𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍

🦻 ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ: ▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪ ​🇫​​🇺​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇧​​🇦​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇾​     —  She'll have to forgive him. The way his hands raise like he's trying to soothe a spooked horse. How else were you supposed to approach assassins? He did not want to be stabbed tonight. He had three shows recorded on his VHS to catch up on. His bow stays on his back. Elektra was a weapon of mass destruction with the precision of a LASIK surgery. He has a feeling that if he had a bounty, she would have already made a move.

❝ You're far from home. Daredevil's a few streets over, last I heard. ❞ They had a thing, right?

𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖇𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 she elicited a response like that, nor would it be the last. The name of Elektra alone was enough to send a chill down many a spines. The assassin stands quietly, unmoving save a single brow that lifts and the slight tilt of her head. She allows him to speak. Allows him to babble and make a fool of himself if it meant it'd keep him calm enough for the conversation ahead .

Frank doesn't see the kiss coming, just the familiar feel of soft lips and he quickly kisses Elektra back like they never stopped doing this song and dance. Their kiss tastes like contempt through familiarity (because how dare you become important?) and the horrific reality that one of them has to take the lashings of the other for daring to ask for a relationship neither would see through. Yet, Frank would gladly take the role, because he walked away first. Even if the offer wasn't true, he didn't know that, he thought it was, and he still left.

Even as he held her close and his mind is screaming: danger, danger, danger. He ignores it all. He's willing to hand over his heart so she can play with it for her leisure or crush it altogether, because his longing to feel close to someone, to feel not alone, is greater than the real possibility of her hurting him.

𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖉𝖓'𝖙 𝐤𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖛𝖔𝐤𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖗. Nostalgia perhaps. A desire for warmth and feeling of connection that was now lost. Perhaps a desire to reconnect and rebuild that bridge. No ----- that couldn't be. His lips were coarse and firm against hers. Unforgiving and unyielding in their emotion and want to kiss her back. She felt it. That same vigor he'd kissed her with before. The one that had her feeling like she could love again. Maybe she could.

But would either allow it?

The kiss deepens, more desperate for the other and gods did she feel pathetic for giving in so easily. By her standards at least. A breath. A fleeting moment to think on his words as she breathed the air he expelled. Do you want to do this? He asks with desperation in his voice. She silences his question with another kiss, tongue daring to trace over his lips before returning to her mouth. His question repeats in her head.

❝ I'm not the one who pushed the other away. ❞

Now, he watches her just cut through this group of men, he always thought she's a perfect bland of elegance and death. He doesn't even bother taking his rifle out and just leaves it behind so he can come back and pick it up later. His boots making a sound as he hits the ground, walking towards her.

He sees the blade being cleaned before he hears her speak. His mouth opens for a second before he hears that last line. Shit, she didn't have to physically stab him, he felt her words slide between his third and fourth rib to go straight to his heart.

Frank exhales heavily through his mouth. He struggles not to pinch the bridge of his nose, because if he shows that her words could get to him—this will turn messy.

"Don't need one. I still got the old one on a shelf." He gives her something to chew on; the idea of him still holding onto that damn heart and it's on a place he choose, not hidden away like a goddamn secret.

𝕷𝖎𝐤𝖊 𝖆 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝐤𝖘𝖒𝖊𝖓, Frank always knew where to aim to do damage. Had she been any other person, her face may have twitched in pain. Her heart might have dropped or panged against the confines of her chest. That heart that should have stopped beating decades ago.

But she was not any other person. Elektra was trained by the Hand. She spoke with the Beast, fought it, and defeated it. She was the chosen one for a time. The one they wanted to use and control to bring them closer to their deity. They knew too little of her though.

She would always be her own before any other.

❝ I always knew you were more sentimental than you wanted me to believe, ❞ she gives him a knowing look. That dull ache in her heart persisted at the thought of what could have been. Every road she went on eventually lead to a dead end.

❝ And you're as self deprecating as ever, ❞ she tilts her head. ❝ You've not been following me to reminisce on the past. I know you better than that, Frank. What is it you want? ❞