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Summary: Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spareâbut that doesn't stop you from inadvertently tempting him at every turn. Luckily for both of you, you've both got the same idea to cure him of his hunger.
Word Count: 7,840 words
Warnings: sexual content (18+), menstruating reader, hungry Astarion, mutual pining, possibly OOC dialogue, vampire feeding, soft Astarion, no particular timeline but Astarion hasn't told you anything yet
18+ Warnings: period sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, bite kink, blood kink, aftercare, use of the words cunt & cock
Note: For my usual readers, more Stranger Things content is coming, I promise! But this bitey boy currently owns my heart so I'm gonna show him some love :)
â Continue below the fold â
Astarion was hungry, and it was entirely your fault, for more than one reason.
The first was that, almost a month ago now, you had let Astarion drink from you. He'd been starving, and it didn't help that the others had given him strict rules about feeding, so when he flashed those sad but gorgeous red eyes at you, complaining of hunger, you'd all but gifted him your neck.
He'd practically drained you that night. You had been weak for days. Of course, the others, namely Gale and Lae'zel, were furious with you for letting him drink from you, but the sated, content look on his face after feeding made it all worth it to you. He'd become more comfortable around you after that, too, and you'd considered that an improvement.
It hadn't been all that bad, really, for him to sink his teeth into you and drink until your grip on him had grown so weak that he'd let up to check on you. In fact, it had been...rather pleasant. He'd been gentle, careful, his bite sharp but considerate. You knew then that you'd risk becoming anemic for a week just to feel the pleasure of his hand cradling your neck and head, his mouth against your neck, his tongue soothing the bite he'd left when he'd had his fill.
But in the weeks that followed, his hunger gradually returned, and with a vengeance. It was as if he'd never fed from you at all, suffering hunger pangs he hid from the othersâbut you noticed, recognizing them from the night he'd begged you to let him drink from you.
You'd offered him more of your blood since then, but he'd refused you every time. He could smell your guilt, your need to make him feel better simply because you felt responsible for his current pain.
"I won't accept blood from someone who feels obligated to give it to me," he'd said, and his tone made it difficult to tell if he was being snide or kind.
Sometimes, you simply didn't understand that man.
And then three days ago, you'd been injured in a fight. It was nothing fatal, the gash in your midsection missing any major muscles and not deep enough to jeopardize your organs, but it was bloody. You'd limped your way back to camp, your head swimming, the world around you growing darker around the edges with every step.
You'd fainted in Astarion's armsâalthough collapsed was a better word for it, according to Karlachâdrenched in blood, some of which was yours and some of which that wasn't.
"You should have seen his face!" Karlach had laughed when you'd woken up the next morning, woozy but fine thanks to Shadowheart. The blood loss kept you off your feet for the day to recover, and Karlach had taken the time to visit you.
"What do you mean?" you asked, although you already had a good idea what might have happened after you passed out.
"You put him in a right pickle, collapsing on him like that, all covered in blood and losing more of it quickly," she said. "He didn't know what to do with you. It wasâ It was like he didn't want to drop you, but he really did want to drop you, because all he wanted to do was drink from you. Can't say as I blame himâhe's not fed in weeks and you turn up with his next meal draining out of you." You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "Why'd you beeline for him anyway? Shadowheart's tent was just a few paces away!"
You glared at her through your fingers. "You know why I went to him, Karlach!" She, of all people, would understand. She had been the first person to find out that, as much as you flirted with them all, Astarion was the one you wanted.
"Well, obviously," she said, "but it didn't occur to you that he might...have an adverse reaction?"
Rolling your eyes, you snarked, "No, Karlach, it didn't, I was bleeding out and suffering from head trauma. I just...saw someone I trusted to keep me safe and ran to him."
She cocked her head to the side. "That's sweet, but stupid."
You snorted. "Yeah, I knowâShadowheart won't stop yelling at me for it."
You hadn't seen Astarion until that night, when the group of you had gathered at the campfire. It hadn't meant to be like that; you'd seen him and had wanted to talk to him, at least apologize for throwing your bloody body at him, but Shadowheart followed you closely to keep you safe and soon the others had gathered.
It had been like a very strange family dinner, made awkward by everyone dancing around exactly why you'd gone to Astarion, knowing a hungry vampire and fresh blood were not a good mix.
The final reason you were making his hunger unbearable made itself known at the end of the night, when it was just you, Astarion, and Shadowheart at the dying fire.
She must have caught sight of the way you kept looking at Astarion out of the corner of your eye, embarrassedly looking away or pretending to gaze into the trees behind him every time he caught you looking. She tapped your shoulder and told you she needed to get rest. The "you should, too" was implied, hanging in the air along with her worry about your healing.
"I'm fine, Shadowheart, really," you insisted. "I won't rip myself open again, I promise."
"I'll keep an eye on her," Astarion promised. "Nothing too...strenuous for her just yet." Something in his voice made you shiver.
She left the two of you alone. You looked first at the fire, then down at your hands, folded in your lap. Anywhere than at him.
You didn't even hear him move. You only knew he had when you felt him sit on the log beside you, one of his hands covering your own.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft. "I...am sorry I didn't visit you, it's justâ"
"It's just that I threw myself at you when it looked like I'd taken a shower in blood and that made things a wee bit difficult?" you interrupted, the words spilling out before you had time to process that you were speaking. Embarrassed heat flushed through you instantly.
But Astarion only gave you that soft, slightly toothy smile. You drank it in, relishing his smile lines and the brief contentment on his face. "Something like that, yes," he said. "I was...worried I might hurt you if I saw you again and you still smelled so deliciously of your blood. I'm so hungry, darling, it's unbearable. All I wanted was to feast until there was nothing left of you, and I'd never forgive myself if Iâ"
"Stop." You held up your hand. "Please. I don't... Don't be so nice to me, it makes me feel like I'm on my deathbed."
Astarion laughed, throwing his head back. "I'd hardly call wanting to drain you nice, my love." Almost unconsciously, your gaze dipped to his exposed neck and you wondered idly what he would do if you were to bite him back.
Probably the strenuous activity Astarion had promised Shadowheart you wouldn't be doing.
He met your gaze, a sudden depth and seriousness in his crimson stare. "Stick with me, and you might soon be on your deathbed." Pointedly, he broke eye contact with you, letting his eyes drop first to your neck and then further down your body. You tingled, the feeling reminiscent of the anemia that had possessed your body in the hours and days after he'd drank from you.
You realized Astarion was waiting for a reaction from you, hoping for something more than your stunned silence. So you let your eyes drift across his body, resting on his mouth as you said, "Doesn't sound like a bad way to go out."
From the back of his throat came a sound that wasn't quite a growl or a groan, but somewhere in between, just as needy as either sound. "Don't tempt me, darling," he whispered. "I promised Shadowheart I'd keep you safe, and you certainly wouldn't be if I did everything I want."
Your heart skipped a beat. "Astarion..."
He closed his eyes, leaning toward you, releasing a tense breath. "Darling..."
"What if I want to tempt you?" You put your hand on his leg, sliding closer to him.
"Cheeky thing," he said, eyes opening in small slits. "But only when you're healed. I can still smell the blood on you." He sighed. "You have no idea how much restraint it takes not sink my teeth into that pretty neck of yours."
You frowned. "But I am healed," you said. "Just tender. Shadowheart wouldn't have let me leave her tent otherwise."
"I can't blame you for wanting me," Astarion teased, that familiar charm honeying his words, "but I've never been wrong." He cupped your cheek, his touch taking the bite out of his words. He offered you a small, sympathetic smile.
You put your hand to your abdomen, half-expecting to find that your wound had ripped open of its own accord. Your shirt and the bandage beneath it was dryâbut a sudden twinge of pain, appearing only once it had been acknowledged, came from lower. You hissed.
Astarion sat up straighter. "What is it? Are you alright?"
"Shit. I think I've figured out why you still smell blood," you said through clenched teeth.
Astarion's eyes dipped to where your hand rested. "It's that time again already, is it?"
"It's early," you groaned. You stood slowly, regretting it instantly.
He tracked you as you moved, his gaze becoming dangerous and predatory. It was the look that had scared you when he drank from you, practically convincing you he wasn't going to stop. Still, his need for you burned through you like rum, its heat spreading through your belly.
"I didn't smell it before, not under all the blood you had on you," he said. His voice was deep, dark, dangerous. "But, oh, darlingâI smell it now." He licked his lips and your stomach did flips that were neither pleasant or unpleasant. The hunger in his eyes was palpable
"I, ah, have to go. For your sake and mine. Um. So, uh, goodnight, Astarion. I...I'll see you when this is all over."
He stood up quickly. "Darling, do you needâ" He cut himself off as you waved away his concern, crossing the camp to your own tent.
"No! Goodnight!" you called over your shoulder.
Astarion sighed. "...Night."
~â~
You avoided Astarion like the plague. Well, perhaps not, because while you never wanted to see the disease, you were always on the lookout for your favorite vampire.
You caught glimpses of him through the open flaps of your tent, sauntering by with a swagger you found unfairly attractive. You saw him reading on his own when Shadowheart helped you changed your bandages, his handsome face fixed in concentration. A few hours later, you heard him arguing with Gale about the very same book, which had apparently gone missing, and you hated the flutter in your stomach at the growl in his angry voice.
"Stop that," Karlach said, glancing up at you as the pair of you cooked, Karlach helping you roast root vegetables evenly.
"Stop what?"
"Mooning over him," she said, jerking her head in Astarion's direction.
Your body flushed with heat. "I'm notâ"
"You are, and we can all tell, and you should just get it over with, but only if you mean it."
You frowned, tearing your eyes away from the blessed sight that was Astarion basking in the sun. "Sorry, what?"
Karlach sighed. "If you sleep with himâ" You spluttered. "âit had better be because you truly want him and not because you're bleeding."
You blinked at her. "Karlach, of course I want him, you've heard me talk about him before this!"
"I know, I know," she relented, "but I have a feeling there's more to our vampire than meets the eye." She glanced over at Astarion. "Just...be kind to him, dear. He's more fragile than he looks."
You followed her gaze over to him. He was stretching, his arms lifted high above his head, undoubtedly oblivious to the two of you watching him. Want and need bubbled up inside of you, both clamoring for Astarion, agreeing that he would fulfill them both. The deep-seated lust you'd had for him since he'd first put a knife to your neck burned even brighter as the breeze that had been kicking up dust all morning played with the silver hair curling around his ears.
His nostrils flared and you knew he'd smelled you. He looked over at you and Karlach and you froze. She waved cheerily, then frowned at you when you didn't move. You swallowed harshly and went back to removing the scales from the fish in your lap.
"He doesn't like not being around you either, you know," Karlach said, returning to the task at hand. "He's always looking at you when you're not looking. You're perfect for each other like that."
"I don't want to make this harder for him by being around him," you said, glancing back over at him. He was watching you as he poured himself a glass of wine. Had it been normal circumstances, when you weren't driving him insane simply by smelling like blood, you would have teased him for day-drinking. "He's already so hungry, I'd only make that worse. It was bad enough I threw myself at him covered in his favorite snack!"
Karlach snorted. The sound of a light laugh floated over to you and you looked up to find Astarion smirking into his goblet. He beckoned you over and your eyes grew wide.
"Excuse me for a moment, Karlach," you said, clearing your throat.
Karlach followed your gaze and giggled. "More than a moment, dear. I'll come back later to help you finish this." She left the log you'd been sharing and you waited until she was in her own tent again before you jumped to your feet and practically ran to Astarion.
"Hello, darling," he purred. "Care for a drink?"
"I could go for a little," you said.
Astarion smiled, that rakish charm summoning warmth that spread through your entire body. "I hope you like red," he said, and put his own goblet to your lips.
You held his gaze as you drank. You saw his nostrils flare, his pupils growing large. You knew he could hear how your heart was racing, could smell your arousal mixing with your blood.
He pulled the goblet away from your lips and took another swig. You licked the red wine off your lower lip and heard the breath catch in his chest.
"You're starving, aren't you?"
"You have no idea," he whispered.
"I might," you said. "Thought I'd say it's a hunger of a different kind."
Astarion's smirk was so wide you could see his fangs clearly. "Oh, really, darling?"
You nodded, taking a step closer to him. He breathed in deeply. "We could help each other, you know. Satiate our hungers."
His eyes grew dark, trained on yours. "Is that so?" He raised his hand, nearly brushing your cheek, but stopped himself just before he touched you. "You'd let me soothe your pain by..." His gaze dropped to your waistline. "...eating from you?"
A tremor passed through you at the sound of his voice, deeper than you'd ever heard it, laced with a danger and a seduction you were embarrassed to find attractive. Your body was tuned to it, his words seeming to drop like a stone from your ears to your core, spreading fire through your veins and melting your organs.
Astarion took a small step closer to you and took your chin in three gentle fingers, tilting your head up toward him. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you then and there. "I'm going to need an answer, darling."
"Yes." You couldn't get the word out fast enough. It came out breathy, nearly lost on the wind still swirling between you.
He chuckled. "Well, then. You asked for it." He dropped the hand on your chin back to his side. "Once everyone else is asleep, come find me. We'll find a quiet place and...have a little fun."
~â~
Of all the nights, it had to be this one where everyone came to check on you before they went to sleep. Thanks to Astarion avoiding you like the plague when the two of you had become inseparable, your monthly bleed had become public knowledge. So practically everyone in camp came to you with solutions you declined, claiming to feel fine, even though your pain had worsened over the course of the day.
You watched Astarion slink off into the forest after the sun had gone down and waited until the others were sequestered in their tents, nearly an hour later, to pull your boots back on, stand on shaky feet, and follow the path you assumed he'd taken.
You had started to believe you'd taken a wrong turn somewhere when you heard his cool voice from behind you: "There you are. I've been waiting."
Astarion stepped out of the shadows. He ran his gaze over you, observing your slightly hunched stance, your hand on your lower abdomen. Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of him; he looked softer in the moonlight. The silver light fell across his curls and the statuesque panes of his face, somehow making that face that was so gaunt with hunger unbelievably beautiful.
He looked like a poet or a god, even in just the simple shirt he insisted on wearing around camp instead of the finer silks you knew he carried with him. Or perhaps it was the simplicity that made him so godly. You couldn't tell.
A frown graced his brow. "The pain is worse now, isn't it?"
You nodded. "Just a bit."
Astarion left the small hill he stood on and came closer to you. He offered you his hand. "Come on, dear, let me make you feel better."
You let him guide you away from the path you had taken and into a small clearing just a few feet away, conveniently hidden by thickets, trees, and tall grass. He stood aside, letting you take it in for a moment, as if waiting for your approval of the place. You looked down at the mossy ground and decided it would be soft enough.
"Well, this is nice," you said, seconds before you heard fabric rustling. You turned and blinked rapidly at what you saw: Astarion, his shirt now off and in his hands. You watched him lay it down where the ground was most level. Your breath caught horribly in your throat at the sight of the scar covering his back. You fought back the urge to ask, knowing it would only piss him off.
He turned back to you with a smile. "Your bed for the evening, my love," he said, gesturing to it.
"Oh, Astarion, I can't, I don't want to get blood on your shirt. What would the othersâ"
Astarion cupped your face in one hand. "The others will assume I hunted something and got messy," he said. "And I'll enjoy your scent while I have it."
Flutters in your stomach nearly brought you to your knees. You looked up at him, drawing in a tiny breath, and brought your hand up to hold the wrist that cradled your cheek.
"Please," you whispered, unsure of exactly what you were begging for but knowing what you wanted.
"Promise me you'll tell me if...I'm too much," Astarion said, and you got the sense he'd changed what he was going to say.
You nodded, whispering your promise, and wound your free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to push your lips to his.
It was a messy first kiss. It was little more than teeth and spit, but it felt like heaven anyway, because his free arm was winding around your waist and pressing your bodies together, his leg sliding between yours. Bliss spread through you, starting at your core.
Astarion pulled away from you. "Someone's eager, isn't she?"
You whimpered and he stifled it with another kiss, softer than the first. He was gentle, more than you'd expected from a starving man. He cupped the back of your head and your hand dropped to his hip. You opened your mouth to him and reveled in the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours. He made a soft sound of satisfaction and pushed his leg up against your clothed core. You moaned loudly, your grip on him tightening. Need flooded you and your hips pushed down on his leg, finding relief in the pressure.
The two of you pressed your foreheads together, breathing heavily.
"Shh, darling, not too loud. You don't want the others to come investigate, do you?" His cheeky tone suggested he would love it if the others found the two of you like thisâor, perhaps, further along.
You wrapped both arms around his neck and buried your head into his shoulder, heat burning through you, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. You felt like there was a pendulum inside you, swinging constantly between wanting to slow down, afraid of coming off as too eager, and desperately needing him to get to it.
Astarion chuckled. "Don't hide, love." He smoothed his hand over your hair. "You do trust me, don't you?"
You kissed his shoulder and heard his breath catch. "With my life, Astarion."
"Are you ready?"
You nodded and he walked you over to his shirt and helped you to sit on it. He watched you lay down, his gaze falling your exposed neck. There was something more than hunger in his eyes; it made your breathing hitch.
Astarion crawled over you and placed his hand underneath your head before he kissed you. You draped your arm over his shoulders, holding him close to you, enjoying the soft touch of his lips against yours. It was chaste, as were the next few that followed it in quick succession, one after the other.
One hand slid down your body and stopped at the hem of your trousers. He tugged at the shirt tucked into them. "Darling? May I?"
"Please do," you said.
"Arms up."
He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it to the side. He looked down at your torso from where he straddled your hips. His hands skimmed over you and he leaned down, pressing more gentle kisses to your neck and collarbones. Your body tingled with remembrance, practically yearning to feel his fangs sink into your neck, to feel your blood leave you with a burning that felt like intoxication.
"Astarion." His name was a breathy cry on your lips, and you saw how much he liked the sound of it when he looked up at you, a smile curving onto the lips still pressed to your skin.
"Yes, dear?"
You gently coaxed him back up to you with your hand on his chin. "Let me kiss you."
He smiled, brighter than the moonlight falling around you, and you pressed your mouth to his. He hummed happily into your mouth, a pleasant sensation that made you reluctant to break the kiss. But you did, kissing along his jaw and down his neck instead. You nipped gently at his neck, pulling a surprised laugh from him.
"Really, darling? Biting the vampire?" Astarion's eyes were sparkling with amusement. His face had relaxed into an easy smile. It was a good look on him; you liked it.
You giggled and placed another kiss over the bite. The pair of you rolled onto your sides and you peppered his chest with kisses, your arm wrapped loosely around his waist. You went back up to his neck and sucked lightly.
"So much for the others not knowing," he teased.
You looked at him through your lashes. "What if I want them to know?"
"Cheeky little thing," he whispered, dragging a finger down the side of your face. "As much as I love thisâand believe me, I do love thisâI can't wait any longer. I'm starving, darling. Let me taste you. Please."
Slightly subdued, you rolled onto your back. "Alright," you whispered, your chest tightening in anticipation.
Astarion climbed on top of you again. He undid the laces at the front of your trousers and slipped his hand inside them, moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked on yours.
The moment two of his fingers slid between your wet folds, your eyes fluttered shut and a happy sigh slipped from your lips.
"There she is," he whispered, his eyes half-lidded, as he worked you gently and slowly. You felt the blood and arousal gather on his fingers as he grew closer to your entrance. He dragged them back up to your clit and rubbed in a slow circle. You gasped, arching into his touch. Astarion giggled. "Oh, you like that, don't you?"
You wriggled underneath him, trying everything in your power to get more of his touch. He smiled down at you, kissing your cheek and cooing softly at you. If he spoke words, you didn't hear them, too lost in the pleasure he easily, skillfully, brought to you.
Without warning, Astarion plunged both fingers into your entrance. You moaned, grabbing at his hair. He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Whimpers slipped past your lips; you couldn't have controlled them if you tried, but you were by no means trying. His smile grew with every sound you made, and you wanted nothing more than to see that smile.
Just as suddenly as he'd pushed his fingers in, he pulled them out. You whined instantly but he shushed you and removed his hand from your pants. A small streak of blood was left on the skin of your stomach as he raised his hand to his mouth. You watched raptly as he licked your blood from his fingers, never once breaking eye contact with you.
He wasn't even touching you and the fire in your belly grew at the sight.
Astarion moaned softly around his fingers. You watched his deft tongue catch every drop of blood, thinned by your arousal, from his hand. He whispered your name in a whine and you let go of a long breath.
Once he'd licked his fingers clean, he bent down and yanked your trousers off your legs. You spread them automatically and he put one leg between them. He pulled off your undergarments and sat back, admiring your naked body with a satisfied smirk.
"Look at you," he whispered.
The need for him to touch you won out over the desire for him to keep staring at you. "Astarion." His name was a loud whine, emphasized by your writhing hips.
He chucked. "Needy girl." His hand returned to your cunt, his palm applying pressure to your clit while his fingers toyed with your bloody folds. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, the smell of blood so heady even you could smell it.
He teased your entrance for a moment and pulled his fingers back up, the tips of them coated in thick blood that looked black in the night. He sucked it from his fingers with a toothy smile, his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip.
You pushed your hips up enough to catch his eye. "Please," you whimpered.
"Alright, love, alright," he said. He put his hand back and slipped his fingers back inside you. Relief curled through youâas did his fingers. "I'll starve myself a bit longer for your pleasure."
You cupped his neck and brought his face to yours and kissed him fiercely. He made a surprised but pleased sound into your mouth and quickened his pace. You gasped against his lips and he ducked his head to your neck, kissing you quickly with every curl of his fingers.
You twisted your fingers through his hair, rapidly kissing the top of his head, pushing your hips up into his hand. He chuckled, his breath ghosting over your skin and raising goosebumps. You shuddered in his arms.
"I've got you," he murmured, sucking a light mark into your neck. You felt his teeth prick you and saw the shudder that passed through his body at the tiny droplets of blood that appeared.
He pulled away from your neck and curled his fingers just so. You groaned.
"Astarion!" you cried, throwing your head back.
He grinned and quickened his pace. You sucked in a deep breath, fighting back tears of pleasure.
"Let go, darling," he whispered. "I've got you."
Astarion looked back down at your neck. He locked eyes with you as he pressed his tongue to your skin, slowly licking up the droplets as they began to run down your neck. The combination of his intense stare and the movement of his fingers was all you needed; with a loud cry, you came on his fingers, your walls clenching so hard around him he could hardly keep moving them.
He chuckled. "That's it, dear, that's it." He cooed softly, helping you through it with his voice, his soft touch, and gentle kisses to your lips.
You were breathing hard when he finally pulled his fingers out of you. You whimpered at the slight pain but realized your cramps had all but disappeared.
Judging by the state of his hand, you didn't want to know how bloody his shirt was. It looked as though he'd reached into someone's chest and ripped their heart out; his hand was drenched and rivulets of blood ran all the way down to his elbow.
Astarion giggled at the sight while you burned with embarrassment. "Well, well, well. Someone's happy, isn't she?"
"So are you," you said, nodding to the bulge in his pants.
He grinned. "Well, what did you expect? You were quite vocal, my needy little thing." His eyes drifted back down to your cunt, lust curling through his gaze. "Tight and wet and utterly desperate for me."
He licked a stripe up his hand, his eyes fluttering shut. "Oh, darling, you taste good." He sucked your blood off of every finger, pleasure sliding over his face.
You smiled. "There's more where that came from."
Astarion raised one perfect brow. "Can you handle another little death?" he teased.
You nodded. "I can take a few more."
He chuckled and groaned at the same time. "Oh, my love, don't make promises you can't keep."
You met his gaze as he finished cleaning off his hand. "Believe me, I can keep it."
The vampire grinned. "Very well, then. I'll eat good tonight."
He kissed you chastely as he put his hand between your legs again.
Astarion brought you pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before as his fingers slid over your blood-slick skin, teasing your folds and entrance with a smirk, often just barely inserting the tip of his finger before pulling it out again and tracing over your clit and smearing blood across your skin. He kissed and sucked on your breasts, leaving darkening bruises and tiny scratches from his teeth, licking up the tiny beads of blood that sprung from each nick. He kissed along the line of scarring and stitches you had gotten from your injury, fading fast but still a reminder of what had gotten you on your back for him in the first place. Now that he'd eaten a little, he was intently focused on bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, again and again and again.
He worked another orgasm out of you and was on his way to coaxing out the third when you stopped him.
"Is it too much?" he asked, frowning. His unbloodied hand moved to rest on your hip, his thumb smoothing over your skin. His eyes searched your face, looking for anything to tell him why you'd stopped him.
You shook your head. "I need more, Astarion," you gasped, slurring his name into Astari. The unintended nickname made him blush. "I need more of you. Please. Please."
The smile returned to his face, cockier than before. "Oh, darling. I need more of you, too," he said, looking into your cunt and licking his lips. "I could just eat you up."
You spread your legs wider. He settled between them. "Please do."
He breathed in deep and his eyes practically rolled back into his head. "You're going to be the death of meâ Ah. Well, you would be, if I was alive."
You frowned. "Would this even be happening if you were alive?"
Astarion thought for a moment. "Let's not think about the logistics," he decided and licked the drying blood from his fingers off your abdomen. Your body trembled. He lifted your legs over his shoulders. You squeaked and smiled at him.
"Lay back," he whispered. You obliged him.
Wet warmth touched your skin just above your clit and you glanced down at him, watching him slowly lick the drying blood from your skin. He kissed your skin as he cleaned it, leaving you covered in slowly darkening bruises.
You stared at the stars as he pressed a soft first kiss to your clit. You let out a slow breath and he began to suck, his lips closing around it, his tongue licking light stripes.
You pushed your hips against his mouth. "Circles," you whispered.
"As you wish," he said, his breath fanning over your cunt and making you tremble. He went back to his feast, licking in circles this time, and you let out a soft whimper. You reached down and he reached up, lacing your fingers together and squeezing your hand. You squeezed back.
He moved further down until his nose bumped your clit and his lips found your entrance. He moaned, the sound deep and guttural, at the taste of your blood. He lapped at your entrance, his tongue sweeping up the blood as soon as it collected there. You shuddered, your breaths coming in heaves.
Astarion kissed your entrance once before he dove in, pushing his tongue into your cunt. You gasped and he laughed and buried his face in you.
Through the pleasure, you wondered dimly how he was breathing (did he, as a vampire, need to breathe?), but the thought was pushed away the moment his splayed fingers on your hip dug into your flesh and pulled you even closer to his mouth.
The sounds you were making were obscene: your moans were loud and coarse, and your cunt squelched lewdly as he drank your blood and arousal. You felt filthy, aware that the mix was running down your legs and buttocks but knowing the vampire eating you out was enjoying you too much to care.
Astarion himself was quite vocal, moaning into you and making you shiver. He whimpered, whined, groaned, and keened, growing louder with every swallow of blood. He alternated between watching you writhe and squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.
You watched his hand slide from your hip to his bulge. He palmed himself through his trousers, hissing in pleasure, and the sight was enough to send you over the edge for a third time.
But Astarion didn't let up. He lapped at you, sucking so harshly your pleasure bordered pain, until your legs stopped shaking and your breathing evened out.
He lifted his head with a grin. "How do I look?"
You looked at him and started laughing. He was the smiliest you had ever seen him, his eyes practically glowing, and the lower half of his face was covered in your blood. His teeth were stained red and sticky blood dripped slowly from his fangs. It ran down his chin in rivulets and splatters dotted his lower cheeks like freckles. Some of it was even in his hair.
"You're ridiculous," you giggled. "And a messy eater."
He snorted. "Excuse you!"
"It's all over your face!"
He sat up with a grin, licking his lips. "You mean you are all over my face."
Satisfaction curled through you. "Yes," you said, reaching for him. He took your hand again. "Yes I am."
He wiped his face with his hand and licked it clean once again. You reached up and wiped some off on your thumb, then held it out to him. He took your thumb into his mouth and sucked. Your heart stopped beating.
"Feeling better?" he asked you, lightly placing his palm over your abdomen, applying a little pressure, and rubbing gentle circles.
"Much better," you said. "Thank you. But, ah..." Your gaze drifted from his beautiful, if slightly pink, face and down to his bulge. It was just as, if not more, prominent now that he'd gone down on you. "What about you?"
Astarion smirked. "I like your enthusiasm, but don't worry about me. Not tonight, darling."
You frowned. "Why not? What if I want you inside of me?" You walked two fingers up his leg and slowly covered his crotch with your palm. When he didn't protest and his eyes fluttered shut, you gave him a gentle squeeze. He let out a soft moan through closed lips and tilted his head back. You kissed the column of his neck and bit down gently. You suckedâhardâand a rumbling moan came from his chest.
"Because," he said finally, drawing in a ragged breath. "Because that would be a terrible waste of your precious blood." He looked at you with half-lidded eyes. "When this is over, I promise you, you can have as much of me as you want." He pushed his hips into your hand and you gave him another gentle squeeze. He gasped.
You nuzzled into him and his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you there. "And what if I want all of you?"
The question hung in the air. He looked at you for a long time and suddenly you saw the fragility Karlach had mentioned this afternoon, which felt like years ago instead of mere hours. You reached up to cup his cheek and, though you were stark naked, the sexual desire in the air seemed to have disappeared.
"I want all of you, Astari," you whispered. The nickname made his eyes grow wide. "All of you, in every way, for as long as possible. If you'll let me. If you want me, too."
He whimpered, and the sound was broken. You hated hearing that pain coming from him. "I want you, I do, I just..." He closed his eyes and you were suddenly very sure there was a darkness, a secret, he was trying to hide from you. You were certain it had to do with his vampiric master he'd so often complained about. "I'll try, my darling, I'll try for you."
You sat up on your knees and cupped his face in both hands and kissed him. You didn't break the kiss once as you pressed your body against his and held him tightly. You felt the scar on his back and wanted to ask but didn't, letting him keep his secrets for now.
His arms came around you, cradling your back and holding you tight to him. The kiss became a long-lasting hug, the both of you burying your heads in each other's shoulders until Astarion pulled away from you, a smile on his face. You returned that smile and sat back on your heels.
His eyes trailed over your body again. There was a note of nervousness in his voice as he asked, "Darling, would you mind...touching me again? I could use some relief."
You grinned. "Of course, my love. All you had to do was ask."
Relief crossed his face. He leaned back as you trailed your hand from his shoulder, down his chest, and back to his bulge. You tipped his head back with your free hand and kissed his neck while you rubbed him. He pushed his hips into your hand, sighing blissfully, and your hand was in his trousers in seconds. He grew loud, thrusting his cock into your hand with a power that surprised you.
"Take what you need," you told him, your voice hushed, your lips directly next to his ear. "Help me give you what you want."
He whimpered, your name a broken cry from his lips, and he cuddled into you as he came. He buried his head into your neck, hiding his eyes and barely holding back grunts. As his thrusts grew weaker and you slowed your hand on him, you felt hot tears on your neck and wondered what this poor man had been through that he hadn't yet told you.
You removed your hand from his pants and he immediately wrapped you in another hug, one strong enough to knock you down and knock the breath of you. You held him as tightly as he held you.
When Astarion at last pulled away from you, his tears had stopped but his eyes still shone with them. He kissed you softly.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I... Thank you."
You brushed some of his hair from his face. "What's wrong?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. You were... It's just that no one has cared about me during sex in a very long time and...you did. So...thank you."
You took his hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Astarion," you cooed. "I always care about you. Like this or otherwise. You could stop this right nowâor before it even beganâand I wouldn't have stopped caring about you."
He smiled. "Oh, darling. I love the sentiment, but I'm not done with you yet."
Astarion kissed down your body and laid between your legs again. He licked another stripe up your cunt and you saw the coating of blood on his tongue before he swallowed. "Shall we try for a fourth? Or perhaps even a fifth?" He raised his brow, leaving the decision up to you.
You laid back. "We'll try for as many as you'd like," you said.
He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "All night it is!"
~â~
You woke up the next morning sore and alone and with very little sleep.
Astarion had been relentless and stopped only when you simply couldn't take it anymore and he was practically drunk on your bloodâall without making you bloodless and woozy. When you had finished for the final time, he had cleaned you up, helped you back into your clothes, picked up his own shirt, and walked you back to camp. He was so gentle that you didn't even mind the teasing about how you limped.
Dawn hadn't been far off as you each went back to your tents after exchanging a final, solid kiss. So you woke to the sound of everyone else beginning their day just a few hours later.
You felt the soreness in your core before you even moved. Biting back a sigh and not regretting it one bit as you pictured Astarion's happy, bloody face, you rolled over and hoped your recent injury would be enough for the others to let you sleep in.
You were wrong.
Shadowheart opened your tent a few minutes later with a urgency that made you jump.
"What? What's wrong?" you asked, blinking blearily in the bright sunlight.
"Are you alright? You never sleep in, you're always up making breakfast!"
You groaned. "Is that it? Are you just hungry?"
She peered at you. "Are you hurt? Did your wound reopen?"
"What? No! I'm fine, I'm just tired, that's all! I have lost a lot of blood recently, in case you forgot."
She sighed. "Oh. Alright. Well, just know the others are worried, tooâAstarion especially."
You remembered how he'd checked in on you last night and had asked if he'd hurt you at all when you'd returned to camp and wondered if you had worried him by sleeping in. Suddenly you were grateful the others could chalk it up to his not-so-secret crush on you.
You dressed and hid the light bruises on your neck and collarbones in a high-collared shirt. You only noticed you were walking with a slight limp still after you'd left your tent and made your way across camp.
Karlach called your name and was at your side immediately. "You're limping! Are you hurt? Do you need me to fetch Shadowheart?"
You blinked at her. "What? No. I'm fine!"
"You don't look fine," Gale said, a few feet away, looking up from the book he'd been engrossed in for days. "Did you hurt your leg the other day? Or have your stitches ripped?"
"My, my," said a suave voice behind you. You turned and found Astarion grinning like a cat. "You do have quite the limp, there, darling. Are you sure you're alright?"
You huffed at him, your body remembering his touch immediately, his ghostly hands sliding across your skin. "I'm fine, I promise. Now hush and someone help me make breakfast."
Both Karlach and Astarion sat with you, Astarion very close to you and giving you a smile you couldn't help but return. Karlach stared at Astarion like he'd grown two heads, her gaze flickering between the two of you. She gasped very suddenly.
"Not a word," you hissed at her, knowing she'd figured it out.
Astarion smirked.
"And nothing from you, either," you added. "You're the reason I'm walking like this, you bastard."
He smiled sweetly at you, catching the fondness in the words. "And I gladly will be again." He took your hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it. Your eyes grew wide.
Karlach squeaked.
"You know nothing," you told her. "At least for a little while."
"Yes," Astarion agreed. "At the very least, tell Shadowheart nothingâI broke my promise to her to keep our dear girl from doing any strenuous activity."
You turned red and Karlach groaned, "Not before breakfast, please!"
Astarion opened his mouthâundoubtedly to say something about how you were technically his breakfast, based on the hour you'd returned to campâbut you moved quicker than he could speak. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him toward you, kissing him heartily to shut him up.
A heavy silence settled over camp. You cracked one eye open and found the rest of your companions staring at the pair of you, mouths agape and eyes wide.
"Oops," Astarion muttered, sounding rather pleased.
You cleared your throat. "I, ah, I've been meaning to tell you all. Honestly."
Gale heaved a sigh. "How much do I owe you, Wyll?"
Your jaw dropped open. "You placed bets?!"
"Alright, you bloodsucker," Wyll said, holding his hand out and waiting for his payment from Gale. "You win."
"Yes," Astarion said, and you expected him to be wearing a smirk infused with his charm, his triumphant eyes on the others. But when you turned to him, he was staring at you, a dopey smile fixed on his face. "Yes, I did."
â â â
Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin
part 2 (Sweet Like Wine) coming soon!
Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!}
write bad fanfic. write mediocre fanfic. write fanfic that a thousand people before you have already written. write niche fanfic. write fanfic that only a few people will read or understand. write fanfic just for you. write fanfic just for a friend. write ocs. write self-inserts. the fact that youâre taking the time and energy to put your ideas into the world is amazing and people who shame you for it need to find better ways to spend their time.
Just follow your heart and write. By doing so, you are more, the world is ineffably more, due to you having made something out of nothing except intent. This is, after all, what gods do. The moreness alone is more than reason enough to writeâthe mere augmentation of existence, now made bigger by the existence of what you made.
Whether anybody else ever sees what you make is immaterial. The judgment of others isnât necessary. Write the story and make it real. Thatâs your job.
Then, if you feel like it, do it again. This is a quality-of-life issue: yours. The sheer power of creation, even in secret, is huge. Donât let idiotsâ opinions deprive you of it, or the positive side effects.
Just smile to yourself, and get on with work. What they donât know wonât hurt them. :)
how can i find the other parts of pretty girl? when i try searching for it on your blog only part 3 shows up and only a couple things show up when searching through hashtags on your page as well ?
I think itâs because it was reviewed and put under a community label. Iâm not sure but it looks like it hides my post and hashtags.
But here are the links!
capricorn. writer. 21. REQUESTS OPEN [X] CLOSED [ ]
Link for Part One
capricorn. writer. 21. REQUESTS OPEN [X] CLOSED [ ]
Link for Part Two
Let me know if those links donât work because my phone is acting dumb. Thank you so much for wanting to read the series about our pervy loser
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Summary â Eddie thinks he'll actually die if you keep ignoring him. So he's going to make you talk to him. Even if that means climbing through your window.
Word Count â 3.1k
Warnings â graphic depictions of sexual activity, oral sex (fem receiving) dirty talk, Eddie jerks off while eating you out
18+ ONLY
I didn't forget about you sluts.
âI can take you home.âÂ
You watched as your group of friends slowly disappeared from view, their voices diminishing into silence as the car drove further down the road. The smile faded from your lips as a chilly breeze crashed against you were overcome with the realization that you were alone. Both literally and figuratively. Your friends, something you werenât even certain you could call them, had forgotten you. No, that wasnât the right word. Left you mustâve been more accurate because they knew you were there but none of them seemed to even care they left you alone under a yellow streetlamp on an empty road as raindrops dampened your uniform. Yes, left behind was the right term for it. Disregarded and ignored. You glanced down at the brown stains on your white, or what used to be sneakers. Goosebumps rose on your exposed legs as you crossed your arms, trying to preserve as much warmth as you could. You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the journey home as your eyes stung with warm tears.
With reluctance, you peered over your shoulder and sighed shakily. There was a flicker of anger passing through you as you took him in; casually leaning against his van with his adorned hands stuffed inside his pockets. Of course, he was there. He was always there whenever you needed him as far away as possible. You blinked away the dwelling tears and whirled around, ignoring his presence entirely. You didnât make it very far before you heard his heavy footsteps near you. âOh, come on. I might be a dick but Iâm not gonna let you walk home alone, at night, in the rain.â You wanted to remark that âmightâ wasnât accurate. He was a dick. âEspecially in your pretty little uniform.âÂ
You could feel your strands of hair sticking to your skin as you hesitantly faced him. âOh, so youâre gonna protect me?â You questioned as if the mere idea of him keeping you from everything that goes bump in the night was ridiculous. Because that wasnât him and that wasnât how this dynamic worked. âI donât think so. Iâd rather take my chances with whatever is out there.â You said, glancing at the darkness surrounding the town. You knew what was out there. Dealt with everything that couldâve possibly killed you and survived, but here you were, dreading getting inside a car with him.
He loomed closer and your glare hardened as your nostrils flared. God, he couldnât get over how pretty you looked when you were mad at him. You were finally acknowledging him again with that delicious anger heâd been craving. And for a brief moment, he couldnât have even bothered to notice your wrath flaming beneath your harsh gaze because you were finally acknowledging him. You were finally looking at him with those damn eyes he swore he could lose himself in and he didnât seem to care that you were only looking at him because you were on the verge of slapping him across the face.
 Things were different. And this time, this change wasnât a welcome one and you were desperate for everything to suddenly transform back to ânormalâ. Or as normal as things could get between you two. The weekend arrived and you didnât want to go anywhere, irrationally worried you were going to see him. Avoiding him like he was contaminated with the plague wasnât something you were used to. Sure, before this relationship progressed, you didnât go out of your way to speak with him, but now, you couldnât even walk in the same hallway without being consumed by embarrassment.Â
As ridiculous as this mightâve seemed, the kiss you abruptly pressed against him was strangely intimate. Well, for you it was. Because sex could just be something as simple as people seeking physical pleasure from another person. A simple hook-up. That connection was fiery, consuming, and temporary. You might not have had sex with him, but he allowed you to chase that all-consuming pleasure from him and you felt stupid for thinking he couldâve thought of you as anything other than some sex toy. You kissed him and he rejected you.Â
âYou donât mean that.â His smirk was cruel and you were moments from scratching his face until he was unrecognizable. âCome on, pretty girl. Iâll keep my hands to myself and drive with two hands on the wheel.âÂ
As soon as the words fell from his lips, another breeze moved through the ice-cold air and you shivered. The light rainfall slowly dampened his unruly hair and you knew the downpour was going to drastically change soon. You looked upward at the dark skies and clamoring clouds, silently cursing at them for this. Oh, gosh, this couldnât be happening. You couldnât seriously be considering this. Sitting in a small and enclosed space with Eddie Munson for who knows how long after he had practically rejected you was outrageous. You were going to deny the offer when a loud crack echoed throughout town. Thunder. His smile only widened. âFine. Give me your jacket.â He raised his eyebrows at the sudden demand but complied regardless. Thatâs how it worked between you both; you demanded and he complied. Most of the time. In one fluid movement, his jacket was removed and he wordlessly handed it to you. You removed your backpack and cheer bag and roughly smacked it against his chest before walking to his passenger door, decidedly ignoring his groan. He quickened his pace to open the door for you. âIf you try any of your shit, Iâm jumping out of the car.â You warned.
His jacket was warm and smelled like his cologne and weed. You tightened the fabric around yourself and flicked on the heater. He pulled away from the schoolâs desolate parking lot and drove away. A minute hadnât gone by before he opened his mouth. âWhy were you at school this late?â He knew why. He had practically memorized your schedule and knew exactly what you were doing most days, but he just wanted to listen to your voice. It had been too long since he had heard your voice directed at him.
You were quiet and didnât answer immediately. He was going to ask the question again before your voice filled the confines of his car. âCheer practice.â You answered shortly, gaze remaining outside the window and at the passing blur of colors. âYou?â You hesitantly asked. You didnât know why you bothered asking. You knew what he was doing there. He was cleaning the mess left behind by the Hellfire Club and doing whatever else dungeon masters do. You only knew because the kids were practically attached to him. Itâs not like you wanted to know or asked about it before. Of course not.
âHellfire.â And you mustâve been delusional if you thought Eddie was granting you some kind of mercy and deciding to drive the remainder of the trip in sweet silence. Yes, delusional indeed. âIâve been trying to talk to you. These past couple of days, you know.â You did know, it was impossible to not notice such an imposing figure in your life like him. Beneath the facade of flippancy and sarcasm, there was the undeniable truthâhe was hurt. And this wasnât an ordinary kind of hurt. This was an ache that throbbed and demanded to be felt, the lifeless thump of a cracked heart before transforming into a sharpness, unlike anything he had ever experienced. Heartache was a disease desperate to be felt. The cure of his was inches away from him, shrouded with his clothes.
âI didnât notice.â You lied straight through your teeth and he knew you were lying.Â
His eyes remained on the road, but his grip on the wheel tightened. âI just wish you would let me explainââ
You breathed in sharply. âThere isnât anything to explain.â Another lie.Â
There was another crackle and a flash of light scattered across the sky. âYes, there is. Just let meââÂ
The driveway of your household was steadily approaching and you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, practically tumbling outside as soon as the van stopped moving. âThank you for the ride.â He watched as you disappeared behind your door, closing it without glancing back.Â
Beneath the warmth of your blankets, you readjusted yourself with your eyes closed. Your face was smushed against your pillows, a small sigh escaping you as you squeezed your pillow tighter. The sound of your window opening filled the silent air and your eyes snapped open, hurriedly looking over your shoulder before jolting upright. âYour hair is sticking out everywhere.â A voice said casually. âCute.âÂ
The chill from the midnight breeze crashed against you like an icy tidal wave. Across the room, and casually perched on your windowsill, was Eddie. You rubbed the side of your face and groaned, promptly shoving your face back onto your baby pink pillows. You shouldâve been worried, frightened even, that he had broken into your room, but the only emotion you could manage was exhaustion. âWhat are you doing here?â Your voice was muffled as you spoke into the fabric.
This mustâve been a figment of his depraved imagination, a scene plucked from his dreamsâyou were languidly sprawled across your blankets and wearing nothing but a small nightgown. And that nightgown revealed the softness of your breasts as you slowly faced him, your bare ass peeking beneath the thin fabric. As you pressed your cheek against your palm, finally offering your hazy attention, the breath was stolen from lungs and he subtly latched onto the windowsill to steady himself. âYou know, those friends back there didnât really seem like friends. Just an observation.â He was stalling. He knew he was, but he was desperate for a semblance of normality.Â
You breathed in sharply. âWell, you can keep your observations to yourself.âÂ
It was silent for a beat. âYou wanna hear another observation?â He didnât care if you didnât.
You yawned, blinking slowly. âNot really, but Iâm sure you're going to share anyway.â
He smiled, thoroughly enjoying the annoyance searing your voice. âI think you like being around me because you donât have to pretend. You can be your mean, stubborn, and bratty self around me. Around them, you have to be The Head Cheerleader.â You werenât even focusing on the coldness filling the room or even acknowledging that he was inside your room. That hadnât been processed completely. Yet. âItâs obvious. I donât know how no one else doesnât notice.â
Through your sleepy gaze, you narrowed your eyes. âYou think you know me, Munson?âÂ
âNo, I do know you.â He answered so surely. âI think youâre forgetting I grew up with you.â That wasnât something you could ever forget even if you had tried. And you had desperately. âYou were my first-ever crush. I was obsessed with you. Still am, by the way.â He casually added. âI grew up watching you. I memorized everything about you. I even watched those damn pep rallies for you. Failed classes so you could be my tutor. I even bribed Mr. Johnson so I could be your partner for the project that let me see those pretty little panties of yours.â
He moved away from the windowsill and loomed closer to the edge of your bed. âSo I need you to understand something. You were my first and only crush. You were my first of many wet dreams. You were the only girl who made me nervous and made me feel like some lovesick loser because you looked at me. There were times when I couldnât fucking function because you smelled so good, said something so damn smart in class, or yelled at Carver for being a dick. I need you to understand I have been and still am, fucking crazy for you and you kissed me.â
He kneeled, his tentative hands softly caressing your thighs before pressing a small kiss on your knee. âI need you to understand that Iâm the loser who plays D&D with freshmen, sells weed, and hasnât had a girlfriend, who fucking watches porn to practice for this exact moment and youâre you.â Another gentle kiss on your other knee. âAnd, fuck, youâre so perfect. The goddamn prettiest girl Iâve ever seen.â A kiss on your thigh. âSo damn smart.â Another kiss on your other thigh. âAnd youâre funny. You challenge me.â His nose nudged the hem of your nightgown as he licked the inside of your thigh. âSo I do know you and I know you like me. And thatâs something I canât wrap my head around.â
You shuddered as his breath brushed against your skin, unintentionally wrapping your leg around his shoulder, your calf pressed against his back, pulling him closer. You whispered his name, a plead for something. Anything. Your voice, breathless and desperate, was a sirenâs call and he wouldâve swam to the depths of the darkest ocean to hear it again and again.
The words uttered from his flushed lips were barely processed as lifted the hem of your nightgown. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before closing them, almost as if he were murmuring a silent prayer, and he took a moment to admire the godly sight before him. Hidden beneath the softness of your nightgown and thighs was something he had only dreamed of. Yeah, of course, heâd seen pussies before. From porn, mind you, but this was unlike anything heâd ever seen before. He didnât understand how you, probably the most perfect woman to ever roam this earth, had just become even better.Â
You could feel each slow breath from him as he simply admired. âDo something.â You whispered. Your voice was a soft reminder that he needed to move, do something as you put it. Slowly, his tongue dragged across your pussy and a primal groan escaped his mouth. He pulled away suddenly and you glanced at him curiously. He looked concentrated, brows scrunched together in deep thought. âI-Is something wrong?âÂ
A moment passed and he shook his head. âIâm just trying not to cum.â He eventually said.Â
You threw your head back and laughed, which was stifled by a moan as he shoved his head back between your thighs. His initial movements were experimental, unsure, but as he continued and listened to your sounds, he knew what he was doing. Sort of. âFuck, yes.â Your voice was unrecognizable to your own ears and the moans slipping from your lips were unlike anything you had made when alone.Â
This was the exact moment where Eddie decided he was going to marry you in the future. But first he was going to make you cum.Â
With his tongue still flicking against your clit, occasionally sucking, he unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock from the confines of his clothes. Your legs shook as he shoved two ringed fingers inside you, slowly pumping you and memorizing every detail of this moment before he gathered the juices of your arousal and jerked himself off. âSo fucking wet.â He said, pathetically whining as the pornographic sound of your wetness coated his cock. âI donât know how I lived this long without tasting you.â
Your thighs pressed against his face as your hand pulled his hair and he promptly decided if he were to die tonight, he would die a happy man. This is where he belonged. Most men wanted to be businessmen, sleep on a bed full of money with dozens of women keeping them company, but he didnât. His face shoved between your shaking thighs, sucking on your clit as you yanked his hair and moaned his name, was where he belonged. âPlease donât stop.â You pleaded. And as much as Eddie loved hearing you yell at him, he decided this was how he wanted to hear you from now on. "Yes, yes, yes. Don't stop."
âWouldnât dream of it, my pretty girl.â God, him and that nickname were going to be the death of you.Â
âI-Iâm gonnaââ Your voice cracked and you couldnât finish your own sentence.Â
His hand clutched your thigh with a newfound roughness, pulling your closer, and his other hand squeezed and tugged his leaking cock. âCome on, pretty girl. Come for me.â His pace and movements didnât change or falter. âGive it to me. Come for me, please. I need it.âÂ
At that moment, you decided Eddie wasnât going anywhere. He was never getting rid of you because he ate your pussy like a starving man and made you cum until you saw twinkling stars. âYou have the filthiest fucking mouthââ
His wet mouth pressed against yours, his hands coated with your juices and he clutched your cheek. âYou taste that?â He asked after pulling away, his lips faintly brushed against yours, teasing. âThatâs the taste of the prettiest girlââ He kissed you again and you were barely able to process the softness of his mouth against you before he pulled away again. âWho fucking likes me and canât deny it.â
And his knees buckled as you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against you. âWhat have you done to me, Eddie Munson?â You mumbled. He could feel your glittering smile against his and there wasnât anything more beautiful.Â
He saw the gilded walls surrounding your heart and decided he was going to do everything he could to get there. He poked and prodded, tugged and pulled before deciding to take a jackhammer and destroy everything keeping him from you. âMy five-year plan of seducing you finally worked.â And he stopped for only a moment, processing the mere fact that this was real. He was really touching you, tasting you, licking your cum off his soaked lips. âIâve dreamed of this.â His voice was low and below a whisper, his warm breath tickling your face with each word. You could feel the warmth of his lips touching your shoulder, a ghostly caress against your skin. Â
You placed a few random pecks on his face. âI really like you, Eddie Munson.â There was vulnerability exuding from you, unlike anything heâd ever seen from you before.Â
âSo this is what the famous [Y/N] is like behind closed doors.â The pouring rain soaked the floor outside your room, the grey clouds visible through the droplet-covered windows. "Who wouldâve thought my pretty girl was so sweet?âÂ
You playfully rolled your eyes, smacking his arm. âShut up.â You laughed. He would've fought (and probably lose) anyone just to hear that beautiful sound again and again.
âThatâs not what you were saying earlier. Oh, Eddie, please donât stop. Iâm gonna cum!â He mocked with an obnoxiously high pitched voice.
You decided a another kiss would be the best way to shut him up. âGod, youâre so pretty Iâm gonna faint.â He mumbled, squeezing your breasts and pinching your hardened nipples. âCan I please fuck you? If I donât fuck you and cum inside that pretty pussy, I think Iâll die.â
You moaned into his mouth and he gratefully swallowed the sound. âYeah, come on, Eds, fill me up.â
Summary â Eddie doesn't like when other guys talk about his girl. You think he's stupid because you're not his girl. He proves you wrong.
Word Count â 2.8k
Warnings â Graphic depictions of sexual activity, kinda mean!eddie, enemies to lovers banter, thigh riding, light face slapping, dirty talk
Part One
18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI
The old metal of the trailer creaked as the door slammed closed. With a wavering hand squeezing his blood-stained nostrils, Eddie glanced away from his reflection in his mirror and poked his head from the restroom doorway. His eyebrows furrowed as he recognized the quick and light footsteps approaching him.
He had practically pleaded with Dustin to not make any more phone calls. He was already embarrassed, more exasperated with the number of times heâs had to stuff his nose with clean tissues, and didnât want to deal with the scolding and teasing from his friends. Thankfully, none of them had arrived, but, of course, you werenât like any other person heâd ever met and drove over. If things were different and he wasnât squeezing his nose with blood seeping beneath his fingernails, he would have paid more attention to the fact that you were there for him. But, stupidly of him, he didnât think about that. âYou came?â He asked, his voice nasally as he squeezed his nose firmly.
Your eyebrows furrowed together with obvious confusion as you neared him. âOf course, I came. Dustin said you needed me.â Now, that wasnât something he could easily disregard. He wasnât even sure you knew you had said those words, far too concerned with the pile of bloodied tissues in the corner of the room. You came because he needed you. You pushed his hand aside, carefully tilting his head back and he wordlessly complied. âWhat happened?â
Now, this was where things became awkward. Roughly an hour ago, Eddie saw something he definitely shouldnât have. From across the hallway, he watched you. This wasnât anything new, he could watch you for as long as he could if given the chance, but what was new was the guy across from you. He keeps telling himself he isnât jealous, couldnât possibly be. The words overspread his thoughts, suffusing every crevice and space of his head as he watched the spectacle. Maybe, just maybe, if he said the words enough, heâll eventually believe them. He had to. There isnât any reason for him to be internally seething with jealousy. You werenât his. But, God, watching you smile like that because of some random guy was more than enough to have him become nauseous. Seriously, he could feel revulsion bubbling within him.
After you dismissed yourself with a small wave and watched with unfamiliar wrath as this prick motioned for his friends to check you out as you walked away and made a bet on who could fuck you first, he came to a final and startling conclusion. You were his. And that ass these dicks were checking out was definitely not theirs, only his. You ascended up the stairwell and he caught the faintest glance of beneath your skirt. Yeah, that ass and you were only his.
He explained some of what happened and he couldnât restrain the pleased smile as the concerned softness on your expression deteriorated and was replaced with the familiar annoyance. âYou canât fight people just because they were talking to me.â You sneered.
He removed the small tissue from his nose. âOf course, I can,â He said casually, unbothered by the possessiveness he was displaying. Your glare hardened. âI know youâre mad at me, but you look so good right now.â You did. The sheen of your lipgloss was reflecting from his bedroom light and your hair was styled just how he liked it.Â
If you were nerved by his words, you didnât show it. âYou could have gotten seriously hurt.â Even though you were pissed with him, nothing new, your honey-laced words rejuvenated him like a gulp of fresh air. Those butterflies fluttered inside him, threatening to tear through his skin and fly amongst your aura.Â
He smiled boyishly. âYou look really beautiful in this skirt, by the way. It really suits you.â
His bloodstained fingers gingerly plucked at the bottom of your skirt, lifting the fabric teasingly before dropping it. âYou are infuriating.â You said through clenched teeth.
âAnd you are quite possibly the prettiest girl Iâve ever seen.âÂ
There was a flash of something in your gaze and he wouldnât have even caught the change if he hadnât been mesmerized by the color of your eyes. You blinked and it was gone. âWhat the hell were you even thinking?â You didnât know why you even asked. This moron obviously wasnât thinking.Â
Another lovesick smile. âYouâre all I think about.â His finger caressed the skin above your knee. âYou care about my well-being, gorgeous?â
You visibly swallowed. âNo, not at all.â You said and you werenât even convinced by the declaration.Â
He raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconvinced as well. âOh, really?â He asked.
You narrowed your eyes. âYes, really.â
Eddieâs dubious stare remained on you as he thought for a moment. âYou might be able to lie to everyone else and have them fooled, but I can always tell and youâre lying right now.â
You crossed your arms across you chest and chuckled humorlessly. âSo you think you know everything about me now?â You didnât know how to feel about being seen so clearly.Â
He leaned further back against his bedframe and you despised that he behaved with such a casualness, an obvious nonchalance while you were straining to remain as stoic as you could manage. âNo, I do know everything about you and I know deep down you like me.â
You rolled your eyes. âI donât like anything about you.â You lied straight through your teeth, your glittering eyes glowing with a wave of irate anger reserved solely for him. You knew you were lying because there was a different layer of him you were discovering every day and you hated it. you hated that he wasnât as terrible as you initially thought he was.Â
âTell me more.â He demanded, slowly looming closer to you.
âIâm not flirting with you,â You clarified, âThis isnât some dirty talk.â
His face was disconcertingly close to you and even though you pretended the close proximity disgusted you, you didnât move. âYouâre right. This is better.â And for a moment, neither of you said something. âI never noticed your eyes were this pretty.â He could see you; the depths of your eyes illuminated beneath the light, each shadow accustomed to the shadows and darkness glistening on display for him. Small wrinkles creased by your eyes as you softly smiled, a tenderness reserved for him at that moment, and damn, he swore his breath was yanked from his lungs at the sight. âDonât look at me like that.â He suddenly said.
You blinked, confused. âWhat?â
âThe way youâre looking at me, itâs turning me on.â
Your expression transformed into disbelief before glancing down at his crotch, merely a few inches away. âAre you seriously hard right now?âÂ
He grinned shamelessly. âCan you blame me?â He asked brazenly. âLook at you.â Truth be told, if it was regarding you, it didnât take much at all for him to get hard.
You refrained from expressing how much you like this. âItâs been less than fifteen minutes and you already have a boner. Do I really have that much of an effect on you?â
There wasnât any hesitation as he answered. âAbsolutely.â
You rolled your eyes. âStop distracting me.â You pushed his head back again, closely examining inside. The bleeding had stopped and there didnât appear to be any visible fractures. He would be okay with some ice. âSo what were they even saying?â You asked, referring to moment that apparently started everything.
Eddie stiffened, hardly noticeable. âDoesnât matter. I took care of it.â
âIf itâs about me, I deserve to know.â
A moment passed and then another, and he didnât answer. You were going to ask again in a much more demanding and firmer way when he suddenly sighed heavily. âThey were making bets on who could fuck you first.â You could the admission burn his tongue like acrid poison.
Your breathing hitched as you processed his admittance. âYou were defending me?â You quietly asked. This definitely made things worse for you. The reason he was starting fights, bruising his knuckles with dark redness and scrapes and scratches, was because they were talking about you. Eddie Munson was defending you in his own perverse way.
âObviously. Youâre not up for grabs. Youâre mine.â The way he spoke with careless possession shook you to the core. It was as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And you supposed to him, it was.
Your walls were slowly tumbling and crashing down. Fix it, your brain screamed. âIâm not yours.â
He smirked and it was almost devilish. âNot yet.â
âNot ever.â You corrected, choosing to ignore the fire coursing through you.
That insolent smirk never dwindled. âI see youâre still pretending you arenât madly in love with me.â He said with sweet amusement.
Any and all snarky remarks were stolen from you as his hand gently touched your thigh. So soft. So tender. Fucking fix it, your brain screamed. âI hate you.â Was all you could pathetically manage.
His touch was so simple, feather-light, but it left fire trails on your skin. âIf you hated me, you wouldnât have let me cum for you.â
Another observation you couldnât find a response for. âA mistake thatâs never happening again.â
His hand moved upward, so slow you were restraining yourself from shoving his hand beneath your clothes. âYou liked it. I know you did.â He said and you despised knowing this was nothing but the truth. He was confronting you, teasing you because you couldnât deny it. If you really didnât like watching him stain his clothes with cum, you wouldnât have allowed it to happen. You wouldâve punched him, reported him, done anything other than spread your legs and tease him. You didnât like it, you loved it. âI bet you touched yourself when you got home.â
You did. You touched yourself with your fingers until they ached, came with muffled screams as you shoved your face into a pillow until your vibratorâs batteries died, and you even used your showerhead. Hearing him moan and whine like a pathetic boy was fucking filthy and you were soaking through your panties by the time you stepped inside your room.
He took your silence as admission. âFuck, you really did, didnât you?â He could feel the warmth radiating from beneath your skirt, teasing his fingertips. If he wasnât hard enough earlier, he was now. He twitched beneath his jeans. âSit on my lap.â
Donât do it. âYouâre delusional if you think Iâm gonnaââ
âDonât be a fucking brat and sit on my lap.â Your brain was losing and you were thinking with your bodyâyour body that was craving him like he was some addicting drug. Without another word, you slowly crawled to him and plopped down on his clothed thigh like you were always meant to be there. You could feel him throbbing against your clit. He was big and thick. His eyes closed for a second, processing what was happening. This was a slice of heaven served to him on a golden platter. âGet yourself off on my thigh, pretty girl. Make a mess for me.â
And just like that, any delusion you mightâve had that you were capable of turning him down, was flushed down the drain. âWhat?â You asked breathlessly. In that moment, he couldâve demanded you kiss his sneakers and you wouldâve fluttered your eyelashes at him as you did so.Â
He gripped your face with a firmness that mightâve made you whimper if you werenât so shocked. He squeezed your cheeks with one hand, forcing your lips into a teasing pout. âRub that pretty pussy on my thigh and make yourself cum.â He wasnât asking. This was a demand he knew you were going to do for him.
You released a wavering breath as you began to move against him and you could hear your arousal clinging against his jeans. This was embarrassing. But not to him. He was probably sick enough to lick your juices from where youâd been rubbing. âSuck on my fingers and keep those pretty eyes open. Look at me, baby.â His fingers that werenât tainted by his own blood were inside your mouth and you eagerly sucked, licking and kissing them as if they were his leaking cock. Your lips were flushed as you hollowed your cheeks and he watched you drooled on his fingers with heart eyes. âYou are fucking beautiful. Let me see those pretty tits.â
There wasnât any hesitation this time as you lifted your blouse, displaying your breasts and pinching yourself. Another twitch from his cock and he jerked his hips, earning a soft moan from you. âI could cum just by looking at them, pretty girl.â
You removed his fingers from your mouth. âCall me that again,â Your voice was soft, breathless, and laced with a vulnerability heâd never heard from you before. âPlease.â Desperate. Needy.
The arrogant smirk on his pink lips was annoying and you wanted to sit on his face so you wouldnât have to see it. âAw, you like being called my pretty girl?â There wasnât any thoughts floating within your mind. All you could think of was the liquid lava moving through your bloodstream as you rubbed your clit against his cock faster. You only nodded. âI thought you hated me? But look at you, drooling for my cock.â
It was pathetic because you were drooling. You were never going to hear the end of this. He slapped your cheek lightly, pleasantly stinging. His touch didnât hurt, it never did, but it did get a message across. âLet me hear those pathetic sounds. Youâre fucking crazy if you think Iâm gonna let you not make any noise.â He was going to memorize and repeat this moment for every time he spit in his hand and jerked himself off. He needed to hear you. He was losing his composure and there was another slap. âIâve been wanting this for years so fucking moan and say my name.â
âO-Oh, my fucking God, this feels so fucking good.â You wrapped your arms around his neck, quickening your pace. Your facade of disgust and hatred disappeared. âFuck yes, Eddie!â His hands gripped your waist, fingers dipping into the skin of your ass, and he pushed you down harder against him. âJust like that. Just like that.â
His warm and erratic breaths brushed against your jaw. The softness of his lips kissing and sucking as he moaned against your skin. âCome on, baby, make me cum. You can do it, just keep rubbing that pussy on me. Give it to me.â
His mouth moved against your breasts, kitten-licking your peaked nipples before sucking. Something inside you snapped and there was nothing but blinding pleasure, strong enough to steal the moans and air from your throat as you chased your pleasure. Your eyes closed before there were smaller and quick slaps against your cheek. âLook at me when you cum.â His calloused hand slowly drifted to your throat, a firm and shaky grip.
His body twitched and squirmed beneath you as he whimpered against your chest, tongue swirling against your nipple and his hand squeezing the other. Your movements slowly came to a stop and he released your breast with a playful pop.Â
His fingertips gently caressed the softness of your cheek, lingering a moment longer on each mark coloring her skin. You leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand as you closed your eyes. You listened to the hard and quick patter of her heart, to each slow and deliberate breath of his, and the rustling of the leaves outside. And you swore if you listened closely enough, you wouldâve heard the thumping beneath his chest. âYouâve ruined me for anyone else,â He whispered, a thought escaping his quivering mouth before he could even process his own voice. You ruined him, tore out his thumping heart with your manicured nails, and devastated himâa devastation he craved, needed like the blood coursing through his veins. He wouldâve bruised his knees worshipping the floor you stepped on. You had undoubtedly ruined him and he couldnât do anything about it but thank you.
In a daze, you tangled your fingers in his hair and pressed your glossed lips against his. He couldnât breathe. You were kissing him, drunk from your orgasm, bare skin against his thick cock, and he couldnât think. He couldnât move. He didnât move. He didnât kiss you back. At the lack of reciprocation, you pulled away.
The softness of your lips lingered on his, a ghostly remnant of a daydream heâs had for as long as he could remember. His eyes slowly fluttered open, shock swirling in the pools of darkness. His breathing hitched as he forced himself to breathe. Slow and steady. But he couldnât because he swore he could almost still taste you. Outside, inside the community and neighborhoods of Hawkins, no one wouldâve guessed Hawkinâs It-Girl kissed him, your sweet perfume entangled with his cheap cologne. Thatâs something nobody couldâve predicted, including himself. Well, and that you rode him until you made yourself and him cum.
Your hair cascaded across your skin as you tilted your head, trying to decipher the gleam in his eyes. Your lips were flushed as if youâd been gnawing on them, and you almost pouted at what you thought was rejection. Disappointment colored your expression and you scooted away from him, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence of the room. âIâm sorry I kissed you.â You stood from him and straightened your clothes, readjusting them. âLetâs just forget about it.â
And you were out the door before he could explain that he literally couldnât talk or function because his dream girl made him cum so hard he was seeing stars.
I didnât think i would have liked it, but I guess it's just my cup of tea
(Sry if my English is bad)
Donât apologize for your English! I completely understand what youâre saying :) Iâm assuming this is about my newest Eddie fic but thank you so much for reading and letting me know you loved it! It really means so much to me to hear from you guys! đđ
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Summary â Eddie liked you. Really liked you. You hated him. Really hated him. He was a bully and mean, and you were too damn pretty for your own good. You're partnered together for a project and things are changing between you both.
Word Count â 1.4k
Warnings â somewhat bully!eddie (not really, but it's sort of there) perv!eddie, enemies to lovers (eventually) sub!eddie, virgin!eddie (not explicitly stated here, but eventually will be in the series) somewhat dom!reader. Public situations. Kind of dry humping? Both Eddie and Reader are above the age of 18.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
You flipped a page from the book you were required to read for the project, eyebrows pinched together with concentration and your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes scanned over the paragraphs, occasionally widening and narrowing with whatever was happening on that particular page. He could see you were memorizing each message hidden beneath the passages, marking your notebook with a glitter pink pen. There wasnât any possible way he was going to finish his portion of the project when he could smell the sweetness of your skin. His own notebook was forgotten, merely three sentences scribbled on the page before he was distracted by you.Â
The smoothness of your thighs was peeking beneath the floral fabric of your dress, crossed and occasionally bouncing. When you werenât writing your thoughts and answers, you brought the tip of your pen between your teeth, nibbling and lightly licking the plastic. He could feel the breath inside his lungs pulled out and his heart was moments from thumping through his chest and clothes. And, of course, his jeans tightened uncomfortably.
Your eyes slowly moved from the crinkled and yellow-stained pages of the book onto him. His fiery gaze remained etched on you as if he were engraving the spectacle before him within the confines of his mind. Lowering your book, you raised an eyebrow, inquisitive. He didnât respond to the gesture. It wasnât anything you werenât used to.Â
The dynamic between the both of you was complicated. Well, for you it was. For him, there wasnât anything that couldâve been more simple. Since he was a kid, so for pretty much as long as he could remember, you were always there. You grew up with him. And you hated him. He pulled on the ribbons of your hair, stole your homework answers, and constantly teased you whenever he could. It didnât matter what you did, he was always there with some snarky remarks. And he liked you.Â
Thatâs how it started anyway.
Because when high school came, and the wave of teenage hormones as well, he didnât just like you anymore. He was obsessed with you. He followed you around, stole your pom-poms, ruined your hair that you had spent forever doing, pulled your hair when he sat behind you and said every dirty thing that went through his head. He didnât care if you were mean to him and called him names. Truth be told, he mightâve liked that more than he thought was possible. But you couldâve slapped and kicked him and he wouldnât do a single thing other than thank you for touching him. He was whipped.
However, for you, things were complicated. That was an understatement. For as long as you could remember, you didnât like him. Disliking him was easy and simple. You had been doing that for years. But things were changing and you couldnât explain why. Well, that wasnât the truth. You did know why.Â
Two weeks ago, and you knew this because you couldnât think of anything else other than that particular night. Your car wasnât working and you werenât even going to pretend to understand what was underneath the hood. The night was brimming with darkness and pouring rain and you were completely alone. You trudged to the nearest payphone, shivering beneath your sodden clothes, and called everyone you could think of. Not a single person answered. That was until you called the number Wayne had provided months ago when he suggested he could help with whatever car troubles you were having and not overcharge you. You just didnât expect Eddie to answer.Â
He was kind. The sickening kind of sweet you would find sprawled across romance novels. He called you the nicknames he had been calling you since you could remember, but it was different. He looked at you differently. Talked to you differently. Touched you differently.Â
And now you were stuck with him as his partner.Â
You were going to roll your eyes and resume with your book and disregard his existence as much as you could when you noticed it. There was absolutely no way of not noticing it. You glanced around, wondering if there was someone within the shadows of the empty library watching and observing. âAre you serious?â You sneered barely above a whisper. His amused eyes merely traveled to his hardening bulge. âStop that.âÂ
âI canât help it.â His voice was breathless, wisp-like. âYouâre so pretty.â Your jaw clenched and your glare intensified. He brought his adorned hand onto his bulge and palmed himself. The movements were slow and deliberate, and because you were near the back of the library, there wasnât anyone around to notice him. âIf you keep looking at me like that, I can probably finish like this.âÂ
You were across from him, the only thing separating you from him was a small round table, and you were debating if you should kick the table at him. His eyes traveled across your body, not bothering to conceal his heavy gaze, and they stopped right where your skirt stopped. When you clenched her thighs together, he could barely see the baby-pink fabric of your underwear. His movements sputtered as he thought of crawling on the floor to you, worshiping you as he dreamed of doing. He groaned as his eyes closed, thinking of staining his lips with your arousal and kissing you until you couldnât think of anything other than the taste of yourself mixed with him. âYeah, I can definitely finish like this.â
Your nose scrunched as you watched his movements intently. âYouâre a pervert.â Your voice, however, didnât match your words. Because you couldnât even understand the wetness dampening your underwear. You didnât understand why you liked knowing you were the reason for his undoing and for his sick actions. You liked knowing he thought you were so pretty that he couldnât wait until he got home. But you obviously couldnât tell him that because you werenât supposed to like any of that. You were supposed to hate him.
Yeah, things were complicated now.
You leaned closer, intentionally displaying a view of your breasts. âIf youâre going to make yourself come, do it fast. We have a deadline.â Those words werenât what he was expecting. You were tolerating him lately, even occasionally smiling before flipping him off. You were speaking to him without a bratty attitude and sitting next to him in class. He was slowly making progress. This wasnât progress. This was hurdling over the finish line.
His gaze was ripped away from your breasts when you leaned back against your cushioned chair and he watched with sick enjoyment as you squeezed your thighs together. There was no way you were liking this. âHurry. I donât have all day.â Oh, God, you were really going to sit there and look pretty for him so he could come in his pants. You were letting him use you for his perversions.Â
He nodded frantically, applying more pressure on his leaking cock. There was a stain soaking through his jeans and his hips were rutting against his hand, desperate for a wetness that couldnât compare to his hand. Returning back to your book, you slowly spread your thighs open, allowing him a clear and picturesque view of your damp underwear. He couldnât contain the pathetic whimper escaping his blushing lips. âYouâre so pretty. So pretty. My pretty girl.â
He was mumbling, pussy-drunk from only the view of your clothed one. âCome on, let me see those pretty eyes.â Pretty, pretty, pretty. âLook at me when I come for you. Y-Yeah, just like that. Thatâs so good.â You teasingly looked away from your book and looked at him and you wouldâve thought you handed a starving man a full-course meal from the way he crumbled beneath your gaze. âFuck, you canât be real.â
So, so, so pretty.
And then you smiled.
He moaned pathetically loud and you watched with twisted enjoyment as the stain on his crotch spread. Watching a man whoâs tormented you for so long become undone simply from your gaze was empowering. Addicting even. He was breathless, shaking, and beads of sweat dampened his flushed skin. Bringing your leg back down and closing your book, you gathered your supplies and belongings and stood from the chair. You looked down at the embarrassingly large patch of cum seeping through his clothes and smiled. âIâve gotta go. Same time tomorrow?â
Summary â Frank Castle shouldn't like you. He has a mission to complete and his hands are far too bloodstained for someone like you, but, God, he can't help himself.
Word Count â 24k (yeah, you read that right. Sorry.)
Warnings â Graphic depictions of violence and death, use of female pronouns, and [Y/N] but is written in third-point-of-view. Slow-burn.
Author's Note â This might be a series depending on if you guys like it and that will eventually contain smut and slow-burn. And this was originally written as OC and not as a reader insert but I edited it but if you still see an OC name or description, please let me know! :)
Greed was the underlying cause of everyoneâs misdeeds. Some stalked the shadows for an opportunity to yank on someoneâs polished pearls, and some bloodied their calloused fists for stacks of green. The people who [Y/N] had found herself growing exhausted with were the ones who placed themselves on thrones of manipulation and terror and ruled from the darkness of the city. She was tired of smelling the morning breeze and finding it still tainted with greed and illusion.Â
[Y/N] released a steady breath as she brought the handle of her flashlight between her teeth, pulling a hairpin from her scalp and kneeling on the carpeted floor. Breaking inside the District Attorneyâs office was much easier than she initially thought it wouldâve been. She managed to stealthily take a badge from one of the office employees as she was escorted from the premises earlier that morning. Truthfully, she was completely aware that she wasnât going to speak with Samantha Reyes regarding Frank Castle. She predicted their dismissal and wasnât shocked when Reyes had someone pull her from the building by her arm. She had counted on it. Escorted inside and outside provided two chances to memorize the design of the office space.
She knew any information worth some importance wasnât going to be openly placed in some unguarded filing cabinet beside a water cooler. The discrepancies of Frank Castle were going to be concealed from the public eye, locked and placed in a dark corner. This narrowed her options to the DAâs office and her personal assistantâs office.Â
Her hairpin was thicker than she needed, but she managed to unlock the office door. There were orange and tan files strewn across the wooden desk, multi-colored notes taped around the computer screen, and crime scene photos neatly piled. [Y/N] raised the flashlight above her head, carefully flipping through the stacks of scribbled papers. There was nothing of importance and she pushed the chair to the side, kneeling on the floor. She smiled as she saw the shiny lock on the bottom drawer. Predictable.
With nimble fingers, she used the hairpin and struggled for a brief minute. She cursed at herself for not bringing her pick-locking kit with her. The subtle sound of the interlockings of the padlock shift was barely loud enough for her to hear, but she practically yanked the drawer open. She shuffled through the contents, a self-satisfied smirk rising as she found the bright orange file with black ink scribbled on the corner; âFrank Castleâ.Â
There wasnât much within the file. There were mostly crime scene photographs of his doings against the three gangs. She slowly examined each photograph, eyes memorizing every bloodied wound. She couldnât believe one man was managing these crimes. At the bottom of the file was a large x-ray of Castleâs skull and brain with a bullet lodged inside. She could hear her fatherâs voice in the depths of her mind.Â
[Y/N], this wasnât a suicide attempt. He wouldâve been dead. Someone else did this and wasnât very good at it.
She brought her camera and snapped photographs of the papers and pictures.
[Y/N] thought of the chilled breeze as she drove through the thoroughfares of New York City. She thought of the multi-colored lights that illuminated the night sky and she thought of the dull musings of each person that remained awake that night. She wondered if someone could feel the emotions she was plagued with every night, the loneliness and the violent rage that burned through her veins. She glanced at the empty passenger as the strangers of the night crossed the street. There was no one there and there wasnât going to be another person there. The music quietly filled the car, some old song her father used to listen to and she forced herself to memorize the words. She must have listened to the song a thousand times, writing the words down with black ink over and over again until her hand ached.Â
The song repeated and she tapped her manicured hand on the leather of her steering wheel as she disappeared from the bright lights and drove through the suburban neighborhoods. She occasionally glanced down at a scrap of paper, reading the address over again each time. She should have chosen a less conspicuous car, she realized. She parked the car at the end of the street and the music ended and she was left alone in the darkness again. She smelled the fragrance of her perfume as she observed the steadiness of the neighborhood. She knew the Castle house was deserted, empty, and forgotten, but she found herself thinking someone was going to walk outside; Frank walking outside with a white and heavy trash bag or his children rushing to the lawn with a dog. But there was no one and nothing coming outside.Â
[Y/N] glanced around, smelling the wilted flowers on the sidewalk as she neared the porch of Frank Castleâs house. There was an American flag swaying gently with the wind and an empty mailbox that wasnât going to be filled again. She wondered if anyone remembered them anymore or if anyone in this neighborhood glanced outside their windows for a second just to think about the slaughtered family. With light footsteps, she walked to the side door with a lock pick placed between her gloved fingers. Seconds passed and the door unlocked with ease. She hurried inside, closing the door lightly behind her. The house was still furnished and smelled like laundry detergent and forgotten memories. Everything remained the same and nothing was moved. The Castle family left their house never knowing they werenât ever coming back. There were still toys scattered across the floor, dishes placed on the table, and couch pillows disarrayed. This house was empty but still filled with remnants of the dead.Â
She dragged a gloved finger across the kitchen countertop, wiping away the layer of gray dust. Across the foyer, [Y/N] caught the yellow beam of a flashlight before the beacon disappeared into nothingness. She tensed, the only sound she could hear was her breath calming. She wasnât alone. Hushed, she pulled the handle of her sharpened blade from her holster. Her footsteps were light and air-like as she moved across the house, following the person who didnât know they were being entirely visible in the depths of the shadows. With her back pressed against the wall, she peered over the wall of the foyer, eyebrows furrowing together as she noticed this was some woman. An ordinary woman dressed as if she was going to her office. The woman brought her heeled shoe to the first wooden step of the staircase, a bright light shining in her grasp. âWhat are you doing here,â [Y/N]âs voice was low, smooth like florid wine. The blonde woman reeled, pressing a pale hand to her mouth. The flashlight fell from her hand, inches from smashing onto the dusted floor before [Y/N] caught the device in one fluid movement. âAre you trying to let everyone in this neighborhood know weâre here?âÂ
Karen thought for a second. If this woman were going to harm her, she wouldâve brought that polished blade to the vein of her neck. She wouldnât have taken away her upper hand and alerted Karen of her presence. âWho are you?â The question, although simple, was stupid. The yellow beam of light illuminated the high points of the womanâs face. For a moment, a fluttering moment, Karen was taken aback. The darkness of her eyes resembled pools of midnight, harsh and unforgiving as she glared through the shadows. Her hair was like looking at glistening ink and her skin was smooth.Â
[Y/N]âs eyes narrowed as she inched forward. âI donât suppose youâll answer first,â There was silence as they continued to watch each other, mindful of every subtle movement. Karen watched the reflective blade clutched in her hand until Karen assumed her knuckles were white, and [Y/N] watched her shaky hands squeeze the straps of her leather purse, aware of them inching closer and closer to the zipper. [Y/N] released a steady breath, those dark eyes unwavering. She didnât want to use her knife, she didnât want to go home and scrub the crimson stains from beneath her fingernails and clothes, she didnât want to do any of this. She wanted to go home and sleep beneath her baby pink silk sheets and have her only concern be that her straightener wasnât heating properly. âIf you reach for that, youâre going to make this unnecessarily difficult.â [Y/N] brought her toned arms over her head, displaying the blade before she tucked it into her holster. Karen exhaled shakily and moved her hands away from her purse. âAppears that Iâm not the only one looking for Frank Castle.â
Karen swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. âI guess not,â She muttered, blinking the frustrated tears away. She wasnât going to cry, especially in front of this woman who she didnât even know wasnât going to kill when she got the chance. [Y/N] extended an arm, offering the large flashlight. An olive branch or a white flag. Karen hesitated, thinking over the possibilities. If she were to accept the light, was she accepting her death? Or was this woman going to search this house with her and would they both walk away from each other with what they both needed? With an apprehensive expression, Karen latched her hand onto the flashlight. âWhat are you doing here?â
[Y/N] glanced around, noticing the disarray of childrenâs shoes and toys. âSame reason you are,â She said, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow as Karen wiped the handle of the flashlight with a wipe. âLooking for something, anything, about Frank Castle that will make sense.â [Y/N] pushed past Karenâs shoulder, ascending the staircase lithely. She stepped over the shoes and carefully pushed open a door. Her stomach sunk as she smelled the crayons and dried paint. The room was littered with childrenâs clothes and toys; a girl was brimming with colorful images that were screaming to be drawn. There were vivid drawings on display, taped and framed around the room. She sighed. Her nimble fingers flipped through the book tossed onto the small desk. One Batch, Two Batch, Penny and Dime. As she stepped on a few wooden paint brushes, [Y/N] was overcome with this gnawing feeling of guilt. She shouldnât be here, she was quite literally the darkness of this room. This was wrong.Â
Pliant, [Y/N] closed the book, glancing at the edges to see if she smudged the corners, and descended the staircase. Her hands felt dirty even though they were beneath layers of leather. She shouldnât have touched any of their belongings, tainting them and their memory. The floorboards creaked beneath her weight as she walked to the banister, resting her forehead on her forearms. She stared at the laces of her boots, the way they looped over each other. She needed something to concentrate on as she breathed the torment away. [Y/N] thought of the anger she would feel if someone stepped inside the emptiness of her home, and touched her fatherâs clothes and her motherâs files. She wouldâve seen blazing red and snapped, but here she was, doing the same thing. Nauseous, she gripped the banister tightly as she stepped down.
 Across the fireplace, the blonde woman scanned over the array of framed photographs of Frank smiling with his unit, covered with dirt and camo, but he looked happy. There were his medals, hanging beneath a layer of dusty glass. [Y/N] turned away, a rush of despair coursing through her as she saw the vases filled with withering flowers and small cards offering their condolences. On the nightstand beside the window was a photograph of Frank with his family, smiling and radiating adoration as they stood beside the carousel. She tried to think of this man as the one who was hanging cartel members on meat hooks, storming the hospital corridors with his weapons. He didnât seem like him, but she also didnât seem like a woman who bloodied her fists either.Â
The sound of gravel being crunched brought her attention to the neighborhood outside the window and beneath the sheer curtains. A large van slowed to the driveway and the door slid open, revealing a group of suited individuals. [Y/N] turned, unsurprised that the woman was already staring at the window. Bringing her finger to her mouth, [Y/N] jerked her chin to the back door. They twisted the door handle slowly, preventing any creaking hinges. They slipped through, nodding once as a sign of acknowledgment before departing.
[Y/N] thought of the polished shine of Frank Castleâs medal; a Navy Cross he was awarded for his service in Afghanistan. Her cluttered mind thought of the photograph of him accepting this medal, the way his eyes gleamed though his face remained stoic. Frank Castle was a war hero, someone who had a ceremony and was admired. Something damaged this man and altered him when his family was murdered.Â
She brought the strands of hair around her face, framing the delicateness of her expression. She stared at the lovely reflection and tried to blink away the tiredness swirling deep within those eyes. She could sleep for hours, never see the sun disappear into the night for days, and she would still feel this overwhelming exhaustion. She readjusted the turtleneck to her black dress, smoothing over the wrinkles that ended where her thighs were exposed. She thought this was something a lawyer would wear. She didnât know any lawyers that could offer an opinion so this would have to suffice. She grabbed her long coat and the badge she had spent hours working on. She could only hope the fraudulent credentials and her pretty words would work.
The Metro-General Hospital was brimming with cameras, and flashing lights as each reporter swarmed the waiting area, desperate for some information on The Punisher. [Y/N] didnât think he was going to be arrested this soon, having his bruised face plastered on every news source. He was caught, handcuffed, and sedated as he was clumsily thrown to the back of a police car. People pushed past her, the room filling with dozens of voices. She walked ahead, dodging the incoming nudges from peopleâs elbows as she neared the double doors. âAre you press,â A nurse questioned as two men attempted to walk inside.Â
[Y/N] smiled dazzlingly. âAttorney, actually.â With one hand, she flipped open the badge. The police officerâs eyes roamed over her figure, his fingers on his belt tightening and she gritted her teeth together as she forced herself to remain unbothered. The police officer grabbed the badge, his eyes flickering over the typed words. She could feel her palms dampening as he examined her credentials and the tall man beside her glanced down at her, his eyebrows furrowed. His glasses were a deep shade of red, his hand encircled around a white cane. He was blind, and couldnât see her, but she felt his gaze go through her facade. She turned away.Â
â[Y/N] [L/N],â The sound of her name cutting through the clamor of the crowd wasnât something she was expecting. With a cool casualness, she whirled on her heel and feigned an expression of enthusiasm. She didnât need to search through much of the media to discover the name of the woman rummaging inside Frank Castleâs home. Her innocent face and those big blue eyes were plastered on every newspaper and news outlet months ago when she was involved with Union Allied. Karen paused her assured stride beside her co-workers. âDidnât think Iâd run into you here.âÂ
Karenâs gaze bore into her and [Y/N] needed a moment to compose herself. If she were to slice the pale skin of her neck, she would be restrained before the blood could even splash onto the marble floor. She wasnât going to stain her freshly painted nails for this woman. [Y/N] blinked then her expression lightened, her plump lips stretching into a lovely smile. âKaren Page,â She said, the softness of her voice brought the other manâs attention to her. âHow unexpected.â The sound of her name falling from those rosy lips startled her. Karenâs knowing smile faltered. She felt stupid for thinking she could have the upper hand with this interaction.Â
With an uncomfortable chuckle, Foggy inched forward, extending a sweaty hand to her. [Y/N]âs gaze remained fixated on Karen and, although magnetizing, was also unsettling. âFoggy Nelson,â He introduced with a kind smile. âAnd this is my partner Matt Murdock and seems like you already know Karen.â [Y/N] was suave, her eyes and lips welcoming and intriguing, but Matt was staring at her like he could see the lies engraved on her bones.
Disregarding his intrusive gaze, [Y/N] stepped inside the unlocked double doors, motioning for the three of them to follow her. âLovely to meet you,â Foggy was open-mouthed and blinking as if she was a mirage, a breathing example of women on the cover of magazines. With an amused smirk, Matt nudged his partnerâs side. Foggy cleared his throat.Â
[Y/N] didnât listen as Foggy spoke endlessly with his hands shaking and the beads of sweat lining his hairline. He was nervous, quite obviously, and was sputtering every thought that formed inside his head. [Y/N] stood across the elevatorâs doors, centralizing her focus on the dark reflection on the metal. From the corner of her eye, she could see Karen watching her, almost expecting her to jam her knife into Foggyâs throat. The elevator dinged and she didnât waste a moment stepping outside.Â
The corridor was overwhelmed with officers covered with tactical gear, hands clutched on the metal of their weapons. An officer raised a palm, having the four of them pause in their tracks. âWhat the hell are you three doing here?â The only man wearing a tailored suit exclaimed, exasperation evident on his face.
âBrett,â Foggy replied, âYouâre wearing a tie and itâs not a clip-on.âÂ
The officer, Brett, stopped across from them, releasing a heavy sigh. âItâs not a good time, Foggy.â
Unbothered, Foggy continued. âHowâd you get babysitting duty, Sergeant?â
Brett pointed at the badge dangling from his neck. âA detective sergeant now.â Despite himself, he smiled. âTop dogs like the press of a good collar.â
âAnd the cops that get them.â
[Y/N] peeked over his shoulder. âIâm sorry, but the area is restricted beyond this point. You canât be here.â Brett said, shifting on his heels.
 The path of LED lights and scuffed marble was blocked and she groaned inwardly. She tore her gaze from the guarded door and plastered on a swoon-worthy smile. âAnd if we have possible business with Frank Castle?â She could feel the frustration consuming every fiber of her. She was only a few steps away from the door, could pull the handle of the sergeantâs holster and unleash a wave of blood, and could open the door and see him.Â
Brett furrowed his eyebrows together, resting his hands on his hips. âBusiness?â He asked, âThe guyâs barely conscious.â
Matt cocked his head to the side as he smelled the adrenaline spike. âOur firm wants to represent him,â He didnât acknowledge the woman beside him. He would ask Karen later.Â
âThe manâs already got a lawyer.â
[Y/N] sighed. âAs Karen and I discussed, we both feel the Nelson and Murdock firm is far more equipped to represent Mr. Castle. The district attorney wants the death penalty, and will do just about anything to have him dead,â She removed her coat, offering the high-priced cloth to the officer beside her. Without a word, he accepted her briefcase. âI suspect heâll cooperate when we explain weâre trying to keep him alive.â
Their belongings were thoroughly searched, every crevice was ransacked and anything deemed a possible weapon was removed from them. âDo not give Castle anything. Do not take anything from him,â The sergeant stopped across from the door, his hand around the doorknob. âEverythingâs been removed from inside the room. Heâs tied down, but keep your distance and mind the tape. Do not step past it or I get to make my dream come true and arrest you.âÂ
The doorknob rattled as he shoved the key inside. [Y/N] remained behind the three of them, narrowing her eyes as she watched Karen interlace her hand with Mattâs, her eyes soothing as she stared down at their hands. The door opened and the burning smell of alcohol rammed through her. The EKG beeped steadily and Karen muttered something under her breath as she stepped inside. The room was barren, glass windows were covered with sheets of metal drilled into the wall. Surrounding the bed was bright red tape on the marble floor. âFrank Castle,â Matt said, his voice low and collected. His eyes fluttered open. âMy name is Matthew Murdock. These are my associates Franklin Nelson and Karen Page.â Â
Frank Castle's harsh gaze hardened as he breathed heavily. âI know who you are,â His voice was brusque, rough, and coated with fiery anger. âYou protect shitbags.â His light brown eyes glared into the redness of Mattâs glasses. [Y/N] remained beside the door, hidden from view as she calmed her breathing. She wasnât worried or concerned he was going to tear through the restraints. She was terrified she was going to stand right in front of him and stare into those eyes just as her father did and she didnât want to know what was going to stare right back at her.Â
âWe came here to make an offer,â Matt said, âWe donât want money for our services, weâre not interested in fame or free advertising. We werenât even assigned to your case. We donât have to be here. But if you take a quick look around, youâll notice weâre the only ones who are. As you may well know, your list of enemies extends well beyond the gangs youâve killed,â Matt inhaled deeply. âYouâre very good at making powerful enemies. And the day you were admitted to Metro-General for the round you took to the head, a do-not-resuscitate order was placed on you.â
Foggy stood far from Frank Castle, nearly across the room. âAnd a shoot-to-kill just a few days ago.â
âThese orders were issued by the District Attorney and the fact that sheâs had it in for us ever since we started asking questions tells us weâre on the right track. Someone in the DAâs office wants you dead, Mr. Castle and weâd like to know why. You let us take your case, we can soften your sentence, and give you a shot. Maybe even find out whoâs responsible for what happened to you. Weâre talking about life, Mr. Castle. We can help you keep whatâs left of it.â
[Y/N] listened to the words as he spoke, repeating them over and over inside the confines of her thoughts. Frank chuckled humorlessly and the sound reverberated through her and there was something about the casualness of the sound that unsettled her. The smell of fresh linen and the coldness of the room reminded her of her father, the way she would gnaw on her lower lip until she could taste blood as she focused on steadying her shaking hand as she pressed the needle into the skin, pulling the stitches through. She couldnât remain hidden behind the light blue curtain. She rummaged through her boot, yanking the folded photograph pressed between her calf. His eyes flickered from the blood-red glasses to her.
Frank Castle was sedated, restrained beneath thick straps, and could barely see through the blurred haze from his right eye, but he saw her with ease. Her eyes gleamed with lovely wrath and for a delirious moment, he thought he could stare into those raging eyes for decades.Â
[Y/N] was a darkness within the illuminated room, a shadow with swaying hips and manicured nails. She marched toward him with authority as her heeled shoes clicked against the floor. She stepped over the bright red tape and he couldnât remove his gaze from her, transfixed with the woman who didnât even care she was stepping over the boundary. Matt latched his hand on her forearm, pulling her back. Lithely, she pulled his hand from her and pushed him aside as if he were nothing but an inconvenience. She raised the photograph and her eyes burned with conviction. âYou need answers, so do I.â Her voice was the sound poets wrote about. It took him a second to remove his eyes from the rosiness of her lips. They widened as he examined the photo. âWe arenât going to get these answers if youâre dead.â She leaned over the side of the bed, her smooth face dangerously close to his. He could smell her florid perfume and she could smell the dried blood encrusted on his skin.
âWhere did you get that?â His voice was gruff and his eyes watered. Her facade of a cold exterior wavered and there was nothing but shame filling her. She had done several things she wasnât proud of, but this was desperation she didn't think she would ever come to.
She lowered the photograph and blinked. âFrom your home.âÂ
There was silence as soon as the words fell from her full lips. Frank swallowed the lump lodged in his throat as his breathing hitched. âYou were in my home,â The question was barely a whisper. âWhy were you in my house?âÂ
The grievous sound of the District Attorney's muffled voice echoed through the corridor and [Y/N] stepped away, outside the tape, and folded the picture. âSomeone is lying about what happened to your family,â His eyes burned into her as the doorknob rattled. âAnd I am going to find out who and why.â The way the words scorched through him, he knew she wouldnât let anything stop her.
Samantha Reyes stormed inside the room with fury radiating from her. âAll of you out now!â As the door slammed against the wall, [Y/N]âs facade was back and the change had been instant, so subtle that Frank almost missed it.
[Y/N] could barely hear the condescending conversation exchanged between Mrs. Reyes and the firm as she apprehensively stepped outside the room. She was deafened by the blood rushing through her and she could bring herself to focus on their mushed words. She stared into the eyes of the Punisher and he stared right back at her and all she could see was herself. He was tormented with his own memories, the guilt of remaining alive as his family was buried beneath the dirt. âCastle doesnât want the public defender,â Brett said, and her composure rattled through her. âSays Nelson and Murdock are his lawyers now.âÂ
The three of them gathered their files and paperwork, disappearing into an empty room with hushed whispers. [Y/N] stumbled to the restroom door, releasing a strangled sigh as the door closed behind her. Her hands squeezed the white porcelain of the sink and she blinked the dwelling tears away. She couldnât look at the reflection, refused to see her eyes redden and lip quiver. She was a coward. She forced him to look at his slain family and she was shaking at the memory of hers.Â
There was a gentle knock at the door and she straightened. From the reflection of the mirror, Karen appeared in the doorway, the bright lights circling her. She appeared uncomfortable with both being alone with [Y/N] and having interrupted an intimate moment. She shifted on her heels. âFrank Castle wants to speak with you alone.â She emphasized the last word and [Y/N] wondered if she was trying to frighten her from walking inside that room. If she hadnât seen and experienced the horrors she had, [Y/N] mightâve cowered away and pretended this was nothing but a night terror.Â
With a firm nod, she pushed herself away from the mirror and didnât bother looking at the reflection as she closed the bathroom door behind her. The hallway suddenly transformed into an uneasy silence as she sauntered back to the locked door. She dismissed the inquisitive glances and glares and hurried through the opened door. Frank Castle stared at her with an uncertainness that almost uneased her. âMy family,â He said as soon as the door was locked, âWhat do you know?â
[Y/N] stared back and he was somewhat shocked that her gaze didnât falter. She opened her briefcase and plucked one of the papers, raising it for him to see. âHave you seen this,â She asked, âItâs a police report, complaint number 211974. It says, âVictims were stopped at a traffic light northbound on Buellton Ave when an unidentified male suspect began firing a 9mm handgun at their vehicle. A juvenile male, a juvenile female, and an adult woman were found dead at the scene. The adult male driver was critically wounded and taken to Metro-General.ââ
She stopped reading the passage, looking at him through her thick-rimmed lashes. Frank appeared shocked. He shook his head softly. âThatâs horseshit.âÂ
[Y/N] loomed forward, the end of the bed pressing into her lower abdomen as she placed the stack of paper on the blankets. âObviously,â She said, âIt took a lot of reading of old articles, but I know you and your family were at the carousel. With the three gangs involved, Iâm assuming there was some firefight and there were unreported casualties.â She didnât hesitate to pull the small black chair to his bedside. She leaned forward and there was a delicate softness in her eyes, something he didnât even realize he missed seeing when someone looked at him. âIs there anything you can remember?âÂ
He glanced away. âThis ainât about what I remember.â
She nodded reassuringly and there was something comforting with how she looked at him like she was seeing him as Frank Castle and not as The Punisher. âI know this isnât easy and I know even trying to remember what happened hurts, but this will help us put these scattered pieces together.â
Frankâs eyes fluttered around the room as he scoured through his mind as he muttered incoherently. âIt goes in and out. The fact that it fadesâŚâ He trailed off. [Y/N] didnât speak and he appreciated that she hadnât rushed him. âWe took our blanket to our spot. She was by the carousel on the lawn and then I heard her shout. Scream. It was a grown man.â His eyebrows furrowed together and his voice was wrapped with grief. âI didnât see anyone, but I found out later. The cartel. Irish. Bikers.â His words trailed into softness. âI should have seen it coming.â
[Y/N] shook her head. âThere was no way you could have known.â
âI heard it,â Frank said, âI heard it and I didnât do anything. My job was to keep them safe and I didnât.â
There was nothing said and [Y/N] looked down at the faux leather of her knee-high platforms. âI am going to tell you what I wish someone wouldâve told me when my family was murdered,â She hesitantly reached forward, grabbing his bruised and scabbing hand. âThis pain is never going away. This is permanent and that is never going to change. There are a million things we could have done to change or prevent their deaths, but we didnât. And the sooner we accept this, the sooner we can heal. Do not kill yourself over the âwhat-ifsâ. And you do what you need to do to take that step and if itâs brutally murdering everyone involved, do it. Donât listen to anyone that says revenge wonât change anything or make you feel better. Itâs bullshit, it will make you feel better. So, fuck them, Frank Castle, and heal.â
His eyes softened and his rambling thoughts were struggling to reach his mouth. There were a thousand things he wanted to say. He thought about muttering a small âthank youâ for telling him what he needed to hear, not some pitied apology. He straightened, hesitantly removing their interwoven hands, and pushed himself from the softness of the blankets. âI only hurt people that deserve it,â He said, his eyes were covered in different shades of purple, his lips were sliced open and scabbing, and his cheekbone was yellowed with larger bruises. âI wanted you to know that.âÂ
She smiled and the gentleness coloring her expression was enough to almost knock the wind from his lungs. His eyes roamed over her and there wasnât a single flicker of anything indecent within his gaze. He analyzed her as if she were a riddle, a puzzle adorned with everything grandeur to disguise she was a puzzle to begin with. It might have been the sedatives muddling his mind, but she was almost too pretty to look at. He turned away. âYouâre not a lawyer, are you?â He asked, somewhat amused.
The warmth of her expression didnât dwindle as she crossed her leg over her knee and loosened, resting against the cushioned chair. âWhat gave me away?â She asked lightly.
Frank glimpsed at the small and smooth hand visible on her knee. âYour knuckles are bruised and you tried covering them with makeup,â She raised an eyebrow but didnât respond. Of course, he would see through her mask. She covered her knuckles with a corrector before blotting a skin-tone colored concealer on the lilacs and light reds scattered across her skin. âYou donât act like how a lawyer is supposed to act and Iâve never seen a lawyer wear high heels like that to try and sweet-talk a client.â Her smile widened and she chuckled breathlessly. âAnd when I look at you, itâs like looking at myself. Youâre angry, arenât you?âÂ
Her expression flickered and there was a second where the despair and wrath were brightly visible, flashing with neon lights deep within the void of her eyes. He could see himself inside the depths of her shattered gaze and he knew she could see herself inside his. He wondered if this petrified her as it did for him. She frowned as she glanced at the EKG machine beside his bed, desperate for something to distract her. âTheyâre pumps.â She murmured. His eyebrows pinched together with confusion. âTheyâre not high heels, theyâre pumps.â She didnât care about the difference, not really. She thought of admitting the truth, telling him that she wasnât always angry. She always found a temporary release when she was smashing her knuckles into the bones of vile men.
He refrained from rolling his eyes. âSame shit,â Now, she rolled her eyes. He mightâve been a bloodthirsty man, but still a man nonetheless. âWhy are you here playing dress-up?âÂ
âYou knew my father and now heâs dead,â She replied, tearing her gaze from the fluctuating lines on the machine. Those eyes glistened with salty tears as they pierced into him, flooding with overwhelming despair he could feel tremble through his bones.
A moment of silence. âYou gonna try and kill me, lady?âÂ
She sighed heavily. âQuite the opposite.â Her honeyed voice was thick with admittance. âIâm here to keep you alive.â
âWhy wouldââ
She raised her palm, dismissing his words. âYou didnât kill him if thatâs what youâre thinking. Someone else did, just like your family. As I said, Iâm going to find out who.â She couldnât guarantee a variety of things; she couldnât guarantee she wasnât growing fond of the taste of blood splashing across her tongue and she couldnât guarantee a simple and bland death, but this was something she promised the stars. Her eyes flashed as she sunk within the crashing waves of her memories. âYou knew him, he talked about you sometimes. He said you were a pain in his ass, almost as bad as me.â She laughed and Frank Castle swore the melody coursed through him like warm sunshine. âStitched you up more times than he could count.â
He thought and there he wasâyoung and hot-headed within the sands and dirt of warfare across the ocean and wincing through trembling teeth as the needle pierced his skin. Dr. [Y/L/N] was a man who wouldnât flinch at the grisly sights dragged into his station. He would narrow his eyes and scrub his hands with vodka if he didnât have enough time. [Y/L/N]âs hands drowned in pools of blood every day and he would still reassure every injured soldier and speak until the soldier was certain he was going to damage their eardrums. He only rambled when he knew they needed something to think of, something to distract them from blistering pain. Dr. [Y/L/N] mentioned his daughter several times and would mutter something along the lines of, âSheâs too pretty for her own good, Frank. Breaks too many hearts.â His breathing hitched. âYouâre [Y/N],â The realization rippled across his nerves and he couldnât believe Dr. [Y/L/N]âs daughter was across from him, mourning him all over again. He blinked and his breath disappeared. The loss was nearly crippling as he laid his head on the pillow. Another person he cared for was murdered, taken from him and their family.Â
She stood, smoothing the wrinkles of the black fabric. She could recognize mourning as if it were scarred on the back of her hand and Frank Castle was mourning the loss of a man he didnât know was dead until that unfortunate moment. âWe can talk some other timeââÂ
Frank snapped from his thoughts. âStay. Please.â As soon as the plea escaped from the confines of his bloodied mouth, he felt pathetic. There was something almost comforting about having someone beside him feeling the numbing sorrow he was suffering in. She was inside his house, breathing the air of the place he couldnât step inside. âI guess I worry that the memories are just gonna go away. You were in my house andââ He stopped and there was rushing shame inside him.
[Y/N] closed her eyes and sighed. âYou never went back.â Her words werenât a question, merely an acknowledgment of the unsaid admission. She understood the grief that overcame someone when they think about returning to the home where your family was slaughtered. How was she supposed to unlock the door and place her keys aside and not have anyone to greet? She couldnât pretend the house wasnât swallowing every moment she breathed in there.
âCan I just ask youââ He swallowed the jumbled words. âWere you in the kitchen?â [Y/N] nodded and didnât utter a word. âWere the plates on the table or did they get to the sink?â
She opened her mouth before closing it, furrowing her eyebrows together as she tried to remember the blurred details of that night. âSome were on the table and some were washed and on the rack.â
âDid you go into the next room? Did you see that piano that was there,â She nodded wordlessly. âMy son Frank Jr. used to grab a handful of cookies and take âem and hide âem in that bench. Heâd play soldier. Guard it, protect it. Then heâd fall asleep down there.â Frank didnât even resemble the man featured in every media outlet. This man who remembered the flavor of his sonâs cookie crumbs wasnât the Punisher. He was Frank Castle, a marine and loving husband and father. She couldnât contain the laughter bubbling and leaned forward, eyes bright as she listened. âWeâd find him sleeping on a pile of cookie crumbs.â
Those full lips of hers rose. âWhen I was younger, I used to take my dadâs medical supplies and stitch a bunch of horrible stitches on my stuffed animals, pretending I was a doctor saving lives.â Her voice was light and air-like as she reminisced over the simple times of being young and brimming with hope. Frank smiled and he chuckled. âAnd in those moments, I wasnât seven-year-old Ellie. I was Dr. [Y/N] [Y/L/N] with hundreds of Ph.D.'s and every certification you could think of.â
She shook her head, dismissing the memories as if they were a pesky fly. âYour childrenâs rooms were covered with colorful drawings and dozens of sports trophies.âÂ
The words stung. âI was gone a lot, so I missed all that.â
âAnd there were toys everywhere. Almost had me tripping up those stairs with all those plastic dinosaurs.âÂ
He chuckled and the unfamiliar sound rang through the room. âThose were my little girlsâ. Those were Lisaâs. When she was little, she used to make these little noises when she played with them.â
The corners of her mouth curved into a simper. âThat little remote-controlled jeep reminded me of those old dinosaur movies.â
Frank grinned as the memories resurfaced. âYeah, that was Frank Jr.'s. I got that for him for his seventh birthday. He drove me crazy with that thing.â
[Y/N] glanced at the darkness of her shoes and unfolded the photograph. âI know they loved you, Frank.â She whispered, placing the paper between his restrained hand. Her hand rested there for a moment, squeezing reassuringly. âThatâs something you canât ever forget.â He hesitated as if the picture burned him, but his grasp tightened eventually.Â
âThank you, [Y/N].â Her name dancing across his tongue was barely familiar, merely a distant memory. Â
She peered at him through her thick lashes. âAnd thank you.â She motioned over her shoulder. âTheyâre going to ask you a million questions, do everything they can to get you off the death penalty, and itâs going to be your decision if you choose to accept that or fight it. You do what you need to do to heal, Frank Castle.â She stood and gathered her papers, closing her briefcase. âBut Iâm hoping you choose to fight for the truth.âÂ
The smell of nail polish burned through her nose as she meticulously brushed over her fingernails. As she steadied her hand, she glanced at the fading bruises scattered across her knuckles and remembered her conversation with Frank and how easily he saw through her. She thought of the softness on his face as he remembered the blurring memories of his children. The sudden blare of her ringtone shook her from her thoughts and the polish stained her cuticle. She groaned and pressed the speaker button. âHello,â She said aloud, wiping the surrounding area of her nail with a remover.Â
The person didnât speak and she opened her mouth to repeat the greeting but Karenâs voice cut through the silence. â[Y/N],â She paused and lowered the brush. A surge of seething annoyance flared through her veins as Karenâs voice rattled her speaker again.Â
Closing her polish, she blew a gentle breath on her nails. âKaren Page, you are certainly testing my patience.â The night at Frank Castleâs home she had made a decision to keep her hands blood-free that night and she was growing to regret that unfortunate decision as soon as Karen revealed her name to an entire room filled with media outlets. Now, pesky as ever, she was calling her.Â
âI didnât want to call you, but I had to. We tried talking to Frank Castle and he refused to talk. Iâm sure you know he plead ânot guiltyâ because of whatever you told him.â The exasperation and crippling frustration wavered in Karenâs voice and she couldnât refrain from releasing an amused chuckle. âThe only way heâll talk is if itâs with you.â She didnât utter a word as she continued to casually blow her nails. â[Y/N]?â She repeated impatiently.
With a final blow, [Y/N] extended her hand outward, examining her work. âI heard you, just giving you some time to process that youâre asking me for a favor, therefore, you will owe me.â
Karen exhaled a shaky, yet annoyed, sigh. âI am aware of that, yes.â Her voice was hushed, but [Y/N] could hear the faint voices of Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson.
[Y/N] hummed, an acknowledging sound, and took her time forming a response. âLovely,â She stood from the cushions of her couch, her bare feet flinching against the coldness of her marble floor. âSee you in fifteen minutes, sweetheart.âÂ
The air was thick as [Y/N] entered the facility with a beckoning gaze, a pleased expression enlightening her as the Nelson and Murdock firm gritted their teeth. She was their thwarting personified and she considered the bitterness they mustâve been feeling as they grasped the notion that she was their only solution. She removed her belongings, placed them inside the gray tub, and extended her arms from her frame. The metal detector quietly whirred and she was given her briefcase back. Stepping through the door, Matt darted in front of her. âWhat are you doing?â He sneered. He was close, voice barely above a harsh whisper and she could smell his cheap cologne.
He couldnât see her, but he could smell the light fragrance of her luxurious perfume and the fabric he was certain was only imported from Italy. There was something almost sinister buried beneath her words. âIâm here to speak with Frank Castle,â [Y/N] spoke smoothly, unbothered by the abrasiveness of his question. Matt listened and there wasnât even a flutter in her heartbeat.Â
Matt gritted his teeth. âHe pleaded not guilty.â
With a taunting tilt of her head, she quirked an eyebrow. âHow unfortunate for you, I assume?âÂ
He was struggling to remain composed. âHe initially agreed to plead guilty. This is going to trial because of whatever it was you told him.âÂ
She rolled her eyes and sashayed onward. âGod forbid the lawyers actually do their job.â
His hand wrapped around her arm, preventing her from taking another step. Her heartbeat increased, an erratic sound within her chest. When her adrenaline spiked, he knew she was displeased. âI looked you up,â He whispered, leaning close to her ear. âThere arenât any [Y/N] [Y/L/N]âs working with any attorneys or prosecutors in New York.â
Disinterested, she jerked her arm, and Matt was taken aback by her spike in strength. âI couldâve spared you some time and told you that myself.â She said, âBut Iâve been informed heâs refusing to speak to anyone so unless you want to show up to court tomorrow with nothing, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and let me help you, Mr. Murdok.â Her voice was acrid poison cloaked with honey, unbearably sweet.
His knuckles were blanched as he stepped back, offering the file he and Nelson forged together. Pleased, she grabbed the file and loudly apologized to the escorting officer for the inconvenience. There were alarms and buzzing sounds every few seconds as they ambled further inside and she wouldâve lost her mind being forced to stay in a place like this. The gated entrance swung open and she safely assumed the corridor suffused with dozens of officers was where Frank was restrained. She disregarded the questioning and suggestive looks she received as she neared the opened door. The array of voices and clanging of metal dimmed as she reached inside. Across the room, handcuffed and dressed in bright orange, was Frank Castle. Some of his bruises were lighter and most of his scabs were gone.Â
Frank convinced himself the sedatives blended with a possible concussion mustered this image of a woman forged in a lab; someone couldnât be that pretty, but here she was. âI would lose my mind if I was stuck wearing an orange jumpsuit.â The heavy-duty door closed with a bang and she sauntered to the metal table like they were old friends having lunch together.
The metal chair scratched against the concrete. He watched her intently. âSomething tells me you would make it work.âÂ
She chuckled and opened the organized file. âOf course, I would,â Her eyes moved quickly as she scanned over the highlighted and underlined questions as she clicked open her black pen. The writing was messy, practically scribbles in different colored ink, but she managed to discern the passages. âTheyâve been going over similar cases and they think it would benefit you if they bring forth someone from your past. The Nelson and Murdock firm is suggesting you bring someone from your military unit to speak to the nature of your service.â She read from the paper and fiddled with the pen, twisting and swirling it around her fingers.Â
Frank brought his eyebrows together in confusion. âWhatâs that got to do with anything?
She peered at him through her lashes. âHow should I know, Iâm not a lawyer,â His mouth twitched. âOh, itâs circled and underlined here saying itâs a character witness. They want to put someone on the stand who knows you well and can speak about what youâve been through.â She chuckled, which sounded more like a huff from her nose, and flipped through the pages. âThey really dumbed it down for me, huh?âÂ
There was a flash of anger in his eyes. âTheyâre going for PTSD, arenât they?âÂ
She scanned the columns of words, arrows that showed definitions, and simpler terms. âSeems so since thatâs also circled and underlined.â
Frank shook his head assertively. âYou write down that theyâre not gonna do that. Itâs an insult,â He rubbed his finger and thumb together. âItâs an insult to them, people actually going through it. I know what they want to do. They want you to sit there and ask me questions that will label me just another case of some crazy-ass combat vet who lost his mind. Maybe thatâll appeal to some shitbag jury in some shitbag court.â Frank was nearly fuming at the accusation, the idea of sitting in a courthouse and hearing them disrespectfully throw around the word âPTSDâ. âIt wasnât on a battlefield. Thatâs not when my life went to shit.â [Y/N] neatly wrote every word, making sure to circle and underline every curse word that Frank sneered. âNow, doll, I believe that you told me that you were going to find me answers. Thatâs what you said to me. Do you have anything for me or not?â
Her hand froze and she narrowed her eyes. Lifting her gaze from the cursive on the paper, she straightened her back. âOh, Iâm sorry, let me pull some answers right out of my asshole for you, Frank.â She didnât have much information, probably because nearly nothing was documented. She was searching and forging aliases daily for a smidge of information, but whoever was the leader of this operation had instilled terror. âItâs not that easyââ
âThat what you want? You want things to be easy?â
She rolled her eyes, something she found herself doing basically every minute of every day now. âGet over yourself. Iâm doing everything I can with little-to-no information and limited resources. I am losing sleep making fake IDs and credentials to find something. Breaking into places I have no business being in and you wanna sit there and act like Iâve been doing nothing but twirling my hair?â Frank didnât think unfiltered anger could be so mesmerizing. âSo, do us both a favor and give me a goddamn character witness and cooperate so you donât rot in a prison cell.â
He didnât speak but watched the way her eyes burned with raging embers and the way her hair gleamed in the interrogation room lighting.Â
For that moment, he was done for.
âColonel Ray Schoonover. My old CO.â She nodded and took a breath, writing the name down. âForget the PTSD defense, but if they want a character witness, the Colonel, he will do.â Her hand moved quickly and Frank wondered how someone could write so many loops so quickly. âNow, do you have anything for me or not? Or should I go back to rotting in my prison cell?â His voice softened and there was even amusement laced in his words. She chuckled lightly and shook her head, barely noticeable.
âSo dramatic,â She muttered beneath her breath. âI did find something.â She pulled a stack of papers from her briefcase.
âIâve already been over all those a hundred times.â He said once he caught a clear glimpse of the words.
She smirked. âNot with me, you havenât.â Frank didnât know how to respond to that. âThe medical examinerâs report was done by Dr. Gregory Tepper. As Iâm sure you know, he is the Chief Medical Examiner and heâs testifying for Reyes in two days. His report says your family was killed by a single gunshot wound, and correct me if Iâm wrong, a gang war doesnât kill a family caught in the crossfire with just a single gunshot.â
Frankâs eyes glazed as recounted the vivid details of that night. He spoke about the different angles of exit wounds, the different bullet calibers, and the way their flesh dangled from their corpses. He spoke the faltering sentences with a numbness she could feel rush through her like a chilling wave. There wasnât a detail disregarded. It occurred to her that he must have seen these images every night he tried closing his eyes. He had no other option but to remember every horrific detail.
  The black ink of her pen swirled and looped into an intricate cursive and each curve resembled strands of hair around her shoulders. âDo you think itâs going to get easier,â She muttered under her breath. Her hand continued moving across the legal pad, but he could see her thoughts were scattered across the room. âThe grieving and the nightmares and the anger?âÂ
The brightness behind her smile often made Frank forget she was suffering from loss, too. There was no sugared lie he could tell her, he wouldnât do that to her. He didnât think this wretched agony was ever going to fade and there wasnât a single moment he thought it was. This was etched into every crevice of his damaged soul. âNo, I donât think it does.â The harsh admission made her pause and she raised her chin. âBut I think weâll learn to adapt and live with it.â
Wistfulness colored her expression and she nodded, hardly perceptible. âItâs the only thing we can do.â
The courtroom was overflowing with journalists and the bright lights of their cameras. [Y/N] glared at the emptiness of the bench and she couldnât think of anything other than screaming until her throat scabbed and the blood-stained her teeth. She wanted to clutch the lapels of Judge Cynthia Batzerâs black gown and tell her everything wrong with what she and Frank Castle were forced to endure. Her narrowed eyes traveled across the room and there wasnât anything she wanted to do more than smash Samantha Reyes' pointy nose onto the polished wooden table until the wood splintered.Â
Across the courtroom, the door squeaked open. âAll rise,â A man declared and [Y/N] forced herself to stand, âCourt is now in session. The honorable Judge Cynthia Batzer presiding indictment number 1986-4447, The People v. Frank Castle.â An unwavering silence filled the room and she swore she couldâve heard a needle drop.
Batzer perched herself on her cushioned chair. âBe seated,â In unison, everyone plopped back down on their seats. âLadies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant has been indicted for several serious crimes. But Iâm instructing you, as a point of law, that the defendant is innocent until proven guilty. Ms. Reyes, are the People ready to begin opening statements?â
Samantha Reyes stood with assurance. âMore than ready, Your Honor.â She moved around the desk, exposing her self-asurred expression to the jury. âLadies and gentlemen of the jury, Frank Castle brutally tortured and murdered 30 people,â She peered over her shoulder, glaring daggers at the handcuffed Frank. â30 that we know of. He took the law into his own hands. Acted as judge, jury, and most violent executioner. And you will hear that the defendantâs victims were criminals, but the victims are not on trial here today, and justice does not belong in the hands of a man like Frank Castle. This isnât the Wild West. Justice is served here in a court of law. And it is up to each of you to take back the city from lawless vigilantes like Frank Castle.â With a sneer, she analyzed him with such fuming hatred. âThis man is no hero. Heâs a serial killer. And he is guilty.â She thanked the judge and returned to her desk.
From where [Y/N] was, she could see the bruises across his skin were fading. He didnât appear fazed by the blatant disrespect spat at him. âMr. Nelson, are you prepared to make your opening statement?â She could see his hands trembling as he shifted through his index cards. âMr. Nelson, are you reserving the right to make your statement at a later time?â He didnât answer, merely glanced over at the murmuring crowd of witnesses and juries.Â
Distressed, his chair squeaked as he stood. âNo, Your Honor, the defense is ready to proceed.â [Y/N] sighed as she ultimately came to the conclusion Frank Castle was monumentally screwed as Foggy flipped through his cards. âLadies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant, Frank Castle, is notâSorry.â She pinched the bridge of her nose and sunk further into her chair. âMr. Castle is as much a victimâŚâ He trailed off before tossing his cards onto the table. âOkay, youâre 19, standing in hot sand, sun burning down, thereâs noise, yelling, gunfire. The only thing you know for sure is that youâre surrounded by an enemy that wants you dead. But you do it. You endure it. Why? Because you have orders and you have a duty. And also because your life doesnât end here. You have people you love waiting at home. Because aside from being a decorated marine, the man before you is a good husband and an excellent father. Frank Castle returned from the hell of war wanting nothing more than to pick up his life. But his wife, young son, and daughter were brutally murdered by criminals and no one, not the police and certainly not the District Attorney stepped up to make it right. Frank Castle never came home. He just traded in one war zone for another. This trial isnât about vigilantes. Itâs about the failure of the justice system and how one man is being used as a pawn to cover up that systemâs mistakes. The prosecution wants blood. But as the judge just said, to get it, they have to prove their case beyond a reasonable doubt. So all Iâm asking of you today is to keep an open mind. Thatâs all, Your Honor.âÂ
âColonel Ray Schoonover, United States Marine Corps.â The Colonel pressed his palm on the leather of the Bible, his other was raised as he swore to tell nothing but the truth. He nodded firmly, sitting down with an unshakable look.Â
Foggy Nelson pushed back the wooden chair, flattening his tie as he stood. [Y/N] could see there was a sureness emitting from him, something that wasnât there yesterday. The acceptance brought from the people of the courtroom brought a newfound confidence to him. âColonel, how long have you known the defendant?âÂ
Colonel Schoonover was a frighteningly grave man. There wasnât a flicker of emotion in those empty eyes. âIâd say, the better part of a decade. Most of his career in the Marine Corps.âÂ
âSo youâre familiar with his service in the Middle East?â Foggy asked, âAfghanistan, Pakistan, Iran?â
Schoonover nodded only once. âYes, very familiar.â
âI wonder if you could tell us how Lieutenant Frank Castle won the Navy Cross?â Frank's eyes glossed over at the mention of the medal as if the polished metal wasnât of any importance to him anymore.
Schoonover took a slow breath. âDue to the nature of that mission, youâll have to understand that precise circumstances are classified.â He recited the words as if he had said them a million times.
Foggy paused. âHow about the parts that are not?â
âLieutenant Frank Castle was part of a small team. He was conducting a close target reconnaissance in the vicinity of the Hindu Kush. The mission became compromised, taking enemy contact on three sides. Lieutenant Castle wanted to abort. Said the mission was a bust, pulling the plug would save lives. Officer in charge said ânoâ.â He said, âMaybe he wanted more medals on his chest. Doesnât matter. Either way, Frank was right. They were cut off, boxed into a canyon. Within the first hour, the officer in charge of that mission got his arm blown off. So Lieutenant Castle assumed command. His only goal was to get his men out alive. The enemy had set up an ambush at the only LZ that would accommodate one of our birds. LZ is a landing zone that can accommodate a helicopter. So the enemy blocked this landing zone, knowing it was the only shot the team had to get out alive. All they had to do was wait. They knew Frankâs team had to come to them. Frank went to the LZ all by himself to draw the bastards away.â
âWhy didnât he order one of his men to do it,â Foggy asked, âCertainly could have.â
Colonel Schoonover shook his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. âWasnât his style,â He said and [Y/N] chanced a glance over where he was restrained. He tore his gaze from his hands and looked directly where the Colonel was. There was an unsaid conversation exchanged between their silent gaze. âSo the men hear the firefight break out. All hell breaks loose. Frank against God knows how many. And then there was silence. The team thinks, âThatâs it. Frankâs dead. Weâre next.â The next sound they hear is the helos, the helicopters. They get to the landing zone, you know what they see? Frank Castle, standing there, grinning. Thirty-two muj surrounding him, all dead. Son of a gun cleared that entire LZ all by himself.âÂ
âHow?âÂ
The Colonel shrugged as if the answer were blatantly obvious, which it was. âBy being Frank Castle.â Her colorless eyes flickered from the golden shine of The Colonelâs medals to the fading bruises on Frankâs cheek, listening to the narration keenly. . She tried seeing Frank with a beaming smile as his fellow recruits' hopeless eyes teared with relief.
âAnd his men survived?âÂ
âAll of âem. Including the idiot officer that got âem trapped in the first place.â
Frank didnât seem pleased by the sudden positive reaction he was receiving from the jury. âIf you had to sum up Frank Castle, how would you do it?â
âI would say Frank Castle is a man who would gladly give his life to keep others safe.â
âAnd the crimes heâs accused of today?â Frank could feel everyoneâs eyes burning into him, but he could easily distinguish hers. He refrained from meeting her gaze. âCould the man you knew have committed them?â
The Colonel didnât miss a beat. âAbsolutely not.â He said firmly. âLieutenant Frank Castle that I know is a hero. A man who deserves our respect and our gratitude.â And as Schoonover glanced at him from across the courtroom, there was a flash of grief. âNot the same man.â
Foggy returned to his side of the courtroom as Samantha Reyes was called to stand. As she stood, flattening her skirt, she scanned over the spread documents. âIâd like to personally thank you for your service to this country, Colonel. My father served in Vietnam. Do you know what he told me about medals?â There was nothing sincere about the way she spoke. âHe said the only people who truly know what happened are the ones that were there. You told a nice story, Colonel. But how can we know that it happened the way you described it?â And just like that, any form of false gratitude she was pretending to have was entirely gone.Â
âPerhaps I wasnât clear,â Ray Schoonover said, âI was there, maâam. That officer that didnât listen to Frank, got his men trapped, youâre looking at him.â [Y/N] tried to muffle the sounds of her threatening laughter by covering her mouth, but the sounds slipped. Reyesâ assistant glared from his chair. âAnd believe me when I tell you, I thank God every day that I only lost my arm. That man saved my life and the lives of his entire team. If it was up to me, heâd have a Medal of Honor hanging around his neck.â
There was something so incredibly satisfying to watch Samantha Reyesâ hand clench by her sides until her knuckles blanched. âNo further questions at this time, Your Honor.âÂ
Sunset had arrived and the yellow and orange sunbeams poured into the courtroom when Andrew Lee was brought to the stand with an enlarged x-ray of Frank Castleâs skull. âThe bullet penetrated Mr. Castleâs skull in the lower right quadrant, or more specifically, the sphenofrontal suture, which is the cranial suture between the sphenoid bone and frontal bones, both here and here.â [Y/N] watched the projector and followed the red laser. She didnât have to be a licensed doctor to see the bullet stuck between the folds of his brain.Â
Foggy gestured to the projector. âI believe what my expert witness is trying to convey is that my client, Frank Castle, was shot, point-blank, execution-style, in the head.â Reyes fiddled with her pen as the words echoed through the room. âCould you please describe the damage Mr. Castle sustained from the bullet?âÂ
âIt fragmented on impact, causing damage in both the right frontal lobe and temporal lobe of his brain.â Dr. Lee explained, âMr. Castle is suffering from what we call a âSympathetic Stormingâ. Itâs a heightened and ongoing state of fight or flight in which the sympathetic nervous system is hyperactive. As if he is reliving the incident of trauma over and over again. It can plunge a seemingly peaceful individual into mental and emotional chaos.âÂ
âCan you define it for the jury, please?â
âExtreme emotional disturbance. Itâs twofold,â From the corner of her eye, [Y/N] could see the displeasure of Frankâs movements. âFirst, the defendant is so emotionally disturbed that he loses control. And second, the defendant has a reasonable explanation for said disturbance, from his point of view.â
Foggy continued to stare at the jury, hoping to rouse some connection with them. âAre you aware that Frank Castleâs wife, son, and daughter were all murdered right in front of him when he sustained the brain injury in question? An injury which, you say, keeps him in a perpetual state of mental and emotional chaos?â Dr. Lee nodded and announced he was aware. âWith that in mind, would you say that Frank Castleâs mental state satisfies the definition of âExtreme Emotional Disturbanceâ?â
Reyes shot from her chair. âObjection, calls for a conclusion!â
Foggy restrained himself from rolling his eyes. âYour Honor, Dr. Lee is an expert on the brain. He is qualified to an opinion, and said opinion is not only relevant but imperative to the case.â Batzer thought for a second before nodding for him to continue, announcing the overruled decision.
âPersonally, I do believe he is suffering from EED, yes.âÂ
âAnd one whoâs suffering from extreme emotional disturbance, is it possible to willfully premeditate a crime?â
âAny infractions would be considered crimes of passion.â
âHow many of your patients witnessed their families being brutally murdered right in front of them? Other than Frank Castle?â Dr. Lee confirmed that Frank was the only one. âAnd so would you say the circumstances surrounding Frankâs mental state are different than those of your other patients? And what exactly would that difference be, in simpler terms?â
âFrank Castleâs been through hell.â
The sound of a chair colliding onto the floor echoed the room. âYou killed my dad!â A young boyâs voice tore through the air. A row behind her was a child with pale skin and freckles scattered across his tear-streamed face. âI donât give a shit what youâve been through! You killed him!â His eyes were bloodshot, his ginger hair tousled and disheveled. âI saw him in a coffin with holes in him! He was my dad, and now heâs gone!â An officer yanked him by his forearm and his voice dissipated into nothingness as he was dragged outside the double doors. The disturbance racked through the jury. She could see their unsettled gazes flicker between Judge Batzer and Frank. [Y/N] couldnât even hear the uptight words that judge was advising the jury.Â
Minutes passed when the courtroom was advised to leave and she couldnât think of anything other than the grief-ridden voice of the young boy and how he clutched onto a photograph of his father as the tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. She was disturbed, not by his wailing and grief, but more by her lack of emotion towards the outburst. She mulled over the void of sympathy. Did this make her worthy of those distressed glares, too? She didnât think of buzzing alarms and metal clanking as she ventured further to where the interrogation rooms resided.Â
The door swung open and the officer stepped aside, his distracted gaze remaining on the softness of [Y/N]âs exposed legs as she entered the confined room. From where Frank was casually perched, his restrained hands closing firmly as his jaded glare intensified. The officer noticed the warning glare and immediately tore his eyes away and closed the door. The scene was familiar as she walked across the room, pulling her chair from under the metal table. âA theatrical performance, wasnât it?âÂ
âI did that, right?â He asked, âThat kid, I took his father from him. I did that.â His voice was jagged as gravel as his calloused hands clenched again.Â
[Y/N] drew her lower lip between her teeth, nodding. âAppears so.â She agreed.
Frank swallowed and she thought that the boyâs words affected him much more than she initially thought. âWas that rough for you in there?â
She pondered on the question. âIâve seen worse.â Her detached eyes gleamed as the thick rim of lashes fluttered. âSometimes I think something is wrong with me because I feel nothing when I think of the things Iâve done. Sometimes, at night, I think of the countless times Iâve scrubbed my hands and the blood doesnât come off. But I donât feel guilty, I feel ready to do everything all over again.â The words spilled from her and she couldnât control them from pouring from her. She wasnât certain why she was telling him this and he was staring at her as if he were thinking the same thought. âI have done some terrible things for my family and I donât think the blood is coming off my hands no matter how many times I wash them. So when I hear them say all those things about you, theyâre saying them about me and Iâm worried because I canât bring myself to care.â
There was no glossiness in her eyes. He knew the feeling of the gradual numbness that gnawed through him. She wasnât searching for reassurance or for someone to whisper against her tears that things would get better. She wanted someone to hold her hand and say, âI see you and I understand.âÂ
He wasnât a man of many words, but he told her what he needed someone to say to him. âI see you, [Y/N].â Her eyes moved from the chipping of her nail polish to him. âI see you and I get it.â She closed her eyes tightly with her eyebrows scrunched together. A broken stained-glass mural is what she reminded him of; a shattered array of colors.Â
When she opened her eyes again, there was something brighter within them. She was understood and this restored a fragment of her mural. âThey told me they need you to take the stand.â The conversation was over but he could already hear a shift in her voice.Â
He groaned quietly, exasperated. âCome on, why would I?âÂ
She leaned forward, her elbows propped on the table. âThat kid screwed you over. The jury has to know what happened to you, what you go through every single day.â Her fingers were pressed against her temple, resting there. âThey were trying to sugar coat it, but this is basically your last shot before it all goes to shit.âÂ
Frank narrowed his eyes. âAnd what do you think is gonna happen here?â He asked, âWeâre not gonna win this thing.â
Her eyes closed softly. âThink thatâs pretty obvious, but we can still reduce the charges.â Frank sighed as if this were the most ridiculous thing heâd ever heard. âDonât give me that. You might not give a shit, but this is important to me. Every single one of those people out there thinks youâre some lunatic monster, but I know youâre not.â Her voice was shaky as she opened her eyes, looking into that warm gaze of an off-guard Frank Castle. A rare sight, that was. âYouâre not.âÂ
Frankâs expression softened before hardening. âYou sure about that?â He asked. âWhat if I find these men that did that to my family? What if nothing changes? What if this is just me now?â He looked scared at the thought of his efforts, the blood he spilled, the tears he cried to mean nothing.
âI think youâll adapt and learn to live with it,â She said softly. âItâs the only thing we can do, remember?â Her eyes scanned over his shoulders and forearms, leaning over and glimpsing beneath the desk at his legs. His eyebrows pinched together as he stared at her as if she were the most bizarre thing heâd come across.Â
âWhatâre you doing?â He gruffly asked.
âGetting an estimate on your measurements for your suit.â She replied casually.Â
His nose scrunched, the small wrinkles creasing around his eyes. âHold on, I gotta wear a suit?â
She released a small giggle, the sound was feminine and reminded him of sunshine on a bright summer day.âI didnât think youâd grown fond of the neon orange,â The lightheartedness seeping from the rosiness of her lips was something he didnât know he needed. Every day was shrouded with overbearing darkness and just to have a second where he could see the light was gratifying. âDonât worry, Iâll make sure itâs an expensive one.âÂ
âI didnât agree to take the stand.â
She clicked her pen and brought her legal pad closer to her. She scribbled something down. âYou will,â She crossed her knee over the other. He opened his mouth to protest. âNow, black or dark blue?âÂ
âIâm not wearing aââ
âStupid question,â She said to herself, scratching away whatever she had written. âObviously black. Iâm thinking no tie.âÂ
Stepping inside the courthouse was crowded, the air was thick with aflutter conversation as she sipped the carton of her warm hot chocolate. She didnât like the strong bitterness of coffee, pouring spoons of sweetened creamer and sugar only for the bitterness to strain her tongue. She pushed through the gathering crowd of the photographers when a hand grabbed her clothed shoulder. She retracted and was going to pummel her closed hand into their nose when she saw the hand belonged to an officer. His eyes remained forward, but his grasp tightened. âKeep walking, [Y/N].â She furrowed her eyebrows together and glanced around. No one was looking at them, they were completely disregarded as they inched closer to a secluded corner. As the crowd dwindled, he leaned closer to her ear. âCastle has agreed to be sentenced to Rykerâs Island. There, he will speak with Mr. Fisk about the information regarding his and your familyâs death.â His voice was monotone, almost recited, and nonchalant. [Y/N] yanked his hand from her shoulder and whirled around. His hand quickly moved to the closed latch of his weapon. A wordless threat, surely. âOnce Frank complies with Mr. Fiskâs demands, we will contact you and you will pick him up. Any failure to comply, Ms. [Y/L/N], I will arrest you for multiple counts of fraud.â With a final nod, he continued onward as if the conversation werenât filled with threats and illegal plans. She watched him disappear inside the courtroom with an unbothered casualness.Â
[Y/N] was rarely ever wrong and when she was, she seldom admitted it. This time wasnât any different. Frank Castle entered the courtroom with his severely passive expression, his hands, and ankles handcuffed as the crowd gathered in every available cheer. His tailored suit fit him perfectly and the darkness of the smooth fabric matched his eyes. The police escorted him to the stand and his eyes scanned the crowd. There were people wearing clothes with his name painted on them, his face ironed on the plain fabric, and they raised large signs. He thought it was strange for people to be treating him as a celebrity. The officer from earlier leaned close to him. âThink about what you want, Frank.â He didnât chance him a glance. His eyes glossed over every face in that room until he found her.Â
She was distracted by the color-coordinated notations on her paper, her delicate fingers twirled her pen in circles. The room clamored with indistinct voices and the aggravating clicks of cameras, but his gaze stayed on the smoothness of her skin. He observed her movements when she thought no one was looking; she was achingly pretty. Her eyes moved from the paper and met his, her blushed lips parting softly before they curved into a half-moon. The noise dimmed and for that brief second, there was nothing worth paying attention to in that courtroom but her. And that was dangerous and he couldnât have that.
Matt unraveled his white cane and hesitantly loomed closer to where Frank was seated. âMr. Castle, youâve been charged with multiple capital crimes. Been called a killer incapable of empathy or remorse. May I call you Frank?â Frank nodded, barely perceptible as he narrowed his eyes. âFrank, weâve heard a lot about neurochemistry and psychology, and all things unfolding, scientifically and otherwise, inside your brain. But I just have one question I want to ask. What happened that day? The day your family was so tragically killed.â Frank opened his mouth, entirely prepared to speak his truth, but his eyes moved from Matt to the officer who whispered to him that Wilson Fisk had his answers, then they moved to [Y/N]. âItâs okay, Frank. I understand itâs difficult.â
His brusque voice tore through the tense air. âDo you?â He asked, âDo you understand? âCause I donât think you understand shit.â
Matt sighed, folding his cane. âIâd like permission to treat the witness as hostile, Your Honor?â He placed his hands on his waist. âAll right, Frank. You donât want to tell us? Iâll tell you. Iâm gonna tell you exactly what kind of man you are. Youâre the kind of man this city needs. Because, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we all know this city needs help. Needs it now. Not tomorrow, not next week, not when the day comes, when the corruption that Wilson Fisk left in his wake is flushed out for good, and the police force is finally back on its feet. We need it now. Because this city has been sick. And the cops canât fix it alone. We all need men and women who are willing to take the fight themselves. The kind of people who risk their lives so that we can walk safely at night in our neighborhoods. The ones our esteemed District Attorney here is trying so hard to destroy. New York needs these people. We need heroes.â The people raised their signs and cheered, clapping and whooping reverberating. âThe help they offer and the hope that they provide. Frank Castle wanted to help, but he took it too far. He shot people, he killed people. Itâs against the law. And he broke that law many, many times. Now, I donât like him any more than you do, but hereâs the thing, he is not a common criminal. Heâs not malicious in intent. Frank Castle is actually a good man, he just doesnât know the difference between right and wrong anymore. And he doesnât need punishment for that. He needs help. Our help. Thatâs the kind of man Frank Castle is. And now, you have to decide what kind of jury you want to be. No further questions, Your Honor.âFrank took a breath. âYour Honor, can I say something?â He wasnât going to do this just for himself. He was going to do it for her, too. âYou know those people? The ones I put down, the people I killed? I want you to know that Iâd do it all again,â The crowd exclaimed with shock. âThis is a circus, all right? Itâs a charade, itâs an act. Itâs bullshit about how crazy I am. I ainât crazy! Iâm not crazy. I know what I did. I know who I am. And I do not need your help. Iâm smack-dab in the middle of my right goddamn mind, and any scumbag, any lowlife, any maggot piece of shit that I put down, I did it because I liked it! Hell, I loved it! Iâm sitting here, Iâm just itching to do it again. And you think youâre gonna send me to a nuthouse? Some doctor is gonna get me to stop from doing what I want to do? Well, that ainât happening! Not on my watch!â [Y/N] watched, open-mouthed, as Frank stood so hard that the chair flew back. âYou people call me The Punisher, ainât that right? The big bad Punisher. Here I am! You want it, you got it! I am The Punisher!â An officer wrapped his baton around Frankâs neck and struggled to remove him from the stand as Frank screamed and bellowed at the crowd and jury. Â
The moonlight poured through the windows of her apartment, the moonbeams casting panels of white shadows across the cold marble. The blush pink wine was lukewarm as she pulled her knees beneath her chin and listened to the faint noise of the city outside her balcony. She needed the silence, she couldnât hear anything other than the blaring news all day. The district attorneyâs office was obliterated with military-grade ammunition and the devastation unnerved the population like crashing waves. Samantha Reyes was murdered, dozens of bullets piercing through her skin, and there was consolation in the news.Â
There was a creak across the room, a sound she mightâve dismissed from the flush wine if she hadnât heard the same creak from her rusty door hinges the morning before. [Y/N] squinted through the darkness of her room, wondering if she could see moving shadows. The sounds seeping from the opened balcony door quieted and there was an unsettling stillness. She apprehensively reached for the chilled metal beneath her silk pillow. Soundless, she wrapped her hands around the handle of the gun. She stopped breathing as the door slowly moved open. She released a wavering breath as Frank Castle appeared from the shadows of the night, her hands collapsing onto the silk sheets.Â
She was on her knees, the smoothness of her thighs was uncovered from her nightgown. The strap was dangling beneath her shoulder, unveiling the softness of her breasts, and her hair was lazily bound together with strands sticking everywhere. Her bare face brightened as he loomed closer to the edge of the bed frame. With the moonlight caressing her skin and the achromatic nightgown emphasizing her curves, he could have fallen to his bruised knees at the sight of her smiling from his arrival. She was relieved to see him lurking in the glooms of her room and he didnât know how to feel about the realization. âI have to admit,â She mused, âOrange was not your color.â The corners of his mouth turned up.
An aureole of moonlight shrouded every curve and contour of her with a sweetness he could only think of as basking in the moonbeams at midnight. His breathing hitched as she stared at him with a beckoning gaze. âI like your hair like that,â He foolishly said, nervously pointing to the darkness of her bundled hair. âYou lookâŚpretty.â As soon as the words filled the chilled air, he mentally groaned at the stiffness of his voice. There was a time when having conversations with people was effortless, a second nature. But he couldnât think of something ordinary to say. She simpered and glanced at her reflection across the room before laughing at the sight.Â
She brought her softened gaze to him and motioned to his clothes. âYou clean up nice when you arenât covered in blood.â He glanced down at the dirtied shoes he found and chuckled airily. When she brought him away from the prison, he didnât have much time to scrub away the blood he sustained from killing an entire cell block. She had handed him a small packet of floral-scented towelettes and wiped away as much as he could with the carâs mirror. âDo you need any ice for the bruises?â She asked, pointing to her own eyes and nose. âI donât think Iâve ever seen you without any black eyes.â
The purple bruises were beginning to fade until the altercation in the cell block and Wilson Fisk. Now, they had darkened again, spreading further across his face and occasionally aching. He shook his head. âNah, Iâm good.â He glanced around the room. The decor was exactly how heâd imagined it would be; sultry and feminine. He felt like a teenager again, like he was slowly walking inside the schoolâs prettiest girlâs room. His hands were tucked inside the pockets of his black jacket as he examined the framed photographs scattered across her room. He neared the balcony, watching as the sheer curtains flowed with the night breeze, and from the corner of his eye, heâd seen it; a shadow moving quickly across the street on the rooftop before disappearing into nothingness. He paused, contemplating what to do before moving on. âSomeoneâs on the rooftop,â He said, his fingers brushing over the mahogany desk. This would have been straightforward if he were by himself. He wouldnât have to worry about anyone other than himself, but she was beside him.
She nodded as she pressed her lips together, carefully scooting to the edge of the bed. âTwo, actually.â She put her sandals on and Frank thought they were adorably ridiculous. She wore a black satin nightgown with cushioned sandals with some sort of fuzz centered in the middle. She was such a girl. âOne for you and one for me, I assume.â Her manicured hand reached for his calloused one. His eyes trailed from her small hand to the space between her eyes where a steady laser appeared.Â
Frank tossed himself onto her and she gasped before the air escaped from her lungs as she slammed against the floor. His entire body was strewn over her, his hands tangling her hair as he covered her head from debris. His stomach was pressed against her back and the zipper of his jeans scraped her ass as he squirmed above her. The room was decimated with gunfire. She couldnât see anything from Frankâs large hands shielding her face, but she listened to the glass shatter and wood splinter. The gunfire was deafening as they tore through the room and she choked on the powdery rubble as she breathed heavily. Frank squeezed her tightly as the glass splintered his exposed skin.Â
The gunfire stopped and the room became eerily still. He apprehensively lifted himself from her and he wiped the fragments of glass and splinters from her cheek. Her eyes were tightly closed and her hands pressed against her ears. When the noise stopped and the heavyweight disappeared, she reluctantly opened her eyes. He tucked her tangled hair away from her dirtied face. âYou okay,â She frantically nodded and grasped his steady hand. Her wide eyes blinked as the dust in the air stung them. âCome on, [Y/N/N], I gotta hear you say it.â His hands, rough and the cause of mayhem and death, touched her like she was fragile glass.Â
The nickname was unfamiliar against his tongue but if she didnât like it, she didnât say anything. She grabbed his hands, embracing them tightly. She was in an unfamiliar state of shock. He knew that dazed expression like the back of his scarred hand. âYeah, Iâm okay,â She murmured. Her voice was velvety and faint as she peeked around the tattered room. The filling inside her pillows and mattress were scattered across the floor and her picture frames were torn and fractured. As if waking from a deep slumber, she turned back to him, her shaking hands caressing his cheekbones. She couldnât think of the broken perfume bottles and holes on her walls, she was distracted from the trickle of blood cascading down his cheek. âAre you okay?â Her eyes moved across his face briskly. She brushed a shard of glass away from his forehead. Her movements were unstable but gentle.Â
He swallowed away his fogged thoughts. âIâm good, but weâve gotta go.â He pulled her from the floor with ease, kicking aside the broken pieces of furniture. âStay low.â He covered her backside as she wobbled to her feet. She took a breath before darting across the room and through her kitchen. There on the countertop were her car keys, casually discarded when she returned home earlier that night. She snatched her keys and unlocked the door, misstepping and nearly collapsing to the hallway floor. The other residents of the complex were screaming and sobbing. She pushed forward and peered over her shoulder and released a relieved sigh as Frank wrapped his arm around her, ushering her to the emergency staircase. The heavy door slammed closed as they stumbled down the staircase, occasionally peeking behind them. Frankâs hand remained pressed against her back, always making sure she was ahead of him. She couldnât hear anything other than the blood rushing through her ears and the burning of her lungs with each breath she took. Her hand hovered above the rusted handrail and she grimaced every time her sandal almost slipped off.Â
Messily spraypainted onto the wall was the bolded word âGarageâ when they reached the bottom of the complex. She shoved the garage door open, revealing the apartmentâs occupantsâ vehicles, and she scrambled to the high-priced car parked across the garage. [Y/N] pressed the button on her key and the doors unlocked. Once inside and situated in the driverâs seat and with Frank beside her, she tightly closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. âGonna take a wild guess and say those are the Blacksmithâs men and you didnât kill Reyes and Tepper?â Frank glimpsed at the rearview mirror and eased when there wasnât anyone following them. He nodded wordlessly. âThereâs definitely a hit on me now, isnât there?â His exhausted glance answered her question and she relaxed her head on the headrest, pinching the bridge of her nose.Â
His eyes softened as she steadied her breathing. He used these brief distracted moments to take in the sight of her. âLast chance to leave and forget about all this,â Frank said, his chest heaving. She opened her eyes and lifted an eyebrow. âYou can leave and hide away in some penthouse and be safe, or you can start the car and drive.â He gave her a choice; he was giving her the chance to realize this journey was going to shatter and strain them, forcing them to relive every aching moment of their tragic life. He was giving her the chance to realize this and leave. He was giving her something he never had; a chance to live.Â
A lush laugh filled the quietness of the car. Her eyes were brimming with stilled distress and he could see her hands trembling on the steering wheel. Her thighs and forearms were scratched, vague bruises blossoming on her skin. âIâm not going anywhere,â She breathed, and the finality lacing her words was profound. She knew this was going to haunt her thoughts and she was going to spill blood again, but she had to. [Y/N] wasnât going to disregard the torment anymore, distract her plaguing thoughts with expensive shoes when her chance to avenge her family was beside her. She twisted the key inside the ignition and the rumble of the engine ripped through the silence of the garage. âIâm not letting you have all the fun.â Frank gave her a once-over, stunned at the definitive response.
The garage gate slowly moved open and the moonlight streamed through the windows. The multi-colored lights of the nightlife and the clamoring voices and music flowed through the city as they drove mindlessly. She occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror, expecting someone to appear behind the car with handguns aimed at them. With Frank beside her, she didnât feel as vulnerable. There was a small and foolish piece of her that wished someone would try to strike them. She dismissed the twisted thought. âAre you hungry,â He asked, jutting his chin at the bright neon lights of a dinerâs sign. Some of the letters were flickering and a few were completely out. She didnât bother giving him an answer as she parked near the entrance.Â
She closed her door and crossed her arms over her chest, the frigid breeze caressing her exposed skin. Looking down, she supposed wearing scantily-clad pajamas hadnât been the appropriate choice. They were further away from the main city, but the streets were still illuminated with the occasional headlights. She exhaled shakily as goosebumps rose. She was going to need a landfill of hot chocolate. Frank sized her up, faintly shaking his head. He removed his jacket, draping the much larger fabric over her shoulders. She jolted at the gentle touch but didnât protest as the warmth enveloped her instantly. He pulled open the squeaky door and stepped aside, allowing her to step inside before him. Her cheeks flushed, turning her face before he could notice.Â
[Y/N] smelled the brewing coffee and the sizzling bacon, the warmth of the small diner was comforting, a drastic change of atmosphere. She dismissed the bewildered glances a few of the customers gave her as she slipped inside the booth across the room. She extended her bruised and scraped legs beside his thighs and closed her eyes as she leaned against the backside of the booth. There was faint music playing over the damaged speakers and she needed a second to unwind, to process everything that had happened less than an hour ago. âHad to pick the sketchiest part of the neighborhood to stop at, huh?â She muttered, her eyes remaining closed.
His eyes flickered over the softness of her neck before looking around. There were a few questionable patrons, some he noticed were clutching onto their guns and pocketknives, but the dining area was relatively empty. âOh, yeah. Iâm shaking in my boots.â She opened her eyes, a curve rose on her lips before chuckling. She didnât think the Frank Castle was capable of making jokes. He gestured for the waitress behind the counter. âMaâam, can we get a little black coffee over here?â [Y/N] shook her head, muttering that she wanted hot chocolate instead. âAnd one hot chocolate, thanks.â
She peered outside the windows, watching as the branches swayed with the wind. The streets were emptying as the time passed. âOverheard Reyes saying the Blacksmith is moving uncut narcotics into Manhatten,â She whispered, âI figured with the lack of information about him, heâs working alone. So I eliminated everything except railroads, shipping lines, and trucks.â She mentally crossed off the bullet points she made when determining possible covert routes. She stopped as the woman placed the empty mugs on the tabletop. The waitress poured the burning coffee into Frankâs mug and placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate beside [Y/N]âs hand. She smiled and disappeared before she could thank the woman.Â
Frank cocked his head, a teasing smile rising. âAnd howâd you âoverhearâ that?â
[Y/N] blew the steam from her mug. âIâm good at sneaking into places I shouldnât be at,â That was a severe understatement. She was adept with breaking into high-security places and leaving before an alarm would even detect something was wrongâa mastery she found brought her much discipline when her father was still alive.
He sipped his coffee. âIâm starting to think youâre some kind of secret badass, [Y/N/N].âÂ
With the rim of the chocolate-stained mug against her mouth, she laughed. âOh, yeah?â She rhetorically questioned. âCould probably easily take you and put you on your ass.âÂ
Frank laughed quietly as if the mere thought was ludicrous. âI guess weâll have to see about that one day,â He challenged. He gulped down his coffee and licked the remnants from his lips. She didnât understand how he could enjoy the overbearing bitterness of plain black coffee. She grimaced at the thought of even sipping a droplet. His gaze moved to the callouses on his hand. âWho wouldâve thought?â He mumbled to himself.
She brought the mug down, a ghostly smile still on her lips. She licked the chocolate stains from the corners of her mouth. âThought what?â She asked, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. Her eyes were doe-like and glittering at each word he gruffly said.
âThat the princess of New York would be making jokes with the big, bad Punisher.â His rough hands were permanently tarnished with blood he spilled every night and they were desperately reaching to feel the tenderness of her pure hands.
[Y/N] casually shrugged, not even thinking twice about the nickname. âIâve had worse conversations with worse men.â She teased. âAlthough this is the first time Iâve talked to a man who had the trial of the decade and escaped prison in a day.â
âFirst time for everything.â She glanced at the veins on his hands as he raised the mug to his lips. âFull of surprises, doll. Here you are, sitting in your underwear drinking hot chocolate with the dude who put shitbags on meathooks.â
Her lashes fluttered as she looked at him. âWouldnât have you any other way.â She said the docile words brought a warmth inside him. âAnd itâs not underwear, itâs a nightgown. You are such a typical guy.â She playfully rolled her eyes.Â
Frank laughed, a sound that wasnât shared often but a sound she was beginning to grow fond of. âNah, doll, Iâm not like all those pretty boys youâve talked to.â There was nothing âpretty boyâ about Frank Castle. He was a brusque man who relished the warm feeling of his enemyâs blood tainting his skin, used his hands as weapons, and still smiled softly as he opened the door for her. He was knife-like, sharp-edged and rough, calloused, and didnât care if he broke dozens of bones every night. But, here he was, making sure she didnât burn her tongue on her hot chocolate.
She lifted an eyebrow. âNo, youâre right,â She lightheartedly agreed. âYouâre the first guy who opened a door for me.â Her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. Undiluted shock colored Frankâs expression and she couldnât restrain the bubbling laughter as she covered her face with her palms. âAnd definitely the first time a guy has offered his jacket.âÂ
She giggled at the flash of burning frustration on his face. â[Y/N], you dating douchebags or something? Come on, thatâs bullshit.â He couldnât even wrap his mind around the mere thought of someone looking at her, having someone that beautiful giving them a sliver of her precious attention, and refusing to be a gentleman. He was so unnerved by the admission that he hadnât even realized he had mistakenly correlated himself with guys sheâs dated.Â
âYeah, I was.â Her expression drooped. âGave up dating for some time afterâŚeverything happened. And when I did start again, all I met were guys who were more concerned about having lint on their suits and having some pretty thing on their arm than being nice to me.â She looked up at him and the sadness on her face disappeared. âSo believe me when I say Iâd rather talk to you.â [Y/N] was always interlocked with someone who was concerned with their image, and how they presented themselves every second of every day. So she savored this passing moment of genuine conversation with someone who didnât care if she wasnât âpresentableâ. Frank Castle looked at her as a human, not a trophy.
Headlights shined into the diner before fluttering off. Frank sighed, almost seeming disappointed the conversation needed to end. âThat Buick rolled around the block three times before it finally pulled up,â She tensed as she glanced out the window. Two men slammed their doors closed. âNow, go in the back and get the waitress. Find the cook and find the biggest piece of steel and get under it. Go now.â
She blinked, processing the information. âWho are they?â Were those the men who destroyed her apartment?
âJust some guys who are about to walk into a diner for the last time.â He tore his gaze from the car. She opened her mouth to respond, but he swiftly interrupted her. âYou gotta go now. Now, [Y/N/N].â She hesitated, wanting to protest but he was already pulling his gun from his waistband.
She hurried to behind the counter, pushing the waitress away from the dining room. She had barely stepped inside the cooking station when she heard gunshots, glass shattering, and the sound of wood splintering. She ushered the waitress and the cook to the corner furthest from the entrance, covering them with a spare metal table.
[Y/N] removed Frankâs jacket, tossing it aside. She couldnât even count how many gunshots she was hearing as she fastened her hair with a loose hair tie. Stepping outside the cooking station, Frank yelled incoherently at her as he threw himself over the counter. He crashed onto the floor as the goon aimed his gun, the discarded glass plates shattering. Frank reached for her, missing by inches when she rushed forward, sliding her thigh across the countertop, and kicked the chest of the goon. She landed on her feet as he groaned and collapsed onto the table inside the booth. She didnât give him the chance to compose himself and she grabbed his raised arm, jamming her palm into the point of his elbow. She grinned as his bone caved in the opposite direction, his bone fracturing. He screamed and she collided her knuckles with his nose, hastily kicking her leg outward and against his stomach. As he clutched his stomach, she spun low to the floor and swung her leg against his ankles. She straightened before he could crash against the floor.Â
He kicked her ankle and she stumbled against the countertop. With a glare, she steadied herself before she could trip over her own feet and he pushed himself from the floor, grabbing a freshly washed kitchen knife from the sink. He swiped the blade at her and she dodged every slice in the air he made. She backed away and grabbed the handle of the boiling coffee pot from the stove and smashed the glass over his head. The goon screamed with agony as his skin welted immediately, flushing a bright shade of red as the coffee burned him. She yanked the kitchen knife from his weak grasp and sliced at the thin skin of his neck and shoved the blade inside his stomach again and again and again. She ignored the hardness of his ribcage and the sound of his skin tearing as the blood poured onto her in pulsing waves.Â
Across the diner, Frank stepped on the hand of the other goon who crawled to a discarded gun on the floor, leaving a streak of blood on the floor. He grabbed the gun from the floor, flipping the bleeding man on his stomach. His breathing was heavy as he aimed at his head. âThe Blacksmith, where is he?â He interrogated, nearly breathless.
âScrew you.â He brought the gun to the goonâs knee and pressed the trigger. He released a strangled cry as he choked on his own blood.Â
âWhere?â Was all Frank panted.
âGo to hell.â The goon choked. Frank didnât seem surprised, simply inconvenienced by his refusal. He straddled the man, both of his knees against his bleeding ribcage. He flipped the gun upside down and repeatedly smashed the bottom of the grip against his face. His face was disfigured and chunks of his skin were dangling when Frank stopped.Â
Frank pressed the gun to the bottom of his chin. âI want a place.â
The man coughed and a splurge of blood dribbled down his face. â41st Street,â He said through broken teeth. âThe pier. I can take youââ The gunshot silenced him.
Frank stood from the corpse and took in the sight of [Y/N] completely soaked in blood. She panted as she wiped the drenched hair from her face, tossing the knife onto the counter. The clinking of the utensil against the bloodstained counter pulled him from his jumbled thoughts. She examined her hand, groaning as she picked at her finger. âI chipped my nail polish.â She whined with a small pout.
He stared at her incredulously. âWhat the hell was that?â His eyes moved to the mangled corpse of the goon she endured by herself, barely maimed by the man. Her skin was colored dark crimson and he furrowed his eyebrows together as he continued to glance between her and the mauled man. She wasnât small, but he supposed it was only his fault for mistaking her as delicate.Â
She dismissed the question with a quick wave of her hand. âIâll explain in the car.â She stepped over the corpses, grabbed Frankâs jacket, and scrunched her nose as if she stepped on a piece of gum, not two dead menâone she had killed. Frank shook his head, unbelieving as he followed after her. The door squeaked as she stepped outside. The wind chilled against her wet skin and walked to the side of the diner, switching the water for the water hose that was discarded onto the gravel. She quickly doused herself with the water, washing away the blood as much as she could. She rinsed her hands, then washed her unclothed legs and arms. âIâve got spare clothes in the trunk for times like this. Be a doll and grab them for me, please?â The blood pooled on the gravel, seeping into the patches of dirt.
Confused, and particularly intrigued, he obliged and opened the trunk of her car. Neatly folded near the back were all-black attire and stained boots. With his hands gripping the clothes, he chuckled to himself. He was a fool to think [Y/N] was innocent. He handed her the folded clothes and turned his back toward her, offering some privacy. She dried herself with Frank's jacket and slipped on the skin-tight bodysuit before tossing the nightgown in the truck before slamming it down, and zipping the front zipper. She slipped on her socks, then boots. When Frank whirled around, he gave her a blank look. âReally,â He asked blandly.Â
She scrunched her eyebrows and looked down at the clothes. There wasnât any skin visible, although the bodysuit clung to every divot and curve. Was it unnecessary? Absolutely. Did she look incredibly gorgeous? Also absolutely. She shrugged. âIt was on sale.â She tossed him the car keys and he latched onto them mid-air. As the engine rumbled, she inspected her reflection with careful eyes. She rubbed the splotches of splattered blood from her cheeks.Â
Frank drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other behind her, his hand brushing against the skin of her neck. His eyes were narrowed on the traffic of the streets, but she could feel his thoughts were rampant. âYou gonna explain what that was back there?âÂ
She lowered the music from the speaker after a moment. âMy dad was a paranoid man,â At the mention of her father, his disarray eased. âYou know what war does to people. Each time he came home, it was like seeing him slowly fade away. When I was eleven, he decided I needed to be prepared for war when it came. He wanted me to survive.â She watched as the city lights blurred together outside the window. âI didnât have much of a childhood with being forced to learn how to stitch stab wounds and how to kill someone under thirty seconds with my hands.
âI didnât see my dad often when he was across the world, but when he did come home, it was like all the things he forced me to do with strangers didnât even matter. All that mattered was that he was home and he could hold me again. I donât blame him for losing himself during the war. I canât even imagine the horrors men like you both would have to see and endure. I love my father and I couldnât be more proud of him, but there is a small part of me that canât forgive him for leaving me when I needed him the most.â Her gaze flickered from the smears of the nightlife to him.Â
He didnât know how he could respond to the admission. He didnât think of the wistful yearning from someone elseâs perspective before. Of course, he knew his wife and children had missed him, but he didnât think the longing ache could create unforgiveness or resentment. âIâm sure he understood.âÂ
[Y/N] knew they had arrived at the pier once the air smelled like seawater and machinery oil. The car slowed to an eventual stop. There was an eerie silence as she stepped outside the car, the gravel crunching beneath the bottom of her boot. Frank unlocked the trunk and stuffed a gun in his waistband and then offered her another one. He closed the trunk and they watched their steps, careful not to make too much sound as they neared the pier.Â
She had been aiming for a subtle approach and Frank most certainly wasnât as he rushed forward, yelling and immediately shooting at everything that moved. There were flashes of orange light as Frank pressed the trigger dozens of times before she could even match his pace. When she lowered her gun to her side, she glanced at the puddles of blood dripping into the steady waves of the pier as Frank panted beside her. The silence returned and she stepped forward on the dock.Â
There were hundreds of boxes and crates scattered across the dock, all varying in size. She dragged her hand across the splinters of the wood, attempting to decipher the spraypainted words. She grabbed a discarded crowbar and jammed the edge in between the crateâs crevice, grunting as she pushed open the lid. There were multiple wrapped bricks of drugs, tightly sealed with a clear wrap and then taped. Frank appeared behind her, peering inside the crate with a curious gaze. She handed him a brick. âWhat do we do with this,â She asked. There were enough undiluted drugs to reach a worth of millions and it was unguarded and in her palm.Â
He looked at the heroin, disinterested. âBurn it.âÂ
The suggestion was absurd, but this was the Blacksmithâs operation and if they burned this entire boat into ashes, the Blacksmith had nothing. At the realization, [Y/N] smiled. âYou go find him, Iâll take care of this.â Frank hesitated but nodded nonetheless. There were a few large canisters of fuel and she unscrewed the caps as Frank sprinted inside the boat. She began pouring the fuel over the crates and on every surface she could tarnish. The fumes of the fuel singed her nose with each breath but she was concentrated on the sloshing sound of the canister. Inside the boat, there were gunshots and muffled outcries, but she wasnât going to interfere. This was something Frank needed to do.
A gloved hand covered [Y/N]âs mouth and she dropped the green canister, small droplets of fuel seeping from the nozzle as the canister clanked against the floor. She scratched at the leather of the glove as she stomped the bottom of her boot on the assailantâs shoes. A pained groan escaped their mouth as their grasp loosened. She jammed her elbow into their ribcage and she slithered from their restraint. With a side-step, she whirled on her heel and pulled the gun from her holster, and aimed.Â
She raised an eyebrow as the blood-red leather gleamed from the moonlight. The Devil of Hellâs Kitchen raised his hands and apprehensively stepped back. âThat isnât the Blacksmith in there,â He said and she couldâve sworn his voice was painfully familiar. âI know youâre trying to help Frank, but listen to me. That isnât the Blacksmith. Just think about it.âÂ
[Y/N] tightened her grasp on the cool metal of her gun, calm and steady. She glanced around her, at the bodies leaking and staining the wood of the boat. This was effortless, almost too easy. Guards were surrounding the area, but these goons were guarding heroin, not the head of the entire operation. This wasnât the personnel you handpicked to defend your life and money. Her resolve faltered and she slowly lowered the weapon. âItâs bait,â She mumbled, realization coloring her expression. There was anguish filling her as she realized this was a trap and they eagerly stepped inside. âHow could I be so stupid?âÂ
With the weapon lowered and her thoughts distracting her, Daredevil rushed forward and pushed open the metal door where Frank had disappeared minutes before. âDonât shoot him, Frank!âÂ
Frankâs head lowered with frustration. âFor Christâs sake,â He tightened his hand on the gun and pressed the tip further inside the manâs mouth. âGet outta here, Red.âÂ
âHeâs lying, Frank,â Daredevil said through rough breaths. âWeâre here for the same reasons, all right? I want the Blacksmith just as much as you, but heâs not him. I know when someone is telling the truth and heâs not.â [Y/N] stepped inside, her palm slamming against the rusted door. There were dozens of sealed bricks of cream-white heroin scattered across the rickety table and Frank gripped the lapels of the unknown manâs jacket, peering over his shoulder.Â
âBullshit,â He shouted, his throat burning as his finger brushed against the trigger. âJust get out of here!â
âHeâs not the man you two came for, Frank.â
Frank was silent for a moment before readjusting himself, pressing the gun deeper into the manâs skin until there was a redness blossoming on his mouth. âAre you lying to me,â Frank screamed and [Y/N] wondered if he was even asking the man anymore.Â
She hesitantly stepped further, her expression drooping as Frank snapped his head towards her. âFrank,â She said breathlessly. His name was a soft pull from the burning ire consuming him. An anchor tethering him to the cruel reality. She shook her head, barely perceptible and wordless, but he knew this was a confirmation that the man with a gun between his teeth wasnât the Blacksmith.Â
Matt Murdock listened to the falter of Frank Castleâs heartbeat as his watering eyes connected with [Y/N]âs. Interesting.
Frank stood from the floor and removed the drool-covered gun from the imposterâs mouth. âEither way, you die.â Daredevil threw a small hammer at Frankâs hand and the gun was ripped from his grasp, falling across the room. Frankâs nostrils flared as he slammed his heel into the imposterâs jaw before attacking the man in red leather. âYou just couldnât let it be, could you? You just couldnât let usââ Frank latched his hands onto Daredevilâs shoulders as he launched them both through the doorframe.Â
Frank landed on Daredevil, immediately punching his masked cheekbones. âWhen are you gonna learn,â Frank shouted roughly. âMind your own goddamn business!â Each word seeped through clenched teeth as he repeatedly kicked wherever he could stomp his foot.Â
Daredevil hurriedly rushed to his feet, panting as blood dribbled down his cheek. âGoddamn it, Frank. I donât want to fight you.â [Y/N] watched as they stumbled across the boat, their grunts of exhaustion and pain filling the cold air. Daredevil was quick and dodged Frankâs faltering punches, kicking his spleen and knocking him to the floor. âStay down, Frank.âÂ
[Y/N] didnât interfere as Daredevil extended his hand and offered Frank a truce, helping him straighten from the floor before Frank shrugged him off. âJust couldnât let me have it, could you? One second in peace.â Frank was pumping with adrenaline, his heavy breaths appearing in puffs before swirling away as he collapsed onto the floor, his backsliding against a crate. âIt was right there. You had to sweep in. Do you feel good about yourself? Piece of shit.âÂ
With a sigh, [Y/N] moved and stood against the crate, inches from Frankâs fidgeting form and she could feel the warmth radiating from him. âOh, come on, Frank,â Daredevil said, âIt wouldnât have been the truth, and you know it. I canât let you start a war for the wrong reasons.â
âMaybe a war is what I need,â Frank frightfully admitted, âMaybe I need that. These people, they took my children from me. They killed my kids! Donât you get that?â Frankâs scream tore through the night, his voice cracking as he screamed his reality into Daredevilâs face.Â
Daredevil kneeled. âThen do right by them! Help me. Work with me to find the man who gave the order.â
Frank looked defeated. âAnd then what, Red? Are we gonna bring him in for justice? Is that what weâre gonna do? Your wayâs bullshit, Red. It doesnât work. I need himâWe need him gone. Itâs gotta be permanent. Itâs gotta be finished!â
âI understand,â Daredevil said, âYouâre right. My way isnât working. So maybe just this onceâŚâ He trailed off and [Y/N] didnât need to see his concealed expression to know he was frightened and disappointed as he pressed his fingers into himself in a cross. âMaybe your way is what itâs gonna take.âÂ
Elle closed her eyes and she saw a younger version of herself; frightened and shattered as she realized she was going to permanently tarnish her hands. She could see herself in Daredevil as he accepted that he was going to need to take a life and he was already begging for forgiveness. âItâs not going to be just this once,â She said, her voice a ghostly whisper. âIf you do this, this is never leaving you and you donât get to go back to your side of the line. Itâs never just once.â
Daredevil stared at her, but it was a distant gaze. His head jerked as a tire screeched from the distance. âI count ten of them, all armed.â She peered around the crate, blinded by the headlights of the speeding cars as they abruptly parked on the pier. Daredevil sniffed. âThereâs a lot of gunpowder below decks. If any of these guys start shooting, this whole ship is blowing up. We gotta get off this boat before they open fire.â Daredevil hurried to the railing of the boat, glancing below at the gentle waters.Â
Frank clenched his teeth as he rushed forward and pushed him over the edge of the boat, Daredevil disappearing into the darkness of the water with a splash. [Y/N] glimpsed down at the ripples before returning her confused gaze back to Frank. His expression softened and there was a warmth glittering within his shattered eyes. The tenderness was enough to have her heart flutter as he apprehensively loomed closer. âThatâs Gosnell,â He whispered, jerking his chin in the direction of the man on the pier, slowly interlacing his bloodied hand with hers. She furrowed her eyebrows together as he touched her with an unfamiliar fragility. âI used to serve with him and that can only mean one thing, doll.â His thumb caressed her cheek as he pressed his forehead against hers. âSchoonover.â He muttered so quietly she almost didnât hear him.Â
She closed her eyes as she relished the feeling of his touch. She was lost within her thoughts and didnât notice he subtly brought her to the edge of the boat. When her back pressed against the railing, she opened her eyes to find him already remorsefully staring at her. [Y/N] shook her head. âDonât be stupid, weâll find him together.â She pleaded, disregarding the sound of car doors slamming close. If he was going to take the risk of potentially dying within the gunpowder explosion, she would remain by his side. âJump with me, Frank, or Iâm staying with you. You donât have to do this alone.â The finality of her voice shook him and that terrified him.
Frank squeezed her hand, his eyes fluttering close as his nose brushed against hers. âIâm sorry,â She opened her mouth to plead with him, or scream at him, she wasnât sure, but he already pushed her over the railing. The cold air nipped at her before she landed within the ripples of the water. She barely managed to tear free from the depths when the explosion shook the pier, bright orange flames burning everything within its path. She concealed her face with her shaking forearms as shards of glass and splinters of wooden crates flew into the water.Â
She pushed through the floating debris, warm tears streaming down her cheeks as she searched through the darkness of the water for him. She couldnât see beneath the water but she splashed through the growing waves as if she were going to suddenly discover him. She paddled forward and the overbearing heat of another explosion crashed against her. She wasnât going to be able to stay there, the flames were traveling quickly and the explosions would only continue.Â
With a frustrated cry, she chose to swim away from the debris and away from Frank.
[Y/N] cleaned the fogged mirror with a quick swipe of her palm and clutched the porcelain of the sink. The dampness of her hair clung to her neck as she stared at the ceramic drain. Her skin was slathered with moisturizer and she scrubbed her scalp twice before the saltiness of the seawater finally disappeared down the drain. Another day had gone by and Frank still hadnât contacted her and her hope was slowly dwindling. She couldnât remember how many times she checked the unlit screen of her phone and peered behind the floral curtains of her cheap motel room. She was clutching onto the flickering flame of hope that he was going to appear outside the door and tell her he kicked some ass. But he didnât.Â
When she discovered the confidential discussion between the authorities the following morning, shaking hand pressing the police radio beside her ear as she listened to the quiet words discussing the explosion, she practically collapsed onto the floor. She closed her eyes tightly as the distinct chatter revealed their suspicions of Frank Castleâs death. She felt utterly pathetic for clinging onto her childish hopes. The amount of gunpowder made the explosion practically impossible to survive, and she knew that, but there had been the small part of her that was praying for the renowned Punisher to arise from the heroin-soaked ashes.
Her dazed eyes scrutinzed the small gashes plastered on her knuckles and forearms, the radio chatter had become indistinct whispers as she thought over everything she needed to do. She remembered the softness of his voice when he realized Schoonover was the Blacksmith, the deepness the betrayal seeped through his glistening eyes. She was overcome with a blinding rage as she understood the manâthe monsterâthat sliced away everything she ever cared for, had taken another person from her. And the loss was quick. She barely had any time to register the salty burn of the seawater before he was torn from her life.Â
With a resolute expression, she stood from the rough carpet of the floor and her freshly-washed suit. Her hands were no longer shaking.
The modern lanterns brightly illuminated the polished porch of Schoonoverâs lavish house. [Y/N] glanced around as she pressed the small doorbell, gritting her teeth as the chime echoed through the night. The ornate glass panels on the door were decorated with chiffon curtains, complementing the freshly painted doorframe. She wondered if he was comfortable shrouding himself with the wealth he gained from spilling her familyâs blood. He mustâve been because he didnât appear uncomfortable when he swung open the door. There was the daughter of the man he had brutally murdered and there wasnât even a noticeable waver in his eyes.Â
The harshness of her expression softened as his gaze moved across her face. She couldnât have him discovering her intentions, she needed to have the upper hand. âI was hoping you could talk to me about Frank.â She reluctantly said, wondering if her performance of the grieving daughter searching for solace in a man she barely knew was believable. âI just need to know if he was a good man.â
Schoonover grimaced at the request, but he widened the entrance and stepped aside. The flames of the fireplace filled the foyer with an intense orange glow. She inhaled, smelling the burning wood and aged whiskey. He offered coffee, but she declined, mumbling something about having drowned herself in caffeine earlier. She would have to be a thoughtless fool to drink anything coming from him. âCastle would call that a good start,â She refrained from flinching at the mention of his name, choosing to centralize her focus on the bright flames crackling a few feet away from her. âI know Iâm old. My wife calls me cranky. With all the violence these days, the media would have you believe thatâs all there is in the world. Iâm glad you got to know Frank. The real Frank.â
She forced herself to remove her gaze from the fire. âIâm glad I got to know him, too.â And that was the unfortunate truth. She didnât want to admit the reality of her emotions, but she was beginning to care for him.Â
His eyebrows furrowed. âAlthough Iâm confused as to how you grew into contact with him. I wasnât aware you were a lawyer.âÂ
[Y/N] smiled. âNo, a legal assistant.â She casually corrected. Her dark gaze moved across the array of framed photographs displayed on the wall. There were several of Schoonover with his uniform and medals, but there were even more of him draping his arm over the soldiers, including Frank, with the faintest hint of a smile. âYou know, youâre probably the only person Iâve met that has said positive things about him. Would you consider him a friend?âÂ
Schoonover smiled politely. âWhen youâre fighting a war, you donât really make friends. At least, not if youâre fighting it the right way. I suppose you donât want to get close to anyone because weâre not all coming back. But at the same time, you have to feel something, donât you? Otherwise, what are you all fighting for?â
Her head tilted slightly and the false glimmer of naivety disappeared from her eyes as they narrowed. âAnd do you feel?â She inquired, disregarding the intensity of the warmth from the fireplace. His expression transformed into something much more confused as he opened his mouth to respond. She interrupted him. âDo you feel anything knowing youâve murdered innocent families? My family?âÂ
His face turned into jaded awareness, a completely different person from a few minutes prior, and released a bored sigh. âRight into business, I see.â His hand moved underneath a pile of mail, revealing the sleekness of his gun in his hand. âI was hoping it didnât have to come to this.â She chanced an unimpressed glance at the barrel of the weapon, knowing this was going to eventually happen. She was almost disappointed that this entire situation was predictable.
[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. âDo you love your wife, Colonel?â And with the question floating in the air, there was a waver from his mask. It was brief, barely a second, but she noticed. âI suppose it doesnât matter because sheâll be dead if I donât leave this house alive in an hour. Sooner if you donât get that fucking gun out of my face.â She sneered and the contempt was obvious on her expression.Â
And his resolve dissipated, his hand shaking as soon as the words fell from her clenched teeth. He pressed his lips together firmly, performing mental jumping jacks in order to decide his next move. But his hand and weapon remained raised. The coldness of her eyes hardened. âHow about your kids, Colonel? You would think a man like you would take precautions for this exact reason, but it was so easy to find each and every person you feel and fight for. It was pathetic.â
âYou wouldnât.âÂ
A curve on her lips rose. âWonât I?âÂ
He exhaled shakily. âTheyâre innocent.âÂ
âSo was my family.â Her voice was detached, enough to make his blood run cold.
âTheyâve got nothing to do with this!â His voice cracked as he shouted. That was the first time sheâd ever seen him anything other than calm and collected. She was making him shatter and break and she savored every second of it.
There was a sickening cruelness behind her smile. âYou took my family, I donât see why I canât take yours?â He thought over his options, wondering if there was any possible way he could gain the upper hand, but he was ultimately at her mercy. He eventually lowered the gun. She smiled. âWeâre going for a drive.âÂ
Within moments, they were outside of the lavish household and unlocking the passenger door of rented car. She purposely shoved him inside the vehicle, making sure he roughly banged his head on the top of the car. She slammed the door, ignoring his string of curses. After turning the car on, they silently drove on the dark and empty thoroughfare. She could see him contemplating, planning on something beside her. She knew there mustâve been another weapon concealed beneath his clothes and she couldâve removed anything possibly lethal, but the would have eliminated the challenge.Â
And Frank Castle had a knack for dramatic and unnecessary entrances because the predictable moment Schoonover pulled a small blade from his waistband, Frank smashed his stolen truck onto the passenger side of the car.
[Y/N] gasped as the shattered glass of the windows sliced small gashes on her exposed skin, a wave of dizziness overtaking her as her head smashed against the car door. Everything happened quickly, much too quickly for her to have even noticed the warm blood gushing from her arm. The sound of metal scratching against the gravel captured her attention. She slowly moved her head, attempting to blink away the blurred haze. The truck was slowly backing away before the headlights blinked off. The door opened, revealing black boots crunching on the broken shards. They moved quickly, circling around the damaged vehicle until they stopped right beside the driver door. Within seconds, the seatbelt was removed and she was gently pulled from the wreckage.Â
The coldness of the winter air nipped at her soaked skin, puffs of smoke escaping her lips with each shaking breath. Warm and calloused hands cupped her cheeks, uncaring for the redness cascading down her temple and cheeks. âCome on, [Y/N/N],â The gruffness of the voice sparked something deep within her. His thumb caressed her cheekbone, almost fondly, and he gently shook her. âLet me see those pretty eyes.âÂ
She recognized the softness of his voice, the delicacy behind his bloodstained touch, and her eyes fluttered opened. âFrank,â She mumbled, her words were breathless as her weak hand moved to touch him. She grasped onto his arm, steadying her wobbly feet. She couldnât see the exact details of his bruised face, the orange light of the street lights overhanging them shrouded them in a fiery blanket of light. But Frank could see her and there was something frightening about the overwhelming relief coursing through him as she said his name. âYouâreâŚhere.â She eventually said, swallowing the dryness of her mouth away.
A ghostly smile rose as he slowly brushed a strand of hair away from her face. âI couldnât let you have all the fun.â Within that moment, he knew something changed about him; she thought he was dead, was moments from avenging her family, him and his family, and was leaning into his touch like he was her savior. Whatever changed inside him in those seconds, he knew it was dangerous. âSomeoneâs gonna come pick you up, take you to the hospital. Just get some rest.â
what if eddie left something thatâs for hellfire (like a notebook or one of his advanced dnd folders) and the reader (a cheerleader getting off of practice) sees it and decides to walk to his place to give it back
it starts raining and once they get there, wanye offers them a shower so they donât get sick and to dry their clothes
long story short, eddie walks in on them after their shower and gets all flustered after staring for a while
maybe a small perv eddie BUT ALL FLUFF WITH FEELINGS SHOWN AT THE END
authorâs note: this was supposed to be quick but i got carried away lol, i hope itâs okay!
cw: 18+ (minors dni) slight perv!eddie, reader is good at calling eddieâs bluffs, acquaintances to friends (w possible benefits), unrequited crushes, cheerleader!reader, mentions of drug use, kissing/teasing, lmk if i missed anything!
word count: 3.8k
Eddie was the least scariest person you knew, no matter how much people swore the opposite. Truthfully, you didnât even know him very wellâaside from the occasional discreet meet-up on the outskirts of school grounds, which after a few times eventually turned into meeting up with Eddie at his house, or allowing him to drive you, the latter being the more frequent. To be fair, most of what you relationship consisted of was a tolerance for the other. If he wasnât the cheapest and easily accessible option for drugs, you wouldnât have batted an eyeâregardless of how cute he may have been.
And youâre not blind, you can see it. Eddieâs always been attractive, from his short buzzcut in grade school to his long, tousled curls he sported now, hiding his fit physique behind too many layers and always overcompensating with his over the top personalityânot that you minded it, but it definitely rubbed people the wrong way.
Either way, he shafts you earlier in the day when you ask to meet up with him, going on and on about his stupid club, you didnât understand any of it. It seemed way too serious for a game that consisted of plastic dice and way too much math for something that was supposed to be fun. Heâs also flustered more than usual, slightly all over the placeâand when his spiral notebook falls from his bag at the ring of the final bell dismissing you for the day, he doesnât hear you calling after him, already long gone.
If it werenât for the strict practice schedule Chrissy liked to keep, you would have ran straight to the theater room and returned Eddieâs belongings, not even thinking twice about itâand sure, his friends would probably tease him about some like you, a cheerleader, coming by to talk to him. But, Eddie had never explicitly stated his dislike for anyone really, not even Jason, who hounded him relentlessly for just breathing.
The next best option is to catch him after, knowing his club meetings probably stretched into the late hours of the evening, but the doors to the building are already looked when you arrive thereâshaking and pounding on the door is no help either, your shoulders slumping in defeat.
It was just a notebook and it could wait until the next day, but from personal experience, it would have driven you crazy knowing someone had your belongings in their possession without you realizing âand besides, you could still buy from Eddie that way, not giving him a chance to weasel out that easily.
The walk isnât bad at first either, the air is warm and calm, the passing cars providing enough light on your walk that it isnât so terrifyingâas often as your parents warned you about going out alone, you couldnât understand why you were so easily throwing caution to the window now. But with Eddie, it seemed like a regular theme.
A bad boy who supposedly dabbled in satanic worshiping and sold fairly good weed, how could you pass that up? It was everything that everyone told you to steer clear of. It didnât help that Eddie was also insanely kind to you, never asking prying questions or judging youâit made him even more attainable in your eyes. But alas, you couldnât ever justify any of it to him, not without making an embarrassment of yourself if he rejected you.
But the rain hits about five minutes from Eddieâs house and the trail of trees are doing nothing to aid as cover from the storm. Your pace picks up, shoes squeaking against the pavement until you were nearly running, racing down the trail that led to the small cul de sac of trailers, knocking on Eddieâs door with a ferocity that could be mistaken for an intruder.
Itâs much too late to turn back when Eddieâs uncle answers the door instead of him, turning quickly to realize that Eddie wasnât even home, his van not parked in the driveway like it usually was.
Wayne has a crease in his brow, unlit cigarettes tucked between his lips as if he was planning to go for a smoke. His face softens at the sight of you, hair soaked over your shoulders and your practice clothes sticking to your skinâa thin top and an even thinner pair of shorts that had you shivering despite the humid, end of summer heat.
âHey, kidâyou didnât get a ride with my nephew?â Wayne asks through the screen door.
You squint, rain still trickling down your face, though itâs slightly lighter now.
âYeah, he uhâI needed to return something to him, he doesnât know Iâm here. I thought he would be home by now.â You explain, wiping your face weakly.
âAh shitâjust come inside, kid.â Wayne relents, opening the door. âIâm headed up to the plant but Iâm sure heâll be home soonâprobably headed over to Rickâs for a bit.â
Reefer Rick was nothing but an anomaly in your mind, someone you always heard about but never saw. You only knew so much that Eddie received his drugs from him, but not much elseâand frankly, youâd like to keep it that way.
âAre you sure?â You ask hesitantly, âI donât want to intrude, sir.â
Wayne scoffs kindly at the endearment. He was a nice man, quiet more often than not, but he always meant well. He was still a stranger though, despite how often you saw him. If it werenât for the familiarity you wouldâve ran the other direction.
âOf courseâyou can clean up in the shower if you need to.â He says, motioning behind him with his thumb extended, âIâll lock up behind meâand if Eddie doesnât at least give you a ride home in this storm, Iâll give him hell come tomorrow morning.â
You smile warmly, nodding in response. âI think Iâll take you up on the offer,â You tell him, wanting nothing more than to be out of your wet clothes, âhopefully Eddie doesnât mind lending me some clothes.â
âCanât see why not.â He says, allowing you inside before slipping past you in silence, âIâll see you around, kid.â
You smile politely, âYou too, Mr. Munson.â
Again, another name he dislikes. But, you couldnât help it. He understands you probably came from a family that stuck with the propers and addressed people more formallyâitâs just another reminder that Eddie didnât grow up like everyone else. Like a normal family.
When the door is shut and locked, the silence hits you hard. Aside from the gentle hum of electricity running throughout the trailer and the buzz of the lights, it was eerie. It made you miss Eddieâs blaring music that he liked to play in his bedroom, surely annoying every neighbor within a five mile stretch.
You heave a heavy sigh and trek toward the back of the trailer, remaining cautious about the water dripping from youâhaving toed your shoes off at the door to help with that. The bathroom is tiny, barely big enough to fit the necessities, a stand up shower in the place of what would normally be a bathtub, but youâre not one to complain. You fiddle with the faucet handle for a while, adjusting it until the water ran hot and swiped the curtain close to trap in the heat.
Your clothes fell to the floor in a wet mess, realizing much too late that you didnât have anything of yours to put onâclothes were obvious, but the problem lies within your soaked bra and underwear. It was a problem you could deal with later, naked body shivering in the stagnant air. You slip into the shower quickly, letting out an audible sigh as the heat hits your body and suddenly everything is fixed.
It was a wasted trip to Rickâs unfortunately, he was low on his stash, sending Eddie home empty handed for the weekend.
The stress of the day was enough to knock Eddie on his ass the second he stepped inside the trailerânot to mention having lost his D&D notebook earlier in the day and having nothing for Hellfire that night, scribbling most of it down from memory in an attempt to make do. His keys clatter against the counter, palm rubbing over his face in exhaustion as he slips his shoes off, stumbling over another pair in the process.
And unless Wayne had decided to take a night off and not give him a warning ahead of time, he might regret trailing any further inside the trailerâand thatâs when it dawns on Eddie, the shower running in the background.
He takes it all inâshoes, shower, his eyes wander further, scanning for anything elseâhis eyes land on a bag, soaked and sitting on the kitchen floor, his notebook peeking out of the unzipped zipper.
âWhat the fuck?â He mumbles to himself, snatching the backpack up into his hands. He pulls the notebook out and tosses it aside, thankfully it had been unscathed from the rain.
But, he could spot this bag anywhere. He saw it every day, stared at it in the back of his English class when he was bored out of his goddamn mind.
So, unless his conclusion was more fucked than what was probably going on, you had to be somewhere inside his trailerâand with narrowing it down, that probably meant the shower. He glanced at the clock, knowing that Wayne had to be gone; there was no way in hell he was taking a day off unless he was sick and bed-ridden.
He hears the faucet turn off from where heâs standing, dropping the bag on the counter. He canât decide if he should approach or stay back, but itâs too late to decide before youâre stepping out of the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around your body, using another to squeeze out the extra water from your hair.
âSorry, sweetheart,â Eddieâs voice travels, a smirk growing on his face, âbut what the hell are you doing in my trailer, alone?â
You panic, having not expected him to be standing in the kitchen when you stepped, hoping you had enough time to shower and get dressedâbut unfortunately, this was your reality.
âJesus, Eddie.â You exclaim, palm pressed over your chest to calm your rapidly beating heart. You toss the towel on the floor with your soaked clothes, turning to him. âIâyour notebook, you left it in class.â
âWhat?â Eddie asks dumbfounded.
âYour notebookâyou left it.â You explain slower, taking a few steps into the living room and passing a small distance toward the kitchen, poised on the opposite side of the counter where Eddie was standing. âI figured it was important so I wanted to get it back to you.â
âDid you look inside it?â Eddie presses, but it wasnât like you didnât already know his nerdy tendencies. âAnd you couldnât have waited?â
âNoâand no.â You tell him, âI tried giving it to you after practice but the building was locked and I needed to buy off you, so I figured two birds, one stone, you know?â
You step back slightly and Eddieâs eyes followâyou werenât naive, he was checking you out. You didnât mind though, despite how awkward the situation was.
âYour uncle let me inside,â You explain, âI walked here and it started pouring, my clothes are soaking wet.â
âAnd thatâs my problem?â Eddie asks meanly, though it comes off as more teasing than anything. Eddie couldnât be mean to you if he tried.
âYes,â You challenge, âI need to borrow some clothes.â
Eddie laughs slightly, fingers tapping against the countertop quietly, rings clanking against the surface. His tongue pokes at his cheek, eyes traveling your mostly bare figure, âFine, follow me.â
You roll your eyes in annoyance, following closely behind.
âI would have taken them regardless.â You retort quietly and Eddie howls a laugh over his shoulder.
âSweetheart, I was messing with you.â Eddie responds smugly, âWhat kind of guy do you take me for?â
âI donât take you for anything,â You tell him honestly, âI know what people say about you but what does that matter?â
The words hit Eddie deeper than he anticipates, glaring at the floor as he stops at the threshold of his room, seeing you follow behind in the mirror stretching the expanse of his wall. Heâs suddenly dry in the mouth and at a loss for words, realizing the gravity of the situationâeven if it wasnât that big of a deal.
A naked girl in his house, his bedroomâone that he couldnât help but have a crush on despite every sign telling him he shouldnât, and she didnât hate him. Karma had a hell of a way of working its magic and he couldnât trust this for a second. So, despite his immediate reaction to be flustered and searching for the right words, he slips the mask back on.
âMaybe itâs true,â He shrugs, raising his arm up to let you slip under, walking in front of him and toward his dresser, âtop is shirts, bottom is pantsââ
You grab a shirt wordlessly, one of Eddieâs Hellfire shirts. He had a few, something that could be noted with a quick glance in his drawer, before youâre pulling out an old pair of cotton sweatpants from the next drawer, tossing them on the bed.
ââis that all,â Eddie asks curiously, leaning against the doorframe, âjust a shirt and pants?â
âEverything was soaked, Eddie.â You stressed, eyes glaring at him. âDo you mind?â
âNo.â He grins devilishly, not bothering to turn away.
There was no way you were letting him get away with this.
âFine.â You respond with a shrug, calling his bluff.
You drop the towel without warning and Eddie visibly tenses, only catching the side of your breasts as you turn to slip the shirt over your head, ass on full display.
Eddieâs never been so intimidated in his life. But, he wasnât giving in that easily.
You pull the sweatpants over your hips and turn to him, eyebrow cocked up intimidatingly. âEnjoy yourself?â
Eddie takes a careful glance at you, stopping on his shirt.
âActuallyâdo you mind picking something else?â Eddie asks, finger coming up to tug at the sleeve, âThis is one of my favorites.â
Your shoulders slump, eyes boring into his, the corners of his lips crinkling as he grinned. âYouâre kidding?â
âDead serious.â He answers quickly.
You slip the shirt off in one go, not giving him much of a chance to enjoy the view, hurling the material at his face.
âHey,â His voice is muffled, grabbing the shirt out of annoyance and balling it up, tossing it somewhere in his roomâyou couldnât be bothered to care, pulling the new shirt over your head, ââlook, Iâm sorry.â
âFor?â You ask, arms crossing over your chest as you look at him. âBeing annoying? Obnoxious, irritatingââ
âOkay, okayââ Eddie says with a laugh, hoping it stops your relentless attempt to belittle him. âI was joking, I didnât think youâd, you knowâŚâ
âSo, you didnât want me to strip naked in front of you?â You ask teasingly, returning that bite of mean right back at him. âDamn, that sucks.â
You attempt to shove past him, trying to hurry up the process and get out of there, feeling that if you stayed any longer you would just embarrass yourself further.
You never make it past Eddie, his hand pressed flat against your stomach in an effort to stop you. You glance down at his hand for a moment too long and Eddie thinks that is the overstepânot everything that happened just a few seconds prior.
âSorry,â He says quickly, âI justâI was going to tell you that I donât have anything to sell. Iâm out until next week. But, I can give you a ride home, if you need it.â
âUnless you want me sleeping here, yeah.â You retort flippantly.
Eddie doesnât respond, letting you shove past and gathering your things, shoes still soaked ridiculously. You sigh, squatting down by the door to turn your shoes upside down, the water dripping from the laces and creating a puddle.
Eddie watches from a few feet away, hip leaning against the counter, âI donât mindâif you want to sleep here.â
âI just need a few hours, maybe two if I can dry them out somehow.â
And truthfully, the easier option would be to sleep it off and deal with it tomorrow, the rain back to its original heavy downpour. The thunder crackles ominously and Eddie smiles slightly, less condescending and more welcoming.
âI didnât say thank you for bringing that all the way here,â Eddie notes, âso, thank you.â
âYou donât have toââ
âYou couldâve just left it but you didnât.â Eddie shrugs, nodding toward the couch wordlessly. Youâre hesitant at first, knowing that you and Eddie didnât do these things. You didnât talk, not reallyâand you definitely didnât hang out. Social cliques handled that well enough.
âWell, if it was me I would hope that someone would return the favor.â You tell him honestly, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, bare feet pressed into the cushion separating you both.
âI didnât mean to make you uncomfortable.â Eddie tells you randomly, idle hand pulling at the loose threads on the arm of the couch.
âYou didnât.â You smile, shrugging nonchalantly. âTrust me, you would know.â
âGood.â Eddie smiles to himself. âGood.â
You snort softly, âSo, can I ask whatâs in the notebook?â
âDo you really want to know?â Eddie asks hesitantly.
âYeah,â You nod, grinning at him, âbesides, what else are we supposed to do all night?â
Eddieâs never flushed so red, ears burning with embarrassment. You laugh quietly at his inability to hide his bashfulness, the chain connected to his pants jingling as he walked, fetching the notebook from its place.
âUh, itâs kinda confusing,â Eddie admits, taking a closer seat beside you, âso it would probably make no sense even if I tried to explain it.â
You reposition your feet under you, sitting on your heels. Eddieâs book is filled with countless scribblings and drawings, not a single page blank as he lets you flip through slowly, taking in the detail Eddie puts into his art.
âEddie, this is really good.â You tell him honestly, running your finger along the lines of a rather menacing figure, deathly and sickening looking, covered in a hooded cape. âI didnât know you could draw like this.â
âItâs notââ Eddie starts uneasily, gearing to say something self-deprecating.
âShut up,â You tell him quickly, âdonât even say it.â
Eddie laughs at that, your face serious despite the smile that breaks out on his face. Heâs never taken a compliment in his life, but for some reason, he listens.
âThanks.â He tells you softly, closing the book and placing it on the table placed in front of the couch.
Admittedly, you werenât sure what to expect from Eddie. Heâs always been a mystery to you, aside from the things people said about him.
âWhy do you let people talk about you the way they do?â You ask curiously, head tilted to rest against the couch.
âWhy disprove whatâs true,â Eddie shrugs, âthat reminds me, Iâve got a sacrifice to attend later tonightââ
âEddie,â You linger on his name, eyeing him pointedly, âIâm serious.â
He shrugs wordlessly, twisting his rings absentmindedly, âI canât be bothered to give a shit what people think about me.â
Youâre silent, Eddieâs gaze downturned toward the floor.
âArenât you breaking all types of rules by talking to meâI thought you cheerleaders only associated with Jason and his band of assholes?â
You snort in amusement, shoving Eddie gently with your foot.
âIs that all you take me for?â You ask teasingly, âA cheerleader?â
Eddie shrugs, he couldnât explain his attraction toward youâearlier actions aside, heâs always been intrigued by you. The act of wanting what he knew he couldnât have.
And you canât tell if Eddie is trying to act coy, or heâs just shyâyouâd never take him for the type, but sitting here with him now his personality had taken a quick turn. His usual hard exterior was a lot softer around the edges. Eddie glanced at you sparingly, pulling at the frayed material of his ripped jeans.
âCome here.â You urge him suddenly, using the small ounce of courage you had in your body to take a chance, extending your hand for him to move closer.
Eddieâs apprehensive in a way, allowing himself to scoot as close as possible, your legs extending over his lap.
âAnswer the question, Eddie.â You order him softly, âAm I just some cheerleader to you? Is that why you like me?â
His stomach is in his throat, staring you down with comically wide eyes, his bangs curtaining over his forehead messily. Eddie shakes his head wordlessly.
âSo you do?â You ask with a faint smugness, âLike me?â
âAm I that obvious?.â Eddie asks with a chuckle.
You shake your head, âNo, actuallyâbut that shit you pulled earlierâŚkinda gave you away.â
âYou didnât seem to have a problem with it either.â He counters, fingers pressing into the soft cotton of his sweatpants on your body, âNow look whoâs sitting here in my clothes.â
âBecause I was soaked.â You defend.
âAfter walking five minutes in the rain just to return my notebook.â Eddie points out, âThat you couldâve returned to me on Mondayâyet, here you are.â
The tension is thick, Eddieâs plush lips on full display as his jaw tensed. Your fingers wander, the guitar pick around his neck tickling your palm as you examine it, speaking idly.
âWhat a genius,â You snark playfully, âSay, whatâs your policy on kissing customers?â
âHard no,â Eddie smiles, lying through his teeth, âwhy?â
âDamn.â You curse, eyes flicking up towards him. Heâs got a heat behind his gaze, the warmness of his brown eyes comforting you, oddly enough. âThatâs too bad.â
âBut, I think I can make an exception.â Eddie adds, the fingers that trailed down your leg now sneaking up under your chin, tilting your face up slightly. âRight?â
âItâs only fair,â You agree, âseeing as I came all this way for nothing.â
You both knew it was a lie. Regardless, you wouldâve ended up in this situation at some point.
âCome here.â Eddie says patronizingly, teasing you for earlier.
You pull forward slowly, Eddieâs lips barely grazing yours as his thumb runs along your chin, tugging at your bottom lip slightly to part them, his lips pressing against them gently. You press forward eagerly, nearly shifting into Eddieâs lap, but heâs quick to stop you.
âSlow,â He stresses, pulling back to look at you, half-lidded eyes gazing into yours, âweâve got all night, right?â
You smile through a laugh, nodding slowly in response.
âAll night,â You confirm, âit seems youâve already got a few ideas to keep us busy.â
âIâve got plenty.â Eddie says lowly, leaning forward to run his tongue against your top lip teasingly, âif youâre up for it.â
âSounds like a challenge,â You breathe out against his mouth, âand Iâm pretty competitive, soââ
âPerfect.â Eddie grins with an edge that you canât decipher, gripping your chin between his fingers to pull you even closer, âSo am I.â
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Hey, I know I completely disappeared and didnât update any of my seriesâ, BUT would any of you guys be interested in reading an almost 30k Frank Castle f!reader fic? It was originally an OC fic, but if you guys would prefer a self-insert one, I can edit it.
Please let me know what you guys think! And yes, I will eventually upload another chapter of Instrument of War đ
đŹđŽđŚđŚđđŤđ˛ \\ eddie's a little surprised when you ask him to come over to platonically stay the night, but he's happy to try to make you feel better however he can.
đ°đ¨đŤđ đđ¨đŽđ§đ \\ 6.5k
đ°đđŤđ§đ˘đ§đ đŹ \\ SMUT (18+ ONLY), unprotected sex, mentions/discussions of a break-in, mentions of drug use, there was only one bed, fluff, kinda hurt/comfort (but less hurt more comfort)
"Thanks," you whimpered, sounding just as weak as you looked right nowâ your eyes were heavy and sunken in, your lips chapped, shoulders slumped. "I just feel safer with someone here."
Not that Eddie was in any place to judge your appearance. He'd walked here in the rain and probably looked a mess. "Of course!" he offered as he stepped inside and you shut your door behind him. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it on the couch, shaking the rain off his hair in a way not dissimilar to a dog after a bath. "Wow, storm's been pretty relentless, huh?"
"Yeah," you agreed quietly, reaching up to cross your arm over your chest and clutch your opposite elbow. "The cops said that's why they couldn't catch the guyâ rain washed away fingerprints, and mud filled footprints, soâŚ"
He nodded, looking down nervously at his shoes on top of your pale blue linoleum. "Can't believe some asshole's breaking into trailers. What valuables does he think you have in here?"
"Well, they said he might have been looking for meâŚ"
Eddie instantly regretted mentioning it. He hadn't even thought of it like that, and it made a surge of emotions hit him when he did; most of all, a strange instinct to make sure you were safe. "Do they think he might come back?"
You bit your lip, glancing down too with a shrug.
"Well, nobody's gonna try and mess with you once they get a glimpse of Smith & Wesson," he added jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood.
"Eddie!" you gasped. "Did you bring a gun?"
You said it like it was a dirty word, even though he knew you had a revolver in here at some point. "No, no," he assured, "those are my biceps: Smithâ" he flexed one armâ "and Wesson." He bit his lip as he flexed the other, raising and dropping his eyebrows quickly. You laughed, covering your nose and mouth with your hand as you snorted. Â
He was quite proud of himself for amusing you, and even slightly hopeful that the tank top he was wearing (which he'd made by slicing the sleeves off of an old Zeppelin shirt) actually made him look muscular.
"So⌠I'll set up on the couch?" he assumed.
"Oh," you mumbled, seeming shy again. "I mean, if you wantâŚ"
"What's the other option?" he wondered.
"Well," you said quietly, crossing your armsâ damn it, he'd made you uncomfortable somehow. Eddie was perceptive enough to read your demeanor, but too oblivious to understand what he'd done to make you shut down. "The couch is fine."
He sighed, stepping closer to you. "You said over the phone that it would make you feel better if I came over. That's literally what I came for. So, tell me what I can do. I can stay up all nightâ or I can sleep outside on the porch if you want!"
"No!" you refused, starting to smile again. "If it's not too weird, I thought you could be in my room with me. I justâŚ"
You sighed and began again, while Eddie's heart sped up a bit.
"If something happened, I wouldn't want you all the way across the house."
He looked to the bedroom door, to the couch, and back again. "Sweets, it's a trailer," he announced with a sarcastic tone and a raised eyebrow. "It's, like, five steps across."
"Come on," you rolled your eyes, "you know what I mean!"
"I do," he relented, "and it's fine. I can be in your room if you want."
You smiled bashfully, looking down and pulling your shoulders up to your ears. "Thanks," you breathed.
He hadn't asked the obvious question yet because he didn't want to seem too forwardâ maybe he'd walk in to your bedroom with you and see a pallet on the floor by the bed already; or, maybe he'd walk in and see a typical trailer bedroom which takes its name quite seriously and barely has room for anything but the bed.
When you guided him down the hall, he swallowed as he realized it was indeed the second. "Sorry, it's kinda messy in here," you offered as you quickly kicked some trash aside, straightening out your bedspread a bit. "I'm not usually this much of a slob, I swearâ"
"No, it's okay, I'm in no place to judge," he promised, "and it's been clean when I've been here before."
He hadn't come over that many times, especially after you stopped smoking pot for your job so he didn't sell to you anymore. He considered offering to toke up with you now, he thought it might call your nerves (which is why he brought some in his jacket pocket just in case), but it never really came upâ you just seemed excited for a chance to get some sleep, considering you clearly hadn't been resting well.
"I'll stay on top of the sheets," he decided suddenly. "For your modesty."
You nodded but started to pull down your pants a second later; he suddenly found the farthest corner of your ceiling quite fascinating and stared at it intently. So much for modesty. "I never sleep with pants," you explained as you crawled into the bed in just your loose t-shirt and white cotton panties.
"Lucky for you, I always keep mine on," he offered with a weak laugh. Normally he would lose his shirt first, though, but it wasn't restrictive anyways, so he just laid on top of the bed carefully. He sighed as he found a semi-comfortable position on his back, interlacing his fingers and resting the joined hands on his stomach.
"Don't tell me you actually sleep like that," you noticed with a smirk, and he looked at your face where it was peeking out from under the puffy quilt.
"Normally I sleep hanging upside down in the closet with my arms crossed," he joked, demonstrating the classic vampire-sleeping-in-coffin pose, and you laughed.
"You always struck me as a stomach sleeper," you informed him. Wait, she's thought about that?
"I usually go for the left side," he corrected. âYou?â
âLately Iâve just been curled up in a ball,â you admitted, âbut I move around a lotâ and you can wake me up if Iâm snoring!â
âNo, itâs fine,â he promised.
âOkay, well, goodnight,â you decided, reaching up to your bedside lamp. Eddie began to turn onto his left side, which meant he was facing you, and adjusted the pillow under his head carefully. He could tell you normally used this pillow because it smelled like your hairâ was that why his heart was racing each time he took a breath in?
You flipped off the light, plunging the room into near-total darkness except for the distant yellow glow of another trailerâs porch light peeking through your blinds. "It's okay if I sleep, right?" he whispered. "You don't want me to stay up in case somethingâ?"
"It's fine, I just want someone here," you explained. Your voice got softer as you admitted, "I've never liked sleeping alone."
"That⌠explains a lot."
"Hey!" you yelped defensively, and he heard you turn under the blanket to face him. "Are you calling me a slut?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Are you denying it?"
You harrumphed. "I know you can see my door from your window, but you've gotta stop spying, Edâ it's creepy. And it's none of your business if guys are coming over."
"I know! That's why I don't lookâ which is why you don't have a handy eyewitness for your B&E."
"I don't have an eyewitness because you were dead asleep," you corrected, "and so was everyone else. I'm guessing that was his motive for trying to get in at four in the morning."
There was a weighty pause. "I don't spy on you," he insisted again.
"Okay, sure," you agreed, "not anymore."
"I never did!"
"Right,â you said, and he could hear your smirk even if he couldnât see it. He sighed, relenting to your depiction of him as a creep who watches you from his windowâ until the silence got longer and longer, and he just couldnât help himself.
âI just wanted to make sure nobody shifty was coming around,â he blurted out, hearing you let out a quiet laugh.
âEddie, they were all shifty,â you sighed. He didnât say anything, because he was afraid if he agreed too quickly it would offend you. âGoodnight,â you offered again.
âGoodnight,â he returned quietly.
There was another long silence, almost long enough that he really thought you would fall asleepâ personally, he was wired and would probably spend a few hours listening to you breathe before he drifted offâ until you spoke again just a bit later. "You're not cold, are you?" you whispered.
"Huh? No, no," he denied. Yes.
"You can get under the coversâŚ"
God, he wanted to. And he figured he'd be able to control himself and everythingâ but he hesitated. It wasn't too far, right? Friends can share beds⌠even if he really didn't think until now that you and him actually were that kind of friends. It's not like you were ever especially close, you just talked sometimes, even less now that you weren't a customer. He was pretty surprised when you called him to ask for this.
And in the dark, Eddie got a little braver.
"Why did you ask me to come here?" he suddenly interrogated, until he heard how sleazy that question sounded. "Uh, I mean, not why did you ask me to come here, but⌠why did you ask me?"
"Because I trust you," you answered simply. "You always made me feel safe. There aren't a lot of guys in this trailer park that I want here to try to defend me if it comes down to itâ I mean, fuck, one of them is probably the guy who tried to break in that night!"
He nodded, already trying to imagine which of those lowlifes might try to hurt youâ and wondering if he could take them. He sighed when he realized that he didn't have much chance fighting any of the men here. Unless it was Ricky Lupowski, Eddie had no shotâ but even then, he didn't exactly want to beat up a twelve-year-old. Hell, you could take Ricky if he was giving you any trouble, Eddie knew you were pretty tough: that was part of why it was so jarring to see you this vulnerable. "I'm not the toughest guy you could call, though," he reminded you. "I know people think I look kinda scary, butâ"
"I know," you agreed. "You're not the toughest guy, but⌠you're the safest."
Suddenly he wanted to switch his storyâ me, safe? Nah, babe, danger's my middle name! Hardened criminal, metal guitarist, occasionally maker of an illegal U-turnâ
"That's why I wanted you to come," you finished, "and it's why I don't care if you get under the covers if you're cold up there."
From the looks of the guys he'd seen coming to your door when he definitely wasn't spying, it seemed like danger was usually what you wanted between your sheets. And sure, Eddie wasn't exactly the valedictorian in khakis that he assumed every girl wants to bring home to momâ but he knew he wasn't like your usual fare either: no motorcycle, no neck or face tattoos, no prison time (yet). Â
âB-but donât feel like you have to,â you suddenly mitigated.
âNo, itâs cool,â he decided as he curled his legs up to his chest so he could slip under the blanket and top sheet. âThey, uh, feel niceâŚâ
âThanks,â you mumbled.Â
âAre they expensive or something?â he wondered as he adjusted himself in themâ you were still a few inches away from him, but somehow it was like he could feel your body heat from all the way over here.
âNo, theyâre just clean,â you explained.
âRightâŚâ he trailed off. âAnyways, Iâm glad you trust meâ not just âcause it means I get to sleep under the covers.â
You snorted. âSure,â you shrugged.
âI mean itâ if I can make you feel safer, thatâs good,â he announced. He was, in part, trying to convince himself; because in a certain way, it did sting. You invited him here specifically because you knew he wouldnât try anything, and you were right, but he sort of wished sometimes that he was the kind of guy youâd invite over for some comfort of the non-platonic variety. But, he still really enjoyed being the guy that made you laugh, and the guy that made you feel safe, and the guy that got to be here with you right now.
"Actually, I thought if Wayne answered the phone, I might ask him to come,â you admitted. âHe told me when I first moved in to let him know if anybody here gave me any troubleâ including but not limited to you.â
Sounds like Wayne.
âBut I figured he'd turn it downâ like, he'd say something about how I'm an unmarried young lady and he wouldn't wanna 'disrespect' me," you chuckled. Â
"Yeah, he's pretty old school," Eddie agreed, "but he'd keep you safe for sure. He actually would have brought a gun. If he decided to come in the damn trailer at all."
âYeah,â you laughed, âold people are weird. Like, apparently they think if you spend the night here thatâs the same as us having sex?â
He laughed too. âYeah, thatâs so crazy. âCause obviously weâre notâŚâ
âOf course!â you agreed emphatically. âYouâre just doing me a favor. Which I really appreciateâ I know itâs probably harder for you to sleep here.â
âNo, itâs great, actually,â he blurted outâ realizing it sounded sort of weird once it was out of his mouth. âFor Wayne, I mean. He got to upgrade from the fold-out bed tonight.â
âOh, thatâs good,â you hummed, but his eyebrows furrowed when he felt you shake. It happened again, and he realized: âSweets, are you shivering?â
âY-yeah, but the sheets are just cold still,â you explained. Â
âYou took off your pants!â he remembered.
âWell, I canât sleep with them on!âÂ
âYeah, but you canât sleep if youâre freezing, either,â he sighed. âDid you ever get your heater fixed?â
âUmâŚâ
He frowned. âDidnât that break like two months ago?â
âY-yeah, but who needs a heater in August?â
âItâs not August,â he reminded you.
âBut it was when it broke.â
He rolled his eyes, but then you shivered again. âIt dropped, like, twenty degrees when this rain came in,â he reminded you. Â
âYeah, I noticed,â you replied.
The next time you shivered, he heard your teeth chattering, and he instinctively scooted closer to you. âIs there another blanket I can get you?â he asked.
âNo, butââ you began, and his breath caught when he felt your handâ your ice cold handâ reach out and touch his shoulder. âYou can justââ
You moved closer to him and he started to move back. âI donât think I shouldââ
"Just, hold me?â you pleaded in a quiet, meek voice. âSo I can get warm enough to fall asleep?"
God, he was so completely powerless to you asking that, even if he knew it was a bad idea. He wanted to help you so badlyâ and he knew it was more than your temperature that made you ask him for that. Heâd never seen you like this: scared and weak and worried. âO-okay,â he agreed quietly, reaching his arms out and letting you settle between them.
Your face pressed to his chest, your nose poking his skin that was left exposed by the low and jagged cutâ and the tip of that was cold too, he could just imagine giving it a little kiss.
âIs this okay?â he asked, and he felt you nod. Carefully, he let his arm rest so it draped around youâ but he didnât let his hand touch anything but the sheets on the other side.
You hummed as you pressed yourself against him even more, your legs tangling with his, your titsâ oh god, he couldnât even think about your tits right now, because if he did he would remember that they were squished up on his torso and heâd wonder if being so cold meant your nipples were hardâ
He cleared his throat, knowing that through his sweatpants, his dick was pressed to your tummy. He willed it to somehow not get hard from this, putting all his energy into not moving or reacting at all.
âThanks,â you whispered. âThis helps a lot.â
âOf course,â he breathed in return. âWh-whatever helpsâŚâ
He felt you take a deep breath against his skin, the softest fan of warm air hitting him when you exhaled. Your arm was around him, but he hissed when you slid your hand up and the cold skin made contact with his bare back. âSorry,â you reacted instantly.
âNo, itâs okayâ youâll warm up soon,â he promised.
âYeah,â you agreed, âwhy are you so warm?â
Now he understood why the phrase âyou make me hotâ meant that you were attracted to someone. He nearly said it out loud, guess Iâm just hot for you, but amazingly he caught himself. Instead he only shrugged.
âIâm glad you came over,â you told him, and he could hear your voice getting a little more slurredâ you were so tired, poor thing, youâd mentioned over the phone that you hadnât really been sleeping.
âCan you really fall asleep like this?â he asked quietly. Cause I sure canât.
âNo, I was just gonna get warm,â you admitted, âIâll turn the other way when itâs time to sleep.â
Turn the other way⌠wait, she doesnât meanâ
Yeah, you did. A few minutes later you flipped yourself around with a sleepy mumble of âgânight, Edâ and made him into your unwilling big spoon.
Okay, not totally unwilling, but completely in over his head. His problem wasnât with the cuddling, it was with knowing it was all just supposed to be friendly, it was with wondering if you were coming onto him (unlikely) or just stupid (also unlikely), it was with trying not to get a horribly-timed but perfectly-warranted boner.
It was just these stupid sweatpants and your little white panties between him and your assâ he could feel the shape of it, even the warmth of your skin, through everything and he was going to lose his goddamn mind.Â
You did move around in your sleep, like you warned him that you would, but you hadnât warned him about those pretty sighs, the soft little hums, the way youâd stretch a bit and arch your backâŚ
For the first hour, he just held you, and listened to you, and drank it all in.
You warmed up quick while he was holding you, you felt so nice to holdâ he wanted to hold you tighter and pull you closer and kiss your cheek or your ear or your shoulder, but he couldnât. He almost wondered if he could, without waking you up, as he started to get sleepier himself and his logic began to slip.
He fell asleep in that way where he didnât even realize heâd been asleep when he woke up, if youâd asked him he wouldâve denied itâ but you werenât asking him, you were holding his arm close to your chest, pressing back against him, rubbing against him.
Oh god, he was hard, he was fucking throbbing, and you were breathing heavier as you grinded up on him.
When he opened his mouth, he fully intended on asking you what you were doing, or maybe apologizing for his boner, but then you arched your back harder, and he realized two things: one, you knew exactly what you were doing; and two, he didnât need to apologize. So, instead, he let a low groan fall from his lips, and you moaned a bit in reply.
He rocked his hips, pushing his cock right between where your panties were riding up and hugging your ass; you moaned again, still shaky but a bit more confident, and he wondered if maybe he was dreaming. It wouldnât be the first time he dreamt about this.
His hand was already on your chest, so he only had to move his hand down a bit to slip his fingers inside your tight t-shirt and feel your tits. He groaned as soon as he felt how soft your skin was, how hard and excited your nipples were. Your hips gyrated when he played with them, and feeling the control he had over you from such a simple actionâ just one slight curl of his finger and you gasped and arched your back deeper, your whole body under his commandâ made his cock twitch and weep inside his sweats.
When he took his hand out of your shirt and moved down to hold your hip tightly instead, you whimpered quietly. âEddie,â you moaned under your breath, instantly bringing him back to reality; this was actually happening.
Guilt twisted in his chest, but need still controlled his mind. âDo you want me to stop?â he asked quickly.
âN-no!â you whimpered. âI like it.â
He sighed and kept going with your blessing, securing his grip on your hips and letting his fingertips toy with the elastic holding up your panties. When he thrusted again, a long drag of his cock against you that let you both feel every detail of each other, your head fell back and your neck was right there for the taking.
He leaned down and latched his lips onto it, kissing all along your pulse, and you moaned louder. "You can fuck me if you want."
That should've been hotâ and it sort of was, especially in your whispered voiceâ but it hurt his heart a little bit and he stopped kissing you. "If I want?" he repeated, feeling you nod against his shoulder. "What do you want, sweets?"
"I⌠I want you to," you answered.
"Baby," he whispered, feeling you shiver in his arms when he said itâ in a different way than before. "Iâ I know you're feeling vulnerable right now⌠I wouldn't wanna take advantage."
"You wouldn't be."
"You don't need to do this to make me stay."
"You don't need to do this to make me want you here," you replied. "But I want you. Please, Ed."
He hadn't been trying to make you beg, he almost felt guilty for itâ making this poor girl plead with him for some affection when she's scared and alone. But he was too busy feeling turned on like crazy to feel really guilty; because he never thought he'd hear you beg for him like that, and it was beautiful. Sexy, yes, and erotic, but most of all beautiful.
Rolling you onto your back, he climbed up over you and felt your legs spread instantlyâ god, that was just too perfect.
In the dark, he still couldnât see much, but there was just enough light to see your eyes blinking up at him. It reminded him why he called you sweets as much as he could get away with it: because you were just so sweet, the sweetest eyes, the sweetest smile, the sweetest lips that he wanted to kiss until they were swollen and wetâ
He grabbed your panties at the seam on your hip and snapped them in two; you gasped as he tossed them away, wiggling under him excitedly. When he laid his body on top of yours now, he could feel your pussy through his pajamas. Speaking of swollen and wetâŚ
âOh my god,â you breathed, reaching up to hold onto his bicepâ Wesson, specifically. âEddie, youâreâ fuck, get these offâŚâ
Your free hand started tugging on the waistband of his pants, and just your fingers ghosting over his hip was enough to make him moan. He grabbed where the gray fabric gathered, about to help you pull them down, until he remembered. "Shit, I, uh," he choked, "I didn't bring any condoms."
Obviously. Because what kind of creep brings condoms when his friend asks for help? But now he was kicking himself wishing he'd had the foresight somehow.
"I could go back andâ"
"No," you interrupted, clutching at his tank top. "Don't leave, you don't need to wear one anyways."
Oh, dangerous territory. Compulsory, cautionary health class videos flashing through his mindâŚ
"I mean, you're clean, right?" you assumed.
"Yeah, I've neverâ well, I've never actually done it without protection before, soâ"
"Me either," you explained, "and I'm on the pillâ and I⌠I wanna feel you."
"That's⌠hot," he admitted with a tilted grin. "Shit, really?"
You bit your lip as you nodded, and he growled playfully at you as he leaned in and kissed your neck. You writhed beneath him happily, your plump little mound rubbing on him through his sweatsâ and he would give you anything you wanted after you did that.
"Y'wanna feel me, sweets?" he taunted lowly. "Wanna feel my cock stretching you out? We can do that. Gonna fuck you raw."
You whined and arched your back. "Please, Eddieâ that's what I want."
"Shh," he soothed, reaching down to push the stretchy waistband over his hips to his thighs. His cock sprang free and brushed on the inside of your leg for a moment, making you move your hips againâ so he held them down with one hand. "Baby, I'm gonna give it to you, okay? Calm down."
"I just need you," you whispered, tugging on his shirt again. "Eddie, I just need you inside meâ"
He moved his head between your lips, groaning at how warm you were alreadyâ god, you must be like an oven inside.
When he found your opening, he didn't waste much time before pressing forward and sliding himself in. It was a specific feelingâ overwhelming, yet irresistible. It was nearly too much for both of you and yet he had to keep going, had to fill more of you until his pelvis was grinding on your clit and the tip of his cock was reaching right to the end of you.
"Oh, fuck," he groaned the second he was buried insideâ not just because it felt good, but because he knew instantly he couldn't go back now. Feeling you bare, getting drenched by your sticky, hot walls⌠how was he supposed to be satisfied with anything else again? Or maybe it wasn't the lack of a barrier that made it so goodâ maybe that was just you.
Either way, he didn't want to go back: to condoms, to other girls, to any of it. He didn't want anything but this.
"Baby," he said again, holding you a little tighter. "Is this how you want it? Deep and slow?"
You whined quietly, clutching at his back. "Y-you can go a little faster," you offered.
"Mm," he moaned as he rocked his hips more quickly, your heat gripping him so well he struggled to control himself. "Like this?"
"Yes," you praised, "oh, Eddie, just like thatâ fuck me like that."
Christ. You were gonna make him lose it too fast, talking like that and feeling so damn good. You were like heaven insideâ cozy and warm like a living room on a Christmas card. Which, yes, he was well aware was a bizarre thing to compare a vagina to, but he wasn't gonna say it out loud or anything! Babe, your pussy's like a Norman Rockwell painting might not even be Eddie's worst attempt at dirty talk in his life, to be honest.
"Ah, fuck," you panted, arching your back as he gave you a little more force with his thrusts. "Did you ever⌠did you think about this?"
"Yeah," he admitted instantly. "I mean, a few times. It's hard not toâŚ"
"Did you hope something would happen tonight?" you pressed, voice all wavery and breathless.
At best, he had hoped the way you hope you're gonna win the lottery or that a unicorn will appear in your yard. "I didn't think about it like that," he assured, "I knew you were scared, I justâ" he hissed as he struggled to focus on this conversation with everything he was feelingâ "wanted to protect you."
Then the thought hit him, and he had to ask.
"Did you know something would happen tonight?" he returned.
"I told myself I wouldn't," you breathed, "but you⌠smell really nice."
Holy shit, I owe Wayne my life for getting me this cologne for my birthday last year.
"And you're so sweet," you added with a pant, "and honestly I've wanted you sinceâ"
"Don't tell me," he interrupted, "I don't wanna knowâ unless you're about to say since you walked in the door, I'll drive myself crazy knowing I could've had you sooner, that we could've been doing this for months."
You sighed in agreement; it seemed like you were getting even wetter the longer he went on, and he groaned as he heard the beautifully filthy noise of his cock churning inside your wallsâ and it felt even better than it sounded.
"Feels so good," he blurted out, resting his forehead on the pillow just beside yours. Â
"You too," you sighed. "S'big, Eddie, and without anything I can feel how warm you areâŚ"
"Warm, me?" he laughed thinly. "Shit, you feel so hot inside I figured I felt like a popsicle to you."
You giggled, and god, what a beautiful sound. Making you laugh was an honor enoughâ if he could make you come, too, he'd be king of the world.
In the spirit of that goal, he started fucking you a little faster, pressing in all the way with every thrust.
"Oh god, Eddie, so deep, you're so deep," you groaned. "Fuck!â
He grinned proudly, reaching under you to move your hipsâ he lifted them just how he wanted them, forcing his cock even deeper inside you the next time he thrusted, and he got to grope your ass a bit so it was really a win-win.
He saw your eyes roll back and it just made him want to fuck you even harder.
âTell me what you need,â he asked. âTell me how to help you, sweets.â
âIâ I just need you to touch me,â you returned, your voice sounding a little hoarse.Â
âWhere?â
âAnywhere,â you choked, âeverywhere⌠your hands feel good.â He groped your tits firstâ easy choiceâ and heard you mewl happily. âFuck,â you breathed when he pinched a tender nipple, and he felt your walls bare down on him for a momentâ so he did it again.
âYouâre so sensitive,â he noticed proudly, beginning to drag his hand down over your abdomen as he watched the anticipation build on your face. âHow about your little button, sâit sensitive too?â
âYeah, fuck,â you encouraged, moaning and dropping your head back onto the pillow as he gently pressed his thumb to your bud. Heâd barely started rubbing in circles before your moans got louder and higher-pitched; maybe it was a stupid comparison, but it reminded him of playing his beloved guitarâ the other lady in his life. He wanted to play your body like his instrument, he wanted to make music even more beautiful come out of you.
So he rubbed harder, and picked up his pace againâ he had to flex his gut and keep it tight to try to stave off his own orgasm, his balls were already tightening up a bit as he got closer, but he knew he could hold off as long as it was to keep you satisfied.
âSo good,â you praised, âit feelsâ fuck, Iâm gonnaââ
âI know,â he cooed. âI know, you can come, sweetsâ I wanna feel you come around me. Just tell me what you need.â
âJusâ donât stop,â you begged, âdonât stop, Eddie, just likeâ fuck! Right there, oh my godââ
Is it just me, or is she liking this a lot more than the other girls did? Did I get awesome at sex sometime in the last few weeks?
But really, he knew it was just that it was you and him togetherâ it felt like you were made for each other, like he fit inside you perfectly. He rubbed your clit even harder, technically disobeying your command of just like that, but it went over okay since you nearly screamed at the feeling. "Eddie, I'm coming, I'm coming!" you kept saying, voice thin and strained, tightening up around him so hard he nearly struggled to pull back so he could keep up his pace.
"That's my girl," he praised, loving the way it felt to call you thatâ so he kept doing it. "My girl, my girl," he chanted with each thrust into your flexing channel. Â
âOh god,â you sobbed, pushing his hand away from your clit; it must have become too sensitive right after coming. Your hands reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him down to lay more of his weight on you. âEddie, Iâ f-fuck, itâs soââ
âShh,â he cooed, âitâs okayâ itâs not too much is it?â
âAlmost,â you whimpered, âb-but I donât want you to stop.â
He fucked you faster, feeling you quiver under and around him; he wrapped you up in his arms tightly, keeping you still so he could slam everything into you at once, letting your somehow-even-tighter-now walls massage his throbbing cock. "I-I don't know how much more of this I can take," he grunted, "you feel soâ"
"I want you to come," you encouraged.
âWhere?â he asked roughly, lips by your ear as he laid his head next to yours on the pillow.
You hesitated, and he could almost hear the gears in your head turning. He knew you were considering it, and it made him groan just realizing that you wanted to let him fill you.
âYou want it inside, baby?â he asked in a rough whisper, and you nodded with a quiet moan.
âYeah,â you admitted, hands holding onto him tighter until he felt your nails bite his flushed skin. âYeah, fuck, thatâs hot.â
He fucked you faster with a groan; his balls were starting to get sore from trying to hold back, but he didnât want it to end yetâ he couldnât even be sure you would wanna do it again. He couldnât let this moment be over so soonâ
âEddie, Iâm yours, make me yours,â you pleaded. Nevermind, he could let this moment be over, because god damn hearing you talk like that didnât leave him any other option but to come right fucking now.
"You're sure it's okay to come inside?" he breathed. "I can pull outâ"
"It's more than okay," you insisted, "Eddie, I want it so bad, pleaseâ"
"Don't say please," he instructed, "I was just checkingâ I'm gonna give you whatever you want, okay? You want me to fill you with my come, I will. You don't have to beg me for anything, it's all yours."
"Oh," you moaned, "say that again."
"All yours, it's all yours, sweets," he promised. "Whatever you want from me. Which, right now, is all this fuckin' come in your cute little pussy, right?"
"Yes," you sighed.
"I'll give you everything," he assured as he fucked you faster. "Every drop, all this come is for you, baby."
âOh god,â you hissed, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.
âYou really mine, sweets?â he whisperedâ you wouldnât be able to hear him over the slamming of his hips on yours if he wasnât speaking right by your ear.
âYeah,â you answered breathlessly.
âPromise,â he demanded.
âYours,â you insisted, âmâyours, Eddie, had such a big, stupid crush on youââ
âFuck!â he spat, digging his fingers into your soft thighs as the first ropes of come sprayed from his cock; it felt so different, knowing it wasnât just filling a latex reservoir but filling you, your perfect body, your warm pussyâ
You sighed out his name one more time, tightening your arms and legs around him, keeping him close and whimpering with each soft breath; you sounded so beautiful, he almost felt guilty for dirtying you this way, but it was worth it⌠and you seemed to be enjoying yourself too.
He let out a long, hot breath as he stilled, feeling the last few drops of his come dribble out and into you; âShit,â he hissed, âthatâ fuck.â
You laughed quietly in agreement. âYeah.â
He started to try to pull out, but you whined and hugged him again. âDonât go yet,â you begged.
âOkay,â he relented, relaxing on top of you. âAm I crushing you?â
âNo,â you laughed, âyouâre not that heavy.â
âGood,â he mumbled as he planted a quick kiss on your temple. Â
You moved a little bit and he hissed, having to hold you still by your hips. Â
âD-donât,â he choked, âIâm stillâ itâs really sensitiveâŚâ
âOh, really?â you grinned, clenching on him on purpose to make him grunt and laugh quietly.
âFuck,â he warned, âyouâre tryinâ to drive me crazy, huh?â
âA liâl bit,â you admitted mischievously.
âCan you⌠feel it?â he wondered. âLike, without a condom, can you feel my, uh, come?â
You considered it for a second. âNot really, mâall, like, numb right now,â you admitted with a little giggle. âBut I could feel your cock, like⌠moving. Even when you werenât moving. I dunno if that makes senseâŚâ
âNo, it does,â he nodded.
âWhat did it⌠feel like for you?â you asked, sounding almost nervous and shy again. How could you act shy after that?
âUh, fuckinâ amazing,â he laughed. âYouâre incredible. Did you really mean what you said? About, um⌠being mine?â
He felt your breath catch, and he reached up to pet your head for a second, moving some stray hair out of your face. Â
âListen, itâs okay if you were just caught up in the moment,â he offered. âI understand.â
âDo you understand because you just wanna be friends after this?â you asked. âOr do you understand because youâre super sweet and donât want me to feel pressured to sleep with you again?â
âUm⌠guess itâs the second one,â he decided, face getting warm. âI mean, Iâm okay being friends after this. Iâm extra okay being friends with benefits. But if Iâm being honest, sweets, I wanna be your boyfriend.â
âYeah?â you encouraged, the smile in your voice making his heart twist.
âYeah,â he answered.
You held his face and kissed himâ soft, gentle, sweet just like you. He kissed you back, lifting his head and deepening it as much as he could get away with; you moaned against his lips, and it was so sexy he almost wondered if he could give you another load inside without even having to pull outâ
But you broke away and looked up at him with heavy eyes, and he realized how tired you really were. âWe can talk in the morning,â he decided, âyou just need to get some rest, okay?â
âOkay,â you agreed. He carefully pulled out, trying not to overstimulate his softened cock, and laid behind you to be your big spoon again. âThis feels nice,â you hummed. âI mean, mâkinda sticky and gross and all, but I feel safe.â
âMm,â he agreed, fluttering his eyes shutâ he was more tired than he realized, and the dark was already pulling him deeper as he held you. âMe too, actually.â
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