everyones talkin about websites bein broken are yall good
everyones talkin about websites bein broken are yall good
I wanna get tied up and blindfolded and made to put headphones on so I have no clue what you’re going to do, then I want to be touched and teased and played with until I’m begging. I want you all over me. Pretty please, I’ll be good
i love how my dad doesnt know how thin the walls n doors are in this house despite living here for three years like the second i leave to piss hes talking to my sister and her gf abt how they pronouns are grammatically incorrect and that its not that hes bigoted its that people are asking too much
Smith texts this to Neo while they're both still trapped in business hell & Neo's like "um. ok. thanks." (?? bald? ????)
Hi! If you have time can I request Prompt 1 for hard yandere Sigma?
Also have a wonderful day!!!
so many number 1 prompts eheh i'm trying my best to make them all different @[email protected] Anyways yandere sigma i'm excited !! i do want to make this a proper oneshot someday, there's way too many ideas i can't fit here + very sorry for how long it is hjefdx ( the original was 2k and i hadn't even approached the prompt so i had to Cut down a Lot)
prompt list by @.drabbledealer | this drabble is a part of my mini prompt event !
when he first saw you through those pixelated screens, sigma was so sure of one thing—you were like him. a lost soul, wandering around aimlessly. the listless look in your eye as you stared at the walls blankly, the unsure shuffling of your feet, the hesitance in you—it was a stark replication of his own behavior when he came to in the desert a few years ago. he was left breathless—for all these years, he yearned for someone like him, someone who understood how it felt to never belong, and finally, you had been sent to him.
but the more he thought about it, the more he worried himself sick. sigma had nowhere to go, and no identity of his own, so he took the first chance that was given to him by dostoevsky even if he didn't agree with his plans, simply because he had nothing else. had you already been approached by someone? there were many opportunists who would jump up at the chance to use people like you, threading you with strings until you were nothing more than a puppet in the palm of their hands. he couldn't have that happen to you. he couldn't let them—let the greedy desires of people corrupt your pure soul like that.
sigma felt he had a new purpose, and this one, he approached with an extremely dedicated fervor.
quiet as a mouse, sigma had already made sure the heels of his shoes didn't make even the slightest sound as he hurried down the hallways. he opened the door to your room and slipped in, undetected by anyone else. this was the only way, he knew, to get you alone with him.
on the surface, you appeared to be like any other person. living, breathing, existing. but sigma knew there was more to you than that. what was the point of existing without a purpose? you reminded him painfully of himself—and though you were likely a regular person, you didn't seem to have much of a life. so empty, lost...searching for something aimlessly. he held his breath. were you, perhaps, searching for him? another empty soul, just like yours? did you already know he'd be able to protect you from those wanting to taint and twist the clean slate of your life? were you, from the start, searching for him? coming to the sky casino yet looking as though you weren't sure why you came—you had no need to worry any longer. sigma had found you.
only someone like him could ever know how to satisfy the endless turmoil you must have been enduring all this while. he thought you looked like an angel, breathing so softly he could barely discern it. his angel, lost in this dark world. everyone here would only take advantage of you, but not him. he loved you, he was sure of it—this feeling, this burning flame, devouring everything except the thought of you—this must be love!
he thinks on the couples he had seen walking in, fingers interlocked and pressed against each other, kissing when they thought nobody was watching. he wondered if the two of you could do that, could kiss and hold and love. would this uncontrollable beating of his heart lead to more euphoric feelings? would this sensation only get heightened the closer he got to you? for the first time, sigma wasn't plagued by worry and fear, and he never wanted this new feeling to stop.
even if this felt a little awkward, holding your unmoving form with one unnaturally positioned arm, and pressing his lips to yours, not feeling you reciprocate, sigma sensed that it was supposed to start like this. as long as he came back consistently, as long as he slipped out before you noticed, and as long as he made progress with you while you were awake, eventually, this would come naturally to you and him. love needed to be given before it could be received, and sigma would give, give, give until there was nothing left except his bleeding heart.
The idea that Cooper’s “final form” so to speak and his doppelganger’s son are both named Richard because both are half human and half doppelganger is starting to come together in my mind.
The idea that “Richard” is Cooper and his doppelganger having been spiritually reconciled and made complete is not mine, that’s a pretty old and common interpretation of why Cooper is what he is in the finale. But him sharing a name with Richard Horne always bothered me. I just don’t believe that Richard having that name was purely a red herring. And lately I’ve definitely been leaning towards the idea that they share a name because they’re both half of Earth and half of the Black Lodge and because after the doppelganger “went back in”, the resulting version of Cooper is literally Richard’s father. At least in part.
Idk why you're getting mad at me lol I'm not mad he said it's about England and I think it might be part of what it's about, but I think it's about a person too. I don't think being unsure about a song is enough to say it's something so personal and raw but that's just me.
im sorry maybe i misread your tone. it’s just weird to me how people got so annoyed and defensive when harry said that when at my first listening it was obvious to me it wasn’t about a person. i don’t really get your argument either if im honest, also an anon just corrected and told me he said terrifying in regards to the production and not the lyrics! (thank you anon!!)
I absolutely need to write tsaritsas about page tmrw. pls remind me. I need to tell y’all about she. In the meantime you’re free to send asks or just dm me about her!!!
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
A/N: Super lazily writing this. If you have ideas for blurbs or another part let me know! This isn't a main series that I'm focusing on but it's cute to write about <3
VI 💖💕💗💓👩❤️💋👩💝💘 MY BELOVED I BELIEVE IT IS THE 20TH FOR U (i was gonna wait for midnight my time but i will probs be asleep) HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU !!!!! ur an absolute sunshine of a person and im so happy and lucky to know you <3 squeezing u super tightly in a special birthday hug i love u i love u
(pls know im singing happy birthday exactly like this to you)
DANI MY SWEET SWEET DANI THANK YOUUUU
you're the absolute sweetest presence in my life honestly i have no idea how i would survive here without you. im hugging you and never letting go. ever. i just love you so much. like too much.
for the ask game: touches #47, "touching their elbow to get their attention"
Some four hours after his head touched the pillow, Julian staggers back out of the bedroom and into their living room. Instinct, exhaustion, and the headache pounding in his temples tells him to fall gracelessly down onto the couch, but his feet almost stumble at the image in front of him once he crosses the threshold.
On the horizon, the unfurling tendrils of a dust storm. In front of their sloping, circular floor-to-ceiling windows stands Garak, unmoving, holding the baby to his shoulder in her swaddle of re-appropriated fleece and fur. Even from this angle, he can tell she's asleep, her tiny body slackened, her little snuffling breaths filling the quiet room. In her sleep, she makes minute movements, flexing her food and jostling the electrical lead attached to the sensor.
Gently, in a slow and steady rhythm, Garak draws his thumb across and back the nape of her delicate skull.
In theory, Garak went to bed with him four hours ago.
Letting his footfalls make noise, Julian crosses the room. He doesn't want to startle Elim; forty-eight hours' worth of clumsy paternal instinct and a distinct lack of sleep could lead to a blade being lodged somewhere very unfortunate.
"You haven't slept, have you?" he asks, letting his hand graze his elbow as he approaches him from the side.
"No. Not on purpose anyway."
I thought so. Blinking back sleep, Julian slides his arm around Garak's waist, allowing his cheek to rest against his shoulder so he can peer down at the sleeping newborn. In his three years on Cardassia, he's learned that unlike humans, Cardassian parents don't ascribe to sleep when they sleep. It's all to do with a chemical in the waxy vernix covering Cardassian neonates as they enter the world, which when combined with the dopamine and endorphin surge often accompanying a birth, sparks a haze of protective aggression in their caregivers. Julian doesn't need to wait for the samples to come from the lab to know that Human-Cardassian hybrids--or at least this Human-Cardassian hybrid--was also born slathered with that particular evolutionary advantage, and that Garak is merely heeding the call to biological imperative.
Keep the baby alive, no matter the cost.
"The sensor will alarm if her levels go outside the parameters," he reminds him, but knows it won't chip through Garak's hard won paranoia.
He does, however, manage to steer Garak away from glaring at the portentous vision of the oncoming storm and to the sofa.
"But you said yourself the parameters are estimated," he grumbles, sitting carefully down onto the cushions, watching the baby's face for any sign of rousing from her slumber. "There's only been two Human-Cardassian hybrids who have lived to see live birth, and neither of them were treated here."
Lived to see live birth is doing a lot of heavy lifting there, Julian thinks. He hears Tain's words in his head as clear and dispassionate as the day he spoke them: I should have killed your mother before she was born. Julian is not so stupid as to think that there haven't been as many babies smothered at birth as there have been foundlings delivered to the hospital's doorstep. Despite the policy initiatives and media campaigns of the new government, the stigma of bastardy remains.
"That's true," Julian says slowly, letting his finger find the baby's hand. Even asleep, her grasp is strong. "But the estimates are conservative, by design. Every time the alarm has gone off so far, we've been able to adjust what she needs before she's in real distress or real danger."
Garak blinks in response, determinedly unconvinced.
"She needs a name," he says eventually.
Julian huffs a laugh, settling himself on the couch with his legs tucked up under him. "She does, but we probably shouldn't name her while we're both so sleep deprived."
If for no other reason than he's heard about the arguments Miles and Keiko had about naming their children.
"One could argue that's the state in which most children acquire their names," Garak argues.
"According to my mother, I was Julian from the moment the test turned positive. She was rather well-rested, then," he counters. Garak would be proud to know that it's a lie. Well, a half-truth. She had been set on naming him Julian. His father, who wanted to name him Richard Jr, required more convincing.
"Well that's just lazy. She didn't even wait to meet you?"
"My parents were lazy in many regards to my upbringing, if you recall," Julian answers, tracing the slight ridge running down the center of the baby's upturned nose, the slight blueish flush to her dove grey cheeks. "Are there any Cardassian naming conventions I should be aware of?"
Garak takes a long time to formulate his answer, and Julian realizes belatedly that he's stumbled into an emotionally loaded topic. He may be the hospital's Chief of Pediatrics, but social observation has never been his strong suit. Learning the names of his patients' parents and guardians is also not something he's ever prided himself upon; Cardassian titles and honorifics can cover an abundance of sins.
"Some ruling and administrative class families have a family letter," he answers eventually. Or rather, precisely. "The Dukat family used the letter K -- Prekor, Skrain, his litter of legitimate children. Saskia, Mekor, Lokar, so on... I assume the rest of his less legitimate children were named by their mothers, as is tradition. To prevent association between a powerful man and his bastards."
Sharing a first initial seems especially blunt, in context.
Garak shakes his head fondly. "My mother named me. She didn't wish to make the separation so easy on him. Though she also gave me... well."
Ah yes, Julian thinks. Mila. Elim.
"She was a service class orphan," he continues, "so there was no pedigree or bloodline to adhere to, but my first name comes from both of theirs. My last name belonged to an uncle. On paper, I'm a foundling."
From the way the words sound as they come out of his mouth, Julian thinks it might be the first time he said that last sentence out loud to himself, or anyone. But if their daughter is to be raised without shame in her origins, then it wouldn't do for one of her fathers to so furtively conceal his own.
No wonder Garak didn't sleep. Julian kisses his shoulder.
"So... a name with an L, then. For her. And both of us. A family descended from a line of foundlings. It's very Greco-Roman of us, despite all the ways that you despised Julius Caesar."
"I came to understand the play, eventually," Garak says, rolling his eyes. Allowing his fingers to unfurl across the entirety of the baby's back, he brushes his lips across the top of her head in unpracticed affection. "Yes, L will suit us just fine."
i’ve been through a lot and i deserve nice things (emo boy dick)
my best friend is out getting engaged and I’m blogging about the supernatural prequel
Why do you want to get more muscles? We like you as you are!
I've had a complicated relationship with my body centered around being too small and weak pretty much my entire life, and now that I'm in grad school it's a new stage of my life so I want to work on changing that
oh no its happening again
gerards story about a one eyed cat
hairstylists when the see jamie are either "we are literally not going to do anything with this mess, good luck" or "we're going to over do it so much it won't be natural"
there is rarely an in between
kathleen kennedy said outloud that she doesn’t think obi wan fucks and that’s why we didn’t get rey kenobi
Chapter Nine: All Relationships Have Their Secrets
Frank Castle x Fem!Reader
Series Summery: A life long crush on the boy next door leaves you with unrequited love and regret. You wish you could take back the things that happened, to have him be yours. When you reconnect, is it far too late to fix what’s said and done?
Warnings: domestic fluff, emotional turmoil, a sex scene and bodily descriptions of such, internal cheating (take it as you will), micro being a cockblock, a few swear words, a few little arguments and bringing back my fav guy that we didn’t get enough of (his return is so random just go with it), mentions of the death of a sibling and spouse, some harsh words between reader and Frankie
Word Count: 5,216 words
Author’s Note: this is a long one with a lot happening so have fun! one more chapter and then the epilogue.
LGGYK taglist // series masterlist
It’s humid outside, the kind of heat that made your legs stick to the leather seats in the car. The windows rolled down all the way and the stifling heat smothering you as he pulled into the driveway.
Frank puts the car in park, getting out and jogging around to open your door.
His hand in yours as you get out, smiling at you and the gold band sitting snuggly on your ring finger next to the engagement ring.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Castle.”
Wedding Day - 3 Months After The Proposal
Frank scoops you up in his arms, making you laugh and you wrap your arms around his neck. “Frank!” you giggled as he carried you up the steps of the front porch.
“What are you doing ?” You ask him, his hand shifting to reach for his keys in his pocket. He unlocked the door, pushing it open with his foot.
“I’m carrying my bride over the threshold. What do you think I’m doing?” He smiles, carrying you through the front door.
“This is very domestic of you.” You smile, holding onto him as he carries you up the stairs to the bedroom. He sets you down when he walks into the room.
“We’re making up for lost time.” He hums, sitting on the edge of the bed as you walk over to the dresser.
Frank was taking off his shoes but his eyes were on you.
You were leaning on the dresser, elbows propping you up as you unhooked your necklace, setting it in your jewellery tray. You were taking off your earrings when Frank stood up, and you pulled the hair clip out of your hair when he wraps his arms around you.
“Hi baby,” you smile, resting your hand atop his. Frank’s chin was on your shoulder, smiling at you in the mirror.
It wasn't often that you got to see him smile; it truly was one of your favourite sights.
“Hi beautiful.” Frank’s hand slides down your torso to your thigh and the hem of your white dress barely covering to your mid-thigh.
You watch his movements in the mirror, his fingers brushing against your bare thigh.
He moves his other hand, reaching for the zipper on the back of your dress. He gives it a tug, pulling it down in one swift pull. His fingers grazing your shoulder, pushing the fabric off and letting the dress fall, pooling by your feet.
“Frank,” you breathe, turning to face the man.
The lack of dress left you bare other than your panties. Frank pulls you back to him, the two of you shifting towards the bed. He turns you so you’re now on the bed and he’s standing. You watch as the man rids his clothing piece by piece.
Teasing him, you fan yourself with your hand. “Is it hot in here?” You ask, a wicked smile on your face.
Frank chuckles, pulling you by your legs back to the edge of the bed. “Jesus, you could have asked me to move,” your hand cups his cheek as he leans down to kiss you.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He mumbles against your lips, now moving to kiss down your neck to your shoulder. You lean your head to the side, Frank’s fingers brushing along your torso down to between your legs.
Without even thinking, your hips lift to meet his teasing fingers. He tsks, “patience.” He tells you as he kisses down your stomach, biting along the soft skin.
Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look at your husband. “Are you gonna deny me what I want ? On our fucking wedding night?” you laughed, flopping back on the mattress.
“Frankie, c’mon.” You whine.
“You need me, baby?” Frank’s hovering over you, his eyes raking over your body. “Tell me how much you need me.”
“Babe,” You roll your eyes but your cheeks flushed red; you needed him but you’d never admit that to him. Frank’s hand grips your chin, pulling your focus to him.
“If you don’t tell me what you want, I can’t give it to you.”
“You.” you whisper and Frank smiles to himself. “What was that?”
You roll your eyes once again, “fuck off.”
Frank pulls away from you, moving to his side of the bed. You roll over onto your stomach, looking over at the man. “What?”
“What, what?” His brows furrow at you. “You told me to fuck off, didn’t you?”
You sit up on your knees, hands resting your thighs. “Seriously ?”
Frank’s mouth is saying no but his eyes are saying something else; running along every inch of your body, thinking about how it would feel to touch every part of you, to have you all to himself.
His body betrays him before his mind does, grabbing you and pulling you onto his lap. Frank’s hands are on your ass, squeezing it and lifting you up just enough for you to sink onto him.
The tiniest whimper slipping past your lips and your eyes flutter closed. Your head tilts back and you take a moment before you move.
Frank admired you; his wife.
You were all his.
His hands on your hips, his thumb rubbing against the soft skin - there’s no dip there. You always had a dip in your hip, didn’t you ?
Yes, you- no, you didn’t.
Frank scolded himself internally; don’t think about her.
It takes you a minute before you start moving, slowly getting into a rhythm as Frank lifts his hips to meet you half way.
“Like that, doll - fuck.” Frank mutters, hands sliding up to your lower back.
You’re too focused on how full you feel to even answer him.
Your hand mindlessly reaches for his shoulder, holding yourself up. Squeezing on his shoulder, you lean into him slightly. Your lips pressed to the spot between his shoulder and collarbone.
A habit you always had because he had a scar there from when his rotator cuff was torn- fuck. That wasn’t Frank.
That was Billy.
Don’t think of him.
Frank’s hand on your neck pulls you back to him. “You okay baby?” He says between breaths, eyes fixed on you.
You hum and lean in to kiss him, barely meeting his lips when he flips the two of you over.
Your hand moves to his chest, resting there when Frank pulls your leg up over his shoulder. He readjusts for a moment before pushing into you again. Your back arched just enough for him to slide his arm under you, holding you up.
Your nails digging into his chest, head tossed back when you let out an oh when he hits the spot he was looking for.
He smiles to himself, about to pull your other leg up to his shoulder when his phone starts ringing on the night stand.
“Frank,” your chest heaving, looking up at your husband.
“Ignore it.” He mumbles, pulling your leg up before leaning down to kiss you. When he leans down to kiss you, he bends your legs back, pushing into you further.
The sweetest sound slipping past your lips.
And the phone stops buzzing but starts again.
Frank groans, his focus on you but it was clear that whoever was calling him was trying to get ahold of him.
One of your hands is pressed to Frank’s chest and the other is stretched out to grab the phone.
Micro’s name flashing big and bold across the screen.
“Hello?” You answer the call, Frank stops for a moment and looks down at you like you were insane.
Micro was rattling on about how he was so happy you two were married now- neither of you told him you were getting married today.
You look at your husband and you catch the glint of wickedness in his eyes.
Micro tells you how he needs to talk to Frank about something important.
“Mhm hm,” you hum, barely listening to the man on the phone, pushing against Frank’s chest when he thrusts into you. He doesn’t stop, just keeps going while you’re on the phone.
“He can’t come to the ph- fuck- phone.” You manage to get out and you hear a groan on the phone.
“Gross.” The man mumbles, ending the call. You toss Frank’s phone down, your hands reaching for his hair and pulling him down to you.
“You’re so fucked up,” you mutter through moans.
Frank’s forehead is pressed to yours. “You love it.”
No more phone calls and orgasms after orgasm. By the time the two of you were done, you were pretty sure your legs were jello.
Your head rests on Frank’s chest, his finger tracing little patterns on the back of your shoulder. The room was quiet, the only noise was the wind coming from the window Frank opened.
You could stay like this forever.
“I’ve gotta head out for a day or two.”
So much for forever.
You look up at the man, “what for ?”
“Curt needs me to help him with something.”
“An illegal something ? Actually, don’t answer that.” You pull the blanket up over the two of you, fingers tracing patterns against his chest. Frank chuckles, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your forehead.
He tilts your chin so you're looking at him. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
It’s been two days since Frank left. He and Curtis were off who knows where doing who knows what. You had spent the last two days going through the numerous boxes and bags that had been filling your guest room.
You and Frank started over brand new; new clothes, new dishes, new furniture.
The current project was the kitchen, unpacking the dishes from the boxes and into the cupboards.
When you first saw the house, you were so excited about the amount of cupboard space you had and now that you had to pack stuff into it, you realize you don’t have enough stuff to fill the cupboards.
The counters were covered in dishes; plates, cups, mugs, bowls, and anything you could ever possibly need in every colour manageable - maybe you went a little overboard at the kitchen store but whatever, you only live once.
You’ve got all the cupboard doors open, holding up a stack of red plates and trying to figure out where to put them. The light from the window caused the rings on your finger to glisten in the sun.
The gold bands fit snuggly next to each other, the diamond standing out between them.
You smile to yourself, the memory of Frank proposing to you in the kitchen flooding your mind.
The plates have found their perfect spot and you tiptoe to put them on the shelf, leaning forward to push them in. The chain around your neck swings and the ring attached to it hits you when it settles back in its place.
You need to take this thing off.
You need to let go; no more physical reminders.
Unhooking the chain, you were about to head out the kitchen and up the stairs when the doorbell rings. Instead, you rest the chain on the counter and go to open the door.
“Good afternoon, y/n!” Luke smiled at you.
Luke was the mailman and the only person you saw other than Frank on a regular basis. He had grown close to you in the few months you two had been living there and because you were the last stop on the route, the two of you spent a lot of afternoons on the porch, chatting away about your love life and his husband, James and their kids.
“Hi Luke, how are you ?” You lean on the door, the man smiles. “I’m good, how are you and Frank?”
“We’re good, how’s James ?”
“James is good, he’s with the kids today. They’re have a daddy and me day without me.” He laughs, reaching into the bag to pull out a few envelopes.
“These are for you,” he hands them over to you.
There's a big thick envelope at the bottom of the pile. “You and James should bring the kids over one day. We could have a barbecue and I’m sure the kids would love the space to play; Frank and I never use the yard.” You smile.
James nods, “They’d love that! I’ll give you a call for sure.”
“Of course. I won’t hold you up, go home to your kiddos.”
“Have a good weekend, y/n!” Luke calls out to you as he heads down the steps. “You too!”
The stack of smaller envelopes were bills, marketers and advertisements but it was the big one that you were interested in. You drop the other envelopes on the coffee table, looking over the big white envelope.
There’s nothing on it other than your address and the word sweetheart scribbled on it.
Who the hell sends mail with no name ?
The handwriting seems familiar.
A chill runs down your spine and suddenly you feel like you’re not alone in the house. You drop the envelope on the coffee table and peep out the windows- they’re locked so was the front door.
The backdoor leading into the yard was locked as well, you know you didn’t open any of the windows upstairs so why do you feel like you're not alone?
Quietly, you walk towards the table and pick up the envelope. You’re sitting on the couch, ripping it open. You pour the contents of the envelope out onto the table; a stack of papers and some keys.
The keys were yours. The letter keychain that matched your name and a little heart that Billy had brought for you at the fair hanging on the bunch.
Billy was out of the hospital and he knew you had gone to the apartment.
You pick up the papers and as you look them over, you realize that it’s the same ones that you saw on Billy’s dining room table; contracts for the sale of Anvil and your name was on it.
He gave you his company.
Billy left Anvil to you.
You aren't really sure what to do or how to react. You just sit there, staring at the papers in disbelief. Flipping through the pages, you can’t find a single phone number to contact Billy or the lawyers he had signed the documents.
The contracts say that he’s left you 100% of Anvil, everything is yours.
You do the first thing that comes to mind, grabbing the papers and running up the stairs to the bedroom. You had a box stored away in the back of the clothes, buried under all the shoe boxes that contained all the leftover remnants of your past life with Billy.
You stuff the papers in the box, shutting it and putting it back in its spot. You shut the closet door and sit on the bed.
Do you call Billy ? Do you call Frank?
What the fuck do you do in this situation ?
The phone sat in your hand with the contacts opened.
You clicked the name and the phone rang, you sat cross legged, chipping at the green nail polish on your fingers as you waited for someone to pick up.
“Nelson and Murdock, Matt Murdock speaking.” He answers.
“Matt, hey. It’s y/n, can we talk?”
“Of course, is everything okay?” You can hear some shuffling on his side before you speak.
“So I know you practice criminal law and I’m a corporate lawyer so I can answer my own questions but you’re well versed in the laws of New York, no?”
“I am,” Matt hums, “Are you okay? Did he do something ?”
He being Frank.
“No, um..” You pause. “So if you found out your ex fiancé is basically a war criminal and then you left him, and then he kidnaps you but then lets you go and leaves you his company; I could sell it, right? Hypothetically, of course.”
Matt’s silent on his side of the line, but it was like you could hear him thinking.
“Well, hypothetically speaking, selling the company and investing the money into something that isn’t tied to him would be your best option, in my opinion.”
“That's what I thought.”
“Are you okay?” Matt asks, the concern genuine in his voice.
“I’m fine. Thank you, Matt.”
“Of course, call me anytime, okay?”
“Take care.” you hang up.
You scroll aimlessly on through your contacts, the list full of people you haven’t spoken to in years. You come across a number you haven’t dialled in a long time.
Not since you first returned to New York, before the trial, before Billy.
Guilt was sinking in for not calling but it’s not like he'd be able to answer anyways.
You hit the name, the line trills; ringing, ringing, ringing, rings out.
Hi, this is Micheal. Sorry I'm unavailable to take your call. Leave a message and I'll try to get back to you soon!
You kept his number in service all these years. You couldn’t bear to forget the sound of his voice. It wasn't often that you called the number but you did when you needed to get something off your chest or if something major happened.
You can count all of the times you called him.
When you left for North Western. When you became a lawyer. When you moved back to New York.
When you saw Frank again after all those years.
When Billy proposed to you.
When Frank proposed to you.
and now you’re calling again.
The line beeps and you leave your message; “Mikey, I don’t know what to do.”
“Billy left Anvil to me and now Frank and I are married; it’s so complicated.” You groan, falling back onto the pillows.
“I don’t know what to do or where to turn. I miss you. I wish you were here.” You whisper into the phone, wiping your wet cheek; you hadn't even realized you were crying.
“I love you, Michael.”
The line beeps - “mailbox full.”
You sit up, setting your phone on the nightstand. You walk to the bathroom, wiping away the tears and drying your face. The sound of the door opening startles you and you step out of the bathroom.
“I’m home!” Frank shouts from downstairs and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You jog down the stairs, finding the man in the kitchen.
“Hi honey, how was your thing?” you ask, Frank turns to face you and his face has a few scratches and a little bruise by his chin. “What happened?” your hand on his chin, tilting his face to check the marks.
Frank smiles, “I should be asking you what happened here.” He glances around the kitchen, the rest of the dishes all over the counter.
“Oh,” you chuckle, “I was packing up.”
You lean on the counter, the necklace resting beside a stack of plates. Frank joins you, his hand resting on the counter, pushing a stack of plates a little too close to the edge causing it to fall and break.
He takes a step back, his hands grabbing your arms to pull you back from the broken ceramics on the floor. “Fuck, I’m sorry baby.” He bends down, picking up the pieces and chucking them into the trash.
Something sparkly catches his eye - your necklace.
Frank picks up the chain, holding it up to you. “I believe this is yours.” The diamond ring swung slightly in the middle of the silver chain.
He watches how your eyes widen at the sight of him holding it. You reach for the chain and he pulls it back, standing up. “Isn’t this your engagement ring from Billy ?”
“It is.” Your eyes fixed on Frank, he swings the chain around so the ring is in the palm of his hand. “Big rock.” he comments at the size of the diamond, handing the chain over to you.
You hum, “it’s just a piece of jewellery.”
“Okay.” Frank turns, picking up the pieces of the broken plates. “I’ll finish cleaning up. Why don't you head up to bed?” He suggests, reaching for the broom from beside the fridge.
“I can help you,” you go to take the broom from him but Frank pulls away. “It’s fine.” He says sternly.
Sighing, you walk the other way, stopping as you reach the stairs. “It's the same as you wearing your wedding band.” you look back at Frank.
He doesn’t say anything but he knows you aren’t referring to the band on his finger. He had opted for a silver band this time, different from the gold one that hung around his neck.
Maria had picked it out. A plain gold band with a little XO engraved on the inside.
Frank watches as you head up the stairs and waits until you’re out of sight to finish cleaning up.
It’s half past one in the afternoon when the smell of paint wakes you. You sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and slide your hand over to the other side of the bed only to find it empty.
Frank must be up.
He did this often; anytime you two couldn’t agree on something or if you fought, he’d make himself busy so he didn’t have to deal with it.
You pull yourself out of bed, trudging from your warm bed into the hallway but not before picking up your robe. The smell only grew stronger from there and you followed it into the guest bedroom.
Frank has his back to you, standing on a small ladder as he painted the top of the wall in the bright shade of sunflower yellow you had ever seen.
You’re rubbing the sleep from your eyes when he turns when he hears your voice. “Why are you up so early?”
He studies you for a moment, taking you in like you were the only thing on the planet; leaning on the doorframe, arms folded across your chest in your silk robe. Your hair was messy and your face puffy as if you had just woken up which he’s sure you did.
Even like this, Frank still looked like you were the only woman on the planet, like you held the stars and the moon in your hands.
Frank dips the paintbrush in the can before swiping it on the wall. “It’s one in the afternoon.”
You hum, walking over to the window and opening it. “The smell is giving me a headache.” You say, glancing between the man and the window.
There’s a big oak tree in the yard, you hadn’t noticed it before. The leaves shaded the room in a way that gave it enough light without making it overbearing. This specific room had a feeling that you couldn’t shake.
This was real.
You were standing in the guest bedroom of your house with your husband, watching him paint the walls.
This was some domestic fairytale you were stuck in, wasn’t it? And we all know fairytales don’t exist.
“Do you like the colour?” Frank asks you, breaking the silence.
“I do,” you smile to yourself, leaning on the window ledge, watching the wind blow the leaves through the yard. “Do you?”
Frank steps off the ladder, looking over his paint job.“It’s… bright.”
“I think it brings some life into the room.”
“Nice for a nursery.” He says, the words causing you to turn to face him.
You’re smiling now, the words pulling on your heart strings. “What?”
“You know, one day if we have kids. I mean it’s not like they care what colour the room is, they’re babies.” He smiles to himself.
“You think so?”
Frank walks over, his hands on your waist and he’s pulling you into him. “I love you, you know that, don’t you?”
You slide your hands down Frank’s chest, smiling. “I love you too.”
“Why don’t you go on and order something for lunch or we can make something.” Frank gives your ass a smack as you go to walk out the room.
“I’ll cook!” You call back to the man, walking out of the room.
It’s been a while since you decided to make breakfast and you’ve got a pan on the stove, turning it on low when the door bell rings.
It’s Sunday, who the hell could be at the door?
Luke doesn’t deliver today, did Micro stop by for some reason?
There’s a knock on the door this time, “coming!” you shout while walking to the door.
When you open it, there's no one there.
You peek out the door, the porch was empty too. You step out, walking around the porch but there’s no one out there. As you go to step back inside, there's an envelope on the welcome mat.
‘Mr. & Mrs. Castle.’
“Frank!” You shout for your husband as you walk in, “Frankie! Come down here!”
“Hold on woman!” He was wiping his hands on his pants as he jogged down the steps. The expression on your face was enough to let him know that something was wrong. “What’s wrong?”
You grab his hand, pulling him to the door. The envelope was left on the doormat still sitting there. Frank grabs the envelope and looks outside before shutting the door and bringing it in. He rips the envelope, pouring the contents onto the counter; photos of you and Frank, ranging from the moment you left Billy to up to three days ago when Frank carried you through the front door.
He moves the photos around and you pick up the piece of paper that was in the mix of photographs. There's a receipt for the diner you and Frank used to go to for an order of blueberry pancakes and hot chocolate with whipped cream on the bill.
There's a shadow printing through the paper and when you turn it, there’s two words scribbled onto the back.
Frank peeps over your shoulder, looking down at the receipt in your hand. “Frank..”
“Go pack. We’re getting out of here for a few days.” He gathers the photos, throwing them in the trash can.
“Frank, listen to me.” The man was walking around the house and you walked after him, grabbing his arm. “Frank, stop!”
He turns, facing you finally. “What don’t you understand? Go pack.”
Holding up the receipt, you point to the words on the back. “That same handwriting was on an envelope I got in the mail before you go home yesterday.”
Frank’s brows furrowed, face hardening when you mention you got something yesterday. “What was it?”
“Contracts.” You inhale, “From Billy.” And exhale.
Frank stayed quiet, waiting for you to expand on that. “Billy.. he left Anvil to me. It’s mine.” You failed to mention the fact that Billy knew you went by the apartment and sent back your keys as if you were coming back.
“Are you keeping it?” He asks as if it was a child.
You pause, you hadn’t given much thought into it but the gut answer was yes.
The man hums, the two of you standing in the middle of the living room staring at the other. Tension building by the second and there’s so many unspoken words that you both know are gonna come out at some point or the other.
He finally speaks up, “get rid of it.”
“What?” you ask, arms folding across your chest. “Anvil is his entire heart. He put everything into that place and he left it to me, not you. I won’t get rid of it and it's not your place to tell me to do so.”
“He’s lost his fucking mind, y/n. Are you so blinded by the memories of the man you thought you knew that you forgot that he kidnapped you? Held a gun to your head? He tried to fucking kill you!” Frank shouts, scoffing as he takes a few steps back.
“You need to get rid of whatever shit you’re holding on too.”
This time, you’re the one to scoff, rolling your eyes at his comment. “Me? I need to let go ? You’re still holding onto your dead wife.”
Frank pauses, his heart breaking at your words.
“Just because he killed Maria doesn’t mean he'd kill me.” The harsh words roll off your tongue like butter on toast.
You were pissed but you didn’t mean it. You knew how much Maria meant to Frank and there is never a doubt in your mind that he loved her more than he loved you.
She is the mother of his children but you, you were his great love, his first love; forever and always.
Your words ripped Frank's heart out of his chest.
How could you say that? Out of all of the things you could've ever said to him, that was the worst.
Frank wasn't sure if he should yell or cry or scream so he just stood there, looking at you, frozen.
The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife and Frank, he couldn't take it. He walks out, leaving you alone in the living room. It wasn't until a few seconds later that you registered Frank was gone. You hear the door open, some shuffling and then it slams shut.
Your feet are moving before your brain registers that you’re running, from the living room to the front door.
“Frank!” You shout, running out the door, leaving the door wide open.
“Frank!” You shout again, you loop around the porch and down the steps into the yard.
You’re running as far as your feet can carry you, screaming for him. Eventually, you stop; your feet ache and there's only so many places in the yard he could have been.
Making your way to the porch again, you sit on the swing in the back. You take a few moments to catch your breath before something pulls your attention.
The fire alarm blares, the fucking pan was on the stove and you didn’t shut it off. You get up, pulling on the backdoor but it’s locked. You run around to the front door, pushing it open as you head to the kitchen.
There was no fire but the pan was smoking, the butter in the pan now burnt and black. You take the pan off the burner, setting to the side and turning off the stove. You grab the hand towel, fanning the smoke alarm to shut it off.
When it stops blaring, you crack the kitchen window open and begin fanning the smoke out the room.
With all the commotion, you hadn't noticed the person laying on the couch. From the kitchen, you could only see their feet hanging over the edge of the arm rest.
Frank was back.
“Frankie,” you sigh, walking over to him. “Baby, I'm so sorry.” You apologize, not seeing his face yet.
The man on the couch stared at you: arms folded behind his head, deep brown eyes, scars littered across his pale cheeks and a sinister smile on his face.
“I always told you that mouth of yours would get you in trouble, didn’t I ?”
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