echo-ethe

[echo-ethe]

Modern AU where Eddie and the Corroded Coffin boys want to prank call someone with that Tiktok trend where you tell your guy friends good night.

Gareth dials a number, gives Eddie the phone, and then Steve Harrington answers.

Except that Steve hasn’t been on social media since his fall off the social ladder and thinks Eddie is genuinely calling to check in on him. He’s touched.

They post to the band’s wildly unpopular TikTok account, a time lapses video the prank call and then of Eddie pacing around the room on the phone because Steve won’t stop talking.

This video unfortunately goes viral.

[echo-ethe]

Bob Floyd X Reader: Pretty boy

a/n: another Bob played by Lewis that i absolutely write and never got to writing for.

Warnings: readers call sign is Echo, fluff, Bob being a nervous cutie, kissing, mutual pinning, cheesy lines (its fluff guys let me have this one), no use of y/n.

Word count: 2.2K

“Hey there, pretty boy.”

Bob didn’t need to raise his eyes to know you were the one talking to him. You’d given him the nickname and made it extremely clear only you were allowed to use it. He lifted his eyes from the pool table, gaze finding your frame. You were wearing civilian clothes like the rest of the crew, but somehow, seeing you out of uniform affected Bob more than seeing the others. Maybe it wasn’t the clothes. Maybe it was just who was wearing them.

“Can I have some?”

Bob understood you were talking about the chips in his hands—his go-to snack at The Hard Deck. He lifted the container from the table beside him, offering it to you. You gave him a small smile of gratitude, grabbing a handful and stuffing it into your mouth. Bob continued to look at you as you chewed, but you were focused on the pool game before you. Phoenix scored a shot, causing you to yell out in victory. The rest of the crew raised their heads to look in your direction, realizing for the first time that you had arrived.

“Didn’t think you were coming, Echo.”

“Oh yeah? Why, scared I'd beat you again, Hangman?”

Phoenix grinned at your words. You two always had a knack for getting on the boys' nerves. Hangman was an easy target thanks to his inflated ego, so you took whatever shot you could when it came to him.

“Better put your money where your mouth is.”

Hangman moved over to you, lifting the pool stick in invitation. You raised your eyebrows at him—you knew better than to take the bait.

“Nah, I’m good. Don’t need to prove myself to you.”

The others let out small noises like “uff” and “oh, burn” at your words, causing your smirk to widen.

“Plus, I think I'd rather spend time with Bob anyway.”

Hangman's eyes shifted to the man beside you, lips curling into a teasing smile before turning back to you.

“I’m sure you would.”

There was something cruel hidden beneath the phrase. You chose to ignore it. Like you often did. Realizing he wouldn’t get a rise out of you, Hangman turned on his heels, moving back to where Phoenix was still waiting for him to take his shot.

You turned your attention back to Bob, moving to sit next to him. The stools were small and close together—an attempt to use up as much of the limited space as possible—which caused your body to be flush against Bob’s. You felt him shift a bit, body slightly tense.

“This okay? I can sit somewhere else.”

You moved to get up, but Bob placed a hand on your thigh in desperation.

“No, it’s okay.”

He paused, realizing where his hand rested on your body, then moved it as quick as lightning. You laughed at the action.

“Sorry. I was just trying to be a—”

“Gentleman?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled at him, patting his thigh with your hand.

“You’re all good, Bob. Don’t worry about it.”

With that, you removed your hand from his thigh, resting it in your own lap. Bob's eyes remained glued to where you had touched him. His skin felt warm. You always seemed to have that effect on him. Whenever you were close, Bob would find himself getting flushed. He forced himself to drag his eyes back to the pool table, even though he’d much rather continue looking at you.

Upon remembering your request for his chips, Bob reached for his beer, touching your shoulder gently with his to get your attention. You looked over at him, glancing at the cup in his hand before giving him a questioning gaze.

“You want some?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, thanks.”

Bob merely shrugged, handing you his cup. You took a sip before passing it back. You continued to do that until the cup was empty.

“Oh shoot. I finished it. Sorry, Bob—I’ll go get another one.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I don’t need—”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll get it.”

You turned to the others.

“Anyone else want a top-up?”

After getting everyone's cups, you began moving toward the bar. Bob grabbed your arm as you passed, causing you to pause.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. Really, it’s—”

“I want to.”

You were slightly taken aback by the words, but you welcomed the company.

“If you’re sure.”

You and Bob made your way through the crowd toward the bar, weaving between bodies and half-full tables. The Hard Deck was packed tonight—sailors, aviators, and locals all jostling for elbow room. The air smelled like beer and salt, and the music thumped loud enough to feel in your ribs.

Bob stayed close, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes scanning the room like he always did—quiet, alert, steady. You liked that about him. No pretense. No bluster. Just Bob.

You’d only just placed the drink order when the song changed—one of those upbeat, slightly retro tracks with a funky bass line and smooth vocals, the kind that immediately lit a spark in your chest. Your head snapped toward the jukebox like it had called your name. A wide grin spread across your face.

“Oh my god, I love this song.”

Bob turned to look at you, eyebrows lifting behind his glasses. “

Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You bobbed your head to the beat, already feeling the rhythm in your limbs. 

“Come on, Bob. Dance with me.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Dance?”

You didn’t wait for a full yes. You grabbed his hand, tugging him gently but insistently away from the bar. 

“You can’t say no, Bob. It's the rules.”

“What rules?” 

He asked, but you were already halfway to the open space between the dartboard and the old jukebox, a makeshift dance floor when the vibe was right.

“The ones I just made up.”

Bob stumbled after you, half-laughing, half-dreading, though his fingers stayed laced in yours. You stopped in the center of the room, turning to face him, still swaying to the music.

“Just follow my lead, pretty boy.”

“I don’t really dance,” he admitted quietly, looking everywhere but at you.

“Doesn’t matter. Just move. It’s not about looking good, it’s about having fun.”

You placed his hands on your waist and gave him an encouraging smile. Bob hesitated a second longer, then slowly let the music guide him, shifting his weight side to side. He was awkward at first, uncertain, but you were patient—moving in closer, syncing your steps with his, laughing when he accidentally bumped your knee with his.

“You’re doing fine,” you said, leaning in like you were telling a secret.

He gave you a small, sheepish smile—the kind that made your chest flutter a little.

“I think you’re just saying that.”

“Maybe,” you said, teasing. “But I’m still glad you’re out here.”

And then, like some switch flipped inside him, Bob started to relax. His shoulders dropped. His grip on your waist grew surer. The next spin you pulled him into wasn’t met with hesitation—it was met with a chuckle.

Maybe he wasn’t a dancer. But dancing with you? That, he could do.

And then the song changed into a slower one, causing your body to move closer. Bob’s breath hitched as he felt the shift—the proximity of your bodies finally settling in his mind. His throat felt dry. His gaze moved around the room, searching to see if anyone was watching. No one was, each person glued to their own conversation to notice a couple of people dancing near the bar.

You felt the tension in Bob’s body, causing you to call out his name. He forced his eyes to meet yours. “You okay?”

Bob didn’t answer at first, trying to figure out what he should do. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to kiss you. But that wouldn’t be appropriate. Not in front of all these people. Not without making sure you’d be okay with him doing it.

The lack of response made you pull away slightly, becoming a bit self-conscious yourself. Had you gone too far? Had your desire to be near him made him feel uncomfortable?

“We can stop if you want. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Bob began to feel you pull away. The feeling caused him to act, his hands tightening around your waist. Not forceful—just reassuring. “No, I…” he paused for a moment, uncertain. “I want to keep dancing with you. If you want to, that is.”

You smiled at him, shoulders relaxing. You hadn’t scared him. Not yet.

 “I’d like that.”

You moved together in an easy rhythm, your bodies swaying gently, comfortably. Bob’s hands rested on your waist like he was afraid to hold you too tightly, but they stayed. Steady. Sure. You looped your arms around his shoulders, fingers brushing the back of his neck, and for a moment, the world felt small in the best way—just the two of you in a noisy bar, dancing like no one was watching.

You leaned your cheek against his, lips close to his ear.

“You’re a fast learner,” you murmured, your breath making him shiver.

Bob gave a quiet laugh, the sound low and close. 

“I have a good teacher.”

Another minute passed like that—close and quiet—until Bob pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours.

“Would it be okay if we stepped outside for a bit?” 

His voice was soft, almost uncertain. 

“It’s a little loud in here.”

You nodded immediately. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Bob gently took your hand again, weaving you both through the crowd. The door creaked open and spilled warm air into the cooler night, the ocean breeze brushing against your skin. You both stepped out into the open air, away from the music, away from the bodies and lights and laughter.

Once you’d stepped out, Bob let go of your hand. You longed for the feeling again, but you understood that he’d probably let go because he wasn’t sure if you'd be okay with him holding you like that. You opted to stay quiet, tailing beside him as you two walked. You didn’t know where he wanted to go exactly, but you continued to follow him. You looked up at the sky, a soft “wow” escaping your lips as you caught sight of the moon. Bob heard the sound, gaze shifting to see what you were staring at. A soft smile made its way onto his face as he looked at you taking in the moon.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

He lifted his hand to you. You took it, glad to have his palm back in yours. He began running—not fast, but enough to make you have to race a bit to keep up with him. Once you made it to the spot, he let go of your hand, moving to lean over the railing. You copied his movements. And then you saw it: the way the moon reflected against the ocean. You let out a soft gasp.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It really is.”

You turned to face Bob, finding his eyes on you instead of the sight before you. You flushed a bit, realizing he’d been talking about you and not the moon. Bob inched closer to you, pulling off the railing so he could face you directly. You allowed him to go at his own pace, making his way to you slowly.

Bob stopped a breath away from you, his eyes flickering down to your lips before darting quickly back up to your gaze. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You waited, giving him time. He always seemed to need a second longer to speak his mind.

“I’ve been wanting to do something,” he finally said, voice low, as if afraid the wind might carry it away.

You tilted your head slightly. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “But I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to... assume anything.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. You stepped in a little closer, closing the last of the distance between you. Close enough to feel his warmth.

“You won’t.”

Bob leaned in, slow and deliberate. Giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t—when you leaned into him too—his hand found your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. His lips met yours in a kiss that was every bit as sweet and careful as you’d expected from him. No rush. No push. Just Bob. Steady. Honest.

The kiss was soft at first—testing the waters. But when you kissed him back, really kissed him, he melted into it, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, like he’d finally stopped holding himself back.

When you pulled apart, your forehead rested against his.

You stood there in silence for a moment, just breathing each other in, the ocean crashing softly below, the moonlight catching in his glasses.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, not quite looking at you.

“I was hoping you would.”

You both smiled. Then Bob reached for your hand again, interlacing your fingers.

“Wanna stay out here a little longer?” 

You nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Yeah. I think I could stay right here all night.”

Bob gave you a full, toothy smile.

 “Not a problem with me.”

You settled back into his arms, breathing in the scent of his cologne and the warmth radiating from his body. He was your pretty boy—yours, and no one else’s.

It had taken him a while to realize it, but he’d managed to get there eventually. And you couldn’t have been happier.

[echo-ethe]

Steve fell off the social ladder (and apparently hit ever rung with his face) and Eddie spends a couple weeks watching him before going up to him and offers him a seat at his table because -

“What?” Steve asks. “I’m not being bullied. Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, you are?” Eddie blinks. He was expecting a no. Maybe a ‘get lost.’ Was even hoping a little for a yes, not - “You’re totally being bullied.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You eat lunch alone,” Eddie points out. “You - you don’t sit with your friends anymore.”

“Yeah, because I’m not on the basketball team. That’s the table for the basketball team. Why would I sit there if I’m not on the team?”

“Everybody is talking about you behind your back,” He says. Steve makes a so-so gesture. “Tyler McIntosh pushed you into the lockers yesterday.”

“Tommy has been pushing me into lockers since middle school,” Steve replies. “Next you’re going to say that Tommy is a bully.”

“He is!”

[echo-ethe]

check-ins

pairing. bob reynolds x fem!reader

summary. when a mission goes sideways, the team loses track of the only lead they had. after countless injuries and a long, drawn out argument between you and john, you storm right to your room in the compound. the only person who comes to check on you and comfort you is bob.

content warnings. missions, mentions of the usual mcu violence, kinda gory injuries (blood, kinda deep cuts and gashes), non-established relationships, romantic and sexual tension, kind of oblivious bob, pining, hurt/comfort, bob being a cutie patootie, one use of y/n, swearing, mentions of r’s curves, r in a sports bra, not proofread

word count. 3075

a/n. i’m not too good at writing violence or injuries, but i am good at the romance and the pining so you guys are just gonna have to stick this one out lmfao

———

you weren’t sure where the man had came from. one moment, you were slowly stalking the long hallways of the facility, trying to track down information valentina insisted she needed. research documents, intel on the people involved, or anything that could be used as blackmail or leverage, really. the next, you were being thrown through a metal doorway, slamming down onto the ground. he came out of no where, truly. even with your impeccable hearing and your constant state of awareness, you didn’t know anyone was even near you.

it took you a little too long to get the upper hand on him. by the time he was knocked out on the floor, he’d already gotten a few hits in himself, a stab wound on your side, a gash on your knee, and soon to be bruises proof enough of that. more unfortunately, he had enough time to radio to the rest of his crew inside of the facility, alerting them of your teams presence. that gave you guys two choices - stay and retaliate, or flee with whatever intel you had.

you guys attempted to retaliate, rushing to get what you could, fighting who you came across. it was clear you guys didn’t have any real plan right now. that’s why john made the executive decision to call it quits, to leave while you still could. this wasn’t apart of the mission, you were meant to stay hidden. undetected. to get in and get out.

the moment the team narrowly escaped, fleeing the scene inside of the quinjet, john started his usual angry post-mission ramble. this time, it was directed at you.

“that was careless,” he started, pulling off his helmet, before jabbing it in your direction. “we were doing fine until you went and fucked up.”

“oh come on, walker!” you exasperated, eyes widening angrily as you start to defend yourself. “you’re acting like i did that on purpose. he came out of nowhere! what was i supposed to do?”

“uh, i dunno, maybe pay more attention? we were given explicit instructions to get in and out undetected. no bullshitting around. if you would’ve just kept a better eye out no one would’ve known we were there until we were far gone. but now we barely have anything to show for this mission except a complete screw up. the cleanup mission for this is going to be insane, so thank you, y/n. really, thank you for this.”

this catapulted a 40 minute argument between the two of you. between the pain searing through your body, the blood staining through your suit, dripping into your hand, and the adrenaline coursing through you, your head was spinning. you were truly exhausted, and so was the rest of your team. despite their several interjections, telling walker to simply drop it, he just kept going. he barely wanted to hear what you had to say, let alone everyone else. that left you fending for yourself against his relentlessness.

the relief everyone felt when the quinjet landed on top of the tower was palpable. walker finally stopped his arguing, watching you storm off with a slight limp, hand clamping at your wound. he received a few frustrated insults from the team as they followed behind you.

the walk to your room was the first moment of silence you had since the mission. you were aware you messed up. you should’ve been more careful, even if you didn’t notice the man who attacked you. that didn’t warrant walkers aggression, something you were planning to hold against him for a long while. you’d worry about that mess properly when you weren’t in so much pain.

that’s what your first priority was when you finally pushed through your door. you fumbled with toeing your shoes off, thankful you weren’t wearing your intricate boots this time. your hands quickly found their way to your back afterwards, despite how your body ached at the loss of pressure and the burning stretch, unzipping your uniform. it stuck to your blood and sweat soaked skin as you tried to peel it off, the worst of it coming from un-peeling it from your side. it clung inside of your wound in a way that made you more uncomfortable than anything.

it left you in nothing but a black sports bra and tight spandex shorts. you discarded your uniform in an empty hamper in your bathroom, knowing full well that was going to be a pain to wash. you waddled your way to find your medical supplies, dropping them all on the counter of your sink, before you got to work on the cut on your side. this process was like second nature to you, something you liked assisting the rest of the team in. you appreciated being useful in the same way you liked dealing with your injuries on your own, without any help. it proved that you could do things right. it proved you had control over things, even if minute.

it took you 20 minutes to finish with your wound on your side, thankful you didn’t need to waste another 20 on stitching yourself up. you had white gauze wrapped around your torso, keeping proper pressure on your injury, catching any last bit of blood that leaked free. while the pain was still annoyingly present, the pressure and the meds you took helped relieve you.

before you could put your focus into the gash on your knee, a very gentle knock on your bedroom door echoed into the bathroom. you let out a huff, eyebrows furrowing together as you debated answering it. you didn’t want have to deal with any more of walkers anger, or any debriefing that came along with a mission gone sideways.

still, you knew you should answer anyways, waddling your way out of the bathroom and towards your door. despite being low on energy, you opened the door slowly and peaked out hesitantly, only to reveal bob. of course it was him. sweet, observant bob, who had nothing but concern laced in his features as he waited on you.

his round eyes found their way from the floor to your face at the sound of the door opening. he had two water bottles in one hand, ice cold and ready to drink, a bowl of freshly cut fruit in the other. you were hid behind the door, shielding your body slightly from him out of instinct.

“hey,” bob whispered out, hands moving slightly upwards to present to you what he had. he didn’t say anything for a few seconds before it clicked with him that he should explain himself, launching himself into a messy ramble he couldn’t quite contain. “yelena told me what happened. ya know, with the mission and walker and everything. i wanted to come check on you. brought the fruit i was cutting up in case you wanted to share, water too. i thought you might be hungry or want some company or something, i dunno.”

bob let out a nervous chuckle after he spoke, internally scolding himself for the long winded speech he just gave you. his eyes drifted down to the bowl that nearly tipped over in his hold, before finding his way back up to you, searching for an answer. he felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of you now unblocked from the door. the first thing he noticed was your lack of clothes, and the tightness of what you did have on. every last curve of yours was on display for him to see. bob couldn’t help but stare for a few moments, lingering enough for you to notice just barely, before his eyes to drop to your side where the wound was at.

you nodded your head in towards the inside of your room, giving him permission to step inside. bob was quick to stumble in, his grip on the bowl of fruit tightening as he finds a place to set everything down at. he looked like he was about to say something more, though you spoke before he could.

“thank you,” you finally replied, grateful that it was him that showed up at your room, and even more grateful for his kindness. normally after a mission, you would’ve went straight to bob to catch him up on what he missed. he must’ve noticed when you hadn’t this time.

“i wouldve came and told you everything if i wasnt so angry. not to mention, ya know,” you told him, motioning down to your injuries. that’s when you started to fully process how exposed you were to bob. you didn’t have much time to hide yourself or dwell on it, though.

“it’s okay, i get it!” he quickly reassured. “i was a little worried, though, still am. does it hurt?”

“not really,” you told him, offering up a small, unconvincing smile to him. bob saw right through you, you know he did. your voice was weak, and your face was etched with pain and frustration.

his eyes fell down to the gash on your knee, noticing you hadn’t cleaned it up yet. blood and sweat mixed at the gash in a way that made him a little squeamish. bob, however, pushed that down the best he could for your sake. he shuffled his way into your bathroom, hands searching for a clean rag to wet, neosporin, and more cotton to tape properly over your knee. bob may not know how to treat a wound as big as the one on your side, but he did know how to help a skinned knee.

something about seeing him like this, all worried and caring and ready to help, made your heart clench. he wasn’t mad at you for what happened during the mission, he wasn’t upset at you for not coming to see him afterwards - in fact, he came searching for you instead. you let yourself softly gaze at him while he had his back turned towards you, admiring him and his thoughtfulness.

you started your slow walk towards the bathroom, watching as he turned to usher you the rest of the way in. bob pointed you towards the toilet, his silent way of telling you to sit down on the lid. you did just that, shoulders slouched slightly as you look up at him. you brought a hand up to take the warm, damp wash cloth from the man, just to see him shake his head at you.

bob had ahold of an antibacterial soap as he moved in front of you, kneeling onto the hardwood floor to be more level with your body.

“i can do this myself,” you told him, body tensing up as you realize what he’s doing. you’ve dealt with worse, something you knew bob was aware of. he’s heard your stories from before the new avengers were formed, and he’s seen the injuries you’d help the rest of the team deal with.

“i know,” bob stated plainly, making a pretty obvious glare down to your side. “doesn’t mean i can’t help you.”

your jaw clenched as you thought, eyes falling into bobs. he was already looking at you expectantly, waiting patiently for you to give him permission. with a small huff of air out of your nose, you nodded quickly.

hesitantly, bob brought his large hand up to your calf, holding you steady before he brought the cloth to your skin. his touch was gentle, barely there at first, like he was afraid of hurting you more than you already were hurt. he started to wipe around your wound, getting the excess blood off of you with a little soap first and foremost. there was a bowl of clean water on the sink next to you, one that he used to rinse the blood off of the wash cloth, before he found his way back to your raw skin.

slowly, bob pressed the warm rag against the scrape, firmly applying pressure to it. it stung a little, your calf tensing under his touch a little, though it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, especially with how careful he was being with you. he noticed quickly how you reacted to his touch, suddenly becoming away of the warmth of your skin. his mind began to wander towards the sight he had in front of him, the one his eyes so desperately wanted to admire. instead, he focused on cleaning you up instead, eyes staying glued to your knee the entire time.

you watched as he gently squeezed out some neosporin onto his thumb, before bringing it right up to your now clean knee. he spread the medicine along the raw and reddened skin, making sure he covers every inch in a thin layer. you noticed how a few strands of his hair fell onto his eyes as you began to admire him.

bob always looked so kind. you’d always admired how, even after everything he’d been through, everything that he’s seen, he still had that goodness in his heart. his will was just as strong as his body was. during your admiration, your hand absentmindedly found its way up to his forehead, fingers pushing his hair away from his vision. his eyes that were once focused on properly aligning the gauze to your knee found their way to yours again. he froze in place as you tuck their hair behind his ear.

you offered up another smile, one that was much more confident than before. bob saw how soft your eyes looked accompanied with your smile and knew this one was true, he knew you meant this one. you watched as his eyelashes fluttered, eyes reluctantly drawing back down to finish up his job with your knee. your hand fell back into your lap with your other one, twiddling your thumbs as he tapes the gauze to your skin. your eyes drifted down to his forearm and how it flex slightly as his arm moved, shamelessly admiring how nice it looked.

“all done,” bob whispered, snapping you out of your thoughts. his hands lingered at your leg for only a few short seconds longer, before they dropped down to find all of the supplies he’d used.

“nuh-uh,” you whispered out, shaking your head slightly. bob fumbled with everything in his hands as his head snapped up to look at you. he thought maybe he’d forgotten to do something, or that he’d done something wrong. “didn’t kiss it better yet.”

a large grin grew on his face quickly at your words, your giggles breaking free from your chest at the sight of him. part of you was teasing him, knowing that would make the man smile. the other part of you was being a little hopeful, even if you knew he’d take it as a joke. you watched him get up from his knees, setting everything back down on the sink, head shaking in disbelief. everything in him wanted to do it, to kiss right in the middle of your knee, gentle and playful. it made his stomach jump at the thought, despite fully believing you were only kidding. if only he knew.

“can you stay?” you asked him, bracing the sink as you helped yourself up off of the toilet. you looked at him hopefully, eyes begging him to agree. “gotta change first, but i would like if you would. the fruit you brought in looked good.”

“of course,” bob nodded quickly. “i’ll always stay.”

he found his way back out into your bedroom, watching as you fumble to your dresser, searching for soft clothes to wear. you settled on a hoodie and sweatpants - loose, warm, and comfortable. you were happy to free yourself from your sports bra as you changed in your bathroom, body still aching from your injuries. all you wanted to do was huddle up in bed and relax.

bob seemed to have the same idea. you came out of your bathroom to find him sat in your bedroom, resting up against your headboard with the bowl of fruit in his lap. he was searching through a handful of movies to turn on when you climbed up into bed next to him, sitting shoulder to shoulder, resting back just like he was. you brought a hand down to the bowl, grabbing a slice of strawberry, bringing it to your lips excitedly.

“can we watch a romcom?” you asked him after you were finished chewing, looking over at him hopefully. you had the cutest look on your face when you asked him. romcoms were never his thing, but when you looked at him like that, how could he tell you no?

bob let you choose the romcom - 10 things i hate about you - as he started to pick at the fruit too.

he enjoyed having your company more than you knew. you always smelt nice, always looked so nice too. you were kind and funny, you held good conversation. you spoke to him like he was a normal person and not some superhuman, or some empty shell of a man. you never saw him as just broken. you always saw him for who he truly was. complex, compassionate. a grown man, rather than some broken child. you made him feel seen, even if you didn’t quite mean to.

about halfway through the movie, you two settled down further into the bed, heads resting against the pillows as you watched. you were only inches away from bob, his heat radiating off of him and directly towards you. you wanted to reach out to him, to hold him and feel him. you craved his touch even more now that he’d helped you so carefully. you also felt compelled to speak to him, even if he did seem invested in the movie. you simply had something to get off your chest.

“i really wish walker wasn’t such a dick sometimes,” you whispered, eyes still glued to the screen. “i really didn’t mean to draw attention to us.”

“i know you didn’t,” bob affirmed, even if he wasn’t there. he knew how good you were at your job. he knew how careful you were. his eyes didn’t move from the screen either as he spoke. “it’ll blow over eventually. you could totally kick his ass if it doesn’t though.”

you couldn’t help but giggle, hand finally reaching out to him to nudge him slightly. you could practically feel his smile. “i totally could couldn’t i?”

“totally,” bob doubles down.

[echo-ethe]

Tommy’s mom stops into Family Videos to get a tape for date night and leaves with the knowledge that Steve wears a hearing aid now.

The first thing she does when she gets home is scold Tommy for not informing them and Tommy is just like, “I didn’t know! We’re not friends.”

But no one will accept that so Tommy gets this same scolding later in the day from his dad and two out of three brothers (the third brother calls him the next day).

[echo-ethe]

Stardew Spin the Wheel challenge

i've got no idea if this has ever been done before, but I got the idea from a youtube video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ghBtuK5bZk) and I decided to create a series of wheels that you spin before starting your farm, to decide the path you take

this challenge is intended to be played vanilla, however mods are more than welcome

(I like words so the rules are wordy, I realize this and I don't know how to shorten the things I say, I apologize in advance)

the rules:

you spin each wheel ONCE in the order posted below. please write down your results in a secure place to keep track

the wheels will cover almost every aspect of your game: the farm layout, the spouse you pursue, the overall goal of your farm, etc. anything not covered in either the wheels or the rules, is fair game and up to you

you will have two artisan goods on your farm. one that corresponds to the money-making animal that you spin, and one that corresponds to the money-making artisan good that you spin. it might be helpful to plan to add two sheds for each of these products

the crop wheels do not include crops obtained past year two, or in the oasis (garlic, rhubarb, starfruit, etc), since they are difficult and/or impossible to obtain year one

the money-making crop that you spin for each season will be the only crop that you plant that season, aside from artisan goods and community center crops

you will most likely require a second crop for your artisan good spin. the artisan goods wheel contains all of the information needed about how to obtain that good. ex: Wine (fruit, keg) ; Beer (potato, keg). please plan accordingly when spinning

fruit trees don't count as a crop for the purpose of this challenge. grow as many as you want. these can also be used towards whichever artisan good you make, but remember that fruits create wine and jelly, so plan accordingly

whatever animal you spin is the only animal you have on your farm for money-making purposes. you're permitted to have other animals solely if you spin either community center or full shipment, as animal products are required for those, and cannot always be obtained from the cart. these extra animals must be sold after the required products are obtained

the wheels

Farm Layout

Route

Farm Goal

Spouse

Money-Making Spring Crop

Money-Making Summer Crop

Money-Making Fall Crop

Money-Making Animal

Money-Making Artisan Good

[echo-ethe]

Stardew Valley Challenge

Brewery Challenege: Rules Bellow

Your Goal: Make a living off alcohol and it’s related products.

Relationships: you must befriend (full hearts) Pam, Gus and Emily. You can befriend Shane, but you cannot marry him.

Community Center: you may grow/forage/fish any items that help finish the community center, but your main source of income can’t come from these products.

Crops: You can grow wheat, hops, potatoes (vodka), and any fruits that must be turned into wine.

Reccomended: Get beehouses so you can make mead!

Cave: must select fruit bats

First Year: You may sell any potatoes, fruit, wheat, hops you want until you get to farming level 8(unlock keg) or until you receive a keg. Think of your first year as you being a distributor to other distilleries until you can create your own.

Have fun! If you do this challenge please let me know how it goes, and follow for more challenges!

[echo-ethe]

Stardew Valley:

I wrote a Stardew Valley Challenge! Feel free to try it yourself. The rules are here and on this google doc.

You’re hotheaded and ambitious. You wanted to be a chef, but your Elitist attitude caused you to fail your interview to the Culinary academy of your dreams. You settled for a job with Joja Corporation, but the letter from Grampa changed everything. You could make a Restaurant that had the finest ingredients with this farm. You only have to get along with the villagers to network and further your career- that should be easy, right?

To complete:

-Must have the ingredients be able to make every recipe in the game at least twice 

-You must name all your farm animals after spices or food dishes

-Must have all gold or Iridium quality ingredients if possible 

-Because you’re horrible, when given the option you must be mean to NPCs. No skipping cut scenes!

-You can only give gifts that you “cooked”- how else can you guarantee quality?

Recipes from the kitchen and the cookout kit are allowed. Things that are considered an ingredient in a recipe are not. You can give items made from the keg or preserves jar too.

-You must have ponds of all the fish you need for recipes 

-You must have ingredients for all the recipes growing on your farm

-You can’t buy any ingredients you can make/catch/forage/grow.

-If you touch garbage, you must immediately fill your watering can after to simulate “washing your hands”. You must do this before making food as well. Chefs must always have clean hands!

-You must have a Big Shed that looks like a restaurant on the inside

-You must craft the chef coat, and afterwards never stop wearing it

-You can only get married/have a roommate when you add the chef hat to your outfit. Also, you have to have watched all your partner’s cutscenes!

-You cannot buy any prepared food- why would you eat anyone’s cooking but your own?

-But!! You may eat food you find in the mines - if your health is in the red- until you get the Greenhorn achievement. Beggars can’t be choosers.

Good luck!

Interested but want to see someone else playing it first? I started playing it last week on my Twitch and will continue playing it Fridays 10am-12pm PST until I complete it. Eventually I will edit the streams and post them on YouTube as well.

Hope you enjoy it, one way or another! =D

[echo-ethe]

Where Hopper spent a not-insignificant amount of Steve’s childhood feeling guilty about that whole situation, and Eddie spent every summer terrorizing a small town, the only time Hopper ever had to deal with Nancy Wheeler was because she got a part of her body stuck in something.

Hand stuck in a storm drain. Foot stuck in a gopher hole. Arm stuck in a drain at the pool. Head stuck between bars on the playground. Twice.

“One day,” Hopper tells her, waiting around for the fire department to show up. “They’re just gonna cut it off.”

“They’re going to cut off my head?”

“Yep.”

“That will kill me,” She says. “You’re not allowed to do that.”

“I know a lawyer!” Steve says, ducking out from under the platform that Nancy is stuck on. “He can help you sue the police for chopping off your head.”

Steve stands on his tip-toes to hand her a business card for Richard C Harrington, Attorney at Law.

Nancy takes it, “Thank you.”

[echo-ethe]

Steve notices that Robin is being kinda short and standoffish with Eddie and asks her about it. She says that Eddie Munson is a dick and should learn to be nicer to people.

Which, not cool.

Steve didn’t know that Eddie was being mean to Robin and now he’s pissed about it. No one gets to he mean to his platonic soulmate, right?

So, he calls Eddie out on it and Eddie is like ??? And Robin is also like ??? because, “What are you talking about? He’s not being mean to me.”

“Yeah,” Eddie adds. “I’m not being mean to her. Why would I be mean to Robin? I barely talk to her.”

“…then why’d you say he was being mean to you?” Steve asks Robin genuinely confused. “You said he was a dick and treated you badly.”

“I wasn’t talking about me!”

“Well…good?”

“I was talking about you!”

“What?” Steve says at the same time Eddie says, “What?”

“He’s a dick to you,” Robin points out. “He’s dismissive and rude to you. He calls you names all the time.”

“Oh…” Steve says and then turns to Eddie like, “Why are you being mean to me?”

First and foremost, there’s a lot to be said about Steve not realizing someone was being mean to him. Eddie could talk about that but instead, he says, “I wasn’t being mean.”

He was flirting.

[echo-ethe]

Robin is the first person to know things about Steve without him telling her. She literally just notices things and it catches him off-guard every single time.

One time he was at her house and her mom asked if he was staying for dinner. Robin answered that he was but, “Don’t put green onions in the food. He doesn’t like those.”

He asked her how she knew that because he’s never said anything about it, and she was like, “You literally pick them out of your food every time.”

She made tea exactly how he likes it when he had strep throat. Always buys him sour gummy worms even though he’s never said they were his favorite. Reads out loud on days his dyslexia feels worse without him ever mentioning he even has dyslexia.

She remembers his birthday. He’s never even told her when his birthday is.

“Be real with me, Robin,” Steve says one day. “Are you psychic? How do you know all this stuff about me that I’ve never brought up.”

“I noticed it?” She replies. “You’re my best friend. I notice things about you. You do the same for me all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How??”

Because no one has ever done that before, he thinks but doesn’t say. Because, “I don’t know. It just is.”

[echo-ethe]

There’s a replica of a military tank in the center of the park.

Around the tank is a fence and around the fence, there are multiple signs telling you not to climb on it. The purpose of the tank is to memorialize the soldiers of WWII but currently, Steve Harrington is standing on top of it.

The (only) great thing about a trainee is that Hopper can send Callahan over to handle the trespassing first grader.

He looks away to scan the park and when he looks back, Steve is trying to kick Callahan in the head. Hopper whistles, “Knock it off, Harrington. The sign says no trespassing. Get down.”

Steve explodes, “I. Don’t. Know. How. To. Read!!”

He emphasizes this outburst by ripping off one of his shoes and throwing it at Hopper. It bouncing off his chest and Hopper gives him a flat look, “Get down.”

Steve goes for his other shoe but Hopper is already pass Callahan, grabbing him by the leg and yanking him off the tank. He gets kicked in the gut for his trouble.

He keeps ahold of him, carrying Steve kicking and screaming over to the truck and sitting him on the hood. The whole time thinking, this is new.

Steve’s troublesome but mostly polite. Half the time, Hopper’s just got to tell him to stop doing stuff and he will. He’s never seen a tantrum before.

“You know it’s against the law to hit a cop. What you just did would be called assaulting a police officer,” Hopper say because Steve likes to show off what he knows about law. “Could spend some time in jail.”

“Good,” Steve sniffles. He weakly kicks out again, just barely missing Callahan. “I want to go to jail.”

“That’s good,” Hopper says flatly. “Because that’s where you’re going.”

He picks the kid up again and unceremoniously dumps him in the backseat. He gets in the front. Callahan gets in the passenger seat, asks, “Boss, you’re not really going to..”

Steve’s still crying when Hopper starts the car. He’s eerily quiet about it but Hopper can see the tears in the rearview and he can hear the sniffles. He doesn’t say anything but drive.

He doesn’t go to the precinct despite what he says. He drives out to Benny’s Burgers, parks the kid in a booth, and then plays the cop, “I have some questions.”

Steve has his head down, pillowed by his arms. His shoulders are shaking with tears but his voice is painfully steady when he sniffles, “Need’a lawyer.”

“Callahan is not pressing charges,” Hopper says. “I need to know what happened for my incident report. I gotta explain why you tried to kick his head off his shoulders.”

“Cause he’s a butthead and I hate him.”

Hopper hums, “And what made you angry enough to do that?”

Steve looks up at him.

His watery brown eyes meeting his, and then Steve cries, “Tommy doesn’t want to be my friend anymore!”

Hopper thinks, Jesus Christ.

[echo-ethe]

Steve has the worst case of wrong time/wrong place and keeps getting unknowingly filmed in public and posted online.

Sometimes he accidentally wanders into the background of someone’s shot. Sometimes someone tries to stop him to ask him questions for one of those street interviews. Sometimes someone is a creepy weirdo and just filming him without permission.

Steve’s notable and noticeable because he’s hot and kinda a weirdo. Robin is a number one Steve defender though so she’s always in the comments warding off creeps.

Her favorite example of this was when a girl posted a video complaining that people were so unfriendly nowadays. Her example is that she sees this guy at the park all the time and she always says hi to him, and he always ignores her.

She demonstrates this by flipping the camera around to Steve on his morning run. He goes past her, she says hi, and Steve doesn’t acknowledge her.

She complains that he’s not cute enough to be ignoring people trying to be nice.

Robin simply commented, ‘He’s deaf 🫶’

[echo-ethe]

i think one of the more charming aspects of shawns whole schtick is that especially when he first starts doing psych and the “stakes” aren’t that real he gives many of the people he deals with ample opportunity to call him out on his lies. he knows hes smarter than them but doesn’t want to be an asshole about it so he gives them the out, and they just. never take it. because nine times out of ten theyre not paying close enough attention.

like he’ll say “oh im not really a jewelry guy” while visibly wearing a necklace but the person hes talking to is so caught up in their own issues that they don’t notice to point this out. or he’ll correctly guess someones name and they’ll be so taken aback even though theyre literally wearing a name tag — they just forgot about it. and the camera makes it obvious enough to the audience that shawns kind of almost testing them, but i think what gets me is that yeah. most people are like that. theyre not paying attention. shawn gives them the opportunity to prove they are, and when they don’t bite, he considers it fair game to keep going. sometimes he’ll even go so far as to literally explain how he “divined” things and it sounds ludicrous to the listener that anyone is noticing those details, so they accept the lie!

with the sbpd it’s different because theyre detectives and he is actively misdirecting, but with random clients and suspects hes kind of barely trying and almost amused by how easy it is. obviously as the show keeps going and the cases get bigger he is faced with situations that actively challenge him and details he himself misses (because he tends to get sloppy when hes too comfortable and his contradictions make him interesting and it would be boring otherwise) but its a really fun place to start from imo

[echo-ethe]

Yapped but I don’t think any of my friends know psych so to tumblr it goes

[echo-ethe]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Superior Vena Cava

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt takes you to his apartment so Claire can patch you up, and he can keep you both safe. After the worst is over, he has some questions of his own he needs to have answered.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, injury, blood, flashback, allusions to domestic violence, medical talk that sounds like straight from a medical drama and is probably fake (I'm sorry)

Word Count: 4.1k

A/n: Again, it's been a while since the last chapter, but I finally got this done! The chapter title may seem weird or just randomly taken out of context, but the SVC actually plays a crucial role in returning blood to the heart, so I find that a pretty metaphor. Yes, I watch a lot of Grey's Anatomy. Yes, I googled. Yes, that poor patient would probably be dead in real life. If you're a medical professional reading this, just ignore any inconsistencies. I regret nothing. Hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 18: Superior Vena Cava here on AO3!

He knows he should take you to a hospital. 

The thick stench of copper sticks to your skin in more places than one. Your heart pounds against your ribcage with a rhythm that ties a noose around his neck, tightening every time it seems to start fading. 

Matt’s veins are alight with something that burns hotter than fear. It is strange; he barely knows you, but the thought of losing you tears into his flesh like a million broken shards of glass, regardless, and it’s slowly killing him inside.

You’re hurt. You’re suffering. You’re broken in ways he can’t even comprehend, and he can feel you fading right before him. 

He should take you to a hospital, but he can’t. Because they took you when it should have been Claire, they took you because of him, and they will find a way to do it again. 

Matt did this to you. Not the Russians, not some higher power, him, and he won’t ever forgive himself for that. 

He runs faster than he ever has before, through dark alleyways and over rooftops. He carries you all the way to his apartment, the city eerily quiet in comparison to you. He can’t focus on anything else in this bubble he’s in. 

“I’ve got you,” he keeps whispering. “I’ve got you.”

And when Matt finally breaks through the rooftop access, down the stairs, and into his bedroom, the bubble bursts, and reality comes crashing in like a tidal wave. 

Claire stops her pacing when she hears the door slam, and her face falls at the sight of you, so small in the shrill purple of the Billboard outside. “Oh my God,” she breathes. 

He lowers you onto the bed like fragile porcelain. “She’s okay,” he says, though it is more to convince himself. “She’s gonna be okay.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Russians,” the word comes through gritted teeth. “They thought…” He swallows the treacherous onslaught of tears and turns them into a groan, “They thought she could tell them who I was.”

Claire stares at him, then back at you. She doesn’t dare touch you. Every inch of you seems fragile now. How terrifyingly familiar it must have felt to you, she thinks, to be taken and abused. How familiar the pain has to be. And it’s all her fault. 

It should have been her. 

Matt tears the mask off his face and kneels beside you, brushing a bloody strand of hair out of your face. His fingers dance over your skin, every bruise and crevice, painting a picture of you in his mind. It’s the first time your silhouette isn’t engulfed in flames. He can see you now, pain etched into every one of your features, and he reads it like Braille. There is too much of it—too much of everything.

He lowers his forehead to yours. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You’re gonna be okay.”

Claire knows she should move, do anything but stand there, but her feet remain tethered to the ground. “Matt,” she says, “she needs a hospital.” 

But he shakes his head. “It’s not safe.” 

“She’s hurt!” 

“I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but you have to trust me right now. She’s not safe out there. You’re not safe.”

“It doesn’t matter! She could die!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps. “But if I take her to a hospital, they’re gonna find her again, and then they’re gonna kill her. I can’t let that happen.”

A stray tear rolls down her cheek and lands on her tongue. Claire swallows it. She looks between you and him again, how he’s kneeling beside you, his hazel eyes watery and broken, and for a moment, she sees right through him. 

He’s not just the man in the mask whom she pulled out of her dumpster a few days ago, half dead because all he wanted was to save a little boy. He’s not just the man who brought chaos into her life, and he is not just a vigilante; he’s the lawyer who brought the light back to your eyes because he made you feel wanted, even if it was just for a moment before she told him to break your heart. But that was her fault, not his. 

He was good to you until Claire ruined it for you, all because she has never worried about someone more than you. You are like the sister she never had, and she ruined that, too. 

She could lose you any second, and it would be her fault. 

“Claire,” his voice reaches through to her. “Claire!”

Her eyes fall on him, and the panic makes her look back at you. Your chest is no longer heaving; she doesn’t even know if it’s still rising. It doesn’t look like it.

Matt frantically places a hand on your heart. “Her breathing’s slowed,” he says. “She’s not–”

That is enough for her. The roots around her ankles snap, shattering on the hardwood floor, and she runs to you.

“She might have fluid in her lungs,” she says. 

“What do you need?”

“Whatever you have in your first aid kit, and a knife.”

His face crumbles even more. “A knife?”

“Well, I have to cut her with something, Matthew,” she says. “Hurry!”

Matt scrambles to his feet. “Yeah,” he stammers, “okay.” 

He stays away only long enough to fetch Claire whatever she needs before he rushes back to your side, his hand clutching yours so tightly that your cold skin turns warm again, and then he holds you. He holds you for what feels like hours, counting every beat of your heart and every breath you take until they have steadied—until he knows you’re alive, and you’re not going anywhere. Only then does he allow himself to rest. 

Claire releases the fluid from your lungs with practiced ease, though her fingers shake with every step she runs through. She stitches your deepest wounds carefully and patches the rest with thick bandages that you would have given her a hard time for if you had been awake. She even feels the broken bone of your nose and resets the dislocation, praying that it will be enough. 

She doesn’t know if there is any brain damage from the trauma to your head, or when you will finally wake up—if you will wake up—but you are stable, for now. You are alive. That has to count for something, right? 

The body doesn’t grow numb to abuse; the mind does. It does all sorts of things to protect its host, but pain is still pain, and she is sure that deep down, you can feel all of it. You have been through far too much to get dragged into whatever this is, but it’s too late for that now, and that kills her. 

“You should let me take a look at your hands,” she murmurs.

Matt lifts his head from where it’s resting beside you, close enough to feel your breath on his skin. He rubs his fingers together, slowly. They’re rough with dried blood. Some of it is from him, but most of it is yours. 

“I, uh,” he clears his throat, “I shouldn’t leave her.”

“Heartbeat’s strong. Breathing’s normal. She’s okay.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Well, even if it’s not, I still feel responsible.”

“You feel responsible?” Matt turns to her with a frown. “They took her because of me, not you.”

“They took her because they wanted me,” she argues. “She was only at the apartment because I told you to stand her up, and then I left her there on her own. How is that not my fault?”

“No, you were right. I’m no good for her,” he says.

“But you are.”

“What?”

Claire sighs. “When she came to me, I… I’ve seen her crushed before, but this? She was a completely different person. The fact you didn’t show up really got to her because she liked you, and in the short amount of time you’ve known her, you’ve somehow managed to make her happier than she’s been in a long time. And I’m sorry for… for telling you otherwise. I was trying to protect her, but she still got hurt. That’s on me for thinking I knew better,” she says. “Besides, you brought her back. Alive. The least I can do is patch you up.”

He hesitates for a moment, then carefully lowers your hand back down onto the mattress. “Okay.”

She gently opens the door and slides out into the living room. Matt doesn’t follow her right away, though; he makes sure you’re still breathing, still there, his hand hovering over your beating heart once more, and he tucks the blanket safely around you. 

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

He leaves the sliding door open more than a necessary inch on his way out. 

Claire tears off the used, blood-soaked gloves adorning her hands. She tries not to think too hard about what she just had to do, but the bloody gauze in the trash and the blood on her sweater serve as a constant reminder of the past few hours she will probably never forget. She quickly closes the lid before she can throw up in it.

She clears her throat. “Go wash your hands,” she says. “I need to grab some fresh gauze.”

Matt follows without a word. Because everything she can see, he can smell and taste, and there is nothing worse than your blood on the tip of his tongue and branded deep inside his nose for however long it may last. He won’t ever forget the lifeless weight of you as he carried you away from that underground garage. 

It hits him so much harder now, with his hands held under the faucet in his kitchen. Your blood mixes with his as it runs down the drain. He doesn’t realize how much more there is until Claire gently takes the sponge from him. 

“Matt.” She turns off the water. “That’s enough. You’re hurting yourself.”

His raw knuckles start to burn at the sudden contact with air.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He didn’t notice.

She doesn’t answer, just gently cleans the wounds, old and fresh. Thankfully, it doesn’t take her long to disinfect and wrap them. 

“There,” she says. “All done.”

“Thank you.”

A moment of silence follows before she asks, “Did you hurt them?”

“The Russians?” Matt asks. 

“Yeah.”

He nods. “Yeah, I did.”

“All of them?”

“Those I could find. Pretty sure I broke some bones.”

She exhales. “Good.” 

She falls quiet again after that.

The adrenaline that has been pumping hot through Matt’s veins all night starts to fade into nothing, leaving behind only a dull ache in his weary bones, and in the wake of it, he leans against the counter to steady himself. 

Your heartbeat sounds steadily from the next room. Not even Claire’s movements around the apartment as she cleans up the last of the mess can overshadow it. Everything outside of you has long ceased to exist. And the steady thud thud thud is comforting, too, in a way. It reminds him that the world has slowed its turning, and he can breathe again.

With the adrenaline gone and his thoughts clearer now, though, there is something he just can’t shake.

“Clair?” he asks.

She stops what she’s doing and turns to him. “Yeah?”

“You and Liv… You seem like you’ve known each other for a long time.”

He picks up on the change in her heartbeat and how hard she tries to hide it. 

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s, uh, been two years.” 

It’s not a question, but it sounds like one—like she, herself, is unsure about what she should share. The way she worries about you has kept him awake ever since she first told him that you were friends, and she forced him to push you away. As right as she was, because he is dangerous for you and anyone he comes close to, he can’t help but wonder how much more there is to it than her words have expressed.

Her heart flutters again. He doesn’t have to ask how you met; she just knows because suddenly, she starts talking, and it paints a better picture than he thought he would get. 

When Claire closes her eyes, she finds herself back in Metro General’s emergency room, two years ago, working the fifth night shift in a row on an hour of sleep. She did not expect anything crazy to happen. Not much crazier than usual, anyway. And she certainly did not expect you to roll in. 

It was a quiet night. She had just finished assisting with the discharge of several drunks who had gotten into a brawl, and handed them off to the police officers already waiting by the door. Non-emergent cases had been taken care of, and for the first time in weeks, it was no longer overcrowded.

The ER doctor had excused himself for a quick break, and she thought everything would be fine. They could manage for a few minutes on their own. The moment she turned her back to the door, though, someone shouted, “Incoming GSW to the chest, two minutes out!” 

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. Not even a sip of water was granted to her. 

She barked orders at every nurse she could find, paging doctors and praying to God the (only) trauma surgeon on call would get there on time. Sirens began howling in the ambulance bay outside exactly five minutes later, and the double doors burst open.

“32-year-old male, two GSW to the chest,” the first responder began to recite as they wheeled the gurney in. 

Claire was about to take over, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the person perched on her patient’s abdomen, and… 

“What the hell?” she said.

The person’s hand was buried deep in the man’s chest cavity. 

“Blood pressure 70/40 and falling. He’s already lost a liter and a half,” you said, breathless and soaked with blood. “We bolused 2 bags of saline in the field, pushed one of EPI, but he’s losing too much blood. He needs a cardio-thoracic surgeon.”

Claire stared at you, bewildered. “Who are you and what are you doing sitting on that man’s chest?” 

You paused. “Seriously?”

��You have your hand inside my patient, so you better answer my question or I’ll call security!”

You gave an exasperated sigh, “My name’s Doctor Olivia Clarke, I’m a trauma surgeon, and my hand inside your patient is currently the only thing holding together this man’s SVC.”

Everyone held their breaths.

“You what?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Large caliber rounds, the second one tore right through, nicked the SVC. I had no choice.”

“Oh, my God.” She looked over the man; he looked so pale, the blood shining even brighter in contrast to his skin. “Did you cut into him?”

“Are you a surgeon?” you retorted.

Claire peeked over her shoulder, searching for the ER doctor who should already have been back from the break room, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“No, I’m a nurse,” she said. “But maybe you should–”

“Move off?” You scoffed. “Yeah, not a chance.”

“We paged cardio,” another nurse chimed in, “but it’s gonna take them another minute to get down here. I don’t know where Walker is.” The last part was directed at her, and she sighed.

She never thought she would end up in such a situation.

“He doesn’t have a minute!” you snapped. “If you can’t get a surgeon down here, you get me a suture kit and I’ll do it myself.”

“Do you have a license?” Claire asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed. “I don’t have it on me right now, but I promise you, I am a doctor.”

“I can’t let you operate on a man without authorization,” yet her voice wavered.

“Have I mentioned he’s dying?”

“It’s against protocol! Maybe if we switch–”

“Look,” you said, “you have two options. You can either help me save this man, which I am perfectly capable of doing, by the way, or you can watch him die.”

She hesitated. The nurses looked at her, at you, and then back at her. Even the EMT was watching the scene unfold with tired eyes of his own.

You wouldn’t lie, she thought, not about this. You had kept him alive this long, and the desperation in your voice suggested that you were not keen on letting him die. She could get fired for this, she knew that, but in that moment, Claire didn’t care about protocol; she cared about the life that was in your hands, and when you met her eyes with that pleading look, begging her to be on the right side of this, she couldn’t deny that she had no choice.

“Claire,” one of the nurses began to warn her, “this isn’t your call to make! It could get you in trouble. It could get all of us in trouble.”

But she cut him off, “Well, someone needs to make it.” Then, turning to you, she asked, “What do you need?”

You exhaled a sigh of relief. “I need blood, lots of it, a surgical kit, and 5-0 Prolene,” you said. “And page cardio again, tell them what we’re doing and that he’s gonna need an OR.”

Claire nodded. “Alright, you heard the lady. Let’s go!” 

You weren’t snappy or egotistical. Maybe your faith in yourself had seemed like every surgeon cliché wrapped into a neat package, at first, but you were good enough to have earned the right to brag. You worked as if you’d been doing it for years. She hadn’t assisted with surgery in a while, but when you asked her to place the clamps, she didn’t hesitate, because she felt comfortable enough with you to do this.

When both the ER doctor in charge and the cardio-thoracic surgeon arrived, you had already placed a perfect suture, and the man’s blood pressure was on the road to stabilizing. She met their eyes, and she knew that she was in trouble. But you? You didn’t even bat an eye.

“Tear in the SVC from a large caliber bullet. I placed a running suture to stop the bleeding, and pressure’s holding steady, but he’s gonna need assessment for further damage,” you stated, slipping your gloves off. With a nod toward the men, though without meeting their eyes, you added, “You’re welcome.”

You had no idea about the chaos you’d just caused. Or perhaps you had an inkling, and you were enjoying it. Either way, your work was done.

Once the chaos had ebbed, the man was out of surgery, and Claire had stood her ground during the sternest talking-to she had ever received from all her supervisors, she found you waiting in the visitors’ lounge.  

You were still pacing the space just before the doors leading to the operating rooms. You knew that your actions had broken all kinds of rules and that you had gotten everyone around you into at least a little bit of trouble, but you had been willing to sacrifice your credentials to save the life of a stranger, and that said a lot about you. 

She didn’t want to go as far as assuming that you thrived off of chaos. You didn’t seem like the type. But there was something reckless about you, a fire smoldering just beneath the surface. It was eating you alive. 

Claire didn’t get fired; they would have been crazy to do so. In a world where the ER doctor could accidentally doze off on his five-minute pee break, miss his pager going off because he was so overworked, and the few trauma surgeons they had were so busy they couldn’t make it in time for an actual trauma, Metro General could not afford to lose her. So, they bent the rules a little. 

She reached out to tap your shoulder. Claire wasn’t thinking about it; she just assumed it was the only way to get your attention. 

Big mistake.

You recoiled, arms wrapped around your torso in an attempt to shield yourself. The storm in your eyes was wild that night. She’d seen it before, but only in the patients who had come in with bruises all over them, claiming they tripped down the stairs. 

She didn’t want to assume.

“I’m sorry,” she said, moving her hand away as fast as she had touched you. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You exhaled again. “No, I’m– I’m sorry. I was just… in my head,” you said. But your arms remained wrapped around you.

She caught the faintest scar on your temple where you had tried to hide it with makeup. It seemed almost entirely faded—a few years old, maybe. Claire didn’t mean to stare, but with each passing second, the curiosity inside her grew into a beast too big to ignore.

“Do you know if he–” You motioned toward the doors.

She smiled. “He’s gonna make it through.”

You slumped against the nearest wall. “Oh, thank God!”

“No, thank you.” A pause. “I’m Claire, by the way,” she said.

“Olivia Clarke,” you said.

“Oh, believe me, I remember.”

That made you chuckle, “I caused quite a scene, didn’t I?”

“You saved a man’s life,” she said. “That was pretty impressive.”

Again, you chuckled. “Well, it might cost me my license, which is still on its way to me because apparently, New York City doesn’t want me to practice medicine. They just want me to stare at my post box all day and hope it gets there eventually, so…”

“Oh, you’re new to the city?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you from?” she asked.

You hesitated for the briefest moment before answering, but she noticed. “California,” you said.

“Long way from home, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t think I’d witness a shooting my second week here, but I guess it’s a good thing I was there.” You glanced down at your blood-stained hands. “Is it always like this?” you asked.

Claire sighed. “I could lie to you and say no, but bad shit happens here every day,” she said.

“Well,” you wiped your hands on your jeans, “at least the rent’s affordable.”

“An alien invasion will do that, yeah.”

“Right, I forgot about that.”

She laughed. She didn’t know why you were so nonchalant about it. With that attitude, you were certainly going to fit right in, she thought. 

Claire took another careful step toward you. “About your license,” she said then, “I talked to my supervisors. They’re not gonna report you or press charges, but you’re gonna have to show them your medical license.”

You frowned. “What? That’s…”

You seemed genuinely surprised. How little did you have to lose, she wondered, if you had already accepted your fate and hadn’t even seemed sad about it?

“Thank you,” you whispered, and it hit her then, just how wound up you were.

You didn’t allow anything to touch you, and nothing to shake you, because you had been shaken far too many times before. You were trying so hard not to fall apart.

Claire knew how to read people. It was part of her job description. She could see things others often missed because, to the untrained eye, human behavior tends to appear as an enigma. That night, though, she saw right through you for the first time, and she barely even knew you.

She couldn’t see your story, but she could see the pain, and she saw your scars. That was enough for her to know that you were not who you were trying to be. 

But who were you, she asked herself. Who was Olivia Clarke, and why was she such an obvious mask you wore like a shield?

She cleared her throat. “And our hospital administrator wants to talk to you,” she said. “About a job.”

“A job?” you asked.

“Cardio was impressed with your work, and we are extremely understaffed. The pay’s awful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a job. If you need one.”

You stammered, “I– I do need a job, yes.”

She pointed down the hall toward the dark-haired woman lying in wait. “Talk to her,” she said. 

“Okay,” you breathed. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her. Thanks, Claire.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Clarke.”

You just smiled at her and said, “You can call me Liv.” 

And you have been in her life ever since.

“Of course,” Matt chuckles softly, “because she’s the kind of person who puts her hand inside a man’s chest cavity.”

“She’s a fighter,” Claire says, eyes glued to the Billboard outside. 

“Yeah, she is.”

And you are a fighter, in more ways than he knows.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @thatonegamefish @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou @scoliobean @spn-reader @daisy-the-quake

[echo-ethe]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 9

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: You and Frank have your first conversation since he left. Matt makes a huge mistake that has you questioning everything.

warnings: AFAB Reader. No use of Y/N. Pregnancy. Angst and arguing. Brief description of an IV.

w/c: 4,665

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks*

The rise and fall of your chest was rhythmic as you slept, up and down. Every inhale expanded your body enough that Frank could see the subtle bump popping out from under the oversized sweatshirt on your body. He was so delirious from blood loss and the shock of seeing you last night, that he hadn’t caught it then. Now that he knew, it was impossible not to notice.

Twenty years ago when Maria told him she was pregnant, he was so happy. A young man who was full of hope for the future and the joyful accident with a woman he was so in love with. A start towards a life that was supposed to be the perfect dream. How foolish he was. As he leaned in the door frame and watched while you slumbered, he couldn’t help but think of how different things were. How different he was.

Now he was old. Weathered by time and tragedy and the war he continued to wage in response to his grief. How could he possibly have any redemption left in him to do this again? To love another woman and child and live everyday with the possibility of losing them? To have goodness in his life once more when he would only every be haunted by the ghosts of his past.

A life defined by tragedy and here he was subjecting you to his messed up world that would surely end in you hurt.

Oh and this time, there was also one more detail…

“Kirsten, today isn’t really a great—” Matt argued on his phone from the kitchen behind Frank, pacing back and forth with a stern expression

“I understand— Kirsten, I—” he sighed “Yeah, I’ll be there in ten.”

Matt tossed his phone onto the island and gripped the counter edge, hanging his head as he blew a frustrated breath through his nose. Frank took one last glance at you before turning towards Matt. He shuffled over to the kitchen, pulling out a stool to sit and taking a sip of his now third mug of coffee.

“Work troubles, counselor?”

“Yeah. We’ve got this client, he’s a real… piece of work. And he showed up at our office this morning expecting us to just make time for a meeting.”

“You tell him to fuck off?”

Matt’s brows scrunched below the rim of his crimson tinted glasses and an dry chuckle quickly sounded from deep within his chest.

“This may come as a surprise to you Frank, but I actually have a life. A job, a real one. That makes money so not only can I take care of her but also the baby.”

“Christ, she’s got a goddamn job too. Ain’t like she gotta let you just…” Frank mumbled under his breath

Ignoring Frank’s commentary, Matt rushed around, shoving his laptop in his brief case and setting his coffee in the sink. He managed to get into the bedroom and change into a suit and dress shirt without disturbing you.

“I’ll be back by lunch.” Matt said, sitting on the sofa to put his shoes on “And Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t go anywhere.”

Frank almost looked offended by the request, snorting through his nose and shaking his head at the lawyer’s tone.

“You tellin’ me what to do now, Red?”

“You already left her once. And I had to clean up the mess. Don’t do it again.”

“Or what?”

Tucking in his shirt, Matt stalked over to where Frank sat. He made no hesitation, making sure his face was nice and close so there wouldn’t be any mistaking the intention behind his words. Low and razor sharp, he kept his voice level but still laced with venom.

“The way I do things? The one you think is bullshit? You hurt her again and I might just do things your way this time. Might finish the job like you’ve always wanted me to, Frank.”

Not a hint of fear shined in Frank’s eyes as he responded, knowing Murdock wouldn’t ever dare. The taunting temperament that seeped from his gravely voice matched the way he squared up his shoulders, ignoring the pain that it brought throughout his body as he dared the devil to act.

“That right? You gonna put aside the Catholic bullshit and put me down, Red? You really think that’s gonna fix this shit? That gonna be what she wants?”

“Oh, suddenly what she wants matters to you?”

“Tell you what, you try that shit with me, you better not miss.”

“Don’t give me a reason to try then.”

Radiating heat settled between their bodies as the men remained in their silent stand off. Both stilled, rooted in their spots, nose to nose while wordlessly instigating the other. Matt finally spoke, hushed tone breaking the silence.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. I texted her boss to give her the day off. Let her rest.”

Frank gave a half nod as Matt finally stepped away and headed for the door.

“You get some too.” Matt shouted over his shoulder as he grabbed his keys from the entry table and exited the apartment.

Your body still felt heavy, exhausted not only from a lack of any real peaceful sleep, but also from the stress you could feel gripping onto your muscles and bones like a sticker on a windshield. Instinctively, your hand reached down to cup the bump of your stomach, checking up on baby girl. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that sleep would keep happening if you just tried hard enough. You knew it wouldn’t. Based on the general unwellness you were currently feeling, you also knew you probably hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours despite how much you needed more.

With a small yawn, you rolled onto your back. There was heavy presence in the air as you laid there, as if you were being watched. Picking up your head a little, you saw the figure leaning against the door frame, looking weak and tired as he watched you slumber.

As the events of the evening rushed back to you, you sat bolt upright and practically leapt out of bed, crossing the room in just a few paces to where Frank stood. His eyes softened as they followed your path to him, chocolatey warmth bringing you back to the times when he looked at you like that before. In that moment, it didn’t feel like it had been months since you’d last seen him. It felt like it was only a moment; as though nothing had changed between the two of you and you could just pick up where you left off. But it had.

You stopped just in front of him, eyes trailing up and down his body. Frank had experienced plenty of pain before. He’d lost count of the number of times his body had been stabbed, beaten, and shot. But nothing compared to the burning ache he felt in that moment as he watched all the emotions settle over your face while you drank him in. Your brows furrowed at the exhaustion painted across his face. Your mouth set in a hard line at the way he winced when he swallowed. Your pupils grew wide, staring at the stitched up wound on his neck that was still jagged and red. A soft sigh unconsciously left your lips when you noticed the dried blood still crusted in his unkempt beard.

Overall, you could tell he was still weak. But he was here. And alive. No longer fading towards death.

“You should be resting.” you spoke softly, fearing that even adding volume to your voice might make him collapse once more

Frank’s face was pure kindness as he stared you down, mouth twitching up in an attempt at a smile at your concern.

“M’ alright.”

The raspy baritone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. You’d missed it so much, laced with kindness and softness he reserved only for you. You wanted to reach out, to touch him and hold him, feel that he was still real and alive and in front of you. But there was an uneasiness in the atoms of air between you, both of you not acknowledging the things you wanted to say since you last saw him.

“Bullshit, Frank. You almost died last night.”

Frank shrugged, pursing his lips. He was clearly putting on a show for you, pushing aside his discomfort to play strong so you’d worry less. The way he leaned on the transom, body shaky and breath heavy, you knew he was still far from healed. Did he always have to be so damn stubborn?

“Frank, please? Go sit?” you asked sweetly, hoping a gentler tone would convince him

He conceded with a nod, ducking his head as he shuffled away from you and towards the living room. He sank into the couch with a grunt. You made your way beside him, sitting on the opposite end.

His stained vest still laid on the floor beside the sofa, exactly where you placed it after Curtis left. His boots were still lined up neatly in the corner after you’d removed them while he slept. Nothing else seemed out of place since you’d gone to bed. Except one thing.

“Where’s Matt?” you inquired

“Said something about a pain in the ass client.”

“Right. Madison case. He’s been busy with that a lot lately.”

You sighed, trying not to grow upset as you thought about Matt’s behavior towards you lately. Missing important things for work stuff, going out as Daredevil without considering your feelings, arguing with you about Frank. You should add this to the list of reasons to be pissed, him just taking off without saying goodbye. But right now you were actually relieved to have the alone time to talk to Frank.

“So. You and him?” Frank asked

“Yeah.”

“You moved on damn fast.”

There was a bite to his voice, leaving behind the gentleness you saw in his eyes to let out the hurt.

“You told me to.” you responded, recounting the conversation you had when you laid beside him in his shitty hideout

“Really though? Murdock?”

“Hey, look it started as just a fun thing, and then it turned into more. Okay? I didn’t expect for it to—”

“So you’re playing house with him while carrying my goddamn kid?”

“I don’t know if yours or hi— How did you know?”

You thought Matt’s sweatshirt was doing a decent enough job at hiding your state, not wanting Frank to see and jump to conclusions before you could have this discussion. But either Frank was just too damn observant for his own good or…

“Red told me.”

Of course he had. Add it to the fucking list.

“Matt had no right to tell you that. It was my—”

“You’re right. You shoulda been the one to tell me. And you shoulda told me weeks ago.”

“I tried. But you were gone, Frank!” you spat, not bothering to hide the sting in your voice “and Matt tried to find you so I could tell you and we couldn’t—”

“He did.”

“What?”

“Asshole came to my new hide out. Few weeks ago. He tracked me down and came askin’ about some bullet casing. Guess he didn’t want to tell me then, huh?”

You recalled every single conversation you and Matt had about Frank, making sure your pregnancy brain hadn’t accidentally gaslit you into forgetting such a crucial piece of information. Never once had he mentioned finding where Frank was. You were sure of it.

“Excuse me? When was this?” you asked, still not believing what you were hearing

“Right after those cops shot White Tiger.”

You did the math. Hector was killed shortly after you’d asked Matt to stop looking for Frank, around your 12 week mark.

“He stopped going out as Daredevil to look for you. I asked him to.”

“Didn’t come to me in the costume. Came as himself.”

Matt found Frank. A month ago. And he hid it from you.

It was like you were standing on a moving subway car then someone unexpectedly pulled the emergency cord, screeching your world to a violent halt while sending you toppling forward. Your heart clenched and began to race, and the air in the room felt thinner. Tears began to prick at your eyelids as you realized what Frank was saying.

“He… he lied to me. He knew where you were… Frank, I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”

If what you were feeling towards Matt before was regular old anger, this new information was white hot rage, filling you up with molten lava with such an inferno steam might come out of your head. Your hand came up to cover your mouth as a violent sob left your mouth, filling the room with an echo as the depth of Matt’s betrayal sunk in.

“Shh, c’mere sweetheart,” Frank comforted as pulled you against his chest, rocking you in his arms while your body shook with sobs. He kept his voice soft. “Ain’t nothin we can do about it now.”

Under different circumstances, you might have been able to find peace in finally feeling Frank’s embrace again. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t craved it since he’d abandoned you. But the curveball of Matt’s secret was sending your brain into overdrive once again thinking of all the what ifs about the future, leaving you too distressed to realize how much you’d missed this.

“I’m here now.” Frank continued, running a hand up and down your back in soothing motions. “And I ain’t going anywhere.”

“Oh so you don’t have a problem leaving me and breaking my heart but you’ll stay out of whatever weird sense of duty you seem to think you have to a kid that might not even be yours.” you spat back, pushing off of Frank’s chest and wiping away the snot dripping from your nose.

It wasn’t fair that Frank was facing your hostility. Matthew not currently present to be punished for his sins in the form of a well-deserved outburst from you. But you couldn’t help it. They both let you down. They both let their issues get in the way and ruin what should be a joyous time in your life.

“Ain’t gonna stay cause I feel obligated to. Gonna do it cause I want to.”

“Kinda doesn’t feel like it though.” you replied, “Feels like you’re just repeating the past. Stuck with a kid in the kind of life you didn’t ever want to live again.”

“Who said I don’t want that again?”

“You did when you walked out on me. Walked out on whatever this could have been.”

Frank’s eyes softened, remorse flickering in his gentle whiskey-colored stare as he reached up to wipe a tear from your cheek.

“I know. Baby, I was an idiot. Still am. But I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“You want to be there for the baby, I get it.” you sighed

“And you.”

“Until it all gets to be too much. You get too happy and it scares you or you get bored with having a normal fucking life or some new gang shows up that you need to take care of or—”

“Hey.” he interjected “I ain’t leaving again. You hear me?”

“You know Matt said the same thing when I told him. Said he was there for me no matter what. Wanted us to be a family and do what was best for me. Look how that’s going.”

“Pffft.” Frank scoffed, shaking his head “Don’t know if you noticed sweetheart, but I ain’t him.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you practically are. The two of you are way more alike than you want to admit. But okay.”

The way Frank’s eyebrow quirked up let you know he’d never considered it before and wasn’t a fan of the observation. He ran a hand through his tousled hair in frustration and you didn’t miss the subtle tapping of his finger against nothing, subconsciously pulling the trigger on the idea. Fortunately, your distressed state seemed to be enough to get him to back down from any objections he was inclined to voice on the subject.

“He been treating you right?” he asked

“Matt? Yeah, until last night he’s been a saint.”

“Christ, that’s one thing I know he ain’t.”

For the first time in over 24 hours, you felt yourself smile. A true and genuine smile that felt like stepping into the sun on an unusually warm February day— the kind where you know you’ve got way more winter to wade through, but you might as well enjoy the moment of warmth. You watched as the crinkles formed at the edges of his eyes and a toothy grin grew from behind his crusty beard as he saw the joy flicker within you. It was a moment of normalcy finally, a reminder of what drew you to Frank in the first place. Not all the blood and violence, but how easy and natural you felt when you were with him.

His hand reached out, all bruised and scratched from whatever he had been up to these days, delicately circling his thumb over your bump

“How far along?” he asked

“16 weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you confirmed

“Everything healthy?”

“Yeah. You wanna see?”

If he was smiling before, he might as well have been the Cheshire Cat now, entire face lighting up at your offer.

“Yeah.”

You rushed off to the bedroom, returning a moment later with the latest ultrasound. Tilting his head to the side as he took the photo between his fingers, his warm cocoa eyes squinted slightly as he studied every detail.

“So, I don’t know if Matt told you but, it is a girl.”

“No, he didn’t. A little girl huh?”

You could see the touches of remorse and nostalgia swirling behind his gaze despite his generally cheery disposition. It made your chest ache when you thought of all the painful memories that must have been coming up for him. Was this what it felt like when Maria told him she was pregnant with Lisa so early into their relationship? Moving forward with such trauma and heartache weighing him down was going to be a challenge and you wondered if he would ever be able to love this child the way he loved Lisa and Frankie.

“Yeah. I’ll be honest with you, this is the first ultrasound they’ve given me where she actually has looked like anything to me.”

Frank balked, still not looking away from the black and white print out. He ran a finger over it as if he was stroking your baby’s face.

“You got a name picked yet?”

“No, God. Matt and I can not agree on anything, so I will take any suggestions you’ve got.”

“Always liked Francesca.” he said, shit eating grin letting you know he was only sort of joking.

You rolled your eyes so hard you swore they’d fall out and roll all the way to New Jersey.

“You have got to be kidding.”

As he chuckled heartily at your reaction, you sat back down beside him on the sofa. He bent forward to set the the photo on the coffee table before leaning back and throwing an arm on the back of the couch as he turned to face you. It was hard not to notice the way he grunted and winced as he moved, a reminder of all the healing he still had to do.

“You havin’ a lot of symptoms?” he asked

“Like you would not believe.”

Frank dropped his head slightly, staring at the ultrasound once more. Thoughts of Maria’s first pregnancy once again filled his thoughts. All the early milestones he remembered helping her through; holding her hair back when she had morning sickness, the excitement of each doctors appointment to find out how Lisa was growing, nesting in their crappy old apartment in Queens. There was a pang of guilt to his face, grimacing as he thought about you going through all that and him missing it all.

“M’ really sorry sweetheart. I shoulda been here. For all of it.”

Sensing whatever internal anguish he was going through, you reached out and took his hand gently in yours.

“Matt said he doesn’t want a paternity test, but if you’d rather—”

“I don’t either.” he cut you off “Don’t need one.”

“Frank—”

“Will you quit arguin’? Christ, you always gotta be so stubborn.”

“Oh, you wanna talk stubborn—” you retorted

“There’s that fuckin’ mouth again. Didn’t miss that.”

“You fucking liar.”

Despite his amused demeanor, there was still a sense of misery weighing on his broad shoulders that hovered in the dense silence that had fallen. His soft lips parted a few times, as if he was trying to think of the right things to say, but deciding against all of them. His eyes kept shifting from you, to your stomach, to the photo on the table. Obviously still lost in calculating the mix of emotions he was feeling. You were desperate to know what he was thinking and as he squeezed your hand once more, you decided it was time to pounce on the fleeting window of opportunity to finally get Frank to open up for a change.

“But you missed me?” you asked, your voice almost timid as you spoke, afraid that Frank might answer and confirm that he hadn’t been thinking of you at all while he was away.

“Yeah, I did.” he replied earnestly

“What did you—”

A knock on the door cut you off and nearly had you jumping out of your skin in shock. Any chance of getting Frank to be honest with you; about his past, or his current feelings, or anything really, had flown out the window like a vampire at sunrise.

Curtis had returned as promised, duffle bag of Frank’s essentials in one hand and a tote bag in the other filled with enough antibiotics to wipe out any infection that might even look Frank’s way. He was clearly dressed for work; crisp white dress shirt slightly strained against his large biceps and a navy tie hanging with a neat knot around his neck. If you hadn’t known about his history as a military medic, you’d have thought he looked more like an associate of Matt’s than someone who would consider themselves friends with the Punisher.

He gave Frank a look up and down when he got into the living room, dropping the duffle onto the couch.

“He lives!” he commented sarcastically, which earned him an eye-roll from Frank “Brought your stuff and parked your truck ‘round the block.”

“ ‘Preciate it Curt.” Frank replied

“How’s our patient doing?” Curtis asked, turning his attention to you standing beside him

“Well, they didn’t stab the attitude out of him, that’s for sure.”

Blowing a puff of air past his lips, Frank shook his head and began to go through his duffle. Meanwhile, Curtis didn’t even try to hide his laughter at your comment, letting his booming chuckle fill the room as he threw his head back.

“I’m Curtis, by the way,” he held out his large hand to shake yours “since we didn’t get to formally introduce ourselves last night.”

You shook his hand lightly, speaking your name.

“Wait. So, you’re…?” Curtis looked at Frank quizzicaly

So Frank had told him about you.

“Yeah, Curt. That’s her.”

Frank looked almost sheepish, clearly pretending to be distracted by the clothes he kept pulling and putting back in his bag, not able to hide the rosy tint spreading across the top of his beard. Curtis’ mouth turned down in an observant expression, looking between you and Frank.

“You said she worked for a non-profit,” Curtis said “didn’t know it was for taking charity cases like you.”

Oh, you and Curtis were going to get along swimmingly.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee?” you offered, making your way into the kitchen while Curtis sat down on the couch, beginning to take a look at all Frank’s injuries and pulling an IV bag from his tote.

“No, thank you.” Curtis responded “I’ve gotta get to work after this, don’t have time to stay and —”

You wondered what made him stop talking, spinning around from the cabinet with a mug in your hand.

Curtis’ eyes were locked on the ultrasound still sitting on the table.

“Is that yours?” he asked, questioning you with a raised brow

Telling the news to all yours and Matt’s friends had been relatively easy. With Frank gone, there was no need to let anyone in on the information that the baby had two potential fathers. Now that he was back and clearly wanted to stay, letting everyone know and speculate on the drama of it all was not something you were looking forward to. Still, Curtis was important to Frank and it seemed like a good first person to break the news to.

“Yeah. I’m pregnant.” you confirmed

“And are you…?” he turned to Frank

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe?”

Frank just gestured to the room, implying the owner of the apartment. The surprise was apparent on Curtis’ face.

“No shit.”

You drummed your fingers nervously on the counter, eyes flickering over to Frank in a silent plea to him to take the lead on this and spare you the awkwardness.

“How do you feel about this?” Curtis asked him

Frank only shrugged, until he saw the way you were looking at him.

“Mind your business, Curt.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always tell me. Till your business becomes my business.” Curtis replied, shaking his head and proceeding with getting another line in Frank’s arm and getting the IV hooked up.

Once Frank was all set with the antibiotics and Curtis had changed the dressings on a few of the wounds hiding under Frank’s shirt, he rose from his spot and gathered his things.

“Well you need a babysitter, you know where to find me. I’m great with kids. Got two nephews who love me.” he said as he made his way down the hall towards the front door.

“ ‘Preciate it Curt.” Frank called out

And then Curtis was out the door and it was just you and Frank alone again.

There was probably something productive that you could have been doing in the moment to distract you from the anxious rage you were feeling about Matt. Not seeing any point in just sitting around and stewing on it, knowing that going over it again and again would only lead to a larger outburst once he got home. You needed distraction, but could not for the life of you decide on what exactly would do the trick, opting to just pace around the apartment mindlessly.

“Was a bullet by the way.” Frank finally spoke up “Not a knife. Inch to the side and it woulda got me.”

He gestured, demonstrating with his finger how the bullet must have flown by and nicked his neck.

“Oh, cause that makes it better…” you scoffed

“What do you need right now, sweetheart?”

You rubbed your hands against your face, inhaling sharply through your nose.

“A shower. A beer. You to be better. Matt to not be an asshole. About 87 hours sleep.”

Frank chuckled, staying put in the living room to let the medicine works it’s course. But the way his sits-bones were teetering on the edge of the couch indicated to you he was itching to get up and be beside you, always a man of action.

“Why don’t you start with the shower?”

“Oh no, I’m not taking my eyes off you again, Castle. How do I know if I take a shower for 10 minutes, you won’t vanish in a skull shaped puff of smoke?”

The muscle in his jaw twitched, regret at leaving you still etched in his stone set features.

“Ain’t a ghost sweetheart.”

“You promise you’ll stay?”

“Not goin’ anywhere.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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