies now, please ?”

Sighing, you glanced down at the watch on your wrist. It was getting late now that it was nearing six. Any later and it would be incredibly rude to go knocking on his door to drop off cookies. And if it was the last box that he’d taken out from his truck, you hopefully wouldn’t be interrupting him too much, but maybe you’d have an excuse to hand him the cookies, welcome him to the neighborhood, and then run away back to your place and hide from his reaction since he’d need to finish unpacking.

 “Alright,” you relented with a sigh. “We can go drop off the cookies.”

Lily let out a shriek of excitement before she bolted past you, tossing her stuffed husky onto the coffee table as she raced to the kitchen. Penny darted excitedly after her, her nails clacking across the wood laminate floors as she went. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you made your way over to the entry closet, pulling out shoes for you and Lily. 

When you turned around, you saw her carefully carrying the plate of cookies in both of her hands out of the kitchen, the vibrant pink and red heart pattern on the plate impossible to miss even with the plastic wrap holding the very pink and sprinkle-covered cookies in place. Internally you cringed, but the look of pride on your niece’s face had you smiling back at her instead. Because admittedly it was a very sweet gesture she’d thought of all on her own. Even if you still wished she’d just wanted to make regular chocolate chip cookies for the man instead.

It took the pair of you a couple of minutes to get your shoes on before you stepped outside onto the small front porch you shared with your neighbor. Lily walked a step ahead of you, proudly carrying the plate of cookies in her hands down the short distance between you and your neighbor’s front doors as the light waned outside. The sun was near setting behind the row of houses across the street now and it wouldn't be long before it was completely dark outside.

Inhaling a deep breath in as the pair of you came to a stop in front of the neighbor’s front door, you reached a hand out and knocked firmly three times against it. You kept internally hoping this man wasn’t about to make some sort of asshole-ish comment to your niece about the cookies, desperately hoping he was as polite and gentlemanly as Cora had made him sound. But a few moments later when the door unlocked and swung open, your eyes grew wide and the smile completely fell from your face. It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs at the sight of the rude man from Common Grounds this morning standing before you. The very same one who’d refused to make small talk and then bumped into you on his way out. All your hopes of him being friendly and polite to your niece immediately disappeared, leaving you with nothing but a sinking feeling of dread.

The scowl you remembered from this morning was still on his face as his gaze landed on you first, his eyes narrowing just a fraction in something like suspicion as he scanned your face. You were still trying to figure out what the hell to say to him when Lily finally spoke up.

“Look, Nini!” she exclaimed, finally catching the man’s attention, “it’s the grumpy man from the coffee shop!”

You swore your heart stopped beating in your chest, embarrassment flooding you completely. Slowly the man’s eyes returned to you, one of his dark brows raising up onto his forehead. Swallowing hard, you’d never wished you could disappear into thin air more in your life than right now.

“Grumpy man, huh?” he asked.

An awkward laugh slipped out of you, a nervous smile sliding onto your face. “I suppose we’re all a little grumpy before our caffeine,” you awkwardly replied. Clearing your throat as his hardened stare only grew your discomfort, you quickly pressed on. “Look, we didn’t mean to disturb you, we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Pointing to yourself, you gave him your name in a rush before gently placing a hand atop Lily’s head. “And this is my niece, Lily. She’s often with me and she was the one who wanted to bake you cookies when she heard I was getting a new neighbor. So we just–just came by to drop those off real quick.”

The man’s expression shifted slightly as he focused back down on Lily at your side. An emotion crossed his face so fast that you almost didn’t catch it, but you had. Curiously you noted he'd briefly looked pained, but then the unthinkable happened–he smiled .

“Well is that right?” he asked, crouching down to your niece’s height. “You made me cookies, sweetheart?”

“Yes, they’re heart cookies,” she told him, holding the plate out towards him. “Because heart cookies make me happy, so I thought they’d make you happy. Nini and I made them yesterday.”

He reached out, accepting the plate of cookies from her little hands so gently while the smile only widened on his mouth. As you watched the surprising interaction play out, you had to actively make sure your jaw hadn’t dropped onto the front porch floor. Because whatever you’d been expecting him to do or say in reaction to receiving those cookies had most certainly not been this.

“Did you pick out the pink frosting?” he asked her, examining the cookies.

“Yep!” Lily answered proudly. “Pink is my favorite color! And so is purple and green.”

The man glanced up from the plate in his hands at your niece, a genuine smile still on his face as he nodded. “Well those are good colors, but I think you chose well with the pink,” he told her. “And I like the sprinkles.”

“Thank you!” Lily said, beaming and twirling a little back and forth in excitement before him. “So what’s your name?”

He chuckled lightly at her enthusiasm, his focus solely on her. The unexpected and pleasant deep sound of it warmed you, especially with the sweet way he continued interacting with your niece.

“My name is Frank,” he told her. 

Lily nodded her head, still smiling her heartwarming smile at the man. The look on his face had you realizing maybe you’d completely misjudged him this morning, though you worried he wasn’t going to like you much after Lily’s initial comment about his grumpiness. Hopefully that wouldn’t make things strained between the pair of you, especially with being neighbors.

“It’s nice to meet you, Frank!” she chirped.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, too, Lily,” he told her. Gesturing his head towards the plate of cookies in his hands he added, “Thank you for these. Been awhile since anyone’s brought me baked goods.”

Lily’s eyes lit up at his words, a surprised gasp leaving her. “Well in that case,” she began, her excitement somehow increasing further, “maybe we can make you brownies next! And Nini makes the best cinnamon rolls!”

“Hey, coffee bean?” you said, quickly cutting in. 

She looked up at you, all innocent eyes and bright smiles. You sent her a tense smile in return, ignoring the way Frank’s gaze falling back on you was beginning to make you feel multiple confusing things all at once.

“Maybe we should let Frank get back to unpacking and settling in, yeah?” you suggested. “He just moved in, remember?”

The expression on her face slightly fell at your words, but she nodded slowly. In the doorway, Frank began to rise back up to his full, intimidating height. Swallowing nervously, you focused back on him, sending the tense smile on your face his way.

“Sorry to have bothered you this evening, I'm sure you're busy,” you told him. “But welcome to the neighborhood. I’m uh, just next door if you ever need anything.”

He nodded his head curtly in reply, muttering out a quiet ‘thank you.’ You gently nudged Lily’s shoulder with a hand, attempting to direct her back towards your duplex with you. But as you turned and began to make your way back home, you overheard Lily speak up one last time.

“You know,” her little voice said, “you really aren’t so grumpy after all.”

Your eyes snapped shut as you sucked in a sharp breath, momentarily pausing mid-step. Why did kids always have to say whatever was on their mind?

“No,” he agreed with a soft chuckle, “no, sweetheart, I’m not. Thank you again for the cookies and I hope you ladies have a good night now.”

Cheeks straining from the awkward smile you plastered back onto your face, you glanced at him over your shoulder, sending him a partial wave. He shook his head, laughing softly to himself before he turned and closed his front door. Lily skipped happily over to your side as the pair of you made your way back to your front door, entirely unaware of your current embarrassment.

“How much longer until the pizza gets here?” she asked.

“Soon, coffee bean,” you answered, opening your front door.

Hopefully soon enough for me to bury my face in it and forget about that awkward encounter, you thought, hurrying back into your place. Because that was uncomfortable. Hopefully we don’t run into each other all that often.

STOP!! I'M COMPLETELY OBSESSED WITH THIS OMGGG!!

I adore the way you wrote Matt as a vampire, sometimes fanfiction writing can feel disconnected from the real characters, especially in AU's, but this is so perfect. The fact that Elektra is the one that made him a vampire is also incredibly perfect.

I NEED MORE ALREADY, this is genuinely my newest obsession omgg 😭

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3! (Soon)

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps. 

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again. 

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable. 

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil. 

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature. 

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving. 

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one. 

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans. 

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist. 

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires! 

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak. 

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire. 

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen. 

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead. 

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real. 

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires. 

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear. 

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes. 

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges. 

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.  

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands. 

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market. 

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight. 

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself. 

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into? 

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man. 

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set. 

Yours sincerely,

M.

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure. 

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out. 

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t. 

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire. 

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him. 

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work? 

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you. 

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly? 

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay. 

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person. 

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June. 

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard. 

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there. 

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying. 

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them. 

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it. 

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought. 

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is. 

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire. 

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you. 

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell. 

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run. 

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl. 

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is. 

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous. 

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being. 

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.  

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground. 

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed. 

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin. 

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft. 

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful. 

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night. 

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself. 

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel. 

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs. 

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down. 

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out. 

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool. 

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out. 

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose. 

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless. 

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his. 

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died. 

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind. 

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says. 

“I was considering not to.” 

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter. 

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing. 

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste? 

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.” 

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap. 

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.” 

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe. 

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked. 

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to. 

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself. 

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate. 

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says. 

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice. 

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say. 

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say. 

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away. 

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out. 

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask. 

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home. 

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass. 

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says. 

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth. 

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight. 

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–” 

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off. 

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?” 

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says. 

He’s amused. You’re amusing him. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growl. 

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself. 

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?” 

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body. 

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor. 

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out. 

“Published by Columbia University.” 

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.” 

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you. 

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?” 

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers. 

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew. 

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence. 

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep. 

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside. 

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier. 

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him. 

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says. 

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped. 

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down. 

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes. 

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you. 

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word. 

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch. 

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in. 

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says. 

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be. 

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall. 

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights. 

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth. 

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?” 

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal. 

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most. 

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture. 

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes. 

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away. 

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle. 

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want. 

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell. 

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home. 

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you. 

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you. 

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough. 

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake. 

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his. 

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins. 

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal. 

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of. 

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat. 

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you. 

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch. 

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls. 

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go. 

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you. 

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you. 

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure. 

“Matthew,” you moan. 

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.” 

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all. 

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate. 

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come. 

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart. 

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang. 

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes. 

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that. 

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks. 

“Thinking about you,” you murmur. 

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop. 

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening. 

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you. 

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death. 

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that. 

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever. 

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you. 

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him. 

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once. 

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine. 

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight. 

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger. 

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this. 

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him. 

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come. 

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days. 

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

Mc is so adorable, and real, if Daredevil isn't going to fall I love with her, I gladly will??? She went all over the city for food, climbed up to a rooftop and just sat there! That's dedication 😭

Great chapter again! Love the awkwardness and unsureness, and Daredevil being very unreadable.

This is going to be such an amazing series!

Take Care Author <3

Finding You

Small Creatures, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt Murdock always assumed he’d never meet his soulmate. After all, who would want to end up stuck with a blind vigilante carrying enough baggage for a whole jet? Unfortunately for you both, his cursed love is closer than ever and determined to support him as his paradoxical life falls apart.

warnings:  minor swearing, misunderstandings, awkward meetings

a/n: there isn’t a ton of Matt in this chapter, but there will be MUCH more of him from here on out. We are running straight for the hurt, comfort, angst, and fluff of this story, y’all. As always, please reply and reblog! And a huge shout out to @zomtart for helping me create this AU!

w/c: 4.5k

You couldn’t shake the feeling of him. 

A tight coil of smoke, constantly twisted around your every limb. Your dreams were now hazy with clouds of ash, the bitter taste of charred organic material blanketing your tongue when you woke. 

On the surface, he was dangerous, filled with a rage that burned more intensely than any flame in this realm. You understood that it was meant to scare you, to create distance. But, you were drawn to it like a newly hatched moth–seeking its warmth and light, not shying away from its destructive power one bit. 

Whether your intense longing was due to your bond or simply a lack of self-preservation, you weren’t sure. 

Walking home after the Devil snatched you from the jaws of death, it all suddenly made sense. One of those “you have to feel it to believe it” kind of things, meeting your soulmate. Your steps were unsteady and too light, like your weight was constantly fluctuating as you moved, or you were being carried along by an external force. You felt thoroughly inebriated, oxytocin and dopamine saturating every cell.

With each wobbly pace home, your chest pulsed with clipped waves of pain, like you’d been bruised. But even the dull ache couldn’t ruin the pleasant floaty feeling carrying you back to your place. 

At points in your life, you’d heard musings. Of what it was like to be bonded with another. Though none of them had ever truly made sense until now.

You were torn, unsure of how to feel about it all. On one hand, knowing he existed was comforting. You weren’t crazy or damned or any other awful thing people sometimes said about marked souls. On the other, watching him creep away from you in terror was definitely a blow to your ego.

It was possible he’d had to go take care of something—there was never a dull night in the Kitchen—but given how your mark was radiating a concoction of doubt, shame, and another feeling you couldn’t quite place…it was probable he was truly not interested. You needed a clear answer, though. Whatever his decision was, you’d respect it, but you needed to be sure before giving up on him.

Therein lay the issue. How could you ask him for a clear answer when you didn’t even know his name? You had no idea where to begin looking for him, or if he could even be found.

And what would you say if you did find him? “Hi, you clearly want nothing to do with me but apparently we are destined to mean something to each other so here’s my card”?

What if he was in love with someone else? He could be married, have a family..oh god what if he was married–

A familiar voice called your name, snapping you out of the trance you’d apparently been in. Ripping your gaze away from where it had been listlessly staring at your coffee cup, you met your friend’s amused look with a sheepish laugh.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Imogen shook her head fondly, clearly not actually upset that you’d zoned out.

“Nothing more important than whatever’s on your mind. Spill,” She giggled, poking your arm with a manicured finger.

You groaned, pulling your exposed limb out of harm’s way. “Midge, it's nothing–”

“It's not!” Crossing her arms, the woman across from you gave her best attempt at a stern mom stare. “You've been out of it all day. We've been friends long enough for me to recognize when you're stuck in your head. So tell me, what's got you in such a funk?”

Sighing, you dropped your chin to your chest, overwhelmed with indecision. It's not that you expected Imogen to react badly, but how much could you tell her? I mean, he was a vigilante, a criminal. Would she truly be ok with that?

Taking a leap, you allowed her to clutch your hand, your nerves settling slightly under her encouraging gaze. “I may have met my soulmate last night?”

As if an earthquake had suddenly struck Manhattan, the two flimsy cups standing on the table quivered as the table vibrated beneath them. Your friend had erupted with joyful movement, kicking her feet and gripping your hand painfully tight as she shrieked gleefully.

“WHAT!? WHEN? HOW? Tell me EVERYTHING!” Eyes boring into yours with more enthusiasm than you'd ever held for something, Imogen beamed at you.

As much as you appreciated her zest for life, the other patrons in the small cafe were glaring daggers in your direction, apparently not willing to risk hearing loss for a stranger's happiness. Sending them an apologetic glance, you lay your free hand on Imogen's.

“Hun, I love you, but people are staring.” You chuckled, flicking your eyes to the annoyed regulars behind her.

“Alright, alright, I'll try to contain myself,“ Midge rolled her eyes. ”What's his name? Is he cute? Oh gosh, I shouldn't have assumed it was a he–”

Shaking your head, you patted her hand reassuringly. “'He' would presumably be correct. He sort of..helped me out last night.”

“Helped you out how?”

Deciding on an altered version of events, you left out the part about him donning a mask and saving you from certain death. Two birds, one stone in terms of things Midge would worry over.

“I was trying to snap a picture on the roof of Ink 48. He saw me struggling to get in position and..spotted me? I guess? When we touched...god, Midge. You weren't kidding.” Your voice was breathy, your heart pounding as you thought of his beautiful smirk, his warm hands.

“It's..indescribable.” She agreed, her smile softening as she studied your love struck expression. “What's his name?”

Averting your eyes, you felt a haze of lingering doubt settle over you. “See, that's why I've been out of it. We connected, forged a bond or whatever you want to call it, and he ran away. I..didn't get a good look at his face and I have no clue what his name was so I'm kind of at a loss.”

“Oh sweetie,” Midge pouted, dragging her chair closer to wrap an arm around you. “No leads? He wasn't wearing anything with a company emblem or an ID badge?”

“No, and honestly..I don't even know if he'd want me to track him down. I mean, he ran, Midge. Full on beelined outta there like I had the plague. He could be married? Or just not interested?” Your voice trailed off. You were at a loss, that much was clear.

“Or!” Imogen interjected, her voice optimistic as always. “He was surprised and he panicked. I think we both can relate to that.”

You raised a brow at her in disbelief, but Imogen was undeterred. “Babes, it's a big thing, finding your soulmate. Cut the poor guy some slack! He's probably nervous just like you are.”

“It's possible.” You relented. “But I still don't know if I'll ever see him again.”

“You will.” Your all-too-positive companion shrugged, withdrawing her hand from your hold. “You're way too capable and determined not to.”

“You're too sweet to me.” You scoffed, heat fluttering in your cheeks.

“I'm just being honest!” She giggled, tossing back the rest of her coffee. “C'mon.”

“Where are we going?” You laughed, draining your coffee so Midge could toss both cups in a nearby waste basket.

“You're going to show me exactly where you met him and we'll see if there are any cameras or other things we could use to track him down.”

Steps faltering, you blinked in shock before scurrying after your friend who was confidently traipsing out of the store.

Shifting the strained handle into the crook of your elbow, you angled your body so the weight of the large bag bumped against the flesh of your hip, rather than knocking into unsuspecting strangers. One solid kick from a passerby and the carefully stacked contents would topple–either into the street or onto you. Regardless, you’d have a mess on your hands and you’d be out a solid chunk of money. Take out wasn’t cheap these days, dammit.

You just hoped the hefty bill would be worth it.

It had been almost a week since your run-in with your soulmate and you were still mostly at a loss. Despite Imogen's confidence and your combined dedication, you were no closer to knowing his identity. Your failure to find anything definitive at the scene was partially because nothing had been left behind and almost entirely because Midge was still under the impression you were looking for a standard nine-to-fiver.

You weren't quite sure how to come clean, not when she'd spent so much of her free time over the past few days accompanying you to the same street, scouring the crowds for anyone who might look familiar to you. But, until you knew whether he wanted you in his life, you were hesitant to confess  the one thing you did know about him.

After the third day of returning home empty-handed, you'd cut your friend loose. Telling her you were going to regroup before trying again. As lovely as Midge was, she was as clueless about the Devil's whereabouts as you were.

The internet, however, was chock full of fanatics and critics overly willing to share the opinions they had about him. In general, the city appreciated his efforts--the local message boards and blogs brimming with praise and gratitude. You couldn't help but feel a gleaming rush of pride with every compliment, appreciating the citizens for recognizing the man's work.

Of course, there were negative threads too. Calling Daredevil a threat and a coward. Screaming at him to give himself up, leave the crime-fighting to law enforcement. At first, you'd engaged with those users too. But, after one argument sparked so much rage you almost shattered your laptop screen in an effort to remove yourself from the fight, you began to ignore anything less than positive. Whether because of your bond or your genuine admiration for your soulmate, the disapproval created a primal urge to protect, to defend. Standing by wasn't an option, so you put blinders on to filter out the objections.

As a whole, however, the online forums were helpful. There were a few sites dedicated to tracking local vigilante news, allowing you to assemble a makeshift map of places the Devil frequented. You'd reached out to a few of the more active users to see if they could help you, but pretty quickly realized that the claim 'daredevil is my soulmate' was probably more common than you'd originally thought. So, for now, your feeble, hand drawn maps would have to do.

Unsurprisingly, Daredevil seemed to have a flexible schedule that mostly revolved around where he was needed. The idea of staging a crime, or intentionally putting yourself in harm's way did occur to you, but you weren't that desperate quite yet. And you doubted that would be well-received. Instead, you categorized locations by number of sightings and planned to work your way down the list.

Tonight, you were starting just before sunset for the roof of a building near the Clinton Community Garden. According to your limited research, the crimson-clad vigilante was often spotted between 47th and 50th street, around the intersections of 9th or 10th. A decent area to start with for sure, given that it was pretty central within Hell's Kitchen, and 10th street was a haven for petty crime.

Two failed attempts to buzz into apartment buildings later, someone finally answered your request over the intercom, unlatching the door for you. Dashing up the stairs two at a time, your stomach was in knots by the time you found a roof access door. Your every breath was measured, laden with doubt in the wake of so many possibilities. Pulse racing, you gulped in the humid evening air, bending at the waist to allow blood flow to your brain.

You'd been so nervous to confront him, you'd neglected your own needs. Dehydration and low blood sugar were only exacerbated by this obnoxious heat. Cringing at the realization, you paced to the edge of the roof, settling into a cross-legged position with your back against the squabby brick perimeter. With the back of your hand, you swiped at the beading sweat along your brow, doing your best to mop it up.

Now for the fun part. Waiting.

Patience was a virtue that didn't always come easily to you. Especially when your anxiety stepped up to the plate. Twiddling your thumbs, anticipating every possible thing that could go wrong only made time pass more slowly. And it wasn't as if there was a deadline you were inching towards.

Not a set one, at least. The food you'd brought wouldn't last forever, though you were hoping the thermal bag would keep it from spoiling too quickly. If it didn't, well, you'd feel pretty foolish for bruising your arm carrying the sizable thing around town.

Lifting the strap from where it was currently digging into your shoulder, you set it carefully on the ground, peeking inside to inspect the contents. Everything looked ok, thankfully. A bit banged up from the journey, but mostly unharmed and definitely just as tasty.

Relaxing into the prickly surface holding you upright, you scanned the skyline, admiring the wash of pinks and oranges slipping between skyscrapers. You hadn't wanted to tote your camera around in addition to all the food, but you were regretting that decision now. Somewhat remorsefully, you pulled a paperback book from an outside pocket on the tote. Imogen would be thrilled you were finally starting it.

The book was better than you'd expected. A historical fiction novel about the Nazi invasion in France–something you knew very little about. It managed to keep your attention for nearly 90 minutes, though you did take brief breaks to stretch and scan the horizon for a familiar figure.

As much as you wanted to stick it out, the food wouldn't last too much longer. Knee-deep in a mental quarrel with yourself about whether to give up for the night, your stomach dropped–yanked by an extreme force as if you were driving over a massive hill. It was intoxicating, thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Scrambling to your feet, you teetered on wobbly legs, nearly faceplanting on the concrete. All sense of balance had been ripped from you, as if the flat roof had been replaced with a trampoline, bouncing with every step you took. Before you could regain your bearings, a shadowy figure appeared at the opposite end of the roof.

His chin was angled down, mirrored fists clenched on either side of his broad, menacing stance. In the sliver of remaining sunlight, you could make out his sharp jawline and pink lips–your heart fluttering as they parted.

“You shouldn’t be up here.” He strode toward you, graceful and precise. Far more coordinated than you felt at the moment.

“Please,” You murmured, focus lost in the glow of fading light lining his body, a flexible halo around him. “Please, I-I just want to talk.”

“Are you sure you have time?” Stopping his approach about 10 feet from you, his mouth twitched with a smirk. You were surprised to sense humor in his words. “Seems like you might be late for your dinner plans.”

Chuckling weakly in response, your face flooded with heat. Something about his presence made your brain melt into soup. His confidence and cocky attitude stole the explanation right off your tongue, leaving you to stand there uselessly until he nodded to the rectangular bag lying at your feet.

“Oh, sorry, um,“ Scurrying for the shining handle, you pulled it into your arms, extending it out to him. ”I brought this for you actually.”

In a remote corner of your stomach, a tiny curl of something warm unwound. Surprise, then a much stronger sensation, not unlike fondness or gratitude. A mix of both perhaps?

“For me?” As he whispered, you couldn't help but smile. Those sudden emotions, they were his, not your own. The hesitant acceptance continued into his rasping voice.

“If you will accept it, then yes. As a thank you. For saving me and, well, for everyone else you’ve saved.” You answered, taking a step in his direction.

Hands shooting up, blocking an incoming hit you hadn't thrown, his guard slid back into place. With each inch you moved forward, he withdrew, like there was an invisible barrier forcing the two of you apart.

“I don't do this for handouts.” He growled, shoulders squaring off. You'd spooked him somehow.

“I never said you did.” You shrugged, sending him a soft smile. Retreating towards your end of the roof, you drew the bag towards your chest. “I just wanted to thank you, and to ask you a few questions. I figured they would be easier to swallow if I had something for you in return.”

Tilting his head at you, Daredevil flexed his fingers, no doubt fighting the urge to lock them into fists. His tongue dipped between his lips, sliding over the lower as he pondered. “What sort of questions?”

A bubble of pride rolled up your throat at the idea you'd gotten this feral cat of a man to trust you, even marginally. “About the other night. Nothing about your identity or anything, and if they seem too invasive you don't have to answer them at all. I'll respect whatever boundaries you need to set, but I would have regretted never asking. Does that make sense?”

The stubby horns on his helmet arced in semi-circles as he nodded. “I think so.”

“I just...did you feel it?” Grimacing as the question slipped out, you tried to clarify. “I mean, that's a horrible way to ask that but, er, when you..caught me, I think something–”

“Yes.” He interrupted you, his voice barely audible.

“What?”

Another coarse nod. “Yes. I felt it.”

“Oh my god,” You'd expected this answer, but you were still dumbfounded. “I thought maybe I was just crazy.”

“You're not crazy.” He huffed, a glimpse of his teeth shining in the city light as he smirked.

“So, that means we're...” You trailed off, not wanting to scare him away with the word.

The Devil stilled, his jaw quivering as his teeth grit together. The fragile peace you’d somehow achieved began to crack.

“It's ok!” You hurriedly reassured him. “I don't, I'm not–”

Tripping over your words, you held up a hand. After a deep breath, you tried again. “It's up to you what we mean to each other. I didn't come here to nag you, or demand things from you.”

“You didn't?” The question was posed as a statement. He didn't believe you.

“Not at all. That wouldn't be fair. To you or..well, to the other people in your life. I just wanted to know if it was real and to show my appreciation for the other night.” Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you watched as his posture slumped slightly.

“You didn't,” He sighed, crossing his arms. Holy shit was he hiding saplings under there? “You didn't have to do that.”

Swallowing harshly as you collected your thoughts, you giggled nervously. “I know, but I wanted to. Can't be easy to eat while flipping around the city.”

Another puff of breath, a hint of laughter. “What exactly is my reward?”

Chewing at the flesh of your lip, you fumbled for the zipper. “Well, I wasn't sure what you liked, so I brought a few options. They're sort of all over the map.”

Laying out the thin cotton blanket you'd packed, you withdrew a myriad of plastic containers and lined them up, describing each as you went. “Gnocchi and bolognese from Il Tinello, very hearty and comforting. If you want something a bit different, an Alice sandwich from that shop 'Toasties'? And, if you don't eat animal products, seitan satay from Plant-Blossom.”

“You weren't kidding.” The Devil remarked, creeping towards the edge of the blanket. “You ventured all over the city for this. You didn't–”

“Please don't feel bad!” You rushed out, stomach sinking at the guilty little pout on his face. “I was looking for something to do. Besides, you deserve a decent meal for sticking around to hear me out.”

“As much as I appreciate it, it's more food than I can eat.” The man protested, crouching beside the edge of the blanket, not quite crossing the boundary yet.

“I'll have some of whatever you don't want. And, if we still can't finish it, well I'm sure there's someone around here who will take it.” You reasoned, settling atop your folded legs. Despite your nerves, you kept your voice steady and your stature unassuming, not wanting to activate the man’s “scary Devil mode” again.

“Thank you.” Kneeling on the concrete, the vigilante cocked his head at the lineup of options, fingers dancing over his thighs hesitantly. His gravelly voice diffused into a murmur, showering you like a spray of glass beads. Cool and solid, steady as rain.

You nibbled at the inside of your lip, smiling softly as the treacherous defender of the city flushed pink in the pale golden hue of the sun. Despite his harsh exterior and skeptical nature, you were swooning at the glimpse of the man behind the mask. He was passionate and humble, truthfully taken aback by your gratitude. “I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be thanking you. So, are you hungry?”

Lips splitting with a beautifully subtle grin, the Devil nodded. “Always.”

Satisfaction tugged at your heart, making you crinkle your nose as you held back a proud smile. “Help yourself!”

You hadn't been lying to him, the array of options was for his benefit; it wasn't much of a repayment if he didn't enjoy the food. As his hand reached for the first take out container, you realized there was something in it for you as well. In addition to him answering your brief question, and spending more than a moment nearby, you'd end up learning about him.

Something as simple as choice of meal wasn't overly revealing, but it confirmed some suspicions you had about your other half. He wasn't adventurous for the hell of it, his decisions–though seemingly rash–were purposeful and thought out. You understood the enticing pull, the desire to stick to your routine or things you already knew.

Bruised fingers popped the seal on the gnocchi, cradling the warm plastic tub with a fond glance in your direction. “Did you happen to bring silverware?”

Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment swatting at you as you scrambled for the utensils in your bag. “Oh gosh, yes, I am so sorry–”

“Don't apologize.” A comforting weight settled over the back of your hand, the rough pad of a thumb brushing over your knuckles. Tearing your eyes away from the packets in your grip, your mouth hung open in surprise as Daredevil tenderly swiped his finger over your skin. You froze in place, scared that the smallest twitch would ruin the moment.

Face slackening with realization, the man dropped your hand, sliding a set of plastic silverware out of your loose grip. “This will work. Thank you.”

Shoulders hunching, he pointed his body away from you, still kneeling rather than fully relaxing into a seated position. Busying yourself with your own plate of food, you tried to shove down the disappointment that gnawed at you, your fragile consciousness unable to stave off the feeling of rejection as he turned to face the city.

“Has it been busy tonight? The crime fighting, I mean?” You posed the question, hoping to bridge the literal and metaphorical gap once again widening between the pair of you.

The man opposite you hummed thoughtfully, swallowing before he spoke. “Not too bad.”

“That's good. Hopefully you'll be able to get some rest, then. If you need rest, that is. I mean, if you don't have a day job that would make it easier but how could you afford to live in this city? I guess you could probably bounce around and evade capture, but that sounds exhausting. How do you–” Cutting yourself off, you clamped a hand over your mouth. “Shit, I am so sorry. I really didn't mean to ask about that,  I'm just nervous which tends to make me ramble.“

Scratching at the back of his neck, Daredevil curled further in on himself. “I, uh, I guess I can't blame you for being nervous.”

“Oh, it's not your fault.” You promised, shaking your head violently. “I'm sort of like this with everyone. Lack of experience, I guess.”

Studying you for a moment, his lips briefly flickering with a smile. “I understand that. People are complicated.”

“Understatement of the century.” You huffed, a familiar blossom of warmth pooling in your chest when he echoed the chuckle.

Sitting in cozy silence, you ate quickly, stealing peeks at the muscular man every so often to gauge his discomfort. As much as you wanted to believe you were making progress, the rational side of your brain recognized the finite nature of this exchange. It was likely that he didn't intend to do this again. This was a favor extended to you for your appreciation.

As darkness descended on the skyline, cloaking the stark angles in shadows, a tightly wound knot of sorrow clogging your throat as you tried to finish your sandwich. Choking down the last bite, you lifted the final plate.

“Don't suppose you'd want any of this for the road?” Ignoring the tremble in your words, you began folding the blanket, avoiding his gaze.

“Sure,” He gently accepted, prying the container from your grasp and taking extra care not to make contact with your skin. “Thank you, again.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” You croaked around the lump in your throat, coughing to clear it. “Just, be safe out there.”

Giving you a sad smile, the masked man nodded firmly. “I’ll try my best.” 

Swaying awkwardly as you stood, shouldering your bag on the way up, your mind raced through its entire vocabulary in an attempt to find the words for a proper goodbye. You’d interacted with this man for less than an hour, yet he meant the world to you–but telling him that would be weird, wouldn’t it? You really needed a manual for these things. A roadmap to help you tread lightly, avoid landmines. Unfortunately, you were pretty sure the whole “my soulmate is a vigilante” thing wasn’t common enough to warrant an expert. 

“I, um, I’m going to head home before it’s super late. But, here–” Rushing through the excuse as quickly as you could, you held out a tiny rectangle of cardstock, holding your breath while he slipped it from your outstretched fingers. “My phone number is on there if you, er, if you ever need it.”

Chin dipping towards his chest, he cocked his head, studying the scrap of paper. “I appreciate it. Be safe getting home.”

“I will.” You vowed, blinking back the building sheen across your vision. “Take care of yourself.”

Before you could stumble and say something he didn’t want to hear, you made your exit.

Taglist: @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04

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

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Thirteen

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

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG-13

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

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : Sorry not sorry?

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

MASTER LIST

Chapter Thirteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t you just -”

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

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

“No.”

“No?”

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

“You’re not -”

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

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

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

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

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know about your fiance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I went looking for Krista...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Frank -”

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

“Then, how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And Krista... did you -”

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

“Then how?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But -” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I could -”

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

“But -”

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t just give up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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@ashy-kit

All the angst was sooo good, this fic in general is so amazing, and it has my heart and soul every time it updates 😭😭

Also love the way you write Edward. He's always been a dick, and it's nice to see that represented (I ate up the twilight books)

Bound | Chapter 7

Word Count: 4.3K

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

A/N: all of the feels and sadness in this chapter for reader and Bea. But it's a step closer to the reader and Rosalie finally meeting. not gonna lie, this one hurt

<- Previous

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” (Y/N) muttered as she examined her features in the mirror. “It’s been a couple of years, and my face has not changed at all. Not even a gray hair on my head. It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Bea chuckled as she walked over to the young witch. Her hands rested on her shoulders as she brushed away the strands of hair from her skin and left a soft kiss on it. “Maybe it’s genetics,” she mused. “Just be grateful you don’t have to deal with smile lines and crow’s feet at twenty-three. Now, that’s a travesty.” 

“How could your happiness ever be a bad thing?” (Y/N) smiled. “You’re as beautiful as ever, Bea.” 

“Oh, you only say that,” the girl chuckled. “I would gladly give you the three grays I found in my hair.” 

“My little salt and pepper beauty,” the other witch teased. “I know you’ll look marvelous with an all-white mane.”

“Oh, goddess, I just hope it’s at least twenty years down the line,” Bea whined. “Not anywhere near my twenties or thirties.”  

“Well, maybe you could give some to me,” she laughed. “I’m in serious need of some aging here.” 

“I wish those were my problems,” Bea sighed. “Anyways, as much as I would love to stay here and chat about how your skin and your hair are perfect, I do need to go to school if I ever plan to finish college. I think five years is enough time to have finished already.” 

“Everyone has their own pace, Bea.” 

“Yeah, says the girl who finished her degree in three and a half years and is already finishing her master’s.” 

“Well, not everyone can be me.” 

“Clearly,” she playfully scoffed. “Beautiful and unbelievably intelligent. Save some for the rest of us.” 

 “I’d give it all to you if I could,” (Y/N) smiled. “But for now, you’re going to have to apply yourself in school and embrace your changing body. I know I will.” 

With a hug and a kiss on Bea’s lips, the two young women left the small house and walked onto the village center to head to the coven’s entry point. They chatted amongst themselves, enjoying the cold air of October, when Margaret, a coven elder, stopped them in their tracks. 

“Good morning, girls,” the woman said. “Are you off to school?” 

“Beatrice is,” (Y/N) answered. “I’m simply escorting her.” 

“Well then, why don’t we leave that to Russell?” Margaret asked but both girls knew it was an instruction. “I fear I must steal you away, (Y/N). It’s a rather urgent matter.” 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Oh, nothing you have to worry about, Beatrice,” she smiled. “But I do need to speak with her.” 

“Russell will get you to school and back safe,” (Y/N) assured, smiling at the awaiting man. “I’ll be here when you get back.” 

“Alright,” Bea sighed. “I’ll see you then.” 

(Y/N) watched as Bea and Russell disappeared through the trees, one second there and the next gone. As much as she wanted to take off running after them, the last thing she would ever do was disobey an elder. If their instruction did not go against anything she believed, there was no chance she would ignore them. 

“Come on now, (Y/N),” Margaret called her attention. “Off to my cabin.” 

The girl followed the woman to her home, running a million scenarios in her head. She knew there were no rules she had broken, and she doubted it had anything to do with her human and witch studies. (Y/N) had always been on top of it all. She had even been assigned the role of mentor only two years before. Clearly, she had been doing something right. 

“Is something the matter, Margaret?” the girl asked as they finally reached the witch’s house, nerves building far too high for her. 

 “I was wondering the same thing, (Y/N),” the woman smiled brightly. “I just couldn’t help but notice that in the last–give or take–six years of your life, your face has remained as young as it was then. Not a single sign of aging.”

“Oh, that,” (Y/N) chuckled awkwardly as she looked down. She had been working tirelessly to find answers by herself, but no one seemed to be able to give her what she needed. Not even her magical books had given her what she had been looking for. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about that just yet. But I promise I have been looking everywhere for answers. ”

“Why don’t you have a seat, little one?” Margaret invited her to sit on the rocking chairs that lived on her wooden porch, grabbing a worn-out book from a shelf by the entrance of her home. “I think it is safe to assume your search for answers has been rendered fruitless. There’s no surprise there. Not much has been recorded about your particular situation.” 

“My situation? I can’t say I’m following what you’re saying, ma’am. What situation could I be in? ”

“Do you remember the teachings about soul pairings, my child?” (Y/N) nodded, unsure of where the conversation was leading. “I am sure you also remember the teachings of other supernatural beings that share our spaces. This journal right here belonged to my great-great-grandmother...” 

“Lady Esther?” the young witch interrupted. “Those are the personal writings of our first High Priestess?” 

The woman smiled at (Y/N)’s eagerness, but it pained her to know that excitement would soon die down. “Grandmother Esther made sure to record each and every situational encounter she had, preserving a possible solution to the most curious of cases. The books have been passed down from generation to generation to aid in scenarios such as yours, where not even supernatural logic makes too much sense,” she laughed. “As soon as I saw the signs, I remembered a story she had written in her personal journal–this book has been open only to our family’s eyes. When she was younger, she went through the same thing you are right now.”  

“Signs? What signs have there been?” 

“Well, the inability to age is one of them,” Margaret said. “There’s also the night of your alleged magical resurgence. And before you ask, yes, Beatrice spoke to me about it because she was worried that it could be something bad. There’s also your new ability to heal quicker than others. For example, the cut that you had two months ago that seemed to heal overnight.” 

“I just thought after that night, my magic was different,” (Y/N) mumbled. “So, you’re saying this has happened before? To High Priestess Esther?”  

“That is correct, my dear. And she was just as confused as you are,” she rocked. Margaret flipped through the pages until she landed on the specific date she was looking for, handing the open book to the expectant girl. “It was a hard time to be a witch back then–not that it’s any easier now–but somehow she had managed to skate by unnoticed. One day, she noticed her face had stopped aging, and so had her mother. Her face seemed to be frozen in time, but she didn’t know why. That was until she met the immortal Samuel.”  

“A vampire?”  Margaret nodded in confirmation. “But I’m not sure I understand. How did meeting Samuel affect her physical status?”  

“You’re rushing the story, my child,” Margaret chuckled. The girl was itching for answers, but patience was something the elder always taught. “There’s a reason I mentioned soul pairings earlier. When we are born and reborn, fragments of our soul enter the lives of others, tethering them to ours. Throughout your life, you might meet some of your soulmates, yet no connection will be as strong as the bound soul. Not many find them in their lifetime. The lucky few that do experience a love like no other. That’s what Samuel was to Esther—the love of a lifetime. Are you following?” 

“I believe so. They had a supernatural connection that tied their lives together. Mind, body, and soul.”  

“You’ve always been a smart one, (Y/N),” the woman chuckled joyfully before she continued. “As the years went on, Esther started to tie loose ends together. The reason she was never changing was because he was never changing. Bound souls are connected, body and soul. When Samuel had been turned into a vampire and, in turn, immortal, so did she. Esther wrote about how, after the first encounter, her magic was stronger, and her connection to the elements felt surreal. But the love she felt when she was with him was something unparalleled to anything she had experienced in this lifetime.” 

“But if she’s immortal, how come we’ve never met her? How are you here? Vampires can’t procreate.” 

“In those times, vampires were still heavily hunted. Samuel had gone into town one day and, unfortunately, never made it back home. They shared thirty beautiful years building a life together, isolated from society. Living in the shadows, doing their best to survive. Unfortunately, once Samuel’s life ended, so did Esther’s immortality. Her life cycle had regained its normalcy,” Margaret sighed. “She had been devastated for a long time. She describes how she felt her body was hollowed out and her magic began to falter. “Fortunately, she found love again in the man who was my great-great-grandfather, Abraham. They made a family together, creating our coven,” she smiled. “Esther never forgot Samuel, carrying his memory close to her heart every day that passed until her death after approximately 140 years of life. Her story now is not unlike yours. Though supernatural beings have now learned and adapted to the ever-changing society.”  

“But this means that as time goes by, everyone I love will pass, and I will continue on being as I am today,” (Y/N) stated, tears burning the corners of her eyes. “How do I cope with losing all the people closest to me whilst I have no foreseeable ending to this life?”  

“Death is something we all must endure, one day or another. Even immortal beings face mortality in many ways. How to handle the inevitability of death is a very personal thing. In time, you’ll learn the best way to accept it.”  

“But that means…” 

“Yes, (Y/N). You’ll one day go through the pain of seeing Beatrice pass,” the woman confirmed. “I know it will be hard, my child. But it is a moment you must endure. You have her entire lifetime to enjoy by her side. Don’t let the inevitability of her passing stop you from living.” 

The young witch remained silent as warm tears burned their way down her skin. She had grown accustomed to death from a young age. That wasn’t the problem. (Y/N) had lost her mother when she had been all but fifteen years of age, and her father had passed long before she could even remember his voice. It wasn’t death that scared her. It was living after Beatrice. What pained the girl beyond repair was that not only could she not give Bea the life she dreamed of, she couldn’t even give her the life they had planned. 

(Y/N) wouldn’t be able to grow old beside her, taunting each other about who had more white hair. She would never get to the point where they would both need canes to walk or salves and ointments for their aching joints. No. She would only be able to watch it happen to Bea while she remained the very image she saw staring back at her in the mirror. There would be no aging pains for her, no shriveling skin or weakening bones. All there would be was her and the passage of time. 

As the hours passed, it dawned on the young woman what she had to do. As much as it broke her heart, there was nothing else that would make sense for her future. If she had no chance at her happy ever after, she’d make sure that at least Beatrice would. 

She couldn’t have known how much time had passed, but when the sound of Bea’s laughter by the door rang through the house, the sun had already set. (Y/N) peeked her head out the bedroom door to find the girl saying her goodbyes to the lovestruck Russell, a bouquet of roses hanging from her right hand. 

The young witch saw possibility there. She saw right before her eyes everything she could never give her. She saw the life they had always dreamed of, the life only one of them would be able to live. 

“Sorry I’m late, darling,” Bea said as she hung her coat on the rack. “Russell invited me out to the movies. I forgot to call.”

“It’s okay,” (Y/N) responded, trying her best to conceal the sadness that had sunk its claws into her throat.  

But she couldn’t. At the tone of her voice, the raven-haired girl turned around and crossed the room in an instant. “What’s the matter?” she asked as she led them toward their couch, sitting beside (Y/N), her hands gripping hers comfortingly. “What did Margaret say?”

“I-I, uh,” (Y/N) stammered, unable to get the words out. 

And before she could say anything else, Bea noticed the tears that brimmed (Y/N)’s eyes. Her eyes were already red and puffy, a testament to the pain she was already feeling. “What’s wrong, Rubs?” she questioned worriedly. “Is it bad?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if it is or not,” she sighed. “But it’s gonna change everything, Bea. It’s already changed me.”

“Sweetheart, you’re scaring me,” Bea said. “What’s going on, (Y/N)? What changed since this morning?” 

(Y/N) could feel her breaths staggering, the nerves coursing through her veins making her tremble under the weight of the inevitable. This was it—the moment when she would lose it all. With a heavy heart, the witch set off to explain all that Margaret had told her. She told her about Samuel and Esther, about bound souls, and vampires and witches. Finally, she told her what it all meant to her. The very reason both their lives would never be the same. “She said the reason I haven’t shown any sign of aging and I had that odd attack that night was because my soul is most likely tethered to a vampire,” she explained, fighting the new tears that threatened to spill across her cheeks. “I’m never gonna age, Bea. Everyone around me will grow and die, and I will stay just as you see me right now before you. I don’t know how I could ever give you the life you’ve always wanted.” 

Bea rose from her seat as though it had burned her. Her thoughts spiraled and sparked inside her head before she could process anything that (Y/N) was saying. None of it made sense to her. She was a witch and knew of the existence of many other supernatural beings. But that? That she couldn’t get her mind around. 

The girl pressed her palms to her eyes, stopping the tears before they stained her face, but not before they pooled around her eyes and mixed with the black of her makeup. She was distraught, unwinding at the seams, unable to process her emotions properly. Bea couldn’t grasp that those would be their last moments together as they were.

“What does this mean for us, (Y/N)?” the girl asked. “What are you gonna do?” 

“I wish I could tell you I had it all figured out, Bea, but I don’t,” she cried. “I don’t want to lose you, that’s for sure. I just don’t know what I can offer you.” 

“What about school and all that? You just got accepted to Yale. How are you gonna be a lawyer like this?” 

“I don’t know, Bea!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about any of that just yet. I just found out that I’m immortal today. There’s nothing laid out just yet.” 

The younger witch knew what (Y/N) was saying without words, and she also knew she wouldn’t say the words even if they were the only ones that had to be said. Bea wanted to believe there was a way to fight the inevitable—find a sliver of hope in the midst of their dark reality. 

“You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted, Bea,” the older witch broke the silence softly. She took tentative steps towards the other, softly wrapping her arms around the unconsolable woman. Bea leaned into her touch, even though her body screamed to get away until it was all resolved. “You deserve a wedding, you deserve kids, you deserve the big house with the even bigger garden, you deserve someone to grow old with. And as much as I wish I could give you that and the entire universe, I can’t. I can only give myself, darling, and I promise I’ll try my hardest to make you the happiest you can be with whatever time we have.” 

“You can’t promise that, (Y/N),” Bea whimpered. “As much as we want to, neither of us can promise that.”

“Why not?” she cried. “I love you more than anything in this universe. That’s enough for me.” 

“It’s only gonna be enough for now,” the younger girl sighed defeatedly. “We can’t exist on love alone, sweetheart. I wish it were that easy.” 

“What are you saying, Bea?” 

“I think it’s best that you move to Connecticut, set yourself up over there while you’re going to school,” she said, swallowing the sadness that threatened to wreck her. She had to be strong for (Y/N). She had to be strong for them both. “After, you’re gonna have to move from place to place. Never stay too long in one city or state. Never go back there until anyone that could remember you is alive.” 

“I could just stay here,” (Y/N) offered, knowing it wasn’t going to be an option. “I don’t have to ever leave the village. We could have a life here.:  

“You know that’s not possible, sweetheart,” Bea sighed. “Maybe back in the days of Esther, but I know you’ll grow angsty. You have dreams, (Y/N). You have goals you want to accomplish. You can’t stay here and wait until I die for you to start living. I couldn’t live with myself if you did.” 

“What about what I want?” she said in a voice so broken that it almost shattered Bea’s resolution. It made her wonder if there truly was a way for them to work out. But she knew. “What if all I want is you, Bea?” 

“You’ll do great things, beautiful,” she said as she turned in (Y/N)’s arms and ran her fingers through her hair. “I know everything you do will be as amazing as you are. You will go on and do all these things and see the world, and I’ll always be here, cheering you on from the sidelines.” 

“What am I supposed to do without you, Bea? We were supposed to be forever.” 

“And you’ll have forever, (Y/N),” she smiled sadly. “I won’t. And I can’t steal away a part of your life because of it. Don’t ask me to do that.” 

(Y/N) gazed into Bea’s eyes as tears blurred her vision, trying her best to plead with just one look. “You wouldn’t be stealing any part of my life, Bea,” she trembled. “You’ve shown me a life I could have. A life with you would be a life fulfilled. Why can’t that be enough?” 

“Maybe in another life, it could be,” Bea whimpered. She placed her hands tenderly on the girl’s cheeks, softly wiping away the tears that didn’t seem to stop. “But it wasn’t meant to be in this one, my sweetheart. We had the years we did, and they will always be the best of my life. And what gives me a respite is that you will have so many great years after me because I just know your life will be glorious and that I’ll continue to love you every day until I take my last breath.  And I know you’ll be happy—even after me, you’ll be happy.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t find words as they knotted in her throat. Her eyes felt like an open faucet as tears fell faster than she could hold them back. All she could do was wrap her arms around Bea and hold her as tight as she could. Because for that moment, she was still there, they were still possible. For that moment, she could pretend they were forever.

And that’s what she did every day and every night for the coming three months. (Y/N) would hold Bea as though she’d turn to dust the second she let go. There was not a moment she didn’t spend with the younger witch. She even pretended to be excited about the cross-state move, showing the girl apartment listings and bringing her to buy whatever she’d need for it. Maybe if she acted like she was all for the move, there would come a day when she would be. 

There was one thing she was sure of, at the end of those three months, she’d be losing the greatest love of her life. And before she could truly prepare herself, the day had come. 

“Time flew too fast, didn’t it?” Bea whispered from the bed, watching through hazy eyes as the witch walked from side to side, gathering all she needed for the long trip to Connecticut. “Can’t believe the day is finally here.” 

“Yeah,” (Y/N) sighed quietly, whispering her next words. “Kind of wished today never came.” 

“Do you have everything you need? Remember, you’re supposed to meet up with Lance over there. He is part of our sister coven over there and knows everything about your situation.”

“Yes, Beatrice. I know what I have to do,” she spat unintentionally. “You’ve had this planned out for three months already. Almost feels like you can’t wait for me to go.” 

“You know that’s not true,” Bea bit back quickly. “The last thing I want is to lose you, (Y/N). But we both know that it simply wouldn’t work. Not in this lifetime.” 

“It could have worked,” (Y/N) cried. She didn’t care that she’d have to redo her makeup or that she’d have puffy red eyes during her train ride; she simply allowed the tears that had never seemed to stop to fall free. “If you would have given us a chance, it would have worked.” 

“For what, sweetheart?” the girl questioned softly, unable to meet the same bark that (Y/N) had. She was sad, she was weak, she was losing her everything. “You grow restless when we stay merely a day in this house. What makes you think you’d last sixty years?” 

“I could do it for you, Bea.” (Y/N) walked to their bed and sat by Bea, taking one of her hands in hers. “I would give my entire life to be with you.” 

“That’s a price I’m not willing to let you pay,” she whispered softly, using her free hand to caress (Y/N)’s wettened cheek. “You need to let me go, (Y/N). You need to let me let you go. It’s the only way either of us will be able to make the choices we need to make for our futures.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can,” Bea smiled tenderly. “You could tell the sun to stop shining, and it would. You can do anything, (Y/N) Carmine.” 

“But I don’t want to.” 

“You have to,” she continued. “Go. See the world. Get your degrees. Open the law firm you’ve always dreamed of. Help supernatural folks like you’ve wanted. I’ll be here, always. Getting old and loving you. But don’t stay stuck. If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.” 

Without another word, (Y/N) kissed Bea’s lips and gathered all she would need for the trip. The air inside the house was thick with pain and sadness, but neither girl made another mention of it. They simply let things be until it was time for her to go. 

Russell had come to help with her bags, putting them in one of the few cars the village owned. He knew all that had been happening under the girls’ roof, but he never judged, never put in his two cents, and never, ever, turned them away. Maybe because he was smitten with Bea or because he respected his friendship with (Y/N), but he’d never looked at them any differently than he did everyone else. 

“We’re just about ready to go,” he announced from the doorway. “Car is packed and running.” 

“Thank you, Russell,” (Y/N) smiled softly. “‘I’ll be out in a moment.” 

With a tip of his hat, he turned to leave the girls to say their goodbyes. It was the last moment they’d ever look as young as each other. Beauty stuck in time, and love perfectly conserved in the image of a memory. That’s how (Y/N) wanted to remember them: young, happy, and full of love. 

“I’ll come back every year,” she whispered to Bea as she cradled her cheeks. “Every single year, no matter what.” 

“And I’ll be waiting,” Bea smiled, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’ll always be waiting by Bound Soul’s Bank. Every year, to the day, I’ll be there. Even when I’m old and frail and can barely walk, I’ll be there.” 

“You are my sun,” (Y/N) cried shakily. 

“My moon,” Bea responded in tandem. 

“And all of my stars,” they said in teary unison before sharing a last passionate kiss and a tight hug. 

The last image (Y/N) had of Bea was as she ran through the village behind the running car, yelling words of love and encouragement until there was no trail left to follow and the trees engulfed her figure. 

And with a shattered heart, and the promise of a never-ending future, (Y/N) did the hardest thing she could imagine. (Y/N) Carmine started to live.

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