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"contains; extreme violence" —proceed with caution
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Y/n had gotten home late the next day, the weight of everything that had happened still sitting heavily on her shoulders. The moment she stepped through the door, she made a beeline for the bathroom, stripping off her clothes and stepping under the scalding stream of the shower.
She scrubbed at her skin relentlessly, dragging the loofah over every inch of herself as if she could erase the night before. But no amount of soap or hot water could wash away the memory of Frank's hands on her, his mouth, the way she'd let herself fall right back into something she swore she was done with.
She knew Matt wouldn't be home. He had mentioned something about staying late at the new building, working through the night and then hitting the streets after. The moment she stepped out of the shower, steam swirling around her like a suffocating fog, she grabbed her phone.
Her fingers hesitated over the screen, but habit won. She sent him a message. A mistake—she knew it—but at this point, everything with Frank Castle felt like a mistake she couldn't stop making. And yet, he had been right about one thing—she did like playing house, like pretending there was a version of this where things were simple, clean.
Tugging a white hoodie over her damp skin, she made her way downstairs. The house was quiet except for the faint sound of a pencil scratching paper. Leah sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter, her sketchbook balanced on her knee, flipping through rough designs—skirts, jackets, small scribbled notes about textures and colors. She looked up when she heard the creak of the steps but didn't say anything.
Y/n let out a soft sigh, hesitating halfway down before finally continuing. "Busy?"
Leah didn't look up right away, just shrugged, pencil moving lazily. "The bakery was slammed. Had to redo a bunch of orders." It was a weak excuse, but Leah didn't press. "Matt's not gonna be home tonight, right? He does the whole Daredevil thing, then probably crashes at the office."
Y/n nodded, biting her lip, but it didn't stop the inevitable.
"This about Frank Castle?" Leah asked, finally looking up and setting the sketchbook aside. Her gaze was steady, too knowing. "I mean... he's alive, right? Does Matt know?"
