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tarithenurse · 5 years

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Orphan - 5

Starring: Fem!Reader and MCU characters! Contents: Spoilers for Endgame!! Good intentions, awkwardness, feels. A/N: PREVIOUS CHAPTERS can be found on the masterlist. Thanks for likes and reblogs and comments <3

5. Tea and Fate

There’s a fuzziness enveloping your mind that makes everything appear to happen at a slower pace than usual, voices distant and warped. You have to force every movement before your body begrudgingly accepts to carry it out, clumsily too, so it’s a miracle you don’t break anything before breakfast is over. At least the two big kids seem to be similarly slow this morning. Why’s he so hyper? Glancing at the little Nathaniel over your cup of coffee, it strikes you as unnatural how he can be so cheerful, constantly babbling about the things he is planning to do during the day as he bounces on the chair.

“– and then can we go down t’the creek and catch tadpol’th? You wanna come, [Y/N]?”

Huge, pleading eyes are staring at you and suddenly it makes sense when people talk about puppy eyes because not even a golden retriever would be able to reach the levels of cuteness the sticky, noisy kid just achieved. Scrambling for words (preferably a nice way to turn him down), you find yourself stuttering and mumbling before Laura saves you.

“There won’t be any tadpoles now, sweetie. It’s fall, and they’ve all grown up into toads and frogs.” She glances at you with an apologetic smile. “And I think, perhaps, [Y/N] needs a bit of time to get used to being here.”

What I need is a nap. Instead of saying it, you just nod with an attempt at a noncommitting smile that might not have amounted to anything more than a grimace of questionable characteristic. A nap and a plan.

… Morgan …

Uncle Rhodes and mommy have gone into the kitchen and shut the door, leaving Happy as the only entertainment.

“I’m booooooored!” Morgan mutters, mainly to herself because the first attempts at getting the gummy-bear of a man to play with her have failed already. “Can I go play on my own?”

It takes a moment for him to react. “Huh? What, yeah…just stay in the house, ‘kay bug?”

She answers with a cheer and a wave, already bouncing up the stairs to fetch her favourite teddy bear and the space stone from aunt Nebula – you never know what you’re going to need when going on an adventure (even if it’s indoors).

…

Someway or other, Morgan doesn’t quite know how, the exploration has brought her to daddy’s work room where the broad table hums invitingly. He never keeps any of his tools in the house, they’ve all been banished to the shed except this one and all the boring books and papers. Sure enough. Resting the chin on the edge of the humming piece of furniture, she can see a stack of folders on one side and a few scraps with scribbles and lines looking like a robot…or a dog.

Daddy’s things aren’t toys. Crawling up into the soft swivel chair, she enjoys a few rounds before allowing the two treasures to take part in the joy of the secret carousel…now and then stealing a glance between the messy strands of hair at the table. Not toys.

He has used it so many times even with Morgan around. A pat in that corner. A wave of the hand. Blue light fills the room in the middle of the day, making the girl think of the swimming pool at grandma’s and grandpa’s.

“Hello, Morgan.”

The voice is so nice and sweet even if the little girl just did something she isn’t supposed to. “Hi, Fwiday.” Morgan doesn’t blush. Almost never.

“What can I help you with, sweetheart?”

The answering question pops out all on its own. “Where’s dad? Mom keeps cwying ‘cause he’s gone.”

“Oh, sweetie…”

… Reader …

You had never quite imagined that you’d be doing a conference call with a handful of heroes while sitting on the hood of an old John Deere in a barn. There’s a shit ton of things I’ve never imagined. Looking over at Clint, sprawled in the seat and with the feet up on the steering wheel, you could almost be lulled into a sense of calm. That things aren’t completely deranged.

Time and again, you’ve felt like an amateur ice dancer trying to keep your life in balance despite the odds so you shouldn’t be feeling as lost as you do. And still…this time you have no counterweight, no place to call home and no person to guide you through the fog. The voices are familiar, in some twisted kind of way, talking gently as if that magically will calm your nerves…but they don’t know how it does exactly the opposite because they sound condescending just like the overbearing social workers and potential adoptive parents that turned you down for no other reason than being too old. For not looking enough like them that you could pass as their “real” kid on a photograph.

“She’s gotten a copy of the files,” Rhodes is explaining, “to go over with her attorney.”

To see if I’m good enough, if she really has to be stuck with me? “Why?” The question leaves the line silent. “I’m not asking for inheritance…or to be part of her life! I just...”

The sympathetic look Clint gives you is almost worse than the unanswered questions and you close your eyes to it. Deep breaths. Pictures of Tony Stark dance in your mind together with memories of your mother, each of them sporting features that you would be able to point out when looking in a mirror. Like when I was a kid.

Time and again, before the aliens attacked New York, you had conjured up an imaginary world where you had both a mom and a dad – the latter being none other than Tony Stark. In that world, you all lived together, and your mom would say that you had her looks and your dad’s smarts which would make him laugh and pull both of you into a hug. In that fairy-tale –

A hand brushes your arm gingerly, waking you with a start from the reveries – lost long ago in the smouldering rubble of a tiny apartment – to find Clint’s face a foot from yours. Keen eyes study every twitch of the brow, maybe even counting the blackheads on your nose, and you pull back in annoyance.

“Y’okay there?” he asks low enough that people listening in won’t hear.

What do you care? “Sure.” Clearing you voice, it’s all you can do to return the attention to the phone. “As I said…I just needed to know if it was true.”

“If need be, would you be willing to do a DNA-test?” You already recognize the voice as the Hulk’s.

A non-committal shrug before you realize they can’t see it. “Sure.”

…

From your spot on the bed on the second floor, you can look out over the field stretching towards the forest. Everything is drenched, covered by sheer greyness that makes the grasses bow and the fallen leaves stick to each other as if hoping the wind won’t be able to move them. The sun is setting somewhere beyond this drab world, but no colours of rose gold and purple reach this far to warm your body now the layers of borrowed clothes and a musty blanket don’t cut it.

You can hear the bubbling giggle that erupts sporadically from Nathaniel. This time you hear Cooper too, a boyish version of his mother…when he can drag himself out of the teenage moods, at least. He’s not that bad, according to your limited experience of kids in full families, just kind of sullen with a tendency to walk away when bothered. Like whenever I enter the room. He’d barely stayed in the seat to finish breakfast. At lunch he’d walked in, seen you, and declared not to be hungry before leaving.

Some people might think it was a relief that Lila sat through the meal, but the glaring was tough to ignore. What’ve I done to them? Your eyes prickle dangerously, and your nose is close to dripping too, callously ignoring the deep breaths and stubborn, unspoken promises that you don’t care. I don’t. It’s not like you haven’t gone through these things before back when you were their age, finding kids scowling at you for no apparent reasons. It’s better than pity. There’s plenty of that to go around and –

*knock knock*

Startled by the sound, body trying to crawl in on itself to feel small and inconspicuous, you hold your breath in the hopes that you heard wrong, but it happens again. Slow but resolute knocking.

“[Y/N]?” Even though she’s rarely spoken to you, the voice of Lila is easily recognizable. “Can I…is’t okay if I c’m’in?”

I’m an adult. I gotta act like one. Any wetness by the eyes is hastily rubbed away. “Sure.” Clear and steady.

The door creaks after ears of disuse, allowing the appearance of the back of Lila’s shoulder as she slides the elbow off the handle. Huh? The moment there’s room, she turns to reveal a little tray with two enormous cups of something steaming and a little tray of cookies. A shy smile, shoulders carefully rising before being lowered with a newfound confidence as you return the silent greeting by making room on the bed for the girl.

Outside, the rain fights to break the grey haze obscuring the world but in reality adding to it. The flaming colours that had managed to maintain a desperate hold on the twigs so far are disappearing in an early dusk. A moment ago that misery had your attention, resonating within, now it’s chased away by an awkward, lanky girl sitting cross-legged before you while apologizing for the lack of milk.

“Hey! It’s okay,” you manage to interrupt her at a break for air, “I’ll drink it any which way, so thanks…”

“Good, good…”

Drops pummel the window. Tea scent heats your faces causing a new flush to be added to Lila’s cheeks. Good tea, as if that’s the reason you feel guilt gnawing for the negativity against the girl…a negativity that evaporates like the steam curling above the hot liquid.

“I’m sorry,” Lila admits, and you’re not sure why even though you have an idea, “I…Cooper and me…” For a moment all her attention seems to be on the cookie she steeps in the mug. Seems. “I’ve been a jerk, haven’t I?”

Alright! Up front now! “Maybe. I guess I’ve been too...” Sharing a glance you recognize some of Clint in the way she takes in every detail. “So this is like…a truce? Ceasefire?”

“Hoped so.”

You can’t hug it out with her. There’s been too many fake hugs in your life from people who claimed they’d be there for you. Lila doesn’t promise anything except to try to be decent and that’s something you can mirror. Good thing too. You’ve got nothing else to offer.

“– they say I need to start school Monday.” Clearly, you’ve missed the start of whatever the middle Barton kid’s saying, but you can fill it out. “I’m gonna be like the only senior from my year left! Can you imagine?”

“A little, maybe. People did stare a shitlo–…sorry…a lot at uni. But hey! At least the sophomore was only surprised when I appeared on his lap. At first.”

“Nooo!” Wide eyes followed by a crinkle of amusement. “Was he hot?”

What?! That line of thought had never occurred to you. “Uhm…I don’t actually remember, I’m just glad he didn’t push me onto the floor.”

There’s a tiny snort of giggles, “Hey, welcome back! Yeet!” Her tea almost spills as she imitates the student forcibly tossing you aside.

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pendragonfics · 7 years

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I'll Think Of You

Paring: Frank Castle/Reader

Tags: female reader, Frank Castle needs a hug (or eight), waiters & waitresses, swearing, shooting, fluff and angst, first aid, some blood, based on a song by Cub Sport (Write You A Letter), some spoilers for Daredevil (TV), Matt Murdock-centric, Reader-centric, Frank Castle-centric, enemies to friends (Frank & Matt), alcohol, references to the Avengers, no Y/N or ________ (reader’s name not mentioned), overthinking, Matt Murdock matchmakes (that’s it, that’s the fic)

Summary: A waitress at Josie’s bar connects with the Punisher, and for once, gets under his skin a different way than all the criminals in Hell’s Kitchen. Hell, even Daredevil knows it, but there’s no way for Frank to try to get close to someone…especially after what happened last time.

Word Count: 1,013

Posting Date: 2017-02-18

Current Date: 2017-06-03

It was months later you caught a glimpse of Frank, this time with his surname attached to the mugshot on the television screen. It had taken a while for Josie to clean up the crapola the shooter had caused, and even longer for the glass to be refitted into the walls, and longer still for the patrons to feel safe enough to come back to their watering hole to drink their sorrows away. Two lawyers from nearby downtown and their secretary donated much of their time to help clean up, and offered their services in case your boss wanted to press charges. But she didn't, because Josie fought her own battles, not behind a two suits in a fancy courtroom. But you appreciated Foggy Nelson's sincerity, and Matt Murdock's persistence, and Karen Page's fierceness.

When you caught a glimpse of him, the newsreader prattling off something adjacent to your interests, Karen caught on that you caught the picture of his face, and nudged you.

"I'm pretty sure that's what they call a long face," she mused, pushing her glass of sauvignon blanc against the tray filled with empty glasses you carried. "If I didn't know any better, it's the same face kids make in school, when their crush walks by...but sadder."

You huff, scooping the tray up, shaking your head. "It is not sad, and I do not have a crush...okay, maybe I do, but he's doing illegal things in the name of the law, and goodness, and I knew him before he was broadcasting the grey area around here, okay?" you mumble, catching another glimpse of Frank Castle, this time in live footage, being carted into a hospital, body broken and bloody on the screen. "I mean, thank whatever for superheroes and vigilanties, and thank whoever for keeping them on their feet, but...am I a bad person to like Frank Castle?" you ask Karen, trying to keep it low so not to flag the attention of the two attorneys at law from eavesdropping.

Karen shakes her head, and downs the rest of her glass straight, and joins you to keep cleaning the place up. "Bad person? No, a bad person is someone who does things, and doesn't tell people or explain why, and leaves without notice for periods at a time. A bad person is someone who kills for needless reasons, or hurts people for pleasure." She scoffs, taking a tray, and stacking it up with empty shot glasses, "...you're not a bad person for liking him."

Unbeknown to you, and Karen at that point in time, was an attorney at law who was listening to what Josie was talking about, sure, but had mastered the art of eavesdropping across the room thanks to a freak accident as a child, and had heard every word you'd spilled to his secretary. Mr. Matthew Michael Murdock knew about the social etiquette he was breaking by taking in your words, yes, but he had good intention, and he'd also heard your heartbeat - and heard those words to be truthful.

---

MATT MURDOCK

The next time Matthew runs into the burly man with the gun strapped to his back - as the devil of Hell's Kitchen, not the blind attorney he is by day - they're perched atop a billboard not too far from his home, where he knows Karen is staying over that night, due to not being able to pay her rent that week, and nearby to your own apartment, where he knows you're reading up on your university books, studying to be something better than you were born to be. Frank hands him something warm, that smells of hot sauce and beans - a burrito.

"Cheers, Red," he groaned, biting into the burrito, and by the smell of it, Matt could tell it was good food. Probably better than the two minute noodles he practically lived off at the end of the week when there were not too many people coming in to the office. "What, no thank you?" he chuckled darkly.

Matt ignored that, and catalogued in his memory to thank the Punisher later for the burrito, and that he has an appointment first thing tomorrow with a client before opening hours. Instead, he scratched at his nose, and taking a hunk out of the meal, he mentioned, mouth full of beans, "Waitress down at Josie's thinks you saved her life."

Frank grumbles. "I don't save lives, Red."

Taking another bite of the burrito, Matt disagrees, and like a good lawyer, backs up his facts, "Maybe not, but still I can tell when a girl is into another person despite their history. And by neither confirming or denying the existence of a waitress that works at the bar means you do know that you saved her life, you're only arguing a technicality."

The big, bad Punisher shook his head, a tiny smile on his face that the Daredevil could not see but sense. "Fuck you and your fancy degree, Red." he took a moment to configure his thoughts, and then, "So what if I saved one person's life? It's not like it's new for me to have to clean up my messes..."

Matt sighs, and lowering the burrito, turned to where he thought Frank was sitting beside him. "You know that's not what I mean. If this is about the accident that happened, then drop it, Frank, because for once, there's an opportunity out there, and it's all yours to take, dammit," his fist closes tighter around the burrito, the contents squeezing out from both ends like a novelty kids toy.

"Ease up there, Hulk," Frank jokes, slapping him on the back with a good-natured thwump.

"...Thanks for the burrito," he raises it like a glass of champagne, and silently, eats the rest on his own terms, no more bickering on his part. But Matt can hear the slightest hitch in Frank Castle's throat, the squaring of his shoulders, smell the exhale breath from his mouth.

He goes to leave, and gives him another pat on the back. "I'll get in touch with her."

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#frank castle #the punisher #frank castle x reader #frank castle/reader #punisher x reader #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics

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