No one understood more about how love is responsible for pain than he did. He who felt he could go insane without you, that he could die without your touch or attention. He who knew he would kill without hesitation to protect you. Dex would do anything, would cross hell and heaven to reach you and would lie at the foot of your bed every night to keep you safe. Nothing and no one could stand between you; he was eternally yours, from blood to bones and tears, all of it belonged to you. He was yours, to do whatever you wished, as long as you allowed him to stay by your side, admiring you, taking care of you.
He wouldn't call himself possessive, or obsessive, or controlling – no, all of that was just love, and anyone who said otherwise understood nothing about the feeling. No one understood how you consumed him with every glance, word, and expression. You had settled deep within his soul, grown claws so strong they rooted into his skin and he would never rid himself of your scent. There was no return, there was no future, there would be nothing after you.
He was devoted to your well-being, a man so in love that was molded in your image.
But his love was like fire, it burned so fiercely that it spread quickly and was unstoppable, devouring everything in its path without even noticing. It consumed you so easily. Like a silent plague settling into your thoughts – until nothing but him remained there. It was sickening and dangerous. It was real. How many people can say they have tasted something so grand?
You would let him destroy you piece by piece, agonizing in his flames, feeling his warm touch leave marks so deep on your skin that you would never be able to erase them. You were his just as much as he was yours, infinitely.
You would watch him on his knees in front of you with his hands gripping your hips and tears falling from his eyes hundreds of times and would never grow tired. You would listen to his terrified murmurs, begging you not to abandon him, crying and promising to be better, as many times as necessary. You would smell the scent of bleach on his perfectly white clothes, and you would stroke the soft strands of his hair, whispering promises to him without hesitation. Because there is no love without pain, without punishment, without despair, without obsession, without devotion.
And of all Benjamin Poindexter’s flaws, lack of devotion was not one of them.
notes: it's just... ethel cain hits hard and i just know dex is not letting you leave him, yk? this is kinda of a sneak peek of how he's gonna behave in dreams of violence !!
Character death, mention of death, depiction of death, depiction of blood, female-bodied reader, female pronouns used .. ?, implicit suicidal tendencies, self-deprecation, swearing, reader has depression if you squint
Characters
Petra Ral, Levi Ackerman, Sasha Braus, Jean Kirstein, mentions of Armin Arlert, Annie Leonhart and Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss
Genre
Angst
Word Count
1,7k
Author Note
Hello ! uh- so after careful consideration -not so- I decided to post one of the pieces of writing i have on here, i have plenty of them but keep them to myself, so i think it wouldn't hurt to share ! The writing is really bad I'm sorry, just a heads up, English is not my first language so the sentences probably won't make sense, if there's a correction or something I could do to improve feel free to tell me, I'll be more than happy to oblige ! Also, I’m so sorry I forgot the names of the guys -the one who Levi gives the patch to- so bear with me 🏃♀️
This side of paradise - Coyote Theory
0:35 ━❍──────── -5:32
↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺
VOLUME: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%
Being the stubborn asshole you were, you wouldn’t take a no for an answer. That, and the fact your comrades were being even more stubborn than you, wanting to get Ivan’s body back as you were all retreating from the horribly failed mission, did not help at all…
So now, you found yourself riding August, your horse, fleeing from the fast approaching Titans, hot behind your trail, all thanks to your fellows, who had gotten Ivan’s body back,not thinking of the consequences it would bring.
The two guys went forward to attack the Titans, albeit the fact you found yourselves in a plain biome, no trees or building around, using the maneuver gear was challenging, and, as Captain Levi had said, the smartest thing to do was to simply flee and dodge the forthcoming beasts.
It didn’t go as expected though, after all, the chances of maneuvering swiftly in the meadow were low if not zero, resulting in a Titan getting hold of the scout, mercilessly trapping him between his gross digits.
The other guy did his best efforts in saving his friend, not wanting to lose another one in a single mission, yet it didn’t go as planned, his last memories of him being his blood splattering around, dirtying the Titan’s body and filling the momentarily air with the oh so familiar smell of death.
Now, without Ivan’s body, who had fallen off the horse in the attempt to escape, and his buddy dead, the poor guy found himself galloping as fast as his steed could go, desperately running for survival.
In the midst of all the chaos caused in a matter of seconds, Captain Levi ordered that, in order to move the carts faster and successfully get to the safety inside the walls with no more casualties, they had to get rid of the dead soldiers’ bodies.
They had to leave them behind.
But your recklessness wasn’t going to lay still, and, after hearing those words come out of humanity’s strongest soldier’s mouth, you stopped dead on your tracks, causing you to almost lose balance and fall off your horse, and, whipping your head around quick enough to give anyone whiplash, you spotted Petra’s resting body on the cart, about to be thrown out as if meant nothing.
“NO !”
You yelled, watching your dead friend’s body getting farther and farther away by the second, hot tears streaming down your burning cheeks, the mundane feeling of despair piercing your insides once again.
Between gritted teeth, you murmured to yourself the promise you had made before the mission. “I’m not abandoning you, you’ll get to rest properly, even if it costs my life.”
Without thinking twice, or even giving yourself time to do so, you jumped off your horse, weakly grappling your ODM gear to the Titan’s running body, and, in a brisk motion, you reached out for your friend, hugging her body tightly, your judgment clouded by emotions, decisions driven by your heart.
The Titan before your eyes was now reaching out to you, yourself trying to dodge it hastily.
And of course, this wouldn’t, and in fact, it didn’t go unnoticed by your Captain who, while steadily riding the horse, made use of his peripheral view, checking on your dumb self, making sure you weren’t the next dead person.
Hurried but carefully, you managed to let Petra down on the cart once more, giving a death glare to your fellows, warning them with your piercing gaze to not even think about dispatching her as if she was no one.
In spite of your efforts, the wire of your gear got caught in the Titan’s hand, throwing you harshly off, leaving you with no escape from the Titan’s grasp.
“Well fuck” You scoffed, just processing the fact those were going to be your last moments.
Throwing a quick glance at Petra’s peaceful body on the cart, your vision got blurry, tears pooling your eyes once again.
This is it.
You smiled, whispering your last words with a bittersweet taste in your mouth. “Until we meet again.”
In your mind, you were cursing at yourself for giving up so easily, although, if you were being completely honest with yourself, you had been wanting to give up for a long time now, after realizing you had been fighting a lost cause, and, humanity could do nothing about their imminent fate, being erased off the earth by their enemy. After all, the strongest one wins, right ? And this was your escape, your excuse, your opportunity, your way out of the hell everyone called home.
Subconsciously, you had stopped running, unaffectedly kneeling down in your place, hoping, no, waiting for the worst. Only a single thought, a single person kept lingering in your mind : Petra.
She was the first person you had actually felt close to since you accidentally joined the Survey Corps Elite Squad. Petra was loving, selfless, and could always draw a smile on your face, even on the darkest of days; despite being trapped in in this hell hole, the ginger never lost hope, keeping on fighting bravely against Titans every day, being the ray of sunshine in the midst of all the gloomy clouds, shining brighter than any cloud could ever cry, and, even in her final moments, she never lost hope humanity would someday claim freedom.
Ultimately, unlike the fallen soldiers, you weren’t great, not even good at anything, let alone at going outside the walls and killing titans, sending yourself forward into enemy line. You weren’t extraordinary, you weren’t special, or smart, or quick witted, or strong, or at least that’s what you thought, you were just there, there by mere luck, it definitely wouldn't be a hard lose for the Survey Corps, according to your undervaluing thoughts, they wouldn’t even feel the weight of your death, let alone humanity, you would pass and, like many others, you would eventually be forgotten, the only memory left of you being ‘another victims of the monsters trapping us inside these walls’.
Yet, you felt the slightest ounce of regret about one thing, and one thing only : your friends.
Eren, Sasha, Jean, Mikasa, Armin, Krista, and once Annie, before she left for the Military Police; you would never get a chance to say goodbye to them, to thank them for spending 3 years of their lives training for a death sentence together, for defending and protecting you, for making you laugh, for showing you what real love was.
As the thoughts left your mind blank and tears rolled out your reddened eyes, time seemed to have stopped, each fraction of a second feeling like forever while you waited for death to come reclaim your meaningless life.
Levi, who was been fixated on the road ahead, forgot about you and your stupid, death-wish-antics.
The thing, or rather, the person who broke him out of his everlasting trance, was Sasha, Sasha Braus letting out a deafening scream, crying out for you.
“___ !”
He heard, muffled to his ears.
Snapping out, he promptly turned his head around, getting a hold of his blades, ignoring the excruciating pain extending through his leg, ready to kill the Titan before it could kill you.
“___ !” He caught once more, Sasha’s cries for your life breaking in her throat, tears escaping her eyes, a feeling of helplessness invading her as she watched the scene unfold before her very eyes.
It was too late.
He was too late.
Levi Ackerman, humanity's strongest soldier, couldn't save you.
Humanity's strongest soldier couldn't save a stubborn brat like you from the jaws of a mindless 7-metre-class Titan.
Knowing what was best for him and the Corps, he kept heading straight, aware he couldn’t do anything, anything but galloping away from the Titan and get into the safety the walls provided, the burning memory of you blood splattering all around, your lifeless body being crushed by a stupid 7 metre Titan engraving on his mind, ready to become to reason of more sleepless nights, nights when his regrets would have to be buried deep beneath him.
What had felt like an eternity, was in fact, matter of seconds, the rest seemingly oblivious, since they were too busy saving their own lives to look back at the cries of their comrades, too busy to notice the Titan had stopped chasing after them, too busy to realise the steed galloping riderless alongside them, too busy to realise that a singular body was back in the cart, in exchange of another life.
With no more casualties, they arrived ostensibly safely at the gate, the familiar bell ringing in their ears, filling the air, announcing their arrival after a heart-tearing expedition.
.
Your last moments weren’t as everyone described they would be.
You didn’t see your life flash before your eyes, you didn’t feel at peace, you didn’t see a blinding white light, you didn’t feel regret.
In fact, you felt nothing, nothing until you thought it was over, afore, in your last breath of life, you saw Levi’s eyes losing their oh so subtle gleam you loved, you saw Sasha breaking down, barely able to hold herself steady on the horse, you saw Jean, and how with glossy eyes, he cursed at himself, feeling guilty for not having done anything to save you.
In that moment, in that last moment, with your blood escaping your body faster than your heart could ever beat, you felt happy. Brushing death’s grasp, powerless, incapable to escape, you felt satisfied, you felt free, maybe there would be another life, a life you could actually live, a life without the terror of being ruled by them, a life where you could be free.
With your mind slowly turning off, you were sure your last thought, your last memory, your last experience was going to be a delightful one, a memory you would cherish in the so called afterlife; despite your friends, who couldn’t contain their tears, messily holding onto their horse’s leash, body numbed by pure shock, whos heart had been crudely torn apart, your reaction to that moment was quite the opposite. With a faint smile drawn on your now pale lips, you held onto that precise moment blissfully for the remaining seconds of consciousness you had left, because that moment, that instant, had shown you everything you ever wished for.
For the first and last time, you experienced love.
SYNOPSIS - dex knew you were meant to be his since the first time he laid eyes on you. you're a mess, yeah, but so is he.
CONTENT - unstable!reader. stalker!dex (which is like canon). !smut. mention of medications. dex is unhinged so don't expect anything less from him.
WC - 4.5k
NOTE - wow he's a killer and I love him.
Dex knew you were complicated. It was obvious, actually. He stalked you for long enough to notice that you had many problems. Wasn’t used to follow routines, didn’t had a lot of friends – in fact, almost no friends at all, rarely got out of your apartment to have fun, wasn’t active on social media, spent most of the week stuck at your job. From his perspective, you were very unhappy. He saw a bit of himself in you. He was unsatisfied with his life, but unlike you, he was stable, had a good routine, which he followed with dedication.
Part of his routine were watch your routine, he found himself enjoying seeing the way you deal with your life, almost as if he was there with you the whole time. Of course, he still had obligations – like his job – so he did his best to keep an eye on you even far away. He hacked into your building’s security cameras, carefully memorized your arrival and departure times, and even managed to access your computer’s camera through your Wi-Fi network. Dex was smart – but most importantly, he was determined, when he wrapped his head around something, it was a difficult job for him to let it go.
He remembered the first time he saw you as if it was yesterday. It was around eight in the morning of a Wednesday. He was taking the trash outside when you passed through him, you were talking with someone on your phone, you were wearing black pants with a black turtleneck shirt and a black long coat, your hair was loose and it looked so soft and shiny but also naturally messy. Your shoulder bumped into his and your bag felt on his feet, you immediately knelled and looked at his face apologizing. He could swear that never saw another pair of eyes so beautiful. He stayed speechless as you got up, still looking at him.
– I’m so sorry, my mind was in the clouds. – You said, tuckering a strand of hair behind your ear.
– It was nothing. – He said quickly, not even flashing a smile. He could hear the voice on the phone still talking, calling your name until you put the phone at your ear.
– I’m here. No. I wasn’t talking to you, I bumped into a guy. – You nodded at him and turned, already walking away.
It was something. It was. Your face was now engraved into his mind and he couldn’t help but wonder, “who are you and where you have been hiding?”.
After that day, Dex did everything he could to see you again. He started taking the trash every day in the same hour, looked everywhere on internet after you – as he gladly had heard your first name, he knew you could be found. It took him almost two weeks but he did found your Facebook. You had a business number there. Apparently, you worked as a teacher’s assistant for the psychology department at the Pace university, it suited you. He scrolled through every photo of you he could find, checking friends’ profiles and all of your followers.
He wouldn’t say he was obsessed; he was only fascinated by you. Checking you online was great, but Dex knew he needed more, he needed to see you again and hear your sweet voice. So he managed to find your address, it wasn’t hard for him as he had the resources. When he discovered that you lived about six miles away from him, he could not believe it. How did you managed to live so close and yet never get noticed by him?
The follow months he spent studying you. With what frequency you had guests, how many times you took the trash outside, which supermarket you liked to go – he learned it all. His favorites moments was when you kept the curtains’ open and cooked dinner, you always had a lot of fun alone, dancing, listening to music, trying new recipes, drinking. He had learned that you weren’t much of a drinker but loved wine, was basically the only type of alcohol that you were used to drink – and he knew because he had seem your trash can. He liked to stay in his car, parked at the other side of your street, and watching you sit at your fire escape; you did that at least once per month, like it was your only day to watch the stars and think about everything. He liked to imagine himself right by your side, in silence, watching you while you watch the sky. He could feel that you felt lonely sometimes – mostly because he could see you burying your head in your hands and shivering. He thought about calling you and inviting you to a date, but he knew it was stupid, it could never work, and you weren’t the type of girl who goes out with strangers just to not feel empty. You were too special for that.
Dex could say that he loved almost everything about you – except when you acted out of control. He needed control to live, he was controlled by specific rituals and needed to follow his routine to keep him stable, to keep him working. You didn’t, in fact, it was like you hated to do the same things every day, you were always trying to find new paths to go to work, new ways of putting your furniture, new ways of styling your hair. You were constantly changing. That wasn’t normal to Dex. He understood that people could get bored after some time following routines but dedication was an important aspect in life, the key was consistency. It lacked in you. From away, it was interesting, but it needed to change when he started to get closer to you.
You were looking stunning, really had taken your time to doll up tonight, and of course, he noticed. Dex managed to follow you after you left with a friend. He knew where you were going, thanks to your friend who posted about some karaoke night at her favorite bar. It was the first time in three months that you were getting out of your house to have fun, he couldn’t miss it. He also took some time getting ready, he didn’t pretend to be noticed but if you accidentally laid your eyes on him, he wanted to make sure that you would like what you’ve saw.
He sat at the bar, held his drink and stayed there, sipping slowly, pretending to have a reason to be there. You were laughing with your friend, Dex was glad he could hear you, finally had something to think about besides your face, he could hear you telling about your week and he smiled before even noticing. He knew you were not usually so talkative, he could only presume that you drank a bit before coming. That’s also something he noticed about you – every time you had a big day ahead, you would drink something to loosen up a bit, it wasn’t a health habit, he knew he had to help you change it. He planned how the topic would be discussed, how his tone would sound like and what words he should use. He had a lot of planned conversations. After all, he knew that talking wasn’t his best asset, so he should be prepared before actually speaking with you.
He smelled your perfume before actually feeling you at his side, your hands gripped the counter and he discretely analyzed your nails – he knew that you had done them last night. They looked pretty, very you, he though. Besides being particularly reserved, you weren’t afraid of being yourself, and Dex loved that about you, he thought it was nice that you knew exactly who you were and didn’t needed masks to perform at the world. That was something that you would help him with – he though. You ordered a drink, letting a low chuckle escape your lips as the bartender tried to do a small talk with you. Dex clenched his jaw, rage slowly building up him. You couldn’t be smiling at that guy, could you? He wasn’t even your type, he was sure because he saw your posts about ex-boyfriends and the photos of celebrities you liked. You had a specific type. Dex didn’t really fitted it but that wasn’t a problem for now, he would make sure to conquer your heart with other matters.
You let out a sigh as the guy walked away to prepare your drink – Dex smiled because now he understood, you were just being polite. The air was hot in the bar, the small windows opened and the ceiling fan barely doing anything. Dex wetted his lips and casually glanced at your direction, just to see you already looking at him, your lips slightly open. God, you looked perfect. Your cheeks were lightly red and your eyes were glossy but also kind of fuzzy. For a moment, Dex imagined what you would look like waking up next to him, how you would smile only for his eyes to see and how he would let your hands caress his hair while his fingers travel across your face. You looked away with a shy smile. He smiled too, mesmerized by you. He was surprised when he heard you, now looking at him again.
– I feel like I know you. – He raised a brow.
– Really? Because, I feel like I know you from somewhere too.
– That’s weird, my memory is pretty good, I never forget a face… but I can’t quite figure where I’ve seen you before. – You said, tilting your head slightly.
– Maybe we met here before?
– Oh, no. It’s my first time here, actually.
– It’s a nice place. Are you enjoying it? – He asked, now fully directed towards you.
– Yeah, it’s cozy I guess. – She looked back at her table – I’m with some friends. You come here often?
He didn’t know if she was just being polite or was really interested in keep a conversation, anyway he was glad she was giving him some of her time. It wasn’t exactly how he wanted to meet her but it wasn’t unpleasable.
– Sometimes, yeah. – She nodded with another smile.
– Nice to meet you…?
– You can call me Dex. – He smiled.
You were easy to talk to. Not always available. Which was weird, Dex knew it wasn’t because of your work, and definitely not because you weren’t home, so what could be the explanation of you taking ages to answer his texts and never accepting to go out with him? He didn’t liked the way you were making him feel. Rejected. Too clingy. Too anxious. Too much. He wanted to knock on your door and ask why you were acting like this when four weeks ago you had the nicest conversation with him and treated Dex so kindly. What had changed? Were you bored of him, as you got so easily bored of your furniture? Did he do something that bothered you?
He had gotten used of you already, used of you being the last person he talked at night and the first at morning, used to laughing at your awful jokes and weird text reactions, used to talking about work and hearing about your day or plans for the weekend. You couldn’t just vanish for days without an explanation, it was rude – and you were anything but rude with him. He would be worried if it wasn’t for the fact that he could see you, totally fine in your kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. Your phone was close to you, he thought of sending another text but it could be too much, could scare you away – even more than now. He hated how easily you could spend your day without talking to him and he couldn’t keep away from your house for a single day. He were too much, too intense, too weird, too different. He knew. Yet, when you two talked, he didn’t felt like it, he even thought that you were just like him, that you could understand him. Was he wrong all along?
You disappeared from the kitchen. He sighed, heavily, tired. Then his phone buzzed. It was you.
“Hey, sorry, forgot to text u back :(
I’m okay, just a bit tired lately, u okay?”
He read it two, four, seven times. How could you sound so casual about disappearing for two days? What did you meant with tired? His thumb hovering over the keys confused of what to say.
“Hey. It’s all right, glad you’re okay. I’m fine.”
He sent. He felt stupid.
“that’s good!! About going out Friday, u still up?”
“Yes. What time you get off work?”
“around nine. I will be super tired tho, it’s okay if we eat at my place?”
Dex was stunned. He could barely remember why he was mad at you now that you were inviting him to your house. He smiled typing.
“Sounds great. See you nine o’clock then.”
";)"
He dropped his phone in the seat.
Friday. The weather was cold, colder than it was the rest of the week. Dex was waiting outside the university, wearing a white shirt with black jeans and a black suit – same thing he wore at work, as he didn’t had time to go home and change. It was exactly nine o’clock and you still hadn’t showed up, he was starting to get anxious. Dex checked his phone and your text, confirming that you set the date for today. Now he wondered if he was at the right place, or if maybe this was a prank or maybe you got out earlier and couldn’t wait for him. He was exaggerating, for sure, but he couldn’t help it. He looked around and saw you waving at him, stepping out of the building. He could finally breathe again. You looked cute as you walked to him, not really knowing where to look at, with a small smile on your lips.
– Hi. – He smiled. – I hope you didn’t wait too much here, my boss was trying to make me work harder tonight.
– I just got here. – He said. – So, you ready to go?
– Sure.
The way back to your house were quiet, but comfortable, you liked Dex company. He was handsome, smart, and weirdly funny – the type of guy that make you laugh just by being himself. It was sweet but fragile, this thing you two had. He wasn’t actively trying to get on your pants, which you were grateful for, but also had no idea of what he expected from you. You could see things getting more serious in the future, but right now, Dex wasn’t what you were looking for. A relationship. You barely took care of yourself, how could you be involved with someone who would put so many responsibilities on your back? You didn’t want to assume anything but it was obvious that Dex wasn’t the type of guy that sleeps around or do one-night stands. You knew by the way he was reserved, or by the way he looked at you – as you were so precious to him. For the months you’ve been talking to him, you didn’t knew a lot about his life, he mostly appreciated to hear you talking about yourself, so his life wasn’t in the spotlight most of the nights. It didn’t bother you, not really, if anything just made you more interested in him and his mysterious personality.
You closed the door after he got in. He stayed with his hand on his pockets and still as possible in the middle of your living room. Your flat wasn’t really small but also far from being big, you felt nervous as you watched him looking around. Bringing guys over wasn’t something you used to do, somehow, you felt that it was okay with Dex, he was trustable. You felt safe with him; even though you knew he worked on the FBI – maybe that was the reason of you feeling safe around him. He looked at you and gave you a small smile.
– You can sit. – You said, pointing to your couch. – I’m going to put my bag in my bed and I will be right back so we can order something. Make yourself home.
Dex sat, still looking tense, it was his default configuration, he could help it. He was always in alert, as every soldier is. He touched the armrest of the sofa, feeling it, he didn’t liked the texture. He quickly looked around making sure he wouldn’t forget any spot of your place. It was cozy, not fancy but not messy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. This – the sofa, the white walls, no pictures hanged, the smell of chlorine – it didn’t felt like you. He thought your house would have more personality, that it would have a bunch of pictures of your childhood in wood frames, posters of movies you watched and it would smell like your perfume. This place looked hollow. His eyes stopped at a small bottle on the coffee table, his hands travelled to it before he could resist, picking it up and reading the label. Zoloft. He straightened his posture when he heard your steeps.
– So, do you have anything specific in mind? I’m down to anything, really. – You sat next to him, but left a lot of space between your bodies.
Dex had an expression of discomfort, his lips pressed together and his eyebrows furrowed.
– Are you okay? – He asked, his eyes analyzing your expression. You were confused.
– Uhm, yes? Why do you ask?
– You never told me you took medications.
– What? – Your eyes flew to the bottle at your table, a nervous smile creeping onto your lips. – Are you talking about that? – He nodded, slowly.
– It’s nothing, seriously. It just helps me with bad days and anxiety, that kind of stuff.
– Is that why you stopped answering my messages? – he knew that asking so many questions like this was a mistake, he would scare you away, as he always do. However, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, he realized as the words came out of his mouth. – Are you depressed?
You laughed, loudly, probably the first time he heard you laughing like that. He felt embarrassed. He wished he could stop you from laughing at him, that he could get up and left, forget all about this night – maybe even forget about you.
– Dex, what? Look at me, I’m fine! You don’t need to worry about me, ‘right? – You laid you head in the couch, Dex stared at you imagining what would happen if chocked you. Would you fight back or you would accept it as your fate? Did you wanted to die?
– I’m truly sorry about not texting you. – You turned your head to look at him.
Dex was beautiful. Maybe you just were falling for him – or maybe, he just had the prettiest eyes you ever saw, the way the lighting was molding his features and the way you could see glimpses of you in the reflection of his eyes were intoxicating. He had a cold look. Distant. Yet, you never felt so seen before. You felt your heartbeat accelerating; it was getting harder to breathe.
– You’re right. I… think I was scared of telling you some things and making you go away. It’s silly. – You chuckled, partially ashamed of your behavior. – I mean, it’s just, no one likes to go out and tell the world that they are sick, you know?
– Sick? – He was lost in thoughts but that word made him get pushed back to reality. You nodded.
– I take those pills since I was, like, fourteen. I’ve been sick for a long time and will probably be until the day I die. – You sighed, explaining your condition.
That was familiar to Dex, taking pills since he was a child, multiples sessions with his therapist, bad days, nights awake, the fear of making people disappear from his life, the violent thoughts, and the difficulty in connecting with people. Everything that you said was exactly what he felt his whole life. He couldn’t believe it. What were the odds of meeting someone like you? So perfect yet so similar to him. In that moment, Dex felt like you were everything he spent his life looking for. It was you. His salvation, his north star.
– You could never scare me away. – Dex said in a low tone, it sounded as a confession, a secret. He could see your gaze flickering between his eyes and lips, as if you were deciding something. Maybe deciding if he was being honest or not.
You leaned in, drawn by something magnetic, your gaze fixed on his lips until he couldn’t resist anymore. He attacked your lips with impressive speed, his tongue immediately exploring the inside of your mouth, kissing like a rabid animal. And you loved it, trying to keep up with his pace as best you could, your hands traveling to his blond hair and you gripped the soft strands. Dex tasted of coffee, mint, and a hint of cinnamon. When you pulled away to breathe, you soon felt his hand on the nape of your neck pulling you close again, his eyes seemed dark with desire, he was fierce. You felt your whole body shiver, unsure what to think at the moment because everything kept returning to him – Dex, Dex, and Dex, he was flooding your thoughts, his scent intoxicated you, his cologne was strong but not unpleasant, like the smell of gasoline or paint.
You wanted more of him; you wanted to feel him everywhere. You brought your fingers to his face and traced his lips with them, watching his heavy, ragged breathing. He opened his mouth slightly, giving you passage. You didn't put your finger inside his mouth, only felt the wet texture of saliva on his lips. You were driving him crazy. He wanted to kiss, touch, and lick every tiny part of your body. He let his hands travel through your hair, brushing a few strands from your flushed face. The apartment was warm – perhaps because he could feel the heat of your body against his.
Desire. It was a strange feeling, not entirely new to either of them, but never as intense as that night. Dex had never been so focused – on you. Completely devoted and obsessed with your touch. It was almost painful. He felt his body burning. All he could see and feel was you, your scent, your parted lips, your hand on his face, and your beautiful eyes staring at him as if you belonged to him. And you did. From the Wednesday your eyes met, you had become his; no one could ever touch you like that. And he was yours just as you were his.
You couldn't focus on anything; your mind was in a trance, completely fascinated by the man in front of you, but also so carried away by the sensations that nothing made sense besides his touch. His hands were large, strong, and firm, holding you in place as if you were just a sack of meat. You even thought you would do anything he asked or wanted, just to keep his attention on you. It was insanity. Nothing had ever seemed as real as this moment. You became more confident and daring when you heard the low moan of pleasure that Dex let out when his hand went down to his cock. It was a delicious sound, better than you had imagined, and god, of course you had imagined it.
Dex, too, despite always forbidding himself, striving to keep his mind clean of any impure thoughts, afraid that somehow imagining you in a vulgar way would also make you dirty. But he desired it as much as you did, mirroring your smile and your voice messages while his hand caressed his member under the shower and his head rested against the wet wall, feeling the water wash away his pleasure along with his sweat down the drain. In any case, nothing compared to this; truly feeling your soft hand gently rubbing him, teasing him, driving him to the brink of madness. He didn't know he could lose control like this, it was something new and frightening. But it felt so good. And if it's good, it can't be wrong, right?
He kissed you again, without holding back. You grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and looking at him, almost as if begging to see him, and he would never refuse. He easily pulled off his shirt and returned to the kiss, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. You pulled away for a moment and took off your own shirt. Dex's eyes traveled over your breasts, and you looked a mess, flushed cheeks, tousled hair, his bulging chest visible; he was gorgeous. He moved his mouth to your neck, holding your waist with one hand and the back of your head with the other, his tongue slowly tracing your neck, kissing, sucking, and licking. It was as if he wanted to devour you. Your body was on fire, and the breeze coming through the open window relieved you. You felt your core dripping and wetting your panties, slightly embarrassed for being so eager after just a few kisses, but the relief of feeling Dex's already hard cock calmed you; he was as desperate for it as you were. Holding onto his shoulder, you shifted, allowing him to position one of his knees between your legs. The friction of his jeans against your panties was exhilarating; it made you feel so good that you barely noticed when you started rubbing against his leg. Dex found the action adorable; he liked knowing you felt comfortable enough to use him however you wanted, and he wanted to be the one who satisfied you.
His hands went to the clasp of your bra and with mastery, he opened it, throwing the garment to the floor. You smiled as you felt his hands on your breasts, touching them carefully. He was intense but also careful. His mouth went to your ear and he whispered; “You are divine” and you felt your body tremble at the tone in his voice, you let out a low moan as you felt you were getting close to climaxing. To your misfortune, Dex pulled away, removing your source of pleasure. You stared at him, confused and still slightly drunk from the sensation. He laid you down on the sofa and unzipped your pants, pulling them down to your ankles. He admired the sight of your thin panties for a second and brought two fingers to your lips, you let them in, smearing them with saliva, still looking into Dex's eyes. He smiled slightly and removed his fingers, taking them to your pussy, playing with your clitoris in circles. You gasped, feeling a new wave of pleasure, more intense. He penetrated your hole with his fingers, maintaining a slow and torturous rhythm, purposefully making you savor the little he gave you. His face moved back a few centimeters from yours, and you lifted yourself slightly, seeking his mouth. The kiss was slower, full of sighs, his gaze fixed on you. You came with his fingers still on you and your mouths pressed together.
In that moment you realized that dinner would have to wait a bit more.
SYNOPSIS - monsignor wicks is dead, after his funeral you have a brief encounter with a young priest.
WC - 1.1k
NOTE - i'm so mad at myself but i cannot finish this. this could become a series, but only time will tell 😭 (read this other jud fic I have bc it's better!)
Chimney Rock is the type of place that lives on the past and always will, doesn’t matter how many years you stay away from it, when the time of returning home comes – you will go back and see that everything remained the same. In a certain way, it was beautiful, but also tragic, as we know that something that doesn’t change is forgotten, eventually. You wished that you could erase the place from your memory, but you could not. So after ten years living with your mom in London, you returned home expecting things to be the same and for your surprise, you were wrong. Everything changed.
You sat at the old wooden bench outside the church, staring at the glimpses of the sun illuminating the window, painted in various colors, reflecting a mystical and enchanting kind of light on the walls. The place was quiet, not even the soft sound from birds singing touching your ears. You were suffering from a different kind of grief – the one that come in silence and slowly eat you alive, drowning you in guilty and regret.
– Hi. – A soft voice echoed behind you. As you turned your head to look, you saw a young man, a priest, with a polite smile on his lips. – I’m Father Jud.
– Hi. I’m… just visiting. – You offered him a small smile.
– Are you here for the funeral? – His words made your stomach drop. You nodded. – How did you know Monsignor Wicks?
– I am his daughter.
Everyone in the city knew – or at least suspected. Wicks took care of you for almost ten years, taught you the lord’s way, helped you get your first job as dog walker, baptized you and then sent you away. Everything he could had done for you, he did. It didn’t took long for the gossip spreads in the small city and mostly in his parish. Martha was the one who helped your mom to move from the city – not from kindness, but for shame. Since then, he never called, never visited, he just left you as a mistake from his past. You hated him for that, how could you not?
– You are the girl he sent away. Martha told me. – He walked at you, sitting by your side with an apologetic look on his face. – I’m sorry for your loss.
– Thank you, Father. – You opened your mouth, words refusing to come out. Jud watched as you smiled, small, incredulous, shaking your head. – I barely knew him and now he is dead.
– Sometimes the greatest lost comes from what it could had been and not what was lost. – Jud said, looking at the church, flickers of sun bathing his eyes.
– I know. I’m sorry, Father…I’m not here to confess or anything. – You sighed. – I am not even catholic anymore.
– We can just talk, not as priest and devoted. Just two people who lost someone. – He looked at you, his voice so soft and eyes so kind. It made you feel bad for even being there, so full of hatred and anguish.
– It’s driving me mad. He should be the one feeling guilty for leaving me, but here am I. It feels like it was my fault for not being here. – You could see your vision being blurred by the tears on the corner of your eyes. – I hate him. How can I hate a dead man?
Jud could feel how heavy your heart was. It was heartbreaking. He swallowed thickly – remembering his own thoughts. He also hated Monsignor Wicks. On his heart he knew, he wanted him dead, and he was. Now, witnessing your suffering, he could only feel guilty. He stared at you, hands tingling, and a sense of responsibility blossoming in his heart. He wished he could take your pain and treat as he own. To whip your tears and reassure you that God would bring peace to your soul. That he could reach for your hands and stop them from shaking.
– Hating him does not make you cruel. You’re being honest and that’s good. – He turned slightly. – You’re not angry at a dead man, you’re angry at his absence, at what was taken from you. You don’t need to forgive him today. Or ever, in the way people expect. Sometimes grace begins with allowing yourself to tell the truth about what hurts you.
For a moment, you saw the light reaching for him. The sun bathing his figure in a magical way – he looked unreal, perfect and illuminated by the Lord himself. A wave of sadness hit you. His sweet tone destroying your walls and touching the deepest and darkest part of your heart. You wondered how someone could be that good. You were captivated by Father Jud, and you felt slightly bad for it. It wasn’t physical desire – at least you wished it wasn’t – it was something deeper. He looked like light and you were drowning in darkness, at that moment, you felt that you would follow him into anywhere just to see that light on his eyes again and at the same time, you hated him. You hated how good he seemed to be.
– Love and anger can exist in the same place. – He said.
– It’s easy for you to say that. You are practically a saint. I’m not. – You let out an incredulous and revolted chuckle. – I was born in sin, created by failure, as if I was bound to suffer through the sins of my father.
– You were not created by failure. You were created despite it. – He tilted his head and gave you a small smile; browns furrowed softly, his voice breaking. – And I am not a saint. I am just a man redeeming myself to God.
His words hit you hard. Tears streaming down your face as you burry it on your palms. Jud watched you, so keenly. His heart ached for you. He wanted to make you feel better – to help God make you feel better. Yet, he felt that he could not, he felt powerless as if nothing that he could say would help. He felt that he had failed you.
– I’m sorry, Father. – You got up quickly, whipping the tears and not once looking at Jud again. – Thank you for being so kind.
He wanted to say something, anything. However, Jud was speechless. So he just saw you walking away, arms hugging yourself, quick steps until you reached your car. You’re gone as fast and subtly as you arrived. Jud stayed. Hoping that someday you would come back – and maybe even stay.
SYNOPSIS - billy knows his true nature. yet, he's dying to find out about yours.
CONTENT - part two. !angst. billy’s point of view. physical and psychological abuse. this is going to be real slow burn.
WC - 1.5k
NOTE - okay, he's fucked up? yes but we can work with it. (part three here)
The four horseman by Metallica played loudly, echoing through the thin walls of Billy’s house. He inhaled the smoke of his cigarette, laying his head back for a moment. He looked at the mirror and passed his fingers through one rebel curl that had fallen down into his eyes, fixing it with a bit of spray. He smiled at himself – he was excited to meet Tina, it was a date after all, he knew that she was willing to do anything for him. He was fresh meat at town, choosing a girl to take out on a Saturday night wasn’t a hard choice.
Abruptly, he heard Susan’s voice, knocking on his door.
– I’m a little busy in here, Susan. – He screamed over the loud song.
– Open the door. Right now! – His father screamed back. His tone harsh as ever.
Billy sighed, dousing the cigarette and with quick steps, he opened the door. They stared at him, Susan with an apprehensive feature.
– What’s wrong? – Billy asked.
– Why don’t you tell us? – His father asked, tilting his head slightly, peaking at his room.
– Because I don’t know. – Billy’s tone was annoyed – which only made his father’s anger grew.
– We can’t find Maxine. And her window was open. – Susan said. Her voice was high-pitched, whiny. He hated it how overly dramatic and inoffensive she always sounded.
– Where is she?
– I don’t know. – Billy shrugged. His father looked at him with false surprise. Scratching his eyebrows. – Look, I’m sure she just… I don’t know, went to the arcade or something. I’m sure she’s fine!
– You were supposed to watch her. – Neil said, crossing his arms.
– I know dad, I was. It’s just that you guys are three hours late and…Well, I have a date. – Billy told him, grabbing his jacket and turning his back. – I’m sorry, okay?
– So that’s why you’ve been staring at yourself in the mirror like some faggot, instead of watching your sister?
– I have been looking after her all week, dad! – Billy used a higher tone, annoyed by all the questions and the music slowly getting on his nerves. Neil narrowed his eyes. – If she wants to run off then that’s her problem, all right?! She’s thirteen years old, she shouldn’t need a fulltime babysitter. And she’s not my sister!
Billy walked to the radio and turned it off, angrily. In the blink of an eye, he was with his back pressed into his closet, Neil’s hands grabbing his shirt and his face centimeters away from his. His breath hitched. Neil looked at him – the kind of look that was more like a warning. Billy clenched his jaw. Anger building up inside of him. And deep down a mix of shame and fear,
– What did we talked about? – Neil murmured and suddenly slapped Billy’s face. Susan watched the scene unfold, her hands shaking as she closed her eyes for a second.
– Respect and responsibility.
– Now. Apology to Susan. – Billy stared at his father eyes. A million thoughts running into his head and at the same time not even one coherent thought. He swallowed his pride and felt the tears in the corner of his eye.
– I’m sorry, Susan.
– It’s okay, Neil. Really… – He interrupted her.
– No! It’s not okay. Nothing about his behavior it’s okay. – He dropped his son, turning to face Susan. His voice more controlled. – But he’s gonna make up for it. He’s going to call whatever whore he’d see tonight and cancel their date. And then, he’s going to find his sister, like the good, kind and respecting brother that he is. Ain’t that right, Billy?
– Yes, sir. – He tried to sound steady. He couldn’t. Not with the feeling of his throat struggling to utter any word or with the single tear running down his cheek. Neil stepped closer to him again, breathing deeply, like a disappointed father.
– Sorry, I couldn’t hear you?
– Yes. Sir. – He said it again, louder this time. Still looking into Neil’s eyes.
– Find Max.
And he left the room. Susan hesitated for a second – as she thought to say something, to apologize maybe. But she was too scared for that. Scared of Neil. Scared of Billy too. She closed the door. Billy closed his eyes, biting his lip and with an impulsive movement, he grabbed his perfume and threw it into the floor. The small bottle throwing pieces of glass all over his carpet. He buried his face into his palms. He wished he could scream, shout and break everything in his room, maybe walk to Neil’s room and beat his face until blood was all that remains. He was frustrated. Mad. Sad. Scared. And he knew it was all Max fault. If she had stayed home or at least asked for permission to go somewhere like a normal fucking kid, nothing would had happened, his father wouldn’t be so angry at him.
But he felt like it was his fault too. For being a fucking coward and not saying anything back. For letting Neil touches him. For being such a pathetic excuse of man. For letting his mom leave him with Neil. For not being able to do any shit like he was supposed to. He couldn’t understand why his father hated him so much, why nothing was ever good enough. What more did he expect from him? He knew he was already doing the best he could. Yet never felt like it was ever enough.
He needed to do something.
When it comes to people dealing with problems; we can put them in two different yet so similar categories. There’s those who enjoy their pain, who decide to endure their agony alone and accept it as their own, as piece of themselves. And there’s those who punish others as a way of forgetting about their own punishments, those who thrives in watching someone else pass through the pain that they had to endure. Billy could somehow be both. Oh, he enjoyed to be the one who puts people in pain. He enjoys being the one who gives the first punch and reduces guys into pools of blood and broke bones. Still, the pain that came with that was also what he loved. The feeling of his back aching or his knuckles in raw flesh after a few punches was what really made him feel alive. The feeling of being capable of causing pain and also being strong enough to endure that pain, is what made him crueler.
He built himself over broken bones and bloody noses, over nights driving drunk without fearing the death – not waiting for it to catches him, but pursuing it. All that because he needed to be sure that he wasn’t scared, that nothing would ever scare him again. That he would prevail over anything that life could throw on him. He wouldn’t back away, wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t be a coward. He was the man that his father created.
"You think you can tell me what to do, Sinclair?"
The way your name came out of his mouth confused him. He had not planned to use your last name. Nor where you fit into his life. Nothing. It just came out. He moved even closer. You took a deep breath, but didn't back away. It made something inside him burn. Admiration? Anger? Curiosity? He did not know.
He replayed that small conversation in his head again and again. Something inside him burned. It wasn't anger. It wasn't defiance. It was that feeling he hated to acknowledge: interest. What he felt in that instant was something Billy didn't know how to handle. He didn't know how to name it. He did not know how to push it away. It was not hate. It was not indifference. It was not just tension. It was… you. So obnoxiously innocent, subtly slipping into his mind without even trying. His eyes watching the road, the moon barely bringing light to his car. Your eyes engraved on his thoughts. Staring at him so deeply. He wondered if you felt the same thing – if you couldn’t take him from your mind. If you hated that part of yourself as he hated his.
His fingers grabbing roughly the steering wheel. The strong wind messing his curls, making it a wild mess. The annoying odor of Hawkins streets filling his car. Music playing in a low tone as he murmured the lyrics. He just kept driving, delaying going home as much as he could. In nights like this, he had stupid thoughts. Hopes of someday having a quiet place to go, somewhere nice where he could rest his head and feel a soft touch on his face. It was ridiculous, he knew. After all, even if that place existed, Billy would be its damned ruin – as he had always been since a child. Destructing his own home. His own mother. His family. Himself.
Billy had some problems and he knew it. He just couldn’t run from them. He also couldn’t face them like other people do. He felt lost, with nowhere to go, nothing to do or be. And the worst part of it is that he knew that he did that to himself. No one could change that true. He had become the same monster he was made from.
CONTENT - headcanons of how matt feels about you. gn!reader. !angst / !fluffy. basically just matt being head over heels.
WC - 520.
NOTE - i can't write anything other than angst, it's not my fault...
MATT MURDOCK who is maybe the closest thing to heaven that you are ever going to see. Who’s sweet, kind, thoughtful, soft-spoken, and probably perfect.
MATT MURDOCK who can’t stand seeing you cry or get barely sad so he watches you with precision, always making sure to get you exactly what you need, to hold you how you like it and give you space when you need it. Except, he doesn’t. He cannot. His body physically hurts with the thought of leaving you unattended. He needs to keep you close, so he can be able to hear you, he already doesn’t have how to see you so all he can count with is his hearing, and if you are too far, that also fails him.
MATT MURDOCK who thinks you are the closest to heaven that he will ever get to. That aches every night, praying that he will make it home, to you. That kiss you, as it is his last kiss every time. That sleeps hearing your heartbeat because that is the only way for him to be sure that you are real.
MATT MURDOCK who doesn’t think he deserves you. He’s not a bad man, he knows that, but how can anyone deserves you?
MATT MURDOCK who traces your skin with the tip of his fingers, memorizing every spot with adoration. Who smell your scent and feels like not being able to touch you its unbearable.
MATT MURDOCK who would get on his knees for you without blinking. Who worships you in every way he can. Who loves you with not just his heart, but body and soul. Who belongs to you, and make sure to tell you always.
MATT MURDOCK who loves hearing your laugh. He can’t help it. Always the first to suggest watching comedy movies. Always telling you stupid and silly jokes, and you, of course, laugh at them all, even the not funny ones, just because you love the soft proud smirk he gives you.
MATT MURDOCK who dreams about having a family of his own. To have a nice but no so big house and make it home for you. Who talk about having babies with you when the city is quiet and lay with you on his bed, holding you with a soft smile.
MATT MURDOCK who once said to you that he was tired. Tired of being God’s perfect soldier. Tired of seeing his city falls under corruption and scared that someday it would catch you. Tired of always leaving in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. He cried that night, the first and maybe last time you ever saw that man so vulnerable.
MATT MURDOCK who knows he can’t give up. That he can’t let the daredevil rest. Who knows that his city needs him.
MATT MURDOCK who prays that you won’t leave him, that you won’t get tired of this life. Who pray to his god, pleading, just so he could keep you, begging to not take you from him. Because God knows he couldn’t take it, he wouldn’t accept losing you, the light in his life.
SYNOPSIS - loving frank sometimes felt like loving another woman's man.
CONTENT - !angst. gn!reader. that's all lol.
WC - 2.5k
NOTE - I'm kinda insecure about the whole dead wife trope. also don't like how this turned out but kinda do, idk.
You knew Frank would be anything but easy. You didn’t expect him to be, not after everything he went through. He was a mess in almost every sense of the word. It was clear as water and you knew as soon you met him, in that first night you two crossed paths, you could feel that he would destroy you, and yet, you were the one who opened your door to help him.
You liked him. How could you not? He was a violent man, one who didn’t had problems in being drenched in blood or to break bones, but he was also gentle, kind, really smart and had a good heart – blinded by vengeance, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He was also stubborn. Spent nights coming back to your door, filled with bruises, cuts and in a lot of pain – not only physical. It was hard to make him talk about himself. Or talk at all. Normally you were the one doing the talking, babbling about work, friends, even family problems, but never being able to connect with him in any way, frankly, it was expected, you had your cup of traumas but nothing that could compare with losing your whole family after getting back from war.
Frank enjoyed your company – he would never say it out loud thought. He had caught himself thinking about you many times, more than he would like, but how could he not? You were good. Not perfect, just good enough, and that’s what he most liked about you. You were honest – not just with yourself, but also with everyone, you were really smart, loyal to those you cared for, calm, shy but not scared of getting out of your comfort zone and rarely got emotional around him. He didn’t need to stop by your house every time he was stabbed, he knew how to take care of small wounds, but he appreciated the way you were so gentle with him, or the way you could be bossy when he got you worried, or how you weren’t afraid of the things he did. It has been so long since someone didn’t judge his actions. Of course, when all the stuff of “the punisher” came out he had some sympathizers, some were cops – which he hated, some were fathers tired of being afraid for their families, some were teenagers who thought they knew everything about life, but those people didn’t really knew him. They claimed to support his actions, yet he wasn’t sure that he liked that. He admired people who could keep an optimistic vision of society, people who weren’t like him – so fucked up by traumas that couldn’t see any beauty in the world. But you were different; you didn’t judge him in any way. You weren’t exactly giving him applauses but also were not screaming at him for killing people.
It wasn’t like you didn’t had an opinion, you just never felt like you needed to share it. Who were you to judge his actions? You could understand both views perfectly; you knew that he was taking lives, lives of bad people – people who could eventually change, yeah. However, it wasn’t your problem and you don’t think you could hate Frank, not after so many nights cleaning his wounds and worrying about his safety. Wondering if he would appear for one more night or if he would vanish from your life.
Tonight was a hard night. One of those days who make you wonder – what the fuck is wrong with people?
After working almost four years at a hospital, you thought you have seen everything, that nothing could surprise you, right? Wrong, because today you had to switch up a young boy who were abused by his father and photographed by his mother. Things like that didn’t normally affect you, it was your job after all, if you let those things consume you, you would be ruined. But something was different this night. The tough of a child being harmed by the only people who were supposed to protect him, it was unbearable, it was sickening.
When you closed your door and sat at your couch, you laid your head at your palms and stayed like that for a moment. Your heart felt heavy. Your hands were shaking slightly. You could feel tears rolling down your cheeks as you closed your eyes. It was too much. You felt lonely, tired and hopeless. Did really mattered how many lives you could save? Because for one child that you help, more thousand get hurt at their own homes. How unfair was that. You took a deep breath as you wiped your face. Looking at your window until you heard a knock in your door.
You knew it only could be him.
You got up and with slow steps you reached the door, your hand rested on the doorknob and for the first time, you asked yourself if opening it was a good idea. You did it anyway, because at the end of the day, you had took an oath of helping people wherever they needed.
Frank looked okay – it was the first time he looked fine, actually. No bleeding, no open cuts in his face, no blood in his clothes too. He looked at you expressionlessly, as if he didn’t even expected that you would actually be at home.
– You okay? – You asked, confused. He opened his mouth slightly and scratched his face, looking away from you.
– Yeah. I’m all right.
– Okay, uhm... That’s good. So what are you doing here? – You sounded harshly than you wanted to. It was just a bad moment and you were confused. Apparently, he noticed the tone you used and furrowed his brows. He looked down and sighed.
– I don’t know. I think I just wanted to see you. – It was harder to say that then he expected.
Frank wasn’t good with his words. He wasn’t a coward though. He wanted something – and nothing could change his mind, so even though admitting this was difficult, he would not back down now.
– Do you want to get in?
– Yeah, it would be good. – You stepped back and he got in, walking to your couch as you locked the door.
It was a weird sigh. Familiar but weird. Frank wasn’t the type of man who just appears to chat with a friend – hell, you weren’t even sure that he had any friends, and you surely wasn’t on the top of his list if he had.
You sat and he did the same. Weirdly away from you, as if he was trying to keep the maximum of distance between you. He looked uncomfortable. You honestly wasn’t in the mood to do small talk, so you asked:
– Something happened? You never come here if you are not hurt.
– Nothing happened, I was just around the block and, well I wanted to see how you’re going. That’s all. – Are you okay?
– Honestly? – You laughed, nervous – I am feeling awful. I’m tired and it was a fucking horrible day.
– What happened? – You could hear the concern in his voice.
– Some kid that I helped, he was…he was being abused at home, and when he got to the hospital, god, if you could’ve seen it. He was so sweet, polite, such a happy kid, you know? Going through hell and still so pure. – You sighed. – I guess I’m just tired of people being capable of doing shit like that.
Frank never saw you like that. You looked numb. As if life had drained your energy. You looked mad too, and that he could resonate with. He was tired too. Tired of people, tired of the world for closing their eyes at things like that, tired of himself for not being capable to stop it all from happening – and tired of fighting for it, too.
He didn’t knew what to say, maybe there isn’t nothing to be said.
– I think I’m really grateful for what you do, you know?
– You’re not.
– I am, Frank. Seriously. You are cleaning this godforsaken town.
– You are only saying this because you’re mad. I get it. But you don’t like it. That’s not who you are.
You laid your head on the couch and looked at him.
– I’m just tired.
– I know.
Falling for him was easy. Soon, he was at your door every week, sometimes with food, sometimes flowers. He was sweet. A good listener. He made you feel seen, like you mattered, your opinions, your jokes, he listened it all. He made you feel safe.
In nights like this – with your head at his shoulder and some stupid movie on TV, it all felt so good.
– How do you imagine your future? – His soft tone cracked the silence. You blinked, sitting a bit straighter, thinking.
– I’m not sure. Probably in a nice house, with a cat or a dog, maybe both. Cooking dinner, listening to slow music and being held…by someone. Not alone. I don’t think I want to be alone.
– Sounds lovely. Normal. Quiet.
– Isn’t that what everyone wants? – You chuckled, looking at him. His face holding something deeper. Nostalgia, maybe. Or sadness. You couldn’t know. – How you imagine your future?
– I don’t know… - He sighed. Still looking at the TV. – Maybe in a prison, maybe finally resting.
– You don’t see nothing nice waiting for you?
– I’ve stopped waiting for nice things to happen a long time, sweetheart.
Sometimes you wished that you never opened the door that night. That maybe if weren’t for that, he would never had the chance to get so close to you, that maybe you wouldn’t get hurt. It could be destiny, you thought. You never had luck enough to get something good without having to fight for it, so you knew things were going to be hard, you didn’t mind, because it was Frank, and if you had to get hurt – you could only wish it was by his hands.
At first, you thought that you could never hate him. You were completely in love with everything about him, his manners, his voice, his personality, his touch. Then, slowly, things were changing. The nights when he wasn’t able to come home were the worst, when you were lonely, that’s when everything about him felt wrong. You couldn’t stand it, nights without sleeping because all you could think it was if he would come home safe, nights packing up his wounds, nights crying silently in the bathroom. You were terrified of losing him. Of losing yourself on him.
Sometimes it was even worst when he was home, sleeping next to you, then mumbling in his dreams about his ex-wife and kids. It felt so wrong to be there, trying tireless to fit where another woman had. And how could you ever try to compete with a dead woman? How could you fill the hole that losing a whole family left? How could you ever feel enough for him?
Frank loved you. You knew it. Yet, it never felt enough. It wasn’t his fault, but everything that made him who he was now, was deeply connected with his past, that was something he could never bury. It doesn’t matter how much he or you wanted. Loving him felt like a chore, like trying to fix something unfixable, holding tiny pieces of something that wasn’t real anymore, it was like loving something sick. And you couldn’t save him, but you loved the sick.
He tried for some time, settled down, got a shitty job, came home at the same time every day. Left his past in the bag, his family, the punisher. All for you. And for a moment, it was enough.
The moon bathing the room through the cracks of the window. The warm weather felt like kisses on your skin, the strong smell of pasta filling the house with a cozy sensation. You were happy. But everything goes bad eventually.
– What’s that smell? Hm? – You felt his big hands circling your waist, his mouth leaving a small kiss at your neck.
– It’s spaghetti. – He hummed, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin.
– Smells good.
You wished that simple words didn’t cut so deep. Domesticity always looked better on him than it should. He rested his chin on your shoulder, heavy, familiar.
– You okay? – The question was soft, almost careless, but Frank Castle never asked anything without a reason. – You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, you know?
You hated how easily he read you.
– It’s nothing.
– Don’t lie to me. – You turned off the stove, turning around to look at him.
– Are you happy with me? – His eyes searched your face, confused, trying to read you.
– What are you saying? Of course I am. – He sounded hurt, and somehow scared. As scared as you were.
– I know you’re trying to leave it all behind. I can see it, but… sometimes it feels like I’m living in someone else’s house. Someone else’s life.
Frank’s lips parted, a breath caught in his throat.
– I’m not trying to replace her. – Your voice cracked. – God, Frank, I know I can’t.
He winced, as if you had struck him. He hated that feeling, that he was the one hurting you, making you feel like you weren’t enough. You continued before you lost courage.
– But I cannot fix what broke you. And I keep feeling like I’m just… holding whatever it's left from you. – He looked down.
– I gave up everything to be here with you. – He wasn’t bragging; he was confessing. – I put down the vest. I got a job I hate. I come home early. I’m doing everything I can to be someone you can stay with.
– I know! That’s the problem, Frank! I don’t want you quiet, or contained, or pretending you’re fine. – You felt tears press behind your eyes, but you forced them back. – I want you happy, and I want to be happy. Even if the only way that can happen it’s if we’re not together.
The tears fell down your checks, your face buried in your palms. Frank sat next to you, still like a soldier. It hurts. His presence felt like treason. Months lying to your face, faking stories and leaving your bed in the middle of the night. He was back at it, killing bad people, taking punches, hiding from cops and wearing that fucking vest. It wasn’t the killing spread that made you mad, it was all the lies. You accepted that part of him when you first helped him, but now it was different, he said he had stopped. That he wanted to give you something stable, good, and normal. Now, nothing was normal.
– How could you do that with me? – Your voice braked. – You knew what this shit would do to us!
– Look, I think part of you hate me, and you have every right to. – He licked his lips, looking at you. – But you have to understand, there’s nothing better I could be. You knew that when you let me in your house.
– So what you want me to do, Frank? – You looked at him. Your heart aching with the pain. – Do you want me to leave you? Is that it?
– I don’t want to hurt you. You know that.
– Should have thought of that before lying to me for months. – You got up, walking to your room and locking the door.
The months after that were a blurry in your head. Two days after that fight, he left. Quietly. Without a goodbye or apologies, not even bothering to take his stuff with him, clothes still in your closet. As if he was going to come right back – except he never did.
In the first week, you got so worried you thought about going to look for him. In the next week, you got a phone call, an unknown number. Frank. The apartment never felt more colder, the silence before saying hello consuming everything in the room.
“You alright?” He asked. His tone was different. Heavier. Rougher than you remembered.
“I’m fine. You?”
“I’m okay.”
The line got quiet, as if none of you trusted yourself enough to say anything else.
“You locking the doors?”
“Yeah. Are you eating?”
“Yeah... Listen, take care of yourself, okay?”
“Okay…you too.”
And that was it. He ended the call as abruptly as he had called. Between the calls, the days passed, it all moving so fast – and you feeling like you were stuck at past.
In bad days, you found yourself sitting on the bathroom floor – the same place you used to cry while he slept in your bed – and you wondered if that was better or worse, because then you were missing someone while they were steps away from you, and that was one kind of pain, but missing someone who’s gone is another. Different. The worst part was knowing that he left to protect you. Running away was his way of telling you that he couldn’t love you without hurting you – and to Frank, anything was better than hurting you.
