i don’t like a gold rush

“you know, one of these days you’ll at least have the decency to wake me up before you decide to get out of dodge.”

peter turns to you with a regretful smile, “you know i can’t do that, (y/n).”

“staying the night doesn’t mean anything, peter,” you say bitterly. “you can fuck me but you can’t sleep beside me? i’m not asking you for a commitment, i’m asking you to sleep and then leave in the morning like a normal person. it makes me feel like shit when you sneak out like you came here for one thing and one thing only.”

“i’m sorry.” you know that peter isn’t by any means a bad person, but the empty apologies are starting to get on your nerves.

“just go,” you turn away from him. “i sleep better without you here anyways.”

“(y/n), please don’t be like this.”

“be like what?” you turn back to him. “i can’t keep doing this with you if she’s on your mind. i thought you were trying to move on.”

“i am, but you know it’s been hard—“

“it’s been four years!” you exclaim, sitting up in your bed. “four years of this on and off thing, and i don’t think i can do it anymore.”

“what are you saying?”

“i’m saying that i want you to get the hell out of my apartment and i don’t want to see you anymore.”

you’ve known peter for a long time. you met him when he was at his lowest and needed someone to get under so he could forget about his heartbreak, but over time a friendship developed between the two of you. he confided in you about things he would’ve normally confided in ned about, such as spider man and the amount of pressure that’s on him to make may proud.

and with time, you’ve fallen in love with him. you thought it was something you could work through and eventually forget about, but the nights in the sheets have only made you fall harder. you find yourself yearning for the post coital moments as well as the sex itself.

“get out,” as soon as peter notices the tears in your eyes, he feels like a jerk. “go and watch ned’s instagram story and fantasise about the life you could have had with them instead of living in the real world. the people you interact with have real feelings, peter. just because you switched yours off doesn’t mean that the rest of us don’t know how to hurt.”

“(y/n)—“

“get out!”

“what have you done to him?” you ask jean, looking at frank in horror. he’s completely void of emotion, holding a gun at you like he doesn’t even recognise you.

“she’s in his head.” peter says softly from his spot next to you, wishing he could do something, anything, to stop this.

“it’s a scary place,” jean responds, looking over at the man she’s currently controlling with her mind. “he has a lot of demons. but the most surprising thing is that a lot of his thoughts are about you.”

you blink, gaping at the young girl, “me?”

“most of them are memories, others dreams he’s had about a life he could have with you if he wasn’t so fucked up. it’s a shame really, i guess i relate to him in that way. i think of a life i could have had with my sister all the time. people like us don’t get to have the happy ending.”

you feel tears come to your eyes at her words.

“but anyway. should we finish this?”

a few weeks later, when peter is in the hospital and frank sits at his bedside with guilt eating at his insides, guilt also eats at yours as jean’s words ring through your mind.

“you should get some rest.” you tell frank softly, as you watch him struggle to keep his eyes open.

“i’m fine.” he grunts.

“frank.”

“quit nagging me, woman.”

“just go to sleep!” you laugh quietly. “i’ll be here, i can watch over him.”

frank crosses his arms, shifts in his seat, and considers you. a ghost of a grateful smile crosses his face and he nods once.

“sweet dreams, frank.”

“you know i will,” he says, and he’s looking at you in a way that you’ve never seen him look at anyone before. “i know you know what she saw in my head.”

you could deny it, but unfortunately frank castle can read you like a book.

“you don’t have to—“

“should’ve told you a long time ago,” he shifts again, almost like he feels awkward but he forces himself to continue. “that’s not how i wanted you to find out.”

“we’ll talk about it another time. when peter’s out of the hospital and things have calmed down for us—“

“we don’t have to talk about it, i just—“

“frank,” your eyes soften. “i want to talk about it.”

he softens then, nodding, “okay. we’ll talk about it.”

“another time and place.” you agree, but you can’t help the smile threatening to take over your face.

“don’t look at me like that,” he says as he settles back in his seat, eyes closing. “won’t be able to sleep with you looking at me all pretty.”

you’re the last person jesse expects to find in the staff lounge, especially with tears in your eyes and a heartbroken expression on your face. he steps into the room and carefully shuts the door behind him, his voice soft as he calls out, “are you okay?”

“just got off the phone with my dad,” you sniffle, looking down at the device on the table that looks like it’s lighting up with text messages. “told him i can’t come home for the wedding. he’s really pissed, said i keep prioritising work over family and that i’m selfish.”

“you know that isn’t true.” jesse pulls out a chair and sits opposite you at the table, a frown growing on his face when he gets a closer look at your tear stained cheeks.

“part of me wonders if he’s right,” you rest your cheek in the palm of your hand. “i can’t remember the last time i went home.”

“you don’t go home because your family are difficult and you end up coming back more miserable than you were when you left,” jesse reminds you. “sweetheart, if you ever need me to go there with you—“

“i know, i just…” you turn your phone upside down, ignoring the stream of texts flooding in. “i want to keep you away from all that crazy. plus, my dad isn’t your biggest fan.”

“i’m not exactly his either.”

that gets a smile out of you as jesse takes your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles soothingly in an attempt to comfort you.

“i love you,” jesse continues. “and i’m sorry they’re so shitty to you.”

“if i put my hand down your panties am i gonna find you soaked?”

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper yell at brendon, as if anyone can hear inside the room you’re currently standing in. “you can’t say things like that when we’re at work.”

“yeah?” he stalks towards you, like a cat eyeing up its prey. “you didn’t deny it. tell me about how wet you got watching me lay into whitaker back there.”

your entire body feels warm underneath his gaze, “park.”

“no,” the tone he uses on you makes you flush. “come on, princess.”

“daddy, please not now.”

brendon ignores your pleas and slips his hand into your scrubs. as soon as his fingers find your sopping cunt, he laughs. the bastard fucking laughs.

“poor baby,” he circles your clit and you press your face into his shoulder both out of embarrassment and arousal at his casual dominance. “just needed daddy to play with her pretty pussy, huh? she’s weeping for me, angel. how long have you been like this? you know all you have to do is ask.”

you whine when he presses a finger into your entrance, and he shushes you gently.

“you need to be quiet, princess,” he reprimands. “can’t have the whole hospital knowing how good daddy’s making you feel.”

he adds another finger into your heat and you clutch onto him for dear life, a broken moan falling from your lips that’s quickly muffled by his skin.

“so worked up,” that filthy mouth of his continues. “was this morning not enough for you? couldn’t just have my mouth, had to have my fingers too? should i add another, sweetheart? think you can take three?”

you nod and as soon as he adds the third finger, you clench around him. he swallows your moans with his mouth, tongue finding yours as he finger fucks you in the ED, where anyone can walk in and find brendon park with his hand down your pants.

“you’re dripping all over my hand, baby,” he groans into your mouth, the sound of your wetness filling the room. “you gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

“daddy, fuck,” your eyes roll into the back of your head. “i’m gonna come.”

jack’s lips find your neck and you smile, relaxing in his comforting hold, “happy one year, baby.”

“you know, six months of that year were spent sneaking around.” you point out matter-of-factly, which makes jack chuckle against your skin, the warm sound vibrating against your shoulder.

“seems like i have a lot of showing you off in public to make up for it,” he responds, hands following the curve of your hips in the dress you’re wearing. “and in a dress like this? you make it easy.”

“you flatter me.” you say just as he kisses you, the taste of the cigarette he smoked earlier and champagne the two of you have been drinking on his tongue.

“come on,” he takes your hand and guides you back into the expensive hotel room. “we’re gonna be late for our reservation.”

you need to tell johnny. you’ve been putting it off for weeks, and the tension between the two of you has been building up and up and up. you haven’t spoken since the night you spent together, and not even sue’s attempts at getting you talking are working.

johnny has the tower to himself tonight. ben is on a date with his new girlfriend, sue and reed are on vacation with little franklin, and it’s extremely quiet without his family. he hums along to the record he’s playing as he makes dinner for himself, but the doorbell makes him pause what he’s doing, curiosity now taking hold.

when he finds you standing there, shivering from the rain outside, he can’t help but gape at you. something glosses over your features at the sight of him in the doorway, and you stand up a little straighter.

“is sue home?” you ask, voice shaking.

“she’s away with reed for a few days. didn’t she tell you?”

“shit,” you wrap your coat tighter around yourself. “she probably did. i’ve been losing track of time lately.”

“do you want to come in?” he asks, heart clenching at the sight of you in the cold. “i’m making dinner. ben’s out tonight, it’s just me.”

“that would be nice. thanks, johnny.”

he takes your wet coat and the two of you head into the kitchen, the delicious smell making your stomach rumble.

“someone’s hungry.” johnny comments.

you smile sheepishly, “i’ve barely eaten today.”

because you can’t keep anything down.

“sit. i’ll bring you a plate.” he urges, giving you a small smile.

as the two of you eat, it’s like nothing ever happened between the two of you. you fill each other in on what you’ve missed, and the awkwardness surrounding both of you finally disappears, replaced with your old friendship that you’ve been yearning for.

johnny’s mid sentence when you abruptly stand up from your seat and run into the kitchen, emptying the contents of your stomach into the sink. johnny watches on in surprise, eventually jumping into action and placing a warm hand on your back.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, concern lacing his tone.

“i’m fine,” you accept the glass of water he hands you, cringing at the state of the sink. “shit, i’m sorry, johnny.”

“don’t apologise. i’ve got it,” johnny reassures you with a warm smile. “are you sick?”

“i haven’t been feeling right for a few days.”

you need to tell him. you know you need to tell him.

after he’s cleaned the sink, he presses the back of his hand to your forehead.

“you feel fine. maybe it’s a stomach thing?”

oh god, you need to tell him.

“johnny.” you whisper, tears filling your eyes.

johnny softens at the look on your face, “what’s wrong?”

“i’m sorry.” the tears fall before you can stop them.

“you don’t need to apologise for being sick, (y/n). you aren’t the first person to have thrown up in our kitchen.”

“no, i…” you trail off, anxiety filling your lungs. “i need to tell you something. i should’ve told you sooner, but it was weird between us and i’m scared it’s going to get even weirder when i tell you this.”

johnny takes your shaking hand in his, stepping towards you as if you’re about to bolt any second.

“you’re pregnant.”

your eyes widen at his words, “how did you…”

“my sister was sick as a dog with franklin,” he tells you. “and when you said you needed to tell me something, i figured it could only be one thing.”

“oh god, i’m sorry,” you hide your face in your hands. “i should have told you when i found out. i was just scared you’d hate me.”

johnny moves your hands away from your face and holds them in his again, “i could never hate you. come on, (y/n), it’s me.”

your lower lip wobbles, “you’ve barely spoken to me since we…”

“i know,” he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, eyes swimming with regret. “that’s my fault. truth is, i didn’t want it to be a one time thing. but you said you weren’t looking for anything serious and i needed to get over you somehow, so…”

“oh, johnny,” you don’t realise the two of you have closed the space between you until you reach out and cup his face in your hands. “it wasn’t casual for me. i just said that to save face, in case you didn’t feel the same.”

a disbelieving laugh escapes johnny, “we’re idiots.”

you grin, “the biggest.”

his hand moves to rest over your stomach, “you’re really pregnant?”

you nod tearfully, “sue knows. she was with me when i did the test.”

johnny wraps his arms around your waist and dips down as if to kiss you, but you stop him with a hand to his chest.

“as much as i want you to kiss me, i did just vomit everywhere.”

he chuckles, instead opting to press a kiss to your forehead, “okay. we’ll save that for later.”

“so, we’re really doing this?” you ask, looking up into his pretty eyes.

“there isn’t anyone else for me, (y/n). to get to father your child is the biggest honour i could ever receive.”

this being the arranged marriage that your parents are forcing you into. you barely know frank castle, but you’ve heard stories about him that are enough to give you the opinion that he isn’t a good person. granted, life hasn’t exactly been kind to him, but his reputation is enough to chill you to the bone.

frank pissed off the wrong powerful crime family in new york city which brings him to now, sharing a room with a woman who clearly hates his guts the night before they’re due to be married.

“thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, anyways.”

“shut up, frank.”

he chuckles humourlessly and turns back to the mirror, dropping the razor in the sink and cleaning the foam from his face.

“if we’re stuck together, you’re gonna have to learn to crack a smile at my jokes.”

“or even better, you could leave me alone.”

frank turns to look at you again, “i ain’t thrilled about this either. but we are where we are and if i don’t want my head blown off, i’m gonna put a fuckin’ ring on your finger and call it a day.”

“i don’t want to marry you!” you exclaim. “i’m sick of my father dictating my life. say this, don’t say this, you can’t wear that, you can’t have that job, you can’t—“

“i get it.” frank says, softer now as if he understands the position you’re in.

“and what’s probably the biggest life event for me he’s still dictating. i’m never going to be free of him. so forgive me if i’m not exactly the vision of a happy bride. especially not when i’m marrying a complete sociopath.”

“tell me how you really feel.” frank crosses his arms and cocks an amused eyebrow at you.

“i’m just saying,” you sigh. “we get this out of the way, and then maybe we can divorce in two years. i don’t know. i guess hell would freeze over before my dad would let me do that.”

“look,” frank crosses the room and sits opposite you. “you wanna piss off your dad? i’m your guy. i’ve pissed him off more times than i can count on one hand.”

that cracks a smile out of you.

“look, sweetheart, just because we’ll be legally married on paper doesn’t mean we have to actually be together. to me, this is a way to save my skin and for you to get your dad off your back. it’s a win win. so, you can stop looking at me like you wanna kill me when i’m doing you a favour.”

your smile turns into a scowl, “doing me a favour? taking my agency away from me but you’re doing me a favour?”

frank opens his mouth to say something, but you stand up and turn away from him before he can begin.

“i’m going to get a drink.” you tell him, grabbing your purse.

“i know, honey,” you stroke his hair back from his forehead. “get some sleep.”

you tiptoe into the kitchen to find frank sitting at your table, a lukewarm cup of coffee in front of him. he gives you a tired smile, one that’s reserved just for you, “thanks for letting him crash here. i didn’t know where else to take him.”

“both of you are always welcome here, you know that,” you wrap your dressing gown around yourself as you begin to make your own coffee. “he’s still devastated about mj, huh?”

“yeah,” frank runs a tired hand down his face. “she has a boyfriend.”

you hum sadly, stirring your coffee gently, “well, so did i.”

you look over at frank, and he chuckles softly, “i forget. there wasn’t much competition.”

you playfully roll your eyes and kiss the top of his head as you walk past to the empty seat at the table.

“i’ve been thinking,” you start shyly. “maybe you should move in.”

frank looks at you in surprise from over the top of his mug.

“i know you like the nomad life, but i’ve at least got a working shower here. and we see each other all the time anyway, you’re here most nights. i got this cut for you. it’s okay if you aren’t ready but i wanted you to know that i would love your company permanently.”

you slide the key over to frank, who has an expression on his face that you can’t read.

“frank?” you ask softly, dread seeping into your bones. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to—“

“yeah,” he nods. “yeah.”

“yeah?” a hopeful smile comes to your face.

“baby,” matt groans into your shoulder, cock stroking your walls. “you feel so good.”

you’re distracted. it isn’t that the sex isn’t good because matt murdock manages to take you to places you can’t get to on your own, but you can’t stop replaying your conversation with frank in your head.

you can’t stop thinking about frank full stop, actually.

ever since you saw him again, he’s intruded your thoughts at the worst moments. like now, for example, with matt deep inside your wet pussy and all you can think about is frank castle.

you get so in your head that you start thinking about frank in other ways. would he be the same as matt in bed? no, he’d be less selfish. he’d take what he needs but prioritise your pleasure first.

the scenario plays out in your head. you writhing under him as his mouth works you over, expert tongue rolling over your pulsing clit. he’d eat you out like a man starved, stay between your thighs until you finally need him to let up. he’d kiss you messily, tongue stroking yours as he guides himself into your waiting cunt.

“fuck,” he’d groan as he bottoms out, your walls clenching around him as you cry out at the size of him. frank would hold you in his big arms, setting a pace that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “look at you, pretty girl. so good for me.”

you know he wouldn’t be a one and done kind of guy either. he’d bring you to the edge over and over again until you’re sensitive and still begging him for more. completely drunk on his cock. he’d flip you over, letting you take the reins and ride him at your own leisure. matt never likes you to do that.

hands on your hips, he’d guide your movements when he senses you’re getting tired. tongue darting out to wet his lower lip as he admires the view, lazy smile coming to his face at the sight of you letting go on his dick, “attagirl.”

that makes you come around matt’s cock, but he doesn’t work you through it like usual. he stills inside your cunt, a look you can’t decipher crossing his face.

“what did you say?”

“let’s fuckin’ talk about this.” frank stalks after you.

“i have nothing to say to you,” you refuse to turn around and look at him, continuing your fast pace. “just go home, frank. or better yet, stop by karen’s apartment.”

that’s frank’s final straw. he grabs your arm and tugs you to the side of the street. it’s clear in your eyes that you’re hurt, and frank would feel a pang of sympathy if you weren’t so goddamn stubborn.

“i asked her to help me on a job. it was nothing.”

“it’s something,” you bite back. “you let me think you were dead for a year. i found out from her that you’ve been hiding away from your problems all this time. i went looking for you, frank. i even asked matt if he could ask around—“

“don’t mention his name.”

“why?” you laugh humourlessly. “i don’t think you have a right to be jealous.”

“fine. if murdock is so great, then go be with him. stop wasting your time on me because i have nothing to give you. i’m bad for you, (y/n). you try to see the good in me and then i fuck it up by doing my same old shit.”

you can’t stop the tears from streaming down your face, “i’ve never asked you to be good for me, frank. i just want you to at least be honest.”

“who is she?” peter asks frank over a cup of coffee one morning, an attempt at both of them trying the friend thing.

“what?” frank takes a sip of his coffee, trying to act nonchalant.

“come on, frank,” peter chuckles, elbows pressed against the table. “you’ve been different lately. it’s a good different, but i can tell.”

“what? your spidey senses tinglin’ or somethin’?” frank jokes, but peter’s growing smile makes him roll his eyes and sit back in his chair. “she’s called (y/n). it’s new.”

peter’s smile grows even dorkier and frank regrets ever opening his mouth, “you’ve been holding out on me, frank.”

“shut up and drink your coffee, kid.” frank grumbles, hiding his own smile behind his cup.

“are you okay, (y/n)?” she asks softly. “if you’d rather be alone, we can hang out another night—“

“i think i’m pregnant.” you blurt out and even though her eyes widen slightly from surprise, she places down her glass of wine and gives you her full attention.

“you think, or you know?” she asks, kindness lacing her tone.

“i haven’t…” you take a deep breath. “i’m scared to find out.”

“do you…” she looks almost scared to ask. “do you know who the father is?”

you nod, bile rising in your throat at the thought of telling him. you slept together once after he almost died on a mission, and he was gone the next morning like nothing had happened. he’s been avoiding you, and the thought of telling him you’re pregnant makes you want to go all the way to space yourself.

the thought of telling sue that you slept with her brother is even worse.

“okay,” she nods. “you need to take a test, honey.”

“i know.” you whisper.

“i’ll be right there with you.”

and she is. the second you find out you’re pregnant, she takes you into her arms and lets you cry it out. the two of you don’t even hear the boys come home, drunken singing filling the home.

“oh god,” you wipe your face. “they can’t see me like this.”

“you can stay in my room,” she says. “i always make reed sleep on the couch when he’s like this anyway. he gets so clingy when he’s drunk and he’s like a human furnace. he puts my brother to shame.”

you laugh humourlessly; you felt just how warm johnny is when he held you in his arms afterwards.

“i’ll go deal with them,” sue squeezes your shoulder and gives you a kind smile. “you’re gonna be okay, (y/n). you have us, we’ll help you through this.”

he has been home for two days. the suitors have fled, your kingdom beginning to return to how it was before he left. you haven’t felt this content in years.

the fire crackles, the only sound that can be heard except for both of your steady breaths. odysseus’ fingers absentmindedly trace your bare arm, your head pressed against his chest as if you’re scared that this might not be real.

“i thought of you every day.” he breaks the silence.

you shift slightly so you can look at this man. the grey that now dusts his beard and his head, the lines on his face from the years that you’ve lost together. he’s as handsome as the day he left you, but the years have taken their toll on him. you can see in his eyes the burdens of war that he carries. the one to make it home.

“my love…” you say softly, trying to reassure him that he doesn’t need to prove it to you.

“you kept me going. my saviour even when i thought all hope was lost.”

the furs that surround the two of you fall as you make your way up his body, lips finding his as you caress his face in your hands.

you know that the bubble the two of you are in will burst, and you will eventually live a life in exile together. there’s much to be done before then, but you can’t bring yourself to care when the love of your life made his way back to you. he did unspeakable things just to hold you like this again.

you know he’s having a hard day without him needing to say anything. the drops of blood on his scrubs tell you that he’s just lost a patient, from the way he’s barely had time to change and he’s scribbling on a clipboard. death paperwork, you think to yourself as you approach him.

“hi,” you say softly, and you see benton’s shoulders drop slightly at the sound of your voice, the tension in his body depleting in a second. “how’s your day going?”

“not good,” he swallows, looking over at you with tired eyes. “it’s been a day.”

“i can tell, honey.” you rub a soothing hand on his back and peter has to fight the tears threatening to pool in his eyes.

“i can’t talk about it.” he tells you, practically begging for you not to unravel him.

“you don’t have to,” you shake your head, taking the pen from his hand. “this can wait. come on, let’s go get a cup of coffee. you look like you could use one.”