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boo-the-ghost-is-a-host · 6 days ago

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This is so sad :(

I love him.....

I still want him to have a good ending

➚ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 : ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋʟᴇʏ — ꜱᴀɴᴄᴛ��ᴀʀʏ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — three shots fired : two to the body , one through the heart .

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — angst bug , mild dark trojan [ read at your own risk ! ]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd , constructive criticism is welcomed . reblogs and comments are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 4.1k

my demons are begging me to open up my mouth

i need them, mechanically make the words come out

they fight me, vigorous and angry, watch them pounce

ignite me, licking up the flames they bring about

jake lockley was a simple man. or at least that's what he likes to think. he was created by marc's subconscious to protect him from distress and physical harm. that was his reason for existence. nothing more, nothing less.

but the reality was that he was a broken man, much like his alters steven and marc. he was born from abuse, like steven, and his sole purpose was to shield that little boy from the horrors of his mother's pain. he shares a body with two others, needing to hide in the shadows because they absolutely cannot know about his existence nor the blood in his hands when marc's have been stained red enough that his conscience can't wash it all away.

he did not need to place the burdens he carries to his brothers, he was their protector and if staying in the dark and letting them be oblivious to his presence was the only way to protect them, then so be it.

jake was the one who took the hits for them, used his fist on those that dared try and harm the body, pounding the offender's face over and over until their face was black and blue and unrecognizable. even if it meant the boys would wake up to split skin on his knuckles. jake lockley is the system's protector, nothing is going to change that.

i sold my soul to a three-piece

and he told me i was holy

he's got me down on both knees

but it's the devil that's tryna

when marc became moon knight, jake briefly took over the body and had confronted the 7 foot tall skeletal bird known as khonshu, the egyptian god of the moon and the night sky. he sees all and knows all despite being unknown by the other two.

at first he demands khonshu to release marc from their agreement knowing it will lead to more danger and marc, the original, cannot be harmed. he tried hard to fight for marc's freedom much to the god's entertainment before striking another deal with jake.

on the day marc gains his freedom from being khonshu's avatar, he shall take his place instead. why look for another avatar when there's a completely different person residing in marc's body that marc (and steven) is unaware of?

but jake? jake had other plans. he told khonshu he'll be his avatar then and there, to let him take on the bloodier and brutal missions to spare marc any more bodies in his hands. he'll take them for him instead. this, of course, amuses khonshu who promptly agreed. their body was never going to be free from his clutches and the egyptian deity was going to take full advantage of the man's brokenness to do his bidding.

hold me down, hold me down

sneaking out the back door, make no sound

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

the job was easy for jake. he's used to a life of violence, letting his fists do the talking to get the answers he needed. he fought until his body held a constellation of bruises that don't easily fade away because he doesn't want to wear the ceremonial suit like marc.

instead he prefers his usual clothes consisting of his signature flat cap, a jacket, a white dress shirt underneath with a black tie done neatly, pressed trousers and black belt and some nice leather shoes.

what he did accept from khonshu was a pair of leather gloves, the knuckles of them designed with a faded crescent moon, to symbolize that he was doing the egyptian god's dirty (well, dirtier) work.

jake doesn't front often, only coming out when its necessary or when his brothers are sound asleep. some days he'd wake up in steven's warm flat, other times it's in that godawful tiny storage room marc uses. either way, he'd get up in the dead of the night, taking control of the body in what little time he has before letting it rest, relinquishing control to the other two once more when the sun begins to peek over the horizon.

hold me down, hold me down

throw me in the deep end, watch me drown

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

most missions that jake partakes in are always the same. it's either a weasley person trying their hardest to evade getting caught by this mysterious person that's dwindling the numbers of their group or a particularly difficult man to put down. on cases like the latter, jake would use a gun or dagger. if his fists can't take them down, these things surely will.

it's gruesome to say the least, the way he can only come out when he's required to by his duty as khonshu's avatar or when marc faces imminent danger. he never needed to take control over steven because the brit wasn't in any danger working at the museum.

the only time he took over steven was to ask that one coworker of his out for steak. shame she thought it was steven, but he can't exactly give himself away in steven's workplace. poor man didn't need any more confusion and mess when he's already on his boss' bad side. steven didn't need jake to add another reason to her ever growing list to hate him.

selfish, taking what I want and call it mine

i'm helpless, clinging to a little bit of spine

they rush me, telling me I'm running out of time

they shush me (sssh), walking me across a fragile line

the only time jake gets to front for a long time, say two days, is when the system is exhausted. if marc pushed himself too hard or steven tried staying up all night again, jake gets absolute freedom for a few days.

he works as a cabbie, it's a method he uses to lure the poor victims on khonshu's hit list. one day, the door to his cab opens, to lo and behold, beautiful, innocent you.

jake never believed in love at first sight, he thinks it's cringe and stupid but you, oh you just proved him wrong.

dressed in a simple yellow sundress and white cardigan to maintain decency, you were a pop of color amongst london's gray streets and brick walls. you looked like sunshine after the rain personified.

you greeted him with a smile, telling him where you were headed, a psychiatric hospital near the general hospital. he was never one to make small talk with his innocent customers, until you. you who made jake break nearly every rule he's told himself since he cannot front for long periods of time. but you? oh he had quite the fun talking to you.

on the short trip it took to take you there, he had managed to learn that you work there as a permanent staff. he also learned of your name, testing the way it rolls off his tongue and ended up sounding like music to his ears. you gladly indulged his questions, a naturally friendly person, he notes to himself as he listens to you talk in his backseat, occasionally watching you through his rearview mirror.

it's another thing he finds out he likes about you but he can't help but worry if people would dare try and take advantage of you with your sweet smiles and lovely personality. jake shouldn't really bother himself with such thoughts but he found it hard to resist, not when it comes to you he realizes.

i sold my soul to a three-piece

and he told me i was holy

he's got me down on both knees

but it's the devil that's tryna

khonshu knows about jake's new fascination with you. he'd often remind the man to forget about you, that you'd be nothing but a mere distraction to the higher purpose he's taken jake in.

on the rare times jake fronts in broad daylight, he would wait for your morning shift to end, parked outside the psychiatric hospital's door, leaning against his car with a cigarette lit and between his lips, the nicotine burning warmth into his lungs as he puffs out the smoke to london's every chilly air.

you'd come out of the doors mere minutes later in your casual clothes, the colors making your eyes stand out more as you smile and wave at him, bounding towards him with a giggle. he'd put out his cigarette, stomp it with the sole of his shoe before opening his arms to a welcoming embrace.

more often than not he'd lead you to his car with an arm slung over your shoulders, getting as close as he can amd enveloping himself in your floral and nectarine scent. he likes how your perfume lingers on the fabric of his jacket sometimes, it makes him feel like you're still with him even if he dropped you home hours ago.

jake began to pick you up more often on the two months marc and steven's worlds began to collide. he took advantage of marc's grief of the loss of his mother and steven's apparent confusion of missing days in his work.

he used those two months to build the relationship he has with you now, still platonic but there was definitely something more. if your lingering touches and flirty quips were anything to prove.

so he waits for you in the cold london air during the end of your shifts, sometimes even takes you to work when your night shift starts if he has the chance, and you'd always greet him with a smile and wave.

one time though, khonshu decided he's had enough of jake's silly little crush on you. it's past 7 in the morning, jake's driving you home and you were sat in the back and talking his ear off about the things that happened during your shift. he'd laugh and make a comment or two but he's more focused on driving, choosing to enjoy the sound of your voice as he does so. but the god has other plans.

he materializes himself, seated next to your oblivious self, just within jake's peripheral in the rearview mirror. the sight of the skeletal bird next to you has him tightening his hold on the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were definitely white under the leather gloves he wore.

he hates seeing the god next to you, his tall and boney form too undeserving of your sunshine and warmth, not that khonshu wanted either of those.

"i told you to stop meeting this woman jake." khonshu reminds him, to which he only responds with a clench of his jaw, "¡no te atrevas a tocarla!" he grumbles under his breath. "what was that jake?" you ask, curious and innocent to the 7 foot tall god next to you threatening him about you.

"do you really think she'll still love you, no— like you once she finds out who you really are?" the egyptian deity goads, thumping his staff on his car's floor.

"¡cállate, maldito pájaro!" he cusses out, a little harsher, a little louder this time. it makes your brows furrow, moving to the edge of your seat as you place a hand on the back of his seat on the driver's side.

"no, really jake... are you okay?" you were concerned for him, which warms his heart but does not ease the foreboding feeling of fear that he was about to lose you. he fights himself not to think about it right now, not while you are still around.

"estoy bien, neña. no te preocupes." you were glad to have taken your spanish classes in highschool seriously, often mingling with patients in the hospital who also spoke the language. "if you say so. but! if you need a friend to talk to, i'm always here for you."

of course, that's the type of person you were. kind, caring, to jake you were the most precious person there is in his otherwise bleak life. like a soft patch of grass and wildflowers in the otherwise dry land he calls life.

"por supuesto, cariño. ahora siéntate bien, no puedes lastimarte de alguna manera." he smiles, not wanting to worry you any further.

khonshu slams his scepter down once more, the echo loud in jake's ears as the threat of the god's words loom over him like his skeletal shadow before fading out of sight.

"stop this jake, while i am letting you or else i will do it for you."

hold me down, hold me down

sneaking out the back door, make no sound

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

he would never allow khonshu to get his hands on you. he may be the god he serves but he wasn't going to let him dictate his life. though deep down jake knew better than to go against him because he would never want you to get hurt. especially because of him. and if disappearing quietly from your life is what keeps you out of harm's way, then so be it.

it's been two weeks since jake last picked you up. he's avoided fronting as much as he could, only coming out whenever he's called in the middle of the night.

you thought he was just busy. he was a cabbie after all, he had other people to pick up and bring to their destinations. he won't always be available to take you home. doesn't mean you didn't miss him though. jake has made a small home in your heart, driving his way into your life and permanently parking himself there, a spot dedicated to jake and only jake.

he was the highlight of your day whenever he would come around the psych hospital, all the fatigue and weariness easing off your bones once he'd sling his arm around you.

so these past two weeks, your heart quietly sinks when you don't see his cab parked just outside the doors of the hospital, a cold puff of air greeting you instead of jake's warm embrace as he meets you, smelling of cigarette and leather and musk. you'd end your shift a little disheartened as you hail a cab to bring you home, always secretly hoping it was jake who would stop and take you in.

hold me down, hold me down

throw me in the deep end, watch me drown

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

jake missed you as well in those two weeks, terribly so. it felt like hell being in the dark corner's of steven and marc's consciousness where he'd wonder how you were doing, if you were okay. if you missed him like he missed you. you did, but he didn't know. couldn't know because of the risk he knows he'll put you under if he fronts to meet you.

it's half past two in the morning when he's able to grab hold of the body, his movements sluggish because none of them were getting enough rest with marc drinking his memories away when khonshu wasn't sending him off to places, steven would stay up late just to catch himself and keep himself from doing god knows what in his sleep and jake, who'd take control of their shared body at the wee hours of the night, barely an hour of sleep in their system but does he care right now? no. why? because two weeks of being away from you was hell and he won't stand another second of not being in your presence.

so he throws the sheets off their body, puts on more presentable clothes from steven's wardrobe since he was the one fronting during the day these past weeks. he found a simple gray sweatshirt and hoodie, exchanged his pajama pants for a pair of jeans and protected his feet with a pair of old sneakers the brit rarely wears.

after that he takes his time to walk to you, not caring if it would take him a while. he'd use this time to think carefully about what to say to you if he manages to even catch your attention while you work. or maybe you'd be on a quick break? he hopes so.

hold me down now

hold me down

jake was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't realize he was already at the hospital had it not been for your hands holding his shoulders. "jake?" came your voice, soft culverts coming out in a whisper that rings so loudly and lovely in his ears in the silence of london's empty streets. he snaps out of his trance upon hearing your voice, so sweet and kind.

wordlessly, he pulls you in an embrace, not caring at the moment if khonshu was watching his every movement, he just wanted to be as close to you as possible. at first you were surprised, unsure on whether or not to reciprocate but in the end you do.

how could you not when your heart misses him so? even if he smelled different, like old books and clean linens, there was a scent you'd recognize anywhere that belongs solely to jake.

with your arms wrapped around his form, holding his body against yours as you breathe him in. he was real and he was holding you. it soothes the yearning that settled in your body in an instant. he was real and he felt like a safety net, anchoring you back to shore, rescuing you just in time to pull you back above waters before you sink into a sea of emotional turmoil.

that night in each other's embrace, you both felt like you'd come home after a long and exhausting day of being so far apart from each other. in that silence, you had both found solace and understanding where you stood in each other's lives. he was special to you as you were to him. jake had put up a delicate white fence over the luscious green grass and blooming flowers you had planted in his heart, his own garden in his desert he calls life. you were his oasis.

i sold my soul to a three-piece

and he told me I was holy

he's got me down on both knees

but it's the devil that's tryna

after that visit, jake slips away from your grasp again. steven and marc had found themselves in cairo, quietly lending them a hand when it mattered, saving them when their life began teetering close to the edge and quietly returning to his corner. they didn't need to know about him. not yet, not while his hands remain bloody and his ledger dripping red like waterfalls.

he helped marc amd steven out of sticky situations, even saving layla a few times as well. he thinks it's nice that marc had found a safe haven of his own with the woman but jake can't help but feel a little angry and jealous because he can't have you that way. not when they share the same body and face. so he took that bubbling anger out on the poor soul that had tried to hurt him, knuckles bloody and raw from punching so their face it's almost unrecognizable with all the blood pouring from their head to their mouth.

even though he was helping the two out in stopping an ancient god from killing off millions of people, jake's selfishness can't help but think of you during your time apart. he misses you even more now, he realizes. he wonders if he'll be able to see you again after this.

hold me down, hold me down

sneaking out the back door, make no sound

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

jake was proud of marc from his hidden corner of their consciousness when he refused to kill harrow, against khonshu's orders. he felt happy that his brother no longer had to stain his hands any redder than they should. but deep down jake knew he would be the one to end it all. after all, he is their protector (and with his affections for you, that extended to you as well).

he knew that khonshu would call for him one day soon to finish what marc cannot, for he is, after all, the one that carries the burden of dirtying his hands for them.

that was the deal he had bargained for his brother/s after all.

hold me down, hold me down

throw me in the deep end, watch me drown

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

jake finds himself in front of your hospital one afternoon when they returned from their duty in egypt. harrow was sent here, an idea he had left in marc's subconscious. in reality, it was just so he'd be able to see a glimpse of you.

selfish as it was, he thinks it's the only way he can see you again. he takes hold of harrow's wheelchair from a nurse, telling her in spanish that he was there for him. she had seemed to understand and let him be, moving on to a different patient to care for.

jake walks down the halls of the hospital, hoping to see even the faintest glimpse of your bright smile but to no avail. what he doesn't know though, was that you had seen him first, unsure in the beginning but you saw his signature cap and gloves and you knew for sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you.

he was back and he was taking one of the patients admitted at the ward? throughout the time he's picked you up and took you home, he's never said anything about knowing someone in here. you followed him silently, asking one of your co-workers to cover for you a bit.

you see him take arthur harrow inside a limo you didn't know he drove, kicking the wheelchair with such anger it makes you pause in your steps just a little ways from the exit. you see him enter the driver's side, windows rolled up and slams the door shut, you took that as cue to make your way out. you approach the limo with hesitant steps, about to knock on the tinted windows when you see two flashes of light from inside the car, the muffled sound of a gun ringing so loud it has you gasping, snatching your hand back before it lands on the glass.

jake did what he had to, he sought justice to the death their body suffered from when harrow shot them within the dig site where steven discovered ammit's ushabti. it was time to repay the favor, he had shot them twice so he thought it was only fair to do the same. though this time, arthur harrow won't have the same chance to return to the land of the living the way marc and steven did. he had to atone for his sins, there was no redemption for arthur harrow.

but he hears something outside his limo, makes him roll his windows down just a tiny bit only to see your shaken form right outside, fear and shock evident in your features; from the way you held your hands, holding yourself as you took some steps back and away from the white vehicle. jake knew right there and then that he had scared you away, that he might have just lost you. the god in his backseat remained quiet, his presence like a foreboding shadow.

"i told you to stop seeing her didn't i jake lockley? did you really think she'll accept the life you live, the blood staining your hands?"

a part of jake knew that the tall bird was correct but he didn't want to accept it, he couldn't— wouldn't believe it. he loves you and he knows you do too, if that one late night visit says anything about how you two felt about each other. but the longer he stared at your scared form, the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, the more jake began to realize he had to get away.

yes marc didn't deserve to know about the red on his hands...

translations:

¡no te atrevas a tocarla! — don't you fucking dare touch her

estoy bien, nena. no te preocupes. — i'm fine baby. don't worry.

por supuesto, cariño. ahora siéntate bien, no puedes lastimarte de alguna manera. — of course sweetheart. now sit properly, can't have you injuring yourself somehow.

#moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley angst #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley #moon knight angst #I still want a good ending #I would kiss his bruised knucks

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boo-the-ghost-is-a-host · 8 days ago

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Mutt

Matt Murdock x Male Reader

Summary: Matt finds you on the rooftop of your apartment building.

A/n: I have two requests in my drafts, and I'll get to them when I have the motivation to do so. For now I offer some short angst.

Smoke curled from your lips, the cigarette hanging loosely between your fingers as you stared blankly into the night sky. Bruises marred your face, arms, and knuckles, a testament to the latest explosion of your rage. Your body ached, a constant, stinging pain that mirrored the emotional turmoil within. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy from hours of silent weeping.

This was a familiar ritual, a grim dance played out far too often. You'd pick fights you knew you couldn't win, fueled by a desperate need to feel something other than the suffocating dread and self-loathing that constantly gnawed at you. It was a twisted attempt to distract yourself from the slow, agonizing process of imploding, of disappearing beneath the weight of your own despair.

You sighed, wrapping your lips around the cigarette and taking another drag. The harsh taste of tobacco and nicotine offered a fleeting reprieve from the bitter taste of your own self-destruction. The sound of footsteps on the fire escape jolted you from your reverie. You knew it was him, always him. Matt.

He never spoke, never intruded on your silence. He understood the importance of letting you unravel at your own pace, of letting you share your pain on your own terms. You leaned against him, the rough concrete of the rooftop a distant memory beneath his comforting warmth. He held you, his silence a gentle, unwavering embrace.

Tonight, however, was different. As you rested against him, his hands gently tracing patterns in your hair, the familiar torrent of tears failed to materialize. "Do you ever wonder," you murmured, your voice hoarse, "why we do this to ourselves?"

Matt sighed, a deep, weary sound that mirrored your own. "Of course I do. Why do you ask?"

You extinguished the cigarette against the rough cement, the dying ember a stark contrast to the vibrant city lights below. "I feel like a… a bad dog," you whispered, the words catching in your throat. "Always snapping, always biting."

The image stung, a raw, painful truth you couldn't deny. You'd been called a mutt more times than you could count, a creature of instinct and aggression. Even Matt, in a moment of frustration, had used the analogy. It was undeniable: you were broken, a stray left to fend for itself for far too long, a creature beyond repair.

"I'm a mutt," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant hum of the city, "deserving of the pound."

Matt's body stiffened, the gentle rhythm of his hands in your hair faltering. Oh, how he hated hearing you tear yourself down, reduce yourself to nothing. "A mutt deserves a chance," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "Even a mutt with a bite. It doesn't define them."

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. "You don't think so?"

He cupped your face, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. "No," he said, his voice unwavering. "I think you're handsome, even with all your scars. And I love you, more than words can say."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. It was a kiss filled with a quiet strength, a promise whispered on the wind. A promise to be there, to hold you, to help you heal.

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

#matt murdock x male reader #xmalereader #x male reader

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boo-the-ghost-is-a-host · 8 days ago

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RED — A Matthew “Matt” Murdock One-Shot

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Additional characters: Benjamin Poindexter, Karen Page & Foggy Nelson

Description: Bullseye takes your life and Matt crosses the line.

Words: 1200

Warnings: Death

I'm still not over Daredevil: Born Again episode 1, so if I have to suffer, so do you. (Sorry)

Blood runs thick beneath the neon glow.

It spreads in slow, sluggish rivers across the pavement outside Josie’s, pooling between the cracks, sinking into the city’s bones.

Your blood.

Matt tastes it in the air before he even hears the shot. Copper and salt, dark and final, curling through Hell’s Kitchen like a whispered prayer.

He was too late.

—

Bullseye is laughing.

The sound is sharp, grating, unhinged—like broken glass crunching underfoot. It cuts through the chaos like a blade, slicing through screams and the scrape of bodies against asphalt.

Matt barely registers the way Karen sobs your name, the way Foggy is shouting for help, hands pressed against the wound in your stomach as if he can hold your life inside you with sheer will alone.

Because all he can hear is your heart.

Slow.

Slower.

And then—

“Matt.”

A whisper. So faint, so fragile, but you know he’ll hear you. You know he’s listening.

Matt’s breath catches in his throat.

Your voice is paper-thin, fluttering on the wind like something weightless, something slipping through his fingers.

You’re calling for him.

And he isn’t there.

—

Fury rises like bile.

Matt doesn’t remember launching himself at Bullseye. Doesn’t remember closing the distance between them, doesn’t remember the first hit, the second, the third—

Only that it isn’t enough.

Bullseye is a whirlwind, a storm of violence and precision, but Matt is rage incarnate.

Fists collide. Bones snap. The world narrows into red and black, into the taste of blood and the scent of gunpowder, into the rhythmic, shuddering falter of your pulse.

Then they’re on the rooftop, the fight crashing upward like a wildfire.

The city roars below.

Your heartbeat is a whisper.

And then—

Silence.

Matt goes still.

The world falls away, and all that is left is the absence of you.

Not just quiet—gone.

No gentle rhythm. No soft, stuttering beats. No desperate, fragile pulse clinging to life.

Just—nothing.

Like you were never there at all.

—

A sound rips from Matt’s throat.

It isn’t human.

It is pain, raw and guttural, cracked open like ribs split apart by grief.

Bullseye smirks, breathless, bruised, bloodied. He cocks his head, watching Matt with something like curiosity, like he’s studying the way grief unspools a man from the inside.

Like he’s proud.

“Why?”

Matt’s voice is hollow.

Bullseye blinks, then chuckles.

“Why not?”

And that’s it.

That’s the moment something inside Matt Murdock shatters.

The moment he stops being the man who swore never to cross that final, irreversible line.

Because there is nothing left to save.

Nothing left to protect.

Bullseye goes flying.

Matt doesn’t feel himself push. Doesn’t register the way his fingers clench, the way muscle coils and releases, the way the man who took you away disappears over the edge.

He only hears the sickening crunch when Bullseye hits the pavement below.

—

Later, Matt won’t remember walking down the stairs.

Won’t remember how he made it back to the street, how he ended up on his knees beside your body, hands trembling as they ghost over your cheek, your hair, your cooling skin.

He won’t remember how Karen sobs into Foggy’s shoulder, how the sirens wail in the distance, how the city keeps breathing while his whole world has stopped.

But he will remember the last thing you ever said to him.

How you whispered his name with your dying breath.

Because you knew.

You always knew.

That no matter where you were, no matter how far—

Matt would always be listening.

—

Hell’s Kitchen mourns in silence.

The city does not weep for the dead. It swallows them whole, buries them beneath pavement and neon, lets their names fade into the hum of traffic and the wail of sirens.

But today, the city is quiet.

Today, the sky is heavy with grief, thick with clouds that hang low over rooftops, suffocating the skyline. The air is cold, biting, heavy with the promise of rain.

It should be raining.

But it isn’t.

Not yet.

Not even the heavens dare to weep before he does.

—

Matt doesn’t sit with the others.

Karen and Foggy are there, of course—front row, dressed in black, their grief pressed into the stiff lines of their suits. Karen’s shoulders shake, her breath uneven, her fingers curled into the fabric of Foggy’s sleeve.

Foggy stares at the casket, his hands balled into fists in his lap, his jaw tight.

There are others, too. People who knew you, people who loved you, people who will carry your absence like a weight for the rest of their lives.

Matt does not join them.

He stands at the back, separate. Distant. A shadow in the rainless gray.

He tells himself it’s because of the guilt.

Because he does not deserve to sit among them, to grieve with them.

Because he was supposed to save you, and he didn’t.

Because he failed.

But the truth is worse than that.

The truth is that he cannot sit down because if he does, he will never stand up again.

—

The priest speaks in gentle, practiced tones.

Words of solace. Of peace.

Words about heaven and salvation, about a life well-lived, about love and memory and the promise of eternity.

Matt knows the verses. Knows the prayers.

Knows how to recite them in the dark, knows how to murmur them between broken ribs and bruised knuckles.

But today, they are empty.

Today, he does not listen.

Because he is listening for you.

Even now.

Even knowing you are gone.

Even knowing your heartbeat will never echo against the chambers of his mind again.

Some desperate, wounded part of him still listens.

Still hopes.

But there is only silence.

—

The wind shifts.

And then—dirt falls against the casket.

One handful. Then another.

Karen breaks. A sharp, muffled sound, buried in her hands.

Foggy swallows hard. His breath is unsteady.

More dirt. More weight. More finality.

Matt forces himself to stand still. Forces himself to breathe. Forces himself to listen to the sound of you being buried beneath the earth.

And something in him—something deep and quiet and human—begins to unravel.

—

Later, when the mourners have gone, Matt stays.

He kneels beside your grave, his hands resting on the loose soil, his fingers curling into the dirt as if he could reach through it. As if he could pull you back.

As if he could undo it.

His lips part, but no sound comes out.

Because what is there to say?

That he’s sorry? That he loves you? That he will never—never—be whole again?

That there is no justice in a world that lets someone like you die while men like him still walk free?

That he isn’t sure who he is anymore, now that he is not yours?

The words never come.

Instead, Matt does the only thing he can.

He listens.

He listens to the wind, to the distant hum of traffic, to the rustling of leaves in the cold, heavy air.

He listens to the silence where your heartbeat used to be.

And when the first drop of rain finally falls against the earth, sinking into the soil above your grave like a tear, he bows his head.

And he lets himself break.

#daredevil x reader #daredevil one shot #hurt/no comfort

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boo-the-ghost-is-a-host · 10 days ago

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1000000000000000 % fuck cringe culture

✿‧̥ your original character is important ! so much love and effort goes into crafting a character of your own creation. original characters are just as important as canon characters , don't let anyone convince you other wise. your original characters bring so much value and are wanted and loved here. please never stop writing them, never stop talking about them. don't let anyone discourage you from having an original character. thank you for sharing your character with us, thank you for allowing us to interact and write with them !

#Ocs are my darlings #i am cringe but i am free

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boo-the-ghost-is-a-host · 10 days ago

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word count: 1.8k+

pairing: joe goldberg x fem! reader

summary: you were fearful at first, but he talks his way back into your heart, even if it’s not truly love

warnings: obsession, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, mentions of murder

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you’re afraid. he can tell by the way your eyes flicker around your temporary home. he can tell by the way you cower in the corner of the plexiglass box and the way you don’t make eye contact with him. he can tell that you’re scared in every single way, because there is no sign in your body language or facial expressions that tells him that you feel even a tiny bit comfortable here.

he made it comfortable for you, though, and you should understand that. you’re not the sadistic ex boyfriend of yours who had an allergy to tomatoes (who he swiftly dealt with by force feeding him a salad filled sandwich). you’re not the bitch of an ex best friend that you had where she publicly humiliated you online (so he gave her the most brutal death of a lifetime).

pillows upon pillows are stacked up on the duvet that he had laid neatly over a bed that was positioned on the floor (because he didn’t actually have enough time to build a frame), and there were books and books that littered the room. all for you. and you have the audacity to sit in the corner?

he can’t be mad at you though. he remembers the way candace cowered into the floor of the car he had when he had dealt with her. it’s a universal reaction. it’s what’s meant to happen, and he would probably be worried if you weren’t fearful of him. he’d probably label you as the type of person who wouldn’t care if someone died in front of you.

“talk to me.” he mutters, but he doesn’t want to be closed off to you. he doesn’t want you to feel like you can’t communicate with him when all of this time you’ve been attached at the hip, telling him about your day or work or anything that annoyed you. he needs you to talk to him. or the guilt will keep eating him up and he’ll have to eventually do something stupid to get you to talk to him.

his hands are pressed up against the glass, his eyes fixed on you. in any other situation, you’d be okay with it. you’d feel seen and you’d feel like you had the best boyfriend— the man who would be able to make you laugh and smile and feel like you mean something— but now? now he was a psychopath who wouldn’t let you out of his sight.

“please. this is only temporary. i promise you.” his voice gets a little louder as if trying to penetrate through your silent treatment, as if attempting to get your attention and stop you from looking so dull.

“so that makes it alright?” you scoff out, finally pulling out of the train of thoughts on what he might end up doing and falling back from that fear you previously felt. now maybe it was irritation— but you didn’t want to be too angry. who knows what he’s actually capable of now.

“no, no. it doesn’t make it alright.” of course he’s agreeing with you. he’s here to please you. he’s here to take care of you and make sure you’re safe and happy and healthy in life, and if that means agreeing with you? sure, he can do that. he has to get back on your good side.

he wants to go back to the old times. he wants to go back to those times where you would curl up on the bed and he would be next to you and you would just be together for hours on end. he wants to read with you. he wants to go to get a coffee with you. he wants to go shopping with you.

“i’m doing this to protect you.” it’s an excuse. he didn’t do this to protect you. he did this to keep you from running away from him. he did this because you found his mementos box and freaked out, and you were going to abandon him. but that’s not what lovers do, do they?

you eventually move, standing from your crouched position in the corner and finding yourself now sat down on the comfortable bed, your hands resting in between your legs as you sit cross-legged.

“please, listen to me.” he makes his way to the next side of the cage, his face so close to the glass that if you looked, you could probably see the way the tears are welling up in his eyes and the way that his pupils have dilated slightly.

you breathe out. it’s loud, but nobody can hear you apart from him. you’re trying to calm yourself down— he can tell. you’re trying to decide what the right thing or the wrong thing is to do and he wants to desperately tell you to just love him and let him love you back. it’s what you deserve.

“tell me you’re okay with this. tell me that this is what’s right for both of us—“ he wants the confirmation that this was what was meant to happen. that you’re okay with this. he’s only kidding himself, though. he already knows this is the worst thing in the world for you.

“what’s right for both of us? joe, are you even listening to what you’re saying yourself? you have locked me in a glass cage! do you know how dehumanising this is?” you’re acting like he doesn’t understand that this is a bad situation for you. for both of you.

“please, please, please. try to understand where i’m coming from. this is for you.” he’s using every excuse he can to make you okay with this. he keeps pleading for you to understand his point of view. even if you never do.

“i don’t believe you. i don’t trust you.” your hand runs through your hair, and you soon realise how tangled it was. you’ve only been here for a day or so and it’s already showing in your physical appearance. but it’s not just your hair, it’s how you look so incredibly tired and he can’t do anything about it.

“i need you to.” he whispers out, his words coming out so quiet that you really have to be closer to him to actually hear them. “you need to trust me. there isn’t a line in the world that i wouldn’t cross for you.” he needs to get the message across to you. is that why he’s suddenly decided to stop speaking so fast and is actually trying to make you understand? to actually listen to him?

your face looks like it melts. the way your eyebrows furrow and a melancholic look appears on your face, as if you actually want to see his point of view. he doesn’t know if this is a facade, if you’re only showing him what he wants to see, but he’s sure he sees a glimpse of affection in your gaze.

he’s willing to do anything for you. who else would be willing to do that? absolutely nobody. you’ve hit gold with your discovery of him. he’s the rarest piece of ore that you could ever find, and you were okay with just throwing him away? no. that has to change. you need to show him that you’ve changed your mind about all of this.

but he’ll think you’re lying. he’s obviously going to think you’re lying. you’ve been acting so closed off that he won’t believe you. so it will take time. but you’re willing to wait, and he’s a patient man.

you think things over in your mind overnight. your head is buried in the pillow as you sleep, and it is definitely for a long time. he left to go back to his apartment, even though it was with extreme reluctance. he wanted to stay, but he had to go back. it’s the only place he can truly relax.

he comes back the next morning, with a brown paper bag, the top folded up so that everything would stay inside of it. he’s got a cup of something hot in his hand, and he’s immediately opening that small compartment up and placing the things down inside of the small box.

“please eat.” it’s the first thing he says when he finally speaks, his eyes locked on your figure. but what surprises him is the fact you stand up and actually take the things from the compartment.

you’re learning.

you open up the bag and you can hear the way he mutters “thank you” as you pull out the sandwich and the plastic tub of fruit. the sandwich is your favourite kind— the thing you ate almost every time you picked up lunch with him. he’s got everything about you memorised.

“it looks nice. thanks.” you smile softly at him, and he almost recoils in shock. you’re acting so nice all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know whether to trust the attitude change or not.

“you’re welcome.” he replies, and he is glowing with happiness. he’s ecstatic that you’ve pulled yourself together and you’re showing him gratitude for something. maybe you both can be a couple, even in this twisted, imprisoned way.

“you’re not going to leave again, are you?” you ask once you’ve opened the box to the sandwich, taking a small bite of the corner, before chewing for a couple of seconds and swallowing. “you were gone for hours.”

of course he was gone for hours. he had to go back home and then to the shops to pick up the meal, and he’ll probably have to go to your apartment to get some of your things to make your living situation a lot more homely.

“i had to. and i’ll keep having to.” he watches you as you eat, taking in the way your face scrunched up slightly when you took a bite and then the way your eyebrows furrowed when you heard his reply.

“you can’t keep leaving me, joe. i swear to god—“ you stand up from your position on the bed, marching towards the glass wall and laying your hand across the material, it barely making a noise when it touched the glass.

and now he’s confused. you’ve changed how you feel about this so fast, and he’s not sure what to believe. is he supposed to trust you?

no, he can’t.

“i’m sorry. this is how it’s going to be. but only for a bit. and then i’ll let you go and we can be happy together.” he steps away from the cage and turns around, stepping further and further away from you.

“joe— wait—“ the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, your hands slapping against the glass as you can only watch him walk further and further away. “joe, you can’t leave me here! please, don’t go…” your voice gets lower as he walks further away, because you know he won’t turn back and free you.

he’s not some prince in shining armour. he’s not your saviour, no matter how much you tell yourself that he is.

and you’ll be stuck here.

until he finds someone else and decides to get rid of you.

#you x reader #joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg x you #joe goldberg oneshot

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