#dare devil

You had hinted a couple of times about the prospect of living together, and attempted to persuade him by listing off the reasons why you would both benefit. Perhaps at the top of the list was that you would both be able to keep a closer eye on each other, solely from a protection standpoint as opposed to distrust. 

Frank feared that the close proximity that comes with living with your significant other would negatively impact your relationship. Things were going well; why fix something that ain’t broke? 

It turned out that moving in allowed for less stress and more sex, which was a win for all parties. But perhaps, a factor that was not previously considered was living with a third party.

“Your animal is getting fur all over the place” Frank comedically held out the fur ball at arm’s length, dropping her onto the empty spot on the couch next to you. “She just wants to be involved in what her daddy’s doing,” you replied, stifling a laugh whilst smoothing her fur over. 

“Yeah, well, ‘less she starts pullin’ her weight ‘round here and helpin’ out, she can be a pain in the ass somewhere else.” Blowing air through his lips and playfully rolling his eyes, he retreated back to your bedroom where he was painting the walls. 

Frank pretended to dislike your feline friend, but you saw right through his buff, tough-guy exterior; he loves her, he just won’t admit that he’s softened up to her so quickly (or at all).

Last night, you had gone out with Karen and some of your girlfriends, and so, Frank and your cat were left alone for the first time. 

“What do I do with that thing?” He motioned over to the fur baby in your arms with his head, inspecting her with a suspicious glance  “Mommy’s going to leave you with Mr. Grumpy pants over here. Be good, okay? He’s really nice once he warms up to ya” You gave her furry head a kiss before handing her over to Frank.

“She’s a cat, Frank. Just gotta cuddle her and give her lots of attention. I know first-hand you’re good at that.” You joked, zipping up your boots. 

She began to sniff Frank’s neck, then began to lick him repeatedly. He craned his neck away from her in a playful manner, pretending to be grossed out by her show of affection that he secretly admired. 

Arriving home that evening, you expected your apartment to be in complete turmoil. You were pleasantly surprised to see Frank laying down on the couch with your cat splayed across his chest, both of them fast asleep. As his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing, so would the kitty, too deep in sleep to be affected by the turbulence. 

Frank’s large hand rested protectively on top of the fur ball, nearly taking up her entire frame.

In the night time, your cat loved to snuggle between you both, and sometimes, she’d pester Frank, wanting his attention. He’d jokingly shoo her away, or pick her up only to plop her on top of you, when in secret, he loved her attention just as much as she loved his. 

You had taken a picture of the way you found them as evidence of his love for her that he was stead-fast on denying. 

Interrupting your thoughts was an exclamation that came from the bedroom - “You little shit! Come back here. Your ma’s gon’ lose it!” - followed by thumping footsteps that echoed as Frank ran through your apartment. 

Before you could collect your thoughts, the furry little nugget and a blur of emerald green that followed her bolted across your peripheral vision. 

It appears that during your brief daydream, she had gotten off of the couch to try interrupting Frank’s painting once again, this time, being successful. 

“Frank, what happened?!” Your stomach hurt from laughing at the big, bad punisher chase after a tiny little creature whose fur was dripping with paint. 

Even though Frank presented as outwardly irritated with the cat at all times, you knew that his innate paternal instincts and protector energy made him the most worried about her well-being. It was in his nature to care, especially for the innocent beings of the world. 

“That lil’ shedevil stepped right into the paint tray when I wasn’t lookin’, now the psycho’s trackin’ paint everywhere, what if she licks it?!” He put his hands on his hips whilst wiping a bead of sweat off of his forehead, concern plastered all over his face. 

Grabbing a bag of treats, you shook it to lure her out of hiding. A faint meow could be heard, followed by the delicate pitter and patter of her nails trotting across the hardwood floor. 

In front of you stood your once white cat covered in splotches of dark green. Picking her up, you turned to Frank. “Here comes the next step of being a cat dad; giving her a bath.” 

Frank hovered over you as you placed her in the tub, turning on the faucet to fill up a pail of water. “I’m gonna need you to hold her near the nape of her neck; not too rough but enough to keep her still.” 

Your cat wasn’t completely petrified of baths or water, but she didn’t prefer it. She was shivering with anxiety and at the loud noise of the faucet, shyly meowing in protest.

“What’s wrong with her? Is she okay? You’re okay cat, eh?” Frank studied ‘cat’ (as he liked to call her) diligently, starting to feel bad that his inattentiveness whilst painting is what led to her now discomfort. 

Pouring water over her with the pail, and squirting shampoo onto your hand, you began rubbing it in her fur. “She’s okay Frankie, just isn’t used to the bath, is all.” This was most certainly not your first time bathing an animal, so you were used to her protests, which she only exemplified when getting wet. 

“The poor thing’s shivering, what if she hates us after this? Hey, missy girl, we’re just trying to clean you up so you don’t go eatin’ paint, wouldn’t want anythin’ bad happenin’ to ya, hey girl?” Frank’s cat parenting voice - the same voice he teased you for speaking to her in - had emerged. 

“You’re awfully concerned for someone who is adamant on not liking cats” you called out, slyly looking over at him for a brief moment before returning back to the task at hand.

“Nah nah nah, let me be clear here, I still think she’s a pain in the ass, but look at her. She’s gotta be 2 pounds soakin’ wet, thing’s all fur” he inspected her carefully, cooing and whispering comforting comments every now and then to calm her down. 

You basked in this moment with an appreciation; when Frank’s soft side emerged, it reminded you that inside of him is a broken heart that had been shattered when his family was taken away from him, and in response, he built up steel walls to protect himself from any further pain.

Domestic situations, such as the current one you were both in, reminded him of being a dad; of giving his baby boy and girl their first baths, of comforting them when they were sick, of supporting Maria in caring for their little ones.

He had already taken major steps in allowing you into his life over time; not out of the fear that you would betray him, but out of the fear that someone would take you away from him; that he’d lose you too. 

It’s always said that pets are like family, and it’s possible that Frank’s hesitance to accept your cat into his life was out of the same fear that contributed to his initial resistance in you both moving in. 

You gave her one last rinse, ensuring all of the shampoo and paint was out, before reaching behind you for a towel to dry her off.

“You mind just dryin’ her off with this towel, quick? I gotta go grab her comb.” You wanted to give Frank a moment to be with her, for them to bond.

Frank obliged to your request, draping a towel over her frame and scooping her up in his arms. “All clean, eh, squirt? Look at you, all nice and warm, kitten. Papa’s got you.” He swaddled the cat in his arms as if it were a baby, admiring her small frame with appreciation. 

You slowly turned the corner, peering in at the scene in front of you. She slowly closed her eyes and nuzzled into Frank’s chest, just as she had done prior to you leaving the other night. Frank booped her nose, and continued to rock her in his arms. 

Seeing you out of the corner of his eye, he turned to face you as he fought a smile that turned one side of his mouth upwards. Walking up to him, you nuzzled against his frame, and joined him in admiring your cat. 

“She really likes you, Frankie. She’s a sweet thing, ain’t she?” You looked up at him, appreciating his admiration for the animal in his arms. 

“Feels nice to care for a lil’ thing like her. Miss it.” Frank whispered a rare statement of vulnerability, as if saying it in a lower volume protected him from admitting how much he yearned to care for someone - other than you - again. He looked down at you to meet your gaze. 

“You’re a good daddy, Frank” you said proudly, enjoying the precious moment with the family you had both created for yourselves.

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A/N: I have returned for the millionth time! Feel free to send requests as I've (unfortunately) transitioned away from writing for Kelly Severide and am focusing more on Jon Bernthal characters. (Also, why is there like 0 content of Jon with cats... we're deprived in this regard). Let me know what ya think! Please like, post, and reblog if ya did like!

The courtroom feels wrong without him. Too quiet.

The echo of what Frank Castle said still hangs in the air like something rotting.

You’re still standing where you were when they dragged him out, hands braced on the table, knuckles white.

Karen exhales sharply behind you. “Jesus… what a complete disaster.”

Karen Page sounds shaken, but controlled. She always is.

Matt isn’t. You can feel it.

Matt Murdock pulls off his glasses, slow and deliberate—like if he moves too fast, something’s going to snap.

“That wasn’t a defence,” he says quietly. “That was a confession.”

No one answers him, because he’s right.

Frank didn’t just sabotage the case—he burned it to the ground and smiled while it happened.

Karen mutters, “Rikers… they’re sending him to Rikers Island. He won’t last a week in there like this.”

That’s what does it.

Your breath catches sharply, involuntarily.

Matt hears it instantly. Of course he does.

His head turns toward you. “…You okay?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because all you can see is Frank—bleeding, half-laughing, saying he’d do it again. Saying he liked it. Like none of this mattered. Like you didn’t matter.

“I’m fine,” you manage too quickly.

Matt doesn’t buy it for a second. “You don’t sound fine.”

“I said I’m fine, Matt.”

There’s an edge to it now. Defensive. Sharp.

Karen glances between the two of you, sensing it building, then quietly gathers her things. “I’ll… give you guys a minute.”

She leaves.

Now it’s just you and him.

Silence stretches between you before Matt steps closer, voice lower now.

“You pushed harder than anyone to keep him out of a life sentence. You argued with me for days about strategy, about jury sympathy, about—”

“I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Why?”

Too quick. Too direct.

You turn away, grabbing your files just so you have something to do with your hands.

“I told you. I think he—”

“No,” Matt cuts in sharply. “That’s not it.”

You freeze.

“He’s a mass murderer who just told a courtroom he enjoys killing people,” Matt continues. “You don’t fight that hard for someone like that because you think he does more good than bad.”

Your jaw tightens.

“Then why?” he presses.

You shake your head. “Drop it.”

“I can’t.”

“Matt—”

“I can’t,” he repeats, firmer now. “Because whatever this is, it’s affecting your judgement. It affected the case.”

That stings.

You spin back toward him. “My judgement? He blew up the case, Matt, not me—”

“And you’re taking it personally.”

The words land heavy. Too accurate.

You laugh once, bitter. “Yeah, well, maybe I just don’t like watching someone get sent somewhere he’s probably going to die.”

Matt’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice softens slightly.

“That’s not all of it.”

You don’t respond. Your silence says enough.

Matt steps closer again, more careful this time. “…You know him.”

Not a question. A statement.

You look down at the table. “…Yeah.”

“How?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

He waits you out. He always does.

You swallow. “It was… before all this. Before the trial. Before you.”

Matt doesn’t interrupt.

“He didn’t—” you stop, exhaling shakily. “He wasn’t like that all the time.”

That gets Matt’s attention immediately. “What do you mean?”

You let out a small, humourless breath. “I mean he wasn’t always… that.” You gesture vaguely toward the empty courtroom, toward the ghost of Frank’s outburst. “Sometimes he was just… Frank.”

The name comes out softer than you intended.

Matt hears it. Of course he does.

“How long?” he asks.

You hesitate before finally answering.

“…Two years.”

That lands like a punch.

Matt goes still. “…Two years,” he repeats quietly.

You nod, staring at the floor.

“We weren’t—” You shake your head. “It wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be. But—”

“But you were together,” Matt finishes.

“…Yeah.”

Silence settles again as Matt exhales slowly, processing it.

“And you didn’t think to mention that?” There’s no anger in his voice. Just disbelief.

“What was I supposed to say?” you snap, emotion finally cracking through. “Hey, Matt, by the way, the guy we’re defending? I used to share a bed with him?”

Matt flinches slightly at that—not from the words, but the weight behind them.

“You think that wouldn’t have mattered?” he asks.

“I thought it was over,” you fire back. “I thought he was gone, or—” your voice falters. “Or at least not someone I recognised anymore.”

You blink hard, trying to steady yourself.

“But then he was standing there,” you continue quietly, “in that courtroom. And I thought… maybe there’s still something left. Something worth saving.”

Matt’s voice gentles. “And now?”

You let out a hollow laugh.

“Now he just told a jury he likes killing people and got himself sent to Rikers.”

A beat passes before your voice drops lower.

“…So I guess I was wrong.”

Silence settles again.

But it’s different this time.

Heavier.

Matt tilts his head slightly, listening—not just to your words, but everything underneath them.

“You still care about him,” he says.

You don’t answer. Because you can’t.

“Maybe,” you mumble.

The word barely leaves your mouth before it feels like it collapses under its own weight.

Matt doesn’t move. Doesn’t need to.

You can feel him deciding before he even speaks.

“I want you off this case.”

You open your mouth immediately—instinctive, defensive. But nothing comes out. Because he is right and you both know it.

The silence stretches until it becomes unbearable.

“…Fine,” you say as you gather your things too quickly, papers slipping slightly in your hands as you turn toward the door.

You don’t look at him. Not because you’re angry. Because if you do, you might stay.

“You’re not thinking straight,” Matt says quietly behind you.

“I am,” you reply, but there’s no fight left in it.

Your hand hits the door handle.

Behind you— “y/n.”

You pause. Just for a second.

Matt’s voice softens.

“…I’m sorry.”

You don’t turn around. You can’t. So you just nod once, small and barely there, and push the door open.

The hallway light spills in. Cold. Clean. Indifferent.

And you leave.

⸻

Outside, the air hits you sharper than expected.

Karen is leaning just outside the building, arms folded, watching you like she already knows.

Karen straightens when she sees your face.

“You’re off the case?” she asks gently.

You swallow “…Yeah.”

She studies you for a second longer than comfortable—like she’s putting pieces together she hasn’t said out loud yet.

Then she nods.

“You’re not the only one that sees good in him, y/n.”

That makes something in your chest tighten. Because it’s not just about the case. It never was.

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

“…Yeah,” you say quietly.

Karen gives you a small, understanding smile.

You manage one back.

Barely.

Then you turn away.

Your car feels too quiet when you get in it. Too empty.

Like the absence of him is already sitting in the passenger seat and for a moment, before you start the engine, you just sit there— thinking about a man who ruined everything in a courtroom…

and somehow still didn’t stop feeling like he was the only thing you ever couldn’t fully let go of.

⸻

Your apartment is quiet in that heavy, late-night way.

Streetlight bleeding through the curtains. The low hum of the city outside. Your body finally starting to settle into sleep.

You’re halfway there when— click.

Your eyes snap open…for a second, you don’t move.

Then you hear it again. The front door. Unlocked.

Your stomach drops.

You sit up slowly, heart already starting to pound, listening hard.

A floorboard creaks. Someone is inside.

You slide out of bed as quietly as you can, bare feet hitting the cold floor. Your hand goes straight to the wardrobe, fingers wrapping around the handle of a bat you didn’t think you’d ever actually need.

Your breathing slows. You step into the hallway.

Dark.

Still.

But not empty.

There’s movement. Subtle. Near the corner.

You tighten your grip, raising the bat as you edge forward, every instinct screaming at you to strike first—You turn the corner—and a hand shoots out.

Huge. Solid. Fast.

It catches your wrist mid-swing like it’s nothing.

The bat stops inches from impact.

Your breath punches out of you—

“Easy.”

Low. Rough. Familiar.

The grip on your wrist isn’t gentle, but it isn’t hurting you either.

Just… stopping you.

You freeze.

The figure steps forward into the light spilling from your bedroom—

and there he is.

Frank Castle. Bruised and tired.

Eyes locked on yours like he’s been looking for you for a long time. Your grip on the bat goes slack.

It clatters to the floor.

“…Frank,” you breathe.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Then something in your chest gives out completely and you step forward, arms wrapping around him before you can stop yourself.

You don’t question how he’s here, or why, or what it means. You just hold onto him.

Frank goes still.

Like he wasn’t expecting that. Like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Then—

slowly—

his hand comes up to the back of your head. Fingers rough, familiar, pressing you in against his chest.

The other settles at your back, firm, grounding.

He exhales.

Shaky in a way he’d never admit.

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly, voice rougher than usual. “Yeah… it’s me.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper into him, but your arms tighten instead of letting go.

“Yeah,” he says again.

A pause.

His grip on you shifts slightly—just enough to pull you back a fraction so he can look at you.

His eyes scan your face quickly.

Checking.

Always checking.

“You okay?” he asks.

Same as always.

Like everything else comes second.

Your throat tightens.

“I thought you were in Rikers Island.”

A flicker of something crosses his face.

Not quite a smile.

Not quite regret.

“Was,” he says simply. That’s all you get.

You stare at him, trying to process it, trying to understand how the hell he’s standing in your apartment like this—

like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t just blow up his own trial or he didn’t walk himself into a life sentence.

“You… broke out?” you ask, quieter now.

Frank’s jaw tightens slightly.

He doesn’t answer that. Which is answer enough.

Your hands are still gripping his shirt.

You don’t realise it until he glances down at them for a second—then back up at you.

There’s something different in his expression now.

“Wasn’t gonna come,” he admits, voice low. “Shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are,” you say. His gaze holds yours.

“Yeah.”

Silence settles between you again.

Not empty.

Just… full of everything you haven’t said yet.

His hand lifts slightly, hesitating for a fraction of a second before brushing a loose strand of hair back from your face.

Like he’s not sure he’s allowed to anymore.

“You shouldn’t have been in that courtroom,” he says quietly.

You let out a small, disbelieving breath.

“You saw me?”

“Yeah.”

Of course he did.

Your chest tightens.

“And you still said all that?” you ask, voice cracking just slightly. “You still—”

You stop yourself.

But he knows what you mean.

Frank’s jaw shifts. A muscle ticks.

“That wasn’t for you,” he says.

It’s not an apology but it’s the closest thing he knows how to give.

Your eyes search his.

“Then why are you here?”

He looks at you for a long second weighing whether to answer honestly.

His hand drops from your face.

Then comes back—resting at the side of your neck, thumb just barely brushing your skin.

“I needed to see you,” he says finally.

“You can’t be here,” you say, quieter now but firmer. “Matt’s already angry I didn’t tell him about us.”

Frank barely reacts.

“He didn’t need to know,” he says, like it’s simple. Like everything is simple.

You stare at him.

“Frank,” you shake your head, stepping back now, putting space between you for the first time since he walked in. “You’re a wanted fugitive in my apartment. I could lose my job.”

His mouth pulls slightly, something almost like a dry, disbelieving smirk.

“Your job,” he repeats, like the words don’t quite mean anything to him. “Yeah. Real important.”

The tone hits immediately.

Sharp. Dismissive.

It flips something in you.

“Don’t,” you warn, but he’s already moving, pacing once like he’s burning off something he can’t contain.

“I’m just sayin’,” Frank mutters, voice rough. “Lotta people out there need help, and you’re worried about paperwork and courtrooms and—”

“Stop.”

Your voice cuts through his.

He does stop.

But his eyes snap back to you, something darker behind them now.

“I spent my whole life working for this,” you say, stepping toward him again, anger finally breaking through. “You don’t get to stand there and act like it’s nothing.”

“I didn’t say it was nothing—”

“You did,” you fire back. “You just don’t say things the normal way, Frank, you just—” you gesture vaguely, frustrated. “You dismiss them.”

His jaw tightens.

“That’s not—”

“I worked for this,” you repeat, your voice shaking now but you don’t stop. “Years. School, internships, everything. I built something for myself—something stable.”

You take another step closer, eyes locked on his.

“And I let you control it for two years.”

Frank stills completely.

“I let everything revolve around you,” you continue, quieter now but more cutting. “Where you were. If you were okay. If you were going to disappear again. If someone was going to come after you and it’d somehow come back to me.”

Your throat tightens.

“But I chose it,” you admit. “Because I—”

You stop.

Just for a second. Frank’s eyes flicker.

“I loved you, Frank.”

There it is. Said out loud. No taking it back.

The room feels smaller after that.

“I loved you,” you repeat, steadier this time. “But I can’t do that again. Not like this.”

Frank looks at you like he’s trying to process every word at once—and hates that he is.

His hand flexes at his side.

“You think I was controlling you?” he asks, quieter now.

It’s not angry.

It’s… something else.

You shake your head slightly. “Not on purpose.”

That almost makes it worse.

“You didn’t even realise you were doing it,” you say. “Everything just… bent around you. Because it always does, Frank. Everything’s life or death with you.”

“And I can’t live like that.”

He exhales through his nose, looking away for a second like he needs to reset.

When he looks back at you, his voice is lower.

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“No,” you cut in. “You didn’t have to.”

That shuts him up because he knows it’s true.

Silence stretches again.

Longer this time.

More painful.

Your voice softens, but it doesn’t break.

“You don’t get to walk back in here,” you say, “after everything… and act like nothing’s changed.”

Frank’s eyes stay on you.

“I know it’s changed,” he says.

“Then you know you can’t stay,” you reply.

For a second, it looks like he might argue again.

Like he might push. But he doesn’t.

His jaw tightens, eyes dropping briefly before coming back to you.

“…Yeah,” he says.

The same word as before but it sounds different now.

His gaze lingers on you—like he’s memorising something he already knows he’s going to lose again.

“Still got that bat by the bed,” he mutters, almost under his breath. “That’s good.”

It’s dry. Deflecting.

Very him.

And somehow that hurts more than if he’d argued.

You don’t smile. You can’t.

He nods once.

Like he has to make it quick or he won’t do it at all.

Then he turns toward the door and for a second—just a second—it feels exactly like two years ago all over again.

Him leaving. You staying.

Everything unsaid sitting in the space between you.

His hand reaches for the handle—and pauses.

Just briefly.

Like he might say something else and he almost does.

But he doesn’t.

He just opens the door—

and walks out. The door clicks shut.

Your knees hit the floor before you can stop it.

A sharp, broken sound tears out of you—half sob, half something worse—as your hand comes up to your mouth like you can force it back in.

It doesn’t work. Nothing does.

You curl in on yourself, shoulders shaking, the silence of the apartment suddenly unbearable.

Because he was here and now he’s gone again.

Just like that.

You drag a hand over your face, trying to breathe through it, but it keeps coming—wave after wave until your chest aches and your throat burns.

Eventually, the crying slows not because you feel better. Just because your body gives out.

You end up half-curled on your bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, eyes heavy and raw as sleep finally pulls you under.

—————

Morning comes too fast. A knock pulls you out of it. At first you think you’ve imagined it, then it comes again—firmer. Your stomach tightens instantly. You sit up slowly, every muscle still sore from the night before. Another knock.

“…What the hell,” you mumble.

You get up and move to the door carefully. When you open it you freeze.

“…Frank?”

Frank is there. Different from last night. Like he hasn’t stopped moving since he left. Before you can say anything, he’s already inside. Fast. He slips past you and shuts the door behind him, locking it in one smooth motion.

“Frank—what are you doing?”

He turns immediately. His eyes scan the apartment like he’s checking for something wrong, something hidden. Then he looks at you.

“I’m sorry, sweet girl.”

Your chest tightens. “What?”

“I need you to pack a bag,” he says. “Right now. Just a bag. Come with me.”

Your brow furrows. “Frank, what’s happening?”

His jaw clenches. “Just please, y/n.”

The way he says your name is wrong in a different way this time—urgent, tight, not giving you space to argue.

You stare at him for a long second. He doesn’t move. Just waits.

“…Okay,” you say quietly.

His shoulders drop. “Good.”

You move quickly after that. Clothes, essentials, anything you can grab without thinking too hard. Frank doesn’t leave your side—he stays near the door, listening, watching, tense in a way you haven’t seen before.

Within minutes you’re ready. He takes the bag from you without a word. You don’t argue.

Outside, his van is parked close. Unmarked. Old. He opens the passenger door for you and you hesitate for half a second before getting in. He shuts the door, climbs into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine immediately.

No explanation yet. Just movement.

The city starts slipping past the windows.

You glance at him. “Frank.”

His grip tightens on the wheel. “…People have been watching your apartment,” he says.

Your stomach drops. “Since when?”

“Since last night,” he answers. “Not cops. Not anyone you want near you.”

You turn fully toward him. “Who?”

A pause. His jaw ticks. “People who think you’re connected to me.”

Silence fills the van.

“So what,” you say quietly, “you just decided to take me?”

Frank finally looks at you for a second. “I decided you weren’t staying there alone.”

The city thins out behind you, buildings giving way to industrial edges, empty roads, waterlight flickering in the distance. You don’t ask more questions after a while. You just sit there, watching the world move further away.

Eventually the van slows and turns off near the docks.

It’s quiet here. Too quiet.

Frank parks outside a weathered building by the water. Nothing fancy. Nothing inviting. Just solid, hidden, forgotten on purpose. He gets out first, checks the surroundings, then opens your door.

“C’mon,” Frank Castle says quietly.

You follow him inside.

The place is sparse. Functional. A bed, a table, weapons and supplies tucked away like they’re part of the furniture. It doesn’t feel like a home. It feels like somewhere someone stays when they don’t plan to stay anywhere long.

Frank shuts the door behind you.

“…You look like you didn’t sleep,” he says.

You let out a short breath that’s halfway between a laugh and something worse.

“I didn’t,” you admit. “I was crying all night.”

That makes him go still.

Not surprised. Just… quieter.

You look away, arms folding loosely around yourself like you’re trying to hold everything in place.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Frank,” you say, words spilling faster now. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this. I still love you, and I shouldn’t, and I tried not to, but it doesn’t just stop and I—”

Your voice breaks slightly. You hate that it does.

“I don’t know how to turn it off.”

Frank moves before you finish spiralling.

He crosses the space between you in a few steps and pulls you into him.

Firm. Immediate. No hesitation this time.

“Shh,” he mutters against your hair. “Shh, y/n.”

His hand settles at the back of your head, steadying you. The other holds you in place like he’s afraid you’ll fall apart if he lets go.

Your words die in your throat.

You just breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, a little lower this time. “Didn’t want it to get to you like this.”

You shake your head slightly against his chest, but you don’t pull away.

“I told you to stay away,” you whisper.

“You haven’t heard what I’m offering yet.” 

“Professor,” you say again, and the name falls flat, and it only amuses Wanda now. But she looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes. You are both walking and you turn to see if you will be overheard.

“Yes, Darling?”  She says, amused at your paranoia. 

“This is inappropriate.” You whisper loudly. 

“No, what’s inappropriate is if I fucked you on my desk really slow with the strap on from the other night. What would be really, really inappropriate is if I made the class watch. Especially that boy who stares at you all class long, Steve Rogers. That would be sweet revenge. Yeah, that, now that would be inappropriate. You and I met and were two consenting adults, and we still are.” She says with a shrug as if it’s nothing. Your eyes are fucking wide as she says such dirty things. You catch up to the last bit in shock.

“Still are?”

“I don’t know about you, though I have an inkling. But that was the best sex I’ve ever had. It’s also the most chemistry I’ve had, maybe ever. It was never gonna be a one-and-done. At least that wasn’t my plan. I knew at the bar I wanted more than one night with you.” She says, and the blush is now definitely all over your body. 

“Professor-“

“Wan-da.” She sounds out and stops to open a door that is her private office. Unlocking it with her keys. She opens the door and waves her hand for you to enter. You hesitate, and she lifts an eyebrow. You roll your eyes and walk in as she flips the light on. It’s a cute office, her blinds are drawn. But there are plants everywhere, a little mini fridge with stickers from national parks all over it, and it's wall-to-wall shelves that are covered in books. You can’t help yourself; you get distracted and walk over to trace your hands over the spines.

Wanda seems to like this as she shuts the door behind her and locks it. You don’t feel even a little worried, like you know you should. You bend down and pick up a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. Its leather spine draws you in, and you love the story so much. You open it and look for a publication date. 

“It’s about 80 years old,” Wanda says, pulling off her glasses and leaning against the desk. She threw her bag and keys onto it. Then she lets her hands hold her weight behind her. 

“Fuck.” You say, and suddenly feel bad about picking it up. Wanda seems to take that as you have been scolded by people too much before. But she saves that thought away. 

“You can touch it, honey. It’s ok.” She says, seeing your panic. You ignore her and put it back. Standing back up, you see Wanda looking at you like she was enjoying you on the floor. You chastise yourself to stop imagining her naked. 

“I-“

“I’d like to take you out tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, well, right now actually. No time like the present,” she says, smiling at you for the hundredth time today. She likes how much she smiles because of you, she hasn’t done that in a very long time. 

“Shouldn’t I play harder to get?” You tease at the lack of dating etiquette she’s showing. She shakes her head 

“Why would you do that? I’ve already tasted you and I want more, I don’t want to play games. And before you ask no I’ve never fucked a student before. I never planned on it before you.”

“But-“

“Our age gap isn’t that wide, Darling. Even if I make you call me Mommy. Don’t look so scandalized. We aren’t breaking any district or college rules. I like you a lot. And I’m not the kind of woman who likes things and then takes no for an answer.”

“You do this with all your one-night stands, then?” You say, and it’s meant to be funny, but it sounds desperate, and you hate it.

“You would be the first person I’ve ever taken home from a bar. I wasn’t going to say anything this soon, but I was married …to a man… for too long....”

“Oh.”

“It’s been a few years. I have tried to date but… no one’s caught my attention.”

“Until now?” You say, and you try not to sound hopeful.

“Until now.” She says more confident than you’d expect.

You turn and look at the books, and she watches you. 

“I think we have more in common than you realize.” She says slowly, and you snort at her. Looking over your shoulder, you are sarcastic to a fault.

“You mean besides the fetishes we share.” It’s not supposed to make you blush more, but you do at your own sentence. She thinks it’s cute and smiles. 

“It’s not just about sex.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.” It’s a bit of a lie, because you want it to be more. But you keep your eyes on the books. So she talks to your back, not seeming bothered by sharing your attention with her library.

“You are getting a BA in English with an emphasis on writing, so did I,” She says, and you look at her like ‘that’s obvious.’ 

“You like old books, and so do I. You are extremely smart. And way funnier than I am.” She says as if she’s already in love, and you aren’t sure how to respond. 

“I don’t know if I’m all that.” You say, and she disagrees with you. Her face shows instantly that she doesn’t like your answer. You turn to her now, fully taking her in. She’s so fucking gorgeous. Her professor's look is sharp as hell. You would happily go back to the floor for her right here, right now. She surprises you, though. 

“You have been hurt by people. That much is clear. So have I. I get that you don’t want to trust me. I’m scared too, but not scared enough to let you walk away without taking my chance.” She says, and her voice dips, and it does things to you. 

“You can tell all that, huh?” You sa,y looking down at your shoes. She walks over and lifts your chin so you are eye to eye. 

“I can see that and much more. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to be with you, will you let me?” 

You nod slowly, and she moves and kisses you. It’s a sweet kiss, it’s slow and tender. Not possessive and demanding like her kisses the other night. She pulls back and grabs her keys. 

“Come with me.” She holds out her hand, and you take it.

————

That’s how it starts. You go to a restaurant thinking it’ll be one and done. And you have an amazing time, and it’s not the last. Not even close. Wanda is on your ass like white on rice. She’s texting you, calling you, FaceTiming you all the time. You are inseparable. And you fucking love it. You won’t let yourself tell her you love her. Afraid of what that will mean. You are at her apartment all the time. She starts buying your coffee creamer and makes the popcorn brand you like for nights when you watch endless hours of sitcoms. It’s so fucking sappy and it’s getting extremely domestic on a Tuesday. 

You are both sitting on a dryer in a laundromat. You got a big gulp of a cherry slushy. You are waiting for your laundry to be done. She asked if she could come, and you laughed at her and told her it would be boring. Wanda said nothing with you could ever be boring. And here you were both laughing so hard your sides hurt. 

“What do you mean you’ve never had a slushie?” You say after you wipe your eyes from tears over laughing. She reaches over and brushes stray tears from your other cheek. 

“I’m from Socovia, baby. We didn’t have slushies.” Wanda reminds you and you hold the cup up like it’s amrosia from the gods and it’s being blessed.

“That simply won’t do.” 

She giggles at your display, and it’s the best sound. You hold it to her, moving the straw so it bends.

“Isn’t it like water and corn syrup?”

“Do not knock the cherry syrup like that.” You say in mock horror. She shakes her head at you. 

“You know, I keep Swedish fish at my place for you now. I read the back of it. That stuff is gonna kill you, devochka.”

You beam at her, knowing she’s calling you baby girl in her language, feels so sweet. So many partners called you baby. This felt so much better. 

“I’ll die happy.” You say not to defend the red food dye.

“Nu uh, no dying, how about that. You stay my girl and be healthy.” She says, and it feels good under your skin. Being her girl. 

“I can do that.” You whisper and kick your legs up against the machine. She seems to like you flushed and embarrassed, and she moves your jaw and kisses you. It’s long and slow, but unlike her offic,e it’s practiced now. Like two lovers who know how to slow dance with each others, understanding one another's body rhythms. You lean your forehead against hers and slowly open your eyes to see her staring at you with love laced in every single inch. 

“Be a good girlfriend and drink my toxic slush.” You whisper, and she laughs now. 

“I’m your girlfriend, huh?” She says, and you panic.

“I mean-“

“No, no, my love, no take backs. You taught me no take backs.” She reminds you, and you curse because you had taught her that. 

“Well…”

“I did want to ask…”

“Yeah?” You say and tuck a hair behind your ear. She watches it and seems in a trance, looking at you. You look at her with a questioning glance. You take a sip of your drink as she finishes. 

“Are we um… what’s the English word? Are we exclusive?” 

You snort the drink and cough, and she looks panicked as she rubs your back. You breathe again after a few seconds. 

“Um.. do you want to be?” You ask, catching your breath. 

“I was hoping we already were.” She says slowly, and you look confused. 

“Why did you think we weren't?”

“My friend Natasha told me it’s a conversation that people have to have?” She says and looks anxious now like she’s fucked up. 

“You told your friends about me?” It’s what you take from the sentence, and she looks slightly miffed that you haven’t answered her question only asked follow up questions. 

“Moya lyubov', you are killing me with the suspense. I’m a little scared now. Are you seeing someone else? Or sleeping with someone else?” Her eyebrows furrow, and you quickly grab her hands 

“Oh god, no, Wanda. I have no interest and no time. When would I have slept with someone else? I’m always either on the phone with you or at your place. You think I sneak off after your apartment and have a gangbang or something?” You say, and it’s meant to be funny, and her eyes bulged. 

“Gangbang? What is that? Do you get hurt with that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s an English word you might not have heard before. I’ll tell you later. The point is, I’m all yours, ok?” You say, and she instantly relaxes.

“Ok,” Wanda says, and she seems deep in thought again. Her nose scrunches, and you know she’s in the depths of it.

“So who’s Natasha?”

“Friend from college. You’ll like her, she mostly does S.H.I.E.L.D. agent retaining now.” She looks over and you and you nod, impressed. 

“So she’s like super hot and buff?”

“Hey, you are now in a committed relationship. Very taken and very off the market. There will be no hot buff girls in your future. Only this Socovian Professor who is totally going to spank you tonight for that.” She says and scoffs in outrage. 

“Yes professor.” You smirk and she mumbles in her native;’ you’re that she can’t believe you, and you are such a brat. ‘

“So will Natasha be coming by soon?” You say, and she turns bright red and looks at you. 

“No, actually, I’m not sure you are ever meeting her.”

“Is she straight?” You say not getting that you are making Wanda more jealous. 

“Why does this matter?” Her accent comes out and that’s when you realize she’s anxious. 

“Oh, baby, I’m not into your friend. I’m very taken as I just was told. I’m just curious who your friends are.” You say, and you look down at the time on the machine. But when you look back at her, she’s thinking again. 

“Well, there’s Natasha, Clint, who I’m not super close with. But he hangs around Natasha, so I put up with him. He’s gonna love you.”

“Wh,y because of my breasts?” You tease and you swear you see smoke come out of her ears. 

“Hey! I’m not gonna tell you any more about my friends. I’m going to fuck you in that bathroom instead.” She points to the grungy bathroom. 

“Not a bad time for me. But I’ll behave. Why would Clint like me? Would Natasha not like me?” 

“No, she’d like you too. She already does. She’s always telling me what I should do with us.”

“Good stuff?” You say feeling weird. 

“I’m not used to dating in the U.S I don’t know the customs of what’s too much too soon.”

You reach over and grab her hand.

“You don’t need advice. You can just talk to me. I’ll tell you.” You say, and Wanda rubs her thumb over your knuckles. She gulps and agrees.

“I know, but you scare easily sometimes, and I don’t want to ruin this or scare you away.” She says it, and it’s so vulnerable and rea,l and you know, just the feeling.

“Wanda Maximoff, you sweet charmer. You got me pretty wrapped up in you. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She meets your eyes and grins now. Her mega-watt smile, the one she only gives you. 

“So Clint.” You say, and she goes on.

“While he would love to see you naked, he’s never going to. Because your mine. He’s a jokester, and he will love laughing with you. Because he’s effortlessly funny.” 

“So are you.” You say taking a sip. She furrows her brows.

“I am so not funny.” She says, and you disagree. 

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“My brother was funny. He would have adored you.” She says, and it’s only the third time she’s brought him up. You cup her cheek and she lays her hand on top of yours. You know she’s got a lot of trauma. 

“You think so?”

“I know it.” 

“Ok, so your brother, Natasha and Clit like me. Who else is in your life that you are hiding from your girlfriend?” You say, and she chuckles. Her face hurts from smiling this much. Like it has a lot recently because of you. 

“Well, I used to hang out with this guy Stephen. He’s a doctor, well surgeon now, so he’s pretty busy, but we email a lot. Bruce is getting his PHD, so he’s slammed, but he texts me pretty regularly. He’s upset with his boyfriend a lot.”

“Wow, you have smart friends.” You say, and she arches an eyebrow,

“You won’t think that when you meet them. Beside,s I have a way smarter girlfriend.”

“Then a PHD student, a surgeon, and a S.h.i.e.l.d agent?”

“You are waaaay smarter.” She says, and you don’t believe her, but her face proves she believes it. Wanda doesn’t lie to you. Even when she wishes she could because it would be easier in some moment. 

The dryer dings and you hop down. Wanda looks anxious for a moment, not wanting this date to end. You don’t see her worry and you speak. 

“So I’m thinking we grab dinner and then you read my paper, professor.”

Wanda instantly feels relief that the night isn’t over. She hops down and takes your laundry out of the hamper you are putting it in, and starts folding. 

“What are you doing, Maximoff?” You sa,y and she looks momentarily taken aback at you using her last name.

“Folding?”

“I think we have to be married for you to fold my underwear. You can’t just do that, like we haven’t been dating only three months.”

She looks confused at you. She wants to talk more about marriage, but changes her mind. 

“Who do you think folds your laundry at my apartment?”

“Oh my god, you so do. You throw my clothes in with yours, too. Oh my god, you do my laundry.”

“Yeah, I’m also in a lesbian relationship, so I put your bra on the delicate cycle. Not just throwing it in with jeans like an ape.” She says, and your mouth opens. She looks proud as she folds one of your sweatshirts with more precision than you’ve ever folded. She doesn’t stop at your shocked expression, grabbing a pair of your sweats. 

“That…is really hot.”

Wanda throws her head back and her curls bounce as she laughs at you. 

“My love, you’ve never been taken care of, and it shows.” She say,s and it’s light coming from her, but you realize that it’s really true. 

“Maybe, or maybe you just take care of me really well. Like better than anyone ever has.” You say and shut the door. You turn to load another load into the washer and move the wet clothes to the dryer. You pull out quarters and miss Wanda looking at you. Because she has more love for you than she thought she could have for anyone. After breaking her marriage with Vision and the loss of her family, her brother. She felt so lost and alone. But here you were, like a bolt of lightning into her dead heart. And now she felt like she was living, for maybe the first time ever. 

“I’m thinking Thai. But I know you didn’t like the place on 3rd, even though you say you didn’t mind it. You barley ate your drunken noodles. And I know you were hungry cuz we went on that hike. So don’t even say “that place you like.’ Because I know my girlfriend way better than that.” You say, and it’s so easy, and you don’t even think about it. 

Wanda looks at you still. She felt such warmth in her chest. You were now throwing around her new title with ease. Like she’d always owned it. And she realized she’d wanted your lips to say wife. And then she felt herself growing hot. So she coughed, and you looked at her. 

“What? Did you find gum in my clothes? That’s happened here before, and it ruined an awesome sweater that had a Jane Austen quote. It wrecked me.” You say throwing a laundry pod in the wash and cranking it to start. 

“You take really good care of me…too, just so you know,” Wanda says and she stops folding but looks down at your black jeans with new interest. You walk behind her and snake your arms around her waist. 

“Wanda?”

“Hmm?”

“You think I take good care of you?”

“You make my to-go coffee in the morning better than I do now. You cook for me, and you make sure I take my meds at night. You always check in when you know I’m sad. Or reaching out when you know I’ve gone dark and gloomy, so I haven’t texted. You always lift my spirits and make me laugh…I…no one’s ever cared for me like you.” She says, and you kiss her neck. She leans back into you, and you repeat kisses over her shoulder and up her throat. 

“I don’t want anyone else to.”

“To what?”

“To take care of you. I want to do it.” You say, and she turns and wraps her arms around your neck. 

“No other college girls have applied, so you have job security.” She jokes, and you laugh sarcastically. 

“I thought you didn’t date college girls.”

She pretends to think about it and you pinch her ass and she laughs. 

“Only one college girl.”

“Aye, woman.”

“All women.” She says and leans in and kisses you sucking your bottom lip in. You moan, and she pulls bac,k putting her hand over your mouth.

“Those noises are for me, not the laundromat!” She hisses at you. You lightly bite her hand, and she pulls back.

“Oh, please, the only guy in here is drunk. It’s not like we are being live streamed on pornhub.”

“Ok, slow down, American girl. Livestream? Pornhub? Gangbang?”

“Sometimes the language barrier is really funny and other times it’s hilarious.” 

Wanda glares at you but grabs your ass and squeezes. Making it clear she’s won… again.

“Lifestream is when you are giving a live, real-time feed onto the internet.”

She nods, and you continue. That was probably the most innocent explanation and you figured you’d build into the other ones.  

“Pornhub is a website with pornography videos.”

Her eyes zero in on you. 

“Do you watch porn on Pornhub.”

“I have.” You answer, not about to deny it. 

“Do you still?”

You shrug as if it’s nothing. 

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to.” She answers plainly, but her eyes are squinting at you. Her nose scrunched, and you laughed. 

“Are you being a prude? Because you made me squirt before. Hell you’ve tied me up and fucked my mouth with a dildo. Plus, the names you like in bed or call me in bed. I don’t think you have a leg to stand on here.”

“No, I’m not a prude. And plenty of women like being called Mommy in bed. I have no shame for what we do. I just don’t want my girlfriend masturbating to someone else.” She said the last part at a high decibel in her voice, and you realize you’ve hit a new nerve for her. 

“So you are a prude.” You say, and she glares deeper now.

“I don’t think this is a hard ask. I don’t masturbate to porn.”

“Do you masturbate?” You ask genuinely curious now.

“Besides, when I’m on the phone with you, no.” She admits looking over at the man, clearly passed out in the corner. Before looking back at you. 

“Before me?”

“You know I own a vibrator and some dildos,” Wanda says as if this line of questioning makes no sense. 

“I know I just am curious what you cum to.”

“I used to use my imagination. Now I am having so much sex, I don’t have time or the desire to masturbate. Not when it’s so much better when I’m straddling your face. Why would I want to use my vibrator alone?” Wanda says, unsure of why this doesn’t make sense to you. Her arms stay around your neck. 

“Hmm..”

“What?” She says a little too sharply.

“I think we should go to a kink event.”

“What?” She looks shocked at your answer.

“You might like it. Plus it’s always interesting.”

“Will you be clothed?”

“Yes, baby, I won’t let anyone else touch me. But you are a bit of a dominatrix, I think you’d like to see it. And if you don’t like porn then it’s an intresting way to watch.”

“I’m not much of a voyeur.” She says having learned the word from you. 

“You like watching me. But that’s not the point. If you don’t wanna go, we don’t have to. No pressure whatsoever. But I do think it would be interesting. On the conversation of porn, I won’t watch it if it makes you uncomfortable. I haven’t really masturbated much since we started dating. Maybe twice in the shower on my own, but it was all to thoughts of you.”

This seems to make Wanda feel better. 

“Do you mind that I’m…”

“Possessive? Jealous?” You insert the thoughts. 

“Dominant?” Wanda says even though all of those thoughts crossed her mind as well. 

“I like it all. I like that you put your hand on my ass when someone is staring at me at Starbucks. I like that you make me beg and call you Mommy in bed. I like that you ask me what I’m reading because you like picking out books for me.” You say and Wanda’s hands travel to your ass again.

 She likes to touch you. She, for the first time, is allowed to do PDA. Vision didn’t even like holding hands, so it’s a big shift. Wanda craves being able to touch you. So she wouldn’t be able to stop in public if she tried. The hand on your lower back through a crowd gives her a shot of a power high. She knows you are gorgeous, and you chose her. So she doesn’t keep her hands to herself ever. 

“You said you liked my book recommendations.” 

“I do. I even lie and say I haven’t read it just so I can re-read it and talk to you about it.”

“You lie!” She yells now. 

“Only about books. Only because I like it when we talk about them.” You admit, and she softens her gaze on you. 

“You are getting punished for that later.”

“I’m game. After we get pad Thai, cuz your baby needs food.” You break the contact and throw one of your Lacey thongs like a slingshot, and it hits her face. 

“Nice shot, kid.” The drunk man in the corner says, and you smirk at Wanda’s shock. His eyes were closed.